#biology reference books | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fakebwitch · 5 months ago

Text

mean nerdy!rafe helps reader with physics…

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

you played with your hands while walking along the corridor that would lead you to his dorm. you stopped recognizing the number of his room, you took a deep breath trying to relax yourself as you raised your hand, knocking two times on the wooden door. after a few seconds the door opened wide, your eyes met the figure of rafe, a white polo shirt with simple brown pants, his face decorated with a delicate pair of glasses. he gave you a small look before moving leaving you some space to enter, “come in”.

choosing rafe cameron as your tutor was one of the last things you would have wanted. you had tried to ask other students but everyone was busy with their sessions or they already had too many people to tutor for, and he was your last hope. he was a few years older than you and was fucking good at any scientific subject - math, physics, chemistry, biology - always getting the best grades, and this did nothing but increase his ego, exploiting his excellent knowledge as an excuse to be arrogant and presumptuous. your grades were really bad and failing in physics was certainly not among your plans, so you had to resort to his help.

you would never have thought that he would agree to give you private lessons, you thought that he would have much better things to do, like studying for the next sessions or maybe he already had someone else to whom he dedicated his time, instead he looked at you for a few seconds — maybe feeling your despair — and accepted, giving you an appointment for friday at 5 p.m. at his dorm.

you get inside, a strong smell of cigarette with a vanilla room perfumer flooded your nostrils. the room was quite tidy, very minimally furnished with few personal decorations — unlike yours— there was a small bookcase full of books, and not to mention his desk, covered with scribbled sheets, just as you had imagined it. he sat on one of the chairs fixing his hair, “sit” he said looking at you, you did as he said by sitting in front of him, placing your bag on the chair next to you.

“let’s just start” he said crossing his hands on the table, you nodded taking out your book with a small notebook, as well as a small pencil case. “what do you want to start with?” he asked you, his look stinging while waiting for your answer, you had never had a real conversation with him and being aware of his character you didn’t really know how to behave, you didn’t want to look stupid in his eyes. you opened the book showing him the topic you hadn’t understood, rafe gave it a little look without uttering a word, an imperceptible “mhm” was audible to you while he took his notes.

before you noticed it he began to explain, his words fluid and clear while he gestured lightly with his hands, his eyes fixed on yours sometimes fell on his notes or on your book showing you what he was referring to, not even the slightest difficulty transpired from his speeches, as if he was talking about a banal topic that did not include the most complicated formulas and most absurd meanings. holding his gaze was difficult for you, having to focus your attention on something other than his sharp blue eyes. no matter how much you got lost in the details of his face and how he seemed so involved in what he was explaining to you you could not afford distractions, you had to listen and you had to understand above all what he was saying, or you would not have solved anything.

he stopped leaning his back on the back of the chair, the biceps muscle contracted as he scratched the back of his neck, “got it?” it was all he said, his tone almost arrogant as if not understanding what he said was stupid. “yeah” you nodded placing the pen on the table, on the sheet of your notebook some small sentences were visible concerning some important formulas or terminologies.

“we need to make a little practice” he said taking your book in his hands, flipping through the pages in search of some exercise to put into practice what he explained. the room felt suffocatingly quiet, his presence was intimidating, his sharp gaze like a dagger that kept you on edge.

“let’s try this problem” he said, sliding the book across the table toward you. his hand brushed yours briefly, and you felt a jolt shoot up your arm. it was ridiculous how much his touch affected you, how even his scent—a mix of clean cologne and the faint, lingering cigarette smoke—was making your head spin. “okay” you murmured, trying to focus on the equation scribbled on the paper. but your mind was anything but clear. you picked up the pen, feeling his eyes on you, watching every move you made as if you were under a microscope. he got up from his seat, your breath hitched as you heard his slow step approaching you. you tried to shake it off, focusing your attention to what you should’ve solved, but then he stopped right behind you, you could feel his presence towering you, his scents even more clear now that he was so close to you.

“you’re doing it wrong” he said, leaning closer. his voice was low and curt, but not cruel. he reached out, his large hand covering yours as he guided your pen across the page. his touch was firm, his skin warm, and you found yourself holding your breath as he pressed against your back. “there. that’s how you set it up” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. his breath ghosted across your cheek, and you couldn’t help but turn slightly, catching the edge of his jawline and the curve of his lips in your peripheral vision. he was so close you could see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes when he glanced at you.

“are you even paying attention?” his words snapped you out of your thoughts, and you blinked, heat flooding your cheeks. “y-yeah, I’m paying attention” you stammered, though your voice betrayed you.

rafe smirked, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “doesn’t look like it.” he sat on the chair next to you, his eyes never leaving yours. there was something about his expression—arrogant, almost predatory—that made your stomach flutter in the most inconvenient way.

“i said I’m paying attention” you repeated, your voice a little firmer this time, your eyes never leaving his. you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how flustered you were.

“hmm” he hummed, tilting his head as if he were trying to figure you out. “prove it. solve the next one on your own.” he slid another sheet toward you, his fingers lingering on the edge of the paper. “let’s see if you actually learned anything.” his voice provocative, almost amused by the situation, as if he knew the kind of effect he was having on you. you did your best to hold back, the words threatened to come out of your mouth but you swallowed them; being given private lessons by the best student was certainly not something that happened to everyone, and you could not afford to lose this privilege just to retort his stupid provocations.

you picked up the pen, determined to prove him wrong, even if your heart was pounding like a drum. the numbers and formulas blurred in front of you, and you could feel the weight of his gaze, the heat of his body still lingering near yours. you tried your best, but you didn’t even have the slightest idea of where to start. minutes passed, and each seconds you became more discouraged, his gaze fixed on you almost judging you and you couldn’t take it anymore. “I can’t,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

rafe chuckled softly, shaking his head. “of course you can’t.” he stood up, moving behind you. you felt your chair shift as he placed his hands on the backrest, leaning over your shoulder to look at your work. his voice was close to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “let me show you again.” you froze as his hands settled lightly on your shoulders, his thumbs brushing against the base of your neck. it felt too intimate, too intentional, but he didn’t seem fazed. instead, he leaned closer, his chest just barely grazing your back as he reached for the notebook.

“this is where you keep screwing up” he murmured, his tone low and deliberate. “you’re overthinking it.” his hands squeezed your shoulders lightly before one slid down your arm, guiding your hand to pick up the pen again.

you could barely focus on what he was saying. every nerve in your body was hyperaware of his touch, the heat radiating off him as he stayed impossibly close. you managed to scrawl out the equation under his guidance, but your mind was a mess, the numbers meaningless.

when he finally pulled back, his lips brushed your ear as he whispered, “see? wasn’t so hard.” your breath hitched, and you turned to look at him, your faces dangerously close. his smirk widened, his eyes flickering down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. the air between you felt heavy, charged.

“rafe—” you started, but your words faltered when he leaned in, his hand brushing your jaw as he tilted your face up. “relax” he said, his voice a mix of command and tease. “you’re way too tense” his thumb grazed your cheek, and before you could think, his lips were on yours—soft but insistent, a mixture of dominance and curiosity.

you were shocked by his gesture, it took you a few seconds to actually realize that his lips were on yours, and that he was kissing you. your hands tightened around his face pushing him towards you, the kiss quickly became more intense, both fighting for dominance.

rafe pulled away from the kiss trying to catch his breath, but was taken by surprise by your lips again on his, eager to taste his soft lips again. one of your hands went down his chest, pushing him so that he was sitting on the chair next to yours, and in a quick movement you sat on his lap. rafe didn’t utter a word, leaving you free to do whatever you wanted; he couldn’t hide his amusement in seeing you so eager, taking the lead.

his hand tightened around your chin, moving you away from his lips. his intense eyes stared at you for what seemed like an eternity, admiring the way you seemed so desperate after just one kiss, your lips flushed and your hair already messy, your eyes stared at him with a burning desire that you could no longer hide.

“so eager are we?” he was teasing you, a faint laugh left his lips. you tried to speak but his hand was too tight and you knew that if you opened your mouth nothing sensible would come out, he would only have made fun of you. he let go of the grip on your chin, letting it wrap more gently under the jaw, angled your face while his lips approached your cheek, placing a sloppled kiss right under your ear. you bit your lip closing your eyes while his kisses followed the line of your jaw, slowly going down towards your neck. for sure that bastard knew how to use his lips.

his lips moved skillfully against your neck, sucking and wetting the skin. unknowingly your hips began to move against his lap, looking for a desperate clutch with his bulge, your pussy almost praying to be touched. his free hand tightened around your waist stopping your movements, his lips let go of your neck bringing his gaze back to you. “didn’t know you were so needy” he said lowly almost as if he was talking to himself, his cock semi hard in his pants and he could feel through the thin material of your panties a wet spot.

"you were the one who kissed me first," you replied, raising an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth lifting into a sly smirk. you weren't lying-it had been him. he kissed you first, set everything into motion, and now here you were, the one craving more, so typical of him.

his gaze darkened, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "and you were the one who couldn't keep your hands off me, pushing me back so you could grind on my dick" his voice was low, dripping with heat, each word sinking into you. “just a consequence of your gestures” you said shrugging your shoulders, rafe couldn’t help but laugh at your answer.

“i think we should do less talking” he said in a whisper, resting his lips on yours, this time he didn’t stop you, letting you rub yourself on his bulge, earning you little whinings from him. his hand tightened around your breasts, squeezing it between his hand, you weren’t wearing a bra so it was easy for him to feel your hard nipple and squeeze it between his fingers through the material of the shirt, earning a small gasp from you.

“you want this?” he asked you, as if it wasn’t already obvious enough. but he needed to hear you say it, just to boost his ego even more. his hand made space under your skirt, playing with your panties. “yes” you answered without hesitation, the need between your legs growing more and more. his thumb gently brushed your clit, moving in a circular way, the contact sent a shiver all over your back and you couldn’t help but let out a little whine at the slightest pleasure he was making you feel.

“stop teasing” you ordered him in a firm voice, your hands clenched around his shoulders in search of support. “as you prefer” he replied in a moking tone, a grin on his face. without wasting more time with two fingers he moved the material to the side, with two fingers he collected all your wetness. he started teasing your clit again with his thumb, this time, however, he pushed two of his fingers inside you, a big gasp left your lips to the sudden intrusion. his fingers moved quickly and with experts inside you, touching all the spots that made you shudder, as if he knew you for years and knew by heart how to make you melt.

your head fell back completely overwhelmed by pleasure, small and continuous moans kept coming out of your mouth, unable to contain you. rafe loved how responsive you were, your moans were like a sweet song to his ears and he couldn’t help it, he angled his fingers inside you, his pace getting faster and faster making you continue with your melody. “love your pretty sounds” he said, his eyes completely fixed on you while his hands worked on you like no one had ever done, “fuck... just like this” you incited him, your voice choked completely out of breath, your hips moved slightly, riding his fingers.

you could still feel his hard cock against the soft skin of your thigh, and for the pleasure he was making you feel you couldn’t help but reciprocate. you brought your hands to his belt, unbuttoning it quickly, you unbuttoned his pants and with your fingers you tightened the zipper pushing it all the way down with a quick movement. you stopped for a few seconds, your legs trembled while rafe continued to hit your spongy spot. you continued your work by pulling out his cock, his pink and swollen tip practically screaming to be taken care of, he was long and thick. lke a magnet your hand tightened around it, your thumb rubbed on the fluffy skin of his tip.

“g-goddamn...” his head fell back, a spit fell from your mouth ending directly on his tip, using your fingers you spread it along the entire length, quickly working the hand around him. his expression was simply fantastic, his face corrugated, his eyebrows sulked while his mouth emitted small pathetic whimpers. despite this his fingers continued to abuse your little wet hole, his free hand tightened tightly around your thigh, his fingers dug into the soft skin leaving a mark.

“f-fuck” his voice completely broken as he continued to moan your name, your walls tightened around his fingers at the sight below you. you could not explain what you were feeling, in seeing a presumptuous, unpleasant, proud guy like him completely wrapped around fingers, a mess of moans and whines, bringing yourself closer and closer to the orgasm.

slimy sounds filled the room, coming from both of you. you tightened your hand around his tip, focusing on it again, having realized how sensitive he was. “h-holy shiiit baby” a broken moan came out of his mouth and you could feel his legs shaking under you, he was close.

and you were too.

he could feel it, from how your moans were more persistent and how your pussy was clenching around him, almost trapping his fingers. “as much as I love you pretty hand around me, i fucking need to be inside you” and so he took out his fingers, your hole clenched around nothing as you felt your stomach squirm for the orgasm just denied. your hand around his cock stopped,you watched him with a pout, even if you knew that in a few seconds you would finally have his cock inside you.

“you better make it worth” you provoked him. you knew he would fall into your trap, “oh don’t worry angel... you know I’ve got you.” and before you could realize his cock slung inside you, his length made space inside you while his thickness widened your walls. rafe let out a choked moan at the sensation of your warm walls, which welcomed him inside him. “feels soo good around me... so fucking tight” he praised you, his hand was around the flesh of your ass, holding it in his hands.

without giving you a any time to get used to him, he began to push himself hard inside you, his tip hit in no time your cervix. he helped you take off the shirt you were wearing, throwing it somewhere in the room. his hand immediately tightened around your breasts, squeezing it. he gave you an hard slap on the ass as his hot mouth wrapped around your nipple, sucking it and biting it lightly. you wrapped your hands in his hair, pushing him closer to your chest, completely ruining his carefully done hairstyle.

you don’t know what happened to you, but you put your hands on his shoulders, pushing him backwards so that his back was against the back of the chair, you dug your nails into his skin while you crossed his gaze — confused but intrigued by your sudden gesture of dominance — his cock stopped inside you. you began to ride him, your hips moved quickly as a hand of rafe came down to stop firmly on your waist, his glasses completely fogged. “shit rafe... feels so good inside me” you said with a big moan, his big cock sank into your hot and wet pussy. you lowered your face meeting his lips, the kiss was completely messy, your tongues quickly collided with each other, the salivas mixed together as well as your cum inside you.

“look so beautiful like this... riding me so fucking good” he said with clenched teeth, another hard slap on your ass. “i’m cumming” you said immediately after hearing his words, you could feel the weight in your stomach grow. rafe’s hips met your thrusts, while his hand went down, the index and middle finger moved quickly in a circular way on your clit, leading you to high.

with a big moan you finally reached your climax, your movements slowed down abruptly, your legs trembled at the intense pleasure achieved, and if it hadn’t been for his hands tight around your body you were sure that you would have already fallen. “fuuck” your pussy tightened around his cock, releasing your cum that was covering his tip inside you.

“that’s it baby, took me so well... f-fuck gonna cum” his voice hoarse as he used his last forces to push himself inside you, trying to reach his orgasm. it took you a few seconds to recover from the insane orgasm you had just had, despite the sense of overstimulation you moved your hips slowly, meeting his thrusts. “shit... here we go” when he feel he’s reached the limit he pulled out, he squeezed a hand around his length moving it quickly up and down, with a few pumps splashes of his cum finally fell on your lower stomach.

“thaaat’s it” his words dragged as he fully enjoyed the sensation, his hand tight around the tip not wanting to waste even a drop. without thinking twice you brought two fingers along your stomach, collecting his cum and then bringing your fingers to your mouth, savoring its flavor.

he didn’t say anything, but his gestures spoke clearly. he approached to give you one last intense kiss, savoring himself on your tongue, his hand gave a last slap to your ass before finally detaching from your lips, “we have to continue studying” he said, suddenly returning seriously. he lifted you slightly so that you were sitting on the chair next to him.

he got up from his chair, adjusting his pants and polo while sitting in front of you. “alright, let’s get back to work,” he said, his tone casual, as if nothing had happened. but the way his gaze lingered on you told a different story.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #outer banks #outer banks x reader #x reader #smut #rafe cameron story #rafe cameron x fem!reader #x fem!reader

943 notes · View notes

gamesetart · 10 months ago

Text

sweet 'n easy

Art thought dating you would be enough. He's content to have your heart, wait until marriage to have your body, too. But it's proving really difficult when you look like that.

tags: art donaldson x fem! reader, open relationship, guided masterbation, reader's kind of messy in this one (corruption), religious themes/corruption of religious themes. nsfw. minors DNI.

a/n: this is part of what im referring to as the open relationship au and im more than expecting to write more about this dynamic! im also very open to suggestions about it

Art Donaldson is a Good Christian Boy. He's a good, smart young man. He wears his thin silver purity ring on his left ring finger. He wears a delicate silver cross on a chain around his neck. He used to sing in the church choir, and now he spends his Sundays volunteering with the children's sector and frequenting church picnics. If it wasn't for tennis, he'd probably be a priest.

