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princessbrunette · 3 months ago

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ᡣ𐭩 ｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅PRINCESSBRUNETTES SCREAM SALON INTRODUCES … ໒꒰ྀི ˃̵ ࿁ ˂̵ ꒱ྀིა

GIBSON GIRL ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

♩ethel cain — gibson girl ♩

pairing: toxicbf!jj x reader

cw: jealousy, manhandling, exhibitionism, outdoor sex, cnc, degradation, toxic relationship, one spank.

you are responsible for your own media consumption. welcome to kinktober day four.

you’d liked to think you’d done nothing wrong.

jj knew what you were when he started dating you — friendly, sociable, a party girl, infact you’d even say those were some of the things that drew him to you in the first place.

as you step up to the chateau, having walked there in a pair of sandals that were rubbing your feet just a little too much, and your eyes dry from last nights drinking antics at the kegger — you could already tell jj wasn’t pleased with you from the look on his face.

he’s leaning up against that big tree outside the house, smoking a cigarette. jj was an avid stoner, yes — but he only smoked cigs when he was mad. you sigh, leaves crunching under your tread. in the back of your mind you note the uncharacteristic, slight chill in the air too — an introduction to the muggy autumn weather the obx briefly gets once a year.

“yeah i’m like shocked you even came.” jj calls out before you’re close enough, glancing between you and the cig he was now stomping out beneath his sneaker, twisting his ankle to smush it into the dirt.

“why?” your voice rasps, still that little bit hung over. jj laughs, bitterly and he doesn’t look at you— whipping his hat off and raking a hand through matted blonde hair before shoving it back on. oh, here we go.

“thought you’d like — leave to go fuck some other dude. y’know, seein’ as our relationship just means jack shit to you.” he shrugs like he doesn’t care but the look in his eyes tells you everything.

“what have i done now, jj?” you lean on your hip and he meets you in the middle on the grass, licking over sore, thin red lips.

“so you’re just gonna pretend you weren’t shakin’ your ass for the whole of the cut last night? lettin’ juuuust everyone see up your skirt? you got a man so like, you can’t just act single — i dunno know, that’s just my opinion—”

“you’re mad at me for dancing? at a party?” you step up to him which you know was a mistake as soon as his eyes flutter slightly as he glares down at you, suddenly pinning his mouth shut— jaw slightly clenched.

“yeah you’re right. i’m crazy, huh?” his nostrils flare, eye contact persisting. truthfully, yeah — he was, which is why you struggled to stand on business, not knowing what his next move might be. you shrink a millimetre in stature but you know he notices. “nah, don’t back down now. say it. say m’crazy mama.” he enters your space, filled was rage and smelling like marlboro reds.

“i’m not doing this—” you go to move past him, but he grabs you by the waist, even when you fight. “jj get off!”

“yeah we are, yeah we’re fucking doing this babe—” you speak over eachother frantically as you struggle until he’s wrestled you to the ground on your front, pressing your cheek into the dirt with a hand on the back of your head. you feel those thick cheap rings digging into your skull.

“acting like you don’t like this shit or something.” he scoffs as he straddles the back of your thighs. he’s rough, rougher than usual because there’s real anger behind each move and your heart pounds in your chest. what’s it called when you love someone so much you let them do whatever they want to you? even if it’s not warranted? it seemed like every guy round here was the same. no different from the rafes of the world — just violent and dirty and cruel. yet you couldn’t live without jj.

“jj, you’re — i don’t —”

“you didn’t mind showin’ off infront of everyone last night so you don’t mind if i just take what i want right here, right? nah, course you don’t.” he mutters, not even considering expecting a reply from you as you starts to fight your wriggling hips out of your denim shorts, sliding them down your ass. anyone could come by and see this obscene act, so naturally you felt hot all over and sadly, sickeningly aroused despite the thick knot in your stomach.

“s’not like that.” you whine, tears in your eyes as you turn your head toward the house— coming into direct eye contact with john b, who stood in the window with a mug of coffee.

he wouldn’t admit it, but john b didn’t mind all the borderline violent scuffles that you and jj would get into. bruises on your body from the rough and degrading sex showcased up and down your thighs when you’d lounge on the boat with the pogues, or red scratching of the word ‘MINE’ carved into jj’s back from your fingernails when his insta following would go up. for the most part he figured it was just kinky sex, nothing he wasn’t familiar with — but he had to say, he took a weird sick pride in hearing about you getting punished.

since dating you, you’d eaten up a good chunk of the time john b gets to spend with jj alone. jj used to be down for anything, would drop anything and anyone to be at his best friends side— and maybe john b had been selfish in letting that continue on to the point of expecting it. anytime he’d get time with the blonde, there you’d be nagging at the corners of the conversation or arriving unannounced to start something. it had gotten to the point where he too had began to indulge in violent sexual fantasies toward you, getting his own chance to put you in your place. you’re not one of us, he’d say — because he’s tired of being the kind and mature one.

“jj, j—john b is there you can’t—”

he’s already got your panties down, spreading your folds open to look at you a little too widely to the point you wince, jerking.

“alright and so what, it’s just john b. you didn’t care ‘bout all the extra eyes last night.” he shrugs one shoulder which surprises you. for someone so possessive, he really didn’t care.

when he pushes himself into you, you’re still locking eyes with the brunette through the dusty window. john b was typically courteous and would pretend to look away when jj would get to aggressively fondling you, but now he stares — puppy eyed and unabashed like he was doing nothing wrong, bringing the mug to his lips to take a leisurely sip as his best friend fucks you in the dirt. you even swear you see him shaking his head, all disappointed and dad like.

despite your walls clasping and clenching around jj, your head pounds and eyes burn with humiliation so you continue to squirm. maybe, somewhere deep in your mind you only squirm because you know that jj wants the fight, he wants you to struggle and suffer and pay for what you did. learn a lesson, so he’d say. despite everything, despite this — you just wanted to please him.

“had to make sure no one’s been breakin’ in these pretty tight holes babe, you understand right?” he pants, hands pressing into your back to keep you still. you already know the front of your clothes is ruined with dirt and mud.

you let out a pathetic groaned whimper similar to a ‘hnnnng’ sound as your brows furrow in defeat, eyes dropping to the way john b strains against his shorts, only turning to walk away when you watch him adjust himself. somehow, it makes your cunt flutter more and you wait for the blow of jj’s realisation.

a hard smack on your ass, there it is.

“my god, dude of course you’re gettin’ off on this. i knew you were a slut but jesus, way to prove it to me.”

#kinktober 24 ≽^• ⩊ •^≼ ₊˚⊹♡#jj maybank prompt #toxic!jj

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tteokdoroki · 1 year ago

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☆༉ — RYOMEN SUKUNA. santa’s little helper.

about. dressing up as slutty santa warrants some unwanted attention, luckily, sukuna is there to play santa’s grumpy little helper. merry christmas.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, meet cute, reader gets harassed/cat-called, reader is wearing a dress, modern!sukuna, fem!reader. it’s still christmas somewhere - enjoy !! (1K).

you meet modern bf!sukuna at a train station on christmas eve.

all your friends have gone home with guys that they fancied from the club, all the ubers in the area are either booked out or have sky high prices just to get you thirty minutes away not to mention the fact that it’s ice cold and your stupid mean girls themed santa outfit keeps riding up.

if you huff hard enough a cloud of smoke appears in place of your breath — like that of a mighty dragon, accumulating in the night air. it entertains you for all but a moment and doesn’t waste enough time for your train to come faster.

it’s not due for another thirteen minutes.

in that time you watch gangs of girls, groups of guys and just about anybody come and go from the station. your platform isn’t packed but it’s not too empty to the point where you feel unsafe.

“hey pretty girl.” ugh. as if your night couldn’t get any worse, a dingy looking stranger appears from nowhere — breathing down your neck, nastily drinking you in as if you’re a free shot at a bar. like you’re easy.

waving your hand away, you focus your gaze on the platform across the track and pray that someone notices your predicament. “no thank you.”

“oh come on gorgeous, give a guy a chance!” they press, crossing all of your boundaries to be in your space. even as you try to walk away, you can still feel the ghost of their sleazy words against the bare and exposed parts of your skin.. “where are you going all dressed like that, with no one to admire you?”

on instinct, you pull down your skirts as if to hide yourself from greedy eyes — storming down the platform. “none of your business!”

“hey now, little miss santa! don’t you wanna know? i’ve got a sleigh you can ride!”

“not interested! i’m all good.”

“why? you got a boyfriend?”

“yeah, i do.” you lie smoothly.

“then where is he?” the stranger mocks and closes in on you — you look around pathetically, waiting for some good passer-by to come and help you.

a heavy hand land’s on the stranger’s shoulder — making them jump in shock. you watch as the hand squeezes down, almost tight enough to break bone. “right here,” says a gravelly, husky voice that instantly fills you with warmth and relief. stepping aside, your hero reveals himself — tall with rippling muscles and spiralling black tattoos, lazy blood red eyes and a snarl that reveals sharp fangs and canines. all topped off my tufts of soft pink hair, which don’t do anything to dim his threatening aura. “you got a problem?”

“n-no! sorry man, i didn’t—“

“fuck off, will ya?” your hero spits out venomously and the stranger nods — practically disappearing into thin air after that. your shoulders sag and tensions dissipate from your body. “you okay…miss?”

tentatively, you give the pink-haired man your name — you owe him that much after he’d more or less saved your skin. “all good, thanks to you…”

“sukuna.” he doesn’t look at you, instead pulling a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and lighting one with a flicker of a flame. it’s like he feels you watching him in dismay, and laughs as he takes a drag. it’s kind of sexy, you’ll admit — the way he throws his head back let’s you see the thick lines of black ink extending down his neck. “ticket office is closed and security is shit here. small station. no one’s watching me smoke.”

“right…thanks, sukuna.”

he finally turns to you, deep and blood red eyes drinking you in — almost scrutinising you. you squirm under his gaze, heat prickling at the back of your neck and providing some protection from the cold. “where were you off too?”

“christmas party with some friends.”

“where are they now?”

“sucking face somewhere, and no, they didn’t offer me an Uber before they left.”

sukuna taps the ash from his cigarette and it falls away in the icy breeze. “shit night.”

wringing your fingers, you shrug a little bit. “i guess it could have been worse. so thank you for helping out,” you hum appreciatively. “all i have to do now is wait for this stupid train.”

a beat of silence passes between you both, only broken by your chattering teeth and sukuna’s occasional sniff between puffs of smoke. you hate smokers, but you don’t ask him to stop. not after he’d helped you and is willing to be your human shield until your train comes. anyone else would have left by now.

“i can give you a ride home, if you want?”

you frown… was he, trying to make a move on you?

“if you have a car why are you at a train station.”

sukuna smirks slowly, dropping his cig to the floor and crushing it under his sneaker. you don’t remind him that there’s a law against smoking on the platform. “i’m waiting for my little brother to get home from a trip with his friends. we don’t live too far from here and i offered to pick him up from the station.” he shrugs.

you blink up at him with wide eyes. you’d never imagine a man that looks and carries himself like he does to care so deeply for someone else. you suppose you’re judging a book by his cover.

you’re dressed like slutty santa, so you honestly have no right to do so.

“what’s your brother’s name?”

“yuuji. it’s just us, no parents. that’s why i’m picking him up.” sukuna turns to you, running a hand through his messy pink undercut. “look, i promise i’m not some creep. y’just look cold and i’m not about to let some girl get fucked over by weirdos at this time of night. i won’t touch you, but you can sit in the back with yuuji if it makes you feel better. people usually prefer his stupid face over mine anyways.” he mumbles that last part to himself, but is pleasantly surprised by the cute flutter of laughter that escapes you. “what’s s’funny?”

with a hand resting on your bare stomach, you try to contain yourself. “is it the tattoos or the fact that you have resting bitch face?”

“both.” sukuna sniggers in response, shoving his cold hands deep into his pockets. “so, you takin’ up the offer or what?”

“yeah, thank you…sukuna,” you smile, subtly sliding up beside him for warmth on the chilly platform. “i’d like to meet yuuji for myself, see which brother i prefer.”

“oh fuck you.”

“maybe some other time.”

and even though he’s sure that you’re joking, sukuna detects a glint of honestly in your sparkling eyes as the train finally approaches — it’s yellowing light from inside the carriage only illuminating that spark. you turn your head, trying to spot yuuji while he ponders your words.

sukuna is definitely going to ask for your number after he drops you home. he’ll have to thank that brat of a baby brother yuuji for the opportunity next — without him begging for sukuna to come get him, this would have never happened.

you would have never met.

it’d be a great christmas story to tell the grandkids too. so he’d really have to thank yuuji, even though sukuna would never hear the end of it.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk smut #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna imagine #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #angelshubnetwork #ghostqueues

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queen-of-deans-booty · 11 months ago

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Across Every Universe

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: fluff

Request by anon: Hey Jordan, can i request something where Dean Winchester always have a crush on the reader but never said something to her until one day Sam and Dean are transported (based on the episode French Mistake) and Dean actor Jensen and is married to the reader of the universe and she pass the whole day giving Dean hug and kisses because for everyone is Jensen. When Dean and Sam came back to their universe him and the reader start dating? Fluff

Summary: Sam and Dean are taken back to the same place where Dean is known as Jensen Ackles and Sam as Jared Padalecki. This little trip makes Dean realize his feelings for you.

Square Filled: "god, if only you knew what you did to me" (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

No matter the position you’re in, you’re not comfortable. It doesn’t matter if you lie down on your side, your back, or your stomach. Not to mention the heater isn’t working in the Bunker so it’s very cold. You have three blankets over you while wearing long sleeves and pajama pants. The broken heater doesn’t help your running cold either. You’re not sure where you caught it from but you’ve been trying to stay away from the brothers to not get them sick.

That doesn’t keep Dean away, though.

He’s a complete sweetheart to you since he always brings you soup, makes sure you’re comfortable, and spends time with you even if you tell him not to go near you. You don’t know what you’d do without Dean in your life.

Speaking of, he knocks on your door and enters wearing his usual hunting attire.

“Going on a hunt?” you ask and sit up slightly.

“Yeah. I wish I could stay here and take care of you.”

“Other people need you,” you smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to stay in bed, watch movies, and make some soup later. Did you fix the heater, yet?”

“I have someone coming in a few days. He’s also on a hunt.”

“Right, no non-hunters here,” you chuckle.

“I’ll call you later and check up on you, okay?”

“My hero.”

You cuddle with your blankets more and Dean leaves your room with a slight blush on his cheeks. Before he closes the door, he looks back at you in thought. God, if only you knew what you did to me.

He closes your door and meets his brother in the library. As soon as they are packed and ready to go, they start the long drive to the next state over. When Dean gets onto the highway, Sam turns to Dean with a knowing smile.

“So, did you tell her how you feel?”

“Stay out of it, Sammy,” Dean rolls his eyes.

“How long have you had a thing for her? Years? When are you going to tell her how you feel?”

“I mean it, Sam. Stay out of it. I can handle it on my own.”

“Apparently not, or else she’d be yours.”

Dean punches his brother not gently in the arm and Sam laughs. Dean kept the music high so he could avoid talking about his feelings for you. They get to the town that has its residents sacrificing themselves in the name of God. If anything, it warrants some kind of visit from the Winchesters.

The town looks like a normal town with normal people just trying to live their normal lives. They have no suspicions that something is happening but they only just arrived. They get there late at night so they will have to do their work tomorrow morning. Dean takes out his phone when his brother goes into the bathroom to shower and calls you.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“I’m doing alright but not any better.”

“Did you take your medicine?”

“Yes, I did.” He can hear the smile in your voice and that makes him smile. “And I ate my soup and drank water.”

“Don’t forget to tell her goodnight,” Sam says loudly from the bathroom.

Dean grabs a pillow and chucks it at his brother. “Go take a shower. You stink.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” you chuckle, having heard Sam.

“Night sweetheart.” He hangs up and turns to his brother with a scowl. “I hate you.”

Sam and Dean actually get more than four hours of sleep that night but when Dean wakes up, he doesn’t recognize his surroundings. The motel is gone, the shutty beds and blankets are gone, and the peeling wallpaper is gone. What replaces it is a nice trailer, a comfortable bed, a big aquarium, and other nice shit that Dean has never had.

“Sammy?” he calls out. He gets up and leaves the small trailer only to run into Sam. “What the hell is going on? Where are we?”

“I don’t know.” Sam looks around and spots a name on the side of the trailer that’s behind Dean. “Oh, no. Look.”

Dean turns and sees the name ‘Jensen Ackles’ on the side. He turns back around and sees ‘Jared Padalecki’ on the trailer opposite his.

“You’ve got to be kidding me? We’re back in actor land? What happened last time?”

“Gabriel sent us here to avoid Raphael and his minions. I have no idea how we ended up here.”

“I bet it has something to do with the fact that people were sacrificing themselves in the name of God. My guess is that angels are involved.”

“There you two are.” Sam and Dean turn to see Castiel--Misha--walking toward them. “They’re looking for you two.”

“Yeah, we’re coming.”

If Sam and Dean didn’t do a good job trying to act last time, then they certainly aren’t going to do a good job now. It’s funny in hindsight but it makes for a very long day of filming. After the twentieth time messing up, Dean is ready to get the hell out of there to figure out how to get back to his world.

He looks to the right and sees you at the snack bar. He immediately calls for a time-out and leaves the set.

“Time out?” the director frowns and looks at him. “Everyone, take ten!”

“Y/N?”

“Come here, you have to try this. Gen made it,” you grin at Dean. You take a scoopful of food and present it to him. He opens his mouth and accepts the food, pleasantly surprised by the taste. “Oh, you have something on your mouth.” You wipe his bottom lip with your thumb and lick the food off. Dean is so confused about your behavior but doesn’t have time to figure it out. Your phone rings and you check who is messaging you. “I gotta go. Gen is here.”

You lean up and kiss him quickly before walking off. Dean can’t move after that quick kiss. You did it so casually like you’ve done it a thousand times. He is forced to go back to acting but he can’t do a good job because all he’s thinking about is your lips on his.

They aren’t getting enough filming done so the director calls it for the rest of the day. Sam and Dean convene outside to make it look like they’re busy so no one else talks to them.

“She kissed me, dude.”

