#i would drag this man to food markets

[ozzgin]

“Do you mean it in the sense that Reader goes through monster boyfriends and is quick to dump them for the next catch”

Yep. Just a vile reader who’s breaking hearts left and right. I think you’ll write it beautifully if you channel your evil side like when you play the sims! ☺️

-👘

Yandere! Monsters x Heartbreaker! Reader

You've always been a free spirit, unable to settle on a single partner. Even after being abruptly transported into a different dimension where you are the only human surrounded by monsters, this habit of yours has persisted. Except monsters, as you will see, are harder to discard than humans. They aren't as willing to accept rejection.

Content: female reader, reader is a player, monster smut

Ah, how troublesome. He won't stop calling. You lazily pick up the phone and look for the options to block the number, clicking your tongue in irritation. You'd specifically told him you're not interested in anything serious. "Who's calling?" The man shuffles under the sheets, still half-asleep. "No one." You respond curtly, glaring at the intruder. "It's morning already, by the way. When are you leaving?"

You slam the door shut before the overnight guest can bring up the classic "Will I see you again", and exhale theatrically in relief. Finally alone again. You look up and shake your fist menacingly, as if whichever entity governing this world is responsible for your bad luck. You've always been utterly indifferent towards committed relationships, and yet most fuck buddies end up head over heels for you, dragging themselves at your feet like pitiful beggars. Pathetic and a pain in the ass to deal with.

Well, someone must be up there, because your situation feels too much like a sassy answer to your complaint. You've just rushed out of your apartment a moment ago and last time you checked, the concierge office wasn't on a rocky hill covered in deep cracks erupting with lava, stretching out into the seemingly unending horizon. Where the hell are you? You turn on your heels, reaching for the door, only to find out - who would've expected? - that it's gone. Great. Your immediate explanation is that the guy you've mistakenly brought home last night must've slipped something in your drinks. All this for a sloppy, clumsy eating out.

The worry of being drugged vanishes quickly once the first creatures of the realm appear. Hard to believe anything on the market could cause such detailed hallucinations that can sniff and touch you: Some alligator-looking minions with eyes popping out of their backs slid out of a nearby crevice to investigate the newcomer. Ironically enough, they seem to be the ones shocked by your appearance. Once they've hesitantly assessed your presence, they scurry aside to discuss their findings. "What could it be?" You hear one mumble, completely baffled. For whatever reason you can understand their language, so you decide to speed up their detective work. "Ever heard of human?" You shout, with a hint of sarcasm in your voice. The beasts gasp in unison. "Nonsense! Straight out of a children's tale!"

Eventually, after a lot of confusion and pointed fingers, you manage to figure out your predicament. You've somehow landed in a world of monsters, where humans are more of a fictional, mythical existence. Thankfully they don't seem to consider your potential as food, though you're not sure if the sudden, massive ambush of creatures is any better. The alligator-like quadrupeds brought you to the nearest settlement and had to form a barrier to stop the curious beasts from almost trampling you in their frenzy to see "the human". You've garnered ridiculous amounts of attention, yet such reaction is to be expected; how often would an earthling wander into their world? It could very well be a lifetime singularity for many.

As the days pass and you become more accustomed to your fate, you begin to feel that familiar calling. It doesn't look like you'll be going home anytime soon and a lady has her needs. Additionally, whatever popularity you had back in the human world is a minuscule fraction of what you're currently experiencing here. In the eyes of the monsters, you're an exotic treat that cannot be refused. It shouldn't be too hard to find yourself a partner, or two. Or three. Who keeps count nowadays?

You remember stumbling upon a postcard print of "The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife" at some museum shop. You immediately picked up the thick cardboard, eyeing the artwork in amusement. A woman enveloped in the limbs of two octopuses and very obviously enjoying herself. Who even came up with the pairing, you wondered at the time. Whatever the artist was thinking, you can certainly see his point now. The first one to receive your indecent proposal was an eldritch creature of sorts, something straight out of Lovecraft's lucid dreams. Dark, long tendrils sprawling out of an amorphous core - which you assume is its head based on the bulging, glistening orbs hungrily staring at you. Your whole body is throbbing under the tight hold of the slippery tentacles, wrapping around you in masterful intricacy. You could see the result featured in a bondage magazine, though you don't...can't ponder much on it given the fact you're, well, stuffed with monstrous appendages. You doubt any genital variation back home could compare. The monster is even polite enough to occasionally wipe away the continuous stream of drool spilling out of your whining mouth. Towards the end you barely have a voice anymore, throat sore from the loud moans and merciless constriction. Your muscles contract all at once, overwhelmed by the sensations. Whatever sensitive areas you might have are presently aching under the needy fondling of the creature.

