#foot on his throat pose | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

drgnflyteabox · 9 months ago

Text

the lusty cabin-dweller

pairing: ghost / Simon riley x fem reader summary: your life gets wider when you find an injured man outside of your cabin. tags/warnings: Skyrim!ghost, secrets, graphic injuries, some angst, facial injuries, nursing Simon back to health one stew at a time <3, listen to this for the vibes, vaginal + anal sex, oral (f), animal attacks, blood, processing an animal for meat and fur, violence, death (non-major), mention of Skyrim racism, softdom!Simon, some backstory, please hmu if i forgot anything, one bed trope, simon backstory adapted to skyrim lol (so past abuse, murder, theft, domstic violence) but nothing graphic w.c: 5k

Honey-nut is squealing again. Some days you think she might not be worth the milk and cheese she gives you for all the trouble she causes. A high, strange bleating cuts through the chilled night air like a knife, sharp and terrifying only for a moment.

She's been at this since Frostfall. Maybe it was the weather causing Honey-nut distress - she was getting old, after all. For a goat.

In the time it takes you to trudge out of bed, pull on a wool shift and a fur, two things happen: one, Honey-nut stops bleating, and the woods surrounding your cottage becomes deathly silent.

Two, a crunch.

Just one, but it's enough. Someone is outside.

For a brief, hysterical moment, you worry for Honey-nuts safety. Have they hurt her to be quiet? No, you'd have heard that at least. Your breath comes fast, chest squeezing. Bandits? Probably not. It's a decent hike up to your wooden cottage. But it is nearing winter, and soon it will be Sun's Dusk. It's not unheard of that they'd be looking for a place to take over for the colder months.

Your hand goes to your heart, fingertips touching your throat. Be calm, you tell yourself. You aren't helpless, look. The axe, leaning by your front door. You can see in the dark well enough, and you're more familiar with your homestead than they are.

The axe feels right in your hands. Too-familiar, weighty, deadly. You touch your ear to the door, trying to reign in your fear. Nothing. Then, a wheeze, strangled and restrained like whoever it is can't afford to be heard. But you have heard it, and you push the door open.

"Show yourself!" You shout, voice surer than you feel. Your knees quake a little, but your grip on the axe is strong.

The animal pen is a mere few steps away from your front door. Past the front garden, it's wide open aside from the little shelter you built the past Mid Year. A foot sticks out, clad in armor.

"I'm armed," you add. "You're not getting anything from me!" The world is dark, the woods quiet. Adrenaline burns in you, bright enough to guide your steps.

"You gonna kill me with that, girl?"

Gruff voice, like scraping rocks. Coming into view, you see that this man poses no threat. He's half dead, slumped and pale, clutching his side.

"Who are you? What's your business here?" The axe is a deterrent, now. Just for show. You hold it above him, but nearly drop it when you see his face. It's sliced right through the middle, from his forehead to his jaw. "Oh, gods-"

"Mind yourself with that," his eyes flit to the axe. "Or put me out of my misery now."

Your shoulders dip down, lowering your weapon. Guilt crawls into your belly and settles there when you notice that yes- his feet are armored, but the rest of him is dressed in miners attire. White, coal-dusted shirt. Workman's pants, tucked into woolen calf wraps. God, he must be freezing. Maybe that's saved his life, staunched the bloodflow. It's tacky on him, not shining wet like you expected.

"What's happened to you?" You cringe at the sound of your voice. It's gone from fierce defensiveness to cloying concern, staring only at the blood staining his skin.

He breathes hard, staring at you a moment. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, what he's feeling. Outside of obvious pain. Leaves around you shiver in the breeze, a light snow beginning to fall when he finally speaks.

"Bandits," he grunts. "An ambush." Every word is a fight, a wheeze. Empathy drives away caution and you drop your weapon in favour of kneeling beside him.

"Come on, then. Let me help you," lifting him is a monumental task, even with him helping. He's as big as horse, thick as one too. Legs like tree trucks that hold him up just barely, feet sliding weakly on the uneven ground.

Looking back, Honey-nut watches you bring him through the doorway with a judgmental twinkle in her eye. Maybe it's time for goatherd pie.

///

Your bed is too small. His feet hang off comically, and the wood creaks under his weight. It'll have to do. Your mother would have beaten you black and blue for this - for inviting a stranger in, for settling him in your bed without so much as a what’s your name? But you know how to stitch and turning away someone in as bad a shape as he is would weigh on your conscience.

You light the sconces along the wall, and then a lantern to keep by his bedside. Warm, orange light fills the cottage, flickering every so often, inspiring calm.

"I'm no healer," you warn him. "Nor an alchemist." It’s not necessarily a lie. You had done a brief stint as a volunteer for the temple of Kynareth, lending your hands and your time to help nurse wounded soldiers. There had been supervision then, though. Guidance.

"I’m shit out of luck for choices, sweetheart,” his facial wound leaks a little when he speaks, blood running down the side of his face in thin rivulets. The wound at his side, however, is what worries you the most.

“Let me,” you murmur. Your fingers find the edge of his shirt, pulling them out of his pants, and up, up, gently. Looking him in the eye, watching his pain win over his weariness.

Another gash, swaddled in cloth wrapped sloppily around his middle. Without moving him you have to cut them off, slicing off his shirt at the same time. This one bleeds sluggishly, skin shredded, like he’d been dragged over coarse rock.

He words slur, energy leaving him. Mumbles under his breath things you can’t make out, and don’t try to. You’re busy rinsing, cleaning, and patting his ribs dry. Tensing every so often, he breathes hard through his nose to offset the pain. Mumbles some more, hands making fists.

It’s bad, but he’ll live. Exhaustion might trump over all, anyhow, what with how his eyelids have begun closing. Through the slit of them his eyes are pale, like sunlight through deep blue ice. Blonde lashes, stark against the dirt and coal smearing his skin.

You work in silence, letting him sleep through this one so he’ll hopefully be unconscious for the work you have yet to do on his face.

“Who did this?” You whisper to no one. You’re a breeze in the night, alone, hunched over this man and wiping his face with a cloth.

Clear of blood and grime, you gather a sewing needle and dip it into the lantern flame. Stitching is easy, but on his face? You falter a moment, worried, until you think of how proud men often are of their scars. Boasting battles won and creatures slain.

It’s that thought that pushes you through to the end, weaving the needle through until he's sewn and clean of blood.

///

Sweat and iron. The smell of it, sharp and salty, sea foam and earth, is the first thing you're aware of.

Then, the light of morning. Pale, almost white, invading through the windows in rays. A chill. Your eyes open with a not insignificant amount of effort, back twinging in different places as you become aware of the world again.

"Awake?" You startle, jerking up. It's the man from the night before, laying as he was, a little curled against the pain and big as an ox. "W's startin' t'think you'd sleep all day."

"It's morning, is it not?" You're not used to talking this early - or at all. "How's the- how are you feeling?"

He grunts, shuffling. His wrapped side has some blood peeking through, little spots of leakage, not enough to lose your head over. His face has swelled some overnight though, and you're awake enough now to hear the muffled quality to his voice. Part of the cut pulls his upper lip tightly. You wince.

"Just wait. I have something for the," you pause, crossing your space on stiff legs to find the bookshelf. Clay pots, glass bottles, books. Ah, here it is. "For the pain." It's some elixir. Purchased the last time you'd made the trek to Markarth from Muiri, the alchemists apprentice. It brings forth a distant memory of pain, of twisting your ankle running after Honey-nut.

Your ankle hadn't quite healed right, but this was good for when winter came and stiffness made the pain worse again.

He eyes you wearily as you approach. Suspiciously. As if you haven't been helping him out of the kindness of your heart…

"This will help," a promise.

"Don't need'it." He slurs, then cringes as it pulls his lip again.

"You'll recover faster if you're in less pain."

In the end he acquiesces, if not just to take the edge of the purpling that's beginning to show on the edges of his bandage. Broken ribs, maybe?

///

Chores need to be done whether or not there's an obstinate patient in your bed. Honey-nut needs to be milked, and she fights you every step of the way. You discover her pen open from last night and sigh with relief that she's still there.

The chickens have laid eggs for you, and you collect them diligently in your apron. Then, the garden. And finally a sweep of your traps in the woods.

Just one rabbit, but it's enough. You hope the man likes stew, and that his swelling goes down enough for him to tell you his name.

///

He tells you his name is Ghost. Strange, but you've heard stranger. Maybe he's a follower of Namira, you wonder not without an inkling of apprehension. Ghost is quiet, even as he heals. After you'd made yourself a straw bed on the other side of the cabin, you'd wake to him sitting up and stretching. Testing himself. Always silent.

The exhaustion was the worst of it. One nearly empty bottle of elixir later, the swelling on his face has gone down significantly. His ribs sore but on the mend. It was sleep that he needed, and lots of it.

Days passed like this. Switching bandages, wiping and cleaning, cooking enough stew for two. Nearly a week until he was up and about insisting to help around the cottage.

"No need," you tried to gently push him back into the warmth of the open door. He was too big, and having none of it. "You'll be better in no time."

He was just so tall. Were he to stand still at your doorway, half his face would be covered by the top of it. Despite his condition, you could tell that your initial comparison to a horse was completely on the nose. Stocky as a boar, arms thick as mammoth tusks. Hairy like blonde wheat shining in the sun. You'd noticed as much, watching him rest, watching his eyelashes flutter on his cheeks as he dreamt.

///

Ghost works like you're paying him in gold. He sweats, arms swinging down over and over again above the chopping block. There's enough wood to last three winters now - maybe four. Every job he takes is finished to excess. Your roof has never looked better, re-thatched in rotting places and swept clear of mildew. The old wood fence in your garden? Replaced.

Honey-nut finds her new favourite person when he dismantles what he calls shoddy work, and rebuilds her a shelter twice as big. The chickens are still weary, but enjoy receiving the kitchen scraps he tosses.

"There's really no need for all this," you insist again, because he's come back this afternoon with an elk on his back.

"Didn't need to fix me up, either, did'ya?"

You break it down together. Ghost does the harder part, while you take cuts of meat to dry for jerky. The rest will go into a venison casserole, with juniper berries.

"Hey- Ghost?" You call. He's skinning the rest of it for furs. "I'm off to gather some berries for dinner."

A nod, and you're off.

Your basket is old, woven, carried once by your mother and now you. Silly, but special all the same. It's stained with many years of berry collecting, many years of winter nights spent tucking into fruity crostatas or summers full of juniper mead.

The hills are rife with the low, rough trees. They grow like weeds here in the Reach, mountain pocked with patches of light green and little blue berries. Once, as a child, you'd made the mistake of eating one straight off the branch. Bitter as burnt coffee, it was lesson you'd learned through tears of laughter with your mother. A happy memory.

Does Ghost have a family? You wonder again about him, about why a man like that is wasting his time mining. He could've climbed the ranks as an imperial and been a General or - divines forbid - a stormcloak. You prayed he wasn't so craven as to follow Ulfric and his band of Nord supremacists.

It's this distraction that leads you right into the waiting jaws of a sabre cat. Quick and silent, it reminds you of your patient for an absurd moment before you're tripping backwards, basket full of berries scattered and forgotten. Your hip makes contact with the ground hard, pain lancing through your joint like a spear.

Fuck, how could you be so stupid? This was a mountain, leagues away from the nearest town. Sabres, bears, wolves. You'd always, always used awareness as a first precaution. Sight, sounds, keeping your ears tuned to the slightest crack in a twig. If not, there was the bow and arrow stowed away under your bed.

Now, you were caught unawares. Muscles under it's fur rippled, a low growl in it's barrel chest, creeping toward you. Adrenaline burned through you like a fever, hot and electric all at once, freezing you in place by the weight of your heart in your stomach.

Stendarr's mercy, dying from an animal attack after living years on the craggy peaks of the mountains, avoiding ambushes and robberies. Living on goats cheese and chicken eggs, nothing yet achieved. What a waste. Miserable, hopeless tears prick at your eyes. Your breath leaves you in quick, desperate puffs. Running wasn't an option - it would only encourage the sabre. Sovngarde, here you come-

"Aaarghgh aaaaa!" A roar. Loud, ringing in your ears, as fierce as a cave bear. It's Ghost, jumping through the brush towards you with his arms above his head. "Bugger off!" He's screaming loud, voice cracking a little, the stitches at his lip tearing just enough for droplets of blood to fall.

"I'll put you down!" It's nonsense, but it's loud, and he's massive. Taller than the sabre even if it stood on two legs. When he reaches you, he steps in front of you. Shields you.

The face-off is likely less than a few minutes, but it feels like time moves as slow as honey. Ghost faces of the sabre, screaming like a madman, beating his chest and waving his arms. It creeps backward, hissing and fighting, but is cowed by his stance and size.

When it's disappeared through the maze of juniper trees, he turns to you. Extends a palm rough like bark.

"How long have you lived here, again?" His voice grates as usual, made worse by his shouting.

Your face heats in embarrassment. "A few years. I'm not usually so distracted," you dust your dress, patting yourself. Twigs and dirt fall from the wool. "I swear. I got lost picking berries."

He snorts, like you're stupid. You feel stupid.

The basket is half empty when you call it quits, tired from fear. Ghost is hunched beside you, holding his ribs again, rubbing his lip almost compulsively.

"Stop that, you'll get a thicker scar," you reach for his elbow.

"Don't care much about that, love," he shrugs your hand away.

Dinner is made in silence. It's a miracle you have the energy, but while you're physically drained your mind is running in circles. You watch with concern as he sits gingerly back on the bed. The pain in your hip pulses with sympathy, pulsing heat travelling down your leg and up your back.

"Need me to take a look at anything?" Besides his obvious discomfort, you'll have to fix his face back up. You'd prefer for him to be in a welcoming mood.

"I can handle it," Mr Stoic over here. "Did'ya take a fall?"

You drop dried frost mirriam into chopped, boiled potatoes. Then a pad of butter.

"Yes, but I'm alright," the cream sauce comes together, ladled over the venison. You're out of eidar cheese, but Honey-nuts goat cheese crumbled over everything is perfectly fine. Ghost eats like a furnace taking coal, anyhow.

"Let me see," he's up close. Again, you've been taken unawares. A sharp inhale like a gasp, heart beat picking up, breathing in the smell of him. It's gone from bloody to pine, to earth, to fresh wood. His hands find your hip and you hiss, trying to jerk away. In doing so you press your side into his chest, curled close, warm not just from the fire. "It's alright, sweet girl." He murmurs into the top of your head.

This tenderness is new. His fingers are as gentle as you've seen them in the last few weeks, pulling up the thick skirts of your dress and assessing the tender skin. It's a little hot to the touch, painful. The rough pad of his thumb brushes against you softly, making you whine.

His lips brush your hair, not quite kissing you, but affectionate nonetheless. You're close enough to see his throat bob when he swallows.

"Just a bump, huh, sweet girl?" He takes over, mashing the potatoes, setting out plates at your little wooden table, guiding you by your lower back.

You eat in relative silence, thighs brushing, a tension bubbling to the surface like stew on the fire. He spares you a few glances between bites, still wincing whenever he has to bend down.

"I'll take a look at that again before bed," you speak through a mouthful of creamy venison.

Sure enough, he's reopened some of his stitches. Not worst case scenario, but you spend a few minutes hunched over and bandaging him up again. He stares at you intently, eyes so clear and focused you wish he wouldn't. It makes your hand shake.

Moving to get up and back to your straw bed, his arm shoots out as quick as an arrow and takes your wrist in his hand. His stare is the same, squinting at you like he's waiting for you to confess something. Like he's waiting for you to give in.

"You're not sleeping on the floor," he says, sure, chest puffed. "Not with your hip. Come on now, come lay down." Gently, he tugs you down. Protests make it to the tip of your tongue and nowhere else, not with the promise of a mattress on your sore muscles and screaming hip.

It's too small though, much too small. Already he was hanging off, shoulders taking up the entire width. You curl forward, on your good side, facing away from him and into the dark. The cabin is still warm from cooking dinner.

His breath puffs on the back of your neck, hand finding your arm and stroking up and down. Soothing you. He curls around you, following the natural bend of your body.

"Simon," he whispers.

Your brow almost touches your hairline. "That's not my name."

"No," his reply is half spoken, half physical. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, bicep under you, cradling you, his big bear paw hugging your shoulder. A stray pinky ventures dangerously close to your nipple, fingers spread. "It's mine."

The world widens. "Yours?" You breathe in, out. It's trust, is what it is. He's giving you a piece of himself, this stranger, for you to hold. "Simon," you taste it in your mouth. "Simon."

He laughs against your hair. "Was watching you," he confesses. "After we got- after the ambush. Walked for days, till I found you."

"How long did you watch?" You're curious, if not a little suspicious. "You weren't casing it, were you?"

"No, nothing like that. Couldn't keep walking," he sighs loud like a dog. "Hadn't eaten, hadn't drank. Needed to know if you were somewhere I could stay."

"That's why Honey-nut was losing her mind," the realization is half funny, half scary. By the eight, you really hadn't noticed someone living so close-by for so long?

"Honey-nut?"

"You've met her, Simon. She's the goat."

"Ah," he snorts. "I've been calling her Molag-Bal, for how she's got us in the palm of her hand."

"Simon!" You shriek with laughter, shaking until he squeezes you from behind. So close his heartbeat taps against your back.

///

A week goes by, and each night is the same. You wake together, sleep together, eat together. Simon regains his strength and his wounds turn into scars. His face is deeply marked, but you've never known him another way. Truthfully, it adds to his handsomeness. There's a ruggedness there that one can only develop living in the rough.

The air gets colder, frigid in the mornings and nights. Light snows have begun falling, and Honey-nut begins her bleating until you put up the winter wall of her shelter, boxing her in. The chickens slowly cease laying eggs, bundling together, clucking at Simon when he checks for the seasons last bounty.

The time to make a trek to Markarth is creeping. You need dried goods, grain, seeds for spring, dried meats, elixirs - everything. It'll be your last trip before you're stuck in the freezing mountains with nobody but Honey-nut to talk to.

Books are your salvation during the cold months.

"I have to get supplies soon," you break the news to Simon early in the morning, when the light just barely creeps over the craggy peaks of the mountains. "In Markarth."

There. It's over with - telling him. You know you're being a coward by not asking directly, but you need to know. What is he going to do now that he's healed? Spend a few more months with you? You're still mostly strangers, practicing domesticity together, but strangers nonetheless.