“What?”

“Y/N or the woman who she’s supposed to be. She kissed me like we’re together or something.”

“Look, I’m glad you’re going through the five stages of teenage excitement but can we focus here? How are we going to get out of here?”

Dean looks around and spots you entering his trailer.

“Eh, you’ll figure it out. I’ll be back.”

Dean leaves to his trailer and Sam rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“Dean!” he hisses but receives no answer.

Dean enters his counterpart’s trailer and sees you where the bed is. You’re grabbing some night clothes out of the drawers since you’re not going to be leaving the trailer for the rest of the night.

“Hey, I talked to Gen about the cabin and she got it all set up for us this weekend. I’m so excited to spend some time away from all this for two days.”

“Are we dating?” The comment makes you laugh. “What?”

“Are you okay?” He looks kind of nervous so you walk over to him and wrap your arms around his neck. “I don’t know what’s going on with you but I do know how to make you feel better.”

“How?” he whispers.

You run your hands down his chest and take his hands. You take him to the bed and toss your night clothes onto a nearby chair. You fall onto the bed while pulling him so he lands on top of you but he stops himself with his hands so he doesn’t completely crush you.

You pull him down to kiss you and that’s enough to bring Dean into the delusion that you’re Y/N and you’re his. Your lips are softer than what he thought and your body fits so perfectly against his. He slips his tongue into your mouth to get familiar with you. You tug on his hair to get some traction so he pulls away from your mouth and kisses down your neck.

Your neck has always been a sensitive spot for you and he really knows how to work you up. He licks up and down your neck before latching onto the side of it. You gasp, tilt your head back, and moan something that brings Dean back down to reality.

“Jensen.” You’re not his. You’re not you. You’re Jensen’s. You’re not supposed to be with him. He pulls away and pants above you. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we just lay here instead?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me get changed.”

You slip out from underneath him and grab the pajamas you set aside earlier. You strip down naked and Dean has a hard time not looking at you. He can’t help but think you’re a complete stranger. The pajamas you’re wearing are revealing but he feels better at looking at you with clothes on. You climb into bed with him and cuddle into his side, and he tucks a strand of your hair behind your head.

“How did I get so lucky?”

“I’m the lucky one.”

“Tell me the story of how we met.” You look at him in confusion. “I want to hear it from you.”

“Okay, I got tickets to a red carpet event that my ex-friend invited me to. We were going to see the movie My Bloody Valentine because we thought it was going to be the next big movie. The entire cast was there, including you, meeting fans and taking pictures with them. When we locked eyes, it was like something was pulling you to me.

“You came over to me, complimented me on my dress, signed my poster with your number on it which I still have, and the rest is history. I never got together with you because you were a big celebrity. You were genuine, kind, funny, charming, and very sexy. It was hard not to fall in love with you.”

Dean notices the big ring on your finger and puts the pieces together.

“We’re married?”

“Yes, we are,” you laugh. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just… really happy.”

You lean over and kiss him. The next morning, Dean leaves his trailer before you get up. He doesn’t want to wake you even though he wants to. He finds Sam outside his own trailer with a book in his hands.

“Hey,” Dean sighs.

“I might have found a way out of here, no thanks to you.”

“What if we didn’t leave?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“The love of my life is my wife here.”

“That’s not your wife, Dean. She’s Jensen’s wife. She thinks you’re him. Why would you take that away from him? You have a girl waiting for you at home, a girl with whom you’re too scared to do anything about. Don’t take her away from him because you want what they have.”

Dean knows he’s right. He can’t stay here. He’s using this world as an escape from his own.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean sighs. “What do you have?”

“I found this book in the prop section. This might be a TV show but it does have some useful books to make it look real. There’s a ritual we can do.”

And a ritual it is. Once they get the stuff needed and perform it, they are brought back to the town they arrived in a couple of days ago. In order to properly tackle this town, they’re going to need some angelic help. Maybe Castiel can meet them back at the Bunker and figure something out then.

The first thing Dean does when he gets home is go looking for you. You’re still stuck in bed watching your favorite movies on Disney+. You pause your movie when your bedroom door opens.

“Hey, how was the hunt?” Dean doesn’t say anything as he kicks off his shoes. He climbs into bed with you and pulls you close to him. “Dean?”

“I love you,” he blurts. “I should have told you this years ago but I can’t seem to think straight when I’m with you. You make everything better for me, and you’re a better hunter than I ever was. God, I love you so much.”

“I’d kiss you but I don’t want to get you sick,” you smile.

“I don’t care,” he whispers and kisses you.

This is where he belongs. Right next to you.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

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jinwoosbabyboo · 4 months ago

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Moments Posts w/ the LADS Men - "No Bugs"

I wanted to do a moments feed type of post and this request was perfect. This is also inspired by bbyjackie right here on Tumblr go check out her blog if you want to see socials w/ one piece boyfriends she's amazing

Zayne

_thedrzayne

Location: Some strangers house

❤️ liked by yvannamama, gray_sun, misshuntermc and 27k others

_thedrzayne: I’ve never seen someone move so fast to get away from a mere insect

tagged: misshuntermc

Comments

talkthat_tara: 📸 cred me

nene.nero: Where are your shoes? @/misshuntermc

↳ talkthat_tara: She literally ran out of them ↳ nene.nero: the wheeze I just whuzzed is unreal 😭😭 ↳ talkthat_tara: It took an hour to get her down

yvannamama: @/misshuntermc when did you move into a house?

↳ _thedrzayne: She didn't.... ↳ _thedrzayne: She ran onto the roof of a strangers residence ↳ gray_sun: @/misshuntermc GET OUT OF THOSE PEOPLES HOUSE! ☠️

misshuntermc: THAT WASP TRIED TO JUMP ME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET

↳ _thedrzayne: that insect was not worried about you ↳ talkthat_tara: It flew right passed you

Rafayel

seagod_raf_

Location: A sea of heartache

❤️ liked by misshuntermc, thomasthomas_, and 32.5k others

seagod_raf_: Tell my girlfriend to stop being mean to me

tagged: misshuntermc

Comments

misshuntermc: You killed a wasp on my head and then laughed when I ran into a shelf trying to get it out

↳ seagod_raf_: You screamed bloody murder out of nowhere IN A STORE I thought you were being kidnapped

misshuntermc: Use me as a dislike button —>

↳ seagod_raf_: I said sorry 😢 ↳ misshuntermc: Not good enough there will be 12 cats waiting in your art studio 😘 ↳ thomasthomas_: lmk if you want help ↳ seagod_raf_: Remind me why I haven’t fired you?

talkthat_tara: 😟 Are you okay mc?

↳ misshuntermc: No come get me my head hurts ↳ seagod_raf_: Do not come get her I got it ↳ misshuntermc: I’m calling the authorities ↳ thomasthomas_: Already called them

Xavier

lumiere.who

Location: damn near the morgue

❤️ liked by misshuntermc, whosjeremiah and 27.3k others

lumiere.who: Advice of the day - don’t kick the driver in the face because a bee flew in the car

tagged: misshuntermc

misshuntermc: it was a wasp get it right

↳ lumiere.who: oh my bad the molly whop kick from hell to the head has me a little dizzy 😐 ↳ misshuntermc: my life flashed before my eyes I’m still crying…. ↳ lumiere.who: my jaw still hurts… ↳ misshuntermc: I said I was sorry I panicked ↳ lumiere.who: doesn’t stop the pain

imjenna: @/misshuntermc I’ve seen you remain level headed in more dire situations

↳ lumiere.who: I’m signing her up for more focus training

nene.nero: Not she kicked you in the face 🤣

talkthat_tara: Passenger princess? More like passenger menace

↳ misshuntermc: Tara be on my side ↳ talkthat_tara: babes you almost killed your man and yourself over a bug I’ll hold your hand when I’m done laughing love you 💕

Sylus

skye.109

Location: mind the business that pays you

❤️ liked by thing1_luke, thing2_kieran, misshuntermc and 35.7K others

skye.109: She really doesn’t like wasps….

tagged: misshuntermc

Comments

misshuntermc: who took this picture??

↳ thing1_luke: me 🙋🏻‍♂️ ↳ misshuntermc: photography skills? chefs kiss ... taking pictures of me passed out? devious work

thing2_kieran: the bride passing out from a wasp was not on my bingo card for the wedding

↳ misshuntermc: wasn’t exactly part of the plan

misshuntermc: Sylus delete this

evolpoliceofficial: Sylus Qin? Sir you have an active warrant for your arrest check your inbox

↳ misshuntermc: WILD not y’all showing up like fans even got his full government 🤣 ↳ thing1_luke: YoU hAvE aN AcTiVe wArRaNt 🐤 ↳ thing2_kieran: who’s mans is this??? ↳ skye.109: Blocked.

#love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #lnds sylus #sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lads rafayel #lads zayne #lads xavier #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #lnds rafayel #lnds zayne #lnds xavier #nikaaaaimagine

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auspicioustidings · 5 months ago

Text

Devil's Trumpet

AKA the Appalachian horror brain worms would not leave me alone

Summary: You move to small town West Virginia to get your head on straight but the men in the woods start unravelling you instead.

Words: 3.5k

CWs: mild horror, vague reference to mental illness

This is best read while listening to some Southern gothic tunes 🎶 I suggest Big Dark Love by Murder by Death!

Colour leeched out of the world here. There is something almost comforting about that, something familiar. Familiar too is the way this town moves like syrup too thick to be pleasant in your mouth. It was how you moved though the world once. Not anymore though, no, now your mind is your own and not an invading force. Now you can appreciate the drab slowness as something external to yourself, just an environment around you and not a prison closing in inside your head.

There wasn’t much of a plan really. A will reading that left you with not a lot, but enough to get the hell out. Signing with a fountain pen that made your skin crawl with how it scratched. A stiff drink and a dart thrown at a map and tearing a ragged hole in the Greenbrier River as the sharp point didn’t quite sink far enough into the board and tore its way through the paper on the way down. You were never any good at darts.

You aren’t putting down roots. Those were for old growth, not for hardy weeds that broke through concrete and always found another crack through which to grow when killed. Nothing that felt too much like a home, so instead a room at the only inn.

This town is too small to warrant one, but it doubles as a watering hole come evening. It doesn’t seem to have been updated in an age, you wonder idly if the plaque upkept to a gleaming shine declaring the inn to have been opened in 1824 is somehow conveying pride at the fact. The peeling wallpaper in your room was probably pretty once, but the green now seems sick with age and the delicate floral pattern has started to wilt.

There is no routine to your days here until one slowly creeps in as it always does.

Breakfast first. You don’t know if it’s something in the air here, but you wake up with a bitter taste in your mouth and are eager to drown it in food and mint toothpaste. The inn has a small kitchenette for guest use and you make yourself toast with butter and strawberry jam. It’s a little too sweet but the tea helps, black with no sugar.

You stretch out the back of the inn and enjoy the view of the woods. You don’t call it yoga because it makes you less likely to do it, but you had learned when things were bad that quietly engaging your body in the morning was a good way to quiet your mind. There’s a little tension in the back of your neck you try to work out but it sticks there until you finish up and go back inside to shower. The hot water fixes it you think.

The first few weeks here you just sit and watch the world go by, but then you one day you decide to get up and spend some time wandering the town. It’s small, decrepit. There is the inn, a few sparse houses, one general store. The library, despite being the only venue with any chance of entertainment, is usually empty. You meet Mrs Lela Kaletaws who runs it, although she isn’t always around.

Roads here are barely holding together, but the one main road that runs out of town is at least in somewhat better condition. It runs parallel with the woods at one point, curving off just past old Mr Kleer's house. The man in question usually sits on his porch but he’s friendly enough so you don’t pay much mind to the gun.

After you’ve wandered town you make sandwiches for lunch. It isn’t much exciting, but it is routine and is filling enough that you bunker down for a nap after.

In the afternoon you go for a long walk before returning to the inn for dinner. There is a bar downstairs that opens in the evenings and serves food that while not a delicacy by any means is hot and filling. You retire to your room, read some of your book and go to sleep.

It continues that way. Breakfast, stretch, shower, wander, lunch, sleep, walk, dinner, read, sleep.

At first you only really skirt the edge of the woods, but with each passing dreary day you venture closer to the depths down the packed dirt path. The path through the woods is confusing and unmarked. Where you swore just yesterday it went to the right, today it goes to the left. Even so it must be your sense of direction, because the path always leads you past the jimsonweeds that come up to you chest before spitting you out on the road that leads to old Mr Kleer's house. The flowers are beautiful, but there is some metallic tang to their otherwise sweet scent that causes your teeth to ache.

—

More comfortable with the area now, it causes a fright when you see a man in the woods just in the corner of your eye only to snap your head around and have him vanish. You force calming breathes and keep walking. There is no such thing as ghosts in these woods.

Old man Axell calls to you from his porch as you pass, rifle butt settled on the rickety wood that you worry will collapse and left leg stretched straight out towards you like reaching for something.

“Seeing things in the woods kid?”

“I look spooked sir?”

“Like you’ve seen a Ghost I reckon.”

You give a shaky laugh at that.

“Only if ghosts come in flesh and blood and quick feet. Some man gave me a fright is all.”

“Must be out of towners” Axell says.

You do not like the way he says it. You do not like that he looks at you strangely. But you smile and nod and get on your way. He is only an old man.

—

There is someone in the woods. You feel his gaze on you, feel the dull prickle that rests on your nape from those eyes.

“We really must stop meeting like this” you say.

You have stopped trying to catch him. Now you only speak, eyes set on the dirt path in front of you. You do not think you will get a reply and when you do you shudder horribly at how much closer the voice is than you had anticipated.

“Don’t enjoy the company?”

He’s English and you frown. Out of towner. The old man must know something, but maybe you cannot begrudge him having fun at your expense. You have not made friends here.

“Enjoy company where I can see it if it’s all the same to you.”

The man laughs. It is a confusing laugh, warm and cold all at once as it bounces through the trees.

“Careful what you wish for.”

You resist the urge to turn even as his voice moves strangely, like he is swaying from one side of the path to the other.

“Must have a face like sin to keep hiding away” you say.

The next words you can feel. His breath is right at your cheek, a strand of your hair lifted by his fingers.

“Quite the opposite.”

Your heart is a prey animal running from a predator, beating wildly against your ribs as you turn to find he isn’t there. Only you certainly felt him. He leaves a sweet smell behind.

—

Sleep does not come easily that night. The rain against your window casts the moonlight strangely into your room. You spend hours watching as the creeping vines on the wallpaper seem to twist and shift beneath the moon flowers. When you finally fall asleep, it is almost as if you can smell them. Sweet and slightly metallic.

You wake up with the fading scent of damp earth and something on the edge of rot in your nose and the feel of dirt packed uncomfortably under your nails. They’re clean you find, but you spend the start of the morning cutting them down once you see the fading scratches left on your arms and legs through the night.

—

He is not the only stranger in the woods. You swore you would not go back, but routine takes you there without thought.

The Scottish man likes to walk on your right hand side, just enough steps behind you that you can only see him at the very side of your vision. You think he is handsome, but it is difficult to be sure. What you can be sure of is that he is dressed oddly. You have spoken to him for a while now, discussing yourself mostly. Perhaps it is the eerie quiet of the woods that makes you want to fill the dead space, but you tell him more about yourself than you ever would have thought yourself comfortable with.

“Are you a soldier then?” you ask.

“Sometimes, I think.”

You take a moment to chew that answer, wonder at the taste of it. There is a panic when you smell blood on the air, but it is quickly blanketed by sweetness. You have reached the jimsonweeds. It is too early, you have not walked far enough to be here already. But before you can protest the steps to your right stop and you know the man is gone.

None of them ever come farther than this.

—

You try the next day and the next to get answers from him. He seems to make a decision at one point just as the familiar smell reaches you and you think you will leave with no more information than you had before.

“I’m SAS.”

He is not there when you turn to thank him. He is not there at all when you return the next day.

—

The library run by Mrs Kaletaws is added to your routine. Breakfast, stretch, shower, library, lunch, try to sleep, walk, dinner, read, try to sleep. The small building has the peculiar addition of a cat you never quite see. You hear the skitter of claws on worn wood floor that has started to smell of sickly sweet rot, see fading scratches on the legs and arms of the chair, find hairs on your clothing, feel the prickle of eyes focused on you from the dark running up your spine to settle dully on the back of your neck. You have tried before to get a glimpse of the creature, but it only seems to exist in the very corner of your eye and retreats when your gaze tries to creep around to catch it.

Lela never talks about the cat. She told you once that it is only her and her wife that live in the basement below the library. You have never seen her wife and fear she must have some permanent sickness that stops her from being able to do much. You think they should move above ground so she can at least see the world through the windows obscured by racing raindrops, but you keep it to yourself.

The one computer here is old, the white plastic exterior now yellowed. Still, it is the only gateway to the outside world in this little town and you blow at your tea while waiting for your search results. ‘SAS military bases in West Virginia’ is a shot in the dark, but you need to start somewhere. After a sip you dump more sugar into your cup before looking at your finally loaded results.

There are none. No British military installations at all in the USA. You had hoped at least the results would bring up something about training exercises but it is just pages of useless information about bases around the world. You read about the SAS, fall down a rabbit hole of how they torture their soldiers to train them to withstand it. You go through pages and pages of search results until finally one talks about SAS soldiers in this area.

The link takes you to a dusty website that stopped being updated sometime in the late 90s. It’s some sort of conspiracy blog and you are prepared to close it, but you can’t help but get lost in the story it tells.

The details are unclear which you suppose is the hallmark of any good conspiracy. 40 years ago. There was a team of two, or maybe four or maybe seven. They set up just outside the woods with little to no explanation. There’s an interview from a local, not a name you recognise so one you think is likely long dead. She says two of the soldiers went into the woods first. She remembers something bad must have happened, because there was an argument between the five left outside. Nobody was allowed close, but she watched two more men go into the woods. After that the operation seemed to vanish entirely overnight and nobody heard anything more about it.

Whoever authored the blog has a gift with words because despite your logical mind knowing it was probably nothing but a random training exercise, the hairs on the back of your neck raise.