You're not right for him, and he knows it. Guys like him aren't made to marry girls like you - girls with low-cut tops that show off the top hem of your lacy electric purple bra. Girls who wear low, low-cut jeans with your matching purple thong hanging out the back. Girls with butterfly-shaped tattoos hovering on your lower back. Girls who spend weekends drinking and clubbing and dancing with absolutely no room for Jesus.

But there's just something about you. Maybe it's your attitude, the way your hand flies up in class whenever you know the answer to a question, the way you speak, with such clarity, such conviction. Maybe it's the way you walk with your friends across campus, beautiful and assertive, a pack of wild hounds. You're terrifying to him. A force of nature, a thunderstorm. Art's managed to get caught up in your jet stream, but it doesn't mean he's any less scared of falling out. You and all your hot, brash, party-girl friends. You and the 'bitch pack', as some of his friends have taken to calling you and yours. The sorority girl, frat party, dim clubs, bitch pack. Girls like you don't give guys like him the time of day: you're too pretty, too powerful, far too high up on an entirely different social ladder.

But you're different. You're sweet. He's watched you stop to pet stray kittens. He's seen you volunteering to donate blood at the campus blood drives. He's seen you stop to help a girl pick up her books even though you were already late to class. He's seen your notes in his biology lecture, your cute, bubbled handwriting and your array of gel pens. He's seen you buy an extra coffee at the campus cafe for a friend. People contain multitudes, or whatever, right?

So maybe it's no surprise when you end up paired up on an assignment and you bring him back to your dorm room. Maybe he shouldn't have been so stunned by the boy band posters and the stacks of fantasy novels and the stuffed bear sitting on your bed. Maybe he shouldn't have been thrown off by your framed pictures - family, friends - and your collection of Beatles CDs. Just a girl. A normal, nice girl. Who lays out all her notes for him, glances up with a sweet smile, and asks,

"Where d'you wanna start?"

He didn't mean for it to go any further than that. For the study visits to start happening at night, after dinner. For you to start blowing off club nights to curl up on your plush blue shag carpet next to art, pointing out lines of text and highlighting things with a bright pink marker. For you to start eating with him at lunch, talking about your lecture, laughing over some stupid thing your professor said or did. For him to start seeing you, really seeing you, and liking that you saw him, too. It happened before he even registered it. Somewhere, somehow, Art Donaldson fell in love.

It's different than how he felt with Tashi. This isn't that painful, all-consuming desire to please, to have her notice him, the obsession with the idea of her and her tennis. This feels sweeter, kinder. This feels like what he used to read about: fireworks in his heartbeat, butterflies in his stomach, the giddy thrill of First Love. A slower, ennobling sort of love.

If he had it his way, he'd date you. Flowers. Expensive dinners by candlelight. Picnics. The works. Court you for the four years you were at Stanford together, then propose once you graduated. Spend a few years engaged so he could do his tennis, make a good amount of his own money. Save until he could plan a dream wedding. Honeymoon somewhere pretty and exotic, like Bali or Punta Cana. Then the country house and the kids, the white picket fence. Except, Art doesn't really ever get things his way, does he?

"I... I don't know," you say slowly, digging your heels into your carpet. You can't meet his sad blue eyes. You can't bear to. Girlfriend. Boyfriend. It feels alien, even in your head.

He stares at you, crestfallen. Your heart plummets and you race for an explanation, for some way to explain this without blaming him. Because it's not Art at fault, it's his Faith.

"It's not that I don't like you!" you scramble. "I do, really, Art, I do. I just... a girl has... needs, you know? There are things I'd want that I can't ask you to give me. Things I can't take from you."

You both know what it is. You'd never ask him to give up on or waver in his faith for you. Never. You like Art how he is. But you know you'd be wanting. You know you can't wait until your wedding night.

"I... I'm just not the dating type, Art," you explain mournfully. "And you don't want to date a girl like me, anyway, trust me. You deserve someone nice."

"But... you are nice," Art says, and he really does look like you've just torn his heart out and stomped on it. It's horrible. It's awful. And you feel like a monster for doing it, but what can you do?

He doesn't have a solution until a full week later. He pretends (to you, and himself) that he came up with it all on his own, when in reality it was Patrick's idea. Patrick's suggestion, murmured over the phone in cloying low tones, luring him in like sailor to siren, bee to honey, moth to flame. Art, for all his cleverness, for all his ability to read Patrick like a book, could not see it. He trusted Patrick. He should have, he's sent Patrick some of your pictures, talked about you endlessly. But Patrick was on tour, far, far away, where he could do no harm. And Patrick was taken, as he was so keen to remind Art all the time.

"She doesn't have to fuck you, man," Patrick muses. "Date her. Be her good boy, be her fuckin' sweetheart. She can get dicked down with someone else."

"You're suggesting my girlfriend cheat on me?" Art laughs, and even saying it, my girlfriend, even in hypothetical, makes his heart do a flip.

He can practically picture Patrick's face, screwed up with a mixture of pity and disdain. Poor Art. "Nah, man. I'm suggesting an open relationship, you know? Let her fuck who she wants, she's gonna come home to you."

The conviction in Patrick's voice makes Art's heart somersault. Because there's something about that idea that makes his pulse quicken. Patrick's right. You'll come home to him, your heart - the thing that really matters - will be his. He doesn't like the possessive thing that curls up in his chest and purrs at the idea. But he doesn't fight it.

"What if you didn't have to wait with me?" Art asks.

He's twirling a highlighter over his fingers. Cross-legged on your plush duvet, working at a piece of spearmint chewing gum. Gum you'd offered him, gum that you now kept a small stash of in your desk drawer for evenings just like this. The project you'd been paired up on was long over, the proud 96% sitting in your Stanford grading inbox. Now you're just regular homework buddies. Art sought you out for homework he missed because he was at practice and lecture notes he didn't get. You don't mind. You enjoy it, actually. You just wish you could give him more. Hate that you couldn't be what he deserved. It almost feels like leading him on, when he sits with you until the wee hours, sharing diagrams and passing your textbook back and forth. When he brings you your morning coffee before class, or you bring sandwiches and Gatorade to his practices.

Except now, apparently, he has a solution.

"What?" you ask, blinking at him. "What d'you mean?"

Art flushes. Soft pink. Mostly around the ears, you've noticed, red against the gentle gold of his curls. Evening rose.

"I mean, what if..." he looks away. "You know. You went out with me. Dated me. But you could... 'hook up' with other people when you needed to."

You stare at him. Dumbfounded. Art Donaldson. Is sitting on your bed, asking you for an open relationship? Are you dreaming? Has the world suddenly gone mad? Did you go to bed last night and wake up in an alternate dimesion?

"You... are you suggesting... what I think you're suggesting?" you ask faintly.

He nods, ears burning a truly impressive shade of crimson. You suppose you should be flattered, really, the lengths he's going to date you. Most guys would have given up by now, egos bruised, feelings hurt, hearts shattered. And with most guys, you would have been firmer, clearer, colder. Meaner. But Art isn't most guys. Art is sweet.

"I-- shit, Art, wouldn't you rather just date some other girl like you?" you say helplessly.

"I don't want another girl, I want you," he replies plainly. Like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like there's no other answer.

And that's all it takes for you to agree. It's impossible to say no to those baby doll eyes. The two of you set ground rules - you don't tell him who or where or how, just that it happened. He doesn't ask you any questions. No one leaves you any marks. Immediate friends, such as Art's tennis circle and his church friends, are off limits. And that's that. He's your boyfriend now.

Art thought it would suffice. He likes being with you. Holding your hand while you walk to class. Seeing you in the stands when he plays a match. Chaste little pecks here and there. But you're like a pit of quicksand, a hurricane. You draw him in quicker than he thought possible, and now he can't breathe, can't think, can't move. The corruption is slow, certain, and inescapable.

He starts to find himself wanting more.

A kiss in his dorm room that deepens instead of stops, one hand cupping your jaw, the other floating to rest on the small of your back, above the waist of your low jeans, on the warm, bare skin there. A glance that feels more than affectionate, his eyes roving over your collarbone, the glint of your skin in the sun, the line of your bra beneath your sheer, tight shirt. He sees you smile at another guy and a hot flash of jealousy surges through him as he wonders if this is one of the guys you're fucking, if that guy, that random piece of shit, gets to touch you, see you, feel you. He tamps it down, and it feels too little, too late.

You'd be a fool not to notice. Stupid, not to feel the press of his hard-on when he hugs you from behind. Not to sense the shift in the way he kisses you, tongue slipping past your lips, hands sliding down further than they usually do. He plays it off, always. An accident. The heat of the moment. But you know. And because you're weak, because you're a terrible person, because ruining Art Donaldson is the most beautiful thing to ever happen to you, you let him.

"Art, do you ever touch yourself?"

He falls off his chair in his hurry to spin around and look at you. From the floor of your dorm, he stares with wide blue eyes and pink cheeks. "Wha--"

You shrug. "You know. Do you ever..." you make a crude gesture with your hand, and he buries his face up to his nose in his collar.

"No," he says, muffled into his tee shirt. "It's sinful."

It takes every fibre of your being not to laugh. He's so precious, so pure, sometimes you wonder why a guy like him could ever be interested in you at all. Your looks are one thing - you know you're hot. But Art likes you. He likes you even when he can't fuck you. He liked you even when you told him you wouldn't date him. He likes you because you're you. Which makes you feel a little shitty about what you do next, but you can't help it.

"So, what, when you're hard, what do you do?" you press casually. "Send up a Hail Mary and wait?"

Art's ears, which peek out over his shirt collar, are so red they could have been on fire. He shakes his head, a little frantically. He flushes easily, you notice, blood flowing quickly whenever he's even mildly embarrassed. It conjures images of his cock, whatever it might look like, red and aching with need. And you feel a lot less bad, the mental image of Art's dick fuelling the way you lean over, sliding off your chair to join him on the floor. You kneel, hands resting on your knees, and you know he's getting an eyeful of your tits. You keep your eyes on his face.

"Show me," you murmur. "I won't touch you. I won't even touch myself. I just wanna see."

He stares at you like you've asked him for his social security number and all his credit card info. Which, honestly, he probably would have given up a little easier. And you're an awful person, because you know the effect you've had on him, especially these days, you know that Art will probably do anything you ask of him, just for the pleasure of pleasing you.

"Please?" you wheedle, cocking your head to one side lightly, staring up at him through your lashes.

And, really, how could he say no to that?

"I-- okay," he says, and he tries to pretend like he's relenting a lot more than he actually is. Pretends like he's doing you a huge favour, as if his cock isn't straining at the mere idea.

Art doesn't jerk off often. He's only ever used his hand once - the single time Patrick showed him. After that, he'd cried in the bathroom and washed his hands so many times he got a contact allergy. But he's figured out an alternative. One that doesn't involve him touching himself at all. So he slides off his sweats, all too aware of your steady eyes on him. You look at him like you've never seen legs before, as if you haven't seen him at a thousand practices. You look at him like you want to eat him.

He tries to tell himself that's not what's making his cock throb in his boxers. He keeps those on, more for his sake than yours.

"You can lie on my bed," you offer innocently.

Art almost moans. Because it's your bed. Because it's yours, and when he lies down it's almost like lying with you. When he buries his face in the pillow, he can smell you, your vanilla and roses body wash, and, beneath it, the gentle smell of you. It's your sheets he starts to cant into, hips rolling in a familiar motion as he starts to work away the desperate pressure in his cock. It's your pillow he bites in a futile attempt to muffle his moans. And when he looks up, eyes half-lidded, he can see you watching him. You're biting your lip, looking flustered, and it's the cutest he's ever seen you, and he moans your name without meaning you.

You keep your promise, hands folded neatly in you lap as you watch Art rut into your bed like a wild animal, like he's in fucking heat, like your sheets are a person and he's fucking it. Like your sheets are you, you realise, as his eyes meet yours and he whines your name. He's pretending he's fucking you. It's hard not to give up and shove one hand into your panties, but for his sake, you try. Art's moans are almost musical, and with a sharp slap of embarrassment, you're reminded of the sounds he makes when he hits the ball at practice. The same whining grunts of exertion, except now they're fuelled by pleasure, spurred on by the desperate grind of his hips into your sheets, not a fucking tennis ball.

"Oh, oh, fuck," Art's voice gets a little higher. "Oh, fuck, it's so good--"

You can feel yourself soaking through your panties, and you shift slightly. His movements grow a little more erratic, hands balling up into white-knuckled fists into the soft fabric of your sheets. You drink it all in while you can - his ears are red, his cheeks are pink. You follow the curve of his ass in his boxers. You stare at the muscles in his thighs. The bones of his hips.

Art gets breathy when he's about to cum. Breathy, very whiny, almost crying if you're being honest. You file that information away for later.

"Please, please, can I?" he gasps, staring up at you with pupils blown wide with lust. "Can I cum, please, fuck, need it, need it-- you-- fuck, please?"

It's surprising he can even string together a full sentence. "Of course, baby," you murmur, already resolved to not changing your sheets until after you've cum in them too.

Another nugget of information: Art favours a deep grind when he cums, like he's looking for a place to put it, to bury it, looking to breed, to mark, to keep. The sight of him pushing his hips as far into your mattress as he can before he cums, a cry of your name and a shuddering breath slipping from his lips, will probably fuel your nighttime ventures for the next few weeks. You'll use it when you find your next hook up, it'll probably send you right over the edge.

You don't know when you started thinking of Art while you fucked other guys. You just know that now, it's tricky to get off without it. It's hard enough biting your tongue so you avoid saying his name. Now, you'll have the image of his face when he cums locked in your brain forever.

"Shit," Art curses, still breathless, sitting up to examine the sticky mess soaking from the front of his gingham boxers, all the way into your sheets. "Sorry."

You just shake your head. "Don't worry about it. That was... really hot. That's actually how you get yourself off?"

He nods, embarrassed. When he shuffles off to shower, borrowing your shower caddy and a towel, you wait until your door click, and then you practically rip open your nightstand. It takes less than ten minutes with a vibrator and the memory of Art's voice moaning your name for you to add your cum to his. You imagine his hips fucking into you, not your sheets. You imagine pulling his stupid fucking purity ring off and wearing it like some fucked-up engagement ring. His hands are so big, you'd probably have to wear it on your thumb. His hands. You imagine them grabbing you, holding you, sliding up your skin. You wonder what it would be like to have him revere you, not his God. Worship you. You want him to, you think. The idea of him shattering every promise he's ever made, just to be inside you? It sends you over the edge with a muffled cry of his name.

It's that feeling, that messy need for him, that drives you to that frat party. You told him, obviously, and while he seemed sort of put-off when you mentioned you were probably going to sleep with someone, he told you it was okay. Told you to be safe.

You wish you could tell him, but you're worried it'll scare him off. Don't worry, Art, every guy I fuck, I pretend he's you. And now I'll have the knowledge of exactly what you look and sound like when you cum to help me out! Not exactly girlfriend material.

Still, you're thinking of Art when your eyes land on a boy playing beer pong. He's tall, all messy black curls and tanned skin. Handsome, too, if you're being honest, in a messy, frat boy-y kind of way. Hook up hot. You're thinking of Art when he waves you over, holding up a beer like it's a peace offering. You're thinking of Art when you give him your name and ask for his.

"Patrick," he tells you easily. "Patrick Zweig."