"Can't go to Markarth," he says.

"Why's that?"

Simon looks at you then, eyes hard and tender at the same time. He grimaces a little, scar twisting wit his expression.

"Used to work there," A pause. "Used to… mine there."

"What?" Cidhna mine is for prisoners. You take a small step back, shaking your head. "What?" You repeat. Cidhna mine? Is that how- oh. His injuries, his waiting to see who you were before approaching. By the gods, you've been tricked!

"You tricked me-" you start, upset. Was he a killer, a robber? Images dredged from the recesses of your mind float to the surface. Men, fire, your mother cut down before you.

"No, no," he interrupts. He's shaking his head, not quite stepping forward but leaning toward you. Eyebrows drawn up, palms facing you in supplication. "Sweet girl, I," he looks around then, as if the words will appear written in smoke from the hearthfire. "Listen to me please," he pleads.

"Tell me what you did!" It's a near-shout, but you're upset. He's been cozying up to you while running from the law. Not that you're a total stickler for rules, but the men at Cidhna mine aren't there without reason.

The most secure prison in Skyrim.

"I will, I'll tell you. Just sit down please, sit with me." He pats a chair, sitting in the one beside it. Beseeching you. "Cm'ere, sweet girl. M'sorry."

///

You sit quietly while he tells you, choking a little on the rising tide of emotions. The biggest question is should you believe him? This story of his past, his father, a childhood spent learning to steal and bully to survive. Elixirs for a brother hooked on skooma, food for a mother grown sickly from her husbands abuse. Eventually getting rid of his father altogether, and wining up in Cidhna.

"If what you say is true," your voice wavers, throat tight with emotion. "Why not tell me?"

He shrugs his shoulders, looking up for a moment as if asking the divines for guidance.

"You never asked."

For a moment, you want to be indignant. You laid with him, cooked for him, wiped blood and sweat off his brow.

But he's right. You never asked, never thought to - just wondered, minded your business, content to help someone in need of it. The feeling of betrayal loosens in your chest, releasing it's vice grip on your heart, a calmer acceptance taking place.

The position it leaves you in is awkward, even if you're content to believe him. You've been too yielding since you met him. Accepted him into your home, accepted his story. Ambushed by bandits? A silly lie, now that you think of it. Vague, believable. Easier than explaining that guards had slashed him as he escaped imprisonment. That he couldn't go back because he was so recognizable.

You don't speak as you get ready. It's not an angry silence, but one brought by embarrassment. How stupid he must think you are, cozying up up to him like that.

The question of where he'll go burns still in your mind, in your gut. You're nervous, fingers shaking a little as you wrap long strips of warm wool on your calves, forearms, and between your fingers. Your dress is double-layered, boots sturdy.

It's a trip and half, lugging everything. You're on foot until you reach the nearest inn, and from there you rent a horse and cargo carriage. Easier from there, with Jazbay the white mare to pull you along.

"I know someone in Cidhna," Simon interrupts your thoughts. He's always tall, imposing, a little intimidating. Now he looks as sheepish as a man like him can look. "Could you…" He extends his hand, a letter clasped in it.

You grimace, but nod curtly.

"Thank you, honey," he breathes a sigh of relief. Honey. That ones new. It fills you with warmth.

"You're welcome to stay with me," you blurt. Impulsive, stupid. Brought on by the familiarity of his affection. "For the winter, I mean."

He's across the cabin in two steps. He presses his front to yours, hands cupping your cheeks, thumbs gently rubbing your cheekbones.

He kisses you, then, and everything slides into place. Your stomach tightens, hands coming up to grasp his shoulders, gasping into his mouth. It's wet, lips smacking noisily, the only sound in the near-frozen forest. Acceptance, sweet and buttery. This is a man whose never had a home.

"I can't stall any longer-" you try. He interrupts you with his mouth again, long kisses like it's reviving him, revitalizing him. "I gotta-"

"Shh, sweetheart," he hums lowly. Gods, you've never been this wet. It soaks into your cotton underwear, clit pulsing in time with your heart. "Let me take care of you, yeah?"

///

He's so solid, firm muscle and hard cock. It leaks between his legs, bobbing with his abdomen where he's kneeled on the floor, face in your cunt.

"Simon!" You're shouting, unabashed. Years have passed since anyone's touched you last, and you're sensitive as a maid, gripping his too-long hair almost meanly. Simon licks you like a starving man, slurping, letting you drip and then sucking it off your skin. His fingers find the entrance of your pussy, fitting himself in two at a time.

Once you've begun, you can't stop. He fucks you on the bed, letting it creak dangerously. Bends you over the table, cock dragging in and out of you deliciously. You shake and shiver in his arms, wrung out and insatiable all at once.

"Can I have you here, sweet girl?" He thumbs at your other hole, dipping in, kissing your inner thighs.

"Yes, gods yes, Simon," you drag his name out. Si-i-mon. It sounds good that way, breathy, not spoken but moaned and screamed. It's late evening, dark, colder now that you haven't lit the fire.

No need, when his cock is as hot as coals and slides between your arsecheeks like a divining rod. Your pussy is aching and hot, too-sensitive. You're belly down on the bed again, hands gripped in the sheets.

When you deliberately relax your muscles, he fits his fingers in your ass using come as lubricant. Spits down onto you, watches you start to rub yourself into the bedding desperately.

"None of that," he pants, pulling you up by your hips. A whine builds in your throat, which he shushes by pushing his other two fingers in your cunt. You yelp, moving toward him and away from him. He keeps you still, firmly holding your hips.

You come, tears beginning to leak into your sheets, when he presses his cock against the notch of your hole and pushes in.

A long, deep groan from the pit of his stomach starts and doesn't stop until he's sheathed. You're frozen, stuck in a gasp that doesn't end, filled to the brim.

Simon begins to rock, shallowly, stealing your breath and breathing it back into you with every thrust. It's then that you begin to make sound, crying out and fisting the sheets, rocking your hips with him. He reaches around, leaning down to kiss your shoulders and play with your clit at the same time.

"Not gonna last," he says into your skin. "Gonna come inside you again."

You're easy - so sensitive that if he breathed on you long enough you're sure you'd peak. His fingers twisting and pinching your clit is pure madness, and you tighten like a vice around him as you yowl your last orgasm of the night.

His hips snap into yours roughly, abandoning your clit for the flesh of your hips, pounding, dragging, grunting into you as he finds his own release.

Half-asleep, you fell him roll over onto his side and turn your head to face him. He's smiling lazily, stroking your skin, still sweating from exertion.

"I'll come with you tomorrow," he whispers.

"I thought you couldn't come to Markarth?" Confusion prickles at you, brows coming together. He finds the furrow with his thumb and smooths it away.

"I can't, honey. But I can come down and wait for you."

"You will?" Hope rises in you, in tandem with affection.

"Always," his voice is a soft murmur.

"Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow. Goodnight, sweet girl."

#cod x reader #cod mw2 #task force 141 #141 x reader #drgnfly writes #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #skyrim au #i truly don't know but i had fun writing it #hehe #cw dubcon #tw dubcon #cw murder #idk what else to tag #i love skyrim #i dont know shit about goats #genuinely this is jokes but i've been playing a ton of skyrim so here you go

2K notes · View notes

nymphbnny · 26 days ago

Text

adrenaline

────── ryomen sukuna

⤷ formula one driver!sukuna who takes an interest on a shy reporter.

tw: doggy, daddy kink (slight) oral (male female receiving), mating press, breeding kink, spanking, not proofread, MDNI

got inspired by this beautiful work here, go show some love <3 @to00fu

it was loud — overwhelmingly so. the roar of engines echoed off the narrow streets of monte carlo as you arrived at the circuit de monaco, badge swinging around your neck, notebook clutched to your chest. your team had sent you to cover the monaco grand prix, one of the crown jewels of the formula 1 calendar. it was your first time at a live event of this scale, and your assignment? try to score an interview with none other than ryomen sukuna — two-time monaco winner, three-time berlin champion, and the most elusive driver on the grid.

he wasn’t known for giving interviews. in fact, most in the press pen described him as cold, cocky, and unreachable. but still, if you could manage to get him to speak to you — really speak — it would be a game-changer for your career.

“hey, you ready?” your coworker called from the media shuttle. “we’ve got to be in the press briefing before the pre-race prep starts.”

you nodded quickly, adjusting your press lanyard, and followed the flow of reporters into the media center. inside, the buzz was palpable. you took your seat, legs crossed tightly, foot tapping against the floor. you were trying to calm your nerves, but your eyes kept drifting toward the door.

and then, the room shifted.

cheers and whistles broke out as sukuna entered. you stood instinctively, craning your neck to get a glimpse — and there he was. tall, broad-shouldered in his fitted team suit, race cap pulled low over his sharp eyes. he didn’t wave or acknowledge the room, just walked in with the quiet authority of a man who knew he didn’t need to try.

your throat dried. he was stunning. the kind of stunning that made your cheeks burn as you forced your gaze back to your notes. inappropriate thoughts crept in anyway. you pressed your knees together, trying to shake them off.

one by one, the journalists posed their questions. sukuna’s replies were short, clipped, sometimes sarcastic. he didn’t suffer fools — or flattery. and then it was your turn.

you stood, heart hammering. he watched you as you rose — not dismissively, but with interest, eyes following the way you clutched your notes like a lifeline.

“i was wondering,” you began, voice just steady enough, “about the profile picture you use across your social media — the one with you and your father in the small f1 kart. was he your inspiration to race?”

there was a beat of silence. a few reporters chuckled. someone scoffed. but sukuna didn’t. instead, he gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. he twisted the cap onto his water bottle and looked straight at you. “my dad was everything. i learned to race to make him proud,” he said, and for a second, his voice softened.

you nodded, lips curling into a smile, and sat down — your heart doing laps faster than any car on the grid. the rest of the questions blurred together. you could feel his eyes on you now and then, sharp and unreadable.

engines revved in the pit lane as the sun dipped lower over monte carlo’s harbor. the race was chaos and choreography all at once — twenty cars weaving through the tight hairpins and unforgiving chicanes, the scream of the v6 turbo engines reverberating off the grandstands.

you watched from the media zone, gripping your headset as the final laps unfolded. overtakes were rare in monaco, but sukuna was a master of precision. when he made his move into the nouvelle chicane, it was clean and lethal — the kind of move that made commentators lose their minds.

and then, the checkered flag waved. sukuna had won.

the crowd erupted. flares lit up. and the press surged forward.

“come on!” your coworker shouted, already pushing toward the media scrum gathering by parc fermé. reporters crowded around the victorious driver, shouting over one another. microphones flashed. cameras clicked.

you tried to move forward — but it was impossible. the mob was too thick, too loud.

“watch out!” someone yelled, but too late — another reporter shoved past you, knocking you off balance.

you stumbled forward, straight into someone’s chest. strong arms steadied you. a hand curled around your wrist. it was him. security started to react, but sukuna raised a hand, waving them off. his eyes — sharp and amused — scanned your face.

“you again, sweetheart?” he said low enough for only you to hear. his thumb brushed gently across the inside of your wrist. or maybe you imagined that part. you weren’t sure. he was close — so close it was dizzying.

he leaned in, lips near your ear. “if you’re serious about that interview,” he murmured, “meet me at the hotel hermitage. room 1801. nine o’clock. reception will let you up.”

and just like that, he walked away, ignoring the press, his team, everyone else.

your coworker caught up to you, wide-eyed. “what did he say?!” you blinked, still stunned. “he said… my questions were soft.” you lied, smiling to yourself.

you didn’t know if you’d go, but it might just be your shot.

you stared at the clock in your hotel room: 8:52 p.m.

you had paced the suite five times, changed your outfit twice, and debated texting your editor a dozen more. was this a mistake? would he even remember he invited you? your press pass lay on the nightstand, staring back at you like a dare.

by 8:57, you were in the elevator heading to the 18th floor of hotel hermitage. the hallway was quiet, plush carpet soft under your shoes. everything smelled like expensive cologne and fresh linen. it felt like the kind of place where secrets were expected — and kept.

you knocked on the door marked 1801.

no response.

you hesitated, lifting your hand again — but the door cracked open.

he stood there, Ryomen Sukuna — hair still wet, towel slung around the back of his neck, a few droplets of water catching the light as they slid down his bare chest. tattoos sprawled across his torso, wrapping around his arms, ink trailing over defined muscle and disappearing under a pair of low-sitting black lounge shorts. no shirt. just heat. and skin. and ink.

he looked completely unbothered by his own state of undress.

“you’re early,” he said, voice gravelly — not annoyed, but amused.

you tried to say something — anything — but your words got lost somewhere between the towel on his neck and the line of his collarbone.

he tilted his head slightly. “you coming in or just going to stare?” you stepped inside before you embarrassed yourself further.

the suite was dimly lit, with soft light coming from the floor lamps and the glow of monaco’s coast beyond the balcony windows. there was a half-open bottle of wine on the table near the couch, two glasses already waiting — like this had been a plan from the beginning.

you turned back toward him just as he closed the door. he didn’t move to get dressed. didn’t apologize for it, either.

“so,” he said, walking over to the wine. “you’re here for your big scoop?”

“you invited me,” you managed to say, even if it came out smaller than you intended. he poured the wine slowly. “i know.” he stated lowly, his eyes casually drifting at you, his muscles flexing with every move.

he handed you a glass, and when your fingers brushed his — warm skin, damp from the shower — it felt like a jolt of something you couldn’t name.

“well?” he said, lowering himself onto the couch. “ask your questions.”

you sat across from him, notebook in your lap more for show than purpose. your pen hovered midair, mind trying to chase the professionalism you were supposed to have walked in with. he sipped his wine, eyes never really leaving yours — studying, waiting.

you cleared your throat. “okay. first question… you’ve raced this circuit five times now. do you still get nervous before a big start?”

he leaned back, one arm draped over the back of the couch, the towel shifting slightly on his neck. “not really. nerves are a waste of energy. you either trust yourself, or you don’t.”

you nodded, scribbling something down even if it was just to give your hands something to do. “right. uh… who do you think your biggest rival is this season?”

“depends. on paper?” he took another sip. “probably hajime. but mentally? no one.”

you smiled despite yourself. “cocky.”

“confident,” he corrected smoothly. “if you don’t believe you’re the best out there, you’re already behind.”

you made a small noise of agreement, then flipped the page — pretending you weren’t hyperaware of the way his muscles shifted every time he moved. “okay, let’s talk personal life.”

his brow lifted. “now we’re getting interesting.”

you hesitated. “are relationships hard for you, given the lifestyle?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he let the silence settle, then said slowly, “they’re not hard. they’re just not built to last.”

you glanced up at him. “why not?”

“because most people don’t want the truth,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “they want a version of you that makes them feel better about themselves.” your pen paused.

he leaned forward slightly, gaze sharper now. “you ask a lot of curious personal questions.”

“it’s my job,” you replied, trying to match his tone.

“sure,” he said. “or maybe you just want to know what kind of women i like.” your breath caught — not because he was wrong, but because of how plainly he’d said it. your silence stretched too long, and his smirk deepened.

“want me to answer that?”

you swallowed. “wouldn’t that be off the record?”

“maybe,” he said, voice dipping low. “maybe not.” your fingers tightened slightly around your pen. “i’m not uncomfortable.”

“didn’t say you were,” he murmured, leaning in a little more, elbows resting on his knees now, glass dangling from one hand. “but you haven’t moved since i brought it up.”

you met his eyes — steady, unreadable. “so? what kind of women do you like?”

he smiled, slow and deliberate. “ones who ask bold questions with their voice shaking.”

you exhaled — not quite a laugh, not quite a breath — and before you could respond, he tilted his head, voice dropping even lower.

you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from him. his gaze was magnetic — intense, and unwavering.

“you sure you’re still here for the article?” his voice was low, but there was no mistaking the challenge in his words.

you blinked, caught off guard. “i’m… i’m here for the interview,” you said, trying to steady your nerves, but the line between professional and personal was blurring fast.

he didn’t smile this time, his gaze sharpening as he leaned in, his voice dropping lower. “you know,” he said, his tone almost teasing now, “i don’t usually invite people to my room for just a ‘chat.’”

your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the weight of his stare. you weren’t sure if you wanted to step back or closer, but his next words made it all the more complicated.

“tell me,” he murmured, his voice rough but controlled. “after all the questions you’ve asked about everyone else, you haven’t told me much about you.”

his eyes flicked to yours, dark and assessing. “you want to know what kind of woman I like? it’s simple: someone who knows what she wants.” his words were heavy with meaning, lingering in the air.

you swallowed hard. you had no idea where this conversation was going, but you felt your body respond to the shift in energy. it was no longer about the interview, or the questions.

“maybe you’d like me to show you,” he said, leaning closer. there was no mistaking it now. his breath was warm against your skin, and the air felt thick, charged with something undeniable. “or do you prefer to just keep asking?”

this was it. this was the moment you’ve been fantasizing about ever since you’ve laid eyes on him. you lean closer to him, his winey breath on your skin. “i guess, no,” you took a small breath, “i want you to show me, what you like.”

he smirked, his hand removing your glass from your trembling fingers. his face was closer to yours, his other hand wrapping itself around the back of your neck pulling you closer as he captured your lips with his. your stomach erupted, goosebumps rising on your skin as you found your brows furrowing into the kiss.

you placed your hands on his cheeks pulling further toward you, his body lying you down on the couch as he took place above you, careful with his movement without breaking away.

“tell me what you want beautiful and it’s yours,” he whispered into the kiss, “it’s all yours, god.”

you wrapped yourself around him, separating your face from him, face red and flushed. “i want you, please, sukuna,”

without a second wasted, sukuna grabbed your body pulling you up from the couch, his bulge rubbing against your clothed cunt. your hips attempted to get a better feel, pressing yourself closer to him but it was all cut to an end when you were thrown onto his bed.

“so needy,” he chuckled throwing off his towel with a tug, “you want me that bad huh?” he grinned removing his shorts, revealing his swollen tip. your mouth drooled at the sight, his inked body, his beautiful muscles and his aching cock. you couldn’t help but crawl to him, your bottom lip tugged under your teeth as you reached to grab him.

you wrapped your lips around the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum, and he groaned, one hand tangling in your hair. you took him deeper, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing as you worked him, but he wasn’t patient. how could he when your throat felt so good. he thrust into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. tears pricked your eyes, but the sound of his low, filthy moans made your cunt drip onto the sheets.