There is a photo of the alleged unit at the end loading slowly. You stare in fascination as line by line appears from the top. The world stops before it fully loads. At first you are confused as to why your whole body is tense, why your heart is racing. And then you figure it out. Silence. Complete and all together sudden silence. No rain hitting the windows, no scratching of the cat echoing, not even the whir of the computer.

You do not want to look away from the screen. You do not want to turn around. The prickle on your neck goes from dull to sharp.

The computer powers down.

—

He says to call him John. This man does not walk to your right like the Scottish one, or behind you like the first one you met. He walks in front of you. You can see the full expanse of his back clad in a vest. He wears a hat. He only ever turns slightly, enough to see that he has sideburns but never enough to see his face.

You are so enraptured by being able to see so much of him so clearly that it takes you a while to notice there is someone on your left. A few steps behind like the Scottish one does on your right. It takes you by surprise enough that you are about to forget the unspoken rules and turn, but John predicts your move.

“Eyes forward.”

“Sorry” you say automatically, fixing you eyes to his back and letting the other man stay as the impression of a creature just in sight of your left eye.

“They’re pretty, Captain.”

“I’m aware.”

It should not make you blush but somehow it does.

“What’s you name?” you ask.

There is no way to direct it specifically to the man on your left, so you simple direct it to the back of John and hope that the trees will send it where it needs to go.

“Captain?” the man asks, not for permission but as if genuinely unsure of the answer.

“Kyle, your name’s Kyle.”

“Right. Kyle.”

You catch the movement of him touching his chest, maybe rubbing at a name tag there but you can’t be sure.

“You can call me Gaz if you like.”

John and Gaz are your company for weeks. Whenever you ask after the other two, the air turns sweet and bloody and you are left alone among the jimsonweeds.

—

“Got intae trouble for ye.”

You’re not sure where you are but you recognise the voice. Is he in your room?

“We both did. Curiosity would’ve killed you little kitten,” comes the other voice from the first man in the woods somewhere behind you.

You hazily look down at yourself. You are not in the bed at the inn, you are in another bed laid on your back. You feel your legs brush against one another, not clad in the flannel you remembered wearing. Silk, you are wearing silk. Delicate against your skin, not much of it. Were you wearing perfume? Something smells sweet.

As you stare at the bare expanse of your leg a hand sinks into your thigh, squeezes.

“Fuck LT, so soft. Fingers just sink right in.”

You fight the urge to look to the right where the hand is coming from. You can’t look, some primal part of your brain knows you cannot look.

“Stay away from the woods” the man behind you whispers into your ear like a caress as his hands settle gently around your neck.

You do not feel the snap of bone, but you hear it. You taste the blood in your mouth.

You do not manage to fall back asleep when you wake.

—

Breakfast, library, try to sleep, don’t go into the woods, dinner, try to sleep, stare at the wallpaper, try to sleep.

—

You overhear Axell and Lela once. You think they are talking about you.

“You think we’re doing the right thing?” Axell asks.

“I don’t think there is a right thing anymore.”

“It’s been a long time now. Maybe we should let them go.”

“You think we could?”

There is a silence. Neither of them thinks so. Paranoia settles over you that you haven’t felt since back when things got bad. It’s like an old vice settling into your bones, or maybe seeping out of them as if it never truly left. You cannot go back to that place again so you take some aspirin for the rhythmic pulsing behind your eyes and the dull prickle at the back of your neck and resolve to put any thoughts of conspiracy out of your mind. Lela and Axell are simply old, there is not something they know that you do not.

—

You do not mean to walk into the woods again. The man behind you is back. He feels different somehow.

“I could eat you right up” he says against your neck.

Old Mr Kleer sees the bloodied bite at your throat and says nothing as you walk by.

—

You book a bus ticket. It feels too much like there are tendrils growing from you to burrow into the ground, to fix you here. If you don’t rip them out now, it is only a matter of time until the roots are so deep you won’t be strong enough to move. You aren’t eating properly, you’ve hardly slept and when you do you wake up with a bitter taste in your mouth and covered in scratches. There is still the shape of a bite on your throat and the B&B owners in Pennsylvania look at you with pity as you check in.

The building is charming and fairly new. You stare at the neutral pink wallpaper. One corner of it has lifted ever so slightly. You fall asleep staring at the peek of green underneath.

—

It doesn’t rain as much here, the sun is out and everything seems more colourful. Weeks pass in a haze and you slowly emerge again, eating properly, sleeping through the night. The town on the Greenbrier starts to fade to an unpleasant dream.

—

There is something comforting about the old man who comes to stay and sits by you for breakfast in the mornings. He has the remnants of a Russian accent and laughs frequently and easily. The stories he tells are fantastical, but he’s non-committal about his visit to small town Pennsylvania although he at least tells you that he likes the nature around here. He whispers that his legs aren’t up for much walking anymore, so he has to take the easy paths through small patches of nature.

It takes a week or so more to work up the courage to accompany him on a walk. It seems silly, but the woods make you feel afraid. Maybe a short walk through the small area he spoke of will help you get beyond it. You rub at your neck, feeling the marks faded but still there.

—

He notices your discomfort and tries to ease it with his stories as you walk the dirt path.

“It’s the most important thing I’ve learned you know” he says, the aching grief in his voice causing you pause, “you cannot leave friends behind.”

You turn to him, intending to ask how much longer the path leads since it is getting dark now. He is not there.

“Nik?” you ask, calm at first but increasingly more frantic.

That old familiar dull prickle settles on the back of your neck as you run back down the way you came to get out of the woods. Drooping tree limbs get in your way and you push through, ignoring the scratches. As darkness falls you slow to a walk, unable to see anything in front of you. You catch the smell the sweetness of the jimsonweeds. You can smell blood.

Foot steps that are not your own surround you. A set in front of you. One behind. To the left and to the right.

“Welcome home.”

#mhairiwrites #tf141 #tf141 x reader #sort of not really?#horror is so hard to write my god

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welikeimagines-andfandoms · 11 months ago

Text

Kinktober Day 26: Overstimulation- Ivar Ragnarsson

Summary: Ivar shows his new wife just how much pleasure a cripple can give her

Word count: 2, 002

Many people would think that being wed to a prince would be a blessing, especially if he was a brave warrior as well, but those people did not have to marry Prince Ivar. Your mother had assured you that he couldn’t be too bad, but you had heard differently. The many awful stories from many people ran through your mind when you had to walk up that aisle.

Now you sat beside him at the celebration of your arranged marriage and he had still not spoken a word to you. He’d barely even glanced at you since you’d wed five hours earlier, even the kiss he had to give you was barely a peck. Although it was disappointing to have such an inattentive husband, from what you heard it was better than the wrath he could inflict on you.

Despite Ivar’s actions you still managed to have a good evening thus far, his three elder brothers being a lot more charismatic and funny than your new husband. Your previous anxieties were beginning to dull as Hvitserk and Ubbe continued to make you laugh with tales of their childhood and adventures.

While the alcohol seemed to make you feel more excited and Hvitserk and Ubbe to be more funny, it seemed to have the opposite affect on the youngest of the three, Sigurd. The more he drank the more passing comments and glares at Ivar he seemed to dish out. The other two brothers did a good job of distracting you to not notice, but the elder brothers, and unfortunately Ivar, definitely did notice.

So far others had managed to distract Ivar enough that he didn’t react as violently as Sigurd had hoped, that was until a certain comment seemed to cut just a little too deep.

“You know, Y/N, if you ever notice that Ivar is lacking as a husband, I’m more than happy to keep your bed warm in the evening. I mean hahaha I am sorry to say but he is a cripple with a cock that doesn’t work!” He loudly laughed, unknowingly embarrassing himself as he was the only one laughing.

The room stood still, most people in the large hall having heard the suggestive comment.

At hearing such a crass comment you couldn’t help but choke on your wine. It was the forwardness of such a suggestion that caused you to cough out your wine, but unfortunately Ivar thought you were laughing.

“This is my wedding, Sigurd! Y/N is my wife!” His intimidating voice boomed at his brother, startling you slightly.

“Ivar, careful.” Ubbe gently warned as all eyes landed on your table.

With dangerous eyes, Ivar snarled at both you and Sigurd before angrily hobbling away on his crutch.

Even though Ivar was apparently a brute and hot-headed, he was still your husband and you believed his reaction was warranted.

“Wait! Ivar!” You found yourself calling after him as you ran to catch up with the surprisingly fast Viking.

Ivar made you follow him all the way to your shared bedroom, his steps fast and full of understandable rage. If you hadn’t been quick enough to catch the door with your palm, it would have slammed right in your face.

Stepping into the spacious room you make tentative steps towards your rage-filled husband.

“Ivar?…” you quietly call to him.

His head quickly whips around to you, a rage-filled look etched onto his face. Before you could even attempt to calm him, he had you pinned to the door, his strong forearm digging into your chest.

“You are my wife and you laugh with my brother about me.” He angrily growled at you.

“Ivar- I-I…” You began, before his strong hand around your throat stopped you in your tracks.

Seeing your startled reaction to his anger seemed to switch something in Ivar. Though he was infamous for his rage and his bloodthirsty reputation on the battle field, you were his wife and though many saw him as a brute, he didn’t want you to despise him. Ivar had worried what you’d think of him or that he’d ruin his chance at this relationship working out, that’s why he’d been so distant.

His breathing seemed to calm, his breaths coming out in slow huffs through his nose. Though his grip on you loosened and his breathing slowed, he still had a dangerous look in his eye.

His eyes never leave yours as his hand around your throat descends. The light touches across your chest and abdomen surprise you, there was fire in his eyes but grace in his touch. As his hand makes its way to your hip, he grasps it tightly in a strong hold. Though his hold was strong, it was not violent, it was filled more with passion then pure anger.

“What my brother says about me is true, my cock does not work. Though I can not bare you a child, I can however still bring you pleasure and consummate this marriage.” He confidently declares to you.

His gaze was so intense and his voice so powerful, you had not noticed that both of his hands had moved to the neckline of your dress. It wasn’t until you heard a loud ripping sound and you were pulled slightly away from the door that you noticed where his hands had moved to. Your eyes widened and your body shuddered, but whether it was from the strength your new husband had just shown or from the sudden warmth of the fire on your exposed skin, you couldn’t be sure.

Taking his eyes away from yours, they traveled down to your now exposed breasts. His strong calloused hands began holding and squeezing them, looking upon you with marvel.

“You are a beautiful woman, and you deserve someone who can provide you with the pleasure you deserve. Let me show you how much pleasure I can provide.” He tells you, his eyes once again landing back on yours, his gaze softer now.

One of his hands leaves your breast, making its way to cup your cheek lovingly. You lean into his soft touch as he brings his face closer to yours. His lips press against yours in a kiss that is both gentle and passionate. Your tongues do not meet, but he seems to have no problem showing his passion and causing your core to flutter in excitement.

“Take off your dress and lay on the bed for me, my beautiful wife. I will show you just how much pleasure a cripple can give you.” He tells you, his forehead resting against yours as dominance returns to his voice.

Intrigue filled your body and mind as you quickly pushed off the door, the eager way you rush to remove your clothes causing your new husband to chuckle. His eyes never leave your body as new skin is exposed to him.

Finally laying on the soft furs of the large bed, you find your breathing getting heavier just from watching Ivar make his way over to you. Though he walks with support from a crutch, there is still dominance and power in every step.

Finding his place on the edge of the bed, his fingers lightly trace from your ankle to your inner thigh, goosebumps following the path of his light touch. His passion filled eyes meet yours again as his fingers inch closer to your core. Your legs instinctively bend and spread at his touch.

Taking his other hand, his strength surprises you once again as it wraps around your thigh and drags you closer to his seated spot. Your surprised yelp quickly becomes a moan as his fingers make contact with your warm wet core. He has barely touched you and already your body is alight. Dragging his fingers up and down the length of your pussy, his eyes marvel at the way your body responds.

“You’re so beautiful and you’re all mine.” He speaks softly, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

“All yours, Ivar.” Your soft voice speaks up, causing his head to shoot up, like you’re a dream he’s just realised is real.

His eyes become slightly dangerous again as his strong fingers begin to push into and circle your sensitive bundle of nerves. The way your head pushes back into the soft bed and the sweet moan that escapes your lips, drives Ivar wild. He craves to hear more of your sounds as he positions his body to be between yours legs.

Leaning down he begins to bite and kiss your already quaking thighs, desperately trying to pull more of those sounds from your gorgeous lips.

The feel of his fingers on your clit mixed with the hot kisses he leaves all over your sensitive skin is quickly pushing you to your release. You can feel your core tightening, desperate to come undone.

“Oooh-Ooohh! Ivar, I’m gonna cum!” You call out, your nails digging into his strong forearm.

“Mhmmm. Do it, my love. Scream my name and let everyone hear who makes you feel so good.” He demands, the force and speed on your clit growing more intense.

“Oh fuck! Ivaaarrr!” You scream out in pleasure as your head shoots back in pleasure and your nails dig into his skin harder.

As you lay there catching your breath, you barely register your husband manoeuvring your body to lay against his against the headboard, until you feel his fingers on your sensitive clit.

“Ooohh Ivar! It’s too much!” You pathetically cry out.

His strong arm wraps itself around your centre, holding your squirming body still. You attempt to escape the intense pleasure by closing your legs, causing Ivar to growl and bite at your neck.

“Do not deny me your sweet sounds, my darling wife. I wish to draw as much pleasure out of you tonight as your body is able to take. Be good and keep your gorgeous legs open for me.” He growls lowly in your ear.

Though the overstimulation begins to hurt slightly, you can not deny such a command.

Your next orgasm approaches embarrassingly quickly as you loudly shout Ivars names once again, your head slamming back onto his chest. Ivar chuckles delightedly at your state of overstimulated pleasure.

Once again giving you no time to come down from your orgasm, Ivar deftly thrusts two fingers into your wet pulsing pussy.

“Oh fuck!” You shout out in surprise at the intrusion.

Wasting no time, his fingers begin to curl and thrust into you as his arm holding your middle moves slightly to rub your clit. The combined pleasure of Ivars skilful fingers hitting the sweet spot inside you and rubbing deliciously on your clit is too much for your body to handle, and once again your body thrashes and scream out in overstimulated ecstasy.

“No more, Ivar, no more.” You weakly beg him, your mind feeling fuzzy and your body heavy at the way he’s now made you cum three times.

“Just one more for me, my gorgeous princess. I know you can give me one more.” He almost begs you, sweetly kissing the side of your face as his hand strokes along your inner thigh.

“Just one more.” You weakly nod to him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He excitedly chants as he kisses your cheeks and his fingers return to your clit.

The light chuckle that his sweet kisses cause are quickly cut off by a loud moan of pleasure. This being the fourth time of the night you will cum, your body takes barely twenty seconds before it is thrown into a feeling of blinding ecstasy once more.

The pleasured scream that leaves your body is animalistic as your body goes completely limp against Ivar. Breathing heavily, your eyes begin to close as you feel sleep taking over you.

“You did so well, my love.” He gently coos as he positions you under the soft furs.

His strong arms wrap around you and you feel a sweet kiss on your forehead before you fall into a blissful sleep.

#Ivar #Ivar imagine #Ivar x reader #Ivar the boneless #Ivar the boneless x reader #Ivar the boneless imagine #Ivar Ragnarsson #Ivar Ragnarsson x reader #Ivar Ragnarsson imagine #Vikings #Vikings imagine

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farfromstrange · 5 months ago

Text

Enduring | Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Warnings: Angst, chronic (lower abdominal) pain, mentions of spotting (blood), self-loathing, allusions to Doctors Not Listening To Patients With A Uterus, health anxiety (warranted), non-sexual intimacy, hurt/comfort, self-indulgent, not proof-read

Summary: You’ve been experiencing chronic lower abdominal pain for years regardless of the point in your menstrual cycle. Some days, it’s worse than others, but when the first heatwave of the year hits New York City and you have another flare-up, your day takes a sudden turn for the worse. Thankfully, Matt is there to comfort you in any way he can.

WC: 3k

A/n: Even though I tagged my tag list, don't read if this could be triggering to you! So, I know pain is a very sensitive subject and everyone experiences it differently. I used my personal experience with pain and chasing a diagnosis to write this. That doesn’t mean it’s the only experience. Lower abdominal pain can have many causes, which is why advice from a medical professional is often necessary. That being said, I know how hard it can be to have been born into a female body and be treated like my pain is worth less for whatever reason just because I was born female. There is no shame in standing up for yourself in a man’s world that completely disregards women’s health. I had to learn it the hard way to the point it has taken a toll on my mental health, so I just needed to write a little comfort piece for my own peace of mind before my appointment on Monday. I wrote this for the sake of getting it out of my system, meaning it’s probably not perfect, but if you can relate to what I said in any way, feel free to read it and make up your own mind. (I will not be posting this on AO3 for now. I hope you can forgive me for that.)

Matt always knows when something is wrong with you.

Sometimes, he can smell it. Other times, it’s the way you taste when you kiss him or the sweat that clings to your skin, or when he goes down on you and your essence is slightly tangier than it was the day before.

Matt knows when you’re ovulating because the changes in your hormones make him go crazier than he already is for you, and he is familiar with the metallic scent of blood when you’re on your period. He can tell when you start sweating more often, when your muscles tense up more than usual, or when you are slightly more emotional. He knows before you even do because he has to.

You are miserable almost every day, really, but more often than not it happens around the time of your period. So, he pays close attention to the signs. When the painkillers stop working, or when you get more tired, or when you stop moving around as much. When you tell him you’re fine even though he can feel the muscles of your abdomen tensing under his touch when he hugs you. When he can tell you have been crying and he wasn’t there to help. He has to know because you need him.

You’re not entirely dependent on him, of course; you have lived on your own before and while it was hell, you pushed through somehow. With him, you don’t have to be alone on the days you can’t get out of bed because the pain keeps you locked in a fetal position, or on the days you have to cower on the bathroom floor until you’re too weak to move. Matt has reached a point of knowing you where his four working senses don’t play much of a role in telling what kind of a day you’re having; he just knows.

Tonight, he senses it when he comes through the door after work, finally escaping the raging heat from the streets that made him feel like he was dying on the commute home. He instantly loosens his tie to get some air into his lungs, feeble fingers working desperately to free himself, but it doesn’t take a second longer for him to realize something is wrong. It is nothing but a mere hunch—some kind of aura that emits from somewhere in the apartment that makes the hairs on his arms stand up. He calls your name, frantically searching for your heartbeat. Through the rattling of the fridge as it tries to keep up with the rising temperatures inside, he makes out the rapid drumming of your heart against your ribcage. If you’re not dizzy yet, he thinks, you soon will be.