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x fem reader #challengers smut #art donaldson smut #kit.writes #open relationship au

2K notes · View notes

amorienomore · 1 month ago

Text

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ teachers pet ft. jjk men

an: hi all! i was inspired by listening to k-12 (for like the umpteenth time)

——————

g.s - subject: history

satoru gojo, or commonly referred to as ‘gojo-sensei’ hardly ever taught. showing up late to classes late with his shades on, leaning back in his chair, and letting his classes do whatever they wanted while he ate sweets the entire damn time. yet, miraculously, a student has never failed his class.

being the only quiet one in your class with remarkable grades, gojo-sensei always came to you for help. “y/n, you’re my only hope,” he’d dramatically exclaim, dropping a stack of papers on your desk. “grade these for me? i swear i’ll give you volunteer hours.” you wanted to decline but you needed the hours honestly since you weren’t in any clubs.

sighing, you take them, “i’m not sure this is even legal.” you murmur.

“it’s not illegal either.” gojo-sensei says, pointing finger guns you’re way. “besides, i need a teachers pet to help keep me in check.” you roll your eyes but grade the papers, ignoring the way his bright azure colored eyes linger on you over the rim of his shades.

g.s - subject: literature

geto-sensei was loved by all students, especially the girls. his long hair, clean look and strong build, he was quite a few of some schoolgirls crushes. but everyone knew just how terrifying he could be when he felt as if someone disrespected literature.

“you didn’t read the book?” he tuts, rubbing his temples, “how disappointing.”

he looks your way, smiling gently, “y/n.” he calls, “would you care to share your thoughts on the symbolism?” you beam and begin chattering away, feeling a tad bit smug. the class groans because everyone knew, how couldn’t anyone when it was so obvious, that you were the favorite.

once the bell rings and the class disperses, you get ready to join your peers to the next class period when he hands you a book. “i think you’d like this one.” his long fingers brush against yours, and for a moment, you swear he’s looking at you differently.

n.k - subject: math

nanami-sensei was a strict, no nonsense man. no phones, no talking, and definitely no excuses.

except for you that is.

“sensei? i forgot my homework.” a student would whine. looking over his glasses before pushing them up, “you get an f.” he’d cooly reply.

“i forgot mine too..” you’d mumble from your seat. he sighs, “make sure you bring it in tomorrow.” and the whole class erupts in protests. “no fair nanami-sensei! that’s just blatant favoritism!” someone shouted.

nanami pushes up his glasses and looks at you. “y/n is a diligent student. unlike the rest of you.” the sounds of your classmates blurs into the background as you lock gazes with him.

the way he says your name and holds your gaze sends shivers down your spine.

f.t - subject: p.e

toji-sensei didn’t do much, just like every other physical education teacher. he sits on the bleachers while the class runs laps.

but when you run by during one of your laps, he suddenly perks up.

“y/n, you’re slacking,” he teases, smirking. shooting him a look, “i’m quite frankly, literally dying.” you pant.

chuckling, he’d wave you over. “come sit with me.” you collapse next to him, and he tosses you his water bottle. “don’t tell the others.” the rest of the class glares, you’re the only one who gets away with skipping laps—and they all know why.

your fingers graze against toji’s but neither of you make an attempt to move but do hide the touch from any lurking eyes.

s.r - subject: biology (idk man bc of his infatuation with cutting things open)

nobody knows how sukuna-sensei is allowed to teach or why they still let him. he insults his students, curses like a sailor and his grading system made no sense.

“sukuna-sensei?” his name is called from across the room, “why’d i get a 72 percent?” a classmate asked.

with a deadpan face, “i don’t like your fucking face.” sukuna-sensei responded.

meanwhile, your papers were always an 100, even though biology was not your strong suit. “perfect grade once again, miss goody two shoes.” he’d say as he passes your paper to you with a smirk.

you’d lift your head to glare at him, “i’ve asked you to stop calling me that.”

he leans in, his breath hitting your ear, “make me.”

your face burns, and you look away. a dark chuckle emerging from him as he walks around passing out the rest of the papers.

———————

idk just felt like i needed to post something, should i do a pt 2 with other characters?? lmk ^_^

247 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 8 months ago

Note

Do you think Bill Cipher is his real name? The book suggests it is since he used to be called Billy but he also tells Gideon that his true name would drive mortals insane. But maybe he was lying! About which we’ll never know.

I personally think it would be really dumb for

an alien

with bizarre alien biology that involves speaking through some organ that clearly isn't a mouth

because his mouth is also his EYE SOCKET and occupied by an EYEBALL

who's not only from a different planet but from a different UNIVERSE

which is so different from ours that the LAWS OF PHYSICS aren't even compatible

because they don't have a THIRD DIMENSION

and who was named ONE TRILLION YEARS before any humans existed

never mind human languages

never mind "common" human names like Bill

to have a normal human name made with normal human sounds.

So I buy the "my name is unintelligible to your species; Bill Cipher is just a dimensional pen name I use because you can pronounce it" explanation, due to the alternative offending my sci-fi worldbuilder sensibilities. The "if you heard my name you'd explode with an expression of ecstasy and agony on your face" part in the Bill Cipher AMA might be a boast to sound cool, but nevertheless I buy that his name can't be spelled, pronounced, or possibly even heard correctly by humans.

The most common explanation I've heard for why he would claim his REAL name is incomprehensible if his name is actually just "Bill" is that he thinks "Bill" is lame and wants people to think he has a cooler name. But, if that were the case... why wouldn't he just... y'know. Give himself a cooler name? Like, who's gonna call him out on it? Birth certificate's incinerated. Parents aren't gonna call him his deadname in front of his friends. The only reason he'd tell people his name is Bill Cipher would be if he wants to go by "Bill Cipher."

When he goes by "Bill" and refers to himself as a child as "Billy" I'm assuming that that's, like... the dub version of his name. Like how the main character of Pokémon is named サトシ but in the dub it's changed to "Ash" because surely American children can't pronounce that bizarre foreign name!! Bill's real name is [EERIE INCOMPREHENSIBLE SOUND] and as a kid sometimes his mom called him [A SIMILAR BUT SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT EERIE INCOMPREHENSIBLE SOUND THAT DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING TO US BUT TO BILL'S SPECIES SOUNDS LIKE A CUTESY VERSION OF THE FIRST SOUND] and when talking to humans he translates those as "Bill" and "Billy."

#bill cipher #gravity falls #meta #(also when does he tell GIDEON his true name would drive him insane?? the only thing I remember is the quote in the Reddit AMA.)#anonymous #ask

528 notes · View notes

yutasbellybuttonpiercing · 2 years ago

Text

slowly, i'm going down

access full masterlist here!

pairing: song mingi x reader (no pronouns mentioned, reader has female anatomy)

au/genre: college!au, tutor!reader, mingi does not give a shit about studying, smut

word count: 4816 words

warnings: voice kink (AHHHHH), oral and fingering (reader receiving), reader is a little mean, kitchen sex, anime references, cringe, a joke about adhd, dirty talk... um..., oh right Mingi has a big dick (wbk), everyone's a little silly, unprotected sex (boo ‼️👎🏻), premature ejaculation almost, creampie, cum eating... (not reader...), i think that's it. NOT PROOF READ YET!!

synopsis: mingi hates studying, but what he hates way more than that is being perceived as stupid. what mingi loves on the other hand, are pretty people getting flustered about his voice

mingi shows you exactly what he hates and loves.

a/n: i was almost ready when i saw this tiktok and it completely blocked my mind because it's SO FUNNY, but at the same time, it's men being dudes, dudes being bros, and that kind of made it hard for me to continue. i apologize for the 24h delay 😞

taglist: @byuntrash101 @goquokka @ashwoodforest @choisansnotsolegalwife

Mingi is not one to sit there and look at books. Or papers. Or anything that doesn't move and feed his brain with bright colors and his ears with noises, really. He prefers to vibe, and studying is definitely not the vibe. Sadly, studying is a part of his life as a university student. Yes, he chose this path for himself and yes, he was aware that it would involve studying. Still, now that it's really happening and is not just an obstacle to overcome in the far, far future, Mingi kind of wishes he'd chosen something else to do with his life. It's just exhausting, why would he waste the precious time he has left on planet earth on something that doesn't get the serotonin floating? He's pretty sure he has some undiagnosed ADHD simmering up there, but who is he to judge that? He's certainly not studying to become a doctor or whatever.

Anyway, given the fact that Mingi doesn't like to study, he's not had much experience with it in the first place. He's barely gotten his way through school, but uni is a different level. Hence, he needs someone to 1) teach him how to study and 2) make him study, or rather: have a judging eye on him while he is supposed to study, so the fear of being called out on it may light a fire under his ass and force him to bury his nose between the stinky pages of an old library book (on that note: he also needed someone to show him how to check out books from the library).

And that's why you are here, every Thursday afternoon, sitting at the sad excuse of a kitchen counter slash dining table in Mingi's scandalously expensive apartment given its size, growling next to him every time you catch him analyzing the bumps on his wallpapers instead of the letters on the pages.

Mingi generally likes you, even though you are a bit scary, he has to admit, or maybe that's the appeal. You are polite, but you have a way of looking at him that makes him feel like he's getting mansplained by your eyes. Your taunting gaze on him makes him feel small, and he doesn't like that at all. It makes him feel like all these years of drinking milk to make him stand at the 1.84m he is at today were in vain. You always have that one expression on your face, and maybe that's just Mingi's subconsciousness telling him to STUDY HARD FOR GOD'S SAKE, but in the way your eyebrows would scrunch together just the tiniest bit, he reads: God, he is fucking stupid.

He doesn't know which (since he did not pay attention in biology class, nor is he even sure they teach that in biology class) chemical in his brain suffers an allergic reaction every time you look at him like that, but there has to be one. There is nothing that Mingi hates more than being called stupid. Well, except for studying, maybe.

Call him lazy, call him a scalawag, call him witty for being able to get through all of school without reading a single one of the set books if you must, but do not call him stupid.

The only problem is that you haven't, well, called him stupid per se. It's just how Mingi interprets your stares. Also, he desperately needs you because he doubts there will be many other contestants that are okay with getting paid as little as you are (which is all Mingi has left by the end of a month full of Pokémon trading cards). So Mingi just has to sit back and relax and simply take it because, apparently, that's what he gets for not studying his entire life.

A loud ringing wakes Mingi from his peaceful afternoon nap - one that he has really earned this time around, he managed to look through his study notes for a full 20 minutes during his lunch break!

Disoriented, Mingi raises his head to make out his location and what year he is in. It rings again. Slowly, Mingi recognizes the shrill sound as his door bell. He slowly gets up, a quick glance in the mirror tells him that his hair is an absolute mess (which is really a crowning achievement given his buzz cut length) and he has imprint marks from his blanket all over his right cheek, but his sleepy mind doesn't even take it in. Mingi furrows his brows and shakes his head. Who would dare to disturb his peaceful slumber at this ungodly hour (4pm)?

The answer, of course, stands right in front of his door. With your arms crossed and the tip of your shoe drumming a dent into Mingi's "come in if you're a silly baka"-door mat, you raise an unimpressed brow at the sleepy shell of Mingi that blinks one eye after the other.

A few seconds pass until Mingi finally realizes who you are, and his mouth forms an 'o'-shape. Immediately after, he furrows his brows once again, his body slumping forward a bit because: why on God's green earth are you here? Then, it hits him like a truck, the aftermath of the collision blowing the remaining sleep out of his eyes: it's Thursday afternoon!

"Sorry," he says and sheepishly scratches the back of his head, then steps aside to let you enter.

"It's fine, it's only freezing cold outside," you stare at him before stepping in, shudder as you kick your shoes off, slip into Mingi's guest slippers and hurry inside. Mingi's brain does not register the sarcasm drenching your words.

"Let's get to it, shall we?" You ask as Mingi finally manages to follow you into the kitchen. You sit, take out a few sheets of paper from your backpack, then look over questioningly as Mingi has not even moved a millimeter, but instead started yawning like his life depends on it. Your eyes drift down his body. "Or maybe after you've put on some pants?"

Mingi freezes, looks down to confirm that, indeed, he's not wearing pants, but Naruto boxer shorts, then covers his crotch with his hands and buzzes off into his room.

Minutes later, Mingi reenters the kitchen, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips that, yes, he checked twice if he's wearing them the right way around. As mentioned, he is generally unable to properly focus on his studies, but today, it's exceptionally bad. Of course, you'd notice.

"Mingi, are you okay?" There's worry in your eyes – a sight Mingi has not seen. Ever.

"I'm fine, just tired," he mumbles, eyes unfocusing as he stares ahead.

"Yeah, you are? Why?" Mingi's tired mind cannot question why you suddenly seem so interested in his well-being. He also doesn't put any meaning into why you're scooting closer to him, your forearm accidentally touching his.

"I studied during my lunch break," Mingi informs you, a little, proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Something tingles inside his chest as you carefully place your hand on his arm. As he looks over at you, you smile at him, and he notices your gaze flickering down to his lips for a second.

Hold on. Mingi's mind suddenly snaps out of its hazy state and works on overdrive. He might be the type to vibe, the type to just let things play out, but he'd be damned if he didn't notice when someone likes him like that. He suddenly notices the way you started creating skin-on-skin contact with him, the way you want to be closer to him, eyeing him even more than you ever did before. Just... why? Is it because you saw him in his Anime panties?

A few moments pass, and you sit back, then pat your pencil against the book to remind him of the reason why you're actually here. Mingi groans, admittedly a little dramatically and unreasonably erotic, brushing a hand through his hair to flex his biceps right in front of your face. You seem unimpressed.

"Well, fuck me," he chuckles deeply, the rasp in his voice more evident than usual due to his nap. It's then when you tense, he notices from the corner of his eye. Oh. Okay. So it's the voice?

"I'm really glad you're tutoring me, you know?" He purrs, throwing in a little praise to get you extra bothered, and you simply breathe out nervously.

"Heh, no worries," you brush him off. Mingi decides that, for now, he's made you suffer enough and keeps quiet. Instead, he focusses on his studies, although he's already planning his next step to terrorize you with the sultry rasp his vocal cords are gifted with.

"Mingi, focus-"

"No, I get what I have to do, the contents just won't stay in my head." Mingi reasons, his voice unusually, but not by chance, high pitched, eyebrows scrunched as to why the hell he has to do this before doing that only to do whatever next when it wasn't like this for the other exercise he had to do minutes prior. He is not stupid (!), he does understand how this works. It's just that it doesn't make sense, and that is surely not his fault.

"Are you stup-" you start, but shut your mouth before you're even able to call him the dumbest fucker you've ever crossed paths with. Mingi inhales sharply. Oh, oh, you're lucky he is patient, and you're lucky he knows that as soon as he growled a few dirty words into your ear, you'd slam your upper body on the counter without regards of caution, pushing your panties down under your skirt and begging him to take you right there - or at least, that's what he imagines.

Yes, Mingi is super patient, that's just what comes with the entire vibe-personality package, so he does not dump your cute sorry ass on his baka-door mat, but simply closes his pen, lays it on the table and looks at you. A fabulous idea plops into his mind.

"God," he groans as deeply as he can, stretching his arms over his head, "I guess I'm just a little" - he throws in a little moany sigh - "a little distracted today."

"A-are you?" You nod, biting your lip subconsciously. Mingi looks at you without moving his head. "Why?"

"Well, just stuff, you know?" Mingi enjoys how the rumble in his voice makes his throat and - obviously - you feel. "There's just a lot, going on. Like big... big stuff. Stuff that just keeps coming and coming, in and out, just like that. Ugh, I wish I could just let all this frustration out you know, all this pent up stuff." He watches for your reaction.

Unmistakably, your hand holding your own pen in a relaxed manner mere seconds ago now desperately grasps the poor objects until your knuckles turn white, your breathing is uneven and loud as if you'd just ran the entire way from Mingi's place to the next convenience store (seriously, why the fuck is he paying so much for this godforsaken apartment?). And - Mingi's favorite reaction to him ever: you're pressing your thighs together.

Oh, how Mingi loves himself a good reaction like this.

"Big stuff, huh?" Your voice trembles as your nervous eyes search for his. "H-how big?"