“fuck, that’s it,” he moaned, fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts. “take every inch baby that’s it.”

you moaned around him, the vibrations making him curse, his grip tightening. he pulled out suddenly, leaving you gasping, spit dripping down your chin. “not yet,” he said, hauling you to your feet and pushing you back . “i wanna feel that tight little pussy first.”

he shoved your body to his liking, face-down, ass up, pulling down your skirt and panties down. the cool air coming from the open windows hit your slick folds, making you shiver, but then his hand cracked against your ass, the sting blooming into heat that made your clit throb. “look at this perfect ass,” he muttered, spanking you again, leaving red handprints. “begging to become one of my trophies.”

“please,” you whimpered, spreading your thighs wider, desperate. “sukuna…”

he chuckled, caressing your soft skin, leaning down to kiss it. “you gon’ be a good girl and take all of daddy?” he taunted. your cunt throbbed, giving him all the answers he needed. sukuna teased your slit with his tip before thrusting into you, one long stroke that stretched your pussy to accommodate his girth. your lips parted, letting out an ecstatic gasp as your gripped onto the silk sheets. his balls were slapping against your clit, the trimmed hair brushing against your skin.

“you feel so good, mhm so fucking good,” he grunted, hands gripping your hips as the wet, obscene sounds of your pussy taking him filled the suite. sweat slicked your skin, his chest pressing against your back as he leaned down, biting your shoulder before kissing it, his mouth trailing from your blades to your neck.

his thrusts pushed you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you, your cunt spasming around his cock as you screamed his name. he couldn’t stop, fucking you through it, chasing his own release. “gonna fill you up sweetheart,” he mumbled almost whimpering, his cock rubbing against your warm insides before spilling himself inside you.

your head fell heavy on the pillows, body trembling as his weight pinned you to the bed, his cock still buried inside you. your breaths were ragged, the room spinning, cum and sweat staining the sheets.

you whimpered painfully as he pulled out, cum leaking from your tired pussy. a sight for sore eyes, he thought.

it wasn’t until you felt his tongue on you that you realized he wasn’t done yet, lapping at the mixture of both his and your orgasms, moaning as he made out with your folds.

“couldn’t help but have a taste, fuck” his voice sent vibrations to your clit, your hand grabbing his head from behind as best you could to guide him through your climax.

he chuckled at your attempt, “don’t got anymore questions f’me?” he spat on your folds before plunging his fingers, toying with you. “don’t get all shy on me now, not after how you treated my cock,” a trail of moans was your answer, hips bucking as you rushed yourself to come.

“oh yeah i can feel that, gonna come again for daddy baby? yeah?” your nodding was rapid, toes curling as you allowed yourself to be overwhelmed by your orgasm.

“daddy… coming,” you whispered, breath shaky. he would be lying if he didn’t enjoy seeing you like that, calling him daddy, letting him do as he pleases. but then it hit him, he still hasn’t seen your fucked out face.

he smeared your juices all over your cunt, lubing you to prepare you for his hardened cock again. with a simple tug he flipped you over, legs on his shoulders as he dug in, capturing your yelp in his mouth, this time going faster.

you grabbed onto his shoulders, legs wrapping around him to keep him close. he knew he wouldn’t last long, how could he when you were squeezing him like that. he reached to your buttoned shirt, ripping it open, the sounds of your buttons scattering on the floor.

sukuna looked down at you, your soft voice expressing how good he is making you feel. he smirked, his fingers pulling down your bra to be mesmerized by your tits, his hungry mouth unable to resist latching on them.

“oh my god fuck, sukuna… sukuna shit!” your fingers were now in his hair, your nipples respectively getting sucked and played with. “fill me up again, felt so good to have your cum,” you begged, eyes filling with tears.

“never say no to a win,” he chuckled, his face dropping next to yours as he buried his face next to yours, your legs unconsciously letting go of him as your body began shaking, vision getting cloudy.

he moaned in your ear, his skin slapping against yours a few last times before he let himself loose inside you once again.

“you better mention how much i love the adrenaline rush i get in your article sweetheart.”

#sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryoumen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna #ryomen smut #ryomen sukuna smut #jjk x y/n #jjk x sukuna

863 notes · View notes

wordsofwhimsy · 19 days ago

Text

you were too young to be exposed to the things that you were.

mark knew it. you didn’t. you were too sweet. too naïve. too trusting. he remembered the day you came to his house after school one day – senior year. 18 finally, the beginning of adulthood.

“mark!! you won't believe it - i got an offer for a MODELING gig!!” you’d spilled, the words stumbling out so fast it made you trip on your feet. you fell into him, and he caught you without thought.

you were beaming up at him, quick to regain your footing as you started bouncing on your heels. “can you believe it?!”

he let go of a breathy laugh, hesitant to drop his hands from your arms before rubbing at the back of his neck. “that’s awesome! not really surprised though, i mean you’re—” he stopped, and your expression fell for a minute, looking up at him with those damn eyes. wide and blinking like you needed to hear the rest of that sentence.

he cleared his throat, letting his stare flick toward the wall as if there was something really interesting about the way the paint had dried on that particular spot. he could only properly breathe again when you brushed past him and fell onto his bed, arms splayed above your head as you stared up at the ceiling. “i feel like my life is finally starting to begin, y’know? like, this is it! this is my big break!”

as it turned out, your big break was a 50-something year old man who claimed to be a photographer. who posed you in positions that were just too much, your clothing too scarce, your dignity not considered at all. but the man had promised you this would get you into the big-name magazines, and more.

when you showed mark the unedited photos, you did it with an excited hesitation—and it was the hesitation that he immediately picked up on.

he felt like he shouldn’t be looking at that them, and then he realized these were pictures that soon would be available the world.

he swallowed hard, carefully lowering the phone from his line of view so he could look at your eyes instead. “these are… wow,” he breathed nervously, giving a small smile.

“I know right? they’re so professional!”

that’s not the word he would use to describe them, but he swallowed his heart and let it sit heavy in chest. you were happy, and he couldn’t take that from you. not now. even if he had just seen you in underwear with your legs spread for the first time in what you described as ‘a real photography studio’.

soon enough you both fell into a rhythm of just watching tv, half-heartedly, as you worked on homework. all he could think about though was how he wished he was braver. how he wished he had his powers – so that he could put the sick fuck in his place who decided to take these pictures of you. he imagined himself, bursting into the makeshift ‘studio’ and punching the guy clean out; his foot on his chest after he fell to the floor, Mark’s grin and arms equally spread for you.

and you would fall into him, holding him like the savior he was while he brushed his hand over your hair and reminded you of just how amazing you truly are.

“i’d walk through hell for you,” he sighed, out loud, almost in a dreamlike state. you blinked, brows furrowing together as your pencil eraser rested on your lip.

“huh?”

mark went rigid, just now realizing those words weren’t just said in his mind. “what?” he said, as if you’d been the one to say something out of place. you just smiled and giggled a little.

“you’re so weird.”

his chest clenched, be he gave you an awkward smile anyways.

someday, he would be braver. stronger. tough enough to stand up to every devil that crossed your path. but for now, he would have to be okay with just sharing this space with you while you both cursed silently over trig equations.

#mark grayson x reader #mark grayson fanfic #invincible x reader #invincible fanfic #mark grayson angst #?#kind of?#invincible angst #angst #mark grayson x you #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n

416 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 2 years ago

Text

Title: Sacrifical Bride.

Commissioned by the very lovely @yanmaresu.

Pairing: Yandere!Hades x Reader (Record of Ragnarök).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Forced Marriage, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Emotional Manipulation, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, and Mentions of Kidnapping/Prolonged Captivity. Not Canon Complacent. I Have Never Met Canon But I Hear She's Very Nice.

The wedding was a solemn affair.

Not dull, because nothing that had your heart beating so violently could ever be considered ‘dull’, and not dreary, because despite the many, many things you could say about your kidnapper-turned-husband, he wasn’t one for bland affairs. No, your dress was of the finest and most vibrant silks, your veil lined with pearls and rubies and the gown’s train long enough to swell and ebb behind you as you walked down the seemingly never-ending aisle, unaccompanied by any escort. Wreaths of shining ivory lilies and blooming chrysanthemums encircled marble pillars, low-burning lanterns casting the chapel in long, wavering shadows. The pews were empty. The only guests were his ghastly servants, and they’d never once said a word to you.

There was no officiant. Hades waited for you at the brimstone altar alone, a gentle simper playing over his lips as he watched you drag your feet and fight the urge to bolt, to run, to do the very thing that’d left you trapped in his arm in the first place. It was tempting, albeit pointless. You’d always been swift footed, but there was nowhere to escape to in Helheim. At best, you’d spend a few days hiding and struggling to survive in the empty plains that surrounded his looming fortress of a home. At worst, you’d find yourself without direction and beyond the reach of his control, hopelessly lost and stumbling through fields of fading dead and gnarled beasts and things that would make the man in front of you look hospitable, in comparison. You tried to remind yourself of that as your body begged you to flee.

As you reached the altar, his smile grew into something that could’ve been convincingly genuine, had it been able to reach the pits of lifeless ice that were his eyes. Rather, the gesture only seemed to add to the coil of dread growing tighter in the pit of your stomach as you stepped beside him, clutching your bouquet to your chest in a white-knuckled grip. He’d let you pick that out yourself, at least, and you’d taken a truly irrational amount of joy in picking wildflowers and trimming roses and breaking every rule of decorum your mother had ever taught you. Now, though, the shadows of his hall seemed to dull your vision-searing colors, and it was difficult to take joy in such a simple pleasure knowing the man in front of you sought to ensure you’d never braid daisies or sleep beneath open skies again, when he was staring you down like yet another precious gem he planned to add to his ever-growing collection. It was a cruel comparison, but not quite as hyperbolic as you would’ve liked.

There was a shallow sigh, a hand brought to the edge of your veil. He toyed with the fabric for a long moment before taking the hem in both hands and pulling it away from your face. If he recognized the terror stitched into your expression, he only deemed it worth a slight shake of his head. “Oh, beloved.” His hand fell to your cheek. “You’re as radiant as the day we met.”

The day he plucked you from your mortal life and dragged you into the depths of the earth, the day he’d forced the awful seeds of that terrible fruit down your throat and promised you would never see another living soul again. You swallowed back your nerves. “Please, don’t draw this out.”

You were lucky you’d fallen into the hands of such a mild-tempered captor. He let out an airy chuckle, turning back to the altar. It was decorated sparsely; an overflowing cornucopia posed in one corner, a standing thurible slowly releasing nauseatingly sweet incense into the stagnant air sitting in the other. Between them was only a bottle of dark wine and two twin chalices, crafted of only the finest bronze and polished until they shined in the low lighting. He filled both to the brim before looking towards you, a glint in his remaining eye as he took a chalice in either hand.

You’d been wrong when you assumed they were identical. Where one had a line of aimless, curling thorns following the rim and plunging down the length of the handle, the other was embellished with roses, abstract and nearly shapeless, forming neat columns across the body of the cup. He extended the latter to you, its contents threatening to spill as you took it in your trembling hands. You’d managed to talk him out of the more elaborate ceremonies he’d suggested, but it was difficult to remember that this was a preferable alternative now that could feel the chill of his wine seeping into your palms.

You brought it to your lips, held it there for a moment, then pulled back at the hint of a more familiar scent than that of his dizzying incense. “Pomegranates?”

“I thought it would be a nice touch.” For him, maybe. He’d always struggled to see things from your perspective. “Forgive my sentimentality.”

You wouldn’t, but you were smart enough to keep that to yourself. When he raised his chalice, you did the same, mirroring him when your own will failed you. “To us, darling.”

You nodded. “To us.”

He took a long sip from his chalice, seeming to savor the rich wine, while you drained yours in a single breath. Try as you might to enjoy it, you could only seem to taste ash.

A few vows were exchanged, a kiss pressed into the back of your hand when you flinched away from his attempt to communicate his affection more directly. Finally, he took your arm and guided you back to your shared chambers, lingering in the doorway while you collapsed onto his bed – your marital bed, now, you supposed. You buried your face in the silken sheets, letting out a soft groan. There would be a celebration later on, a feast with all of his many gloating brothers and prying sisters in attendance, but the worst of it was over. You were bound to him, for better or for worse. All you could do was weather the consequences.

You’d hoped he would be kind enough to leave you alone while you consoled yourself, while you took all that you knew and all that you didn’t and recontextualized it with yourself as the mortal bride to the God of Death, but a hand on your shoulder dispelled that fleeting fantasy. With no small amount of reluctance, you pushed yourself upward and turned your attention back to Hades. This time, without the pretense of custom, he didn’t settle for your hand. His mouth found its way to the dip of your shoulder, then the crook of your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses into his chosen targets.

When he started to move towards the curve of your throat, you moved on instinct – your hands finding their way to his hair as you dragged him away from you before he could do anything you wouldn’t be able to forget as soon as he left the room. “Please,” you said, not for the first time that day. “I… I’d rather be alone, right now. If it’s all the same to you.”

His smile didn’t waver. “You know that, if it were up to me, I would bend to your every whim,” he spaced the words out generously, as if worried your feeble human mind might not be able to understand. “But we aren’t done.”

Your expression fell. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. I wore the dress, and—and I took your vows, and—”

“My love,” he cut you off swiftly, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek. “Our union will have to be consummated, eventually.”

You felt your throat begin to swell shut.

“I know that, but—” You laid your hand over his, trying to call upon whatever pale imitation of sympathy might’ve existed in his heart. “—does it have to be consummated now?”

You watched as his gaze softened, as his head lulled to the side in that endeared-yet-condescending manner he seemed so fond of. Slowly, with a painstaking gentleness, he brought you closer to him, ghosting over the top of your head and lingering there, even as he started to speak. “I think,” he started, his voice muffled by proximity. “that it would be in your best interest not to keep me waiting any longer.”

It wasn’t a threat, but it was posed like one, dredged up from somewhere deep in his chest and accompanied by his hand on your waist, nimble fingers slipping underneath the sash binding your gown together. When you jerked back, reflexively trying to escape his advances, he was quick to chase you, to let his softened smile spread into an amused grin as an arm wrapped around your midriff and dragged you, willingly or otherwise, into his lap. “I don’t want to hurt you.” And yet, your safety didn’t seem to cross his mind as his blunt nails bit into your waist, as he dragged you close enough to feel his chest press into yours, to become uncomfortably aware of the stiff outline against the loose fabric of his pants. “If I rely on my own self-restraint for another day—” Another kiss, this one to the tender patch of skin above your jugular vein. “I’m afraid I might end up doing something we both regret, when the time comes.”

“Less than a day,” you pleaded as he buried his face in your neck. There was a blur of movement, the ghost of his touch along the curve of your spine, and your bodice fell away in tatters, the ruined fabric collapsing to your waist. When you moved to cover yourself, Hades clicked his tongue and you froze, letting your arms fall back to your sides. Begging him to change his mind was one thing. Going against him so transparently would only make things more difficult. “Half a day. An hour. I just— Hades, I can’t do this right now—”

“My love.” Swift, blunt, merciless. You’d been a fool to ever think he was one of the kinder gods. “I think I’ve waited long enough to claim what belongs to me.”

Any protest you might’ve had died in your throat.

You’d been a fool to ever think he was anything less than the cruelest of his kin.

You wanted to scream. If you couldn’t run, then you would yell, raise your voice and tell him that he already had you, that he’d gotten everything he could’ve possibly wanted, but anything you might’ve said was torn away and ripped to shreds as his head dipped low, his teeth latching onto the vulnerable skin of you collar bone and sinking in. He didn’t draw blood, but he didn’t have to. A bolt of pure, stinging agony shot from your chest to your core, only dulling as he pulled away with a low groan. “Have I ever told you how much I adore the sound of my name on your tongue?” You felt his hand on your hip, then your thigh, the remains of your dress cut through and disposed of with little fanfare. He gave your bridal lingerie (pure white and so obnoxiously lacy, you’d had to wonder if this was all some sadistic joke as you slipped it on) more attention, his thumb running along the delicate trim before his fingers slipped underneath it, tracing the length of your slit before doing away with the barrier altogether.

Dread and panic dulled your reactions, but it would’ve been a lie to say the feeling of his mouth on your skin had left you completely unaffected. He chuckled as he gathered your slick on his fingertips, two of which were soon pressed into your clit with a brutal sort of precision. “And you tried to play coy.” He teased the sensitive bundle of nerves mercilessly, the patterns he traced into your clit too slow and too fleeting all at once. You wished he wouldn’t touch you at all, but if he was going to, it was the least he could’ve done not to draw it out. “That must’ve been why you seemed so rushed during our ceremony. If you’d asked me to make love to you on that altar, I happily would have.”

Hot, humiliated tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. You attempted to deny it, but a cracked moan slipped past your lips instead as two of his fingers were forced into your cunt and spread, splitting you apart. Your hands shot to his shoulders, trying to stabilize yourself, but he only saw your desperation as an invitation – bowing his head and pumping his fingers into you at the kind of languid pace that left you fighting not to rock against him, not to make up for the urgency immortal creatures so often lacked. “You’re a vice,” he muttered, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, his tone low and lecherous. You wondered, briefly, if words that fell from the lips of a god could be considered sinful. “To think my own wife would’ve had me neglect her so severely for so long.”

You shook your head. You were married to him, sure, bound to him. But you couldn’t afford to think of yourself as his wife. You couldn’t afford to think of yourself as something so limited, something so purely an extension of him. “I’m not—”

“Don’t try to spare my feelings. I can see that I underestimated just how much attention my little mortal would need.” His wrist quirked, another digit pushing past your entrance and stuffing your pussy full as his fingers curled and ground inside of you. Against your will, you felt a tight heat begin to twist and writhe in the pit of your stomach, pangs of burning pleasure coursing from your cunt to your core. Now, you cried unabashedly, embarrassment and shame burning in your cheeks and fueling the unsteady stream of tears that Hades was so agonizingly quick to coo over, to kiss away as your hips bucked unsteadily against his hand. “What a sensitive wife I have.” That word – that awful word – was enough to earn a ragged sob, but if he recognized the connection, he didn’t deem it worth his concern. “I promise, you’ll never feel so unloved in my care again.”

