#going to go eat bricks and lay down about this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jordiemeow · 1 month ago

Note

this is how art apologize

sorry i need him so bad i may have gotten carried away when i was bored at work this wasnt supposed to b anything. Whoops

warnings: 18+, smut, f!receiving oral, eating out over underwear, stupid stupid art

Oh. You're mad.

Like, actually mad, not just giving him that look you always send him after he does something mildly irritating just to see your pretty face contort in faux-annoyance. No, you aren't even giving him that exasperated look. It's like he's talking to a brick wall. He's pretty sure clay would be more receptive than this, actually.

His smile drops.

"Babe?" He tries again, hands clasping together in front of him, clammy with sweat following the silence that greeted him upon entering your dorm. His joke about you disappearing before you could congratulate him for winning his match fell entirely flat, apparently. He looks like a scorned dog; tail between his legs and ears down, though he's not entirely sure what for.

You hardly spare him a glance, more focused on the Macbook on your stomach as you lay on your bed. Art swallows, moving towards your bed tentatively. It takes him a moment of watching you to work up the courage to actually take a seat, gingerly lowering himself to the edge of your single. Normally you jump his bones after such a crushing victory. Or after a shower, but you aren't turned on in the slightest by the scent of his shampoo. In fact, his presence is quite bothersome.

Why?

That's the question that's been bouncing around in his head since watching you clear out of the stands before his customary victory kiss. He had been happy enough to let your absence slide—or, well, too desperate for your praise to truly be upset over it. But now you're just blanking him, so there's clearly something wrong...

"What's the matter?" He coaxes, one big hand wrapping gently around your ankle. His hand is cold against your warm skin, and you barely bite back a shiver.

A long silence follows, and then, "You played so well, Artie!" He flinches at the high-pitched mocking tone of your voice. And then finally, finally, it dawns on him.

You're mad about the girl that congratulated him first. Some freshman sitting front row with her friends, gushing over the way his hair bounced each time he moved. Hell, you'd even heard them make a comment about how erotic his grunts were. Oh, the poor girl had no idea what other sounds he could make...

But that's not the problem. She can look all she wants, as far as you're concerned. It's just that your boyfriend is the biggest idiot in the world and doesn't know how to shut down someone who is clearly flirting with him. He's all smiles and friendly arm pats, as if you weren't about to clamber down the seats and jump onto his arms on the side of the court. Completely oblivious to the way her hand was wrapped around his sweaty bicep in a decidedly not platonic way, batting her lashes up on him as she praised his forehand. As if she has any fucking idea what she's talking about.

Yeah, no. You weren't sticking around to watch it, and now he's getting the silent treatment. Very mature.

There's another silence, his thumb rubbing against the jut of your ankle. You're both frowning, and the quiet feels stifling. You're about to tell him to go away to let you cool off when movement catches your eye: Art ducking his head, lips pressing chastely to the skin next to his hand. You tilt your Macbook an inch to the side to watch the way he leaves a lingering kiss there. His eyes flit up to search yours for protest, but you're already looking back at your screen, the sound of your fingers clicking against the keyboard filling your dorm.

He takes that as consent to continue. More light kisses placed against your ankle, your shin...

"I love you," he whispers against your skin, as if that erases the frustration of seeing him beam down at that pretty little blonde girl with the tight-fitting shirt. How desperate can you be?

"More than anything," he adds. He's aware he's talking to himself at this point, but he's okay with that. His mouth continues its path upwards, circling your knees, working his way up your thighs, easing your skirt up...

He takes his time here. Lavishing your inner thighs with attention, enough to draw a soft little sigh of content from you. You're still typing away at the Macbook balanced on your stomach; you both know what's happening here. It's time for him to earn forgiveness for that little display.

"So pretty, baby. M'sorry," he murmurs against you. Soft little praises whispered as if he wants them absorbed into your skin. Maybe that way you'll actually talk to him. A real conversation, not just mocking some girl. "Gorgeous. Most pretty girl in the world."

You won't admit it, but you're loosening up under his ministrations. Legs parting a little more readily, breath quickening as your panties dampen more with each kiss. "Love every part of you. But your thighs are so pretty," he tells you, tongue laving over the soft bite he'd just placed to the apex of your left thigh.

"I'm sorry."

It's only when his fingers hook under your lacy panties to tug them down that you speak up. "Don't."

You feel him exhale heavily against your thigh, and his hands move to splay flat against your hips. "Gotta earn it," you add. He'd be embarrassed by the way his cock twitches in his fresh boxers at that if it weren't for the fact he was used to this sort of treatment.

And so, without hesitation, his mouth descends on your clothed cunt. Lapping and sucking eagerly at the material, as if trying to draw out any taste of your sweet juices coating the other side of them. The way he's moaning into you is downright pathetic, fingers curling into your sides. Your panties grow slick with a mix of your own arousal and Art's saliva—borderline translucent, but he's too devoted to his task to really notice that.

He can hardly breathe with the way he's pressed into the cotton, trying desperately to prove himself to you. "S'only you, babe. All I want," he whines into the fabric.

You roll your eyes. "Doesn't feel like that when you're chatting up girls after your games, Art."

"Wasn't—" He insists, pausing to refocus on his task. It's only when he needs a breather that he lifts up just enough to speak again. "M'sorry. Wanted to see you, but she stopped me—"

"Should have ignored her."

"But—"

"Are you really in a position to be talking back to me right now?"

He swallows. "No. I'm sorry."

"Good. Put your mouth to better use."

"Then can I—?"

"I said put it to use, Art."

Well, that's not a no, is it? You don't stop him when he reaches for your panties again, tugging them down your legs just enough to be able to dive right in. He buries himself back into your sweet little cunt, and he groans with satisfaction at the way he can taste you without the boundary in place.

His voice is practically a whimper when he speaks against you. "Tastes so good—"

"Art," you warn. He doesn't waste his breath on an apology, just nods mutely and gives your pussy his undivided attention. Tongue licking flat stripes against you, nose nudging against your swollen clit.

It takes a herculean effort not to reward him with those sweet little moans he's used to. He knows he doesn't deserve it right now, though, and the fact you're even letting him do this is a miracle in itself. He's gone days without you so much as letting him kiss you when you're really annoyed at him.

He won't take this for granted.

You're almost annoyed at how good he is at it. He's supposed to be earning your forgiveness, sure, but it's hard to think about anything except the way his cheeks are hollowed out as he sucks eagerly on your clit. Each little sound drawn involuntarily out of you is a victory in itself for him.

You try to last out, you really do, but your climax is inevitable when he's whining pathetically against you and trying his hardest to please you. Despite your insistence on him not speaking, the occasional plea is moaned into you, and the sheer desperation behind it eventually sends you over the edge.

"Please. Please, wanna make you cum, baby, please, I'm sorry—"

Your thighs clench around his head, fingers stilled against your keyboard. Your head tips back into the pillow, and you don't bother stifling your moan of pleasure as you come undone against his face.

"Nghhh— Art, ah, ffffuck—"

You can't even be mad when you can feel him smile faintly against your cunt before he redoubles his efforts to work you through it. Moaning and eagerly lapping up his reward. He doesn't stop until your thighs are trembling and you're reaching down to push his head away.

His head pops up above the screen of your laptop, chin slick with your release and lips spit-swollen. "I'm sorry, did I—" He starts, panting softly. "Did I do good? Did I make you feel better? Baby, I shouldn't have—"

"Art," you interject, finally setting your laptop aside and propping yourself up on your elbows. He expects some sort of approval here, maybe a kiss and a long overdue congratulations for his earlier win. But you fix him with a hard look. "Don't ever do that again."

He nods, a bit too quickly. "I won't. I'll come to you first. Swear."

You study him for a long moment. Earnest expression, pleading blue eyes as his hands brace on your thighs. Finally, you give him a short little nod. "Okay. Come here."

You shift forward a little, arms wrapping around him. He practically collapses into you with relief, chin hooked over your shoulder as his own arms circle you. It's only then that he finally sees your Macbook screen open on a document filled with several lines of:

sjwkdkeswid wejjdewijjddk ewjdskwaowidfjkdskw iwanjskjdfkdf

He decides not to comment on it. You've already just forgiven him, after all, so he smothers his smile into your shoulder and makes a mental note about not talking to anyone but you and his coach right after his games.

Though, in all fairness, he gets to eat you out either way. A win is a win.

—

taglist: @gracelynnx @tacobacoyeet @blastzachilles @cha11engers @magicalmiserybore @newrochellechallenger2019 @coolgrl111 @artspats @peachyparkerr @stanart4clearskin @misswrldd @kaalxpsia @downtwngrl @s0ftcobra @strfallz @dazedandconfusedlvr @turnerrst @m4lodr4ma @artdonaldsonmalewife @challengersism

#jo asks ⋆˚࿔#art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson smut #challengers #challengers smut

650 notes · View notes

flowersforbucky · 10 months ago

Text

it's nice to have a friend

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: you're having the worst period you've had in a long time. bucky is determined to help you feel better.

author's note: this is a silly and smutty piece that i felt compelled to write when i got my period a few days ago!

warnings/tags: smutty, reader has a period, langauge, use of a vibrator, nipple stimulation, no use of y/n, use of a cbd gummy lol, 18+ only

Approximately every twenty-eight days, you curse the fact that you were born with a uterus and vagina.

This month, however, you were cursing that fact a bit earlier than expected. Cycle day twenty three, to be exact.

Your periods never start this early, but as soon as you opened your eyes at six o'clock this morning, you knew what had occured while you were asleep. You could feel the moisture that soaked through your underwear and pajama pants before you could turn on the light to see that your white sheets had been dyed bright crimson beneath where you'd been laying.

One load of laundry with extra stain remover and as much Pamprin max strength as one can safely take later, you are curled up on the couch of the compound's living room with a cup of coffee and a heating pad turned up so high that you risk first degree burns.

“Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you today? We can go to Coney Island another time,” Natasha tries to reason with you once again.

“I promise I'll be okay here,” you assure her. “These cramps are killing me, I won't be any fun to hang out with today. Go, enjoy yourself. When is the next time that you'll all have a free day and weather this perfect?” You gesture towards the sunshine streaming through the living room windows.

“If you're sure,” she caves after a few moments of hesitation. “Promise I’ll win you that stuffed panda that you wanted so badly last time.”

“I am going to hold you to that,” you tell her in a faux-serious tone.

After Natasha and the rest of your friends have left for their day of riding rollercoasters and eating hotdogs on the boardwalk, you turn on your comfort show and settle in for an unexciting and uncomfortable day by yourself.

A few hours later, you decide you've sat in the same position for long enough - you can practically feel your body morphing to the sofa. You're walking to the kitchen to refill your water bottle and find something to snack on when you collide with what feels like a brick wall.

A brick wall that happens to smell really, really fucking good.

You step back, finding that the brick wall is staring at you with a confused look on his face.

"What are you doing here?” Bucky asks as he glances you over from head to toe, taking in your choice of apparel - baggy sweats that are about two sizes too big for you, a cropped tank, and fuzzy slippers. You resist the urge to cross your arms over your stomach - you didn't think anyone else would be here today and the tank top you're wearing doesn't exactly conceal the period bloat you're currently experiencing.

"I live here,” you snap, a bit harsher than necessary. “What are you doing here?”

“I also live here,” he says, returning your attitude. You roll your eyes, maneuvering your way around where he blocks the doorway.

“What I mean,” he continues as he turns around, following you into the kitchen. “Is why aren't you with everyone at Coney Island?”

“I could ask you the same question,” you challenge, pouring some more ice into your cup. “Steve never shuts up about the glory days, all the time the two of you spent at Coney Island. I'm surprised you're not there with him right now.”

He huffs a laugh, pulling out one of the barstools at the kitchen's giant island and taking a seat. “We did spend a ridiculous amount of time at Coney Island,” he admits, his voice almost wistful. He hesitates before continuing, staring down at his hands as he traces a metal crevice on his left palm.

"But I haven't been to Coney Island since the forties. Guess I'm kinda scared it won't live up to my memories of it. Plus, I had a lot of laundry to catch up on, so..” he shrugs, trailing off.

You're taken aback by the honesty of his explanation. “Yeah, well,” you start awkwardly, turning away from him to search through a cabinet for something to eat. “I can't say that I know what it was like in the forties, but it's one of my favorite places, present day.”

“Then why are you hanging out by yourself while all of your friends are at one of your favorite places?”

Damn it, you curse internally. He's really not going to drop this. What should I say, that my uterine lining is falling out in clumps?

You grab a bag of freeze-dried fruit from the cabinet before turning back to face him, trying to come up with an excuse.

“I just didn't sleep great–” you come to an abrupt stop in the middle of your sentence as a blinding pain shoots through your lower abdomen. The bag of fruit falls to the floor as you steady yourself on the ledge of the counter with one hand, clutching your stomach with the other.

Bucky rises from his seat in an instant, closing the several feet of distance between the two of you in one big step.

"Are you okay? What’s going on?” His hands are both extended to you in an offer of help.

“I'm fine,” you say through a sharp intake of breath. “It’s.. it’s just cramps. Bad cramps,” you force the words out, propping your elbows up on the countertop to relax your body weight.

“Oh,” he says as realization dawns on him. He bends down to grab the bag of fruit that lays next to your feet, and then places it on the table in front of you. “I guess that answers my question, then,” he adds, referring to why you didn't go to Coney Island.

“Ya think?” You stand back upright, grabbing your snack and water bottle off of the counter. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a busy day of bed-rotting ahead of me.”

“Some exercise would help,” he calls when you're about to exit the kitchen. “Laying in bed won't do much for you. A little bit of light exercise to release some beta-endorphins, maybe an abdominal massage–”

“Are you really man-splaining menstrual cycle pain management to me right now?” You ask, slowly turning to face him with an incredulous look on your face. “I wasn't aware that you had a medical license or that I asked for your opinion.”

“Just trying to help, sweetheart,” he shrugs with a mischievous grin.

“If you want to help, you can go get the Italian food that I'm craving and give me an abdominal massage yourself,” you practically spit at him. “Otherwise, keep the unsolicited advice to yourself and fuck off.”

You turn back around and all but run out of the room before you can process the shocked, albeit pleased look on his face.

After you've closed your bedroom door behind you (with perhaps a bit more force than necessary), you sink into the fresh sheets on your bed and shove several pieces of apricot into your mouth.

Rationally, you knew that Bucky's advice was solid, and that he was just trying to get a reaction out of you. That's just the kind of friendship that the two of you have. Sarcastic, teasing and occasionally… tension-filled.

You definitely didn't help the matter by telling him to massage your abdomen, but what does he expect when he suggests something as horrible as exercising during a time that you simply want nothing more than to melt into your mattress?

Your cell phone chimes from the pocket of your sweatpants. You dig it out and look at the text displayed across your lock screen.

Bucky Barnes: What kind of Italian food, specifically?

You would never admit it to him, but the corners of your mouth tug upwards into a smirk as you read his message.

You type: Don't you have a lot of laundry to catch up on? and press send. The message is marked as “read” right away.

He types. And types. And types some more – until those three dots indicating a message in progress disappear.

Whatever. You click your phone off and toss it somewhere in the covers around you.