"Oh, really big. Just really fucking big," Mingi confirms with a slight smirk. He loves how you just fold easily like that. One second, you're over there feeling superior on your little throne of knowledge that Mingi lacks, and the next, you're making a little mess in your panties just because Mingi so much as spoke. Absolutely incredible. People should start calling him "the rizzler".

"I think-" you clear your throat, "I think I should head home then?"

Mingi smiles to himself as soon as you turn away to pack your stuff into your backpack. His hands automatically reach out to play with his pen, his long, slender fingers toying with the object, inevitably drawing your attention to the movements. "Already?"

"Mhm." You stare a second too long, gulp, then hastily stuff your belongings into the big compartment of the backpack, Mingi listens to the sweet melody of stressed breathing and papers crunching.

As amused as he is, he decides that it is time for the big reveal.

"Keep it in your pants, baby" he looks over, his eyebrow halfway raised, and stops rocking back and forth and fiddling with the pencil as you freeze in your tracks and stop packing. "What?"

Slowly, you turn your head to look at him. "So you know?" You manage to squeak.

Mingi smugly pushes his tongue into his cheek. He loves how you're basically vibrating out of nervousness. "Oh, I know."

You sigh, hands finally letting go of your stuff and motioning defeat. He wonders what's going on in your mind right now. Are you afraid he's going to call you out? That he's going to make fun of you? That he's going to call you a needy slut and send you home? Or are you wondering if he's going to give you what you want? Mingi loves this game.

That's why he decides to make your situation a little more miserable.

"I also know that you think I'm stupid," he explains calmly, trying his best to no longer show any excitement, smugness, or any emotion whatsoever on his sharp facial features to really confuse you. Well, that's what you're getting for (almost) calling The Song Mingi stupid. Just a little payback, is all. He's not going to go so far and make you cry. No, no, Mingi can't handle when people cry, much less so if it's because of him.

Nevertheless, your breath hitches. Oh, you're fully aware that he didn't like you calling him that at all. Oh, how the gears are turning behind your forehead as you're trying to figure out what's going on, and what's going to go on in the next minutes.

"Thought so," Mingi deadpans. Yeah, that's right. Look how smart he is now! Super smart! He's got you all figured out. He knows exactly what to say and how to act to make you feel - and, fuck, does this feel like redemption - stupid.

"I'm sorry-" you start, back facing Mingi's form, but Mingi is not here for it. Mingi has gotten what Mingi wants. Mingi feels as powerful as he imagines a lion to feel, like, every day.

"Dumb fucks good," he simply states, just putting it out there, throwing it into the room for you to do with that statement whatever you like. Mingi's mind is already satisfied, his ego stroked because he's just proven that he isn't dumb. Although... he wouldn't mind a little diddling because, if he's being honest, you're hot as fuck and seeing you react to him in this way- well, he's also just a man!

"What?" You probably think you must've terribly misheard him as you whip your head around to face the confident Mingi smugly leaned back in his chair. Your eyes meet his, and he is sure that you now realize that, no, you definitely did not mishear him. That was exactly what he said.

In the blink of an eye, Mingi feels your presence on his lap, a last final look into his eyes before he feels your lips against his, desperately chewing away the remaining air separating his spit from yours. It's messy, lips colliding, too much teeth and tongue, but it's all raw and desperate. Mingi gets the vibes that you may have had some pent up want for him, but that's honestly the last clear thought he can muster before you grind your hips against his.

A deep groan escapes Mingi's lips, inevitably echoing against your own quiet gasps that just turn louder with every movement of your hips, your hands frantically trying to touch him everywhere at once to the point where he has to grab your arms and pull you back. Your eyes, wide. And confused, but somehow lidded and hazy at the same time struggle to take in Mingi in front of you. Yes, Mingi is aware of the effect of his siren eyes.

For another moment, he simply enjoys seeing how destroyed you look already, but honestly, there is just one thing on his mind.

"I'm gonna eat you out," he informs, waiting for you to nod frantically, whine and scramble off his lap for him to keep his promise. And you do, allowing Mingi to grab your waist with his large hands and lift you onto the counter. Of course, he can't resist getting another taste of your lips, almost losing himself in the soft pillows that frame your pretty mouth, but the hardness creating a tent in his sweatpants reminds him that he should possible attend a little lower.

Hence, he kisses his way over your cheek towards your jaw, then over your neck and down your collarbones. Mingi is not sure what your opinions on love bites are, so he just hopes you can remember him being right here and here and here even without visual proof, he can save that for next time.

Okay, Mingi admittedly was not able to hold himself back completely, his teeth only gently nipping at your skin on his way down. He simply hopes for the best, but your sounds seem to imply that you do not mind him one bit. Instead, you sound as if you wouldn't mind him taking a few bites more.

Impatient as you are, you assist Mingi in pushing your shirt out of the way, the straps of your bra automatically falling down your shoulders to reveal more of you to his hungry eyes.

And as much as Mingi would like to spend hours playing with your chest, he keeps it down to a minimum, kissing the soft flesh while gently pushing the remaining material out of the way for better access. His lips wrap around a nipple, his hands meanwhile busy with massaging the other and carefully holding your waist. God, Mingi loves boobs. But he might love the way your fingers comb through his hair and gently pull on it a bit more even.

Finally, the time has come, and Mingi kneels down on the floor. Pushing your skirt up, hands caressing your thighs, he creates eye contact with your eyes glazed over by lust and want. It doesn't even faze him that he hasn't cleaned these floors in weeks, honestly, he is in so deep he probably wouldn't even realize if the stove was on, lighting his study notes on fire.

He wants to tease you more, make you wait, maybe make you beg even, but he just feels too hungry to keep waiting. His fingers hook into the hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs as quickly as possible before spreading your legs and groaning in anticipation.

Throwing your thighs over his shoulders, he pulls you forward a little further, chuckling as you almost lose balance and smile at him. Okay, maybe Mingi feels a little tingle, and maybe that is not a horny tingle, but that's something to worry about later, if ever. Right now, he has a mission: dive in.

So that's what he does, obviously, planting a careful kiss right on your clit to wait for your reaction. And you do not disappoint, gasping slightly at the first sensation before getting louder and bolder the more Mingi tastes you.

His tongue gently parts your folds, getting a first taste of your juices. You basically cry out as his tongue prods at your hole, carefully easing its way inside to caress your walls.

Automatically, your hands fly to his hair, gently pulling at the roots to find a way to ground yourself, the feeling assumingely overwhelming, Mingi thinks, not to brag, but-

Mingi's eyes roll back at a particularly hard tug at his hair, paired with the way your hips grind closer until you're basically riding his face. Fuck, how are you so hot? Mingi's fingers grab hard at your thighs, loving the way the soft flesh feels in his hands.

To experiment a little more and, first and foremost, to get more rewarding reactions out of you, Mingi lets his mouth wander back up to your clit, gently sucking the nub between his lips, his tongue carefully flicking as not to overwhelm you. At the same time, a fingers sneaks its way over to circle your entrance.

Your throat coughs out a broken moan at this, your eyes switching between looking at Mingi's eyes and his mouth, and closing completely. Mingi loves taking in the pleasure written all over your face. He might not admit it, but he loves this kind of praise much more than verbal praise because your body really can't lie. He can literally taste how good he is at this.

He finally pushes his finger inside, loving how the wetness and muscle contractions are basically pulling him deeper and deeper until past his second knuckle. He feels around a little, trying to find the spots that seem to appeal to you the most, watching carefully how you react to each and every flick of his wrist.

Although, he feels that one finger is not enough to prepare you for the rest of him, so he adds another, massaging them into the spot that seems to be making you see stars with the way you grip his hair even tighter and mutter something he interprets as a warning that you're about to cum.

Keeping his pace, he successfully sends you over the edge, letting you ride out your high on his tongue before removing his lips, only getting his fingers massage the last clenches out of you.

Looking up he realizes you look, respectfully, wrecked, with your chest heaving, your hair a little messy and your eyes hazy and glossy, parted lips asking for his. And who is he to deny them, as he leans in to allow you to taste yourself. You seem to like it.

Pulling back after a while, he looks at you. You look so happy and relaxed like he's never seen before. For some reason, it reminds him of the weight in his pants that he suddenly feels the need to inform you about.

"You make me so hard," Mingi says lowly, carefully taking your hand to prove it to you, "feel." It's more your hand guiding his with how fast you reach down to feel him, eager to touch the outline of him through the sweatpants. And as if you're getting paid to stroke Mingi's ego even more, you gasp at his size.

Mingi can't help but smirk, of course, who wouldn't?

"Big stuff, huh?" You repeat your words from earlier, but this time no longer nervous, but cheeky as you bite your lip playfully. Oh, how Mingi would love to make you choke on his dick right now, just a little, and in a loving matter, but he's honestly waited long enough and he really just needs to be in you right now. And besides, Mingi is more in his giving > receiving era.

Instead, he grins. And he feels like there is something more.

Impatiently, you tug at his pants, successfully moving them a millimeter. Mingi helps you push his pants further down until it pools around his ankles. You giggle.

Damnit, Mingi. Why couldn't you've changed your underwear? Mingi mentally scolds himself, a good amount of his previously earned smugness flying out the window. Instead, he gives you kind of a sheepish look.

"I don't mind," you assure, tugging at his anime boxers next, "it's actually relieving to be reminded that you're still the cute, dorky Mingi and are not possessed by a sex demon."

"Incubus," Mingi points out.

"I don't fucking care. Just get this hideous thing off and have sex with me!"

Mingi does not need to be told twice, although he makes a mental note to scold you later for calling the one and only Naruto printed on a piece of fabric shielding his balls from the outside world hideous.

"God, fuck," you let out, and Mingi chuckles at your reaction to his naked lower half, "come here. Please."

You pull him closer, wrap your legs around him and beg him with your eyes. Mingi wastes not another second, aligning himself with your hole and slowly pushing forwards. Your eyes roll back as he enters you, causing you to hold onto him for dear life as he inches inside, filling you completely.

God, must your walls hug him so perfectly? Must you be so unbelievably wet just for him? Must you make these sounds? Mingi feels like he doesn't want to be inside anyone else ever again.

"I feel like I don't want to inside anything else ever again."

How did that get out there?

You chuckle, and have the nerve to pinch his cheek, as if he wasn't balls deep buried inside you right now. "You're so cute."

Cute?!

Mingi will show you cute. He grabs your jaw, admittedly still gently, and makes you look at him as he pulls almost all the way out until his tip catches at your entrance. "Cute?" And he pushes in all the way all at once. You moan, the feeling too much, too intense for you to still keep your eyes open. Helplessly, you cling to Mingi's body as he repeats the action 4 more times before setting a steady rhythm, angling his hips in a way that should stimulate the spot you liked so much earlier.

With your mouth hanging open and your eyebrows scrunched, you look like the prettiest thing Mingi's ever seen. He wants to see you drool, watch you completely lose your mind over nothing else but his cock. At the same time, he is surprised how good it feels. Well, not surprised that it feels good, but that it feels abnormally good, like he's about to nut in the next minute or so. Hopefully, he's able to coax another high out of you before that.

"What was it that riled you up so much earlier? My voice?" He growls, and you as much as whimper in return. "Yeah, like it that my voice is so deep?" You nod pathetically. "Cute."

"Mingi- 's so good."

"Yeah, am I fucking you good?" Mingi grins and you nod weakly, struggling to keep your eyes open. Mingi really shouldn't be the one talking big because honestly, he feels like if u moan one more time, if ur walls clench around him one more time, he is going to lose it. Something about this entire situation is just super surreal to him, or maybe it's simply you that is the reason for his premature high that is coming for him with fast steps.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, kissing your cheek before whispering, "can I please cum inside?"

"Shit, y-yes," you confirm, nodding quickly as you fight your hardest battle to keep your eyes open, focused and on the man that's currently grinding his tip into your sweet spot. Mingi feels like he loves you.

Mingi also feels like he's loosing his grip on reality, which is why he grabs your hips harder than before, using his strength to really slam his hips into yours with force, drowning his thoughts with the sounds of your moans. There is nothing on his mind except for you, you, you, and the primal need to make you his.

"Please," he groans, not quite sure what he's begging for, but it doesn't really matter in the end, does it? All that matters is that Mingi's ears catch the way you're begging him to cum for you, to fill you up, to please, please finish inside. He is not going to deny you that wish.

His hips stutter, his mind goes numb as he feels his muscles tighten and contract, releasing deep inside you. The feeling spreads in his body, feeling high and happy with such a forceful orgasm like this one.

Everything after is just a blur in his mind, he just remembers realizing that you didn't cum a second time, and he wouldn't be Mingi if he kept it that way. That's why he found himself back on his knees seconds after pulling out, sucking your clit back into his mouth, tasting his own release that's threatening to drip out if it wasn't for his fast fingers pumping in and out of you to push you over the edge.

It doesn't take long until you do, orgasm fueled by the lewd action of Mingi eating his own cum out of you, he assumes. Somehow, you two end up in his bed after, mostly because Mingi is a cuddler, partly because Mingi is not able to let you go yet. Or ever. Who knows.

#mingi smut #ateez mingi smut #song mingi smut #ateez smut #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez mingi #ateez song mingi #kpop #smut #kpop smut #fem reader #ateez x reader #mingi x reader

5K notes · View notes

darknight3904 · 5 months ago

Text

All Too Well

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: After meeting Joel one late night at a bar you launch into a whirlwind romance with him. But, between a nasty breakup and the end of the world, you're left with nothing but your thoughts of the past and the way they haunt you all too well.

Warnings: 18+ Mature themes including: language, loss of virginity sexual references, SA (Not by Joel), Animal death, starvation.

Based on the song by Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 6.5k

Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Winter 2023

Jackson was a town that was almost too good to be true. You had stumbled upon it nearly 7 years ago after fleeing in the middle of the night from a band of men that had captured you. Your sanctuary was just getting started then, but the group that was working there, welcomed you with open arms and as many supplies as they could spare.

It was your own little slice of paradise in this post-apocalyptic world you were stuck in. Away from FEDRA's iron fist and the horrors that evil people inflicted on others, most days you felt like you were living the life you used to back in 2003.

Of course, some things were different now. The TV in the corner of your living room was useless and most of your meals were communal in the mess hall. But, you loved it all anyway, glad to be away from the harsh world that lay outside the walls.

Even when you were assigned to clean out the horse stables, you loved your community. Jackson was your perfect little universe, undisturbed by the past and-

"Oh, shit...Joel?"

May 2003

College finals were the two scariest words one could say to you right now. Luckily for you, you had managed to somehow pass all of them this semester. Yes, you had somehow even managed an 80 on your biology exam, you still weren't quite sure how that happened. Maybe those 3am nights poured over your books did something.

"We should celebrate tonight." Your friend, Amelia suggested from her spot on the couch

"I was thinking about ordering a pizza." You sigh as you try to work out in your mind how much you have in your bank account. Perhaps you even had enough for some wings too.

"Not like that." She scoffs, " I meant we dress up real slutty and hit some bars. Get some guys to buy us drinks."

"I wanted to watch a movie tonight though." You sigh, thinking of the Blockbuster down the road. The second X-Men movie had come out a few weeks ago and you were dying to see Hugh Jackman on your screen again.

"You can spend the rest of your life as a grandma watching movies. You're only hot once." Amelia laughs

"But-"

"No buts. Your tits are gonna be at your waist one day and you'll thank me for this." Amelia declares before skipping off to her room, mumbling about which top she'd wear.

You sigh as you watch her door close. Amelia Caddel hadn't been your first choice for sharing an off campus apartment. Afterall, she was the opposite of you in so many ways. But, Miss Life of the Party had a steady deposit of allowance in her account from mommy and daddy, meaning she never missed rent, an important factor in a roomate.

"Guess you're spending the night alone." You sigh, looking down at your cat, Loki who purred, clearly wanting a treat or perhaps another heaping bowl of kibble.

Amelia fussed with your hair as the two of you entered your first bar.

"How're you going to pick up a guy if he can't even see your eyes?" She laughs

The stuffy air and the loud music, followed by a group of frat boys cheering for someone, reminded you why you never went out.