You would’ve given anything to be able to pull away from him, to be able to shove at his chest and swear to all the gods you’d once worshiped that there was no part of you that could ever feel loved with him, but in the end, he was the one to let you go, to throw you onto the center of his great bed and leave you whining involuntarily at the sudden loss of stimulation. He’d never been one to deprive you, though; in a moment, he was in between your open legs, one hand wrapped loosely around your thigh while the other pulled feverishly at his own clothes. His coat fell away first, then his shirt. You heard fabric shift and metal clink and, in a daze, saw him wrap his fist around something he could not have possibly planned to fit inside of you. Half out of terror and half out of instinct, your gaze flickered from his cock to his face – to the wide, fanged grin he’d been wearing for as long as you could remember.

He moved to kiss you, and you drove your heel into his stomach.

The blow would’ve been weak by human standards, but it caught him off-guard. Out of reflex, he reeled back, and you took the opportunity to scramble off his bed and towards the door, to any part of this forsaken place where Hades wasn’t. You made it a step, maybe two before something caught your shoulder, before your body buckled under a weight greater than your own. You were dragged onto your knees before you could so much as think to slip away from him, your cheek forced against the cool marble of the floor before you could hope to make your descent more dignified. You felt his broad chest press into your back, his snarling lips against the curve of your throat. You wondered if the insult would be great enough to warrant taking your life, but the thought was dismissed quickly.

Hades had never been the kind of god capable of showing such mercy.

“I would’ve made love to you like a queen,” he spat, his tone all manic venom and overdue obsession. “But, if you’d rather be fucked on the ground like a whore, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

You weren’t allowed the luxury of bracing yourself, this time. In one brutal movement, he thrust into you, splitting you open on his cock with the kind of harsh, unforgiving force better suited to a wild animal. There was no time to adjust, no time to sob, only Hades groaning against your neck as he bucked against you, never daring to pull out completely. Whatever agony his fingers had sparked was now ten-fold. Your legs shook, your body threatening to collapse entirely, but Hades kept your ass raised and your thighs spread, his focus entirely on bucking into you as deeply and as roughly as he could.

It almost surprised you when one of his hands shot to your head, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he forced his mouth against yours. You tried not to cooperate, but two fingers pressed into your clit and your mouth fell open in a guttural cry, providing an opening he seemed content to take advantage of. It was a deep, lingering, messything – all tongue and teeth – but his cock ground against something soft and vulnerable and you failed to suppress the wave of pure heat that flooded through your battered body as you clenched around him, as you came undone around the cock of your kidnapper, your captor, your husband. Hades wasn’t far behind, his composure shattering no more than a second after the walls of your cunt clenched down around him. You could only choke on your misery-tinged pleasure as his hips pressed into your ass and he came inside of you – his awful warmth soon tainting every fiber of your being.

You tried to tell yourself that, at the very least, it was over - that he’d had his fill of you and now, you’d be free to console yourself elsewhere, but your hopes were once again dashed when Hades failed to release you, failed to pull out of you, failed to do anything but press himself into your back and trail his lips idly down to the nape of your neck. “Once is a pitiful amount for a king. Don’t you agree?”

You felt his hips move back, then rock against you just as quickly.

“You can forgive me when we’re done, love.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok imagines #record of ragnarok x reader #hades x reader #yandere hades #yaanderecore #yancore

4K notes · View notes

aurorawritestoescape · 3 months ago

Text

MAKE THEM KISS

Javier Peña x f!reader || 1,2k

Summary: yeah, we’re riding that boot, bbs!

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, degradation, praise kink, dom/sub dynamic, reader is down bad for Javi but who isn’t, pussy pronouns, boot grinding, leather kink, m!oral, cum eating, m/f masturbation, multiple orgasms, swearing.

A/n: huge thank you to the beautiful @itwasntimethatdidit40 for inspiring me with this post yesterday! I love you so much, V🫂❤️ Kisses to my baby @milla-frenchy for beta-ing💋Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

“Look at you. Already biting your lip. Always so easy for me.”

Javi’s mocking tone makes you gush in your panties as you’re standing in front of him, your cheeks hot, eyes glossy. He’s sitting in the rolling chair, his ankle resting on the knee, his legs spread widely. Everything about his pose screams dominance, power, confidence, and you melt and drip under his piercing stare. Your breath hitches and your heart beats faster as his darkening eyes lustfully slide up and down your body.

“Javi.” Your whisper is barely audible, yet your complete submission to him is as loud as it can be.

“Yes, baby?” Javi’s lips twist into a condescending smile.

You open your mouth but your brain has turned to mush the moment he stepped into the room, the scent of leather and him switched your brain off as if at a snap of the fingers.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he chuckles. “Too dumb to speak.”

Trying to keep your composure, you look away from his handsome face and stare at his shiny boot.

“Oh, these? These are new. Do you like them?” Javi asks.

You nod and he licks his lower lip.

“How much?”

You’re blinking at the man and he sighs with disappointment before speaking,

“How much do you like my new boots?”

You clear your throat and squeak, “a lot.”

”Show me.”

Your wide eyes dart between his face and the boot, up and down, up and down, as you’re trying to understand what he wants from you.

Fuck! Why is it so difficult to think when he’s around?

“Do I have to spell every single thing for you, dumb slut?”

Dumb slut–dumb slut—dumb slut—

Javi’s words reverberate in your ears, sending waves of arousal through your body, and your pussy beats with every syllable, ringing in your head.

As if proving him right, a soft moan escapes your lips, and Javi echoes you with a groan, bucking his hips and making the chair squeak. Then he coos at you, slowly palming his bulge,

“It’s ok, that’s why I’m here, beautiful. To tell you what to do, so your little pussy could cry happy tears. Wanna make her happy?”

You eagerly nod and he commands,

“Good. Now straddle my boot, your needy cunt real nice and close, and then make them kiss.”

“Kiss?” You repeat, but your feet already carry you to Javi, knees bend and you kneel in front of the man.

“Yeah. Pull your panties to the side.”

He sits up slightly and watches you bunch up your skirt around your waist.

“C’mon. I don’t have all day,” he hurries you and you slide your index finger under the fabric and expose your wet folds to his hungry eyes.

“Hey, pretty,” he compliments your pussy and your heart sings— you love his praise as much as you love him degrading you.

“Now make those lips kiss my boot. Want them to make out. Wet and sloppy, baby. I know she can do it.”

Your clit twitches in anticipation as you scoot forward and sit on his booted foot, holding onto his leg. The leather is cold against your hot wet pussy, but the second you adjust your position and the material grazes your hardening clit, you whimper loudly, as arousal burns your core with a hot flame.

“That’s my girl,” Javi growls, leaning back in the chair, and starts unbuckling his belt. ”Keep riding it.”

You don’t even need his order now. Having tasted the caress of the hard material on your pulsating cunt, you crave more, and your hips start moving back and forth, helping you to pleasure yourself with Javi’s boot. The smell of leather quickly mixes with the scent of your arousal, spreading over the material, and you breathe it in, panting and moaning.

“Yeah,” you whimper and pause chasing your high, when Javi pulls his hard cock out.

“Not today, baby. Shine my boot with your drooling cunt,” he mutters and spits into his palm and you continue your horny dance.

“Come on it and I’ll feed you my load. Know you want it, needy slut,”Javi grunts, stroking himself with his veiny hand.

You lick your lips, watching his slit ooze prefuck juice so close to your mouth, desperate for a taste. But you always do what he tells you so you’re abusing your clit and folds, mercilessly grinding them against Javi’s booted foot, covering it with your slick.

“Yes, baby. Make it nice and shiny.”

Javi matches your eagerness, his hand quickly jerking his cock while his half lidded eyes are set on your face. Even clouded by lust, your mind lets you appreciate that only the sight of your pleasure turns Javi on so much. Or is it the complete control he has over you that drives him crazy? You’ll take anything.

The sight he’s giving you turns you on to the max as well— his wet parted lips, his dilated pupils, his big hand tightly wrapped around his gorgeous cock- all of it brings you higher to the peak.

You slightly tilt your hips and one lick of your clit over the leather makes you explode. You feel the heat spread from the depth of your core up, up, up and soon it’s everywhere, every cell of yours is drowning in ecstasy as you come on Javi’s boot, moaning and shaking.

“Good girl,” Javi pants, slowing his hand down, watching you unravel on your knees, at his feet. When your climax dissipates, he gets up, his big cock bobbing, and helps you to slide off his boot.

“Here,” he mumbles, positioning his engorged cock in front of your mouth. ”Get your reward.”

You part your lips and unhinge your jaw as wide as you can, already trained to take his thickness.

Javi’s tip falls heavily on your waiting tongue and then slides inside your mouth, finally giving you the chance to taste him.

“Ughhh, you were made for this, baby,” Javi groans and your body ignites again, from his words, from the feel of him in your mouth, and your hand slithers down to twirl your puffy clit.

“Close your pretty lips around it.”

You hear Javi over you and raise your hazy eyes up at him.

“Yeah, like that. Gonna fuck your mouth.”

He takes your head between his hot palms, holding you in place, and starts moving his hips, sending his cock to the back of your throat and then pulling it out almost to the tip.

Javi’s increasing his pace as he’s getting close, and you’re drooling from both holes, getting used by this god of a man.

“Hnggg—yeahh—fuckkkkkk,” Javi roars and begins squirting his cum into your wet mouth, still fucking it. His load is big and you’re swallowing around his fat head again and again, milking him even better. The taste of his ecstasy sends you over the precipice and you come the second time, moaning around his cock, your pussy throbbing against your hand.

When you eat the last drop of his cum, Javi pulls his cock out and looks down at you with a tired smile. He cups your cheek and rubs your heated skin with his thumb.

“You ok?” he asks quietly, still catching his breath, and you nod, barely able to think, let alone talk.

“Good. Now fetch me those documents I came for and I’ll go. Murphy’s waiting in the car.”

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!<3

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name

442 notes · View notes

studioeisa · 5 months ago

Text

so disconnected 📵 jeonghan x reader.

if jeonghan's 'boyfriend material' posts are on point, well— you can thank his girlfriend.

★ jeonghan x social media manager!reader. ★ word count: 2.6k ★ genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff!!!, txt's soobin is mentioned, down bad!jeonghan, jealous!jeonghan. some smau elements. not proofread; we go out swinging, baby. ★ footnotes: "kae if i wake up to a single shred of jeonghan on ur page..." ¡sorpresa, @diamonddaze01! no further notes, your honor.

🎧 now playing: disconnected by 5 seconds of summer — i admit i'm a bit of a fool for playing by the rules, but i've found my sweet escape when i'm alone with you.

Click.

Jeonghan hasn’t even looked up and yet he already knows what he’ll find when he does. Sure enough, when he shifts his weight onto his other foot and glances away from the TikTok he’d been watching— there you are.

He wishes he could see your beautiful face. Alas, it’s obstructed by the sight that he’s grown used to associating with you.

Your phone at eye-level; its camera, trained on him.

“Yah.” His high-pitched bid to feign annoyance is a futile one. Everybody knows that Jeonghan could never be truly irked by you, no matter how masterfully you pushed his buttons sometimes.

After clicking away for a couple more minutes, you finally lower your phone.

There you are.

Jeonghan swears he’s not a sap, not what those people call ‘simps’. But something about your smile always makes him a little weak in the knees, makes him want to be The Best Boyfriend In The World, bar none.

He gestures for you to come closer. Once you’re within reach, Jeonghan is already wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in.

“Don’t do that,” you snipe as he brings you into his chest. “We’re in public!”

Jeonghan can’t hide the way his eyes roll. “I don’t care. This isn’t public. It’s the parking lot of your apartment building,” he says dryly.

“Still public.”

“Still don’t care.”

You go to shove at Jeonghan’s chest. He responds by tightening his hold on you, a sound of protest rising from the back of his throat.

“C’mon, just a minute.” He buries his face in the top of your head, breathing in the soothing scent of your shampoo. It makes something in his chest flutter. “I’ll let you go, just— give me a minute, sweetheart.”

He can sense that your acquiescence is begrudging, but he takes it nonetheless. A win is a win, he thinks smugly as he takes the opportunity to hug you a little tighter.

It’s been three months since you finally agreed to try dating Jeonghan, though you had insisted that it be kept on the down low. Something about decorum, discretion. Workplace violations? Jeonghan doesn’t really remember; he had been a little too excited at the prospect of finally being yours that he wouldn’t have minded any condition in the world.

The past weeks have unironically been some of the best in Jeonghan’s life, though there were probably some things he could do without.

“It’s my day off, you know,” he mumbles into your hair, “which means it should also be your day off.”

You giggle, and the force of it has your shoulders slightly shaking against Jeonghan’s chest.

This is how he knows he loves you: Your laughter always felt like a small victory. Even before, he’d crack jokes in staff meetings and his eyes would immediately go to gauge your reaction.

He liked making you laugh. He liked being the reason behind your smiles. And, God, did he like you.

“Let me think about it.” There’s a hint of teasing in your voice, followed by a little ‘hmmm’ of faux thoughtfulness.

He’s about to bite back at you when he feels your hand at his hip, somewhat leaning into his embrace, and he instead channels his energy into holding back a dreamy sigh. You go on, “No, I don’t think so. Go pose by the wall for another picture.”

Jeonghan leans back a bit, just enough so that you can see his furrowed eyebrows as he whines, “But I’m Daesang winner Yoon Jeonghan!”

The title is a new one. Five days recent, in fact, and Jeonghan is hoping it will cut him some slack.

“Okay, Daesang winner Yoon Jeonghan,” you say without missing a beat. “Go pose by the wall.”

Jeonghan peels himself away from you with a grumble. He knows he’s acting a bit like an overgrown child— stomping as he walks, pouting when he leans— but he trusts that you’ll find it endearing.

You pull out your phone’s camera app. Jeonghan is ready to frown the entire way through, maybe sass you that you only told him to pose by the wall but you didn’t say how he should look.

But then, instead of “One, two, three…”, you call out something else entirely.

“I love you, Daesang winner Yoon Jeonghan!”

He can’t help it.

He laughs, and you click away.

jeonghaniyoo_n ♫ Jesse McCartney - Beautiful Soul

jeonghaniyoo_n hang up the telephone and just be here with me Liked by pledis_boos, vernonline, and 1,932,049 others View all 2,109 comments

One pro of dating your social media manager, Jeonghan would argue, is all the ‘vacations’ that the two of you can go on. You’re there for every tour stop, every concert, and Jeonghan absolutely revels in the hour or two he can steal away with you.

If only he could get you to stop working.

He knows that you’re technically on the clock more often than not. Managing an idol’s social media presence was no small feat, and your entire shtick was about making Jeonghan look as desirable as possible on SNS. You’ve been doing a terrific job so far, if his steady rise in followers was anything to go by.

Still. Jeonghan has been attempting to give you the cold shoulder for the past 15 minutes. Attempting, because you don’t even seem to notice that he’s gone quiet— too busy on your phone to pay him any heed.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and clears his throat. He doesn’t even have to glance at your screen; he knows you’re probably on Lightroom, fine tuning the press photos of him from earlier this morning.

At the twenty-minute mark, Jeonghan finally huffs, “I’m ignoring you.”

“Hm?” you say distractedly, and he resist the urge to chuck your phone into the nearby lake.

“I said,” he repeats. “I’m ignoring you.”

You glance up at him, unamused. “You are literally talking to me,” you note.

“Well, I was ignoring you before that.”

“Were you?”

“Yes. You didn’t notice, so I thought I’d inform you.”

The beleaguered sigh you let out is not a new thing. Jeonghan has been on the receiving end of your exasperation for as long as he’s known you.

At least there’s a hint of guilt on your expression as you tuck away your phone. “Sorry,” you mumble. “Everybody’s posting follower ranking listicles since it’s the end of the year. I wanted to see where we were placing.”

Jeonghan is supposed to be sulking, but that small word— we— has him fighting down a smile. It’s his account, his digital footprint, but you’re the mastermind. You’re the one behind the man, the myth, the legend.

He’s down so bad for you that it’s not even funny anymore.

“And?” he prods, his earlier chagrin smoothed out into something that sounds a lot more like resigned affection. “How’s it looking?”

The frustration that takes over your expression makes Jeonghan want to coo. It’s nothing short of a miracle that he manages to hold himself back.

“We still haven’t beat out Choi Soobin.” You frown like the other idol has personally wronged you by having a higher follower count. “His boyfriend material photos are too damn good.”

“His what?”

You whip out your phone. Jeonghan watches with growing incredulity as you pull up Instagram, and he’s less than pleased that user page.soobin is already one of your more recently searched accounts.

When you shove your phone underneath Jeonghan’s nose, he’s treated to the sight of Soobin’s feed. “Boyfriend material photos,” you double down, like having a visual might somehow explain things away.

Jeonghan snatches your phone from you. “I heard you the first time,” he says irritably. “But what does it mean?”

“It means that he looks like somebody’s boyfriend,” you shoot back.

Oh, Jeonghan does not like that.

He doesn’t care if it’s just a term for a type of photo. The thought of you perceiving anyone else as ‘boyfriend material’ makes a muscle in his jaw tick.

“Do you think,” he says coolly, keeping his eyes trained on your screen, “he looks like ‘boyfriend material’?”

“I mean, yeah—”

You’ve barely gotten to the end of your sentence before Jeonghan is handing you back your phone. “Where are you going?” you call out as he marches a couple of paces away.

He looks equal part determined and peeved when he turns to face you. You have your eyebrows arched upward, but he’s more focused on making sure his good side is angled towards you.

“Get some photos of your actual boyfriend,” he grumbles.

jeonghaniyoo_n ♫ ZILD - Lia

jeonghaniyoo_n we put the world away Liked by xuminghao_o, min9yu_k, and 1,000,289 others View all 2,109 comments

The day you tell Jeonghan about your plans of resigning, his first thought is Well, that was good while it lasted.

His attempt at being unaffected is a shaky one. You can tell by the way he holds his paper cup just a little too tightly, the way he keeps smoothing out invisible wrinkles on his coat. His poorly concealed distress makes your expression soften, which is somehow worse.

He didn’t want a civil breakup. He’d much rather go out kicking and screaming than have something amicable.

And he most especially didn’t want to be broken up with in some random café in Tokyo. He has half a mind to ask why you couldn’t have waited until the two of you were back home.

Jeonghan swallows hard, like it might somehow help him swallow the panic simmering in the pit of his stomach.

“Good for you,” he finally manages to respond. “You’re overworked here, anyway.”