The next couple hours are spent sitting under the near scalding stream of your shower, and then reading on your Kindle in the dark. As jealous as you are that your friends are undoubtedly having a blast today, you honestly don't mind your current situation - aside from feeling like your organs are being pulled out of your vagina, you hardly ever have days with zero obligations other than to just relax in whatever way you see fit.

A strong knock on your door causes you to lose your place on the page.

"You didn't give me a legitimate answer so I hope you like gnocchi, or eggplant parmesan, or traditional lasagna, or extra breadsticks..”

“You know, it's not funny to joke about carbs to someone when they are–”

You come to a stop in the middle of your sentence when you swing your door open to see him holding several plastic bags. An aroma of garlic and herbs hits you in the face.

Oh. Not a joke, then.

He extends one of the bags to you with his big, blue puppy dog eyes. You take it from him, opening the door further as an invitation to enter your bedroom.

"Consider this a peace offering,” he says, placing the other bags of food on your bed and perching awkwardly on the edge of your mattress. You close the door behind you, walking back to where you had previously been lounging on the bed.

“I'm sorry for being a smartass,” he adds more genuinely. “I just.. didn't like seeing you in pain. That's all.”

“This is far from my first period,” you shrug, not meeting his stare. “You get used to it after a while. But consider yourself forgiven.”

He gives you a small smile when you finally look up at him. He grabs a smaller bag that you hadn't noticed him carrying, one that is visibly less full than the others. He reaches inside, pulling out a small jar that he hands over to you.

Your brows furrow as you inspect it closely. “CBD gummies?” You ask, your brows now raising quizzically. You open the jar, popping one of the pink, cube-shaped gummies into your mouth. “Watermelon flavored CBD gummies?”

You notice the faintest trace of blush bloom across his cheeks. “I take them sometimes to help me sleep,” he starts, fiddling with some of the beading on your comforter. “But they can help with all different kinds of pain too, so I just thought you might like some.”

You close the jar, placing it on your bedside table before reaching over and grabbing his flesh hand in yours. “Thank you, Bucky,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze and then releasing it. “Really. I appreciate all of this.” You try to ignore the jolt of electricity that buzzes through you when your skin comes in contact with his. His hand is both softer and warmer than you would have imagined. It brings you back to the last words that you spewed at him in the kitchen earlier.

"A shit ton of pasta and CBD gummies,” you snort a laugh. “Would I be pushing my luck if I asked for that abdominal massage too?” You say it in a way that sounds halfway serious, halfway joking.

“If that's what you want,” he says lowly, turning to angle his body towards you on the bed. “Then just say the word.”

The air in your room suddenly feels suffocating.

It is what you want - but you're at a loss for words. So instead of a verbal response, you scoot over to the middle of the bed, closer to where he sits on the opposite side. You lay down so that your back is flat against the mattress, your head propped up by a single pillow.

Bucky's eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly wipes the look of astonishment from his features. He moves so that he's sitting directly next to your legs, giving him a proper angle to put his hands on your lower stomach.

You're wearing the same sweatpants and tank top from earlier, having thrown the outfit back on after your shower. The loose sweatpants hang low enough to expose your hip bones and the edge of your underwear.

The intimacy of the entire situation hits you the second that his hands make contact with your skin.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, perhaps sensing your nerves. “Or if I do anything that doesn't feel good.”

Your eyes shut instinctively at the polar opposite sensations of his flesh and vibranium hands. Skin and metal, fire and ice.

“I will,” you assure him. Your words come out breathier than intended.

There's an immediate relief in your lower stomach as he rubs languid circles across your midriff. It's a feeling beyond pleasure as the cramps fade the more he touches you.

His vibranium pinky dances along the waistband of your underwear, causing goosebumps to spread across your skin. You try to focus on the relief he's bringing you - not the fact that you're wearing a thin tank top that leaves so much of your skin on display, giving him a clear view of the goosebumps that he's caused.

He continues with the precise motions until the pain in your abdomen has faded nearly entirely - you feel so good that you can't stop yourself from letting out the smallest moan when his flesh hand applies just the right amount of pressure near your pelvis.

You know he heard it - there's no way he didn't. Just as you know there's no way that he doesn't notice your fully hardened nipples through the thin fabric of your tank top.

You keep your eyes closed, terrified to meet his gaze in this state. You dread the moment that you feel his hands pull away from your skin.

"You know,” he starts, his voice possessing a strained edge. “I don't think this is good enough for you.”

Your eyes shoot open, looking at him in a nervous confusion. There's a glimmer in his eyes that you can't quite pinpoint - his stare trailing to your bedside table on the opposite side of you. “But I think I do know what could make you feel much better.”

“What are you talking about?” Your voice quivers as you follow his stare. You're not sure what he's looking at - all that sits on your nightstand is the CBD gummies he had just given you, your Kindle, a few books, a bottle of lotion, and the Himalayan salt lamp that paints you both in an orange glow.

He smirks before leaning across you - keeping his vibranium hand pressed firmly on your belly as he uses his flesh hand to pull open the drawer of the small table.

“Hey! What are you–” but he retrieves the object he’s looking for before you can finish questioning him. You freeze at what he's holding in his hand.

Your vibrator. Your glittery, lavender colored vibrator.

“How the fuck did you–”

“Do you think I can't hear you using this from across the hallway late at night?” He grins smugly. “That I can't hear your little whimpers when you think everyone's asleep?”

Your face heats up a hundred degrees. You don't know whether to be infuriated or massively turned on.

Both. You're definitely feeling a mix of both.

He clicks the power button, turning on the device to its lowest setting. He watches you for a moment, giving you ample time to tell him to fuck off.

Instead, you once again relax against the pillow, your body going limp for him. You spread your legs the slightest bit.

He takes this as his signal to proceed. Not taking his eyes off of your face, he trails the head of the wand from your lower stomach and over the fabric of your sweatpants until he reaches the apex of your thighs. Your nipples pucker once again, your thighs clenching around the tip of the vibrator.

Bucky moves the device in a circular motion, making your back arch off the bed and your head tip back.

How is it that it feels better when he massages you with it through your fucking pants than it does when you use it on your bare pussy?

You hear the clicking of a button again, and the force of the vibration over your clothed cunt increases. You grind down on the device, desperate for friction.

Bucky watches you with something akin to pride on his face.

“You know how I told you to tell me if I do something you don't like?” He asks as he pushes the head of the wand directly down on your clit with the perfect amount of pressure.

“Yeah,” you answer - it comes out like a moan that you'd hear in a porno.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Remember that.”

Before you can clear your head enough to wonder what he means, he's tugging up the cotton fabric of your tank top and exposing your breasts.

You gasp at the sensation of the cool air blowing from the AC coming in contact with your already hard nipples. Bucky leans forward, keeping the vibrator on your core, and captures one of your nipples in his mouth.

Your hand immediately goes to his hair, tugging the soft brown locks in your fingers to keep him in place. His free hand grasps your other breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

The combination of pleasure radiating from your pussy and his hand and mouth on you is fucking perfect. Fucking perfect, and all too much.

You clench your thighs together, riding against the vibrator until you feel warmth spreading through your lower belly.

“Oh my god, Bucky,” you moan - he groans when you say his name, the vibration sending you tumbling over the edge. You come hard, possibly harder than any other orgasm you've had in your life, thoroughly soaking your panties.

When you've finished writhing beneath him, Bucky pulls back, removing both his mouth and the vibrator. He clicks the device off, tossing it towards the foot of your bed.

You're panting, staring up at the ceiling, trying to process what the fuck just happened when you hear Bucky let out a low chuckle.

Your eyes snap to him, finding that he looks thoroughly pleased with himself.

"Can't say that's how I expected the day to go when I decided to sit this Coney Island trip out,” he sighs.

“You can say that again.” You sit upright, bending your legs and crossing them at the ankles. You lean forward, tugging your shirt back into place before pulling one of the bags of food to you.

"We should go sometime soon. Together,” you add, somewhat nervously. You aren't sure why - the guy just gave you the best orgasm of your life (and barely even touched you).

“Are you asking me on a date?” that sly smile reappears.

You shrug. “Yeah, I suppose I am.”

"Then my answer is yes. But only if you share some of this food with me.”

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

thanks so much for reading!!! can anyone tell that i really fucking love food by how often i incorporate it into my writing? 😅

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one-shot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fic

2K notes · View notes

orphicsun · 4 months ago

Note

eating ellie out from the back🫶

｡‧˚ʚ sub! ellie williams / reader ɞ˚‧｡

warnings and content: 18+ blurb, oral sex (e! receiving), whiny sub! ellie, mentions of teasing & overstim, jackson ellie.

a/n: this is your EARLY valentines day gift from me to you, anon (after letting your request collect dust..)

Ellie tastes delicious no matter how you eat her. From on her back, legs spread wide for you, it’s easy to look up at her and watch her cheeks grow darker with embarrassment. It’s cute; your usually brash, grumbly girlfriend becomes a whiny loser on your tongue. You like the times when you have her standing up, gripping the counter of her garage’s kitchenette as you suck on her clit from on your knees, Ellie so afraid of her knees buckling and sending her to the ground.

However, you especially like devouring her pussy from the back.

You’ve got Ellie with her face buried in the sheets, clutching the crinkles of fabric for dear life. Almost like a cat stretching, her ass is up in the air, and her knees are a good width apart so you can see the lovely slice of heaven glistening between her lean thighs. Already have you been sucking on her sweet bud for hours, mixing between denial and overstimulation. You admire the way her pussy drips a sticky substance–mix of cum, your spit, and her own natural arousal–onto the sheets. Ellie is dripping like a fucking faucet, and you are almost tempted to tell her it’ll be her job to wash the sheets after you’re through with her.

“Quit fucking around,” she whines, sounding both muffled and pornographic in one go.

You don’t respond to her plea, instead staring at the swell in her clit and the pure beauty of her pussy. You have to hand it to her, Ellie has a pretty pussy. It makes you almost want to dive back in. You opt to place the pad of your thumb onto her clit, pressing further against it to relish in the way her hips wiggle and push back for more.

You like thinking about those words, though. Quit fucking around. You can imagine Ellie on a patrol or out in the middle of nowhere, frustrated, short of breath. You can just hear those words leave her mouth under her breath or perhaps shouted at someone else in a fit of anger. That contrasts her now, however: that whiny, soft pleading, just a hint of frustration that is as light as a feather, and desperation that is heavier than a wheelbarrow of bricks. The juxtaposition of context makes you want to laugh beside yourself.

You swear you can see her hole clenching when you lay a hand on the small of your back, and you huff in impatience, leaning down to take her slick-coated pussy lips in your mouth and suck.

“Fuuuck, babe.” Ellie curses, arching her back almost uncomfortably to have more of your warm mouth on her. You shift further down, flicking at her clit as she writhes above you. You deliberately hum and moan against her pussy just so you can enjoy how she falls apart like roast in a slow cooker, and she is finally almost ready.

The sounds filling the garage-house are filthy, a mix of both Ellie’s lewd, needy sounds and the noisiness of your slurping. You hear the way she begs for you with little to no dignity, and it eggs you on. You let her try her best to grind her hips against your face, shifting needily and nearly frantically as she chases her orgasm. Just one finger dipping into her hole and curling upward at the best angle sends her there, too.

With a moan you’d hear from a 2000’s porno, Ellie’s pussy gushes all over your finger, and she coats your swollen lips and already wet chin with more cum. She moves against you and you have to hold her hips in place to chase her and help her ride out her high. Ellie moans through it, little sounds of “mmm, mmm, mm…” as the fire in her cunt spreads into her dumb brain.

With a lewd pop, you pull away from between her thighs and sit back. You both catch your breaths, and Ellie sighs in relief. Her hip bones meet the sheets, thinking you’re through with her. You huff out a laugh, flipping her over onto her back to spread her thighs apart. She lets out a small sound of surprise, but you don’t hear it. You stare down at her pussy in awe. From this position, her lips are apart and you can see everything. It’s a vulgar but beautiful sight. You rub the soft, wet flesh around her entrance, smiling down at her almost playfully.

“I’m not done with you. Keep these legs apart.” You instruct, and your mouth dips down to meet her pussy once again. Ellie will writhe and whine against you, but doesn’t complain. She would’ve been disappointed if you had truly been done with her.

taglist: @kaykeryyy

#requests #ellie williams #tlou2 #ellie tlou #the last of us part 2 #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #tlou ellie #ellie wiliams #ellie smut #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #the last of us

476 notes · View notes

ahqkas · 6 months ago

Text

“HOLDING YOU, HOLDING ME — dick grayson.

PAIRING! dick grayson x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! he wasn’t just a man in a mask—he was nightwing, gotham’s acrobatic vigilante, a name whispered in both fear and admiration depending on who you asked. and now here he was, slumped on your couch, bleeding out like any ordinary man who’d bitten off more than he could chew

WORD COUNT! 4.7k

WARNINGS / TAGS! wounds and patching up, mention of blood, light cursing + lmk

NOTES! i’ll never let go of this scenario bc no matter how many times i read or write it i know i’ll eat it up ,, header below belongs to @/v6que

THE SOUND OF SHUFFLING OUTSIDE YOUR BEDROOM WINDOW PIERCED THROUGH THE FRAGILE BARRIER BETWEEN SLEEP AND WAKEFULNESS, pulling you abruptly from the fog of dreams. Your heart stuttered, then raced, its rhythm a drumbeat in your ears as your senses stirred to full alertness. The muffled sounds of Gotham’s unrest—honking car horns, distant sirens wailing through the streets, and the occasional shout ricocheting off brick walls—were nothing new. It was the soundtrack of the city, a reminder that safety here was a fleeting illusion. But this sound was different. It wasn’t part of the distant chaos. It was near. Uncomfortably near.

You lay motionless, cocooned in the warmth of your blankets, as a cold tendril of unease slithered down your spine. The shuffle came again, a strained, uneven drag that was too heavy, too deliberate to be dismissed as the wind or the misstep of a stray animal. The hairs on your arms stood on end, your body responding to a primal warning long before your mind could catch up. A knot of tension coiled in your stomach, tightening with each beat of silence that followed.

Your breath hitched as your ears strained, every creak of the old apartment building suddenly amplified. The sound of your neighbors moving around above you had ceased hours ago, and the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen now felt deafening in comparison. Even the street noise below seemed to recede, swallowed by the weight of whatever lurked just beyond the thin pane of glass separating your room from the outside world.

Another shuffle—closer now—was accompanied by the faint scrape of something against the windowsill. A metallic sound? Your mind raced through possibilities, each one darker than the last, as your muscles tensed involuntarily. Instinct told you to stay still, to let the darkness cloak you, but adrenaline screamed at you to move, to act, to do something. The only thing louder than the pounding of your heart was the oppressive silence that followed the noise, stretching thin like a thread about to snap.

Then, a low groan shattered the quiet like a rock through glass—rough, ragged, and undeniably human. Your breath hitched, a shaky inhale catching in your throat as the sound sent a white-hot jolt of adrenaline through your veins. This wasn’t the screech of metal caught in a storm or the hollow clatter of a stray cat tipping over trash cans in the alley below. No, this was something else—someone else. And they were hurt.