Upon hearing you huff from the kitchen floor, Matt doesn’t hesitate tossing his bag mindlessly into the nearest corner, followed by his keys before he makes his way to find you. He’s overheated, itchy, and sweating through his clothes, but not anywhere near as desperate as he is to get to you.

“Sweetheart?” he asks.

Hearing the sound of his voice, you realize that what felt like five minutes must have been hours spent on the cool kitchen floor. You can’t even remember how you got there. The hours have blended into minutes, the tiles digging into your sweat-coated skin. You’re curled up in a ball, wearing nothing but one of Matt’s loosest shirts. You couldn’t stand the feeling of a waistband around your stomach, so you took your pants off, changing into the oldest pair of cotton underwear you could find. It’s all soaked by now, and part of you wonders if you did finally get your period or if your pores just decided to drench you for the fun of it.

Everything hurts. Your muscles are tense, yet at the same time they are so incredibly weak, you don’t react when the front door opens. He’s worried, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It is as though the pain has made you entirely apathetic, coiling in your lower stomach and spreading into your legs like a parasite. All you can do is succumb to it.

Matt’s feet come into view. The purple cast of the billboard outside falls upon him, painting the shadow of a halo above his head. It’s ironic, really; the man you love as your knight in shining armor, a Catholic looking like an angel in artificial neon light.

His gentle voice reaches for you, “What’re you doing on the floor?”

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay because he knows it is futile, but even that question you don’t know how to answer. What are you doing on the dirty kitchen floor?

You clear your throat, trying to sound nonchalant when you answer, “It’s too hot up there.”

He crouches down. “Just too hot?”

You sigh. “No.”

It was a good day until it wasn’t, and then you were in pain again and all the days you spent feeling a little more like yourself are suddenly gone with the wind. The tears wrap a noose around your neck for the second time today, your eyes burning with faint resistance. Every time you think it gets better, it gets worse again. And every time you try to pretend that maybe things are looking up for you and it isn’t as endless of a pit as you thought, the exact opposite proves itself. You’re tired; you’re in pain and you’re tired and you feel so silly for letting it dim the light Natt pointed out a few days ago that he had so deeply missed, but there is only so much hope you can have.

This isn’t the first time he has found you like this, but it truly never gets easier. Hearing the strain in your voice, the quiver in your entire being as you try to catch your breath, telling yourself not to fucking cry. It never gets easier to know how much you beat yourself up for something that isn’t your fault. Because the doctors that were supposed to listen failed you, and now the road to relief is paved with bricks you can barely climb over. You are on your way now, finally, but the future is still not certain. In the end though, what kills him the most is that he can’t help you.

Matt reaches out, his hand shaking as he aimlessly brushes his fingers over your forehead. “Cramps?” he says.

You nod weakly.

“Since when?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, and that is when the glass overflows.

With a click of his tongue, he wipes the first of your tears away. His brown eyes bore into your soul, completely bare in front of him. Your body is like a complex crafted melody only he knows how to decipher.

The tears quickly form a barrier between you and the tiles. Matt tilts his head. The faintest hint of copper clings to your skin. “Did you get your period?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Just… some spotting.”

“Explains the blood.”

He is way too nonchalant about it, you think. The way he accepts your version of normal even though you feel like a failure trapped in a body that refuses to work like it is supposed to.

“How’d you get here?” he asks again, his voice so soft you want nothing more than to hide your face from him and cry some more.

He refuses to let you go, gripping your chin to the point it almost hurts. “I was trying to do the dishes and then–” a broken sob gets stuck in your throat. “It hurts and it’s hot, and I can’t breathe.”

He gently cradles your face in his hands. “I know,” he says like he can read your mind. And maybe he can.

Your chest heaves with every breath you take. “I couldn’t stand anymore, so I laid down. On the floor,” you tell him. “I just… I didn’t get anything done today.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does. I–”

He cuts you off, “No, sweetie, it doesn’t. I can wash the dishes, but I can’t replace you.”

His dedication hurts. You used to be called sensitive and not worth the drama, but with him, you count, and that hurts because you are barely hanging on by a fragile thread. You don’t know how to ever give back to him what he has given you. The countless nights you patched him up after he got his ass handed to him do not seem to matter much compared to what he does for you.

He studies your erratic heartbeat for a moment. “You want a heating pad?” he offers.

You physically cringe at the thought of a hot water bottle when the entire city could function as one, and you are quick to deny, “Too hot.”

Matt chuckles. “Yeah, I figured.” He brushes a damp strand of hair away from your face. “Have you taken anything yet? Advil? Naproxen?”

You growl. “You know none of the pills they gave me fucking work!”

He doesn’t seem deterred by your tone. All he does is smile softly at you, fingers tracing invisible patterns on your skin.

“I know,” he says. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, nothing’s helping,” you retort.

“That why you’re lying on the floor?”

Another tear rolls down your cheek and past your cracked lips. “I told you. Nothing helps.”

Snapping at him for only trying to care may be petty of you, but there is nothing you loathe more than feeling so utterly helpless.

Matt moves closer, your words pearling off of him like he is made of stone. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Can I try something else?”

The voice in your head is screaming, what else is there to do? You are tired of trying everything and nothing ever working. Two more weeks until you will meet with a new doctor, but those two weeks might actually kill you. That’s what it feels like, anyway.

He sighs, “C’mere.” Without another word from you, Matt slides his arms under your sticky frame and lifts you off the ground. His skin offers a stark contrast from the cold kitchen tiles, but he’s clean, and he smells like home. Not this place, not this city, but him.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Bathroom,” is all he tells you.

Your brain is too slow to even dare protest. He carries you to the bathroom, setting you down on unsteady legs.

“May I?” he asks. You nod, but even as he pulls his shirt over your head, he doesn’t once let go of you.

You close your eyes. The pain in your abdomen is dull yet searing. You try to focus on anything else, but just when you think it’s getting better, it breaks through again, burning through you like a wildfire on the blade of a hot knife. And that makes you sad. It makes you so sad and angry you don’t know what to do with yourself. You want to scream and cry and tear the apartment apart, but you’re exhausted and tired and you know that if this pain keeps rippling through you, you might fall apart.

You hate when he sees you like this. When you’re falling apart and there’s nothing either of you can do, and you blame yourself even though there is nothing to blame yourself for. Matt knows that. You sometimes wonder if you are a burden to him and he just won’t tell you because he doesn’t know when to stop. To stop caring, to stop helping, to stop trying to change everything. But then again, he has always told you that loving you isn’t a burden. If you get lost in the what ifs, you might actually fall apart.

“I’m gonna start a cool bath,” Matt murmurs next to you, snapping you out of your thoughts with his gentle baritone of a voice. “Just stay here.”

You nod weakly, too exhausted to argue. The thought of immersing yourself in cool water, even for a few minutes, seems like a small mercy.

Water starts to run in the distance. His belt hits the floor, followed by the fabric clinging to his skin. You’re afraid you might get dizzy if you open your eyes. Dizzy because of the pain. Dizzy because of him.

The cabinet behind you rattles when he reaches for it. “Claire gave them to me, but you took these before,” he says, skillfully working on the cap of an orange capsule. “They’re a bit stronger than Advil.”

You don’t protest, you simply let him place one of the pills in the palm of your hand. He is right behind you with his hand on your waist when you take them, swallowing with a handful of water. There’s nothing sexual in the way he touches you, just a tenderness born from years of knowing each other’s bodies inside and out.

Maybe that is why you could never be a burden to him; he has felt like one for most of his life, and the last thing he wants is for his love to feel the same way. And he needs you to remind him that he is everything to you, too, his hands never wavering when they find your skin. You’re his lifeline as much as he is yours.

The cold water hits the inside of the bathtub, pattering down like raindrops on a windowpane. Matt gently tugs you closer to him and guides you toward the tub. At first, when he lifts you in, the cool water is a shock to your overheated skin, but it doesn’t take long for you to welcome the change in temperature.

He eases you between his legs once he is sat, your back against his chest, wrapping his arms around you. His hands come to rest on your lower stomach, close enough to allow you to pull your legs up to your chest. It’s the only position that doesn’t hurt.

You remember nights spent crammed in the same position, not because of you but because of his nightmares. The roles were reversed then. When it’s too hot outside, he needs the world on fire to burn a little less bright. Today, you finally realize what he must feel like on days like these.

“How’s that?” he asks, his breath warm against your ear.

You nod. “Better,” you whisper. Better isn’t perfect, but the pain is just dull now, and the gentle movement of his fingers against your sore muscles lulls you into a state where you can breathe. It’s not perfect, but it is as good as it gets.

Your head falls back against his collarbone. “Thank you,” your voice is barely above a whisper when you tell him.

He shushes you, lips moving to your temple. The gesture is supposed to say, don’t thank me. But it feels wrong not to.

You lift your head enough to look at him, finally, your eyes fluttering open to look back into his hazel orbs. “Matt…”

“Yeah?” he breathes.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” you confess. It’s a truth you’ve grappled with, the stark realization that his presence has become indispensable. It is a burden, to be loved so fiercely, as much as it is an addiction. Because a life without him seems like a sheer impossibility you don’t ever want to face again.

Matt holds his lips against your skin, smiling. “Good thing you never have to find out, hm?”

You chuckle weakly. “You sure about that?”

“Mhm.”

“What if you get sick of me?”

“Then I’ll be sick of you for a few hours,” he says, “and you’ll be sick of me ‘til we’re not.”

Your eyes roam his face for any indication that he might not be telling the truth. “That easy?” you ask.

He nods, fingers coming up to find your lips. He touches them for a moment, exploring the soft skin there. Instead of kissing you though, he halts.

“What?” You frown.

Matt shakes his head. “Nothing. Just… You’re gonna be okay,” his voice is barely above a whisper. “I’ll make sure of that.”

A whimper breaks from your chest. He believes it wholeheartedly, but it is incredibly hard to hear it out loud because you don’t believe it. You press your lips together, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over again. “I just wish it didn’t have to be this way,” you whisper. “I wish I could be… normal.”

Again, he nods, fingers brushing over your cheek to catch a stray tear. “You are normal,” he insists softly. “Your pain doesn’t make you any less. And ‘cause I know how strong you are, I know you’re gonna be okay.”

“Even if I’ll be ill for the rest of my life? Even if I–”

“Of course,” he stops you. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. I promise. Not ‘even if’ but regardless of whether it’s endometriosis or… or something else. Your pain is a part of you, but it’s not all of you. I love all of you.”

There is no stopping the avalanche of tears that is forced down the hill by his words. They hit you harder than an arrow to the heart.

You crack under the weight of your emotions. “I love you,” you whisper. Those three words mean the world, but they feel inadequate to describe what you feel.

“I know,” says Matt. “I love you too.”

The once open wounds of the blood you shed just to find him are nothing but scars now—scars you can learn how to live with once you accept that there is nothing wrong with you. Being a human being with an illness, both mentally and physically, doesn’t make you any less worthy of love. It doesn’t make you any less worthy of life.

With Matt by your side, you are no longer alone in this. You have him, all of him, and that makes all the difference.

Matt Murdock (Angst) Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @thychuvaluswife @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @abucketofweird

Also tagging: @moncherriis

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x afab!reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil #daredevil x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #hurt/comfort #charlie cox #chronic pain

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lasciviouspoison · 2 years ago

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my first full length smut fic! this shit took weeks to edit ngl, but it was worth it. with that being said, there are probably still some mistakes so excuse those, lol. tw: breeding, eren calls himself “daddy”, word “mommy” is used, reader and eren are extremely (heavy emphasis on extremely) frustrated. not a tw, but like i always say, this is for my chubby black women, but all are free to read <3

eren has loved you for an extremely long time. he’s spoiled u, fed u, he’s even dressed you head to toe while you were sick.

yet, all of this spoiling and caring for u, does not warrant your brattiness right now.

he’s been studying tirelessly for his midterm for about 2 weeks now, finally on his last day of review before his test in a couple of days. yet, he can’t seem to focus because you keep coming in and out of your shared study every three seconds.

“‘ren, where are the extra washcloths?”

he looks up from his textbook, glasses falling off his nose a bit. you’re even dressed like a brat, skimpy little white tank top and baby pink panties. it makes his head hurt worse than the passage he’s read over 4 times now.

“there’s no way you’re asking me where fucking washcloths are right now. there’s no way.” he says with some bite to his voice. he just needs to finish these last two pages and the longer it takes him, the more it kills him.

your arms cross over your chest, pushing your bra-less chest up and exposing a bit of your chubby stomach. “does it look like i’m joking with you? where are they?”

he clenches his jaw and in a very clipped tone, he responds that they’re under the sink. you scoff slightly and walk out, making an effort to slam the door a bit harder than necessary.

he sits back in his chair and throws off his glasses, big tattooed hands wiping his face. eren knows he’s been neglecting you, and it’s killing him just as much as you. he’s tired of coming home from class too tired to touch you. he’s tired of you having to tell him to go lay down after his head rocked one too many times over his dinner plate.

he’s tired, but he’s not gonna let you act like a bitch just to get what you want. simply because it’s fucking working.

he pushes up from his desk and walks out of the study. he hears the bathroom cabinets opening, so he does everything but sprint to get there.

you peer over your shoulder at him and roll your eyes, “they weren’t under the sink. in fact, they’re all dirty cause, you know, you act like you can’t help with laundry anymore-“

erens grabbed you by the nape of your neck and brought your body close to his. you can hear his semi-heavy breathing despite still being bent over, which caused your heart to race a little. although you knew eren would never hurt you, it doesn’t mean that his pent up energy won’t go to waste.

“a couple things: one, don’t talk to me like i’m a fucking child. two, i do still help with laundry, there’s a whole basket full of folded shirts sitting on the bedroom floor that i didn’t get the chance to put away. and finally, you that cock hungry, or are you genuinely mad at me?” he finishes with a finger running up your spine, back arching at the feeling. he knows this rills you up, which is perfect for him. you don’t get to frustrate him and remain unscathed.

your eyes widened a bit, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop eren’s hand from moving. you could feel just how hard he was and it made you think that he almost had it worse than you. however, that doesn’t mean your just gonna lay here and take it.

“get the fuck off me eren” you said through tight lips. his hands now steadily making their way under your top, with you making no advances to stop him.

he bent down towards your ear as his body almost covers yours entirely, with his fingers now gently pulling at your nipples.. “you know what’s funny? you can act mad at me all you want, but this pretty pussy is never ever mad at me. maybe i should gag you and let her do the talking, at least she’s not a fucking liar” at this point, eren’s hands feel like hot coals against your body. while they slowly make their descent back down your body, you can feel your resolve slowly melting away under his touch.

before you could reply, his fingers begin to softly move along your covered slit, causing your breath to hitch. you push your hips back a little and eren gives you a breathless laugh in return.

“i know i’ve neglected you pretty baby. daddy’s really sorry, just let me make it up to you. i promise, you can have me all night if you just tell me what you really want”. sometimes, you swore that you could hear the smirk on eren’s lips.

you shook your head no and felt a soft slap to your pussy. you wanted to scream at him and tell him just how badly you missed him, but your mouth refused to open. you bit your lip once he began touching you again, attempting to coax a confession from your pretty lips.

you felt him bend over once again, this time to place small kisses behind your ear, kisses that started to travel down your neck and onto your back. the entirety of his ministrations were torture, but it was when he stopped kissing you and replaced his lips with his tongue to lick a stripe up your back that you really wanted to cave.

eren’s middle finger finally found your bare clit, the initial contact causing you to jump hard against his body. small whimpers leaving your lips as you tried to maneuver on his fingers before he stilled your movements.

“m’not doin anything more till you tell me the truth. what do you want from me baby? tell me and i’ll give it you ya”.

you try to grind against his fingers once again before a hard smack to your ass forces you to stop. his grip on your hips tightening, letting u know that he’s really gonna deprive you until you speak.

“want you to touch me ren! wan’ you to fuck me so fucking bad!” you finally scream out.

every gives you a small chuckle before his middle and index finger burry themselves into your cunt. his body almost shakes at warmth you provide. blood rushing straight to his dick, making him indescribably hard.

“that’s it baby, that’s all i wanted to hear.” he sounds breathless, almost like he’s the one that’s been getting teased.

he’s pumping his fingers in and out of you, a small squelching sound coming from your sopping pussy. your grip on the cold marble counter top has your knuckles turning white. at this point, you’re so desperate for more that your meeting his fingers half way.

with tears threatening to run down your chubby cheeks, you make pleas for more. “ren please, please gimme more. i’ll be good i promise!”

he feels so bad. you’ve never acted like this, even when the two of you were still forced to live separately on campus. the desperation in your voice is surprising him just as much as it’s surprising you.

because he knows you like it when he fucks you with his hair down, he pulls his hair from his already loosening bun and all but rips his sweats off. dick hitting his bare stomach with a heavy thud.

he takes his fingers out of you and rips those pretty pink panties off, he makes a mental note to buy you another pair.

he rubs himself between your sticky folds till his cock is shiny, hitting your clit a couple of times in the process, drawing more whines from you. all he can do is look down in awe. it’s amazing to him just how wet you get from just a couple of fingers, but who can blame u? his dick’s been throbbing for four days straight.

he finally anchors himself and spits, emitting a soft puh before he smiles. you’re such a mess underneath him and he can’t wait to make it even worse. he finally starts to push in, but your tight little cunny won’t let him in no matter how gentle he tries to be.

“lemme in baby… please lemme in” his voice is so strained it’s making u gush even more.

“i’m tryin!” you say with a pout, tears running down your face.

eren knows you’ve always been big on eye contact when the two of you fuck, it’s almost necessary… so, he hooks his fingers into the side of your mouth and forces your head to lift. finally you were able to see that tattooed chest and pretty face, and he was able to see those pretty eyes and beautiful tear stained face.

almost immediately do you loosen up and he accidentally on purpose pushes all the way in, causing the both of you to moan loudly.