You watched with a sigh as she sought out the closest mid twenties guy she could wrestle a few drinks out of. You trailed behind, fidgeting with the skimpy black mini dress she had coaxed you into.

You'd have to hand it to Amelia, you certainly looked hot in it.

The feel of a stranger bumping into you and the sharp scent of aftershave filled your nose, and then big hands were wrapping around your waist, keeping you from stumbling.

"Shit sorry, hon." His Texan accent sent a small shiver down your spine.

"It's fine." You mumble, jumping away from the stranger's arms.

"Tommy, let's go! Quit flirtin' with the college girls!"

The man, Tommy, mumbles another apology to you before disappearing further into the bar, in search of whoever called for him.

Joel watched as his younger brother "accidentally" bumped into some silly college girl who seemed out of her element. Joel couldn't lie, it was something his brain might've come up with if he wasn't so damn tired from today's work. When was laying concrete going to get easier?

The younger Miller brother, who hadn't succumbed to back pain just yet, whispered some false apology in the girl's ears as she jumped away from him.

Joel called for him, he couldn't let Tommy terrorize some poor twenty-something girl who looked like a deer in the headlights under his brother's gaze.

"You're getting too old to be after college kids." Joel chastizes as he sits beside Tommy at the bar.

"Oh c'mon." Tommy scoffs as he orders a beer for himself and Joel.

"You're thirty, you're not some mid-twenties loser anymore." Joel points out.

"You're no fun, Joel," Tommy says with a roll of his eyes

Joel wanted to go home. He'd wanted to go home hours ago but Tommy had dragged him out after they finally finished working on their latest project, the new local Subway was nicely constructed by the Miller brothers.

Yet, here he sat, a few hours later, Two and a half beers deep, listening to Tommy try his hand at karaoke. Joel was pretty sure his ears were bleeding as his eyes scanned the bar. Most of the patrons were so drunk, they cheered Tommy on.

Joel found his eyes settling on the girl Tommy had "bumped" into earlier. She was still alone, sat across the room at a high-top table, sipping at some fruity drink. Pretty red heels were linked on the footrest of the barstool and Joel watched as she fumbled with her purse, looking for something with a deep frown across her pretty features.

If Joel didn't have a 13-year-old waiting on him back home, he might have slipped across the bar and sweet talked his way into this girl's arms. But the thought of Sarah back home, watching TV with Mrs. Addler had his ass glued to his barstool.

Instead, he observes as you finally find your phone and make a call. He watches as your features droop in disappointment as you yell over Tommy's singing to whoever was on the other end. Joel watched with a bit of amusement as you nearly fell off the stool when you went to stand up, you must've forgotten you linked those heels onto the footrest.

Joel let out a grumble of disappointment as Tommy launched into the beginning of Don't Stop Believin' by Journey. Why had he been given the world's most annoying little brother?

Joel's eyes turn back to the mystery girl and her delicate red heels just as some frat guy from Alpha Delta- who fuckin' cares, slings an arm around her waist, hand dipping too close to the hem of her skirt for Joel to be comfortable with.

As if he's on autopilot, Joel finds himself crossing the bar in long strides, ready to put a stop to whatever might come next.

"I don't see your friend now." The guy laughs as you shift your weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable.

Joel hears you mumble something about wanting to go home.

"I'll give you a ride."

The guy's sleazy tone has Joel cringing as he approaches. DId anyone teach these kids manners?

"Why don't you give the lady some space?" Joel suggests boldy

Alpha-Delta-Chad turns around to meet Joel's gaze, not releasing you just yet as he scoffs,

"Who the fuck are you? Her dad?"

"Just a concerned stranger." Joel nods to you in greeting, "She doesn't seem too comfortable with you, kid. Give her some room."

"How would you even know old man?" The boy asks, "You're like forty!"

Ouch. Joel was 35. Did he really look 40? Already?

"Let her go," Joel says, his voice deepening a bit

The frat boy's eyes scan Joel's figure. Either he decides you're not worth it, or that he'd lose the fight because before Joel knows it he's letting you go and murmuring another curse at Joel.

"Thank you." You breathe a sigh of relief, and a small smile graces your pretty face as Joel nods.

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

The name slips out of Joel's mouth before he can stop it and he watches in amusement as you blink away in embarrassment.

Your eyes roam across his frame and Joel can't quite place the look on your face as you...size him up?

"Could you um...walk me to the bus stop? I'd go myself but I'm worried that guy might be waiting for me outside." You ask

Joel wants to say no. He wants to stay tucked away in the bar, sipping his beer, and hope Tommy accidentally swallows the microphone he's singing into. Yet, one look into your sad, and definitely drunk eyes has him folding.

"Sure, I'll walk ya."

A warm breeze blows through the air as your savior is beside you at the bus stop. He'd insisted on waiting beside you until the bus showed up, saying something about having a daughter back home and it not being right to leave you alone out here.

"So...what's your name?" You ask, your drunk mind disliked silences.

"Joel. Joel Miller." He says, "You?"

You softly say your name, shy under his gaze.

Maybe its the three margaritas but the man next to you is hot. Short brown curly hair with dark eyes to match. Not to mention the splatter of facial hair and mustache he seemed to pull off so effortlessly. He was definitely much older than you, at least over ten years your senior. But, he was attractive in the ways all the college boys in your classes weren't.

Your eyes raked over tanned arms, toned perfectly from whatever he did to get them. You could tell he was sporting a handsome dad bod under the plain blue t-shirt on his frame. You'd never been one for a rippling six-pack, a man who'd eat pizza and ice cream with you was always going to be attractive than one who spent his days drinking protein shakes and eating eggs for "gains". Joel seemed like a guy who'd be into a binge-watch of every Star Wars movie and indulge with you in an impulsive 2am Domino's order.

"Where the hell is this bus at?"

His deep voice had you snapping from your drunken daydream of pizza and dad bods.

"Oh um..."

You're not quite sure where the bus is. Hopefully, it'd show soon. Your legs felt like a newborn deer's, no way would you be able to walk the seven and a half miles back to your apartment like this.

"Joel!"

Another voice has you and your new companion turning your heads. Another man, somehow a bit familiar in your drunk brain is approaching.

"What're you doin' man? You missed my singing."

"I heard enough." Joel huffs in annoyance

Oh, so this was the guy who was badly singing to Brittney Spears and Journey. He looked a bit more familiar though...this was the dude that had bumped into your earlier!

"Now if I'm too old to be goin' after college girls, then you're definitely too old, brother."

"I'm not...Not goin' after anyone. I'm waiting for the bus with her. Some creep was hitting on her at the bar, I'm keeping her safe." Joel groans at this man's comment.

So he wasn't interested? You felt your heart sink a bit. Of course, he wasn't interested. He had a kid for crying out loud.

Oh god, what if he had a wife? Were you daydreaming about a married man?

Your eyes jump to his left hand.

Ringless.

Well, at least you weren't fantasizing about being a homewrecker.

"The bus? It's past midnight. The bus stops running at 11:30." The new guy says, looking at his watch.

"Oh...um. I'll just go then." You say, standing up on unsteady legs. Looks like you're walking. You didn't have the money for a cab, so your legs were just going to have to tough this one out.

"Go? Go where?" Joel's friend scoffs

You ignore him, he's so weird.

"Tommy, stop it." Joel scolds

He sounds like such a dad as you laugh to yourself while smoothing your dress out.

"Do you want us to give you a ride?" Joel asks, standing up next to you

"No, I can manage the walk." You brush him off, trying to ignore the way he's so tall all of a sudden.

You were even wearing heels and he was bigger than you!

"I can call a cab," Joel suggests, watching the way your ankle nearly twists when you take a step.

"I don't have any money for one." You whimper, as the pain in your ankle shoots up your leg.

Fuck these heels. Fuck Amelia for ditching you for another bar. Fuck Joel had his stupid dad bod and tanned skin. Fuck the stupidly attractive mustache on his stupidly attractive face.

This always happened when you were drunk. First, your legs turned into literal Jello and then you'd get all weepy about nothing. At least you'd have seven miles to cry your eyes out. Hopefully, Loki would let you hold him when you got home.

"Let me give you a ride. Do you live on campus?" Joel asks his eyes widening at the tears that dribble down your face.

"I'm just gonna walk." You mumble and bush past him, forcing your legs into an unsteady match.

"That's like...an 8-mile walk," Tommy says from behind you, estimating the distance between here and the college.

"Actually seven and a half." You sass, not interested in his comments or his stupid aftershave that invaded your nose as you walked past him.

You're not entirely sure how you ended up here, in the back seat of a pick up truck while Joel drove you home. You mumbled your address to him and he'd somehow known immediately where you were living.

Hopefully, you weren't going to end up dead in a ditch tonight.

Joel watched as you rested your head against the window. He'd walked you to his truck after you got a few feet away from him before sitting down on the curb, tears running down your pretty face, mumbling something about a cat.

"Fuckin' college girls." Tommy had mumbled as he helped Joel buckle you into your seat

"Let's just get her home," Joel said

"Yeah before she turns the waterworks back on." Tommy sighed

Joel drives towards the shitty apartments they rent to college kids. Two blocks away he had once been working in a fancy new condo building, putting up drywall and laying flooring. There'd been talk about developing your area as well, but six months later the apartments of Oliver Avenue were still as shitty as ever.

Joel guaranteed you were getting ripped off by your landlord. Probably paying too much for someplace that had thin walls and bad heating. Sure enough, he was right, as he parked his trunk in front of a building that badly needed a makeover.

"Stay here." He tells Tommy who seems to be a few moments away from falling asleep in the passenger seat.

Joel pulls you from the backseat, shoving Sarah's soccer ball back under the seat when it rolls out and tries to escape.

"Alright, what floor?" Joel asks as you stand beside him, tears finally dried up.

You wordlessly begin to plod your way up the steps and murmur what sounds like a five to him.

Joel makes sure you get your door open and watches as a black cat greets you as you push the door open.

"Hi, baby." You coo at the cat, scooping him up. "Did you miss me?"

Joel feels his heart speed up as you sweet-talk your pet. He tries to banish the idea of you talking to him like that, carding your hands through his hair, rather than this little black cat with a green collar and golden bell around his neck.

"Thank you, Joel." You say as you spin around to face him

"No problem." He hums, "Glad I was able to help."

You smile at him as your damn cat meows loudly, breaking the trance you had on him.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Goodnight, Joel."

July 2003

The fourth of July was serious business in Austin. From mega barbeques to fireworks that put Magic Kingdom to shame, your sleepy little college town was transformed for America's birthday.

A much-needed breeze flows through the park as you sit on the blanket you'd found shoved at the back of your closet. Summer was brutal this year, and you were sure that the Texas heat wasn't making the wait for fireworks any easier.

Your parents had invited you back home to Pittsburgh this summer. But, you found yourself more interested in staying put in Austin. Your sleepy suburb town back home would always be there, no sense in spending your summer cooped up in your childhood room. At least here you could go out whenever you wanted.

"Dad, let's go! All the good spots are going to be taken!!"

A young girl's voice drifts across the park as you turn to watch her pull what must be her father along.

"Hold on, Sarah! You're gonna make me drop all this."

"Move faster then!"

Well, shit.

Joel Miller, the savior of drunk college girls, was here in the park, walking towards you.

Your eyes widen as you take him in. At least you know it wasn't just the alcohol talking, Joel Miller was just as devastatingly good-looking now as he was a month and a half ago when he drove you home from the bar.

"H-Hi." You awkwardly stammer as he passes by you, arms full with a small cooler and a big blanket.

"Hello." He says, quickly

The double take he does is almost comical as he looks at you.

"Sarah!" He calls after the girl, "Come back here!"

"Didn't think I'd ever see you again." You smile, standing up from your own spot

"Well, I do live around here." He says with a lopsided smile that makes him look a bit more boyish.

The girl, Sarah, returns to her father's side.

"Hi." She says a bit flatly, clearly annoyed her father has stopped his march across the park to what she had deemed the perfect spot.

"Hello." You greeted her, with a soft smile.

She was so cute, with dark curly hair and black shorts paired with a pretty green and blue t-shirt. Sparkly sandals caught your eye as she stepped a bit closer to Joel, looking up at him for an explanation.

Joel introduces you to her, "I helped her out a month ago, got her home safe."

You're beyond elated he's standing in front of you again. For a little bit you swore he was a hallucination you'd dreamt up in a drunken haze. A handsome Texan man who'd driven you home safely after rescuing you from some sleaze. Amelia had scolded you for hours when she found out you hadn't gotten his number.

"Super safe." You smile at him.

Joel feels a nervous sweat break out on his forehead. Here he was with his daughter ready to watch their fireworks like they always did each year and he was flirting with a girl like he was 17 again. He'd be lying if you weren't on his mind regularly. The way you'd been dressed that night haunted him at night as he lay in bed, your sweet voice filled his ears as he went about his days. He'd wondered if you only used that tone for your cat.

"You two want to sit with me? I'm not sure if these are the best seats in the house but I do have some popcorn I can share..." You trail off, giving a smile to Sarah who enthusiastically agrees at the idea of free food.

Joel settles next to you as Sarah talks your ears off about soccer practices and the pool party Joel took her to a few weeks ago. He watches as you listen intently to his daughter's words. So rarely does a woman he's interested in take time to talk to Sarah. Yet, here you were, in college and interacting with his daughter better than most grown women did.

"So how old are you?"

Joel nudges Sarah with his shoe, doesn't she know that's a rude question? He could've sworn he taught her better.

"I'm 23. 24 this August." You say

"Wow," Sarah says

You turn away for a moment, reaching for the bag of popcorn that sits behind you. Joel's eyes widen as he watches Sarah silently mouth to him,

"She's so old!"

If you were old, did that mean he was ancient? God, how old did his daughter view him as? He could've sworn 35 wasn't that bad. Maybe it was though...

"So, 23. You're graduating soon then, yeah?" Joel asked

"I wish." You sigh, "I took a gap year after high school, and then just couldn't find the right major for a bit. I'm technically on track to become a Physician Assistant but I dunno if it's right for me."

Joel nods, he knows the feeling, not knowing if what you're doing is right. He'd felt that way when Sarah was born, and then when her mother left them, and then every time Sarah was hurt or crying, or just not perfectly happy, Joel felt that way, unsure of himself.

"You'd make a great PA, Sweetheart." Joel genuinely says, placing a hand over yours

"Thanks." You say a bit flustered at the physical contact.

"Gross," Sarah comments at what's unfolding before her eyes.

"You're gross." Joel counters, not missing a beat to tease her.

Sarah sticks her tongue out at him in retaliation, and Joel does the same.

You spend the rest of your summer with the Millers. In between public pool trips, and catching fireflies in the backyard, you somehow end up entangled with Joel. Staying up on the couch beside him, watching movie after movie when Sarah drifted off into dreamland up in her bed.

Before you know it, Joel is picking you up for dates and meeting you at coffee shops to let you talk his ears off about whatever book you've picked up for the week.

You let Joel take your virginity on a humid August night. After sending Sarah off to her friend's house you let him pull you into his room and under the sheets.

Breathless and sweaty you rest your head on his chest.

"You okay?" Joel asks quietly, running a hand up and down your back

"Mmhm." You sigh dreamily

"Didn't hurt you or nothin'?" He asks

"I'm okay, Joel." You laugh

"Just checking." He mumbles

Joel looks a bit out of place as he sits on your couch. Sarah had a week of soccer camp and the two of you decided to spend it together. Loki jumps up on the cushion beside Joel and lets out a loud meow.

"Pet him." You suggest with a shrug

"He doesn't even like me." Joel huffs staring into your cats eyes

"You nearly sat on him the first time you were here." You remind Joel of his previous crime from a week ago.

"I thought he was a throw pillow." Joel defends himself, motioning to the many pillows you and Amelia had scattered around the apartment.

"You thought I had a green-eyed pillow that meowed?"

"I dunno what you women are into, you're all so confusing."

You let out a scoff before plopping down on the couch next to him, Loki climbing into your lap and purring as you scratch behind his ears.

"The only confusing one here is you, Joel Miller."

Tommy isn't as bad as you thought he was.