“That’s not the reason why I’m leaving.”

Jeonghan hates how calm you look. The two of you had watched— and judged— one too many dramas, and so he’d imagined a breakup with you would be something like that. A rain-soaked street, choice words that neither of you could take back.

Not you stirring sugar into your coffee like this is not a relationship-defining conversation.

When Jeonghan doesn’t respond, you continue. Your voice goes a touch softer, and he’s struck with the fear that you’re trying to let him down gently.

“I’m resigning because of you, Hannie.” That nickname— the one that once felt like a Daesang in its own right, when you first bestowed it on him— now makes Jeonghan’s heart feel like lead.

“Because of me,” he repeats.

His mouth is dry. His hands are clammy. He’s thirty seconds away from getting on his knees and begging you to stay, the rest of the café’s patrons be damned.

Your next words are spoken like an unshakable truth. “Because I love you.”

You—

The look on Jeonghan’s face must be priceless; you start to laugh, and the sound of it eases some of Jeonghan’s fraying nerves.

“I love you, and I want to be with you. Properly.” Your lips purse for a moment. “Well, as properly as being with an idol will allow, anyway. At least I won’t have to worry about getting called in by HR if I’m working someplace else.”

Workplace violations. Right. That had been a thing.

All the emotions hit Jeonghan like a truck. Relief (that you’re not breaking up with him), then affection (that you’re willing to do this for him), then guilt (that you’re willing to do this for him).

He reaches across the table to place his hand on top of yours. Your eyes instinctively glance around your surroundings, checking to see if anyone is looking your way. Jeonghan tugs at your hand and shakes his head. Focus on me, he’s wordlessly saying, and for once, you do.

“I love you, too. More than you know,” he says. “But I don’t want you to throw away your career for me. Who’s to say you won’t resent me down the line because of it? I— I couldn’t live with myself, sweetheart.”

You squeeze Jeonghan’s hand reassuringly. “I’m not throwing anything away. I’m just compromising.”

“I don’t want you to have to compromise anything for me.”

“Compromise is part of a grownup relationship, Hannie. It’s a good compromise.”

He must not look convinced, because you take things a step further. Instead of just clasping his hand in yours, you move to intertwine your fingers. There’s some comfort in the familiar feeling of your fingers in between the spaces of his.

“Nothing is being thrown away,” you repeat, your tone brooking no argument. “I will not hate you tomorrow because of this.”

Here’s the thing: Jeonghan trusts you implicitly, and not only with his SNS passwords. He trusts your no-nonsense attitude, your unshakeable feelings, your typically sound judgement.

He wants to trust you now. He wants to believe so, so badly that there is something on the other side for the two of you, and that something would be exactly what the two of you deserve.

He tongues the inside of his cheek as he considers your words. When he speaks, his voice is a lot smaller than he intends.

“What about the day after tomorrow?”

The initial confusion that flits over your expression is replaced by that grin he adores.

“I’ll still love you the day after tomorrow,” you promise.

He presses, “And the week after that?”

“The week after that, too.”

“What about the month after?”

“I’ll do you one better— the year after, too.”

You’re laughing, laughing in the way that he’s always tried to make you laugh, and it’s all Jeonghan needs to trust that things are going to be okay.

jeonghaniyoo_n ♫ Pritam, Mohit Chauhan, Irshad Kamil - Tum Se Hi

jeonghaniyoo_n my getaway, my favorite place Liked by ho5hi_kwon, everyone_woo, and 2,000,001 others View all 2,109 comments

Click. Click. Click.

“What are you doing?”

“What,” Jeonghan huffs, “A guy can’t take photos of his girlfriend?”

You throw a pillow in Jeonghan’s direction, though your terrible aim has it soaring right over his head.

Ever since you left his company, Jeonghan has enjoyed an array of benefits that come with dating someone who is not your co-worker. The biggest of which happened to be all the time he’s now free to spend with you, most of which he’s happy to kill in his apartment.

He’s still a little bit petulant about your new job, though, and he likes to voice it out as often as he can.

“I bet Soobin has tons of photos of you,” he grumbles.

You pretend not to hear him. Jeonghan tries again.

From the foot of the bed, Jeonghan begins to crawl over your legs. Your annoyed tsk goes ignored as he takes your laptop and sets it aside, dragging you away from your social media planning for page.soobin.

“He better not fall in love with you,” Jeonghan warns.

You let out a low hiss before swatting at your boyfriend, trying to get him off of you. He doesn’t budge, instead caging you in with his arms on either side of you.

When he goes to kiss you, it bears none of the threatening front that he’s trying to put up. It’s a slow, sweet thing. A glimmer lighting up his cotton sheets.

He only pulls away when he can no longer physically manage to keep kissing you. There’s the beginning of a grin on his face as his breaths come out in short pants, as his eyes stay closed. He’s savoring the moment, trying to remind himself how damn lucky he is even if the cost involves running his own SNS accounts henceforth.

“I’ll give you your laptop back,” he murmurs, satisfied to have had an ounce of you.

But then you’re laughing, your fingers threading through his hair. You tug Jeonghan back down despite the fact that you’re just as breathless, and his lips curl into a full-on smile when they meet yours.

He’d been happy with an ounce, yes, but who is he to complain when you give him the whole damn lot?

jeonghaniyoo_n ♫ 5 Seconds of Summer - Disconnected

jeonghaniyoo_n Do not disturb. 📵 - YJH Liked by sound_of_coups, joshua_acoustic, and 3,392,034 others View all 30,109 comments

diamonddaze01 NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO ylangelegy just fell to my knees 💔 happy for you, king yourusername :-)

#svthub #keopihausnet #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan fluff #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #jeonghan imagines #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #(💎) page: svt #(🥡) notebook

1K notes · View notes

loverangels · 6 months ago

Text

enchanted

pairings: timothee chalamet x female reader

synopsis: your celebrity crush reveals his admiration for you and you can't help but tease him for it in your run in on the met gala

part 2

It was supposed to be a quiet day on set. Your latest project had been keeping you busy, and today was no different—costume fittings, script run-throughs, and a few late takes. The steady hum of activity kept you focused, but when you returned to your trailer for a break, your phone was blowing up.

Texts from friends, a slew of Instagram notifications, and several unread emails. Confused, you opened one from your manager, the subject line simply reading: You’ll want to see this.

It was a clip.

Timothée Chalamet, sitting comfortably on a late-night talk show, was in the middle of one of his now-infamous animated interviews. His laughter filled the screen, infectious and boyish, and for a brief moment, you smiled, charmed by him like everyone else.

But then the question came.

"So, Timothée, who’s your celebrity crush?"

The audience whooped, the host leaned in with a knowing grin, and Timothée, trying to play it cool, gave a little shrug.

He hesitated, his fingers running through his tousled curls in that effortless way only he could pull off. And then, with a tiny, almost bashful smile, he said your name.

Your actual name.

You froze.

The host’s mouth fell open, clearly not expecting it. "Really? Her?"

Timothée’s cheeks flushed pink, but he nodded. "Yeah, I mean, she’s incredible. Just ridiculously talented, you know? And beautiful, obviously. But she just seems..." He trailed off, his hands moving as if to grab the words out of the air. "...Like, really cool. Smart. Genuine. I don’t know, there’s something about her."

You watched the clip in stunned silence, replaying it again. And again. And again.

The internet was already in flames. Tweets, TikToks, and Instagram edits were flooding your notifications. Fans were losing their minds. You didn’t even have time to process how you felt about it.

---

A Week Later: The Met Gala

The Met Gala red carpet was chaos in the best way. Flashing cameras, booming voices, and the rush of silk, sequins, and couture gowns swept around you. You moved down the carpet like you’d done a hundred times before—posing for photos, answering questions, and offering polite smiles to everyone who crossed your path.

But tonight was different. You could feel it.

The buzz in the air, the way reporters whispered to each other before approaching you. It wasn’t hard to figure out why.

“Has Timothée seen you yet?” a cheeky journalist asked as you posed, their microphone in your face.

You laughed it off, tilting your head. "I have no idea," you replied, trying to keep your voice light. "But I think that’s the question of the night, huh?"

You moved on quickly, your heart hammering in your chest. The thought of running into him tonight had lingered in the back of your mind all week, but now, as the moment seemed to inch closer, the reality of it hit you.

And then it happened.

You felt it before you saw him—the weight of his gaze. Turning slightly, your eyes met his, and everything else seemed to blur out of focus.

He looked... breathtaking. A perfectly tailored avant-garde suit hugged his lean frame, the kind only he could make look effortlessly cool. His hair was swept back just enough to still be messy, and his lips curled into a soft, almost shy smile as he walked toward you.

The cameras went berserk.

He stopped just a foot away, his eyes never leaving yours. "Hey," he said, his voice low and familiar, as though you weren’t surrounded by hundreds of people and a sea of flashing lights.

"Hey," you replied, your throat suddenly dry.

He hesitated, his hands tucked into his pockets as he glanced around. "So... I feel like I should apologize."

You raised an eyebrow, your lips tugging into a smile. "For what?"

"For accidentally turning your life into a circus," he said, his grin sheepish, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of red.

You laughed softly, the sound cutting through your nerves. "It’s fine. If anything, you gave my publicist a new hobby. Crisis management is her favorite thing."

His laugh was boyish and genuine, and for a moment, it was just the two of you.

"You really do look amazing," he said after a beat, his voice softer now. His eyes traced the intricate details of your gown like he wanted to memorize it.

"So do you," you replied, and then, feeling a little bold, you added, "Though I guess you don’t need me to tell you that."

He chuckled, shifting slightly closer. "Not true. Compliments mean a lot more when they’re coming from you."

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, and you were thankful for the dimmed lights that kept the moment from feeling too exposed.

Before either of you could say more, a handler appeared at Timothée’s side, gently reminding him he had to finish the carpet.

He glanced at them, then back at you, clearly reluctant to leave. "Guess I’ll see you inside?"

"Maybe," you teased.

As he turned to go, he shot you one last look over his shoulder, his eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite name. Excitement, maybe. Or curiosity.

And as the night wore on, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over.

@annie-bby @lyracx @beautifulbluehairoff @joekbff @neteyamsbabymother @superiorbyfar @f4ndomfa1ry @cherryswan @cherryppick @nottsdeer @jolovesgg @lovelydeepresedkid @thegraceofthisworld @zjthecoffeeaddict @that-jax @redheadedcosplayer14 @sjstg3 @inannamoon @taraxyummy @evangelinesecondacc

#fem!reader #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet imagine #timothée chalamet #timothee chamalet #timothee fanfic #timothee x reader #timothee x you #timothee chalamet #timothee fluff

1K notes · View notes

venusandsaturnsrings · 8 months ago

Text

you sighed heavily, zoning out on some of the elaborate wallpaper in front of you as your friend chattered on enthusiastically at your side.

last week, they had burst into your workplace with an expression so anxious you had thought something was seriously wrong. they went on to elaborate that famous director mr. reca was on penacony and having a surprise casting call and, as a member of the iris family, they just needed to go and audition but the idea of standing in front of such a well known face in the cinema world had them more panicked than they’d ever been before. whining endlessly about how they were so very nervous but couldn’t possibly miss such an opportunity, you easily picked up what exactly they wanted; you to go with them. sighing you offered your companionship partially as a good friend and partially to make the other workers stop glaring daggers, you finally chased them out the door as they promised to meet you at the studio on the weekend.

now in a long line of other actors and actresses hoping to finally get a breakthrough part, the number pinned hastily to your chest was starting to irritate you on top of not wanting to be here in the first place. agreeing so quickly was looking more like a mistake as you were realizing you had no experience or anything prepared and you’d soon be standing in front of a man who’d scrutinize your every move; a real nightmare in the dream.

it took a surprisingly short amount of time for your friend to be whisked away into the audition room with its heavy soundproof doors and you had to stand alone coming to terms with how much of a fool you’d look like. a brief thought of running flitted through your brain as you nervously tapped your foot but before any commitment to bolting could arise, you were ushered in.

the room was elegant but felt unbelievably sterile with the marble floors and delicate chandelier. behind a large wooden table stacked with folders, notes, and expensive looking pens was the man you dreaded explaining this predicament to. with piercing eyes and a predatory smile, mr. reca seemed unnervingly interested in what you’d go on to show him; nothing, unfortunately. you took your place in the centre of the room and awkwardly cleared your throat before dumping a word vomit of an apology and explanation filled with ‘i can’t act for shit,’ and ‘i’m sorry for wasting your time.’ he nodded with a low hum and seemed almost sympathetic as he tapped a finger against his lips while thinking.

“you’re here now and your… appearance… seemed perfectly suited to a personal project of mine i can’t seem to get out of my head,” his smile was unnerving in a way, “humour me and try out a couple poses at the least. such a role would come with magnificent compensation.” not the response you expected but you figured he was owed something for such a fumble. upon your agreement he had you shift into numerous positions that made your face flush with embarrassment but mr. reca seemed beyond pleased if his praise meant anything.

“magnificent. please, i’d love to have you star in a this minor film of mine. such a project will only take a few afternoons and i’ll make sure it’s worth your time.”

it’s the next week when you’re at his home. he welcomes you with a neat suffocating hug and offers numerous snacks and drinks as a show of good will. it’s quite charming until he takes you to where he’s set up for the first scenes.

the room is dim, lit by ambient lighting only and silk ribbons drape across the room. in the middle is a bed covered in luxurious sheets and soft blankets with a table on each side holding a variety of lewd toys; your face is warm. mr. reca cheerfully points to every object explaining the purpose and how it’ll be used after fiddling with all the different locks on the door to successfully trap you in. suddenly you feel sweaty and your chest is tight as you shiver uncontrollably. his personal film was an adult film. he dangles the previously signed contract over your head with a promise to publicly humiliate you if you don’t, “strip and put on these pieces,” a lacy pair of panties and a bra that hides nothing. he’s throwing a pair of stockings at your chest as well before making some adjustments on his camera. with no choice, you change and pray that this will be over soon but the sinking feeling in your gut says otherwise when you see he’s undressing as well.

#cw: power imbalance #cw: noncon #mr. reca x reader #mr. reca x you #mr reca x reader #mr reca x you #honkai x reader #honkai x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut

777 notes · View notes

omgfangirlland · 3 months ago

Text

The Shadows That Nurture 24

I feel like every chapter is slowly getting longer and longer- don't know how to feel about it... Ch 25 is over 3k long- may get longer before going live idk :))

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 24 >>next

“It’s definitely an ambush.” Your voice hummed through their minds as you sharpened the retractable blades of your metal-covered fingers. “That’s a possibility. But I’m sure you can protect us, poor damsels in distress.” You roll your eyes at Slade’s thought, however, your attention is redirected.

All three of you squinted at the figures of the men shadowed by the sun. “I could take on the skinny one with the robotic eye.” Luthor’s prideful thinking was met with an unimpressed look from both you and Slade. “I doubt it.” You cleared your throat before finally speaking out loud. “I know about you.” You cross your arms, leaning on one foot before looking right at the general. “Kregg, right? And who are you two?”

Kregg stepped forward once they landed, and Slade immediately took notice of the man’s nervousness. Hidden well, but still there. “Yes. I am General Kregg.” His hand extended to his side, directed to the buffiest man. “This is Conquest, one of our greatest. And this-“ his hand moved to point out the better-dressed figure between the three. “- is Grand Regent Thragg, our lord.”

“And savior-“ Your slipped mutter made Lex twitch, almost choking on the traitorous laugh that bubbled up. “So we’ve got war, conquest, and a prince? We’re missing famine, I guess...” You raise an eyebrow. “Alright. What do you want?”

The fur-lined cloak of Thragg fluttered in the air as he came forward this time, his tall frame going past Kregg, way too close for Slade and Luthor’s preference as their bodies shifted slightly to be a few centimeters in front of you. “I don’t know what your father told you about me. I do not care. And however prideful I may be, I’m not stupid.”

Despite all that, his frown deepened, and his face soured. “I… didn’t believe you when you first threatened us. I have been proven… wrong.” It seemed to take a lot of pain to say that. You took note of that for later use while scoffing. “Yes. I know you’ve been watching me. And that you sent a soldier after my brother, so you better get to the point because I’m already fighting tooth and nail to not rip you three to shreds and take over Viltrumite myself. Make you the slaves for once.” Threatening them was perhaps stupid, but you just wanted to eat and sleep.

“Humans have made treaties with what you call marriage for centuries-“ Thragg didn’t finish his sentence as Lex couldn’t hold his laugh of utter shock at the implication while Slade scoffed, both men ending up saying the same thing. “No. Let’s go.” They grabbed your arms and started moving, almost stumbling as you remained unmoving. “Arranged marriages have stopped being a thing in a majority of countries, let alone as a thing to end wars. But you’ve made me curious enough to hear you out. Going through all the work of threatening an assassin to threaten a billionaire so the billionaire can ask politely- it’d be rude not to at least listen.”

The man’s eyebrow twitches as soon as he senses sarcasm. “You… and your family and allies pose a feasible threat.” Thragg truly looked like he was in pain. “But if we were to go to war, we’d still do irreparable damage. We’ll surrender, but we want to hide on Earth, amongst humans, to raise our ranks. We won’t interfere with human events.” Kregg paled when you laughed right in Thragg’s face, yet his own remained unmoving. “Oh, so you want to use humans as breeding bitches? And then- if something- or someone attacks and almost levels out Earth you’ll just what? Sit on your lazy asses and watch everyone die?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Make them work for it. Let them think about it, they sound desperate enough.” Cecil’s voice made the heroes who were about to leave stop in their tracks, their eyes moving to the bald man as he asked Donald to pull up the images. Nolan and Thaedus rose from their chairs at the sight of the three Viltrumites. “You want all of that?” The Sorceress’ voice almost sang in a mocking tone. “There’ll be rules. My planet, my rules, not yours. First one: You’ll work yourselves to death if a threat shows up. I’ll let you think about it.”

“I don’t care.” You quickly interrupted the Viltrumite when he tried to argue. “Two weeks. No more, no less. I’ll have a set of rules that every Viltrumite will have to qualify for them to even be allowed to look in Earth’s direction.” The camera moved, showing Lex and Slade. “I guess it’s too late for the Ritz now?” Slade smirked. “I’m sure we can find a non-stop and destroy the billionaire’s kitchen.” Was the last thing everyone heard before the transmission was cut.