“there you go baby, take it for me ya spoiled fuckin brat”. his hands have found purchase on the fatness of your hips, his grip so tight that you think he’ll bruise you. not that you’ve ever cared.

“fuckfuckfuck” is all you can say as you watch his facial expressions through the mirror. his hair is down and there’s tiny beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. he’s gone slack jawed while stroking you, a relaxed expression gracing his pretty face. no matter how many times he’s buried himself in your warm walls, he’s never gotten used to how good u feel. once his green eyes make contact with yours and that smirk graces his face, it makes u realize just how in control he is no matter how gentle he may look.

“squeezin’ me so tight baby.. u miss me that much?” he says with a breathless laugh, voice dripping with sarcasm. the both of you know that going this long without touch was both odd and frustrating. it caused the both of you to miss each other equally, hence why this could be categorized as some of the best sex you’ve ever had.

at this point, he knows you’re gonna cum soon, he can feel your walls pulsing and eren feels like his dick is gonna pop.

“g’nna cum rennie, g’nna make a mess on yo- ugh fuck!” your little hands balling into fists as he hits that spongey spot in you. you can hear just how hard he’s thrusting into you, each stroke sounding more sticky than the last. it’s making your eyes cross and toes curl.

your convinced he’s gonna kill you with that horse dick of his one day.

“let it out baby, i’ll clean it up the mess, wanna feel you cum on me.” even he’s getting whiny now, so it’s only a matter of time before you-

“-ohmygod eren!” you cum so hard that your body’s shaking and your knees are buckling. thankfully, eren’s always there to catch you.

despite chasing his own nut, he desperately wants to see you ride out your orgasm. he’s so desperate that he’s picking you up by your hips, forcing you to do small circles against his waist cause he knows it drives you crazy.

however, it doesn’t take long before he’s digging deep into you again, the force of his thrusts causing your head to bounce a little harder than intended.

“god i’m gonna cum so hard in this pretty pussy. i’m so fucking sorry i neglected you baby.. never again, god i’ll never do it again baby i promise. gonna fill you up okay? awe, you like the sound of that yeah? make you the prettiest mommy for me. promise i’ll take care of you forever. god i love you”. he’s rambling and his voice is getting rough. it’s only a matter of time before he cums.

after finding some strength, you finally look back and smile at him and that’s all it takes for eren to cum. his face screws up and his warm hands slide up your back to make you arch a little deeper. you wish you could run your fingers through his hair so badly, but you couldn’t ask for a better view of your beautiful boyfriend.

after a few moments of silence, eren finally comes down from his high with a big huff of air. gently, he spins you around so you face him. he moves your curls from out of your eyes and gives you a slow kiss on the lips, hands resting gently on your chubby, tear stained cheeks.

after a few moments of silence, he starts to speak, “i meant what i said. i’m sorry i left you alone for so long baby. i just gotta pass this test.” his eyes full of remorse.

“i know eren, i just wanted some attention… it’s really easy to miss you, even if we live together”. small smiles find both of your faces and eren finally pulls out to run the two of you a warm bath.

he strips you out of your tank top and carries you over to the tub, where he holds you tightly.

after some comfortable silence, you can’t help but look over your shoulder and ask the question that’s been plaguing your mind, “you really wanna get me pregnant?”

he looks towards the ceiling and let’s out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “i mean, eventually yes. right now? fuck no”

the two of you fell into laughter while the smell of lavender filled your noses and achy bones were finally allowed to rest.

#eren #eren x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren yeager #eren smut #eren x chubby reader #eren x black reader smut #eren x y/n #damn….. i love writing for this man

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baddiewiththebook · 6 months ago

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Over the Years | e.m x reader | Prologue

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

-> a/n I hope you're ready for a long series. This will cover the life of Eddie Munson, growing up in a trailer park and perhaps falling in love with you. Of course, there's a few complications on the way (perhaps his friend steals his girl - or maybe he becomes a rockstar and moves away) and the series includes so many tropes that I've chosen to keep them hidden away, so you don't get spoiled for later chapters. Muahaha! This will include smut, so PLEASE for the love of God, if you're under 18 - go away! Longer chapters await my friends. xo

-> <-

August 1970

This chair is uncomfortable.

Well, it’s for sure plastic. The static is making Eddie’s shirt sit uncomfortably on his body like a magnet that tethers him by an invisible line of Velcro. It’s not even his shirt. It’s his father’s old beaten shirt from a few years ago when he went to a car show.

It’s been forever. Eddie cranes his neck to stare at the big clock on the wall that he cannot read. The big hand is on the two and the little one is at the top on the twelve. It’s terribly late for him to be up, but that’s also what he thought when his father shook him awake and shoved him in the backseat of their car.

Letting his feet swing below him, Eddie wrestles in the plastic seat. Not a lot is going on around him.

It isn’t like how he sees on the televisions through the video store windows where the bad guy gets taken down by the cop. Although, his dad sure did put up a fight trying to get away from the cop. That doesn’t mean his dad is a bad guy though, right?

There’s only one cop sitting at his desk with papers stacked around him. He’s darker in skin tone with a fair amount of hair missing on top of his head. Wrinkles press the crown of his head. Scribbling something on the official looking sheet of paper, the cop mutters under his breath when the phone blares out an obnoxious ringing.

“Hello?” His southern draw laces into the phone call. “Yeah, send him in.”

The telephone is set back down onto the base, and the officer tilts his head at the young child occupying the seat next to his desk.

Edward Munson is the unforgettable boy. The wild child has a father made of criminal infamy in Hawkins, Indiana. It would appear that this time the old bastard has really gotten himself stuck for the long haul. Prison time. Long sheets of paperwork include one particular document that lists Wayne Munson, the uncle, as the child’s dependent as of right now.

Wayne bursts through the door with the secretary from the front desk. Eyes scorching from an exhausting drive after a terribly unrewarding shift at the factory, Wayne lays his gaze upon his disheveled nephew. Eddie doesn’t even have a proper shirt draped over his body. There’s not a doubt in Wayne’s mind that Al, his brother and the boy’s father, refused to pay a dime for clothes to cover his child.

It’s been a terrible struggle to encourage Al Munson to step up and become a father to his son. After his wife, Elizabeth, died, Al latched onto slots to fill the hole inside of his chest. Slowly, sleepovers at Uncle Wayne’s became a lot more routine and a lot longer stay for little Eddie.

That’s not to suggest that Eddie minds. Uncle Wayne has some pretty cool toys at his trailer. And, Wayne has a bed for him - unlike his dad, who lets him have the backseat of the car.

Al Munson gambled away all of his savings, and the house was foreclosed by the bank. He’s been avoiding his debts by living in his car with five-year old Eddie. That only worked for so long. Eventually, the police caught up to him.

Tonight Al was arrested for possession of illegal substances and a warrant from some time ago, and he is awaiting a trial that will most likely keep him locked away for a while.

“Hey, Eddie,” uncle Wayne approaches the small boy by dropping into a squat that’s closer to Eddie’s height. “Are you alright?”

Eddie bobs his head up and down.

“Sir,” the officer calls his attention. “I just need you to sign a few things and then we can release him to you.”

The secretary does the same as his uncle had done, and squats to his height. She’s very pretty. Pinned hair sits atop her head in a bun that’s shaped like an egg. Eddie giggles at this, his baby cheeks turning pink.

“Hi, Eddie,” she says sweetly. “Would you like a candy bar? You’ve been doing such an amazing job waiting for your Uncle.”

Her teeth are as white as diamonds. Dimples press her fleshy cheeks up, as she holds out a small chocolate bar in her hand. Well, Eddie has been spoiled tonight. Not only is he up past his bedtime, the officer that brought him here stopped to get him a hamburger first. And, now?

Eddie does take the chocolate bar kicking his feet with glee. The secretary helps open up the bar of chocolate for him, and he gobbles it down fast before his Uncle Wayne could see. Wayne thinks sugar keeps Eddie up at night.

Eddie keeps Eddie up all night.

It’s mere moments when his uncle returns to him, and the secretary waltzes back to her duties at her desk. Uncle Wayne gives his nephew the tightest hug, while hiding his tears in Eddie's shirt. It’s never ideal to have a brother, who refuses to take care of his child. The least Wayne could do is keep Eddie safe and out of harms way.

Holding a copy of the terminated parental rights of Alan Munson with one hand, Wayne scoops the boy up with his other and keeps him holstered onto his hip.

“Hold on,” Wayne directs.

Eddie clings to the plaid fabric of his uncle’s shirt collar. Too soon, will Eddie be grown up to where Wayne can’t coddle him anymore.

The walk out of the precinct is short. Eddie waves goodbye to the officers and the secretary, who took care of him for the hour that Wayne prepared his home and drove out here to get his nephew.

Wayne drives extra slow that evening, even though the roads are clear. Feeling heavy for the loss of a father, Eddie must learn life skills from his uncle. Not being a father himself, Wayne is apprehensive at best. There’s not a thing he wouldn’t do for this boy. When Eddie came into the world, Wayne became the third person to ever hold him. That comes after his mother, and his father.

There is so much hope in a newborn baby. No one has broken them yet. There’s still so many firsts to explore the big wide world.

Slowing at a stop, Wayne cranes his head into his overhead mirror. Eddie is lopped over the seat bucket with a pile of drool coming from between his lips. His eyes flash underneath his eyelids.

What Wayne doesn’t know, is that Eddie hasn’t had a real sleep in days. Ever since they lost the house, Eddie has kept one eye open in the backseat of his father’s car. Sleeping outside isn’t exactly peaceful. Horns honking. Babies crying. Someone’s always yelling. Not to mention his dad snores. Loud.

Wayne decides not to wake the sleeping boy when he does eventually pull in to his humble trailer. Killing the engine, Wayne quiets for a moment. The soft snore from his lips eventually turns into a groan, and the young boy kicks his legs out. Sitting upright and sleeping cannot possibly be comfortable.

The thought of raising a child has never crossed Wayne's mind. After Eddie had been born, Wayne swore children were too much for him to handle. They cry all the time, then you have to feed them and you have to make sure they're clean and not to mention that when they keep crying for no reason - you can't kill 'em. 'Suppose in a way Wayne has gotten the parenting thing down because of Eddie anyway. Being an uncle to Eddie is the best thing that's ever happened to him.

Eddie took his first steps right on that front porch in front of his house. Elizabeth, Eddie's mom, was leaving Eddie for a couple of hours for work, and Eddie grabbed onto one of the couches before wobbling after her.

Oh, how Wayne misses her. She was a saint of a woman. When she got sick, Wayne saw a different person in Al. He's not too harsh on his brother. It can't be easy missing the love of your life like that. But, the boy - Eddie stretches out when Wayne opens the back passenger door - Eddie should have been enough of a reason for Al to keep going.

Wayne unbuckles the boy, who slumps forward. Catching his head, Wayne slides his other hand underneath the young boy's knees. Eddie stirs. Wayne holds in his breath and he freezes. Eddie tilts his head, eyes batting sleepily, then leans forward into his uncle's heavily beating chest.

"Alright," Wayne whispers into his curls, "Come on."

Carrying him up the steps, Wayne tries a few times to open the front door. Getting the key in the lock is one trick, but now to actually open the door? It would probably have worked best if he had done this before carrying a hefty sleeping five year old. Noted.

Eventually, he twists the knob and pulls. He pulls enough, so that he can wedge his foot in the door. Grunting, Wayne twists around and scoots into the home.

Eddie begins to slide from his grasp, and Wayne juggles him a bit before he can fall. Eddie’s quite long for a five year old. Or, so he assumes. His limbs splay out like a praying mantis.

There’s an extra bedroom in the back of the trailer. Little robots and figurines take up most of the space where Wayne’s collection of books once were. A rickety wood desk that’s peeling apart is home to a number of old train car toys that Eddie really liked out of Wayne’s collection.

Tucking Eddie in to the old twin bed he bought at the thrift store with nearly half his paycheck, the young child is surrounded by a plush layer of blankets and pillows. But, Eddie still clung to his uncle. Finally, someone who cares about him enough. Doubt scrambles Eddie’s mind and he wonders sleeplessly if his uncle would be there when he woke up.

It doesn’t take Wayne much convincing to slip into the tiny twin bed along side his nephew. Tiny mewls escape Eddie’s tired lips. Since he’s so scrawny and lengthy, Wayne has no trouble taking up the empty space in bed with him.

“You’re safe,” Wayne whispers into that wild mane of hair. “I’ve got you, now.”

-> <-

[June 1972]

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson slow burn

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fluentmoviequoter · 7 months ago

Text

No Bad Days When You're In Them

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!girlfriend!reader

Summary: Tim has a bad day, but he forgets about it when he sees you get hurt.

Warnings: angst, kidnapping, mention of domestic violence, r gets hit by a vehicle, mention of hospital and broken bones, fluff and comfort!

Word Count: 2.3k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

The worst part about having a bad day, in Tim’s opinion, is that he knows it’s affecting him, but there’s nothing to do about it. With each passing moment, he feels his attitude worsening, but each of those moments also keeps him from caring that he’s snapping at the people closest to him. Bad days are inevitable, they are a comfort of sorts to cops, but that doesn’t mean Tim enjoys them.

“Wait, what does that mean?” Nolan asks.

“You passed the rookie exam, figure it out,” Tim answers harshly.

“How are we supposed to get inside if the guy isn’t cooperating? We don’t have a warrant,” Nolan points out.

“Then focus on what we do have!”

“A report of a kidnapped child and no probable cause to get in! You’re not the only one having a bad day, Bradford.”

“Then don’t make it worse.”

“Whoa! What is going on?” Angela asks as she approaches Tim and Nolan.

“Get a little room,” Nyla commands.

Tim steps back from Nolan, his jaw tight and his shoulders drawn up. Between the bad morning he had and the stress of a kidnapping case, Tim is ready for the day to end. If he can go home, and see you, then maybe the residual tension and annoyance he’s carrying will disappear. He’ll just have to remind himself not to take anything out on you; he promised never to do that again. At this moment, though, he can’t see himself doing anything more than finding comfort in your presence.

Tim’s phone rings as Nyla relays the details of the missing person’s report the child’s father gave, but he silences it without looking at who is calling.

“Today is going to get worse so if either of you have a problem, get away from my case,” she tells Tim and Nolan.

“No problem,” Nolan says. “Sorry.”

She looks at Tim, and he fights the urge to roll his eyes as he agrees, “I’m good.”

“Good. Tim, you’re going around the back with Angela. Nolan, you’re contact; find a way to get this guy to the front door and we’ll take it from there.”

“Did you get a warrant?” Nolan inquires.

“No,” Angela answers. “You two don’t have probable cause?”

“I can make him scream,” Tim offers.

“Thanks, but we need a legal means of getting in there. If he has this little girl, she’s got-“ Angela checks her watch to say, “Less than half an hour until she needs insulin.”

Tim exhales and looks at the house. A curtain moves on the far side of the house, and he taps Angela’s arm before he points to it. She turns to watch, and Nyla and Nolan follow suit. With their eyes on the window, they don’t notice the front door opening.

The curtain falls back into place and Tim looks away. Standing in the open doorway, the owner of the house raises a gun toward Tim.

“Gun!” he warns.

He, Angela, Nyla, and Nolan dive to the side of the walkway for cover. The man empties the magazine into Tim’s shop.

“Can today get any worse?” Nolan mumbles.

“Now it will!” Nyla responds quickly. “Shut up, Nolan!”

“Cover me,” Tim tells Angela.

“No, Tim-“

She doesn’t finish her sentence before she raises her gun to cover him. Tim moves quickly through the yard as the man reloads his weapon. Just as the new magazine snaps into place, Tim pulls the gun from his hands and uses the force to throw the man to the ground. Nolan approaches quickly to place handcuffs on the suspect, but Tim simply sets the gun aside and walks into the house.

“Hello?” he calls. “LAPD! It’s safe to come out.”

He hears a scraping sound in a room down the hall and pulls his gun from the holster as he nears the door. The scraping slows before someone or something hits the door.

“Help!” a young girl cries.

“Hey,” Tim greets as he holsters his gun. “My name is Sergeant Bradford.”

“I’m Josie,” she replies.

“Okay, Josie, I’m going to help you. Listen, I’m going to tap the wall over here, and I want you to get as far from the door as you can before you tap back, okay?”

“Okay.”

Tim extends his arm and taps his knuckles against the wall beside the door. A moment later, Josie knocks further down the wall. Tim stands and kicks the door twice before it snaps, and he muscles it open the rest of the way.

“Bradford!” Angela calls from the doorway. “Still having a bad day?”

Josie hugs Tim’s legs, and he knows that saving one girl isn’t enough to escape the day he’s having. No rest for the weary, right?

“There’s a situation downtown. Need all the backup they can get,” Angela adds. “Hi, Josie, I’m Detective Lopez. Your dad is waiting in my office to see you.”

Josie releases Tim and runs toward Angela. And just like that, Tim is back on patrol and navigating through the crowded and hectic streets of Los Angeles. When he reaches the address he was sent to, he sees a crowd of violent protestors. Sitting back in his seat, he takes a deep breath.

Tim’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he clenches his jaw as he pulls it out. Whoever has been trying to contact him is relentless, as if he wasn’t juggling enough already.

“Nell?” Tim wonders aloud as he reads the contact name on the numerous missed calls.

He calls her back, and she answers nearly immediately. She begins talking the moment the line connects. She reads an address that Tim knows by heart, and he pulls the gear shift of his shop into reverse. As he steers into a j-turn and hits the sirens to drive the other way, he asks Nell why she’s saying his girlfriend’s address.

“We got a domestic call nearby, and the responding officers checked on the neighbors. She wasn’t home, but it was her house number that the caller gave,” Nell explains. “We don’t think she’s in danger, since she isn’t home-“

“She should be,” Tim interrupts. “She told me she’d be home all day today. Tell me more, Nell.”

“Yeah, of course. So, the caller said he was at her address, but said it was his house. Probably another neighbor wanting to be anonymous.”

“How long ago did the officers try to contact her?”

“About half an hour.”

Tim hangs up on Nell and dials your number. He’s close to your house, but if you answer he’ll probably yell at you in relief. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance to see what his reaction would be because you don’t answer. As he turns onto your street, he hits the brakes. There’s a small crowd of people in the middle of the road, and he jumps out of the shop as he races toward them.