Scratch that, he's fantastic, pulling out old photos of Joel from over the years. You nearly piss yourself though when he whips out an old family album. A nine-year-old Joel stares back at you as you look at an old photo of him playing tee-ball.

"Look how cute you were!" You gasp as you run your fingers across the photograph

"Joel Miller, star tee-ball player!" Tommy teases his big brother.

You smile as you watch Joel's face turn red as you take in even more photographs of him as a kid, you even see his 10th-grade photo, yes the one where he has braces and the worst case of acne known to mankind.

By the time the Texas heat begins to ease off and the leaves begin to change colors, you're head over heels in love with Joel Miller. From the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, to the way he'd dance with you in the dead of the night while the refrigerator door hung open, the light reflecting off your bodies as you laughed in his arms.

Three months, such a short time, and yet so much had happened. You tried to focus on the Anatomy lesson your professor was talking about in front of you yet you found your mind occupied with something else. It was as if you had been possessed, nothing but Joel filled your mind as you scribbled your notes onto your notebook. Anatomy class be damned, you were going to go mad thinking of him like this.

Your birthday, August 29th rolled around faster than you thought it would. You hadn't seen Joel all week. Between your classes, Sarah's soccer and school, and Joel's contracting, you had only time to talk to him briefly on the phone.

You had reached out to Joel earlier today to invite him to a small birthday party Amelia had insisted on. Nothing special, just some pizza and cupcakes, a cheap beer or two.

But now, it was going on 10:30 and Joel was nothing but a whisper in the wind. Sadness weighed on your chest as you watched the front door, hoping for a knock that would signal his arrival.

"Hey...I think we should just go to bed..."Amelia suggests softly from her spot next to you.

"No, he's coming." You mumble sadly tears tickling your waterline,

You stare at the last cupcake that sits on the coffee table. It was meant to be for Joel. You had scooped it out of the box thinking about how nice the icing looked on it. You had wanted him to have the best one in the box, even if that meant your own was a little lopsided and missing sprinkles.

Amelia pulls you into her side, letting you rest your head on her shoulder. She gently wraps her arm around you and quietly says,

"It's supposed to be fun, turning 24..."

September 2003

Three days pass before you hear from Joel again. His voice on the other end of the phone call is paralyzing as your world comes crashing down. The phone beeps as the call ends and you stand at your kitchen counter in shock, shocked that he's ending it all like this, with a phone call.

"If we had been closer in age, maybe it would've been fine."

His words bounce around in your mind as you slam your phone down on the counter. Loki jumps from his spot on the windowsill meowing as you cross the room quickly.

You pulled your covers over your head, blocking out the world as you heard Amelia return from her ethics class.

"If we had been closer in age, maybe it would've been fine."

God, that made you want to die. What did he even think of you? That you were some wide-eyed college kid who just existed in limbo for him?

You spend the next week in bed, plagued with tears and anger as you curse Joel out at least 1000 times a day. The knock at your door and Amelia entering your room with a box has you startled.

"What's this?" You sniff

"UPS guy just left it at our front door." She says before setting it on the bed and leaving you again.

You cut the box open and find your things inside it. Little things you'd left at Joel's over the summer. Hair ties, a brush, deodorant, t-shirts, and sweaters, even a photograph of you, Sarah, and him at the aquarium is nestled between the pages of a book you kept on his nightstand to read to him before the two of you dozed off. The box holds your entire relationship as you dump it out on your bed.

The scent of Joel, masculine and inviting clings to your belongings just like the way it clings to your heart.

Your hands shift through the items again, the scarf you wore to Tommy's house is missing. You had left it there and Joel had promised to return it to you.

"Who wears a scarf in Texas?" Joel snorts

"I do! And you better give it back, Miller." You groan

"I'll get it to you, sweetheart. Don't worry about it."

You wonder what has become of your scarf now. Perhaps it's sitting in a drawer in his room, nestled among his belongings, looking horribly out of place. Or maybe it's stuck in his truck, shoved under the seats under the pretense that it would make its way back to you one day.

You wonder what has become of Joel now. Perhaps he's lying in his own bed right now, thinking of you, your scarf wrapped around his hands, smelling of you and all his failures.

You wonder if this love affair bruised him the way it did you.

God, you had so many regrets.

December 2003

Cold air fills your lungs as your feet ache beneath you. Snow gently fell down as you sighed quietly. The walk into your hometown was no joke. The shitty beater car you'd stolen had died about 50 miles ago, leaving you vulnerable and scared.

Loki meowed from his crate as you quietly walked along. You shushed him and dropped a few treats behind the bars of the crate. He was going to need food soon if you intended to stay alive, your traveling companion wasn't known for holding his tongue when it came to hunger. The last thing you needed was to have an infected try to kill you because of your pet.

It had been nearly 5 days on the road now. and You'd managed to drive from Austin to Pittsburgh all on your own armed with a shotgun and a map you'd found in the glove compartment.

The past few months had been spent in Joel's basement. After things started going south outside your apartment building, you stuffed Loki into his carrier and filled a two big duffle bags with food and clothes for you and supplies for your cat before managing to somehow sneak into the parking deck and jump into your car. Amelia had never returned from her boyfriends house that night. You knew you couldn't go looking for her though, his home was nearly 25 miles away while Joel's was only 10.

It was mid-morning on September 27th when you reached Joel's place. The other neighborhood homes were empty and you nearly threw up at the sight of Mrs. Adler's mother lying face down on the driveway.

Your heart sinks when you discover Joel and Sarah are already gone. You hadn't expected them to be here yet, a part of you had hoped they'd be. It was Joel's birthday yesterday, you wondered how he'd spent his last normal day. Knowing him, he'd probably been at work all day.

You barricade the doors before slipping into the basement. Joel had spent time finishing it so it was nice for Sarah's sleepovers. You let Loki out before returning upstairs to bring down every nonperishable food item the home had to offer.

And so, there you sat with your cat, in your ex's basement, willing for him to magically appear and tell you everything was going to be okay.

March 2017

The Pittsburgh QZ was fucked. Royally fucked. The loud explosion from some truck filled your ears as you zipped your backpack shut. Loki let out a meow of protest as he disappeared in your bag. He was nearly 15 and his attitude about backpack travel wasn't improving.

You stick to the back alleys as you work towards finding an out. A decent-sized hole in a fence catches your eye and you take your chances, better than getting blown up by the Fireflies or FEDRA.

You're about 4 miles away from the carnage when a sizeable group catches your eye. They must've gotten out just like you.

A man, David, shares a can of flavorless chili with you and you sit on the ground beside him. But, the more you listen to him talk, you can't help but think he's a total nutcase. You thank him for the chili and the 8 cans of chicken noodle soup he's shared with you and decline his offer to join the group.

"We have so much to offer." He says in a soft voice, gesturing to the people scattered around eating and talking amongst themselves.

"I'll stick to just him, thanks though." You say petting Loki's head as you pull him from your backpack to place the cans of food inside.

"Suit yourself."

April 2017

You had dozed off. A rookie mistake to make in the apocalypse.

They had been on you before you knew what was happening. With nothing but a knife to your name to protect yourself, you were hopelessly outgunned.

"Look at what we have here." A deep voice booms, "A girl wondering in my woods, must be my lucky day."

A smelly man stands in front of you, and about 8 other men are circled around you. You squeeze your eyes shut as he lets a dirty finger trail over your face.

"How pretty."

A loud hiss cuts his next sentence. Loki, you brave boy, has climbed out of your backpack where he had been taking a nap. His back has hunched up and you don't miss the way his dark black fur is bristling in the low light of the sun disappearing behind the trees.

You aren't even able to try to arrange a deal for your baby as the man pulls a large knife from his belt and carelessly throws it at your cat.

A horrible screech from Loki fills your ears as the man coos at you and tells you it'll all be okay.

"We've got dinner boys!" The man who has killed your only friend in the whole world exclaims.

Your eyes slam shut as red blood begins to seep into the fabric of your backpack. The man says something about being a provider but you're too focused on choking back the tears that are forming in your eyes.

Hours later, you're tied to a tree stump, your arms behind your back. Your captors present you with a warm soup of sorts. Canned carrots and potatoes float in a clear broth but it's what sits in the center of the bowl that turns your stomach. What's left of your Loki is now being devoured by the men.

You can't do it. You had been starving, unable to catch anything for days. but you can't do it.

"Fine, don't eat." The leader and cat killer huffs as he runs his hands across your chest in an unpleasant matter, "You're going to wish you had though when we're done with you."

June 2017

The moon is your only light as you steal away into the night. Your heart is pounding but you can't or rather won't look back.

Your escape is credited to a man named Adam. He had always been softer to you than the rest. Less brutal than the others when he bent you over a tree stump and forced himself into your unwilling body, cooing in your ears about how good you felt even though you were dry.

Softer and easy to fool when you batted your eyelashes at him so he'd give you a second serving of the deer they'd killed. Gentle when he cleaned whatever wounds the others inflicted on you for their sick pleasure.

Tonight, you had used his softness against him. Crying and whimpering when he tied you to a tree, saying the restraints were too tight. He'd of course taken pity on you and loosened them before kissing your forehead and walking off to sleep.

It had been easy to slip out of the ropes thanks to Adam. You stole his backpack and stuffed it with as much deer jerky as you could get your hands on before snatching a gun off Adam's unknowing form.

Now, you were stumbling through the night, hoping to put as much distance between you and the men as possible.

Nearly three weeks had passed and you were still somehow free. The men hadn't found you and you were deep into the wilderness. Your freedom was something you had yearned for since the moment Loki had died. Yet, here you were, starving and wasting away because you couldn't kill anything to eat.

You drag your body into an old concrete building that was being used to control some form of dam. You rested your head on your backpack, thinking of how far you'd come.

Strangely though, you thought of your past. Fuzzy images of a college classroom came into your brain. Amelia's long blonde hair and the way she'd style it perfectly each day. Texas summers, filled with heat and perfectly seasoned barbeque.

What you wouldn't do for a big plate of ribs right now.

And then the curly hair of a little girl is dancing around your mind. Her warm laughter fills your mind as you think of Sarah Miller. With her sparkle filled sandals and her strange interest in gore filled horror films. You wondered if she was still out there somewhere. Perhaps stuck in some QZ with Joel.

Joel.

You think about Joel. You're sure you've thought of him more in the past three months than you did your whole relationship. Every night when one of your captors, or sometimes multiples had you every which way, you'd try to think about other things. Those other things often divulged into Joel and how gentle he'd been with you. Oh, how you missed his warm arms and soft southern twang. Hou you yearned for him even now. Your only real relationship experience was something you just couldn't let go.

When you were finally found by Maria, you were nearly ready for death. Brain filled with delusional thoughts of the past and starving, she had hoisted you up on her horse and rode off to Jackson, praying this mystery woman wouldn't die on the way there.

Winter 2023

You nearly fall over when his tired eyes meet yours. The loud voice of a young girl fills your ears.

"Do you two know each other?"

You push the stable door open to get a better look at the man who stands before you. For so many years you had pictured the man you dated for a few months, not trying to imagine the way the end of the world might've changed him. Your mind can't reconcile the Joel you once knew and the one before you.

For starters, he looks so tired. Graying curly hair sits atop his head, a salt and pepper beard adorns his face. Even his frame has changed, the winter coat he wears hides it but you can tell he's become riddled with muscle to take on the harsh outside world. The only thing that seems the same is his mustache, somehow untouched by time.

"Joel, wait up! There's something I gotta tell ya!"

Tommy's loud voice carries from wherever he is and you want to laugh at the younger Miller brother. Of course, he was going to try to intercept your meeting. Too bad he was too slow.

"Joel? Hello? Do you know her?" The girl asks again.

You glance at her, she can't be more than 14 or 15. Her pale skin is rosy against the cold Wyoming winter. She looks at you, probably for an answer since all Joel is doing is staring at you, most likely in shock.

Eventually, though, the man of the hour opens his mouth to speak,

"No, I don't know her."

This is my first time writing for Joel, hope you enjoyed :)

Next Part

Comment to be added to the tag list. This tag list is not chapter by chapter, I carry the tags over to each part.

Tags:

@lunaticgurly @orcasoul

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #sarah miller #ellie williams #tommy miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #fanfic #joel tlou #joel miller x you

342 notes · View notes

bigcats-birds-and-books · 4 months ago

Text

Books of 2025: OVERGROWTH by Mira Grant.

Plant-astically delighted to report that I received an ARC via Tor (Nightfire) and Goodreads! I love Seanan McGuire's writing, and my first foray into her work as Mira Grant was INTO THE DROWNING DEEP, which was phenomenal (think all the best parts of Michael Crichton--the Science, the Speculation, the Consequences--but women and queer people are Entire Characters)(we love a good sci-fi horror paced like a thriller in this house).

The premise of OVERGROWTH is basically "the pod people are coming, they've been warning you about it for decades, and no one has been listening." Stasia, our main character and (first person, past tense) narrator, has spent her whole life telling people that she's "the vanguard of an invading species of intelligent alien plants," which is confirmed via a broadcast from space.

And the chapters are time-stamped "X days pre-invasion."

Yeah.

This book was an absolute delight and all around a lot of fun--the tone was the perfect balance of funny and heartfelt and relatable and dread-inducing, and it very much read like a love letter to the genre with lots of cross-pollinated references (Seymour? Little Shop of Horrors? War of the Worlds? Jurassic Park? Hello????).

It was also very much a book about the distinction between being human and being a person, and about alienation and belief and trust and friendship, and about queerness and neurodivergence and belonging. And, y'know, mimetic plant aliens, in myriad shades of green.

I was initially surprised by the choice to tell this story in past tense and first person (because DROWNING DEEP was patently not that, and most of what I've read of McGuire hasn't been either), but it turns out that was The Only Correct Way To Do It: For most of the book, Stasia didn't have the full picture of what was going on, but her partial understanding + our readerly perspective from inside her head carried both the relatability and the horror. It was a really interesting and cool way to do an alien invasion book (from the perspective of the invader's plant)(ahaha, botanical pun). Also, the narrative frame made me pterodactyl Hunter shriek my way through the last two pages, which. OOF. WHAT A RIDE!!! I'll be rotisserie-ing over the late-game twist (page 396/465 in my copy) and the ending for a long time.

I loved that the aliens felt alien and all too much like people; I loved Toni and Hunter; I loved the biology and worldbuilding; I loved the botanical quips ("salad bar" is, in fact, the best possible term of address to an alien invader, no notes); I loved the shady government agencies and unethical experimentation; I loved the "we are the monsters you have made". I stayed up way past my bedtime several times for this, and it was worth every second. Do recommend, check this out in May!!

Half-assed spoilery content warnings under the cut (I'm not good at these because I have a weird concept of what necessitates a warning, so please do NOT consider these complete in any way shape or form):

on-page toddler death (graphic, in prologue, signposted with "look away"); transphobia (toward beloved trans character); spider (alien); bug-adjacent (alien); vampirism/blood drinking; other usual horror/alien invasion type tropes etc. (body horror? do people tag body horror?? i was an animorphs kid i'm sorry i don't know what a normal amount of body horror is but i love it all)

#books #books of 2025 #overgrowth #mira grant #book photos #arc #love winning tor giveaways tbh this always ends well for me!!#Y'ALL THIS WAS REALLY GOOD I ENJOYED THE HELL OUT OF IT AND MYSELF #release date: may 6 2025 #(an excellent date if i do say so myself)#(what a great birthday treat to meee)#forreal this was so much fun and very geeky and nerdy and heartfelt and did i say FUN??#wow i had such a good time #it's very much still a horror book don't get me wrong #deeply fucked up and weird and funny #therefore: I LOVED IT #side eyes The Rising on my shelf harder now #(i've been saving it for when i revisit my zombie story okay)#(but maybe. i will read it. this year. instead.)#so far both mira grant books i've read have been BANGERS #i want this to be out so i can shriek about the late-game reveal and the frame narrative more out loud they were so good #love the aliens too #love green shit

205 notes · View notes

thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 6 months ago

Note

one thing that I love about your eleutherophobia fics (among many many things) is that, despite being free of a Yeerk haunting his mind, Tom has now unwittingly replaced that with a reader listening to every thought and memory that he cares to share with us through the first person point of view. He’d be mortified if he ever broke the fourth wall ;)

thanks for your lovely writing and blog! definitely part of what’s keeping me going in these very weird times

Thank you! And yeah, I think a lot about the unique narration style in Animorphs, because I'm trying to imitate it. There's always an awareness that the characters are telling a story — the books open with the narrator going "I can't tell you my last name", and Marco especially will use imperatives like "don't tell anyone I said that." Clearly you is the reader, and each of the kids is meant to be aware that the reader is there.