Cecil turned to the people present. “Seems our work needs to speed up.” Harvey looked at the balding man. “We can update our files in less than three days. We’ll be ready for a trial before the aliens return with an answer.” Dick’s eyes jumped from the people speaking to Nolan and Mark, the names of the aliens going through one ear out the other, his eye twitching as he finally got up off the floor. “Yes- yes, aliens bad, don’t like them- Why are you-“ If his mother or Alfred saw him pointing his finger like this towards the older man, Richard would be dead. “-allowing my sister around Deathstroke and Luthor?!”

“Those two will be easily dealt with. I do not like the way that Thragg kept staring at her.” Damian’s comment went unanswered as Invincible frowned and crossed his arms, the young man scoffing at the lesser Grayson. “Your sister? Since when? Last I checked you lot didn’t even know she was missing until- like last year.” Nolan spoke up too, not letting any of the bats get a word in. “Not to mention, she hasn’t been a Wayne for years. She’s a Grayson.”

“Bullshit.” Stephanie couldn’t hold the hiss that escaped her mouth. Batman was seething with rage at what he assumed was a lie. His imposing figure got up from his chair in a move that would usually threaten anyone-but them? Never. “I fear that’s the truth, Mr. Wayne.” Cecil quickly cut through.

“When Nolan came to me with the request I was ready to send the kid packing back to you, but I think you out of all people will understand the curiosity one has to discover things.” Mark has never seen Cecil ever glare like that at anyone, let alone speak to anyone with such a threatening tone in his voice. “Imagine my surprise at the many public articles of your neglect, and at the many, private, records that were swept under.”

“Everything only made me want to talk to her, and when I finally got the chance all I saw was a kid clinging onto the only female figure in the house, avoiding any male besides Invincible, more scared that I’d send her back to you rather that Omni-Man kidnapped her.” Duke took in a shaky breath, muttering something under his breath along the lines of it being harsh.

“Might be.” Cecil shrugs before his eyes settle back on Bruce. “How many times has she been sick under your watch? Does she have any allergies? What’s her least favorite color? How many times did she run away from the manor before running away from the city? Can you even answer one question?” Batman couldn’t, but Nolan was quick to when Cecil looked at him. “Five times, two of which she had to go to a pharmacy on her own to buy meds, with us she was sick three times. She has one allergy to metamizole and one skin problem that she needs creams for and has a personal vendetta against the olive green shade that looks like vomit.”

The other heroes wanted to stand up for their allies, but the more the men spoke, the more their respect dwindled. “She’s better off with them. And not only because they gave her the love you weren’t able to, but because if she ever snaps, ever goes off the hinges- it won’t be you who’ll be able to reel her back, even for a moment. It won’t even be these two. It’ll be her mom.” Cecil looked around the room. “Anyone has anything else to say?... Good. Let’s go, we’ll keep in contact.”

The league was left alone with a still-shaking Nightwing, and a more than usual, broody Batman, the other bats besides Jason seemed dejected at best. Dinah’s eyes, however, stayed on her husband’s figure. She could see the clogs turning into his head, the way his eyes narrowed at Bruce like he couldn’t quite believe it. She sighs before pulling her man towards the door, it’ll be a long month, she could feel it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“That was reckless of you.” Lex groaned as he sunk into his uncomfortable leather couch you had covered in as many fluffy blankets as you could. “Your face is reckless.” Your voice was muffled, eating your third serving of the chicken and rice Slade had cooked. “And you two wanted me to do it- I want a vacation, by the way- Mom and Mark need it, and after dealing with those three mean mugging my ass you two owe me.”

You were really only talking to Lex as Slade found a recliner hours ago and passed out on it like the divorced, deadbeat dad he is. “Somewhere warm and quiet, preferably a private island without the Epstein bullshit.” Luthor’s lip curled at that. “Don’t even try to compare me to that low life- I may be a monster, but I have morals.”

“Bull. You tried to kill Kon when you thought he wasn’t obeying you. And you so are a weirdo for nagging me since I was a teen with your craziness. Slade is a weirdo too, hunting down kids, fighting them, and grooming them to be the perfect weapons just because his own won’t talk to him anymore- oh my god, he’s Bruce with extra steps in reverse.” Your hand dropped the fork, holding onto your face instead. “… I’m taking your bed for making me think about all of this- no thinking on my vacation! Note that down- I need a no-thinking week!“

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The trial went by… too quickly. The Judge and Jury were definitely brought off, but it wasn’t Cecil, the man was actually pouty about the fact. That was however good for you and your family. While most of Nolan’s freedoms, and consequently your own, would be stepped on and rubbed into the floor it was better than moving him on the moon… Maybe. Still debatable. You took a note to visit your dear rogues towards the end of your vacation… or when you could, really. Two-Face deserves another thanks for the show he put on.

The good part- Lex did give you the vacation you wanted. So, after Abe, as you’ve come to call The Immortal, said his goodbyes to go on his own vacation you and the babysitter your mom found were running around to pack things for the holiday. Well, you were. Poor April was watching alongside Debbie the chaos as Mark and Nolan seemed to be just as anxious, flying around the house.

Your mother sighs before reminding everyone of the no-flying rule, resulting in everyone stopping and landing on their feet. “Sorry mom- it’s just-“ Debbie smiles at you as she hands you a bag to load into the car. “You’re not used to relaxing, but it’ll be fine. If we forget something you can just teleport back and grab it and if something bad happens you and your brother will be there to protect us.” Nolan pouted as he wasn’t included but did not say anything. “Now come on, let’s load up the van so we can reach the house before dark.”

“Oh, we’re taking the car? I thought we’d be flying?” April asked as she lifted Oliver higher on her hip. “We are flying.” You smirk as Mark continues with a shrug. “But we are also taking the van. Hope you’re not car and fly sick.” April could only hum as the two young adults went back to their work, her eyes settling on Debbie’s reassuring smile.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Whoever said vacations are relaxing is a liar with fiery pants. Sure, the lazing around is nice, but the packing and unpacking is a nightmare you could do without. Alas, after a good nap and a great dinner, you were hanging with your dear brother on the balcony, enjoying the cold breeze cooling the heat left by the sun. “Mark- don’t give me that bull. You haven’t been okay since dad beat you up, and that Levy guy only made it worse.”

“You killed Vidor without remorse.” Mark wasn’t looking at you, eyes remaining on his can of soda. “I did. I’d do it again. That doesn’t mean you have to do that. You’re not me and I’m not you.” You rested your hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t- I thought he was stronger, I didn’t mean to kill him- I-…”

“Mark. From what you and everyone else told me, the man was unhinged. I… I can’t say I know how you feel, I had no remorse for the Joker or Vidor, and I don’t think I’ll have any for the others who may meet the same fate. But that’s me, that’s Nolan. You’re better than us. You want to help them get better, to fix things in a- morally correct way.”

“The world needs that. And you shouldn’t feel shame, or like you failed because you couldn’t do it. You tried.” Mark snorts at your words. “I’m supposed to be the older sibling-“ You immediately repeat his words in a deep voice. “Fuck off.” He nudges your ribcage with his elbow after you do. “I mean it. We both killed, we both got traumatized- and yet you’re like an unmoving mountain… I still have nightmares about how much worse that night could have been, mom and Oliver could have died, but all they got was a broken arm and bruised forehead.” You lean back in the recliner, taking his words in before responding. “The guilt eats me… That I wasn’t there, that I wasn’t the one to bring you back. Kinda feels like I failed.”

“Cheers to guilt eating us alive.” Mark jokes. “Cheers. As for the other thing you said… I- I don’t think most people deserve a second chance… I think everyone should get a second chance- but some people don’t want to change to be deserving of it. And if they don’t want to put their pride aside and do the work required, they’ll do what they did again, and again, and again. There’s no fixing something that doesn’t want to be fixed. Joker was like that. Bruce tried so fucking hard for a lost cause- when Jason came back, he beat him up harder than he ever did the clown.”

“I think that was when I started believing that. Bruce never hit us- them. He went out of his way to redirect his anger toward anything else, is what Jason said. He also said B reacted like that because he felt too guilt-ridden and frustrated on how he failed him- but-… I think he was furious at how right Jason was.” You shrug. “I don’t know… The fucker is something I stopped trying to detangle and understand a long time ago, but he also fits the category of if they don’t want to fix themselves they don’t deserve a second chance. Bruce is so sure that he’s right in everything, he forgets to understand that just because he feels like he did the right thing doesn’t mean it was the right choice for others.”

“Dad’s trying.” Mark mutters as if to reassure himself. “He is. You still flinch sometimes. Don’t feel bad about that, you have every right to. He was… brutal in that fight.” Your eyes meet as you nudge his shoulder with yours. “You’re stronger than me, I don’t think I would have been able to come back from that fight like you did.” Mark’s lip twitched into a smile.

“… Sometimes I just want to beat the shit out of dad. With a spiked baseball… in the middle of the night, preferably. Like he wronged me in another life.” His words earned a laugh straight from the depths of your belly. “He has a very punchable face.” You cackle as Mark joins in your gleeful laugh.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou @asillysimp @aalunar @cxcilla @sirenetheblogger @pinkluv29 @br33zy-blizzardz @victoria1676 @of-poetry-and-dreams @djpuppy-kittens @wizzerreblogs @galaxypurplerose @burningkittenprince @swanluver @ohnoivefallen

Ch 25 sneak peek:

“You came to tell me to be a lover?” You sniffle as you chuckle. “No. I’m just being selfish and wanted to see you.” [REDACTED] nudges you. “But it won’t kill you. You’ll see, the fates have already sewn your threads. It’s just a matter of which one you decide to walk.” You didn’t move away from her, but you did wipe away your remaining tears. “Sounds like the illusion of choice.”

#dc x invincible #dc crossover #invincible crossover #yandere batfam x neglected reader #yandere invincible #yandere batfam #neglected reader #yandere batfamily #fem!reader #female!reader #platonic yandere #yandere batfam x reader #yandere mark grayson #yandere nolan grayson

327 notes · View notes

multi-fandom-imagine · 9 months ago

Note

It'd be really super duper cool if you wrote a fic about Stanley finding lewd and/or suggestive polaroid pictures of reader that their girly friend helped them take as a little present behind his back 👀 maybe he finds them stashed in his wallet... Like, ass/boob shots or close-ups of them in cute poses wearing their undergarments or something? I absolutely adore all the drabbles and fics you've been pumping out lately! I'm OBSESSED!

A/n: *SCREAMING* because I love this and been hoping someone would suggest something like this or the reader and Stan making a porno together 🤭.

Also thank you! That mean's so much!

Turning your back to your friend, you lifted up both of your arms fixing your hair. The only thing you wore were a pair of black lace panties. Your friend snapping the picture getting a cheeky reveal your backside and hips.

The day dragged on as your friended guided you into different poses. From you kneeling on the bed, your head turned slightly away from the camera, lips parted, eyes hooded.

To you sitting on the drawer, with one leg extended down and the other bent to around knee level with your foot resting on the open drawer.

Your fingers were clutching his gold chain, the only other piece of clothing you wore being the lace panties.

And once you were done you could help but give your friend a thank you, that you'll take the rest from their having wanting to take a few more raunchy one's for Stan because those....those would be for his eyes only.

Being the only one in the house, Stan spent most of the day helping Ford get the place ready for Dipper and Mabel. He was so distracted he hadn't realized you were gone. Eye's snapping to the door opening he half expected to see his twin spewing some nonsense, not you holding something behind your back.

"Whatcha got there doll face."

Letting out a soft hum, you smiled as you sat yourself on Stan's lap giving his cheek a kiss while you placed the envelop in his lap. "Just a little gift for you, since you've been over working yourself Stan."

"Is it money?!"

"What!? No! Stan just open it."

Giving you a grin, Stan pinched your hips. "I'm only teasin ya." Though his eyes went wide as he looked over each and every one of the photos. He felt his mouth go dry and the slacks he wore suddenly felt a lot tighter.

You looked like a goddess, you maybe showing of some skin he was having trouble pulling his gaze away as he flipped through the polaroid's he had to shift his body to relieve some of the tension.

He really liked the selfies of yourself the most, the way your tits seemed to be spilling out from the bra he liked so much and god, the look on your face with your hand out of the cameras view.

He knew what you were doing and he wished he could have been there to see it. Quickly brushing the blood from his nose he cleared out his throat.

"Well....what do you think?"

"Bedroom....now."

#drabbles #drabble #stanley #stanley pines #stanley pines x reader #stanley pines x you #stan pines #stan pines x reader #stan pines x you #gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #smut

579 notes · View notes

hitomisuzuya · 8 months ago

Note

it’s always nerd scara x reader, what about nerd reader who scara thinks is inexperienced, but they give him a real good time🫣

scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. blowjob. riding. virgin! reader.

anything for you, my dear❤️ scara is about to get real humbled. i am blowing you kisses with this once i post it. mwah!

the blush on your cheeks couldn't have been darker seeing the way scaramouche was looking at you. it was predatory, a wolf staring down the prey he is finally going to get to devour. his smirk as he spoke very obviously showed the dark excitement. "i'll bet you are a virgin," his mouth watered seeing the way you looked away shyly.

"what does that have to do with anything?" you posed the question to him to cover up how flustered you really are. naturally, more words came out. "and anyways, is virginity really a concept? it's the first time someone has sex with someone, right?"

despite the aching in his cock, scaramouche was curious to see where this went. "brilliant deduction, sherlock. go on," he crossed his arms.

you continued once he raised an eyebrow. "so say you have sex with someone for the first time, and then you go have sex with someone else for the first time? does that make you a virgin again?"

look at you, turning such a concept on its head and sideways. he swore he felt his cock get harder. it didn't make any sense to him, but he logically hadn't thought of it that way before.

cute, foolish blustering.

he was going to fucking ruin you.

"it's all about sensation. anyone who even reads about sex or even..even watch it," he almost snorted at how twice as shy you sounded, hardly being able to say porn. "i'll prove it," even as you said it, holding your head a little high, he could tell you were second guessing yourself.

you'd had to speak fast, before he could cut in a biting comment that would make you lose brittle confidence. but, you fiercely knew you had to stand your ground.

especially with scara.

scaramouche certainly didn't expect to be in the position he was in now. he wanted to see you beg and crumble apart, beg for him to take care of you because you didn't know what you were doing. shatter in your desperation to have his cock impaling you.

the shoe had never been on the other foot so much in his life.

his electric eyes are a little wide with shock as he looked down at you on your knees, looking impossibly cute with your tongue licking slow lines up and down his cock.

he hissed through his teeth as you prodded your tongue in his slit, circling his cockhead before sucking until drool rolled down his cock. he squirmed as you lowered your mouth on his cock, slowly flattening your tongue as his it pulsed against it.

you were taking the concept of sensation and smashing it with a well thrown rock.

his legs shook, his hand folding a handful of your hair into his hand. his eyes nearly rolled back in his head, his hips jerking up to push his cock deeper into your mouth. you were sucking and grinding your mouth on his cock in a way that made him see stars.

you wrapped your hand around his cock, pumping it on what wasn't in your mouth. through watery eyes, scaramouche could tell you were fighting the urge to look away shyly. but never once did your pretty eyes stray from him.

they were trained on his every twitch, and reaction as moans started to bubble in his throat. you had a point to prove. experience sometimes meant jack shit.

you muffled a moan on his cock as his hand tightened in your hair. he held your mouth down on his cock, pushing into your throat. your pliable throat felt divine convulsing around his cock as you gagged.

he couldn't even jump on the fact you seemed to enjoy being handled roughly, latching onto it and devouring you with the fact. your mouth just felt too fucking good. "f-fuck, i think i am cumming," he groaned, his thighs quaking as you recovered your breathing and started sucking again.

you made it this far, surprising yourself in the process. you felt his fingers loosen on your hair after a few moments of bobbing your mouth on his cock, thrusting somewhat carelessly. the glare he shot you as you suddenly took your mouth off his cock sent a shiver up your spine.

"w-what do you think you are doing, slut?" scaramouche growled as you got to your feet and wiped your mouth.

"proving it to you," you quickly said, putting your hands on his shoulders. you knew if you even showed a moment of weakness, scaramouche would grab it by the throat and squeeze, and all your plans would go up in smoke.

you shook a little bit as you straddled his lap. sucking him off for the first time left your pussy dripping and almost embarrassingly wet. the throbbing in your clit spurred you on as you settled his cock between your folds.

you sighed shakily as you glided your pussy on his hard cock. groaning, his hand went to your hip, the other grasping his cock and positioning it at your entrance. "bounce like your life depends on it, slut," he moaned, lowering you down onto his cock a little more carelessly than he meant to.

he needed to feel your pussy stretching around his cock, the ache from the not getting to cum sent him reeling. he shivered as your fingernails dug into his shoulders, your walls fluttering to clench around his cock hearing his degradation.

he would've degraded you more, but your cunt felt too tight and warm for him to find words. your back arched, your body tensing in pain the sudden from quick intrusion of his cock. sighing shakily, his fingers found your clit.

a moan tore from your throat, your clit pulsing under the pads of his fingers. jolts of pleasure ebbed the pain away so fast it left you dizzy. he bottomed out as you rolled your hips down. "it's all..about.. sensation, remember?" he moaned encouragingly to soothe you.

don't think for one second that just because you are literally fucking humbling him, that he wasn't going take care of you. (real man behavior in only the best of ways, in your opinion.)

his thumbs grazed over your hips as you started bouncing. he rocked his hips up to nudge his cock into your sweet spot, letting you set your own pace. his body was turning to jelly fast, your walls squeezing his cock so tight that he thought he was going to cum right then.

he may have been falling apart, but you were falling apart faster. your head spin as tightness coiled in your core. the lewd sounds of his cock squelching and out of your pussy, your thighs smacking against his as you fucked yourself down onto his cock mingled with his husky moans.