“Tim!” you yell.

He stops and turns, surprised to see you approaching from the other side. “The guy that was hitting his wife, his- his brother showed up and started knocking on doors. He was trying to find the person responsible for his brother going to jail.”

“Slow down,” Tim says softly, laying his hands on your shoulders.

“No, Tim, he was out here yelling and waving a gun around, but then he just disappeared. We started gathering in one of the yards, but we still don’t know where he is.”

Tim looks around and sees the crowd separating. He expected someone to be in the center of the crowd, but it’s just concerned neighbors. As he radios for backup, he keeps a hand on you. The bad day wasn’t supposed to extend to your neighborhood, yet Tim finds himself relaxing slightly just because you’re beside him.

“Wait in the shop,” he tells you.

“But I-“

“I need to know you’re safe. The passenger door is unlocked, and more cops will be here in less than two minutes. Just- just wait, okay?”

You nod and slowly pull yourself from his touch. Once you’re in his car, he yells into his radio to find out where his backup is.

“I’ve got a crowd of innocent people standing like a target with no idea where the shooter is!” he exclaims. “Get somebody here!”

“We’re trying,” Grey replies calmly. “I know where you are, but you need to step back from that, from her, and focus on your job.”

“I’ll focus on my job when I can do it again,” Tim snaps.

He directs the crowd of people to stand in a nearby front yard, then asks them to sit with their backs against a fence to protect themselves from the armed man looking for revenge.

You watch Tim stand with your neighbors, but he’s looking around with his hand on his gun. You’d been doing the same, but there was no sign of the man who pounded on your door and demanded to know if you had called the police. You hadn’t, but you knew exactly who did: the man who lived across from you and almost always got your address numbers mixed up.

“Bradford, backup’s a minute out,” someone says over the radio in Tim’s car.

From where you sit, you can see him as he replies, and he looks stressed. The moment everything is under control, you’ll hug him, you decide.

You don’t get much further than that in your planning before something catches your eye. Directly to your right, a construction front loader is barreling toward you. There’s no time to get out of the shop and out of its path, so you brace yourself for the impact. Just before the door beside you folds in against your side, you see the face of the man Tim is looking for. Interestingly, you don’t feel any pain, just a deep hope that this doesn’t make Tim’s day worse or get him hurt.

Tim watches the vehicle crash into his car. With the bullet holes littering the back, he should’ve realized that leaving you alone was a bad idea. Either the day is just historically bad or that shop is cursed. He pulls his gun as he runs toward you. Finally, his backup arrives, and he yells for them to get the guy in the front loader.

“I need an R/A! Now!” he yells into his radio.

Tim reaches his shop and pulls the driver’s side door open. Your eyes are closed, and you’re wedged uncomfortably between the bent door, your broken seat, and the raised console. He pulls loose pieces of his wrecked shop away from you, his bad day and worse attitude completely forgotten. When he reaches over your lap, you lay your hand on his.

“Are you okay?” you ask as you blink your eyes open.

“Are you?” Tim inquires quickly.

He’s sitting backward in his seat, his eyes locked on yours. He flips his hand to hold yours and sighs when you squeeze it kindly.

“I’m okay. Sore, uncomfortable, but fine. Are you?” Tim shakes his head, and you add, “You seemed stressed. Bad day?”

“That’s not important.”

“It is,” you argue. “It is. And as soon as I’m not trapped here, I’ll hug you to prove it.”

“You’re going to the hospital first.”

You want to argue, say that you would prefer to just go home, but Tim’s expression makes you stop. The stressed look, the yelling, it’s all gone as he focuses on you. As long as he doesn’t start apologizing, you will do whatever he asks.

“Does that mean you won’t hug me?” you ask.

“Not until I know you’re okay,” Tim replies.

He looks out the window beside you and squeezes your hand. The front loader has been towed away from the shop, and your chest is rising a touch higher as if pressure has been taken off of you. Tim hopes that you’re right, that you will just be stiff and sore for a while and nothing worse. His bad day seems like nothing now; seeing you hurt is worse than any hectic day the LAPD can throw at him.

A firefighter moves to your door and prepares to remove the door forcefully. The EMT beside him looks at your eyes and head, then welcomes you to pass out if you want, rather than fight any pain or discomfort. Tim nods reassuringly, his hand still in yours, and you close your eyes.

You’re happy to spend the night at Tim’s rather than the hospital. The shared comfort is good for both of you after the day you had. While you recline in Tim’s bed, mindful of the deep bruising on your right side, Tim lays on your left. His head is on your shoulder as he runs his fingers along your forearm. There’s a movie playing on the TV screen, but the only thing you can think of is the man beside you.

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you,” Tim replies. He sits up to look at you and adds, “I’m sorry you got hurt because of me.”

“That wasn’t your fault. You were trying to keep me safe. You always keep me safe.”

Tim shakes his head as his eyes drop to a scrape across your cheek.

“You keep me safe from more than you know,” you whisper. “Do you feel better now? Bad day over?”

“It hasn’t mattered since I saw that guy hit you,” Tim admits.

“I make your bad days go away?” you ask with a smile.

“You do. Not watching you get hurt. Nothing else mattered in that moment.”

You nod and thank Tim again. He returns to his place beside you, and you take turns holding each other throughout the night. You both need comfort, and this is the best place to get it. When Kojo joins you after the movie ends, you know that today wasn’t all bad, and Tim realizes that no day can be bad when you’re in his life. Not when this is what you both come home to.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #the rookie x reader #the rookie abc #the rookie #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 1 year ago

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Imagine Geralt realising how pissed you are after running into you again…

It was another busy day where knights, men and women of all corners came in to rest their battle-weary feet and drink mead. There would be the occasional brawl but they were nothing when you compared it to battling a cursed wyvern with a blindfold.

You exited the back room having just refilled the pitcher of cool mead when a familiar grunt caught your attention. Just behind a rowdy table of farmers, in the corner, sat the Witcher - Geralt of Rivia - and a bard who was far too chipper while sober.

Inching a little closer, you busied yourself with empty flagons while remaining within earshot of the pair.

“Come on - it’s not a bad lyric. Ah, what do you know? You can wield a sword but not understand the complex meaning behind a beautiful string of words.” The bard said.

Geralt scoffed. “It wasn’t complex.”

An old man slid a few coins across the table for the service which you pocketed and then moved on to the next.

“We can’t stay long.” Geralt told his companion. You glanced back briefly and saw the brightly dressed man staring into his coin satchel, concerned.

“I could swear there was more silver in here. Geralt, I think I’ve been indecently swindled.”

You wanted to confirm that the man could easily have fallen prey to the notorious pick-pockets that haunt the tavern but you stayed silent, now distracted by a customer who ordered some pies.

“Don’t forget the carrots this time.” He reminded.

You wanted to tell him where to shove his carrots but heard your name being shouted from across the floor.

“Y/n, I need a word!” It was the tavern owner who enjoyed paying you less than what you were owed. With a sigh, you trudged over to him away from most prying ears. “You’ve been waiting on those tables long enough. Deliver those pies and refill goblets on the double or I’ll show you out the door.”

You had half a mind to bite back but chose to hold the words at bay. In ten minutes, the pie was ready to be collected from the kitchens. As you walked it to the table, you made the decision to confront Geralt but upon approaching his table, found that the Witcher and his bard had vanished, leaving behind some coins for the hospitality.

Geralt would have heard your name being bellowed. He would have seen you answer the call. And yet, he still left?

Typical!

The farmer who had ordered the food found his plate empty as you swerved around his chair and rushed out the wooden door. Turning left, you followed the small path down to where riders often tied their horses, your own being one of them - spotting the familiar silver hair and lute of the bard.

Words appeared to have failed and rational thoughts had abandoned your mind the second you fled.

Your hand flipped the pie out of its casing and with one, well-aimed throw, found its mark. The bard screamed and the Witcher stopped in his tracks instantly stilling for a few seconds.

Then he turned, his jaw clenched. “Did you throw a meat pie at my head?”

You tossed the empty pan over your shoulder. “You bet I did and I’ll do it again.”

The bard at Geralt’s side grabbed his guitar and hid behind the broad-shouldered man fearing that he would be next. “Oh, they’re pissed. What did you do?”

Geralt exhaled as he pulled stray bits of pastry out of his locks. “I’m not sure…”

“Not sure? You fucking ignored me in the tavern! Friends for years and it doesn’t warrant a simple ‘hello’?” You yelled.

Jaskier peered out from behind, “Oh, he’s always like that. We’ve been friends for several weeks and he pretends to hardly know me - such a jest.” He chuckled to himself quite fondly.

Ignoring the brightly coloured song man, Geralt addressed you, now free from the discarded food. He had indeed acknowledged the your presence the minute he set foot in the tavern but found himself reliving old memories instead - some good, others painful.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me after that business with the striga.”

“The striga?” You repeated, remembering the event he was referring to where he had taken claim over the beasts defeat instead of giving you proper recognition. “That was over a year ago, I was bitter for perhaps a few weeks but no more. But you wouldn’t know that because you ran off with Roach.”

“I didn’t run off - I just - you were injured and I had no reason to hang around while you healed.” The Witcher explained. “In hindsight, I probably should have checked in.”

You nodded vehemently. “And since you didn’t, you’re very deserving of that meat pie.”

“The pie was mean.” Geralt frowned.

“Oh a tale of a strained but beautiful friendship filled with battles and miscommunication - you must regale me with the details.” Jaskier grinned.

You would gladly do so if your old friend would have your company once more. Raising a brow at Geralt, you posed the silent question.

“Don’t you have a job?” Geralt asked.

You squinted in return. “I abandoned my post and stole a pie. I’m surely fired.”

“Fine - but only until the next village.” The Witcher negotiated, knowing full well that his friend would likely be staying for a longer time. He grabbed the reins and pulled himself up on his horse with a small grunt.

You shared a similar grin to the bard and sent a high whistle into the air to call forth your own steed for the journey ahead.

When the horse approached, you took hold of the reins and walked alongside Jaskier.

“While we’re on the topic, I’ll tell you about the time when Geralt fought an ifrit almost fully naked.” You winked and caught the eye roll on your friends face.

Jaskier pulled his guitar to the front and strummed a few strings to start a catchy tune. “Oh, I’m ready for this.”

~ More imagines here ~

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #witcher x reader #witcher imagine #geralt imagine #geralt x reader #jaskier imagine #jason x reader #jaskier x reader #geralt of river x reader #geralt of rivia imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine

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raineandsky · 9 days ago

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#136

Not many villains are brave enough—or stupid enough—to come straight through the front doors of the agency, so the agency never thought to put up anything more secure than a barrier for heroes to scan through on their way in.

The villain saunters in, hops straight over the barrier, and loudly demands, “Which of you assholes is meant to be [Hero]’s boss?”

The heroes leap on them, of course, and twenty against one is barely a fight. The hero’s boss, it turns out, is just the guy they wanted to see anyway.

“Why are you just strolling through my agency?” the superhero asks incredulously.

“Someone's clearly dramatised my entrance. I didn’t get past reception,” the villain corrects with a scowl. “And it’s not my fault you lot have the same amount of security as a train station. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to tear you a new one.”

The hero standing behind them makes a noise dangerously resembling laugh. Even the superhero quirks an eyebrow disbelievingly. The villain is sitting in his office in cuffs, sure, but this is only the beginning of what will be an ass kicking.

“You villains are so violent.” The superhero tuts, opening a tin box next to him with a shake of his head. “Has anything happened to warrant this so-called new one tearing, or is this just routine?”

“I’m glad you asked. Did you not notice [Hero] was missing?”

“Oh, yeah I did.” A biscuit comes out of the tin and promptly disappears into the superhero’s mouth. “Are they with you then?”

The disgusted silence the villain leaves is a second too long. “… Yes.”

The superhero nods mindlessly. “Cool.”

This silence is even longer. The villain can hear the hero behind them shuffle awkwardly. “You don’t care,” they say flatly.

“[Hero]’s a rookie,” the superhero offers with a shrug. “Catch one of my best, and I’ll consider coming to visit sometime. I don’t send rescue parties for just anyone.”

The villain can only stare at him in disbelief as he nonchalantly fishes about for another biscuit. Villains would never do that. Villains leave no man behind. The idea that they could be trapped somewhere, in enemy territory, with no promise of at least someone coming for them, is a horror enough to haunt their nightmares.

The villain really thought they’d done something when they’d managed to catch the hero. The hero was scared, of course, but the villain had put that down to the usual. A hero in a villain’s grasp won’t be without injury for long. But the hero had had a certain defeated look in their eye as well, and it’s only now that the villain is realising that that was probably because someone like them disappearing into a villain’s lair means they aren’t getting out.

The cuffs rattle slightly, and the villain heaves a deep breath to stop their hands from shaking. “I've heard them crying every night, knowing you’re not coming for them,” they snap coldly. “You’re heartless.”

The superhero can just about be bothered to meet their eye for a second before his interest diverts back to the food in his hand. “You don’t become a superhero by loving everyone, [Villain]. Do we have a cell set up?”

The hero behind the villain clears their throat. “We do.”

The superhero waves them off, and that’s the end of the conversation. The hero shoves the villain into a cell, and several hours later finds the back of that cell blown clean out with the villain’s friends at the detonator.

The villain never had a doubt they would be set free—they always are. Villains may not be looked upon favourably, but having a posse of like-minded outcasts can make some real ride-or-dies.

The hero wipes their eyes when they hear the door at the end of the corridor opening, rubbing their sleeve against their nose in an attempt to look a little less pathetic. They glance up to realise it’s not just the villain, but several of their friends too, all watching them with curiosity. Their stomach drops.

“You got it bad, huh?” the villain says lightly.

The hero doesn’t know what to say to that. They turn their gaze down at their hands to avoid everyone’s burning stares.

There’s a heavy clunk, and out the corner of their eye they can see the cell door swinging open. The villain shoots them a smile as they look up confusedly.

“We were wondering if you’d like to come with us,” the villain continues. “I mean, you’re welcome to stay in here, in the cold and the damp, like a hero. But, y’know…”

The villain shrugs. “We don’t leave people behind, I’ll say that much.”

A hero should never consider an offer from a villain. It’s a trap, the superhero always said. It’s common sense, it’s the right thing to do, it’s what a hero would do.

They didn’t think heroes were left at the mercy of their enemies by their own either, but here they are.

The hero wipes at their face again and clears their throat, painfully aware of how much they’ve been crying. “Um,” they say, their voice a horrible rasp. “O-Okay.”

They all cheer as the villain reaches in to pull them out. Someone hands them a thick jacket. “Put it on,” someone else says. “You’re in the gang now!”

It almost feels like they’re happy to see the hero as one of them. It’s a new feeling, and one the hero finds they like.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #⚠️BRITISH PERSON ALERT⚠️#A BISCUIT IS A SMALL CRUNCHY CIRCLE. I THINK YOU AMERICANS CALL IT A COOKIE #but hey if youve been here a while you know me by now. i sling U around like i got a quota to fill

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cosmiccrushes · 10 days ago

Text

Consequences

Lucanis x Rook || 2.0k words

on ao3

summary: Shadow Dragon Rook confronts Lucanis about his anger towards her after she chooses to go to Minrathous.

notes: wanted to explore the idea of what lucanis' anger at rook might mean, if their relationship were to continue developing (since you're just locked out of the romance option in game booo lol)

Lucanis lifts his head out of his hands at the knock on his door. His shoulders stiffen as he calls “come in.” He already knows who it will be. He stays seated on his bed, rooted down by the fear growing heavy in his chest.

Rook enters. A guarded expression on her face that erupts an ache in Lucanis’ already tender heart. She halts several paces away.

“We need to talk, Lucanis.”

“Rook…” Lucanis begins. “I am not sure there is anything to say.” Not anything he knows how to put words to, not anything he knows if he’s allowed to put words to.

“I disagree. I think there's plenty to say. If you'd stop giving me the cold shoulder.”

Lucanis rubs his temple in agitation. Doesn't she understand? He has avoided and brushed her off out of fear of how Spite might twist his pain if Lucanis lets down his guard, lets her back in.

“So this is what we are to become?” Lucanis might miss the slight quiver in her voice if he had not come to know her so well. “People who barely acknowledge each other's existence? I thought we were friends.”

“I don't know what else to do, Rook.” He wonders if she can hear the plea in his words. He'd give anything for her counsel, for her to show him the way through this confusing mess of emotions.

“Talk to me!” She clenches her mouth shut as if surprised by her own outburst. “Please,” she whispers the word and it could undo him. But undo him into what? He’s not sure.

“I don't know what to say, Rook. What is done is done. I don't-” Lucanis sighs heavily. “I don't blame you for what happened to Treviso.”

“Don't you, though?” She tips her nose into the air and Lucanis recognizes the familiar set of Rook issuing a challenge. The desire to trace his finger along the bridge of her nose stirs him angrily to his feet.

“You made a hard choice. As all leaders must.”

“And you are never going to forgive me for it are you?” She says it with a tone of resignation but Lucanis sees the question in her eyes.

“It's not- It isn't that simple.” He wishes it were. He wishes he had enough power over Spite to face her with what her choice made him feel.

“But it's that simple with Neve?” There’s an undercurrent of emotion in her words that feels like accusation. Lucanis doesn’t know how else to place it.

“It's not like that.” He’s not entirely sure what he’s denying, but he feels like that’s what he should do.

“That seems to be exactly what it’s like. Neve gets forgiven and I-” She jerks her gaze sharply away from him and Lucanis wonders if she is hiding her tears behind her curtain of hair, if he warrants that kind of response from her.

“You are not Neve.” Lucanis says, because it's the truth.

A bitter laugh from Rook. “Right. I am not.”

Lucanis shakes his head in frustration. He can't tamp down the anger he feels at how little Rook understands. “This changes things, Rook. How could it not? Treviso needed you and you abandoned it.” He had needed her. She had left him and it had petrified him to realize how much he'd come to expect her beside him. In such a short span of time together, Lucanis had shaped himself around her constant presence. Lucanis did not feel those things for people and, as he looked out at his blighted city and thought only of facing it with Rook, he had felt afraid- and angry. But at himself or at her? He couldn’t say.