There are some fascinating hints (handwaving Jake's line in #53) about who each narrator considers their audience. The Chronicles all state outright that each is an account of oneself (X) consciously crafted for one particular audience: Elfangor's talking to Tobias, Aldrea and Dak to Seerow Jr., Visser One to the Council (and Eva), and Toomin to Rachel. Ax says that he's narrating for his fellow andalites, so that they can better understand Earth (#8). Jake implies he's narrating for his great-grandkids: "I'll need to buy a footlocker" (#31). Tobias at one point implies he's talking to his imagined therapist (#23), but I also think you could argue that he's talking to the Ellimist (#13) or his dad (#33).

The others are a little trickier. Cassie seems to have Jake's same educational bent, but I'd argue she's trying to teach about the biology rather than the ethics of the war. Marco is probably talking to a kid his own age who thinks they're reading a sci fi novel. He's defensive ("call me Mr. Ruthless" as he feels empathy for baby seals), he's misdirecting ("now you know how I got a blowhole" instead of clarifying his role in the war), and he's desperate to impress ("I'm slightly not tall"). But he also references the reader "vegging out" and "watching TV." Rachel? I'd argue Rachel is talking to her own adult self. She doesn't care what others think of her, but she cares a lot about living with herself. She's trying to define who she is and who she wants to be, more than anyone else on the team.

#animorphs #animorphs spoilers #(oblique)#aximili esgarrouth isthill #jake berenson #tobias fangor #cassie animorphs #marco animorphs #rachel berenson #narration #giving an account of oneself #meta-fiction #character voice

254 notes · View notes

one-in-a-million-fishsticks · 5 months ago

Text

Do you think that Trevor and Sypha ever started adding information about Alucard to the Belmont library?

Sypha for academic purposes and Trevor for funsies.

Like Sypha suggested that they write a book on dhampirs just in case they ever needed something to reference back to for the sake of Alucard's own self preservation, because almost none of the town healers knew heads from tails about his biology, and Trevor just started sneaking in really silly notes one day.

Like:

"Can occasionally become moody when hungry, teasing not generally recommended in times of famine" is scribbled haphazardly in Trevor's chicken-scratch signature just below Sypha's complicated essay about the many negative side effects that prolonged starvation can have on a creature like Alucard, and how they found out about these health risks the hard way during an extended monster hunt gone wrong.

Just really silly shit intertwined with actual heartfelt care, because neither Trevor nor Sypha want their descendants to be uneducated on the needs of their immortal bestie/partner. It's their way of looking after him, even from beyond the grave.

#castlevania #netflix castlevania #castlevania games #adrian fahrenheit tepes #alucard castlevania #alucard #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #the belmont clan #the belmont hold #trevor belmont's family library #This would make a fun little fic.

246 notes · View notes

girlystories · 2 years ago

Text

Being the Bowers gang girl

*ೃ::Both platonic & romantic headcanon

– pairings: various x reader

addition warnings: swearing, bullying, very few depictions of sexism, few derogatory names, toxicity, abusive parenting.

words: 2.6k

this was entirely inspired by z0mbiekittyy, so please check them out!

Meeting/joining the gang

you were at first the quiet, loner girl who kept to herself, only having a few acquaintances, with very few friends.

it wasn't because you were a loser. only the opposite. everyone wanted to become friends with you or get to know you in some way but you never let anyone get close.

everyone had heard of you of course. when they realized you were different they stopped trying to read you or make their mind about you.

that was until greta keene couldn't get enough. she hated the attention you got. so one day she started spreading rumors about you.

it was relatively easy, since no one knew you enough to disprove them in any way. one word went to another and everyone in town now started talking shit about you.

despite that, you didn't care. you had your mind somewhere else. popularity and school drama weren't your thing.

you didn't mind hearing the remarks spat at you when you wandered the halls or when you were in class. you were completely and utterly unbothered.

word got fast that it even reached the all too feared bowers gang.

you were making your way to biology class when you were shoved against a locker, all your books falling one by one on the floor.

"well well well, if it isn't derry's most favored whore", henry was the first to indulge in the act.

he was followed by vic, or – as he liked to refer to him as his 'right-man', "hey, hank. why haven't we ever tried to mess with her before?"

you tried to back up slowly, but your back hit against another frame. when you looked up your eyes met with a pair of green ones, followed by an unsettling smile.

it seemed like no one noticed what was happening – or in better words, no one gave a shit about what was happening.

"dont worry, [name], we're not gonna kill you, jeez," belch revealed.

that made henry groan and turn his head towards his friend. "shut up."

patrick, still behind you, held onto your shoulders, which was very easy due to his height. "or we will, you will find out soon."

"both of you shut up," henry silenced them before it could escalate to something else. "so, how about you come with us for a ride? ya'know, get some air n' stuff."

"you mean like skipping school?", you asked.

"why? are you scared? I'm sure your reputation is as shitty as it can get. can't get any worse than that. even ours is better."

you shrugged, and just decided to follow them. just as you sat at your seat – between vic and patrick, you couldn't make out the read ahead of you, as they were driving recklessly. where you were, you hadn't the slightest clue.

they were laughing and howling, sometimes shouting at the drives passing by.

you? well, you were scared shitless. you clung onto your seat belt, and holding back the urge to start shrieking.

after a while you got used to it and had to admit deep down it was kinda fun.

when you stopped, you realized you were at a junkyard. they prepared a fire when the sun began to set down and opened some bottles of beer.

as you all circled around the fire you began to talk about whatever. you also found yourself to... tolerate them. or, better yet, even enjoy their company.

before you knew it, little by little you hang more and more with them, slowly becoming one of them. it was the first time you were a part of something. they felt like home and you could trust them, despite the hardships and more extreme emotional outbursts.

your reputation got even worse but you didn't care. you had found your people.

Activities

other than hanging out in the junkyard, you guys do other stuff (of course).

it's like you all live together, while you also don't. frequent sleepovers, meet-ups on each other houses take place, ect.

vic once convinced you all to go camping a few towns away. despite being the one who recommended the idea, he ended up despicing it. on the other hand, patrick who hated the idea ended up having the most fun. scaring vic by hiding bugs in his tent and pretending he was hearing bears or wolves. belch had enough and kept demanding they'd stop fighting, while you kept laughing at vic's reactions everytime. you never went camping again.

every morning belch picks everyone in order, first henry, then patrick, then you, and lastly – the sleeping queen himself: vic.

then, you make a stop at the local diner, everyone choosing their own specific order that the waitress had already memorized.

unless vic had a hangover from the party the day before, he wouldn't stop complaining about who-knows-what.

sometimes, when you were really bored, you'd go out of town in search of abandoned places, owning them for a while until someone else found them and ruined them almost immediately.

it was expected and common sense you'd show up at ever party. then you all would split for a while but meet up in order to leave. belch was in priority not to drink or get high until anyone else got a license. that's what you all agreed on but that possiblility seemed unlikely.

at school you avoided bullying anyone, but giving up on trying to stop them from terrosizing another kid since it was the only thing they ignored you on. the only time you fought back was to defend yourself. not that you needed to, but because you wanted them to know that you weren't as incompetent as you seemed.

when you had the change you'd shoot empty beer bottles with henry's dad's gun.

Henry Bowers

you and henry would share your deep wounds together. him about his alcoholic and insane old man, and you about your hard time fitting in, both in family and friends.

you would joke around, but to an extent. if you said the wrong thing he'd refuse to speak to you for days, weeks or maybe even months – depending how much it affected him. if he was too stubborn, vic would have to somehow find a way to talk him out of his bitchy attitude.

despite him trying to seem hard-shelled, deep down he was very sensitive. he knew you knew that, and he hated it. it was the only thing he hated about you except the fact that tend to be pushy sometimes.

he had never cried in front the guys, but one day he couldn't hold back when he was only with you. it happened only once, but he still feels humiliated about it and hopes you'd never bring it up. he made you swore to never tell anyone.

butch seemed to like you for a reason, only approving of you from the gang. he hated the rest. when you find yourself at their house, he'd warmly greet you.

at first he and patrick made a lot of sexist joke about you. later when he noticed you went silent you, he started using them less, only saying them once or twice.

always offers you cigarettes, and makes sure to buy your favorites.

sometimes (when he's not in a shitty mood) he pays for your food when you go at the diner without saying a word or giving you the chance to convince him otherwise.

all good things considered, let's be honest here cuz we all know he has more negative that good qualities.

for example; gets jealous super easily and gets mad at you for it, making you apologize for something that isn't your fault.

NEVER admits he's wrong. ever.

when you have a different opinion he tells you to shut up or straight up threatens you.

needs a lot of attention, while also can't have on his tail all the time, making him indecisive and confusing.

sometimes doesn't realize you need help and leaves you deal with your problems alone while you clearly do need some sort of hand.

still, you always have a way to be together again, unable to keep any distance between you both. on weekends you usually take the bus to his house, helping him with the choses around the farm.

Vic Criss

you and vic already knew each other from middle school. you were in the same class and he used to help you with homework.

then, when kids started growing up through that phase everybody did about that sort of rivalry against girls and boys. because of that, your 'friendship' fell apart.

you weren't really friends back then but you could've been.

he never admitted it but he always stared at you from away, wishing you would somehow start talking to each other again.

he was the one who convinced henry to approach you that day. the idea popped into his mind just as those rumors started going around.

he was glad henry agreed. even though he always did, he was anxious of saying no. later, he lied to you, saying it was henry's idea instead and that first interaction you had with him was henry's way of being kind (despite calling you a 'whore').

you and vic were close, in a different way you were with the others. he understood you better and he was very good at telling advice. he was also fun gossiping with. definitely the best when having a sleepover. the others found him annoying or bitchy about it, but with you he was himself.

he also was kinda subtle about his true personality, not showing his true small but intresting quirks only you knew.

speaking of gossiping, almost every weekend he crashed at your place, the excuse being his siblings giving him a headache, while his mom being 'a pain in the ass'.

everytime he had a problem with the others you would be the first to know. he was still henry's 'right-man', but sometimes henry was, well... henry.

at parties he'd get wasted and you'd be 100% sure he'd be found in the bathroom pucking his guts out.

you guys are so close he would be showering while you were doing your business at the toilet, gossiping about everything single detail.

still sometimes helps you with school after some persuation, but keeps reminding you that 'he is not your tutor'.

loves braiding your hair when you're hanging out, especially during class when it's something super boring (even for him).

Patrick Hockstetter

you were honestly pretty scared of patrick at first, and most definitely the only one from the gang who gave you the creepes.

the alligations weren't few, to say the least, and at first you kept your distance from him.

he also didn't try to make a move on you, which you found stange, yet grateful. maybe henry threatened him or something. either way you were considerably on good terms with patrick.

one day at school, while you were waiting for the other three to come at your usual spot during break, he offered you a cigarette. you received it with gratitude, since it was rare for an offer coming from patrick. he even stricked up a conversation, which was... maybe a bit thought provoking.

then he smirked – that one charismatic he wore when you would stop being able to read his mind. he was like a puzzle, but most pieces were missing or switched with incorrect ones. "are the rumors true?", he asked, closing his zippo with a 'click' after he light your cigarette.

"i dont think that you care if they're true or not," you answered back, the tobacco filling your lungs with nicotine.

clouds of smoke escaped his nostrils with each chuckle. "maybe."

on your ride home Black Sun Morning by Screaming Trees was playing from the radio and you found yourself singing alongside patrick. he rose his brows, "you know 'em?"

"duh, of course."

the next day on the ride to school, instead of gossiping with vic you ended up having a deep conversation with patrick about music. you never imagined that you'd be having a conversation about art with him of all people.

since then, you hit it off well. he stopped using sexist comments as well, and even attempted physical contact at the diner, brushing his fingers against your hair. when he realized you let him or try to stop him, he smiled to himself.

in the end you were usually seen together, you sitting on his lap during breaks or at the gym stands, in the car or diner. he would wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head on your shoulder. it was making the others sick.

sometimes you attempted to help him with homework, but he only agreed so you could just hangout. he wasn't really interested in attending college. the thing he was good at was certainly playing the guitar. both bass and lead guitar. vic jokes about him making a band but it something told you he didn't view it as a light joke.

one day he invited you to his house to show you his vinyls and discs. that's when you met his mother and was pretty surprised to find out she was vietnamese. he made sure to never speak vietnamese around you or the others.

when meeting you he became less... interested at the fridge at the junkyard, viewing it less and less. maybe therapy was starting to work out? even for a tiny bit.

extremely protective of you, especially at parties. makes sure to keep an eye out even though you wouldn't know it.

Belch Huggins

belch was the most chill and the most independent one of the gang. aways making sure everything was in check and going smoothly. it was no surprise he was super welcome to you and tried to make you at ease the first few weeks, asking you if you were okay or needed a ride home.

is a gentleman, of course. doesn't tolerance any disrespect towards you, no matter how small it may seem to you.

offeres to pay for you when going out, no matter how many times you don't let him.

one time you both got so drunk you couldn't stop laughing; your bellys hurting and your eyes filled with tears while your faces were bright red. it made henry mad (as usual) but it's a memory you'd never forget. you had no way to get back home, though.

on fridays you watch him play basketball, sitting at the stands, and smoking and encouraging him. sometimes vic or patrick came too, but it was very rarely.

he offers you the ball but you immediately decline, being reminded of the day the ball hit you in the face after you missed your shot.

you requested him to teach you how to drive, which was a bad idea honestly. at first you didn't understand his instructions at all, but when he asked you if you had any questions you lied saying 'no'. after that instead of stepping on going forward you accidentally went backwards, almost crashing his beloved trams-am that he named 'daisy'. then you turned the wheel too far, almost falling at a ditch before he saved you two.

swore that you'd never get a license in your life and forbid you anywhere near the wheel, not even the passengers seat.

his dad owes a workshop, fixing cars. he helped too, supporting him in any way he could. you also helped him here and there while he taught you the basics and answered any questions you had.

he promised that he'd let you fix a car entirely on your own without his help. he said he'd also let you keep it for free.

you have a drawer contained only of belch's clothes. at first you'd ask him to try his sweatshirts on. then you'd complain you were cold and he'd sigh, saying you could give it back another day. but you never did.

you loved it when he gave you biggyback rides. his, especially. he could never refuse, despise how tired he was.

#:girlystories #:girlystoriess #[🦢]#it headcanons #it x reader #bowers gang x reader #bowers gang #henry bowers x reader #henry bowers #patrick hocksetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #victor criss x reader #victor criss #belch huggins x reader #belch huggings #it fanfiction #it 2017 #it chapter one #headcanons

2K notes · View notes

hobisfavoritespritecan · 1 year ago

Note

Hey,

First of all, I absolutely adore your writing style and in general your stories (especially the Hannibal ones). Could you please write one, where Hannibal is overly possessive, because he thought his wife got too close to Chilton at one of his dinner parties? And to end it all of there is smut. (If you are comfortable with that).Thank you for considering

Close Call

Hannibal Lecter X Reader

⚠️ Warnings: Over possessiveness on Hannibal's part, slight angst, swearing, mentions of blood and wounds, sociopathic and manipulative tendencies, uhh first time writing smut so hopefully it's okay (it's fairly light) ⚠️

I also didn't read through this again and edit it, so I apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors!

Hannibal finds himself somewhat outraged at an overly confident Chilton getting too close to his wife. No matter, he'll just have to remind the two of you of what's his.

Dinner parties were nothing short of extravagant when it came to Hannibal Lecter's craft.