Before you could fully process it, the groan was followed by another noise: a faint, rhythmic creak, unmistakable in its familiarity. Metal shifting and bending under weight, groaning as it protested movement along the fire escape just outside your window. It was a sound you had heard a hundred times before, but never like this—never in the dead of night, never accompanied by the guttural rasp of pain. It dragged a sharp, cold edge of dread across your mind, slicing through the thin veneer of safety you’d wrapped yourself in.

You sat up slowly, the mattress beneath you groaning in protest despite your careful movements. The noise seemed deafening in the oppressive quiet, and you froze, lips pressed together as if even the sound of your breathing might give you away.

Your eyes darted toward the window, the one barrier between you and the unknown outside. The curtains hung limply, a thin barrier of fabric that diffused the faint glow of streetlights below but revealed nothing of the shapes or movements beyond. Your pulse thundered in your ears as your mind raced. Every instinct screamed at you to stay still, to melt into the shadows and feign ignorance, to bury yourself under the covers and hope the moment passed.

But there was something else—a treacherous, gnawing pull of curiosity that refused to let you stay frozen. It dragged at you, a siren call that tugged against the fear coiled in your gut. Against all logic, you leaned forward, heart pounding so hard it felt as though it might leap from your chest. The cool air of the room kissed your skin, each shallow breath catching against the weight of the silence as you crept closer, unable to ignore the magnetic pull of whatever—or whoever—waited on the other side of that fragile pane of glass.

You froze just steps away from the curtain, your hand outstretched but trembling in the stillness of the room. Your fingers hovered mere inches from the fabric, the rough texture brushing your skin as you hesitated. The air felt heavier here, charged with the kind of tension that made your chest tighten and your breathing shallow. Each breath you took was deliberate, measured, the faint rush of air between your lips almost too loud against the suffocating quiet. Every nerve in your body begged you to turn back, to crawl under the covers and pretend none of this was happening.

But then another sound broke the stillness—a groan, sharper this time, tinged with desperation. It wasn’t the deep, detached groan of exhaustion but something raw, visceral, and undeniably human. The sound struck you like a slap, your heart lurching painfully in your chest. Whoever was out there wasn’t loitering or trying to scare you. They were hurt. And badly.

The realization sent a shiver rippling through you, but it didn’t stop your fingers from clutching the edge of the curtain. Slowly, cautiously, you pulled it back just enough to peek outside. The cold air from the window seeped through the thin glass, and you instinctively leaned closer, the warmth of your breath fogging the pane as you strained to see into the darkness. For a moment, there was nothing—only shadows twisting in the faint orange glow of the streetlights below, the occasional shimmer of metal catching the dim light. The fire escape stretched out before you like a skeletal bridge to nowhere, its emptiness pressing against your mounting fear.

Then, your eyes adjusted, and the shadows shifted, revealing a figure slumped against the railing. Your stomach twisted painfully at the sight, the breath caught in your throat as you tried to process what you were seeing. A man—larger than you expected, broad-shouldered despite the way his frame sagged—leaned heavily on the railing, his head tipped forward as if even the act of holding it up was too much. His chest rose and fell in uneven, labored breaths, each one visible in the faint puff of condensation against the night air.

His clothes—or was it some kind of suit?—clung to him, dark and soaked in places you didn’t want to think about too closely. The material melted into the blackness of the night, making it hard to tell where he ended and the shadows began. But there was no mistaking the weight of his posture, the way his hands gripped the railing with what little strength he had left, or the crimson stain trailing down the side of his body, catching the faintest glimmer of light. The sight of it turned your unease into something deeper, something colder.

“Shit,” you muttered, the word slipping out before you could stop it, sharp and quiet in the tense air. Your pulse quickened, adrenaline washing over you like a crashing wave as the reality of the situation sank in. Whoever this man was, he needed help—and fast. The knot of fear in your chest twisted tighter, but it was overwhelmed by something more immediate: the urge to act. Your hands trembled as you reached for the window, the cool glass biting against your fingertips as you slid it open. The icy air hit you instantly, sharp and unforgiving, stealing the warmth from your skin and making you gasp.

You leaned out into the night, the cold biting your cheeks and tangling in your hair as you peered down at the figure slumped against the railing. “Hey,” you called, your voice low but urgent, carrying just enough to cut through the silence. Your breath puffed out in faint clouds as you spoke, dissipating into the darkness between you. “Are you okay?” The words felt hollow as they left your mouth, even as they pressed against the lump of anxiety in your throat. Of course, he wasn’t okay—one look at him made that painfully obvious.

For a long, agonizing moment, the only response was the faint whistle of wind cutting through the metal of the fire escape. He didn’t move, his frame slouched in a way that made your chest tighten, the weight of his injuries pulling him down like gravity itself was working against him. Just as panic began to creep in—had he passed out? Was he even breathing?—he shifted, the motion slow and labored, as though even the act of turning his head was a monumental effort.

The faint light from the street below caught on his face—or rather, what was covering it. A mask. Sleek and dark, it reflected just enough light to reveal the harsh contours of his features, obscuring everything but the intensity of his movements. His head lolled slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might collapse entirely, the strength draining out of him like water slipping through a sieve. But then, with an audible effort, he rasped out, “Not really.”

The sound of his voice hit you like a gut punch—low, rough, and laced with pain. Each word dragged out of him felt like a struggle, and the exhaustion clinging to his tone was impossible to ignore. It was the voice of someone on the edge, hanging by a thread. You swallowed hard, your breath catching as you watched him shift again, the barest movement of his hand gripping the railing as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.

“Well, no kidding,” you muttered, more out of reflex than anything, the dry sarcasm slipping past your lips before you could stop it. But the sharp edge of your tone faltered as your gaze darted to his injuries. Blood—thick, dark, and all too real—streaked his side, dripping in sluggish rivulets down his torn clothes. You swallowed hard, fighting the rising wave of panic threatening to claw its way up your throat. “Can you… uh, climb inside?” your voice was softer now, but still tinged with urgency.

He hesitated, his shoulders stiffening, and for a fleeting moment, he looked more like a cornered animal than an injured man. His hand gripped the railing tighter, the tension in his posture radiating defensiveness even as he swayed slightly, his balance precarious. “I don’t want to—” he began, his words rasping out low and hesitant, as if he were weighing the consequences of accepting help against the risks of staying put.

“You’re bleeding on my fire escape,” you interrupted, crossing your arms to disguise the nervous tremor in your hands. “I’m not asking. Get in here before someone sees you.” You tried to keep your voice steady, firm, even as your heart hammered against your ribs. You weren’t sure where the sudden boldness had come from—maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the sheer absurdity of the situation—but you refused to back down. If he didn’t move soon, you weren’t sure he’d be able to at all.

For a split second, you thought he might argue, but then his lips twitched ever so slightly, a faint ghost of a smirk flickering across his face. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the grim set of his jaw as he shifted, bracing himself. With a pained grunt, he pushed off the railing, his movements slow and deliberate, every step looking like it might be his last. His knees buckled slightly as he approached the window, and instinctively, you stepped closer, your arms uncrossing as you reached out without thinking.

“I’ve got it,” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. He was trying to sound strong, but the unsteadiness in his steps betrayed him. As he climbed through the window, the effort took its toll. He leaned heavily against the window frame, his large frame towering over yours even as his weight pressed into you for support. The sudden closeness made you freeze for a moment, the sheer size difference between you starkly apparent as his broad shoulders filled the small space of your window.

You adjusted quickly, hands instinctively reaching to steady him despite your earlier hesitation. One hand brushed against his arm, and you couldn’t help but notice how solid he felt beneath your touch, even through the bloodied material of his suit. He shifted his weight against you slightly, just enough to steady himself, and the subtle press of his shoulder against yours was enough to make you acutely aware of how much he was relying on you in that moment.

“Easy,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as he finally made it through the window and into your apartment. You stepped back to give him space, resisting the urge to grab his arm again as he straightened with a wince. His movements were slow and deliberate, every motion screaming of pain, but he managed to stay on his feet. For now.

“Couch,” the word tumbled out before you could think too hard about what came next. You gestured toward the battered, threadbare piece of furniture across the room, its cushions sagging from years of use. It wasn’t much, but it was better than your window frame—or worse, the fire escape he’d just been bleeding all over.

He gave a faint nod, the motion sluggish as he shuffled forward, his hand bracing against the wall for balance. Each step looked like a battle he was barely winning, and just as he reached the couch, his knees seemed to give out entirely. He dropped onto it with a heavy exhale, the springs creaking loudly in protest. His head tipped back against the cushion, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

For a moment, you stood frozen, your back still pressed against the window as your mind worked to catch up with what had just happened. The sharp contrast of his dark figure against the warm glow of your living room lights made the scene feel surreal, like something out of a movie. But the blood—thick and vividly red against the black fabric of his suit—was all too real.

And now, in the full light of the room, you could finally see him clearly. The sleek black material clinging to him wasn’t just any clothing—it was a suit, one that seemed designed to meld with the shadows. Faint blue lines traced down his sides in sharp, angular patterns, adding a faintly futuristic edge to his appearance. But it wasn’t the design that held your attention—it was the bird emblazoned across his chest, unmistakable in its shape even beneath the layers of grime and blood.

Nightwing.

The name hit you like a freight train, an unspoken expletive rushing to the tip of your tongue as you took another step forward. Nightwing is in my apartment. The realization made your knees feel unsteady, and you clutched the back of a nearby chair for balance. He wasn’t just a man in a mask—he was Nightwing, Gotham’s acrobatic vigilante, a name whispered in both fear and admiration depending on who you asked. And now here he was, slumped on your couch, bleeding out like any ordinary man who’d bitten off more than he could chew.

Your gaze dropped back to the gash across his chest, the jagged tear in his suit exposing the angry, raw wound beneath. Blood was soaking through the material, dark and relentless, and the sheer amount of it sent a chill racing down your spine. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe through the rising tide of panic. This was happening. This was real.

And if you didn’t act fast, he wasn’t going to make it.

“I’ll get some supplies,” you said, your voice sharper now, cutting through the haze of disbelief. Each step felt heavy, your heart pounding like a drum in your ears as you yanked open the cabinet under the sink. The first aid kit sat buried behind a clutter of forgotten toiletries, its edges dusty and worn, but it would have to do. You grabbed it along with a few clean towels, their soft cotton contrasting starkly with the chaos unfolding in your living room.

When you returned, your stomach twisted at the sight of him. He’d slumped further into the couch, his broad shoulders sagging into the cushions as if gravity were trying to pull him under. His head tipped back against the worn upholstery, exposing the pale curve of his neck. The steady rise and fall of his chest—though strained—was the only reassurance he was still alive.

“Don’t pass out,” you said, dropping to your knees beside him and setting the first aid kit on the coffee table with a clatter. The firm edge to your voice was betrayed by the slight tremor in your hands as you unfurled one of the towels. Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you forced your tone to remain steady. You couldn’t let him see the full weight of your panic—not when he already looked like he was barely holding himself together.

At your words, he cracked one eye open, the faintest glimmer of amusement flickering in his gaze despite the shadows of pain etched across his face. “Not planning to,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, each word dragging out like it cost him more than he could afford. The faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth was enough to make you pause.

Who the hell manages to look smug while bleeding out on someone’s couch?

But the glimmer faded as quickly as it appeared, his body sagging further against the cushions. You pressed your lips together, swallowing the sarcastic retort building in your throat. There wasn’t time for quips or questions—only action. You unfolded a towel, your fingers brushing against the warm stickiness of his blood as you pressed it gently against the gash across his chest. The sharp hiss that escaped his lips was like a jolt of electricity, and you found yourself murmuring, “Sorry,” even as you kept the pressure firm. His skin was warm beneath the blood and fabric.

You worked quickly, your hands steady despite the rising tide of nerves gnawing at your insides. The fabric around the wound had been torn beyond recognition, and you didn’t waste a second as you cut through the ruined material with swift, practiced motions. Each snip of the scissors felt like a small victory, as though you could fix this, like the clean cut would somehow make everything better. You pressed a towel to his side, feeling the heat of his blood seep through the fabric, the warmth of it sending a chill up your spine. He winced at the pressure, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t pull away. His muscles, tense and coiled under your hands, were the only indication that this wasn’t just a minor scrape. His breath came out in shallow gasps, but he didn’t make a sound of protest.

“You’re awfully calm for someone who just broke into my apartment,” you said, your voice forced to sound lighter than it felt. The words were meant to cover the nerves crawling up your throat, to push away the uncertainty gnawing at you. Humor—it was the only defense you had left in this absurd situation.

He let out a soft laugh, though it sounded more like a wheeze. It was rough and ragged, like even that small act of amusement took everything he had left. “Didn’t break in. Fire escape’s fair game,” he managed to rasp out, his eyes fluttering closed again as though the effort of speaking had drained him further.

For a moment, you stopped, just long enough to take in his words. Fair game, huh? You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, despite the situation. So this is how he justifies sneaking into random apartments in the middle of the night.

“Right,” you muttered, your voice dry, trying to ignore the sick feeling twisting in your gut. You could feel the heat of his skin under your fingertips, the way his body trembled slightly despite his attempt to stay composed. You glanced at his face, the mask still in place, but now that you were up close, you could see the way his eyes flickered with exhaustion and pain. It was like something human was trying to push through all the bravado.

But you had to focus. The towel in your hand was already damp from his blood, and you pressed harder, trying to staunch the bleeding as much as possible. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured my night going,” you muttered, though your tone softened a bit as you reached for the first aid kit. Every instinct in your body told you to move fast, but there was something about him, even in this state, that kept you grounded.

Maybe because I’m not sure whether you’re about to pass out or punch me in the face, you thought, but didn’t say. Instead, you reached for the antiseptic, uncapping it with more precision than you felt, and prepared yourself for whatever came next.

His lips twitched again, a ghost of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was enough to make you wonder if he was trying to find some amusement in the chaos that had spilled into your living room. It didn't make sense—how someone could be this battered, this close to breaking, and still manage to show any semblance of humor. But there it was, a quiet resilience you couldn't quite place.

He didn’t respond at first, just watching you work. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, still tracked every movement of your hands, each shift of your body as you carefully cleaned and bandaged the wound on his side. There was something almost unnerving about how still he was, like a predator waiting for the right moment to move, but in the context of the situation, it made him seem more human. Vulnerable.

“You do this often?” you asked, your voice lighter than you felt. It was a simple enough question, but it served to break the silence between you, the quiet hum of the apartment making the space feel far too small. You didn’t look up at him immediately, but you could feel the weight of his gaze still on your face, intense and steady.

“Hmm?” he responded, the sound rough in his throat, as though the effort to form words had started to exhaust him.

“Get beaten to hell and crash on random fire escapes?” you pressed, glancing up at him as you secured the bandage around his chest. You tried to mask the faint bitterness in your tone with humor, the question rolling off your tongue more to distract yourself than anything else. This whole situation felt like something out of a bad dream, and you needed to ground yourself. Even if it meant making jokes about the absurdity of it all.

He let out a breath, his lips pressing together for a moment as he thought, the flicker of amusement still lingering in his eyes. “Only when I’m not at home,” he said softly, his voice rough, barely a whisper, but the sarcasm was clear. The way he said it—like he'd done this enough times to know exactly how it would go—made something twist uncomfortably in your chest. This wasn’t the first time he’d been in this situation, and maybe it wouldn’t be the last.