“I didn't abandon Treviso, Lucanis! That is unfair and you know it. I chose to stand with my home. With my people! Just like you did! Just like Neve did. What would you have done in my position?” She stabs a finger into his chest. He hadn't even noticed the way they'd drifted together.

He knows he would've chosen his own family too. But this anger he feels- like careening off a cliff and it's all his fault for not being more cautious- it sparks a truth in him that he's never been faced with. They had been presented with the same choice, and they’d both chosen their homes. But Rook wasn’t mad at him for going to his people as she went to hers. His pain didn’t feel like that of a man let down by his leader. It felt like the sting of betrayal by someone he trusted. And Lucanis only trusted his family. So what, did that make Rook to him?

“I would’ve chosen my home.” He finally answers her.

She drops her hand, fingers curling into a fist before falling limply at her sides. “You've reconciled with Neve. But you can't even look at me. You won’t even be in the same room as me.” He has to lean in to catch her next sentence, exhaled on a breath. “Why is she different from me?”

Lucanis' blood rushes in his ears, his heart lodges in his throat. Understanding dawns over him. Does she think it was easier to forgive Neve because his friendship with Neve meant more? He almost wants to laugh at how absurd this situation is, how ill-equipped he is to navigate the complexities of relationships. Lucanis doesn’t really have friends, Illario notwithstanding. And whatever has been brewing within him since Treviso was attacked feels so unfamiliar he’d almost attribute it to Spite. If the demon hadn’t coiled around the emotion and cackled, as if he understood what Lucanis couldn’t quite grasp.

“She is not you,” Lucanis winces at his words when Rook flinches away like she's been hit. He reaches out shaky, tentative fingers to gently lift her chin so she'll meet his eyes. “You are the one who is different.” His cheeks blaze with embarrassment and his fingers tingle where they connected with her skin. His pulse thrums with his nervousness that this was not how friends touch each other.

“I don't-” She shakes her head in confusion.

“Neve chose to go to her home-”

“As did I!” Rook interrupts.

“I know. But,” he swallows around the lump in his throat. “You didn't choose me. And I am so angry at myself for expecting you to.” He feels horrifyingly fragile under her gaze.

Her eyes dart back and forth between his own. “Oh, Lucanis.” She gently places a hand against his chest, over his heart. “I am so sorry. I never meant for it to feel like I wasn't choosing you. It wasn’t a choice between friends. I just…Minrathous is the only place I’ve ever known.”

Lucanis wills his heart not to race under her palm. “I know it's not fair of me to place those expectations on you. I know you didn't do anything wrong, but Spite-” Lucanis doesn't know how to finish the thought, how to voice his fear.

“Spite makes you, well, spiteful of me,” she finishes for him with a sad smile. “I understand, Lucanis. I won't force my friendship on you.”

She turns to walk away and a new fear grips Lucanis tight. He doesn't pause to think of the consequences. He reaches out his hand, snagging her wrist. She looks back at him questioningly.

“I don't want to lose your friendship.”

“Nor I yours. Tell me what I need to do, Lucanis.”

A creeping panic crawls over him. He is this twisted and tangled up, having had her in his life for this blink of time that feels so much more substantial than his last year locked in the Ossuary. What will become of him if he asks for more? What would become of him if he didn’t?

“I don’t know if I will be angry,” Lucanis warns.

She nods slowly. “That’s okay. Your anger doesn’t scare me.”

For some reason this makes him angry. “It should,” he says gruffly. “I cannot predict what Spite will do.”

“I can handle your Spite, Lucanis.” Her voice drops in a gravely scrape that sends an inexplicable lance of heat through him. His mind, befuddled, as he races to sort through what his response means.

It’s the moment of distraction Spite has been waiting for. The demon seizes on his dazedness, and, in a flash of purple, thrusts an arm to Rook’s throat and pins her to the wall. Lucanis watches himself as if he’s at the bottom of a very deep well looking up, as Spite speaks with his voice.

“You think you can handle me, little Shadow?”

“Hello, Spite.” Rook does not miss a beat and does not look nearly as afraid as Lucanis needs her to. “Lucanis and I were in the middle of a conversation.” Lucanis wants to beg her to please not chastise the demon with its hands at her throat.

“You. Mock. Me!” Spite howls.

Rook looks genuinely affronted. “I do no such thing.”

“You think you can subdue me. I. Want. Out!”

Rook tilts her head thoughtfully. “And I want to not be tasked with hunting down my ancient elven gods and stopping them from blighting the whole bloody world. But we don't always get what we want.”

Spite hisses, but Lucanis feels his surge of glee, not anger, at Rook's words. “Yes. You have malice in you.”

“Oh most certainly.” Rook chuckles darkly. “I don't mock you, Spite. I understand what it means to be trapped within something you don't want. Neither you nor Lucanis deserve what was done to you, but you're stuck with each other now. I won't begrudge you your anger for it.” She reaches up to wrap her fingers around Lucanis' arm pressing into her lungs. “But I also won't let you hurt Lucanis. If you need to bloody your fists against something,” her nails dig into his forearm and there’s that tilt of her nose again as she challenges a demon. “Here I am. Do your worst. But I will not hurt Lucanis for you.”

Spite tilts back his head in a bellowing laugh. “Oh, I like her!”

A warmth blossoms in Lucanis' chest as he falls upwards from a great height, crashing back into his body. Spite's laughter continues echoing across his mind, but now it's Lucanis' weight pressing Rook into the stone. He stares at the determined set of her jaw, the fire blazing behind her eyes. The warmth seeps through his chest, wrapping around his throat, squeezing at his air supply.

Love. Spite laughs harder. Mierda, it is love buried beneath his anger and fear. Lucanis didn’t think it was possible, didn’t think he could fall in love. But he’s listened to Illario ramble about it enough to be certain that is what has been pushing its way out of his chest. He is falling in love with Rook. Or has he already fallen? He’s not sure how it works or what he can do about it. Though it is painfully apparent now why he has felt so scared.

He drops his arm from Rook’s body, stumbling awkwardly back from her. He stares down at his own hands. These are the consequences of getting too close to her. If this were a contract, he’d have failed it spectacularly by not noticing that it was already too late, he’d already come much too close to the danger.

“Lucanis?” The sound of her voice snaps his gaze back up to hers. He must wear his panic unchecked on his face, because alarm flashes over her own. “Lucanis,” she says more urgently, stepping forward to grasp one of his hands. “What’s wrong?”

He is frozen in his body. Spite may no longer be in control, but Lucanis doesn’t feel like he is either.

“Hey, hey,” Rook soothes. “It’s okay. We will get through this. Together. That’s what friends do.” Her hand tightens around his.

Lucanis would quietly take whatever wretched consequences fate wrought upon him. But he would not allow them to befall her. If that meant he had to bury away this strange, budding love to keep her safe, he would dig deep until his fingernails were ragged and bleeding.

“Friends?” Lucanis breathes out. Want. More. Spite inhales.

Illario liked to wax poetic about how much love could hurt. But even his cousin’s dramatics could not prepare Lucanis for the consequences of a demon falling in love.

#rookanis #rookanis fanfiction #rook and lucanis #rook x lucanis #lucanis x rook #lucanis dellamorte #lucanis #rook #dragon age lucanis #datv fanfic #veilguard fic #spite #spite dragon age #da4 lucanis #lucanis romance

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goblinontour · 8 months ago

Text

Subtle Indications

a journey in good company

part 1 | series masterlist

warnings: prof!al, age gap (not specified), smut, oral (m/f receiving), unprotected sex

word count: 6.6k

“Yes?” you said as you finally snapped out of the little bubble of thoughts that made you ignore the first three times he called your name.

You thought you recognised his voice, but you weren’t quite sure, after all, you never really expected to see your professors outside in the ‘real world’, per se, as weird as that might sound. It was as if that invisible barrier broke and those two realities collided the moment you looked up and your eyes met his.

It was, of course, none other than…Mr. Turner…your favourite.

“I got the seat, uhm, there” he said, pointing at the empty window seat next to you.

“Oh! Yeah, yeah.” you scrambled to move your bag from his place and almost started to get up to make space for him to walk through, but he stopped you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just squeeze through.” he told you as he saw you getting nervous, giving you a slight smile, just to be polite, you thought.

He looked a bit…dishevelled. His hair messy and pointing in all different directions, his eyes tired. He must’ve just woken up and come straight to the train station. He almost missed it too, getting on just as the train was about to leave.

Speaking of leaving, right as he was moving through the small space between, well, you, and the table separating the seats opposite, the train started moving, and he lost his balance, nearly falling on top of you if it weren’t for the handle of your seat that he managed to grab just in time.

“Sorry” he murmured as he regained his composure and finally sat down next to you, fixing his brown leather bag neatly on the table by the window.

You smiled at him, though he didn’t seem to notice, because as soon as he sat that bag down he scrambled to bring it back to his lap, searching for something he couldn’t seem to find. You tried not to pry too much into the contents, instead bringing your focus back to the book in your hand you only now noticed you were holding way too tight, the pages almost breaking where your fingers were holding it open so you wouldn’t lose the spot where you left off before he showed up.

You couldn’t help yourself from glancing at him. It turned out he was looking for his sunglasses, slipping them on despite no sunshine seeping through the window that would warrant the need for them.

You continued to read, thinking he probably doesn’t want to be bothered by a random student in his free time, but the words you kept reading over and over wouldn’t register in your brain, your mind just being filled by thoughts of him. Where was he going? You stole another glance, noticing the way his gaze drifted out the window, lost in thought. What could he possibly be thinking about? Curiosity tugged at you, wondering what might be occupying his mind so deeply. Was it the weight of his responsibilities as a professor, or perhaps something more personal? You found yourself yearning to unravel everything about him.

Some time passed, he didn’t get off at any of the stops in the city, so he was going away too, just like you. Though he had nothing else but his usual bag he also brought to class every day? Questions kept going through your mind, questions that will probably never get answered, so you pushed them away and really tried to focus on your reading, not that it was anything important…quite the opposite.

“Whatcha readin’?” he asked out of the blue and only then you noticed he was looking straight at the book in your hands. Embarrassment filled your body as you realised he could clearly see the pages from the small distance between you, considering that the contents weren’t particularly…appropriate. To say the least, you definitely wouldn’t have wanted him to see, and if you weren’t so daft you would have realised that just because he had his shades blocking you from seeing his eyes, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t see either.

“Nothing.” you said as you slammed the book closed, making this way bigger of a deal than it should have been. He wouldn’t invade your privacy and read that, he was probably just trying to be polite, you thought, again. And you just embarrassed yourself by acting like a little girl getting caught by her parents doing something she shouldn’t be doing. “It's just a- it’s a dumb thing.” you continued, face flushed as you got the courage to look up. You weren’t expecting to be met by his eyes staring straight at you, his glasses now perched perfectly on the top of his head, looking effortlessly cool.

“No, it’s not.” he quickly muttered “I liked it.” he said, almost in a whisper, like he was hiding his own embarrassment of reading while you were not aware.

Your heart skipped a beat at his unexpected admission. His words hung in the air, filling the space between you with a charged tension. You couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth spreading through you, mingled with a hint of fluster. Mr. Turner, the Mr. Turner, your professor whose lectures you hung onto with fervour, actually enjoyed the book-thing, whatever, you were reading, a book you probably shouldn’t have been reading in public in the first place, all things considered.

His confession felt like the bridge you were currently passing, connecting the gap between you, somehow starting to blur the boundaries of student and teacher, revealing the shared raw human need beneath. You couldn't resist the urge to smile, the blush spreading over your entire face.

"I didn't expect you to...I mean, I'm glad you liked it." you replied, your voice coming out soft, yet slightly trembling, urging you to clear your throat as you tried to regain your composure.

His own smile mirrored yours, a subtle curve of his lips that spoke volumes. “You can go on…if you’d like…of course.”

Your heart raced at his invitation to continue reading. With a shy nod, you opened the book once more, the words on the page suddenly feeling more significant than before. As you kept reading, you couldn't shake the feeling of his presence beside you, his quiet breathing and occasional rustle of papers adding to the intensity of the moment.

You were surprised when Mr. Turner spoke again, his voice breaking the tense silence like a gentle wave on the shore. "Would you mind if…" he said quietly, his tone soft, implying with a gesture of his hands that he wished to read along with you.

Once again settling in silence, your ability to form words completely gone in that moment, you brought the book closer to him, almost invading his half of the seats, but not quite. He knew you’d finished the page you were currently on, so you watched as he licked the tips of his fingers, his tongue just peeking out from behind his pink lips, and with his smooth digits he picked up the corner of the page, flipping it over to uncover the not yet discovered words lying underneath. A mixture of excitement, nervousness, and a budding sense of connection filled you, that left you yearning for more.

As the journey continued, you found yourself eager to explore more than just the pages of a book with him, but you could never act on those thoughts, you wouldn’t dare.

Luckily, he took that step for you, his arm carefully inching closer to you, and while his eyes were locked on the page in front of him, you could tell he was closely examining you for any tiny reaction that would indicate he should stop.

When his hand reached your own seat, his little finger twitched in his attempt to touch you, the small, almost insignificant contact sending electricity through you, eliciting a soft gasp from your mouth. In that moment, the train rattling along its tracks faded into the background, leaving only the two of you in a cocoon of shared understanding…and perhaps…unravelling the mysteries of his mind along the way.

“Keep reading.” he whispered quietly enough that you wouldn’t have even heard it if you weren’t so focused on everything that meant him in that moment.

It’s as if he knew exactly what the next page was going to contain:

“His fingers inadvertently grazed her leg, sending a thrill through both of them. Their eyes met, a fleeting moment of hesitation followed by a silent acknowledgment of the forbidden allure between them.”

Had he read this before? Did he-

“Go on.” he encouraged you, his gaze still on the page, as if looking at you would make what was happening seem too real. He didn’t want to break this trance you found yourselves in.

With your pulse quickening, you continued to read, the words resonating with a startling familiarity that sent shivers down your spine. As if guided by an unseen force, you turned the page, the narrative unfolding with an eerie parallel to the electrifying tension between you and professor Turner.

“With a subtle shift, his hand moved to her panties and he grinned down at her. ‘Prepare yourself.’ he said, gently leaning her back until he was on top of her. ‘Do your worst.’ she replied, spreading her legs for him.”

Your body was working against your better judgement, following the words written on the page exactly, your legs spreading involuntarily, allowing his hand to slip between your thighs, his fingers moving with more intent now as they ever so slightly grazed your thin panties from under your skirt, your half gasp of shock, half moan of immense pleasure, caused mostly by the tension, getting stuck in your throat, your mouth opening without any sound coming out. It was barely noticeable, to anyone else, all others too busy on their own daydreams or troubles. Not that you would have noticed if anyone saw you anyway.

“Don’t stop, keep going.” he pushed, but you were stuck. You could no longer move, or focus your eyes enough on the small letters that once seemed legible, but no longer. He noticed your sort of distress, or more so just an overall startled demeanour, and he looked at you, he finally looked at you, still in silence as you stared at him and through him at the same time.

“Are you alright?” he asked. His eyes never left yours, not until he’d get his answer. His gaze held a mixture of apprehension and longing, mirroring the emotions swirling within you.

You nodded, your nerves slowly dissipating and allowing you to think for a second.

“Talk to me…please.” he pleaded, the uncertainty clear in his eyes. Did he go too far? He shouldn’t have started this it was too much, he-

“Yeah…yeah I- yes.” you choked on your words, the sounds coming out as a breathy whisper.

“Yes?” he asked again, wanting to hear a clear response from you, to make sure he wasn’t crossing any boundaries you didn’t feel comfortable with, though you were way past that.

From the moment he saw you as he entered the train his mind was already set on this burning desire that somehow didn’t register to himself until then, when he saw your crossed legs as you were engulfed in your own world, your naked thighs sticking to the leather on the seat where your maybe too short skirt wasn’t covering them.

“Yes.” you spoke again, looking straight into his eyes and giving him the confirmation he needed to continue.

He moved closer to you, your shoulders touching as his hand between your thighs kept almost petting you over your underwear. He nuzzled his head into your neck, making you gasp as you felt his breath tickling your skin as he inhaled your scent.

“Keep reading.” he implored, his lips grazing your throat and he swore he could feel your pulse against his mouth from how fast your heart was beating.

The air crackled with anticipation as the fictional characters navigated their forbidden desires, their clandestine encounters echoing the unspoken truth that lingered between you and Alexander. God- no. You couldn’t think about him like that, he’s always strictly been just Mr. Turner, to everyone, but it felt too indecent to think of him being your professor in that moment, or perhaps that was the best part of it.

With each word, the boundary between fiction and reality blurred, drawing you both deeper into a realm where secrets were laid bare and desires dared to be fulfilled.

His hand didn’t dare stop its exploration there. As the action on the pages got more and more obscene, so did his touches, the tips of his fingers rubbing with clear intent on your covered cunt, the cotton sticking to your folds as he kept pushing deeper, spreading your wetness through the material.

“How much longer?” he asked, his lips rubbing against your skin with each movement of his mouth as he got those words out, each sound vibrating through you.

“What?” you asked confused, while still trying to keep your voice as calm and collected as possible, given the situation you found yourself in.

“Until we arrive. How much?” he clarified.

“Oh- uhm” you glanced at the screen at the end of the coach, which said it would be about 45 minutes, excluding any possible delays. “45 minutes…sir.”

“Good…” he replied, pulling away from you and settling back completely in his own seat. You didn’t even notice just how close he got, you were practically sharing one seat. “I’ll go in there.” he continued as he was neatly putting away his sunglasses again, this time in the front pocket of his bag, so he wouldn’t lose them again in the mess. He discreetly pointed towards the part of the train where the toilets were, so you’d know exactly what he meant, without having to spell it out.

He got up from his seat and said “I’ll be waiting for you”, avoiding your gaze, embarrassed by his own actions and lack of reason. He shouldn’t be doing this.

Before passing past you he gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Don’t feel pressured to come…if…if you don’t want this.” were his last words before clearing his throat and quickly slipping out of the tight space, heading right where he said he would go.

Your mind reeled as Mr. Turner's touch lingered on your skin, igniting a fire within you that you couldn't extinguish. His words, spoken with a mixture of desire and restraint, hung in the air, leaving you breathless and uncertain of what to do next. Was this really happening? This must’ve been the most surreal dream of all time, right? But it wasn’t, you were most definitely awake, the train was moving, the people around were real, this was real.