"fuck..good girl.. fucking hell keep going," scaramouche hissed, guiding your pace on his cock. you gasped in pleasure, your whole body shaking as his cockhead assaulted your sweet spot. the sensation bubbled over any other pain, swallowing you as you chased your high.

he laughed shakily hearing how shameless your moans sound. "i was right to want to keep you," he moaned, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as his cock pulsed strong between your walls, "a perfect, fuckable pet," he was babbling now, lost in the sensation of your cunt swallowing his cock.

you tightened your thigh muscles for extra friction as you bounced. you couldn't barely think, but you were proving your point. his cheeks were flushed, whimpers bubbling in his throat as one arm snaked up to the small of your back.

he hastily buried his face in your neck to muffle his moans tinged with soft whimpers. the knot of your orgasm broke apart, overwhelmed by the pleasure of hearing him refer to you as his pet. "scaramouche!" you cried out, barely able to hold yourself up as you creamed hard on his cock.

he lifted his head from your neck, scooping one of your nipples into his mouth to suck on, nursing you through your orgasm. there was still more than enough for him to break apart your innocence like he fantasized about.

but for now, he was going to enjoy cumming inside of your pretty cunt.

an innocent nerd like you is always breakable.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #genshin imagines #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you

566 notes · View notes

kabr0ztrousers · 3 months ago

Note

Naive curvy fem reader who recently gave birth but her man left her to fend for herself. Mother in-law + father in-law (who are both vampires) disown their son and allow the reader and their grandchild to stay at their estate. They convinced her they will help relieve any tension. Like massaging her sore breasts, suckling or squeezing any excess milk, and licking and rubbing her pussy. Starts off as dubious consent but transitions to full consent when they tell her that she's more than a daughter in-law to them.

Kabr0z Episode 54: The In-Laws

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: blood; vampires; incest (no blood relation); age gap; power imbalance; dubcon to enthusiastic consent; receiving cunnilingus; giving cunnilingus and fellatio; very mild foot mention; technically intox; ghoulification;

A/N: Nobody's claimed the prize from my previous competition regarding vampires, but I had fun posing the question, so if you can give the clan the in-laws belong to with your request, you get to skip the queue! Two prizes up for grabs as the clan changed its name with Vampire V5 😁

Again, here's the daily reminder that I won't know what you want if you don't request it, so by all means request! My DMs and asks are open for a reason!

#######################################

You pulled up outside the wrought iron gates. You knew Nick grew up with money but this is old-school aristocrat level, a real Great Gatsby mansion. You reached out of your window to hit the buzzer

"Name?" A bored voice called over the intercom.

You told them who you were, you were getting to why you were there when the gate swung silently open. You drove on, gate swinging shut behind you. You didn't see the men with automatic rifles from the road, but you bet they saw you. Sophie fussed in the baby seat. You stopped to shush her back to sleep, the last thing you wanted was to make a poor first impression.

Too late. A pair of figures stood in the doorway to the house. The lights flattered them in the late evening, artfully curated shadows highlighting the razor-sharp creases of his suit, the elegant drape of her long red dress. They were looking at you.

Here was as good a place to leave the car as any, you supposed, and got out. Cradling your baby you approached the figures in the doorway. They smiled at you, the light making them look washed out and pale.

"So, we finally meet! So sorry we couldn't make the wedding" The woman spoke first "I am Lucrezia, this is Alfonso" the man bowed neatly at the waist, allowing his wife to continue "When we caught wind of what our dog of a son did! We're both so very glad you came to us"

You smiled, it's not like you had much of a choice. Both of your parents had passed while you were expecting Sophie, and you didn't really have any other family. "Thanks for having us, we'll try not to be a burden"

Alfonso laughed "It's not a burden at all! It will be so good to have a child about the house again, it gets awfully quiet with just me, your mother, the security, the cleaners, and the servants"

That sounded positively bustling to you, but their perspectives were probably different you guessed, a house like this needs upkeep

A man cleared his throat behind you "Your keys, ma'am?"

You turned, he was wearing a flak vest and an earpiece, his rifle secured to him with a strap "so we can park your car and unpack you"

The woman waved him away "There's time for that later, Giacomo. Now, let's get out of the cold"

It was a warm night. You followed the pair inside. They looked exactly like the old paintings on the walls of the house, though the varnish had darkened with age. Some of them looked to contain a young Peter too... Maybe these were of Alfonso's side of the family? There was quite a strong family resemblance with the boy, but then how was Lucrezia there?

They led you to a lounge, where they took seats on either end of a long sofa. You sat in an armchair, sinking into the plush velvet. "So," Lucrezia began "We'll hear no more of this not wanting to intrude business. You're family, and family takes care of family. Besides, it's not like we're hurting for bedrooms" They both laughed. You felt like a deer in headlamps. A rabbit cornered by circling wolves. The light in here was warmer than outside, but it didn't diminish the corpselike pallor on their faces, bluish lips on pale faces, dry eyes that didn't catch the light, and aside from when they spoke... No, that's silly.

Obviously they must breathe, right?

Sophie was picking up on something, too. She hadn't stopped fussing since you came in. Lucrezia stepped over to you, or at least you assumed she did, you looked up and she was simply there, dark eyes staring into yours

"There, there, the little one is tired! Come to Nana, little one"

You let her take the restless baby from your arms, playing with her with a fingertip. Sophie calmed at once, gurgling happily before settling into a deep sleep. Lucrezia gave her back to you. Was that... Blood on her mouth?

You blinked, it was gone. Probably just your overactive imagination. Driving for four hours after packing up your entire life would do that.

You looked at Lucrezia again, into those deep black eyes, dark in a sea of white "Let's get my granddaughter to bed, then we can talk about your future here"

You nodded. It's the best thing for it. She led you upstairs, to a nursery with a beautiful cot, pulling a tablet computer off the wall and handing it to you "Only the best for you, 4k camera and the best audio money can buy. If she so much as peeps, you'll hear"

You put Sophie down in the cot. Finally the two of you were safe again. "Can I have a bed in here with her?"

Lucrezia smiled at you, those eyes meeting yours again "Of course, I'll have the staff bring one in. She stepped out of the door, clapped her hands twice and shouted in the fastest Italian you'd ever heard someone speak before coming back "The bed will be brought in soon, now let's go back downstairs"

You followed her again. Alphonso looked up from a book when you entered, before getting up and ushering you down to the sofa between them.

Lucrezia's hands were on your shoulders, thumbs digging into the muscles of your back "You're so tense, why don't you relax?"

You had to admit, you ached. The massage hurt a little as Lucrezia eased the knots in your back from driving so long. Alfonso slipped off your shoes and began massaging your feet, pulling you so you lay across the two of them as they rubbed and squeezed you, their too-strong hands loosening you up. Your eyes closed gently as exhaustion took over.

Your dream was dark, and troubled. You were running down the hallway of the house, chased by armed men. Every door you opened had either Lucrezia behind it, Alphonso, or both.

You snapped awake. In the bed in the nursery, morning light visible against the curtains. A maid was there, she curtseyed and left a tray on the end of your bed. Some toast, butter, jam, and a small cup of strong-smelling coffee. You checked on Sophie. Sleeping like an angel.

Breakfast was simple, but every bit as good as it looked. That was possibly the best coffee you'd ever had.

You picked up Sophie and started to explore your new home. Three floors, the maid told you the top floor was only for Lucrezia and Alphonso, their studies, the private chambers and whatnot, she told you you'd probably be allowed up eventually being family, just not yet.

And so your days passed, at first. Daytime was spent with Sophie in any combination of a dozen rooms between her nursery, the library, the TV room, or walking through the gardens. You looked forward to when she'd be old enough to teach to swim so you could use the swimming pool.

At night, your hosts finally finished whatever work they did all day and came downstairs to spend time with you and their granddaughter. They never seemed to eat with you, every day around nightfall a maid carrying a platter would walk up the staircase to their suites, but never seem to come back down until the following morning. Always a different one, too, which seemed odd.

It was amazing, the way Lucrezia had with Sophie, she could put her to sleep in moments. You'd stay up with them talking about your day, how your daughter was doing, never about them or their business... You let your mind wander as Lucrezia massaged your back again, you didn't know why she liked doing that, but you weren't going to stop her...

Shit. They were mobsters, weren't they? It checked out, armed guards, inexplicably wealthy, a preoccupation with privacy, family, and trust above all.

A roving hand snapped you out of your reverie. Alfonso had just pulled aside your underwear, his hand up your skirt. You yelped, Lucrezia held your shoulders.

You looked up at her, she smiled back "Now, now, we said we'd take care of all of your needs, and we meant it"

Alfonso's hand was rubbing the lips of your pussy. You were already wet, the massage had loosened you up more than you thought. His fingers slipped around your clit, making you whine as Lucrezia's attentions moved to your collarbones and your milk-filled tits, squeezing squirts of milk from you as you whimpered and gasped under their attention

Alfonso's tongue joined his hand, fingering your hole while he licked rings around your clit. You could feel the pressure building in your cunt as it twitched and your back arched. Lucrezia kissed your lips, and you came. You ground your cunt into Alfonso's face, no longer caring that these two are your parents in law, just wanting to prolong the orgasm running through you.

Your spasms subsided, you looked up at Lucrezia as you panted.

"Oh, child, I can't imagine what you think of us... You must think we're criminals?"

You nodded weakly. Alphonso laughed, looking at you from between your legs "Shall we give her the truth?"

Lucrezia manhandled you to the floor, forcing you to your knees, holding your head up as Alphonso stood over you, pulling out his cock as it hardened in his hands. "I'll need a drink after we're done. Hopefully it's as good as it looks"

Your mouth was forced open. Alphonso stuffed his semi-hard cock inside. You could feel it hardening as he thrust it in, invading you again and again as his wife crooned in your ear.

You bit down hard. He didn't stop. His groans got louder as he railed you harder, his cock pushing your throat as he came. It wasn't cum. His cock twitched a d throbbed, pulsing like he should be spraying cum down your throat, but it wasn't. It was blood.

The blood fell out of your mouth, but some trickled down your throat.

The world got sharper. Your head spun as you became hyper-aware of everything around you. Around, and in you. God you're horny. Your hand shot to your cunt, furiously rubbing yourself as you sucked his cock. He pulled out, rubbing the mix of blood and spit on your face. You tried to catch as much as you could before Lucrezia turned your head and licked your face, cleaning you of the mess her husband had made.

She stood before you and lifted the front of her skirt.

You couldn't stop yourself even if you wanted to. Your face was in her cunt, slurping and licking like an animal as she held you to her. You could feel her, already getting closer and closer as you licked and nibbled, her cunt oozing more wetness onto your face as you buried yourself in her folds. All you could taste was blood, all you wanted was more.

Lucrezia came hard, twitching and squirting into your mouth, covering your face.

You opened your eyes. You could see blood pooling below you, staining your top and your skirt. Alphonso was looking at you, so was Lucrezia, predatory eyes taking you in.

Alphonso bit you first. The searing pain of his fangs sinking in to your wrist making you grit your teeth. You screamed when Lucrezia bit the other.

The world became cold, your head spun a little as the vampires released you, licking the wounds to close them. Lucrezia barked a command in Italian, a man ran over and stabbed a needle into your arm. Giacomo. You saw a blood bag held over your head as you closed your eyes, letting sleep take you.

Giacomo was there in the morning when you awoke "Afternoon, ma'am. The bosses have asked I explain everything. Welcome to the beginning of the rest of your life."

######################################

So, fun fact: it's canon that literally every liquid a Kindred produces is vitae, except for in very specific circumstances. So, if you let a Kindred cum down your throat, you become a ghoul.

Honestly, goals.

To reiterate from the start, if you correctly identify which clan Alphonso and Lucrezia belong to you'll get to jump the queue! 2 prizes to claim this time as the clan name changed when Vampire V5 was published, so get to guessing! Promotion ends when the first winning guess is published 😉

On that note, even if you don't want to guess, I want to hear your requests, ideas, fantasies, whatever! This challenge is set to run right through to the end of the year and I intend to go the distance!

227 notes · View notes

planete777 · 1 year ago

Text

BAD INFLUENCE・⁠｡♪ LN4 [+ OP81]

( lando norris x fem!reader ft. oscar piastri)

READ PART 2!

IN WHICH. getting high was never on oscar's roster. getting high and enjoying it with y/n and lando wasn't either, but that just makes it much more... exciting. (based on this ask)

WARNINGS. 16+, suggestive content, drug use (as per), high hotness pt 875443, oscar cameo (woop woop 🥳), make outs, first time getting high, oscar being whipped for lando and y/n? wbk, a bit of mxm content between drivers, shotgunning coz it's my most favourite thing ever

NOTE. LANDOSCAR!! this may probably be my favourite fic and is my longest so im looking forward to you guys reading it!!! well overdue in my humblest opinion, but i delivered hehe. enjoy my luvs and a very happy new year in advance mwah mwah mwah 😚😚 i appreciate all of you readers, thank you for all your support 💓💓💓

SIDENOTE. my askbox is now closed for requests 🤍

‧₊˚✩彡 taglist @laciijane @ferrarrigirl @norrizzandpia @mimi-luvzyu (use askbox above if you'd like to be added!)

frankly speaking, a 'you up?' text from oscar piastri, whose entire persona was an antithesis of what that type of message usually pertained to, isn't something lando was expecting at 1am after a tedious race weekend. knows oscar to be one who sleeps in too early, as if his circadian rhythm was built upon the foundation of a restrictive curfew, and even fathoming the fact that he is awake past 12 is rather peculiar.

yet, with the mutually pre-established sense that lando would be awake (he's probably an insomniac, but it's not too concerning for him to actually check), and that oscar was asking if he was just for the sake of, most likely because he's, unusually, unable to sleep, lando replies with much sluggish vim.

fingers moving as if they played in a dream, he's able to reply with 'yh, why????' and sends it off before throwing his phone on the bed. he thinks, if he's sober, he would care more that this is oscar!!!! who is normally adamant about getting sleep!!! and not looking more sleep deprived than his naturally downturned eyes already make he seem to be!!!! but his mind feels like gooey viscous, and he counts about 3,000 peaks and troughs of the popcorn ceiling above before losing count and seeking solace in the spliff that burns his throat like a madman. he ponders if he's going crazy.

it's not long after that the undulating, monotonous buzz from his phone tickles his skin and with a sigh he goes to reply. and as he does so, his girlfriend, curiosity piqued, perks up from the foot of the bed.

"who's texting you this late?"

she looks ridiculously amusing: head hanging off the edge, loose and completely yielding like a dead body, and the only thing that reassures lando of her consciousness is the occasion movement of her arm to take another drag.

he wedges the joint between his reddened lips, lips curling awkwardly to speak, "piastri. dunno what he wants th- oh shit."

he's never felt such a sinking, crippling feeling of his high escaping him like a broken dam before. it's weirdly chilling, and for a good second, he feels brightly and vividly sober again. the texts just... stare at him and he almost wants to hurl his phone at the wall and watch it rain a litany of debris.

osc: just... forgot to give you back your stuff that i borrowed

osc: found some green leaf stuff in it lol im a bit concerned

lando's read it so many times, he's more than certain he knows just how many letters it consists of. fingers hover above the keyboard but it looks like they're weirdly swimming in air as he debates just what to write, and y/n is suddenly hissing his name, having sat up.

"— lan'! fucking hell, what happened?"

he moves on autpilot, back resting up the headboard, "he's found my weed."

y/n— y/n snorts. she sighs, moves back to her original pose, and lando's brain feels like static.

"love, i thought it would be worse."

lando splutters, "worse? babe, this is already bad! he could tell management for all i know." the mere thought of that makes lando's mind congeal. nevertheless, high out of his wits, he thinks he would somehow find a way to continue even if he was implored to stop.

she's disagreeing and laughing, and lando doesn't know what to make of it.

"nah, you're good. oscar wouldn't tell a soul," it's silent as he sees a burst of smoke ascend from the edge of the mattress, "tell him to bring it over."

lando fights with himself in his head. it's hilarious, really, watching his face morph from one emotion to another, and after 5 minutes with no whooshing affirmative of a message being sent, y/n exhales.

the bed curves in as she crawls up towards lando, before plucking the phone from his grip.

"it's really not that deep, lan'," her voice feels like cotton in his ears, "oscar isn't like that."

her fingers fly across the keyboard, how she does so in her inebriated state, lando has no clue, and just as quickly as she snatched the phone, she's sliding it back between his fingers.

"how— how do you know that?"

all presumptions, really, lando thinks. they may be good friends, him and oscar, but they've still got many, many steps to go before he's reassured that the other wouldn't go running his mouth to management because he found *fucking weed* in his bag.

the little voice at the back of his mind seeths, 'you shouldn't be smoking anyway', but he ignores it. what the hell does it know?

y/n goes to straddle him, crotch digging into his. its a soft wave of pleasure that oozes from the pressure, and lando lets a small moan mix with the puff of smoke he blows out. they would've fucked if only his limbs didn't feel like they've been detached and re-stitched; maybe they'd end the night with a lazy ride.

his girlfriend smirks, all cunning and undeniably hot, sucking in as much smoke as she can before blowing it all on his face. if anybody else had done this, he'd turn feral, but there's something alluring when y/n's exhale tickles his skin like feathers.

"how do i know? well, oscar, he kinda reminds me of you—" lando interrupts with a raised brow and a questioning stare, but y/n proceeds, "both of you are- you were- itching for a release. him not as much as you, but i still see it."

and lando can't really deny that, because he sees it too. in the way oscar's eyes seem to dart with dreaded uncertainty, and the way his shoulders are always up and tense, as if he has been tied like a puppet.

"that's what i call 'destined to get high'," y/n banters. it makes lando snort and roll his eyes (ultimately omitting to dwell on the sliver of seriousness that leaks through).

"dunno why you're rolling your eyes, you were basically begging me to give you a spliff," y/n taunts, and even though he groans at the reminiscence, he doesn't deny it. doing so would be like calling himself michael schumacher.

"yeah, whatever," he takes a lazy drag, a hand sliding up and down y/n's thigh, "at least i'm sexy when getting stoned."

y/n cackles, dissolving into a small giggle as she twirls her fingers through lando's curls; she never wants to let him go.

"damn right, baby."

another ping sounds from lando's phone, and subconsciously, his hands snakes to get it.

when he turns it on, he doesn't think he can be gobsmacked with such intensity twice in a day.

landooo: yh just bring it over

landooo: you can join us if you'd like

landooo: 😉

osc: uhm sure..

"y/n."