You couldn’t help but huff out a soft laugh despite yourself, but it was more out of disbelief than humor. "That’s reassuring," you muttered, tightening the bandage with a firm pull. The night had turned stranger than you could’ve ever imagined, and all you could do was keep your hands steady as you finished the task, trying to ignore the fact that this was your reality now. For however long he was going to be here, this was your reality.

As you worked, you couldn’t help but wonder—what exactly had he been doing up there? Was it a routine mission gone wrong? Or was it something else, something far more dangerous than just a bad night on patrol?

But asking those questions, probing further, felt like it would unravel everything you were holding together. You were already way past the point of no return, anyway.

You leaned back on your heels, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The tension in your shoulders eased slightly as you wiped your hands on one of the towels, the fabric already stained with his blood. The light in your apartment, dim as it was, highlighted the mess of the night: the empty first aid kit, the scattered towels, the faint smell of antiseptic in the air. Everything felt heavier now—like the weight of what had happened wasn’t just about this bleeding stranger in front of you, but about you, too, suddenly pulled into something far more dangerous than you'd signed up for.

"You need stitches, but that’s the best I can do right now," you said, your voice softening as you turned back to him. "Try not to tear the bandages before you... I don’t know, get some actual medical attention?"

You were trying to stay light, trying to keep your tone steady, but the words felt hollow. He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pushed himself up with a grunt, the movement slow and stiff, his pain clear despite the faint determination in his eyes. He steadied himself against the arm of the couch, looking like he might collapse at any moment, but there was something else there too—something that made you stop, heart fluttering painfully in your chest.

He offered you a faint smile, the expression almost shy despite the rough edges of the night, his eyes meeting yours in that quiet, unexpected way that made the room feel too small.

"Thanks. Really," he said, his voice rasping, but genuine.

For a moment, all the noise of the world outside your apartment seemed to fall away. The sirens in the distance, the occasional sound of traffic, even the distant hum of the refrigerator—it all blurred into nothing as you just stood there, staring at him. His gaze was soft, more tender than you would’ve expected from someone who’d just crashed through your window with blood dripping from their body. It wasn’t that it was romantic, per se—at least, that wasn’t what you expected it to feel like. But there was something in the way he looked at you, something that made your heart skip a beat, something you couldn’t explain.

He didn’t move, didn’t look away, and for a long moment, neither did you. There was something raw in the quiet between you, as though both of you were momentarily suspended in this small, messy space. His smile was faint, but it was real—a fragile thing, born of pain and gratitude. You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were, how the distance between you had narrowed while you weren’t paying attention.

Before you could stop yourself, your hand moved, instinctively reaching out to touch his arm—just a gentle brush of your fingertips against his skin. You told yourself it was nothing, just checking if he was steady, but even as you pulled away, there was a spark. A quiet acknowledgment that this was different. The way his eyes followed the movement of your hand, the way he hesitated before his next breath, made the space between you feel charged, like something unspoken was hovering in the air.

"You're welcome," you whispered back, voice quieter than before, tinged with something you couldn’t quite define. There was a flicker of something in his gaze, an understanding, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t matter. It was just the two of you in that small, dimly lit room, suspended in time, with everything else forgotten.

And just like that, you both broke the moment—him leaning back into the couch with a soft grunt, and you turning your attention back to the bandages, your pulse still racing in your ears. But the quiet connection lingered, a soft hum under everything else.

ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work , please consider reblogging and / or commenting . thank you if you do 🤍

591 notes · View notes

yanderemommabean · 19 days ago

Note

Another event has left my brain swarming with yandere thoughts. This time it was a rock show where the opener and headliner didn’t seem to like each other, where the opener picked me out of the crowd for knowing all his songs and the headliner seemed to push his way to the front when my attention drifted away from the stage and now my delusional ass can’t decide what’s hotter.

Yandere opener, obscure but with a lot more energy, first flattered that I gave him so much love and attention, then arrogant when he saw that I wasn’t enjoying the main performance nearly as much as I did his own. Catching my eye from the merch table and gesturing for me to leave the show and follow him, taking me out to the tour bus and showing me just how appreciative he is that I was so sweet to him. Letting his bandmates hold down the fort inside so he can instead hold down my hips and eat me out until I cry, saying just five orgasms isn’t nearly enough to express his gratitude. Finally giving in and holding my wrists over my head as he rocks into my overstimulated cunt, cooing about how cute I had looked with my tits bouncing up and down to the beat, how badly he wishes he could carry me inside like this and give them all an encore.

Or, yandere headliner, having seen the passion and energy I held for the first act and feeling insulted that I didn’t seem as eager to jump around in my skimpy outfit and put on a show for him like I did for the opener. Catching me on my way out of the venue and dragging me backstage, shoving me against a wall and proving that he should be the one getting all that attention. His hand over my mouth as he fucks me into the rough bricks, scratching up my back as he drives his cock into me again and again as if trying to lay a claim to me, muttering that only he can fuck me this good, that maybe he’ll just take me with him and ruin me over and over until I know my place.

…I think I need a lie down.

I'm imagining that the yandere opener has a split tongue and puts it to good use while laughing at how cute you are. Like, you really think he's letting you go? You haven't even squirted yet! You /know/ he loves to be smothered in that.

But I'm also feral for the idea that both end up butting heads when you're captured. arguing and shouting at one another about how "I'm way better suited for her!" and "No, fuck you! It's me!" and instead of killing each other, they come up with a plan.

You're now on your back, legs spread and held up, as both share in tasting you. There's satisfied groans, lewd sucks and wet slurps, and the headliner is being cruel with how skilled his fingers are playing with you. when one is done torturously sucking your clit, the other one dives in, their tongues sharing in your dripping cunt, delving them deep inside your core while you writhe and pitifully kick out from overstimulation. But all you can really do is take it, your hands bound in their belts.

Of course they aren't done with you by your sixth orgasm. Are you joking? They're rock hard and leaking precum, they need a bit of relief too! However it turns into a fight of who gets to take you first before they just grin, and look at you like you're a tasty meal before starved predators.

You can handle both. They know you can.

-Mommabean

#yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #mommabean #anon confessions are amazing #anon asks #yandere male #yandere lemons #yandere smut #yandere prompts #yandere bands #yandere dub con #yandere noncon

150 notes · View notes

mev-fizzah-writes · 4 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭

A/N: This was cross-posted on AO3, and is just the backstory. Promise there will definitely be more writing soon, i've been really busy and my life is just filled with endless tasks. This was also written a while back so it..kinda sucks!! TW: Suicide, Child abuse, Child endangerment, SH, SA, Murder, Graphic violence.

Alone.

You were always alone.

In the rowdy clubs, your mother dragged you into, alone.

The school halls, alone.

The run-down food courts, alone

It was peaceful though, as peaceful as Gotham gets really. You and your mother against the world, or so you told yourself. Deep down, you were aware of her late-night partners and the way she indulged in moments that blurred your reality. It was just drugs—everyone did them... It never crossed your mind just how foolish she was being. Perhaps it was her drooping eyes that gave her an air of tranquillity, or how she cuddled you when the alcohol clouded her judgment. Maybe it was simply that she didn’t hit as hard when the redness overtook her gaze.

She wasn’t a good mother; you understood that from the moment you could understand language.

No mother should ever let their child know they’re a constant reminder of deep-seated failure, yet she did. But she was all you had, and so you clung to her hand—the same hand that marked your skin with black and blue bruises—hoping, just hoping, she might hold you back, if only once.

You don’t ever remember her holding you.

But it didn’t bother you, not really. Touch was never something you craved anyway. Still, it would have been nice, just once, to feel her warmth against you for one last time before she slipped away into a pit that she dug within her mind.

How could you have known? It was just like any other Friday afternoon.

The winter mist hit your tired eyes, making them sting just like your bruised lip. It was another fight, the same two idiots that always got on your nerves. Today they decided to pick on some small street kid, you had seen his curly head of hair before. He lived on the floor above or used to, it had been a while since you heard a complaint from his mother. It was normal for the kid to get in trouble, and of course, you had to throw yourself into his trouble.

Jason, was that his name? He was maybe a few years younger than you, you can never tell with the small ones, but recently he seemed healthier. It was almost as if he had been eating well, but he still had that look in his eyes.

Desperation, to prove himself.

You couldn’t help it, the kids on your street always pulled on your heartstrings. So you helped him out and got injured in the process. Just a small busted lip, nothing you hadn’t dealt with before. Plus you had other things to worry about, like peeling mom's ‘work’ clothes off and making sure she’s clean.

Mom, probably, didn’t cook and most likely didn’t eat so that’s another thing you have to take care of. Was there even anything in the fridge?

You can’t remember, you’ve been living off your friend's school lunches since Mom deserved fresh homemade food. Lately, her boss had been giving her longer hours, some nights she would come back covered in hickey-like bruises that made scrubbing her wince in pain when she lay down. You didn’t like her boss, whenever she complained about him it sent a shiver crawling down your back, all you can remember about him is his calloused hands. You hated his hands, they were rough and seemed to have a mind of their own. You shook your head, pushing the thought of Kyle away, getting home mattered. With a turn of the corner, you were met with home. Once vibrant red bricks now a withered brown, poking from the badly painted grey that matched the concrete entrance. It was bleak, it had dead trees tethered around it, somehow still standing. The old stairwell creaked with every step you took, usually, you would rush upstairs but today your legs felt like they were going to crumble apart. The thought of turning away gnawed at your brain the closer you got to your door. The familiar croaking of the wood underneath your feet now felt threatening, you rubbed your index finger against your thumb, and your hands now felt clammy. In your pockets lay your keys, yet you felt like there was no need to pull them out. In front of you stood the tall red door to home, was it always towering over you? It was almost suffocating. The worst part of it all is that it’s quiet, why is it quiet? The usual lively hum of the building seemed to be non-existent. It wasn’t always a happy hum but there was always a hum-where is the hum? The silence was deafening, it was like the world had been put on pause. You pressed your ear against the door, hoping to try and hear the clinking of bottles or the sound of an obnoxious static-like laughter instead you almost tripped over yourself.

The door was unlocked.

It feels like all the air in your lungs has suddenly been pried out, the sound of the creaking door sends a jolt of fear up your body. The familiarity of the apartment was now shattered, replaced with chilling wariness. The chaos was gone, every surface seemed to be wiped spotless and the clutter was just…gone! The once broken glass was replaced with a sterile orderliness that made your heart drop. You had only seen the apartment be clean a few times and it was usually met with the sight of a dear mother and a few syringes around her. In the corner of your eyes, you saw the bathroom light flicker, everything in your mind was telling you to run, just go get the neighbours, it was the safe thing to do. But your heart, your heart needed to see her, your heart needed to see her just cleaning the bathroom. That’s all she had to be doing, it was Christmas soon, so surely she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

“Mom? Mom…” Your pathetic voice called out, your legs moving faster than your mind. As you reached the door you felt your jaw drop. The white lights bounced of the wall tiles and landed on your Mothers face. She lay in the bathtub, her breathing laboured and her eyes low. The flickering light distorted her shadows, along with the shades of the empty bottles and forgotten syringes. Your eyes widened with fear as the stench of it all hit your nose like a drunken Saturday punch, you felt your hands shake and your knees buckle. “Mommy?” You called out, a sob bordering your lips as you dropped your jacket and climbed into the bath next to her. No matter how much you shook her cold body, there was no response.

“No. No! You can’t do this to me again…please,” the tears pooled in your eyes, but you wouldn’t dare to cry. Not until she responded.

“I love you my little Luna…tic.”

It was weak, and her voice was hoarse. It was already so far gone, there was no emotion behind her eyes but she managed to bring her hand to your face. She rubbed her thumb against your cheek, rubbing a stray tear that escaped your eyes, there was no car in the gesture. You felt her blood smudge on your face as her wrist went heavy and her arm fell to her side.

It was only until you felt the heaviness of a blanket being placed over your shoulders that you finally snapped out of whatever you were doing. The day was a blur, you didn't even know why the cops had been called. The silence around you was loud, it was overwhelming. No one in the station spoke, they acted like a sigh would break you. Your nails dug into your palm, what a load of shit, no one even seemed to care. Expect one man, he had a thick bushy moustache and he was the only one looking at you-no he was staring at you. It felt like a spider was crawling down your back with the way you shivered. His eyes were tired, probably like yours at the moment, but he couldn’t stop staring.

His face remained neutral as he spoke but inside a bubble of confusion sat inside him. Commissioner Gordon had seen those eyes before, he had seen those shaken hands and he had seen the anger. There were loads of kids like her who had the same pitiful look in their eyes, but he had seen her eyes before. He had seen them on a boy years and years ago. He felt his mind blank for a second, he couldn’t help but stare. Not only did this add to his increasing headache, but it also made the girl's case worse. The funny thing is, the mother's body had clear signs of struggle, there were clear fresh, red hand marks on the woman's neck. But the worst part? The kid knew.

You knew. It was obvious that someone else was with her, sure Mom was a ditz, but she knew not to leave the door unlocked. There was no point in sitting here crying over her, there was no point in crying. You shut your eyes, feeling the panic slowly set into your mind.

#fizzah's ff #batfam x batsis #batman x reader #batsis!reader #batboys x batsis #batfam x reader #dc fanfiction #angst #batfamily x reader #batfam #bruce wayne x reader #alfred pennyworth #jim gordon

303 notes · View notes

certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 1 year ago

Note

Hey could you write a fem!reader x Spencer reid where reader was kidnapped by an unsub?

liaison!reader

all your belongs were left in your bedroom, phone included. there did appear to be a struggle, a chair was knocked over and your purse was slipped onto the floor with the contents scattered about. there was a dent, almost a punched hole in the wall near the door. specks of blood left behind.

“i- i was supposed to meet her. we- we always leave the office together, but she was staying behind and- and insisted i go home. it’s my fault.” spencer was shaking as he recalled seeing you just last night in your office. the two of you were talking for a while and you told spencer to head home, said you needed to finish some paperwork you forgot earlier.

if he just walked you home- “it’s not your fault.” hotch’s stern voice stopped spencer’s racing thoughts. “reid, i need you to focus. has she mentioned anything within the past week about strange occurrences happening? feelings that she was being watched?” jumping into ssa mode, looking for breadcrumbs on your trail.

spencer closed his eyes and shook his head, fingers twitching at his sides. “no- nothing. but maybe they- they were following our route after work. saw the opportunity when she was alone.” again the thoughts were screaming at him.

hotch just nodded and pulled out his phone, “garcia, i need you to pull up the security footage from last night. i need all angles of y/n, she’s currently missing.”

three days. it’s been seventy two hours since you were taken. spencer tried not thinking of the statistics that came with the chances of surviving a disappearance, but everyone knew they dwindled each second the clock hit another hour.

but there hasn’t been a body reported yet, so your chances were still high. the team is assuming that the unsub is planning to keep you hostage for up until a week at most, so they have four days left.

he couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep. he didn’t bother leaving the office, just camped out at his desk or in the conference room to lay on the couch as he thought. he wanted to tell you he loves you, that each second you spend together is a new memory he can always look back at clearly and yearn for more.

he can’t say he’ll protect cause that would be a lie now, but he’ll always try his hardest to stop this from happening again. spencer would wrap you tight into his embrace to keep the outside world from ever laying a harmful finger upon you.