As he retreated to the train's restroom, you were left alone with your thoughts, grappling with the intensity of the moment and the implications of his actions. The train's rhythmic motion seemed to echo the turmoil in your mind, each click-clack of the tracks a reminder of the forbidden desire that simmered between you and your professor.

Minutes stretched into eternity as you wrestled with your inner turmoil, torn between the allure of indulging in this forbidden thirst and the fear of crossing a line you couldn't uncross. But amidst the chaos of your thoughts, one thing remained clear: the pull of Mr. Turner's presence was undeniable, drawing you towards him with an irresistible force.

With trembling hands and a racing heart, you made your decision. As you rose from your seat and made your way down the narrow aisle of the train, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were stepping into uncharted territory, into a realm where the rules of academia and propriety no longer applied, and only the primal desires of two souls intertwined in a forbidden dance mattered.

And as you reached the door of the restroom, you took a deep breath, summoning the courage to push it open and step into the unknown, ready to surrender to the irresistible pull of passion that had drawn you together.

When you finally opened it, you noticed his hand on the knob on the other side. He was about to leave, the hope he had of you turning up almost ran out, but you showed up, and he looked down at you in a way that made you feel like there was something intriguing about the vulnerability he displayed in that moment.

“You’re here.” he gleamed, looking relieved to see you in front of him. He stayed like that, staring in disbelief for a moment, while you stood awkwardly outside the small ‘room’, not knowing what to do, how to act, what to say.

He walked back, as much as the tiny space allowed, an invitation for you to join. Inside the restroom, the air felt charged with anticipation, every breath heavy with the weight of the moment. Mr. Turner stood near the sink, his gaze fixed on you as you entered, a fusion of the undeniable desire and uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

Without a word, you closed the door behind you, the click of the latch sealing your fate. The space suddenly felt smaller, more intimate, as if the world outside had faded away, leaving only the two of you in this delicate sanctuary, a newfound sense of intimacy blossoming between you and Mr. Turner.

Mr. Turner's hand awkwardly reached out, hesitating for a moment before brushing against yours, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

With a silent understanding, you leaned into him, the heat of his body mingling with yours as you pressed together, lost in the intoxicating embrace of desire.

His lips found yours in a hungry kiss, a fervent expression of the need that had been building between you since that first look as he got on the train. Actually, if you were being honest with yourself, you’d admit you fantasised about him every time you sat in his class, from the moment he walked in through the door.

His tongue prodded at your mouth, and you allowed it entrance to meet your own, the energy between you changing from just hunger to proper filth. It wasn’t pretty, you were too eager, he was too needy, it was messy, but that did nothing but reel you in further, never wanting to get rid of his taste from your tongue, so sweet.

He could no longer keep his hands to himself, his palms moving to grab at you anywhere he could, wanting to touch everything, from your shoulders to your waist, your hips, each touch, each caress sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, igniting a fire that burned with an intensity you had never known.

In that moment, there were no boundaries remaining, no rules to hold you back, only the raw, unbridled passion that consumed you both.

And as the train hurtled toward its destination, you surrendered yourself to the irresistible pull of desire, knowing that in each other's arms, you had found something worth risking everything for.

Lost in the throes of passion, you revelled in the sensation of his hands exploring every inch of your body, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. The air crackled with electricity, the heat between you rising with each passing moment.

In the hazy blur of desire, you surrendered yourself completely to the intoxicating allure of Mr. Turner. His lips trailed a path of fire along your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as they travelled from your mouth to your jaw, nipping along it with his teeth, eager to taste more than just your mouth. Each kiss fueled the flames of desire that burned within you, consuming you in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

He snaked his hands around the smallest point of your waist, pulling you flush to him, keeping you as close as your bodies would permit. As you crossed your legs in need of some sort of relief, settling for anything you could get, you nudged along his crotch, sparking a groan from him. He was getting impossibly hard, you could feel it through his trousers, and your sudden touch took him by surprise, the pleasure from that one second of stimulation making him realise just how much he had to have this, to have you.

A burst of boldness came to you, urging you to get on your knees for him. And so you did. For a second his arms didn’t want to let you go but he soon realised what you were doing and he shuffled back, his arms on the edge of the sink grounding him, preventing him from simply melting to the floor, though that’s what he felt like.

Before lowering completely, you had to touch him, he touched and groped but now it was your turn, your hands sliding down the cashmere of his sweater, from his shoulders to his chest, which, when you reached, you felt the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms, a rhythm that matched the pounding of your own. You stopped there to give some attention to his nipples, incredibly hard, poking from underneath the soft thin material. He gasped at the feeling of your fingers running over them, his mouth agape and his chest rising with each breath he took. His gasp was music to your ears. Fuck, he was so responsive.

As you knelt before him, a rush of anticipation coursed through you, fueled by the knowledge that you held his desire in the palm of your hand. His eyes met yours, a mixture of surprise and longing evident in their depths as he watched you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

Your hands traced a path down his body, every touch igniting a fire within both of you. His skin burned beneath your fingertips, even through the barrier of fabric, that you couldn’t stand any longer. You reached the edge of his top, your fingertips carefully prying beneath it until they reached his naked skin, so soft, the tiny hairs covering his abdomen rising at the contact, sending shivers through his entire body.

His growing bulge was screaming for you to touch it and it was something you couldn’t wait for, you wanted him in your mouth so badly. Beginning to unbuckle his belt, you burrowed your face into the tight material covering his straining erection, mouthing at him through the fabric while keeping your eyes on him, just him, the imagine of him biting his lower lip to suppress any sounds that might’ve dared to come out instantly burned into your memory, forever. His eyes bore into yours, dark with desire and something deeper, something you couldn't quite name but felt as intensely as the heat of his body seeping into you.

With his pants free of the leather that held them up and a sense of urgency that matched his own, you worked quickly to free him from the confines of his clothing, every moment spent tantalisingly close to the prize driving you to new heights of desire. You quickly worked the button and zipper that still stood in your way, finally beginning to lower them, having a bit of a struggle as the whole thing got too tight, they didn’t seem to want to slip over his bulge, but you managed, in the end.

As his pants finally yielded to your efforts, you were greeted by the sight of him, hard and ready, straining against the fabric of his boxers. The need in his eyes mirrored your own, a hunger that threatened to consume you both.

With a sense of reverence, you reached for him, your hands trembling with anticipation as you traced the outline of his erection through the thin material. His sharp intake of breath was a symphony of lust and craving, echoing through the air as you finally freed him from all the constraints keeping you apart. His cock sprung up hitting his covered tummy, the blush on his face mimicking the one of his tip, red and leaking on his top, staining the dark crimson an even deeper shade.

And then, with a daring born of passion, you lowered your head, your lips trailing a path of fire along his length as you kissed the underside, following with a lick all the way from the base to the head, more little licks and open-mouthed kisses to it. He started getting frustrated, wanting so much more. But Alex hated begging, feeling too embarrassed to do so, unless he got desperate enough. And he did. He got over himself and begged you.

“More please, sweetheart.” he asked of you. How could you possibly deny him?

With his hungry eyes raking over you, and one of his hands coming to rest on your head in encouragement, petting your hair, you took him into your mouth and he revelled in the feeling of the tender skin of your throat, the pleasurable sensation of the tight, wet heat his dick was enveloped in.

“Oh fuck…” Alex groaned “been dreaming of this, of- of you, when I–” his sentence getting cut off by a moan as his hips bucking involuntarily, pushing his cock deeper inside, his tip brushing against the back of your throat.

He caught you off guard, making you choke and splutter around his dick, pulling off with a wet pop to catch your breath, leaving his length glistening wet with your saliva. You continued stroking him with your hand, thumbing at the precum leaking from his slit and spreading it around, mixing it with your own fluids that tainted him.

“When you…what?” you probed curiously, wanting to hear him say it.

“When I touch myself.” he admitted “You have no idea how many times I’ve jerked off to the thought of you…on your knees…or bent over my desk.” he went on to say, trailing off into a whisper at the end, continuing his pets on the side of your head as you took him into your mouth again.

His words took a second to register to you, and you moaned pathetically around his cock, your pussy practically dripping with need from thinking of him touching himself with you in his mind. He groaned in response, feeling the vibration of your moan as it slipped from between your parted lips.

You bobbed your head up and down a couple more times before he pulled you off this time.

“Stop.” he breathed out as he was holding you gently by the hair so you wouldn’t be able to reach and touch him anymore.

“What’s wrong, did I- did I do something?” you asked, the worry and slight panic thick in your voice.

“No, no, it’s…I just need a break or I’ll come in your mouth…and I wanna be…inside…of you, sweets.” he panted. Clearly you got him quite close already, and he didn’t want this to end so soon.

He spread his arms out for you to grab and he brought you closer again, taking up your mouth with his own again. He moaned into you as he tasted himself on your tongue, and his hands around your waist were sliding dangerously low, past the curve of your ass, slowly skimming the hem of your skirt until they slipped under it, playing with the edges of your panties.

“Wanna taste you too.” he hummed against your lips “Can I? W-will you let me, please?”

“Yes, of course you fucking can…oh my god. Yes!” you said too quickly, too eager to feel him for you to hide your excitement anymore. You couldn't help but notice how Mr. Turner smiled into the kiss, giving you one last peck before turning you around, at which you automatically bent over the small sink as much as you could, arching your back to look your best for him.

He bent down behind you and you watched over your shoulder as he curiously pulled your skirt up and bunched it up as far as it would go, his eyes full of sparks as he was taking in the view before him. His hand splayed out across his lower back, tracing along the middle of your spine until he was stopped in his tracks by the lace border that adorned your underwear.

With a low growl, Mr. Turner tugged at the lace, causing a shiver to run down your spine. His touch was electrifying, sending waves of anticipation through your body. As he slowly peeled the fabric down, your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. You felt exposed yet exhilarated, craving every sensation he was about to unleash upon you. You could feel his lips trailing along the curve of your spine, leaving a path of hot kisses in their wake. Every nerve in your body seemed to come alive under his ministrations,

"Do you know how much I've been wanting to taste you?" he whispered. His words sent a rush of heat straight to your core, making you ache for his touch even more and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan of pleasure.

He leaned into you, his warm breath teasing your skin. Time seemed to stand still as he explored every inch of you, his touch setting your body ablaze with desire. And as his lips finally found their way to where you needed him most, Mr. Turner's hands gripped your hips firmly as he moved closer, his tongue darting out to taste you.

The sensation was overwhelming, sending sparks flying behind your closed eyelids as you surrendered yourself to him completely.

He hummed against you with curious little licks that made your breath hitch in your throat. His facial hair tickled as it brushed along your folds and his tongue traced intricate patterns across your sensitive flesh, moving playfully around in little circles, feeling you out, igniting a fire that consumed your every thought. It was exquisite, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. You couldn't help but arch your back further, pressing yourself against him as well as the coldness of the sink as he continued his exploration with a newfound sense of boldness, licking a strip from your clit, gathering the wetness pooling, all the way to your hole.

His movements became more fervent, more urgent, as if he couldn't get enough of you. And as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of bliss, you couldn't help but cling desperately to whatever you could reach that would help keep your balance, your fingers digging around the metal tap and you found yourself gasping for air as ecstasy washed over you in waves.

Each flick of his tongue along with the vibrations flowing through you from his moaning as he was eating you out brought you closer to your release, faster than you would’ve anticipated. Perhaps it was the thrill of it all, the unexpected nature of what was happening, the fact that you probably shouldn’t be doing this, much less here.

You finally succumbed to the overwhelming sensations crashing over you, and he kept his movements as you rode the waves of pleasure, licking away at the fluids seeping from you.

When he considered it enough, his lips parted from your core and you looked back at him over your shoulder, again, greeted with the sight of him seeming a bit out of sorts, his nose red from the friction, and his lips and chin glistening from your wetness and cum, little droplets hanging onto his beard, and the smile forming on your lips was soon replaced by the ‘O’ shape your mouth was just in a few moments ago as you felt him pulling on your pussy with his fingers, the cold air hitting you deeper inside as he opened you up.

“You’re so sweet, I could eat you forever but I need to be inside you now.” he said absentmindedly while wiping down the wet mess from his face with the back of his hand, his eyes still locked on your exposed hole clenching around nothing at his admission.

With a breathless nod, you could only manage a whispered agreement as the anticipation coiled tightly within you. His words hung in the air, charged with desire, as he raised from his knees and positioned himself behind you, his hands exploring every inch of your trembling body.

“Do you have a-“ you began, but he cut you off as he figured what you were about to say, condom.

“No.” he breathed out while rubbing the side of his face into your clothed back, like how a cat would rub against you when begging for attention. “Will that stop you from wanting this?” he further questioned, the answer obvious to both of you. You’d gone too far to stop now.

“No.” you confessed, too entranced by the way you could feel his dick leaking against your arsecheeks where it was softly rubbing into your skin as he couldn’t keep his hips still, unavoidably rutting into you at a slow, almost unnoticeable pace, begging for stimulation after being ignored for too long.

“I’ll be careful…pull out.” he whispered as he finally entered you, his cock slipping in easily without any guidance from the sheer amount of wetness covering you both.

A primal moan escaped your lips, drowning in the overwhelming pleasure of being filled by him and quickly muffled by his hand as to not alert anyone else of your actions. You managed to forget about your surroundings, but he was aware of the trouble this could get both of you into if you were to be caught.

“Shhh.” he murmured into the bunched up fabric his face rested against, his other hand slipping through the tight space to reach your breast, moving your top to the side delicately to grab a hold of one of your breasts, his big hand engulfing it, the roughness of his palm feeling like heaven as it scratched your stiff sensitive nipple.

Despite the risk, you couldn't bring yourself to care, consumed by the overwhelming need for him.

He slowly started moving inside of you, gliding out almost all the way before roughly pushing back in. Picking up a sort of rhythm, although irregular and messy, each of his thrusts sent waves of ecstasy through your body, erasing any lingering doubts or worries you might’ve had about this.

It was hot and wet, fucking filthy and absolutely glorious, the indescribably lewd sounds of him fucking into you leaving you to only feel the sensation of his body pressed against yours, the world around fading into a blur, nothing else mattered but the overwhelming need to be consumed by each other, to savour this.

You started moving against him, pushing your hips back to meet every thrust of his. He could feel you mouthing something under his palm, allowing you to speak by instead dropping his hand to the edge of the small counter the sink lied on.

“Need your- ah-…fingers…on my- fuck-“ you couldn’t even form a proper sentence, getting cut off by a gasp or moan in between your words as he kept thrusting deep inside you, hitting all the right spots.

“Yeah, I got you.” he instantly complied to your wishes, quickly bringing his hand in between your legs to toy messily with your clit, quite constricted by the tight space, nevertheless accomplishing giving you the pleasure you craved. “Try to stay quiet though love.” he urged you.

You weren’t confident in your ability to do that, so you covered your mouth with one of your own hands, momentarily losing your balance as your legs started to give in and fail at keeping you up, but he had you. He moved his other arm around your waist to your belly, holding you flush against him, holding you close, safe, in his grip, supporting you as your legs threatened to give way, ensuring you remained upright against him.

He resorted to mostly grinding his hips into you, the position not really allowing much room to move freely, but still every sensation was heightened, every touch electric, as you lost yourselves in the rhythm of your bodies moving as one.

His fingers worked tirelessly on your clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting throughout your body with each touch. You bit down on your hand to stifle your cries, your senses overwhelmed with each grind of his hips. You felt yourself teetering on the edge of bliss, clenching around him repeatedly as your second orgasm was threatening to wash over you.

“Don’t do that- I- fuck-“ his hips faltered, and you were holding onto him dangerously tight, he couldn’t escape your grip.

With a couple last deep thrusts, you could feel his cock pulsing inside of you, twitching against your tightening walls as his release spilled out, filling you up and coating his length as he kept grinding even deeper, the feeling sending you over the edge as you too soon came, for the second time.

The way you squeezed his cock made him bite your shoulder, his teeth grinding into the fabric covering you in an attempt to quiet down his cries from the overstimulation.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, he collapsed against you, breathless and spent. His heart was about to pound straight out of his chest. This was too much, too intimate.

He stayed like that for a minute, his cock softening inside of you as the seconds passed, before pulling out, his cum immediately starting to run out of you.

He quickly tucked himself back into his boxers and grabbed some tissues to clean you up.

“I’m sorry.” he said, sincerity and shame felt in his voice, and your mind went to thinking he meant he was sorry for doing this, that he regretted it, but he reassured you, feeling you tense as his hands gently rubbed your thighs and pulled your underwear back on. “About not pulling out, I didn’t mean to, it was just- I-“

“It’s okay.” you told him, pulling your skirt back down over your ass and turning around to see him panicking. “I can take care of it, don’t worry.” you said, reserved. You didn’t know how you two stood, if he would want you to forget this ever happened.

“No, no, no, no, you- I’ll help you…get you…what you need…yeah.”

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as you nuzzled into his chest, basking in the afterglow of your shared ecstasy. In the hazy aftermath, the world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the warmth of each other's embrace, the exchanged tender kisses, savouring the closeness, until you were reminded of your surroundings by the train stopping harshly in its tracks.

“Fuck, I need to get my stuff.” you huffed, annoyed at the moment having to come to an end.

“I’ll get them, you stay in here…calm down darling.” he spoke sweetly, fixing your top back to its original position and buttoning up his trousers before he emerged from the restroom, leaving you alone in your thoughts.

Fuck.

That was the only thing coming to mind when you turned back around to look at yourself in the mirror, your hair pointing awkwardly in all directions from where his hands got tangled in it.

At the same time, you couldn’t stop the smile that began forming on your lips.

a/n: this was all caused by the recents, if it wasn’t obvious enough, and i kinda fell back in love with the version Mr. Turner is made up in my head. i hope this makes sense, i had someone proofread alongside my own go at it but if there are any bits that sound wrong or typos let me know

tags: @4chaos @st7rnioioss @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @ohladymoon @rentsturner @yourstartreatment @menace-to-the-devil @jqsvi @turnersfav @youresodarkbabe @psychedelicrocker @feyasgotgroove

#alex recent #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #smut #goblinontour #mr turner

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