-.-.-.-.-

weed.

he'll be fucking damned.

the laugh that is punched out of him is one of disbelief, and, quite frankly, sheer horror.

he'd only wanted to borrow some shaving cream, after all, he's not one to favour the prickly itch of stubble. and in perfect, restless lando fashion, he was given the whole essentials bag and tasked with finding it himself.

which then leads him to now, palm burning with the weight of three spliffs that had somehow tumbled out of a flat metal tin.

he stares at them for so long that he might as well have burned holes into them (ironic), and in a flurry of movement, he's stuffing everything back into the bag, zipping it closed. if he doesn't see it, then he doesn't know it's there. cool.

but he's just standing, in the middle of his hotel room, completely clueless and delirious. he doesn't know how many times he wipes perspiration off his palms and onto his shorts, neither does he know how he's able to text lando about his findings.

originally, he thought that sending the infamous, suggestively connotated 'you up?' would've trimmed a bit of the tension away, yet it seems like lando, without fail, waters the situation with a fuck-ton more.

"'join us'? fucking hell."

oscar feels absolutely scorched from the wisps of his hair to the tips of his toes, and a spark of something curls in his gut.

no, absolutely not.

it's- he flips his watch to check the time- one am for fuck's sake, and lando's— getting high. smoking weed. [most likely] with his girlfriend.

whatever it is that makes his gut its abode curls even more as he shoves his feet into the nearest shoes he can find, and tames his hair in the mirror by the doorway. finding the night already too hard to bare, he doesn't dwell on what he'd done, and heads off to lando's room with sickening anticipation swirling within the grooves of his skin.

the walk is only a few seconds long, and oscar curses the fact that they weren't roomed further apart (impractical in usual circumstances, but the current predicament is anything but usual). he guesses he stands there, navy blue wash bag clutched in a vice grip, for many minutes (his concept of time tonight is royally fucked— how has he stayed up this late?) before he musters up some courage to knock on the door. in the quietude of the night, the sound is magnified to the point where he winces and hopes that no one else on their floor wakes up.

he hears a quiet rustle from behind the door, sighs for the umpteenth time that day (honestly, he could have a smoke for himself to- no.) before it's swiftly open.

y/n stands there, no sign of a spliff in sight, but her heavy lidded red eyes (that must hurt, right?) and the pungent smell of weed is enough to tell.

"ah, golden boy is here," y/n's grinning, as much as she can do without it looking robotic, and oscar blushes.

"g-golden boy?"

"i said what i said," she opens the door wider, and oscar's vision catches a limp leg hanging off the side of the bed, "you coming in or what?"

he's never been in such a mind-tearing crossroad before. wants to be reasonable and say no, afterall his job is on the line here (just because lando hasn't been caught, doesn't mean he won't, too). but then he's thinking that he's played angel's advocate for too long, and, as if the universe wants to commit a double homicide, lando is walking over, countenance lackadaisical and bends down as he wraps his arms around her waist.

he asks for forgiveness, because such a temptation before him is completely unforgiving , and oscar finds his vascillations come to an end the second he makes eye contact with his teammate.

it's then he realises that the something that had been driving his intestines mad was sheer want, and, having a mind of their own, his feet shuffle into the room, decision finalised by the click of the door shutting behind him.

he just hopes he doesn't regret this is in the morning.

the couple, with eased familiarity, move back to the bed, leaving oscar standing there, lost and expecting. lando regains possession of the spliff, back flat against the bed and arm bent behind his head.

he's turning to oscar, several beats later, with a heated look that just pulls the australian right in.

"put the bag down, osc," he's demanding— oh fuck, "and come over here."

oscar feels rather mortified at the effect lando's assertiveness has on him. his heart curdles, drips away like goo, and he can't think straight.

toes off his shoes, sliding them out of the way with his foot, before dumping the bag on lando's luggage and tentatively making his way to the bed.

it's excruciatingly daunting, must he say, and he's sure it's blatant because y/n is grinning softly and beckoning him closer with the wave of a hand.

"you're good, oscar."

then he's fully on the bed, a thin sheen of gray blurring his vision and the stench of smoke so thick, he could get high off it alone.

lando's splayed in front of him, watching intensely as his fingers accomodate a joint between them, and y/n's at his side, right at the foot of the bed, fiddling with a metal tin of her own.

he wonders just how long they've been doing this for.

"for me, since i was 18/19 maybe. lando started about a year ago."

oscar's brain fucking spasms.

his head whips to y/n, then back to lando, who just smiles and takes another drag, "a year?!"

the girl beside him giggles, turning back to him with a freshly rolled spliff of his own, "yeah. practically drooling to take a hit."

his teammate groans, dragging a hand down his face before sitting up, they seem to go through this ordeal once or twice before.

before he can question any more, y/n points the joint at him, "you sure you want to do this?"

funny, he's asking himself this. has been ever since he read the proposition that lando (y/n) had sent, and he had replied with a seemingly confused 'sure'. heat feels like a thousands ants crawling up his body, and the silence is even worse because he's certain his ears are filled with cement.

"am i— am i gonna get addicted to... this?"

lando shakes his head just as y/n shrugs, "depends, love. if you've got good enough self control and don't rely on it too much, you'll be fine."

oscar gives a sigh of relief, but turns tense again as he looks at lando. almost telepathically, he knows what oscar is thinking.

"no osc, i'm not hooked on this. i only do it every couple of weeks or so."

his hands raise up in defense, "just asking, mate."

"and you have every right to, baby," y/n says, then scoops his hand into her grip and puts the spliff in his hand, "now take this and let lando teach you."

oscar doesn't know what to do with it. he just stares at the green stick in his hand and wills up some courage to look back up at lando. for the first time in 22 years, he's going to experience what it's like to get high, and the excitement that crawls up his spine is chilling.

"take this," lando pushes a bottle of water into his hands, and oscar looks at it in confusion.

"it's your first time, so it'll probably make you cough a ton. drinking water helps."

oscar nods, gently taking and unscrewing it open. he gulps it down like a starved animal, and almost chokes when he notices his teammates girlfriend staring bullets into his face. his heart jumps and he stops drinking.

"now put the spliff in your mouth and let me light it for you."

oscar does so, feeling the weight of the rolled joint between his lips is completely maddening.

his teammate fishes a black lighter from the bedside table, then scooches closer to oscar's crossed legs. lando's body is like a furnace of drunken heat, and it only gets worse when his hand lands right on oscar's bare thigh.

it feels perfect and oscar thinks he's surfing on the waves of euphoria already.

"this good?" lando questions his touch, and oscar doesn't waste time to nod, "alright— when i light it, you're gonna try and inhale as much as you can. don't let it stay in your throat or you're gonna cough."

oscar bobs his head affirmatively.

"if you can't, just take it in small amounts, not too much that it hits your throat."

then lando's leaning in, flame swaying from the lighter, and oscar's eyebrows scrunch as he follows it closer and closer to the spliff.

it's instaneous, the heat that fills his mouth, and in a hurried succession, oscar is inhaling and spluttering like a madman. his eyes are burning, they may already be red at this point, and his nose feels ripped off.

"take it easy, love," a hand- y/n's- rests upon his back and he finds himself needing composure, and not only from his failed attempt to smoke.

"wow uh that was— uhm..."

lando rubs his thigh, with the intention to comfort, but oscar finds himself more pent up than before. the weed is already kicking in and his mind feels chopped into pieces and mixed with cake batter, and every touch feels like a punch.

"you good to go again?" lando queries. oscar nods, his throat feeling too rough to speak up, "okay then, take your time and calm yourself down. small intakes, yeah?"

the spliff goes back between his lips, and with lando watching him like he's the best movie he's ever seen, he's sucking in the smoke cautiously and— fuck, it feels so so good. he's unravelled everywhere, not a kink left in his joint nor a knot remaining in his muscles, and when he breathes the smoke out, he lets his head fall back with a smile on his face.

"there you go," lando's voice sounds loose and airy in his mind, and oscar finds himself loving it.

"look at him, babe," y/n chimes from beside him, and his head rolls to give her an inebriated grin, "told you he was meant for it."

lando hums, agreeing, from in front of him, "gonna shotgun with him."

whatever that is, y/n is eager to see it happen, and oscar gives lando a confused look. it only evokes a cute grin from the other, who plucks the spliff from oscar's fingers.

"i'll take a hit and blow it in your mouth, if that's cool with you."

and— oscar moans involuntarily. he doesn't know where it comes from but it's practically punched out of him with how loud it is, and lando smirks widely. all oscar can do is watch as he fills his mouth with smoke and shuffles closer to him. his heart palpitates, beating like a drum piece, and his skin is damp and flushed from the intensity of it all.

lando assesses oscar's decision, confirming his consent as he nods, and slowly, lando snakes an arm around his neck, pulling him closer. oscar is compliant, body wanting and downright desperate, mouth opening on autopilot.

the second lando's lips attach to his and the smoke is pushed into his mouth, oscar fucking loses it. his eyes roll to the back of his head, and he's grabbing lando's hair and pushing his mouth deeper.

he's kissing his teammate with all he has to give, and lando— he's reciprocating it, lips hungry on oscar's, biting and licking everywhere. for a second, oscar can't think about anything, mind filled with just lando, as his tongue slips in and turns the kiss filthy.

oscar hasn't made out with anyone with such ferocity. he's encompassed in scorching heat, and the euphoria just gets better as lando trails his lips down his neck. the bites and licks are inclement, and oscar's sure there'd be marks tomorrow, angry and purple, but right now, he doesn't care. not when lando's hands creep up his shirt, and run up his torso, resting upon his nipples and twirling them around his fingers.

"oh fuck, lando," his moan is so high pitched it sounds foreign and it's almost hard for him to believe that it comes from him. but he's sure it does, because another is forced out as soft hand turns his head to the side and there's another set of lips on his in an instant.

he thinks he could hooked on y/n's kisses, warm, wet and so fucking sensual, he feels worshipped. not an inch of skin is missed by her tongue, and with every drag of her lips against his, he's concluding that this would be the perfect way to die.

oscar's so hard in his jeans from lando's stimulation, y/n's kisses, and the heightened sensation of everything from the weed, that he almost cums in his shorts. he can only imagine how plump it could be, and how a mouth on it would have him sobbing for days.

but he doesn't have to, because lando creeps a hand to his crotch and squeezes. the whine that leaves oscars mouth and into his teammate's girlfriend's is criminal.

"gonna suck you off so good, osc," lando moans in his ear, breath warm and words dirty, "you like that?"

and as oscar begs him to, he thinks that maybe getting high with lando and y/n isn't so bad afterall.

2K notes · View notes

juletheghoul · 10 months ago

Note

Request for another hurt/comfort the General bit (I'm counting the period chapter in that category). 'Greedy' made me think of other potential lovers that the Reader had in the past, maybe another master who had her before Marcus. Except not so much a lover but a slave owner using his property. And maybe this guy has some fancy job and gets invited to an event at the General's estate. And maybe he sees her and makes comments or approaches her in private. I'd love to see Marcus's reaction to something like that!

okay nonny, I see youuuu! Okay so I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind, but my mind raced and it is what it is - hope you enjoy! 🩷🩷

(thanks @absurdthirst for talking this one out with me!)

Lets get into it:

smut under the cut - 18+ and don't read more if you aren't into exhibitionism (not beta'ed and probably full of errors)

word count; 1.6k (series masterlist)

---

He yawned, despite all of the flesh on display. You, were much more affected.

It had started out like every other gathering, food and soft music, raucous laughter and all manner of delights to draw the eye. Slaves adorned in intricate masks posed on pedestals, their bodies covered in white paint to make them look like living statues. Prominent Gladiators stood sentinel, stock still and oiled to showcase their bodies, breathing weapons, standing at the ready for the pleasure of the distinguished guests filling the halls.

Inevitably, the flesh on display had worked it's magic on the guests, and the lively conversation, had descended into cries of pleasure. The soft music changed from lutes and harps, to the wet, obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh. The liquid squelch of arousal ringing out around you.

It was hard not to think on what it sounded like when your Dominus took you, his lovely sounds in your ear, his cock coated in your desire for him, and it was in you to mount him then and there, but he had not given any indication that he desired this, and so you stood beside him, shifting your weight from foot to foot, ignoring the ache of emptiness between your legs.

Despite his hunger for your body, a thing he indulged in almost daily to your great delight, he was an intensely private person. Anything he did in public, was to send a message, to secure his peace and to remind anyone who showed him disrespect, that he was not someone to be trifled with. For you, there was no difference. Whether he took you here, in front of everyone, or at the villa where you were alone, it made you drip all the same. There was no shame left, only lust.

He was speaking to another, a friendly conversation while your hands fidgeted with your tunic, when you saw a ghost from your past. A former owner, recognition and delight on his face. That Dominus had given you pleasure as well, not nearly as much as your General, and never privately, he liked to be in the middle of it, to be spoiled and shared. He enjoyed the spectacle of excess.

He smiled wide, making his way over to you with one of his girls, and one of his boys in tow, both of them roughly your age.

Marcus saw him approach, and you felt him tense.

"I see you have been blessed by Fortuna, found yourself in the house of General Marcus," He smiled at you, benevolent. "and he has brought you here, much to my delight-" He ran his finger down your arm softly, you felt nothing. "Come, let us move to a private room and indulge as we did-" His words were cut short, when Marcus' hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you away and onto his lap.

"I think you have forgotten who she belongs to, I have not given you leave to touch." His hand lands on your thigh, heavy and so welcome where you were draped across his lap. Your hands instantly wrapping themselves around his neck.

"Oh come now Marcus, what is it to share amongst friends-"

"We are not friends." He places a kiss at your throat, his voice like ice despite the petal soft feel of his lips on your skin, "and I do not share."

Your heart raced, and you couldn't help but giggle softly, this was what you wanted, for him to claim you in front of all.

The other man let out a huff, half laughing, half disbelieving.

"They are but slaves, why bring one as lovely as her if not to tempt, I offer mine to you freely, in the spirit of good will." He thrusts his girl forward, the boy too, both of them staring at the way Marcus pulls your tunic to the side to kiss your shoulders, their gaze devouring the path of his big hand sliding under your tunic to caress the wet slit between your legs. His mouth pulls away, but his fingers glide between the lips of your sex slowly, slipping over your clit in soft, wet strokes.

"What I do with what's mine, concerns me, and me alone." He turns to watch your face, how your mouth hangs open, how your breath catches with every delicious swirl, "What say you, girl, should I share you?" He punctuates his words by sliding two thick fingers inside you as deep as they can go and you moan, wantonly.

"No Dominus, please no, just you." You press forward, pressing your lips to his despite not being given leave to have his mouth and he laughs into the kiss, pulling away after a moment and you whimper when he takes his fingers out. He rubs them against your lips like a rich Roman woman would with the juice of a pomegranate, before sliding them into your mouth.

"You may leave us." He speaks to the man, keeping his lust blown eyes on the way you hollow your cheeks around his fingers.

Once the man walks away, tail tucked between his legs, you shift, feeling him hard and heavy underneath you.

"Shall we return to the Villa? Or would you like me to take you here and now?" His lips bite at your ear and your heart races to have him offer this to you, control, choice, luxuries that you have not been afforded in this life. It is such a vast difference from the life you led up until you came to be in his service. Servitude is servitude, that will never change, but you've never wanted anyone as much as you want him, you sometimes think that what you feel for him, might be more akin to obsession, something dark and all encompassing.

You bite your lip, smiling conspiratorially in the strong cage of his arms.

"I would have you take me here and now Dominus, I would have you show them who I belong to." You speak into his ear, sucking a mark into his neck, he rewards you with a deep groan and a heavy palm on your ass.

"Stand." His voice is commanding, and makes your nipples hard as pebbles. "I will take you from behind, so everyone can see how well you take my cock." He whispers it in your ear, turning you so you lean against the lectus, he hands another blow, a loud crack on your backside that makes you jump.

Gooseflesh spreads across your skin as you feel him lift your tunic, rolling it in on itself at your waist so it doesn't fall, and within a heartbeat you feel the blunt tip of him prodding at your seam. His hand slides around, and he puts it to your mouth, palm up.

"Spit." He commands, and you obey. It's filthy, and your heart beats like a hummingbird in your cunt at his tone. Eyes find you, of slaves and owners alike and they smile, enjoying the show and you smile back, the arousal like the teeth of some great wolf around your neck.

His first thrust was like a punch, and your body bent forward, your face pressing to the silky fabric of the lectus both in relief, and on fire.

"No, no girl, you will stay up, and see how they watch you take my cock." He lifted you up, pressing his hand to your throat to keep you upright.

"Yes Dominus." You replied, eyes half lidded in pleasure as he pulled himself out and thrust back in. He was harder than you'd ever felt him, hot and heavy inside and you couldn't do anything but stand there, on the tips of your toes and take what he gave. His breath came out in pants in your ear, his thrusts hard enough to make your breasts bounce, the hardened tips of them tickled by the fabric of your tunic.

Eyes of other slaves watched, and a wave of slick seeped out to find them almost covetous of the pleasure your Dominus so freely gave you, of the way his hand slipped around once more to find your neglected little clit, to pinch it between wet, spit-soaked fingers and pull your world apart. The sharp, starburst of pleasure spreading like a tidal wave throughout the network of your veins and he laughed in your ear.

"Already? just a little pinch and you gush all over me, girl?" He sped up, drawing out the pleasure until you all but wept, his cock kissing something divine inside you. "You like them watching you take it, you like it when I claim you for all to see, you like being mine don't you, girl?" His pace stuttered, affected by his own words and you turned your face to meet him in a misaligned kiss, whispering into his mouth that yes, yes you did, holding one hand on his at your throat, while bringing the other to hold the weight of your breast.

"I want your gift Dominus, please, may I have it? Please?" You begged him, relishing the way he couldn't contain himself, pushing himself deep enough to hit your womb, pleasure and pain mingling together as he ground himself almost too deep and painting your insides with his spend.

"It's yours-" His whisper was gravel in your ear, softer words following and for a moment you can almost convince yourself you’d heard him say I'm yours but you ignore it, your imagination and your arousal running rampant. Instead you wait until he pulls himself out, and turn in his arms ignoring the eyes that follow you and wrap your arms around his neck. You claim a kiss, licking into his mouth with an authority unavailable to you in any other aspect of your life. His seed leaks out of you, dripping onto your inner thighs as he pulls you close, letting you take your fill.

"Can you take me home Dominus?" You press kisses to his throat, running your tongue across where you feel his heart beating there, "I desire for you to take me again." He shudders softly and never in your life, have you ever felt more powerful.

He nods and you smile.

Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery @its-nebuleuse @missladym1981 @inept-the-magnificent @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @ladyofmidlo72 @greenvita

#julesanswers #marcus acacius #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x female reader #the general #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #marcus acacius x y/n

405 notes · View notes