“reid,” a call of his last name. he spun in his desk chair to see hotch running from his office. “we found him, now we just gotta get her.” spencer never moved that fast in his life than when him and hotch bolted for the stairs.

“y/n! y/n, it’s reid! y/n!” spencer ran through the houses layout with hotch and swat behind him. he didn’t care about himself in this moment, just finding you alive and breathing was his goal.

“found a basement,” he heard over his inear. he scurried down the stairs just as they bashed the heavy door down. he was about to call your name again when his was called first.

“spence,” a whisper in the dark space. flashlights flickered around the room before landing on you, chained to a brick wall as you sat on a dirty mattress. you were disheveled and bruised, you started to sob when spencer pulled you into his gentle hold.

“i got you. i got you, love.” spoken into your ear as his palm caressed the back of your head. your were a shaking leaf and he held you closer and let his lips press into your temple. “i got you.”

#erin writes spencer #erin’s blurb requests #a 1k special #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x liaison!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

638 notes · View notes

sailorholly · 1 year ago

Text

Between Us Pt. 3

Summary: You and Spencer had a casual relationship. A misunderstanding ruins it all.

Pairing: Spencer Reid × F. BAU Reader

Warnings: Friends with benefits. Pregnancy.

See my Masterlist Here

Part Two

The stomach bug you had caught was so strange. You would be perfectly fine, eating whatever you wanted for hours. Then a certain smell would hit you like a ton of bricks, sending you running to the nearest bathroom or trash can.

It had been two weeks and you were still puking your guts up randomly. You made an appointment with your doctor at the end of the week to make sure nothing was seriously wrong with you.

You and the team had to fly out to Colorado for a case. You were so exhausted, you could barely keep your eyes open on the trip there. Penelope texted you for the fiftieth time today checking on you. You insisted you were fine, you just couldn’t get rid of whatever illness you had.

Spencer and Ashley sat across from you, her hands playing with his unruly curls like you used to. When he looked at you, concern written all over his face after you puked in the bathroom, she grabbed his face, pressing a kiss to his lips. That act alone made your stomach turn. Thankfully, Hotch cleared his throat, shooting them a warning glance.

When you finally landed, you were alone with Spencer. Hotch paired you up often because you worked well together. “Are you okay? I’ve been worried about you. You vomited six times yesterday. You’re having trouble holding down anything but crackers and ginger ale. You took a nap on the way here. You’ve never done that.”

“I’m fine, Spencer. Don’t worry about me. You should be worrying about your little girlfriend getting you in trouble for PDA.” He scrunches up his nose. “Are you jealous?” You laugh at that. “No, I’m not. I feel like death, and I don’t want to argue with you. I just don’t want to see you sucking face right in front of me when I’m nauseous anyways. I want to solve this case so I can go home and lay down.” He tried not to bother you with frivolous questions the rest of the day.

The next morning, you felt great. Your skin was glowing, you took time to style your hair and do your makeup. When you walked in the local police station to start work, everyone complimented you. Everyone except for Ashley, who rolled her eyes and seemed annoyed that you didn’t have your hair in a rat’s nest pooled on top of your head with dark circles under your eyes.

You ate all three meals with the team without needing to vomit. You couldn’t believe it was finally over. You decided to call your doctor first thing in the morning to cancel your appointment.

Your joy was short lived, when the next morning you felt awful again. Luckily, you hadn’t called your doctor yet. The day went by quickly. Rossi came up with the information you needed to find the unsub. You slept the whole way home.

You check into the doctor’s office filling out form after form. When the nurse calls you back, she gives you a cup and sends you into the bathroom. You wait in the small room for the doctor. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest while you wait for her to come in.

When she finally arrives, she checks your vitals, writing them down on your chart. “How long do I have?” You ask, only kind of joking. She smiles, placing her stethoscope around her neck. “You’re not dying. You’re pregnant! Congratulations! According to the information you gave us, it looks like you’re about six weeks. We will schedule an ultra sound for another time to give you a more accurate prediction.”

You start to tune her out as she continues speaking. Pregnant? How could this happen? You and Spencer were always so careful except… Your mind flashes with memories of that night. How his feverish hands were all over you. How he couldn’t wait to have you so he took you against the wall. How beautiful he thought you looked with his cum dripping out of you. Now those actions had consequences. How were you going to tell him?

Tags

@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @multifandom-worlds @loz-3 @megharat-barnes-reid @kats72 @mochie85 @cakesandtom @spenciesprincess @kimm4710 @tmilover1993 @nomajdetective @cynbx @comboboo @134340ona @wannabewolf @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @freegardenbanananeck @lover-of-books-and-tea @maybe-not-this @drewsandsebastianswife @lamentis-10 @lizzyk137 @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch @rosylnsworld @amortencjja @ah-blossom

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x fem!reader #between us

549 notes · View notes

hxney-lemcn · 4 months ago

Text

Hope Reignited — botw! Link x gn! reader

summary: you had awoken in a strange place, overtime remembering who you were and what your purpose was.

tw: uhhh, I'm not sure.

a/n: I tried starting to make a pt. 2 but it doesn't feel right at the moment, but the poll had a majority yes to post so here you go.

wc: 3.5k

Master List

Part One | Part Two

Gasping for breath you sat up violently, droplets of water rolling off your body. You looked around at your surroundings in panic, unsure of where you were or why. Your head felt foggy as you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. The walls were made out of sandy bricks, the cavern nearly completely dark save for the bed you were laying in that glowed an aqua blue. Sitting up, you noticed that you were only in your undergarments. Looking around once again you noticed a few chests strewn about, so you tried to stand up, legs wobbly from misuse, but you felt as healthy as ever. Once you finally found your footing, you crawled out of the…was it even a bed? It looked more like a bath or tub. Anyways, you made your way towards the chests, opening the one closest to you, which seemed to hold brightly colored clothes with gold ornaments and accessories.

Putting on the lightweight breathable clothing and accessories, you opened the second chest which held an old leather bound book and a satchel. Curious, you picked up the book, you couldn’t help but think that the old worn pages seemed oddly familiar as your fingers ghosted over the words written, but before you could read anything the sound of rocks rumbling reverberated throughout the entire cave made you snap it shut. Reflexively, you found yourself tense, eyes scanning as much of the dark cavern as possible. As stealthily as you could, you tiptoed towards the noise, seeing no other exit. A sweltering breeze hit you before you could see the sunlight that poured through, an opening to the cavern seemed to have unsealed itself.

The scenery was a bit disheartening. I mean looking around at the vast emptiness of a hot fiery desert...not the best place to be stranded in, but it explained why the clothes were light colored and made of such breathable material. Observing your surroundings once again, you tried to come up with a plan to ensure your survival. In the distance you noticed a city that seemed to bend with the heat. Glancing up, the sun that shined brightly in the sky seemed like it was going to set soon, and your best bet at surviving would be to leave right away. The heat was stifling as you trekked across the sandy expanse. Each step you made felt like you had barely made any progress, but you kept walking. Pulling the scarf tighter over your head, you couldn’t help your mind from spiraling.

Who were you and what were you doing here? Of course it had been eating at you since you first awoke, but survival was your top priority, now? You had time to ponder the whole situation. Everything was strangely familiar, like you had walked these paths before but you can’t remember the details as to why. Not to mention this weird feeling like you should be rushing, that someone was in danger, that you needed to find them as soon as possible. But who? Why couldn’t you remember anything? You felt like you were going insane, like the word was on the tip of your tongue but for the life of you you couldn’t get it out.

“Sav’orr,” A woman greeted you, a guard by the looks of it. You hadn’t even realized you made it to the city already. “I haven’t seen you before. Welcome to Gerudo.”

“Thank you,” You replied with an uncertain smile. Entering the city you felt in awe as water cascaded down aqueducts, women littering the center, many vendors calling out about their goods. It felt overwhelming, and you quickly found a vacant alley, sitting on a barrel. Pulling out your only item from your satchel, you gazed at the cover for a few seconds before finally opening to the first page and started to read.

Dear Diary,

Today I was hired as the Princesses personal servant.

Your brows furrowed, these words creating a sense of deja vu in your scrambled mind.

I was given a uniform, it wasn’t the most flattering. With the same colors that represented the royal family, yet exceedingly boring. I suppose that makes sense since I’m merely a servant but it doesn’t mean I’m happy. Once I changed, a guard escorted me into a tea room, a maid was standing next to the one and only princess.

I was terrified as she quietly drank her tea. I bowed in greeting, unsure if I should speak or not, and when I glanced up she held an expecting look. I felt like a fool, feeling as if I had already failed her in some way. I greeted myself, not sure what else I could possibly say. The princess sounded as sweet as ever, just like during her speeches, a warm smile on her face as she welcomed me.

I blinked as the entry ended. This…was this your diary? No wonder it screamed familiar, these were your memories, your writing, your life. It still felt all scrambled in your head, but just as things were being answered ten more questions popped up. You were a royal servant, Princess Zelda’s right hand…so what were you doing in the desert? Why were you in some sort of shrine? What…happened? Did you even want to know?

Dear Diary,

Today I met the hero knight, and not in the way you’d think. I am required to know basic fighting. Even though I am merely a servant I suppose protecting the Princess is the most important part of my job since I’d be traveling with her outside of the castle. Learning to protect myself would be important as well I suppose.

It was a bit nerve wracking at first, I felt out of place and unsure where to go. I was merely told I would have a trainer waiting for me in the training hall, nothing more nothing less. Seriously, how do they expect me to do my job without giving me details? I felt my inner thoughts spirling as I stood there, sticking out like a sore thumb. I felt so foolish, something I am getting used to. Anyways, I was lucky to have someone approach me first, guiding me to my personal trainer.

A blonde haired knight was sparring with a brunette. The kind man pointed out that he was whom I would be training with. I remember that blonde hair, stoic as always as he stood by Zelda’s side during her public appearances. It would make sense that her personal knight trained her personal servant, but I felt myself worry. I don’t think I can live up to the standards they’re putting on me.

I learned quickly that he didn’t speak much, relying on gestures more than anything. Hylia help me.

You felt your heart drop, one name reverberating through your head as you read that segment. Link. How could you forget? Everything in you screamed that he wasn’t important, someone you cared about, but you just couldn’t remember why. You couldn’t remember these moments on your own, the only thing bringing them to life was your words on the paper. You had to read more, put the pieces together on why you’re here and what happened to land you with such a blank in your memory.

Dear Diary,

The princess had a meeting with the champions today. Brave people who represented their people’s alliance with Hyrule. The meeting was hopeful as the Princess described the Divine Beasts and how each champion would control their own. I shouldn’t write any more down as it is classified information.

I felt severely out of place, but I knew my role. I was the Princess’s personal servant, her right hand, someone who was to stand by her side 24/7, just like the champion. We had a mutual understanding, we shared similar roles, mine more domestic and his more violent, yet we held our heads high with pride. I have become more accustomed to my role over the past few months, and the Princess and Champion have been nothing but kind.

I believe in these people, their determination and hope shall pave a way to peace for all of Hyrule and Ganon will be defeated. I’m sure of it.

You felt your eyes water as you read. Your heart felt inexplicably heavy reading the last line, but you were unsure why. You had a feeling your past words were inexplicably naive, as what else would explain your current predicament?

Dear Diary,

I must keep this brief. My future self, when you read this do not lose hope. Link has been gravely injured, the Princess has escorted him to the Shrine of Resurrection, she will be stuck keeping Ganon at bay until he awakes again. She has tasked us with accompanying him when he does. Head to Kakariko village, speak to Impa, she will guide you next.

And please, take ca-

The last part cut off, clearly you had ran out of time, the paper smudged with water stains. It seemed that things had gone wrong, terribly wrong. Once again your heart was pounding with adrenaline, your mission clear. Standing up with a newfound purpose, you had only stepped one foot in the central square before you were stopped by two guards, posture pristine as they regarded you.

Speaking up, one of them mentioned your name, asking if it was you. You nodded in apprehension, unsure of what this meant.

“Please, follow us,” The other bowed her head before they turned their back to you and walked towards the palace-like building. A short, child-like lady sat on a throne that sat in the center of the main room, she was adorned with more gold and jewels than anyone else, and when her emerald eyes landed on you she perked up.

“Hello, my name is Lady Riju” She greeted you, eyes squinting suspiciously. “I’ve brought you here because my mother has tasked me to help the person who was locked in the shrine. That is you, correct?”

“Yes,” You nodded, bowing your head. “I have awoken mere hours ago, my lady.” It seems your servant instincts have stuck with you.

“Buliara, gather the proper resources for this traveler’s journey,” Lady Riju commanded her right hand guard. “Make sure it’s enough for their travels to…”

“Kakariko village, my liege,” you supplied.

“Yes, my lady,” Buliara kneeled before rushing off to order the other guards to help.

“Thank you for your help,” you bowed your head once more.

“My mother’s mother, my mother, and therefore I was tasked to aid the hero's companion,” Lady Riju explained. “Do not fail your task.”

“I won’t.”

…

The trek through the desert was long and arduous. Lady Riju was kind enough to have two guards escort you to the end of Gerudo Valley. You thanked them both profusely as they wished you well on the rest of your journey. That had already taken a night and one and a half days to complete. It would take you well over a week to complete the rest. You didn’t take much time to rest, only when the weather was bad or if your eyes were begging for just one night. You needed to get to Kakariko Village as soon as possible, what if Link had already awoken? What if you were late? What if Link was already completing his journey and it was a waste to put you to sleep in that shrine?

Though you can’t remember things clearly, you could still feel that tinge of nerves in your gut that the Princess put too much trust in you, that she deemed your role more important than it really was. So you pressed on through heavy wind and rain, crossed treacherous bridges, killed the enemies that stood in your way (thanks to the sword and shield gifted to you by the Gerudo), and nearly wept when you finally stepped foot in the village, bright red banners welcoming your entrance. Farmers glanced at you curiously as you walked through, your brightly colored garb and golden bangles catching their attention. You would have to find clothes better suited for the fields of Hyrule as you found yourself chilled more often than nought.

All you knew at the moment was that you needed to find Impa, and something told you the huge house at the center of the village was where she resided. With newfound passion, you climbed the grand amount of stairs that lead up to the house. Should you have gotten some rest beforehand? Probably, as you found yourself stumbling and tripping every so often. But you were close, so close. Close to finding Link, close to starting your journey by his side, close to truly beating Ganondorf. You were nearly there as you climbed the last step, your shoulders untensing. Nearly there as you opened the door. Nearly…there…as you swayed, eyes landing on an incredibly old woman who stared at you knowingly. Nearly…there

CRASH

…

Sunlight that snuck past the curtain caused your face to scrunch, your head pounding and bones achy. It seems the past week or so had finally caught up to you. You heard a soft voice that sounded nervous, and as you opened your eyes, a pale haired woman was revealed to you. Letting out a gasp, she jumped away from your form, shuffling backwards while she clasped her hands.

“My apologies,” She murmured, head bowed. “You had fallen from exhaustion and my grandmother tasked me with taking care of you.”

“Th-thank you,” Your voice was raspy as you spoke, both from disuse and not drinking enough water.