The wines were paired with the delicacies adorning the plates on the mahogany table; everything had its own respective place, down to the last spoon and fork on each intricately folded napkin. There was, of course, the smell wafting through the corridors of the Lecters' home, signifying the delicious meal being prepared in the kitchen and acting as bait to those mingling in the living room as they awaited the call to be seated. From your perspective, the table had to be crafted to perfection so that the party full of rich good-for-nothings had no complaints of the events of the night. Of course, you adored your husband's cooking, but less so you enjoyed the company he chose. Intelligence wasn't something that came from the accumulation of degrees and the bragging of doing so- in your opinion- but rather came from the passion associated with the understanding of others and their natural environments. In other words, conversations of nonsensical retellings of the rise to power and gathering of wealth that these particular guests had were of no interest to you. These people spoke of books on law and work projects as though they've forgotten entirely what it means to express humanity: experience.

But you were ever so careful to express your opinion on the subject of what it means to be human. Although you acknowledged your differing perspective, you didn't want to diminish the perspectives of those who might only know of the desires associated with "book smarts," and not what you referred to as "experience points." These two things could coexist, but it was often that a person leaned heavier towards either side. You still had more to learn about the balance of these, but alas, that is the human condition.

Hannibal loved you for this.

Being someone so intensely driven towards the path of psychology and law, it was refreshing being married to someone who expressed opposition to having that be the basis of every conversation. He loved a good conversation on written words and philosophers and mathematical expressions, but he loved even more to have someone in his life that kept him his understanding of biology and the preservation of his humanity. With his- er- hobby, as some would refer to it as- it became difficult to maintain this humanistic approach. These dinner parties served more as an obligatory social preservation to his image, so as not to be caught with his peculiar hobby.

And the culinary arts were his escape, anyways. A win-win except for the fact you'd be bored out of your mind talking to some of these people, he knew. Nevertheless, you had a polite smile etched onto your face wearing very presentable attire. You were a master at code-switching, it seemed, replacing your usually laid-back and outgoing personality with a more hoity-toity, reserved aura.

You had on a slightly more revealing outfit; a dress so navy it almost seemed black under any lighting that wasn't direct candlelight. This dress had been cut just above the knees with an off-shoulder neckline, exposing the very top of your chest and the beginning of your upper thighs. It was classily paired with silver earrings gifted to you by your husband, and a half up-do with your precariously crafted curls threatening to spill out of the fastened hairclip from behind. Hannibal had expressed just how lovely you'd looked as he helped you with your zipper earlier, placing a hemline of kisses to your collarbone.

He wasn't the only one who'd had this realization dawn on them during the night, however. A bright-eyed Dr. Chilton who'd received nothing short of a pity-invite, found himself drawing away from the conveniently placed appetizers to the lavish chairs facing the fireplace where you sat. He silently waited for your conversation to conclude before he decided to sweep in and take the woman's place on your right, finishing the glass of brandy in his hand before doing so.

"(Y/N)," He almost seemed exasperated, as if he were already slightly drunk, "A pleasure."

He reached out his hand to you in an attempt to get you to shake it as an overly friendly gesture, acknowledgement to his presence. You proceeded to smile at him instead, as you'd become familiar to his intentions.

"Hello, Dr. Chilton, how are you?"

His face flushed as he withdrew his hand from your space, opting to rest it against his leg as he sunk further into his chair, getting more comfortable. He was definitely drunk and if not drunk, then the far side of tipsy. You already didn't care for the guy much, so this chance encounter was a hinderance in your eyes before conversational topics even arose.

"You know, I never understood the drab curtains you chose for the interior of your living room, Mrs. Lecter. They block out all of the sunlight." He began, eyeing the bottle of scotch being poured out by another guest to the left of your chair. His eyes seemed to be glazed over as he spoke, however, the dimly lit fireplace seemed to cast some light back into them. His suit of choice was a corduroy one. The heavy material of the fabric already making him break out in a slight sweat.

Grimacing, you feign another smile as you fully acclimate yourself to the conversation at hand. You tell yourself to remember your polite flattery, but honestly with the way Dr. Chilton was, you knew he would take any sort of attention to his character the wrong way.

"Yes, that was the way we intended them to be, doctor. Have you ever been to our home during the daytime? It's not as drab as you may have perceived it to be."

Dr. Chilton had been coming onto you for quite some time now. Despite knowing you were wed and the many implications of your marriage you'd spoken about, he still managed to hold onto the hope that maybe one day something would spark between the two of you. It wouldn't. It hadn't. His blatantly disrespectful comments about yours and Hannibal's relationship were starting to burrow under your skin and take root in an uncomfortable fashion. Part of you felt bad for the man, another part wanted to sock him in the face.

Respectably, of course.

"Perhaps not. Maybe I spoke out of turn." He claimed, uneasily moving about in his chair despite his initial comfortability at the beginning of your dialogue. Maybe if you kept with the slight I-don't-like-you innuendos, then maybe he would be drunk enough to give it a rest and would return to his normal self come morrow.

"Maybe." You agree, taking a sip from your glass of Chardonnay. It was almost dinnertime. You could hold out until then, couldn't you?

"You know," Chilton began, staring deep into the fire and allowing a hushed sigh to escape your lips in anticipation of another redundant comment, "I used to set fires in Uni all the time. Its a miracle I graduated with any degree at all with the amount of trouble I used to get into as a boy."

Pause. Was there finally something worthwhile to discuss with this man?

"Really? And the occasion was...?" You asked, trying to direct the topic back to this small bombshell the Doctor had just dropped in your presence. Experience points were far more interesting to talk about than a poor understanding of the "48 Laws of Power," which was the last conversation you'd had.

He seemed to perk up in his chair realizing that you'd finally taken something that left his mouth with interest. "None, we were just playing with matches and grew bored. Only got caught because the wind carried the flames back to our dorm which almost set alight." He smiled and for a moment, you could see the memory replaying through those glossy eyes of his. You felt included, as if you'd been there yourself, watching the growing light of the flames dance around the edges of the matches you were playing with.

As if on cue, your husband's hand was gently but firmly placed on your shoulder from behind. You knew instantly it was him because of the wafting smell of his woodsy cologne and the wine he was drinking infiltrating your nose. His grip on you was polite but there was an edge to it, an unfamiliar one at that. Was something wrong?

Turning around, you see his darkened glare towards Chilton in the chair next to you. His matching dark navy suit making him look all the more professional and intimidating in this light; if you were Chilton you'd have run far far away from the glare Hannibal had. He seemed to pay no mind, however, eyes still focused on you until your husband broke the silence:

"Dinnertime."

It was at that moment that you noticed all the other guests had made their way to the kitchen and the three of you were the only ones in the living room. How long had you been talking to the doctor for? Hannibal's repressed anger suddenly made sense.

Walking to the kitchen, you were in awe at the sight before you. Hannibal had really put his all into tonight, and it showed. The plates were nothing short of art with the first course on display with accompanying sauces and garnish that turned them into something out of a museum painting. The entire get-up was something out of the Renaissance itself; everything in its perfect place. Hannibal stood at the head of the table, glass in hand as he prepared to make a toast to progress the night's dinner.

"I would like to thank you all for coming out tonight."

A collection of smiles and exchanged glances ensued, everyone pleased with their invite.

"Amongst this crowd are the most intellectual and inspiring people I've had the pleasure of getting to become familiar with. You're all of high accomplishments and achievements and I would like to thank each of you, individually, with a meal that encapsulates such dedication shown by you all."

Your husband then smiled at you and raised his glass.

"I would also like to thank my lovely wife, with whom I share this simple but joyous life with."

There was a hint of something there, something alongside the adoration he expressed for you on the daily. There was a twinge of that anger once more, but could it really be directed towards your conversation with Chilton? It seemed so clear to you that your husband surpassed the former in every way possible: intelligence and compassion, hell, down to the formal attire he adorned himself with daily. There was no way he would feel threatened by another man so unruly.

"Likewise." You said, tilting your glass up to the ceiling in acknowledgement of his kind and respectable words.

"Once more to reiterate, MY wife and I spent a long time on this meal so I hope you all enjoy it." He smiled a forced grin and directed his gaze towards Chilton. "And nothing on the menu for tonight is vegetarian."

...

The night was filled with more of the usual countless bantering between everyone in the room, trying to appeal more and more to everyone else. You were swept into what seemed like every conversation in the house and all of this sociability was starting to grow exhausting. The meal was phenomenal, to say the least, but did little to calm your worries with your husband's current expression of intolerance and dismay. You wanted nothing more than to head upstairs to your shared bedroom and to sort things out with him; to maybe end the night with a passionate kiss and to then retire to bed, finally. That desire, however, seemed like miles away because of the ongoing event that you were starting to despise more with every passing minute.

Not to mention, your dress was starting to get extremely uncomfortable, as if your skin were melting into the seams of the fabric.

As if on cue to make the night worse, Dr. Chilton was making his way towards you, undoubtedly much more drunk this time. He was stumbling over his own loafers and the floorboards were not his friend at the moment. He was making a fool of himself and you wanted so badly to just disappear.

Just then, the floorboard by the fireplace where you were sitting popped up in front of him. Everything from then went in slow-motion, the wood, the stumbling of Chilton's feet and the slow advancement towards the fire. Seeing how this would play out, you wanted to yell "Stop!" but you were frozen. Just as you had predicted, he had a horrid fall towards the open flame, his cufflinks connecting with the place stones and his right arm breaking the fall. His hand wasn't lucky enough to miss the fire, his scream instantly echoing throughout the room.

"Dr. Chilton!" Hannibal yelled, already to his feet with the pitcher of water from the charcuterie table. It was insane that his reflexes allowed him to respond instantaneously. Almost as if he had prepared for the doctor's fall. Springing the water onto Chilton, the fire was put out almost as quickly as it had started.

"Are you okay?" You asked the doctor, leaning down to his level on the floor, holding his now hurt hand.

"B-b-bandages." He was able to muster out.

The closer look you got to his hand, the closer you could see the wound. The flames didn't consume his flesh for very long, although there was now a coating of red on his skin alongside a few open gashes. Looking to your husband for help, you instead saw him standing above you, a scowl on his lips. He looked angrier than he'd ever before and the sight of it scared you. Had he been angry that the party was ruined? That one of his guests were hurt?

Chilton was then led to the kitchen where his wounds were properly addressed and tended to. The aid kit that had collected dust on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet had finally been put to use, and, upon further inspection, it had been decided for the doctor to call for an ambulance for a more professional treatment.

He left. Everyone followed suit. It was now only you and your husband.

"I'm sorry that had to happen the way it did." You said, reaching out to touch his shoulder and soothe him in my way you could. "Would you like me to help you clean up?"

He mumbled something under his breath before he made his way up the elongated glass stairs. It was unbelievably peculiar for him to retire to bed this early, especially before cleaning up from a party.

"Is something wrong?" You asked, voice coming out as nothing more than a feeble whisper. He stopped in his tracks, his blazer now resting atop his free arm opposite to the one holding the railing. His tie was loosened and from where you were standing, you couldn't see his face all that clearly.

He finally spoke up.

"What are your intentions with Chilton?" He asked.

You stopped in your initial tracks to follow your husband up the stairs. Was he accusing you of courtship? And with the doctor of all people?

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, (Y/N)."

Your heart broke for a moment, there was no way he really thought that after years of marriage, after what you had come to learn about him and his... capabilities...that you would choose another man, albeit in front of his own eyes?

"I have no intentions with Chilton, Hanni. Not as an acquaintance, not as a friend, not as a lover." You continued to follow him up the stairs and to your shared bedroom where he placed the blazer and tie on the bedside table rather than hang it up as he usually did. He undid his cufflinks and unbuttoned the top his neckline.

"I only want you, Hannibal. You know that."

He pursed his lips and finally, from where he leant against the bed, looked up at you standing in the doorframe. Your expression was a worried one, not of someone who had underlying intentions. Hannibal knew what you wanted, knew who you wanted, but Chilton had gotten the better of him tonight. And besides, tormenting the two of you to remind both of you who you belong to was a much more satisfying game to play.

"Alright." Hannibal said, accepting your validation with his thick, Danish accent. "Show me."

"I- what?" You asked, being taken aback completely by surprise. His eyes were dark with thoughts you had grown to be all too familiar with from him. Despite clearly understanding his interpretation of the words, you still stood frozen at the door, waiting. There was something about this that wasn't going to be as sweet as the usual slow and sensual intimacy you'd had with your husband and you knew this fact.

Just then, as if taking your hesitance as permission, he stands and walks over to you, the height difference ever so apparent now that you were face to face. His gelled hair was now starting to come undone, as was yours, as he held your gaze. His hand came up to tuck your hair behind your ear and then trailed to your neck, your collarbone, your breast. He then allowed his hand to go further, down to your waist and then pulled you into him, holding you there as gently but firm as one could be. He was watching your face as he did so, never breaking eye contact even once.

Your breath hitched in your throat. A growing warmth developed in your midsection as your husband had you entranced with his every move. He was enjoying this, enjoying you, enjoying the situation he put you in. He had turned on his more sadistic side and it was becoming evident with the way he progressed down your body, replacing his hands with kisses and moving towards your thighs then back up, as if with haste, towards your mouth. You felt as though you were going to faint right then and there.

He suddenly stops his kisses and then goes to finish unbuttoning his shirt. His wide frame was revealed with every unfastened button popping off, slowly but surely. Every inch of his skin had been crafted to the likes of the gods, it was as if he were one of them himself. No imperfections in his skin as far as the eye could see. He was beautiful. He was the divine definition of beauty itself.

He swiftly moved his hands to your throat, fingers following suit as he held you there, against the bedroom wall, a juxtaposition to his masterfully divine beauty of feigned innocence. His breath was hot but not unpleasant as he whispered into the nape of your neck:

"You belong to me."

And that was all it took for you to fold entirely, becoming a puppet to his every command, desires of the flesh being the only thing on both your minds. You needed him and he needed you to need him. He wanted a full surrender, a full understanding that he was the only man you'd ever be able to fulfill these lustrous fantasies with.

"Do you understand?" He asked, not giving you a second to think any further before he moved you from the wall and to the bed, where he towered over you.

"Y-yes." You said, waiting to see what he would do next.

"Good. Now take it."

Confused, you looked up at him but he had already had other plans, flipping you into your stomach and forcing himself inside you, under your dress. The instant burn that you felt was replaced by immediate satisfaction as you saw stars. Through this position you could feel him inside you, hot and intense, pushing deeper and deeper until he bottomed out. He dug into you until he was all you could feel, hear, taste, see. He was owning every inch of your skin and forcing you to feel it.

And you loved it.

"Who do you belong to?" He asked, anger laced in his voice.

"You." You tried your best to get out with the intense feeling between your thighs but it was next to impossible.

"What was that?" He asked once more, forcing you to say it louder.

Just as you were about to respond, he picks you up and turns you around to face him, taking in his expression. You were on your knees looking up at him, tears in your eyes at the intensity of what had just happened. Your dress was definitely ruined by this point but you couldn't care less.

"You." You said, waiting for him to say something, anything at all. He placed his finger on your lips and smiled down at you while he toyed with them. He then put himself inside of your mouth, your jaws stretching to be able to take him.

"Good." He said, quickening his original pace as he sighed with content. You allowed him to finish before the two of you fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets.

He was holding you in his arms now, making sure you were alright as he kissed the top of your head and face, looking at the marks he'd left on your skin. He'd make sure those were more visible the next time someone tried to intrude on your guys' company. Especially on a pity invite.

He'd also make sure not to let Chilton off with a warning next time, making sure to purposely set his entire body on fire, not just his hand.

But you were asleep soundly in his arms, full of him and he had won.

...

A/N : Hello! This is my first time writing smut kinda so I hope this is up to par with some other fanfic writers. I really hope this fulfills your request! Lmk if anyone has any other requests, my ask box is open! 🫶

#hannibal x reader #hannigram #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #hannibal #mads mikkelsen x reader #mads mikkelsen #mads mikkleson #fanfiction #fanfic writing #hobisfavoritespritecan

597 notes · View notes