“Ah! I’ll go fetch you some water,” She had run out the door before you could deny her help or learn her name. Sitting up, you tried to stifle a pained groan as your limbs felt sore every way possible.

The kind lady was back quickly, water sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the cup she held. You thanked her before taking a sip, quickly chugging it all down.

“Thank you,” You thanked once more as she took the empty cup. “And I apologize for my disrespectful display, I shall repay you for your kindness.”

“O-oh…you really don’t need to,” She waved her hands erratically, a small blush dusting her cheeks. “You are the one who is to accompany the hero, correct? Grandma Impa has talked about you and the hero much over the years. It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well…” You trailed off, still not knowing her name.

“I’m sorry!” She exclaimed, hands raised to cover her face. “I’m not used to talking. Please, call me Paya.”

“Thank you, Lady Paya,” You bowed your head.

“Y-yes, of course,” She mumbled in response, fidgeting with her hands. “Grandma wishes to meet with you when you’re ready.”

“I’ll go now-” Flipping the blanket off of you, your legs nearly gave out on you when you put your full weight on them.

“Be careful,” Paya gasped, hands held out to catch you. “You really should get some more rest.”

“I don’t mean to worry you, miss,” You smiled awkwardly. “But this is of utmost importance.”

“Right,” She frowned slightly. “Then I’ll escort you to the main room.” The stairs seemed to taunt you as your legs just begged for you to let gravity take its course, but Paya stood dutifully by your side, eyeing you carefully, arm out and ready to grab you before you took a potential tumble. Once you entered the main room, the same lady from before watched you both with a twinkle in her eye. She called your name out like you were an old friend, a chuckle tumbling past her lips.

“Still as selfless as always I see,” She shook her head with a sigh, the chains on her hat swaying. “Take a seat.”

You sat across from her without question, Paya scurrying away the second you seemed stable. “Are you Lady Impa?” You asked, eyes trailing over the elderly woman whose smile turned solemn at your question.

“What do you remember,” The lady asked, hands folded in her lap.

Squinting your eyes, you looked down at the floorboards, “Not…not much. I’ve read my old diary, I don’t fully remember living those moments…but deep down I know it was me.”

“I see,” Impa hummed. “Do you remember your purpose?”

“To aid Link on his journey,” You spoke without missing a beat.

Impa let out a short laugh, “You seem to care greatly for him still. I suppose some things will never change. Unfortunately, he has not shown his face yet.” A mix of relief and concern filled you. You were glad you weren’t too late, but concerned as to why he hasn’t come yet. Had you woken up at the same time? Was he still sleeping? Perhaps you should go search for him-

“In the meantime I will let the owner of the inn know of your predicament, and you will be given a room there,” She explained before grabbing an item you didn’t even notice resting next to her. “But it is clear you know your reason for fighting, so I shall give this to you. Now it is time for you to rest so you are prepared for Link’s arrival.”

“Thank you, Lady Impa,” You bowed, accepting the clothes she handed you with grace. “I shall do my best to uphold the honor of standing by Sir Link and Princess Zelda’s side.”

“I’m sure you will.”

…

Getting rest was easier said than done for you. Perhaps your brain couldn’t remember your past, but your body seemed to remember all too much. You felt so jittery and antsy that sitting down felt like a chore. It didn’t help that bits and pieces of memories were flitting through your head each night. Whispers of those who have already departed from this realm, hopeful memories dashed by reality, it made you feel sick.

And so you found yourself preparing what one would need to go and fight the demon king Ganon. You had asked the villagers if you could work for some rupees, whether it be by fighting nearby monsters to hauling vegetables. It wasn’t much, but it gave you enough to stock up on arrows, food, and even some clothing pieces that looked useful.

It was two weeks later when the hero had finally stepped foot into the village. You had been feeding some chickens when the whispers of the other villagers reached your ears. A strange hylian had appeared with branches for a sword and donned a toga. Apparently he had headed for Impa’s hut, and you were soon to follow. You rushed to finish your chores, thanking the old man kindly for the rupees before dashing up the grand amount of steps that lead to Impa’s hut.

Before you could open the door Paya stood in your way, eyes wide at your desperation.

“Uh-uhm,” She stuttered, pale cheeks turning a light pink. “Grandma is busy at the moment…she said she needs some time alone with the hero.”

You bit your lip, anticipation killing you. Your memory was still fuzzy, peoples faces still blurry, but the two you remembered the most were Princess Zelda and Link. Link who had trained you, Link who was quiet but cared overwhelmingly so, Link who you fought side by side at the end, who sacrificed himself to protect the Princess, who sacrificed himself for you…

But Paya’s anxious demeanor made you keep your wits about you. Letting out a sigh, you took a seat on the first step. You had made it this far, waited for so long, you could wait a few more minutes…at least that was what you had to repeatedly remind yourself as your leg bounced. Your fingers fumbled with the fabric of your past uniform, every second felt like an hour, if you thought waiting days was tough, now that he was here, waiting felt even worse.

Your head snapped back when the door creaked open, revealing the familiar head of blonde hair you regret forgetting. Those cerulean eyes landed on you, but your heart broke when he didn’t seem to remember. No smile like he usually wore around you, no questioning tilt of his head when he worried you were hurt, just a blank look that seemed to question your existence.

“Li…Sir,” You greeted, falling to your knee in front of him. With your head bowed, you missed the way his eyes widened in surprise. Stating your name, you continued your greeting, “Tasked by Princess Zelda, I shall accompany you on your journey to defeat Ganon. My sword is yours. If you need anything, do not be afraid to ask.”

You only lifted your head when you felt him touch your shoulder, Link kneeled across from you, shaking his head. Fear coursed within you, was he rejecting your help? Noticing your fear he opened his mouth before his eyebrows furrowed. Noticing his predicament, you raised your hands and started to sign, ‘Is there a problem with this arrangement?’

His eyes widened, gazing at you in slight awe before signing back, ‘I don’t remember anything.’

‘That’s okay,’ You signed back, a gentle smile resting on your lips. ‘I can help you try and remember.’

‘Thank you,’ Link signed, eyes softening slightly.

‘Of course,’ you signed back. ‘I promise that I will do my duty and help you with any problem that may arise.’

It was then that your long adventure with the hero of Hyrule had begun.

#❥ • my works #loz #legend of zelda #botw #breath of the wild #link botw #botw link #loz x reader #link loz #link loz x reader #legend of zelda x reader #botw x reader #breath of the wild x reader #link botw x reader #botw link x reader #loz link x reader #loz link #x reader

118 notes · View notes

norrisleclercf1 · 6 months ago

Text

Day 1 of 25 Days of Christmas: Decorating the House

Pairing: Mick Schumacher x Reader

Rating: PG

Words: 800

Warnings: None, just fluff

Mick didn't know how many boxes he could lug up the stairs. This was his sixth trip already, and there were still about 10 more boxes full of Christmas gifts. "Angel, are you sure we need all this?" Mick asked, his breath coming in short gasps. He was sweating, and it was the end of November in Switzerland. The sight of Mick struggling with the boxes was comical, and you couldn't help but chuckle. "Mick, it's Christmas, of course. We need all the boxes; what kind of question was that?" You ask, wrapped in garland.

"Angel," He sighs and returns to the basement to grab the rest of the boxes. You hum as the first snowfall starts to fall. You climb up the ladder to lay the garland on the fireplace mantel. It was a rather tall fireplace, one of those old-school brick ones, something you can rarely find, but this house in Switzerland was gorgeous, and the fireplace was the main selling point. Mick comes back up with a couple more boxes, and you can't help but giggle.

"I thought you WEC slash, F1 drivers were in perfect shape to drive?" You joke, and Mikc rolls his eyes and pulls you back, making you shriek as he catches you, kissing all over your face. "Please, you learned how in shape I was last night," He teases and slaps your ass gently before going back, making you blush.

"Touche," You yell and hear him giggle down the steps. Rolling your eyes, you climb the ladder and hum as Christmas music fills the house. Mick finishes bringing up more boxes, and you sigh, putting gold, red, and green ornaments throughout the garland. "Looks pretty, Y/n. Are we going traditional this year?" He asks, and you nod as you got a red and pink vibe last year.

"Yeah, figured we could give the old 90s Christmas vibe. What do you think?" You ask, and Mick smiles. "I think it'd be fun, come here," He says, holding his hand up and helping you down the ladder safely. "Want to do separate Christmas trees or one big one?" You ask, staring at your tree boxes. How about we do the outside porch ones and then the main one in the living room" He asks, and you think it over.

"Perfect," you smile, lean up, and kiss him gently, which has him pulling you close by the waist. Mick smiles into the kiss before pulling away. "Alright, we better start before we're doing this all day," Mick says as you nod and move in different directions. The Christmas music turns up as you two start decorating. You both move through the house, boxes and Christmas decorations thrown around.

"It looks like Santa threw up in here," Mick mumbles as he moves around stuff and fixes you two lunch. You sit on the counter watching your pretty husband. "I know, but think about how pretty our house is going to look, Micky," Mick chuckles and turns to steal a kiss as you smile; Mick turns back to making you two chicken salad ceaser wraps, and you swear you could marry him all over again. "I was thinking we hang lights in the house, just not in the Christmas tree," Mick says, licking his fingers before washing them and handing off your wrap.

You bite into it and moan slightly, "Micky, if I could marry you again, I would," you mumble, making him smile. Leaning forward, he steals a kiss, smiling. I'd marry you again as well," he hums and kisses you again as you two eat, watching the fresh snowfall. "What do you want for Christmas?" You ask gently, leaning your head on his shoulder. "I don't really know, kinda have everything already," He hums as Angie comes running in, lying at his feet.

"Come on, you must want something," you whine. What could you get someone who could get anything he wanted? "Actually, there is something I want," He mumbles, unsure how to bring up this conversation, but now was the perfect time. "Yeah, what's that?" You ask gently, taking the last bite of your wrap. "How about we start having kids?" He asks softly, and you smile gently. "Yeah, I'd like that," You smile softly as you turn and stare at all the boxes behind you.

"But before we try for kids, maybe we should finish decorating," you hum, causing Mick to groan softly and want to bang his head on the counter. "We have too many Christmas decorations," He whines, and you can't help but laugh a little. "Please, there is never enough," Mick shoots up, "Y/n, please, don't go shopping and buy more, please, baby," He begs, and you laugh, moving quickly through the house. You were never going to promise that.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fandom #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x y/n #f1 scenario #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher fic #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher blurb #mick schumacher oneshot #25 days of christmas

151 notes · View notes

redr0sewrites · 1 year ago

Note

Can you write Vox x reader where like the reader just says like really unhinged things and just like vile things whenever they rage and stuff like the internet could be slow or smth and the reader is just like “IM GOING TO RIP OFF MY SKIN” idk man I’m kinda just self projecting rn like you can right anything with it tbh idk sorry for rambling anyway you don’t have to do this if you don’t wanna

THIS IS SO MEEEEE I LOVE THIS IDEA SM!!! sorry it took me a hot minute to reply to this i have over 70 hazbin hotel requests in my inbox 😭

🥀Cw: fluff, crack, silly vox

when he first met you, vox was charmed by your seemingly sweet nature- that is, until you were pissed

your unholy screech of how you were going to rip off your skin if he cut the wifi again was both endearing and confusing in his eyes

vox would just short circuit for a second, just blinking at you while he tries to process what you just said

once it clicks, he just starts giggling. vox very rarely genuinely laughs, most of his laughs are professional or part of the persona he adopts as the leader of vox enterprises, but when he's so shocked by what you just said, he can't control the booming laughter thay fills the room

he's wheezing and gasping, each barking laugh only pissing you off more

"what's so funny? if you keep laughing i am going to fucking break ur fingers like carrot sticks!" you snap, and vox only giggles harder

after a few seconds, you can't help but notice how adorable his laughter is, and soon you don't mind it as much

once you two are officially together, you notice how stressed vox often is, yet how he seems to visibly relax around you

the batshit crazy things you say, which normally disgusts other people, only seem to amuse him

its actually a wonderful dynamic because you bring some spontaneity and slight insanity into vox's otherwise irritating and depressing lifestyle, and vox balances out the crazy things you say and calms you down every time

you often find yourself searching for new phrases to baffle him with, and for new ways to make him laugh

after vox has a stressful day, he enjoys just listening to you ramble about the most insane things and adores hearing whatever fucked up saying you've adopted recently

vox notices himself beginning to copy your speech patterns. he only begins to realize when he slips in an exceptionally odd metaphor into a work meeting and everyone stares at him, yet his heart skips a beat at the thought

there's something so charming to him about the fact that he's adopting your mannerisms, and you truly make him laugh when no one else can

whenever another one of the vees pisses him off, he always comes to you for advice on incredibly deranged comebacks, and you never disappoint!

he's won multiple arguments by just repeating one of your fucked up sayings and the other vees being too lowkey shocked to disagree

vox LOVES IT when you diss people he hates, hearing you ramble some fucked up insults about alastor made him fall in love with you all over again

"that worm on a string fucked up karen cut bob looking ass- if i see him around here again im going to eat a fucking brick" *cue vox looking at you with the biggest heart eyes*

overall, you are both menaces, but you're menaces in love ♥️

vox lay with his head in your lap, the blue light of his screen illuminating the dim room as you rambled mindlessly about your day.

"and THEN, this fucking asshole tried to flirt with me! ME!! as if he doesn't know were dating! ugh, it makes me feel like i have an entire beehive living beneath my skin. i swear if he even looks at me again im going to lick wet cement i can NOT deal. how can you even work with him? he's such a fucking CREEP voxy, i'm going to cut off those ugly ass wings and shove them so far down his throat- hey, are you even listening?"

you look down to see vox half asleep, his eyelids drooping as his light dimmed. "keep talking.." he murmurs, looking up at you with a lazy smile on his face. "you're my favorite person t' listen to.."

i love the idea of vox with a partner who challenges his very idea of power. he clearly wraps himself in a sort of persona, surrounding himself with powerful people and acting like he's so serious and important. i love the idea of him falling in love with someone who can break down his walls in seconds, someone who can dismantle his entire bravado act and who allows him to truly be himself. this is such a wonderful prompt and i am eating this up. nonnie ur awesome!!!!

570 notes · View notes

tayraedoll · 2 months ago

Text

Sinful

I am so sorry for the wait, but it is finally finished! My PR for longest one-shot coming in at 7,139 words. I was not anticipating it being so long at first, but this story took a life of it's own as soon as I started writing it. I hope you enjoy!

Human AU

Summary: You meet a mysterious man at a sex club.

Disclaimer: This fic includes religious views that may be extreme. I am guessing that if you are reading a fanfic based on a show about Hell that this is not a problem for you. But I will let this serve as a warning- you are responsible for your own media consumption.

TW: P in V intercourse, Slight Dom/Sub relationships, religious abuse, religious indoctrination, sexual harassment, injury- bloody nose, use of sex toys, whipping, swearing, alcohol use

Good girls like you shouldn't be here.

You stare up at the inconspicuous building, there was absolutely nothing special about it. Just a plain, old, red brick building with a few vines growing across the left side. The fact that there were no windows was the most unusual thing about it. Yet, your feet remained firmly planted on the sidewalk outside, as if an unseen force was barring your entry into the establishment. Your heartbeat thrummed erratically in your chest, your body reacting to what this building was- what it represented- despite it's innocent appearance.

The Rubber Duck was certainly an unusual name for a sex club, though you supposed that is probably how it avoided attracting attention to itself. You slowly reach your hand into your pocket and pull out the duck pendant that would grant you entry into the city's most exclusive sex club. Letting out a breath, you think back on the events that led you to be here.

You grew up in a small town; in a strict, religious household. The Bible was law and you were expected to attend church a minimum of twice per week. As a young woman, you were raised to be submissive and always put a man's needs above your own. You were expected to meet a young man, marry him, and have children rather than focus any energy on your own career or personal development. You were to be a homemaker, wife, and mother and never question your husband or wonder at the world beyond the walls of your household.

However, the older you got, the more these expectations weighed on your spirit. You knew that your household would become your prison, so you ran and left it all far behind you. Ironically, you found yourself in Pentacity; a place that was rumored to be so veiled in sin that it was often referred to as PentaGRAMcity. You were raised to believe this place was Hell on Earth, but now, it served as your haven. It was here that you could finally be whoever you wanted to be.

Due to your upbringing, you were quite familiar with the deadly sins; you had spent much of your time in Pentacity working your way down the list of them to discover what about them was so horrible. You had to admit, laying around your apartment doing nothing for a week straight and eating an entire package of Thin Mints was quite nice. There was one sin you had been avoiding however- lust.

The extent of your knowledge of sex was simply abstinence until marriage or you'll go to hell. You had attempted to look a few things up, but quickly slammed your laptop shut with wide eyes and red cheeks when you saw more than you bargained for. Perhaps it would make more sense for you to wait until you met someone special, someone who loved you, before ridding yourself of your virginity. But that sounded like what the priests used to tell you and you were dead set on breaking all the rules now.

You glance back up at the heavy, wooden door in front of you, taking a deep breath and willing your feet to finally move you across the threshold and into the lion's den. Good girls like you shouldn't be here.

But you didn't want to be a good girl anymore.

Once inside, you were greeted by a tall man with dark hair sitting behind a check-in desk. The lobby was rather small, the desk nearly spanning the width of the room, but it felt cozy. Warm scents of vanilla, cinnamon, and a hint of apple hit your nose and soft classical music reached your ears. It quickly became obvious to you that the owner took great care in putting clients at ease, a reassurance that this was a safe place to explore one's desires.

"How may I be of assistance?", the man asked in a soft, British accent. He flashed a warm smile that helped to ease your nerves.

"Umm...I'm new here, this is my first visit", you awkwardly hold up your pendant, face flushing in embarrassment.

The man simply smiled at you again and nodded, "Ah yes, I was told we had a new member. Here is the contract, a copy of your application is attached; please verify this information is correct and sign at the bottom. Only the owner and myself will ever see this information, the goal for our guests is anonymity, so please choose a name you'd like to be called while here." He extended a thick stack of papers and a pen towards you. You looked back over your application, reminiscing filling the the nearly 25-page document out.

The Rubber Duck only served a limited number of clients, so they only opened up applications for new ones when current clients discontinued their contracts for whatever reason. The owner was extremely particular of the the clientele his establishment served; there was a grueling background check to make sure you weren't a sexual predator as well as a test for every STI under the sun. It was thorough, but it ensured that everyone was safe. Once you verified that your information was accurate, you moved on to read the official membership contract that was ALSO 25 pages long; the basics of it were that everything done would be 100% consensual and if a party wished to cease a sexual act at any point then the other parties involved were required to stop all further action immediately. Failure to comply with the rules would result in immediate termination of the contract and removal from the establishment.

It was all reasonable and straightforward, the only part that gave you pause was the fake name you'd go by. You bit your bottom lip, racking your brain for something that would suit you but would also (hopefully) be sexy. Finally, you settled on one- Angel. You quickly signed off on it before you could overthink it and slid the completed contract back over to the gentleman who was patiently waiting on you.

He glanced down at it for a second before beaming at you once again, "Welcome to The Rubber Duck, Miss Angel. If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to let myself or the bartender know. We hope you enjoy your time with us." At the end of his speech, he reached below his desk and pressed something that made the wall next to you open up a hidden doorway. He gestured to the new entryway and you took that as your cue to enter.

There was no going back now.

The main room of The Rubber Duck was large, with a bar situated on the far wall. There were an assortment of tables, chairs, and couches that various couples and multiples sat at conversing. The walls were decorated in assorted purple and golden hues, the lights dimmed slightly to enhance the ambiance. The sweet smell of apple pie followed you into this room, blending slightly with the smell of perfumes from various patrons. Surrounding the main room were various doorways that, you guessed, led to the private rooms where people could act out their fantasies in private.

You nibble on your lip again, feeling a bit awkward standing in the middle of the room. Didn't the man at the front desk say you could talk to the bartender? The bar was probably your best bet on trying to blend in, you could use a drink anyway. You quickly make your way over to the bar; it wasn't busy, only a few other couples seated on the opposite side of the U-shaped table from where you sat. You were so busy taking in your surroundings that you hadn't noticed the bartender approach until he cleared his throat to catch your attention, "How can I help you Miss?"

Slightly startled, you whip back around and find the most beautiful man you had ever seen smiling at you politely. He had golden hair with deep side burns, pale skin, and warm, honeyed eyes. You wondered briefly how his eyes could be such an unnatural shade, body modifications were not uncommon in Pentacity, so they could have been either surgically done or perhaps he was just wearing colored contacts. He wore a white suit that was tailored perfectly to fit his lithe frame, complete with golden accents and a dark purple bowtie that fit the color scheme of the room. The handsome man was on the shorter side, but his broad shoulders hinted at a musculature that lay underneath his suit that would suggest he was definitely not weak.

You gulp, your mouth going dry, and it occurs to you that he had asked you a question and you had spent longer than can be considered polite just ogling at him. "Uhh I'm not sure. Is there anything you recommend?"

The man chuckles, his voice- deep and smooth- washes over you like rich brandy; you are sure you can get drunk on just his voice alone. "I've got just the drink, wait here for a sec."

He darts off to make you your mystery drink, leaving you blushing like a school girl on your barstool. Get it together, you mentally chide yourself. Your fingers come up to fiddle with the ends of your hair, a nervous tick of yours, as you try to regain your composure. You start to think that joining a sex club in order to lose your virginity may not have been a good idea. Before you can make a cowardly dash for the door, however, the bartender returns with a lime-green drink and sets it down in front of you. "An appletini, the house specialty", he beams at you.

You take an inquisitive sip, humming in appreciation at the sweet but crisp taste of the cocktail and smile back at the mystery man before thanking him. "So, what should I call you New Girl?", he asks as he wipes down the bar.

You sputter, coughing into your drink a bit, "Is it that obvious?"

Mystery Man hums, "I'm the bartender- I see everyone who comes in here- and I have never seen you before. Plus your eyes keep darting around like you are about to bolt at any second. It's normal for newcomers to be nervous, but I promise you that no one will do you any harm here."

Your hands return to their fiddling with your hair, a move that does not go unnoticed by the gentleman keeping you company. "Sorry, I've just never been in a place like this before. I'm Angel by the way." You reflexively stick your hand out over the bar for a handshake, only to immediately feel awkward about doing so because who shakes hands with the bartender?!

However, your worries were quickly dashed when a warm hand wrapped around yours, a curious look in his eyes as he regarded you, "People here call me Lu, unless they want to get cheeky and call me Lulu.", he laughs lowly to himself. You giggled and finish off your appletini, only to have a second one immediately replace it. You liked Lu, he was easy to get along with and made you feel safe and secure.

Before you knew it, you were six appletinis deep and never bothered to leave the bar. Over the course of the night you had let your guard down, your body draping over the edge of the bar as you leaned in to get closer to Lu and your fingers were relaxed around your martini glass. You were so engrossed in the story the blonde was telling about a disagreement he had with his family- most notably his brother Michael- that you hadn't realized the club had emptied for the night.

"So Angel, mind if I ask you just one last question? I'll admit, I have been dying to know the answer", Lu asked as he was wiping the bar down one last time. You nod, smiling and feeling a bit tipsy as you played with the apple garnish in your empty glass. Lu stopped wiping the counters down and turned so he was fully facing you, his expression still gentle but more serious, "Why are you here?"

Your gaze flickers back to your glass as your fingertips brush through the ends of your hair; you take a moment to gather your thoughts, mostly because you were not sure how exactly to voice them. Finally, you give him the only answer that really made any sense, "I just don't want to do what others tell to anymore. I want to take control of my own life."

There's a heavy silence after your confession and you hesitantly look back up, expecting to see pity in those amber eyes. What you actually discovered in those honeyed depths, however, wasn't pity- but understanding. He looked at you like he was staring straight into the depths of your restless spirit and he held the key to your gilded cage; he looked at you in a way that one would discern their own reflection.

You lost track of time as you stared back into his golden irises, it could have been seconds or hours before he finally spoke again, whispering softly as though you'd bolt if he spoke any louder, "How are you getting home tonight Angel?"

You bite your lip, but you can't bring yourself to break eye contact, "I took the bus here."

"The Rubber Duck offers a shuttle service, it ensures that our clients get home safely despite how they choose to indulge for the night. I'll ask Charon to drive you home," he walks around the bar and extends a hand for you to take before escorting you back to the front lobby.

It turns out that Charon is the man at the front desk, he immediately grabbed a set of keys and went out to pull a car around front at Lu's request. As Lu was helping you into the backseat of the white Rolls Royce, you turn to him and smile shyly, "Thank you for keeping me company tonight Lu, you are a very good bartender. You should get a raise!"

Lu chuckled fondly at your remarks, "I will make sure to tell the owner."

Before he could pull away you grab his arm, curiosity taking over, "What is he like? The owner."

Lu's expression suddenly becomes guarded, his jaw tensing slightly, "What have you heard?"

You look behind him slightly as you sorted through the rumors you'd heard on the street, as well as the things you were told by your church elders. "That the man is the Devil, that he is the living embodiment of sin itself", your gaze returns to his face, catching the way it falls slightly and the look in his eyes becomes distant.

He turns back to you with a sad smile, "Goodnight Angel", and closes the door.

Charon and you spend the whole ride back to your apartment in comfortable silence. You keep replaying Lu's strange behavior in your head, there was something in his expression that mystified you- why did he care about the reputation of the club's owner? You knew one thing for sure- you were going to find out.

You had returned to The Rubber Duck every night the following week and every night you sat at the bar talking with Lu. It was strange, when you appeared at the club the second night he was back to his chipper self, no sign of the melancholy you caught a glimpse of the night before.

And it was never brought up since.

The few times you had tried to ask about it, the blonde was quick to change the subject or flitted away to get another member a drink. It frustrated you- what was he trying to hide?

"Y'know, the point of a pleasure club is to indulge in your wildest fantasies. Not just sit and hang out with the bartender every night", Lu's baritone voice broke your train of thought. Honestly, you had all but forgotten that The Rubber Duck was a sex club. Your thirst to solve the mystery of who the bartender was overshadowed your quest to lose your virginity the past week.

"I'm just taking things at my own pace. It's not like anyone else has tried to hit on me either", you pout.

Lu chuckles as he tops off a beer for another member, the bar is much busier tonight. It's Friday and the whole club is busier than it has a been all week; some of the faces you recognize from previous visits but there were many that were new. "That's probably because you have spent every night with me Angel. I'll make it a bit easier on you tonight though, the bar is busy so I won't be able to horde your time tonight like usual. Try talking to one other person tonight", he gave you a wink, clearly dismissing you to your own devices tonight.

You sigh and saunter over to a nearby, uninhabited table. You nurse your appletini and spend your time people-watching the other members of the club. You were mesmerized by a tall, dark-haired man blowing cannabis smoke into a shorter man's lips when the chair next to you was loudly pulled back, startling you out of your thoughts.

"Easy Sweetheart, I don't bite. No reason to be so jumpy", a harsh, Russian-sounding accent rang out from beside you. An older man with a greyed beard and short-buzzed hair took the extra seat. A cold, dead look in his eyes immediately set alarm bells off in your head.

"You're new," he stated, "What name have you chosen for yourself?" He began looking you up and down, like a predator sizing up its prey.

"Angel", you reply stiffly, subtly angling yourself away from the man.

The man notices your discomfort and smiles, the wicked grin shooting chills down your spine as it stretched across his face. He slowly reaches a hand out and curls it around your leg just above your knee. "The fresh ones are always nervous at the beginning. Come Angel, I'll show you a good time."

He reaches for you hand and you clutch it to your chest before he can grab it. "No, I am not interested." Your heart is hammering in your chest, sweat begins to pool along your brow and your face feels like it is on fire. You just want this man to go away. "Please leave me alone", you plead more breathily than you would have liked.

A disturbingly dark chuckle is his only response as he once again reaches for your hand and pulls, trying to drag you off with him.

Before you can fully comprehend what is going on, a low growl cuts through the air like a knife, "I believe the lady said no." Your arm was suddenly wrenched free from the man's grasp, the momentum sending you back down into your chair. You heard a sickening crunch followed by a thud and a yowl of agony; when your eyes finally adjusted to the scene in front of you, you found Lu holding the man against the wall by his shirt and the man grasping his nose which was bleeding profusely. Lu's face was twisted in an unbridled rage you had never seen on him before; his caring, soft, and open features were now callous and sharp.

It did not seem to matter to either party that Lu was several inches shorter than the man he had pinned as Lu leaned forward to whisper menacingly, "Get the fuck out of my club. Your privileges are hereby revoked." Lu removed his grip from the guy's shirt and the man crumpled to the floor in a heap before he took off for the exit, holding his broken nose the whole way out. A warm pressure on your cheek suddenly startled you as you stared after the man's retreating form, Lu was knelt in front of you and you hadn't even realized it. He opened his mouth and spoke a single name- your real name- and your breath caught in your throat.

Lu hesitantly reached for your hand, gently tugging you up when you didn't pull away. He led you passed the bar- which you noticed was now completely devoid of all guests- and through a door hidden behind it. He closed the door behind him before turning to you, concern clearly etched into his golden eyes,"Are you alright?"

"How did you know my name?", you blurted.

His shoulders slump, he sighs and looks anywhere but at you for a moment. Your mind is racing a million miles a minute, your fingers harshly gripping at the ends of your hair as you start to think out loud. "Charon said only he and the owner would know our real names. Does that mean you..." you trail off and look back at your friend with wide eyes.

Lu looks back at you with regret now swimming in his honeyed eyes before nodding once in confirmation. You struggle to make sense of the puzzle that now formed in your head. You thought about all the things you had heard about the man who owned The Rubber Duck- he was a heathen, a liar, a traitorous snake, and a corruptor. He was the devil.

But none of those descriptors matched the man you had come to know. Lu was kind, gentle, a great listener and storyteller. He had protected you as if he were your guardian angel.

"I understand if you are angry," Lu began, "I haven't been forthcoming with you." He sits heavily onto a nearby couch, "I try not to disclose my identity to newcomers. I hold off on letting people know who the bartender is for as long as possible until I have to use a show of force to reprimand someone or kick them out."

You cock your head to the side curiously, "Why do you work at the bar? Why not hire an actual bartender?"

He looks at you with a half-smile, "It allows me the best view of the lounge... and people aren't afraid to show you who they really are if they think you are meant to serve them."

You nod in understanding, "I'm not angry. This actually clears up a lot of questions for me. Thank you Lu, for sharing this information with me now."

His smile now spreads across his face with a light-hearted chuckle of relief. You smile back and stoop down to hug him. When you pull away you look around the room, finally taking it in after your nerves settled from the altercation out front; when your brain registered the items that surrounded you, your skin instantly flared red-hot. You were in some sort of play room you had only ever heard about in books and porn. Along the far wall was a shelf with assorted toys including whips, paddles, and canes of all kinds; next to it was a large, chestnut drawer. The wall immediately to your right held an X-shaped cross, while the wall to your left had a king-sized bed with a large frame featuring all kinds of loops and handles. Your mouth went dry, you were completely transfixed, all you could do was stare.

Lu watched you take in the sights of the room; he thought for a moment before a sly, closed-mouth grin took over his face. "I'll admit, it's been awhile since I've used this room. I'm fairly particular about my partners, most people don't realize I have my own playroom." He turned back to you and slowly extended his hand to you, "Do you trust me?"

You don't even think about your answer, you simply accept his hand and let him lead you to the shelves across the room. His free hand runs over some of the whips on display, "There's pleasure in pain, Angel; if you'll allow it, I'd like to show you just how much those lines can blur." He grabs a smaller whip made of deep-black leather, it reminded you of a riding crop used for horses. Lu slowly turned your wrist in his hand so your palm faced towards the ceiling. He looks deeply into your eyes and you can't bring yourself to look away from his calm, honest expression as he cracks the whip across the meaty part of your hand. You gasp more from the sound, it burned slightly, but it wasn't painful. Your face grows hot and you begin to pant slightly, your clothes starting to feel a bit restricting on your sensitive body. Lu watched every minute change in your body language, grinning again when you reacted so positively to the experimental tap he gave, "I'd like to teach you how to safely live out your desires and fantasies. Will you allow me to do that with you Angel?"

You stare at him with wide eyes and nod quickly. Lu chuckles at your eager expression, "I need you to use your voice Baby. I need to hear your verbal consent. You can always change your mind and say no if it becomes too much."

Swallowing hard to get rid of the lump in your throat, you are finally able to squeak out a "Yes". Satisfied with your confirmation of consent, Lu leads you over to the X-cross. He leans close to you, breath fanning across your cheek as he whispers, "We will use the traffic light system. When I ask you what color you are I want you to answer green for 'keep going', yellow for 'I'm unsure', and red for 'stop'. You can tell me to stop at any point and I promise you that I will obey. Do you understand?" He pulls away from you slightly as he gauges your reaction.

You nod again before a breathy "Yes", escapes your lips. Lu chuckles richly, "Good girl. Now, how about we get out of these clothes?" His lips crashed into yours before you could react, a startled yelp jumping out of your throat that he greedily swallowed. The kiss was firm, but gentle; you clung to his shirt as his arms snaked around your waist to pull you closer. You felt his tongue swipe against your bottom lip, asking for entry that you happily granted. He tasted like apples and spice, the same heavenly concoction that made the club smell so homely. God, everything about this man made you feel safe.

Both your shirts and pants were quickly discarded onto the floor. Your fingers traced down the planes of his stomach, marveling at the ridges of muscle that felt as if they were carved from stone. Lu's fingers trace along the straps of your candied-apple-red bra, he breaks away from you to take in the sight of you- panting and breathless- in nothing but your underwear before him. His voice seems to drop an octave when he speaks, "Red is definitely your color Baby. You are ravishing just like this."

He slowly guides the straps down your arms before reaching behind you to expertly unclasp your bra. You've never been so naked in front of a man before, but strangely, you did not feel uncomfortable as his eyes roamed across the skin that was newly exposed. You feel your nipples harden under his stare, making you bite your lip in anticipation. He pulls you in for another passionate kiss before slowly walking you back to the cross. Once there, he raises your hands over your head and clasps each wrist into a restraint, "What color are you Angel?", he asks against your lips.

"Green", you respond in a voice that is much clearer than you anticipated.

He hums, "Good. Remember, if you are uncomfortable at any point all you have to do is tell me." He walks over to the drawers and opens the top one, pulling out a sleek, burgundy red strip of silk. When he returns to you, he immediately ties it around your head, covering your eyes. "Losing your sight enhances your other senses," he explains, "I'd like you to be as sensitive to touch as I can get you."

Lu's fingers trail down your sides, his nails scraping your skin just hard enough to raise goosebumps along your flesh. His breath ghosts down your neck as he begins leaving open-mouthed kisses on your pulse point. You throw your head back and cry out the loudest, most pornographic moan of your entire life. You can feel his smile at your reaction as his lips trail down between your breasts and over your navel. When he reaches your pubic bone, his lips skip over to your right thigh and continue their journey downward- entirely bypassing the area you wanted him most. "Lu please!", you protest but all he does is chuckle back at you.

"Patience Angel, we've only just begun. I've barely touched you yet." he grips your leg behind the knee and lifts it so he can more easily skim his lips down your shin. He plants his very last kiss on the tops of your toes before he moves your leg out and shackles your ankle to the cross. Your breath catches in your throat when he stands back up and begins the ritual all over again, but traveling down your left side this time. By the time your left ankle is restrained, you are a writhing mess of pure need. You were now blindfolded, completely spread open, and restrained for him. The only thing keeping you from being bare to him as well was the tiny, red g-string you wore which barely covered anything.

His voice breaks you from your thoughts, "Color Baby Girl?"

"Green! So green! Please, please just touch me!", your voice sounds so pathetically desperate that you barely recognize it.

The blonde man hums, "Have you ever masturbated before?"

The question catches you off-guard; you sputter slightly before answering, "Y-yes. Why is that relevant?"

"What did you use? Your fingers? Or have you used toys on yourself?", he cocks his head to the side curiously even though you can't see it.

"Uhh- just my fingers. I'm not exactly sure how to use toys..." your voice trails off as your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Sex itself was taboo in the household you grew up in, and anything that gravitated towards being "kinky" was downright deviant.

Lu did not laugh or do anything to cast judgement on your lack of knowledge, he simply nodded to himself as if you just confirmed his suspicions. "I'd like to use a couple of things on you- the crop that you felt before and a bullet vibrator. Both are good toys for beginners as we figure out what you like."

Your heart clenched at the word "we"; you were hoping that whatever happens with Lu tonight was not a one-off situation. You nod and respond "Yes, Lu."

His hands suddenly cup your face gently, "I'd like you to call me by my full name- Lucifer."

You don't need to have your sight to feel the way his eyes were boring into you. You swallow thickly before whispering "Yes, Lucifer."

Lucifer's body shudders at the sound of his name rolling off your lips, "Good girl."

He walks away from you and you hear him shuffle through one of the drawers. When he returns you feel him begin to glide a smooth, soft object down your stomach, starting right below your breasts. When it reaches your belly button it suddenly starts to vibrate, your body jolts at the unexpected sensation but it was not unpleasant. "It's just the vibrator", Lucifer explains, "it's nothing to be afraid of. All it will do is make you feel tingly, and this kind isn't meant for penetration so it will remain outside of your body. What color are you now?"

"Green," you gasp out as the vibrator travels lower, however, he pulls it away before it reaches the apex of your thighs and you groan in frustration.

"Are you ready to begin?", his voice is darker and more husky than you've heard it before, it erupts goosebumps across your skin.

Truthfully, you've been ready; now, the anticipation and nerves come all at once at the thought that he will finally give you what you crave.

"Yes Lucifer."

"Good girl."

There's stillness then, you strain your ears to hear anything that may give you any indication as to where he is or what he is doing. Did he just leave you here like this? Just as you were about to call out to him, the first crack of the crop landed across your outer thigh. Your sharp inhale was more from the sound it made than any actual pain felt, until the vibrator was pressed directly to the spot the crop just was- the vibrations soothing the now reddened skin.

Before you could fully comprehend what was going on, the crop landed on your other thigh with the vibrator quickly following it. Every nerve in your body was alight, the sensations nearly overwhelming. When the crop came down close to your inner thigh, you moaned wantonly; when the vibrator soothed the aching spot, your wrists drew their restraints taut. Lucifer gradually got closer and closer to your barely-covered mound with each whack, and your cries became more desperate. Right before he was about the finally reach your aching core, there was a pause.

"Color Angel?"

"Oh my god fucking GREEN!", you scream. By this point, you were sure you would cry if he stopped now.

You braced yourself, but the whip did not hit your clit as you thought it would. Instead, the whip hit your nipple gently but sharply as the vibrator was pressed on your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. The stinging sensation on your nipple coupled with the vibrator intensely stimulating your clit hurled you over the cliff at a speed you did not think possible. Your jaw dropped open wide as you screeched out a sound you had never heard yourself make before as your orgasm crashed through you. Your legs buckled beneath you and Lucifer caught you so that you wouldn't strain your wrists by making them hold your bodyweight. Lucifer gently ran his hands through your hair as he whispered words of praise, he removed your blindfold and kissed you sweetly while freeing your hands from the restraints. Once your legs stopped trembling, he let you go and freed your ankles as well.

"You did so well Baby Girl, especially for your first time", he kissed your forehead and you smiled up at him. Then you frowned as a realization dawned on you.

"What about you?" you ask tentatively.

"What about me?" he looked down at you curiously.

"I want you to feel good too. I don't want to be done yet", you move to kiss him, he allows it but pulls away quickly to look into your eyes.

"I don't want you to feel that you need to do anything you are not ready for. I promise, I'm fine."

You shook your head, you were going to watch this man fall apart if it was the last thing you did. "I want to Lucifer, please, let me make you feel good", you looked up at him through your lashes and pressed yourself to his chest, rubbing against his erection subtly.

Lucifer hissed and gripped your shoulders, "Yes, okay fine!" Then he grinned mischievously before handing the crop over to you. Your heart skipped a beat as you reflexively wrapped your fingers around the leather handle. "On one condition Angel- you said you came here because you wanted to be in control, so, be in control Baby." He backed himself up to the cross and waited patiently for you to follow him. You stared at the whip in your hands- were you really capable of using this on him? What if you hurt him? I mean yea, he had used it on you and it felt good, but he knew what he was doing and you did not. As if sensing your turmoil, Lucifer spoke up again, "You won't hurt me Baby, I'll teach you how to use that thing properly", he winked at you encouragingly.

You took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully to calm your nerves and squared your shoulders as you made you way over to him. Grabbing the blindfold from him, you invaded his space to force him against the cross and effectively cut his sight off the way he did yours earlier. You then restrained his wrists, once you were sure he couldn't move, you figured it was time for a little payback. Just as he did to you, you wrapped your lips around the skin on his pulse point and sucked gently, earning a whine from the King Sin himself. That noise shot straight to your core and your thighs clenched, suddenly, hearing him make that sound as many times as you could became your life's mission. You shackled his ankles in in the same fashion as he did yours, smiling devilishly when you heard his breath hitch as your lips ran down his thighs parallel to his length.

Now, he was helpless before you. You bit your lip at the sight of his chest heaving with every breath in his state of arousal. "What color are you Lucifer?" you made sure to ask to prolong his torture like he did yours.

"Green Baby Girl, all the way green.", he rasped. "Now, with the crop, concentrate mostly on the thigh. The butt is also a good place but it is hard to reach from this angle. If you go for the groin or chest, ease up on your swings- those areas are more sensitive. Never go for the face, throat, or joints."

You nod, hands squeezing the crop to help ground you "Got it. Are you ready to begin?"

"Yes, Angel."

You took a pause just like he did at first, although, yours was mostly to steel your nerves rather than to leave him in suspense. You bit your lip as you eyed a spot on his outer thigh, swallowing the lump in your throat, you finally brought yourself to crack the crop across his pale flesh.

His reaction was immediate, a whine hissing from between his lips as his body started to tremble. You had to clench your thighs again as you watched him respond to your dominance; something in you just clicked, like a puzzle piece locking into place.

And you craved for more.

You barely gave a pause before hitting his other thigh in the same place; this time, however, you bent low and sucked on the raised flesh hard. The guttural moan the man above you let out was all the confirmation you needed to keep going. You slowly made your way towards his crotch, his thighs peppered with deep, purple hickeys as you went. The sight of Lucifer completely marked up by you was intoxicating, you couldn't take it anymore- you had to have him.

You dropped the crop and pulled him down roughly for sloppy, desperate kiss. He groaned into your mouth and you swallowed it greedily. "I need you, please, I need you so bad Lu", you pleaded.

"Untie me, Angel, and you can have me", his voice was warm and thick like molasses. You scrambled to release the restraints, your trembling hands making the process ten times more difficult. When his hands were finally freed, Lu quickly released his ankles before grabbing you and pulling you against him. His tongue invaded your mouth with the same unbridled need yours did earlier. His hands trailed down your back, cupping your ass before pulling your panties down and letting them pool around your feet. He then lifted you by your thighs and walked you over to the bed, sitting down on the edge as you straddled his lap.

You couldn't wait any longer, you clawed at his boxer briefs to get them down just low enough for his cock to spring free. Not giving yourself time to hesitate, you lined him up at your entrance and slowly forced yourself to sink down on him. Your body tensed slightly as the stretch burned at first, Lucifers fingers rubbed soothing circles into your spine as he whispered praise in your ear. You stilled and took a few deep breaths once he was fully sheathed inside of you, Lucifer cupped your face in his hands and leaned his forehead against yours, "You're taking me so well Baby Girl, you feel absolutely incredible. Take your time, we will take things at your pace."

Once the stinging dissipated, you moved your hips in a slow circle in his lap; pleasure bolted up your spine like lightning and you cried out as Lu grunted. His hands flew to your hips as he began to guide you through the movements, sliding up and down his shaft slowly at first but picking up speed as you went. Your nails dug into his shoulders as your toes curled, soon, you were grinding your hips into his with reckless abandon as all you cared about was chasing the pleasure he was giving you.

"Fuck Angel, you are so fucking perfect. Where have you been all my life?", Lu grunted out between groans. You're mewls were rising in pitch, your movements getting sloppy as your ecstasy climbed higher and higher.

"Lu! I n-need more! Please!", you gasped.

"Don't worry Baby, I've got you", Lu's hand found your clit and instantly began rubbing tight circles in time with your hips. The explosion of pleasure was so intense that you threw your head back and screamed out.

"That's it my Angel, just let it go", he coaxed and it was your undoing. Your vision went white as your entire body tensed with the force of your orgasm. Your mind barely registered that you were babbling, repeating Lucifer's name like a prayer as you came down from your high. While your body went completely limp, Lucifer took charge and kept your hips in position as he thrusted up into you, chasing his own climax.

When he finally reached his peak, he moaned your name low in his chest and sunk himself as deeply into you as he could get. He touched his forehead to yours again and you both just stared deeply into each other's eyes, no words needed to see the promises held within them for your entwined futures together.

You finally did it, you had lost your virginity- in your own way and on your own terms. With the man who was rumored to be the Devil himself.

And you had no doubt that he was your salvation.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #fem reader #subby men #dom/sub relationship #fluff #religious trauma

57 notes · View notes