Mind-blowing. The memory is enough to have you wet and squirming with desire. Even more so when you consider the other varieties of monsters ready to fuck you senseless. Soon enough you're surveying the neighborhood for the ideal suitors and thankfully you don't have to worry about making wrong choices, as there's always a next target. Thus the following weeks fill you with a particular kind of nostalgia (among other things and fluids), reminding you of the bed-hopping in the human realm. From werewolves drowning out your whimpers with their desperate howling, to hooved legs of hybrids violently thrusting into you until you're a dripping mess. "Look at me" is what one of the beasts demanded in a low growl, turning you on with its ragged voice and clawed hand encircling your frail neck. Although you had to ask it where exactly to look, given it was covered entirely in eyes.

You yawn and stare at the ceiling, reminiscing about the depraved fuckfest you're currently recovering from. You might've overdone it with the last one. Alas, you came enough times to make up for it. Just as you turn around to readjust the ice pack, you hear a loud thud coming from the entrance. You (carefully) sit up and rub your eyes, trying to focus on the shadow figure approaching your bed. It's one of the lizard monsters, swiftly slithering across the wall and landing over you with an angered expression. "Where the fuck is that dog?" it inquires with a hiss. "What? Who're you talking about?" you mumble, wildly confused. "The one that dared to touch you."

Oh, not this crap again. You almost roll your eyes. "You never said anything about us being together." Is your annoyed reply. "What? I thought it'd be obvious you belong to me!" You're about to question the strange logic, but your couple's quarrel is interrupted by the sound of shattered glass. The many-eyed monster crawls its way in with fluid, uncanny movements, releasing a deafening screech once it notices the lizard in your bed. "Off! Get off my human now!" is what it finally manages to verbalize in its fury. Okay, it seems to be the common belief. To clear off any shred of doubt remaining, the ceiling gives in and crumbles like putty under the weight of an enormous tentacle. You scream and cover your face from the bits of rubble flying everywhere, but you're quickly sheltered by another thick appendage looping itself around you, against the wrathful protests of the lizard. You did not anticipate the eldritch creature could expand to this gargantuan size.

For the first time since arriving here, you feel homesick. At least back home you could get rid of your annoying admirers with the slide of a button. Is there a larger scale alternative for cosmic blasphemies? You shake your fist (up? down? you can't tell in the darkness of the tentacle shield) towards the entity once more. Damn it, you've learned your lesson. Several steps must’ve been skipped before reaching a pack of angry, possessive monsters fighting over your ownership.

[heliosunny]

you’re so productive like omg too many food in just a few days??!!?! ilysm u literally help soothing my downbad for phainon and mydei pls write more abt them especially mydei ToT looking forward for more wonderful works<33

anw an arranged marriage between mydei and reader who secretly loves him pls like they’re both sassy but obedient at the same time :3

Yandere!Mydei x Reader

You weren’t sure what surprised you more—the fact that your parents arranged a marriage for you without so much as a warning or the fact that it was with Mydei of all people.

Mydei, the warrior. The man of few words, sharp actions, and unreadable gazes. He was not unkind, but he was intense. And while he had always been close to Phainon, your best friend, you had never considered the possibility of marriage to him.

Yet here you were, seated in your family’s courtyard, watching the very man you were to marry approach you with the same unwavering steps he took into battle.

He stopped in front of you, arms crossed, golden eyes locked onto yours. You didn’t miss how his gaze flickered, assessing you the way he would an opponent before a duel.

“You’re not protesting.” he said at last.

“Should I be?” you replied, tilting your head.

His brow furrowed slightly. “You wanted Phainon.”

You blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“You look at him.” His tone was factual, not accusatory, as if he were merely stating the obvious. “You favor him. Now they’re forcing you into this marriage instead.”

A beat of silence. Then, unable to help yourself, you let out a short laugh.

“That’s what you think?” You crossed your arms, mirroring his stance. “That I wanted Phainon?”

“You never denied it.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I never confirmed it either.”

For a moment, he didn’t speak, only watching you with the same intensity he carried into war. Then, as if deciding the conversation wasn’t worth dragging out, he exhaled through his nose and turned slightly.

“Come.”

“Where?”

“We’re going out.”

Your lips quirked. “How romantic. Sweeping me away already?”

He ignored your sarcasm. “We’ll disguise ourselves.”

That piqued your interest. Disguises weren’t uncommon for royals, it was one of the only ways to walk among the people without constant scrutiny. But the fact that Mydei was the one suggesting it? That was unexpected.

Still, you followed.

The market was alive with the hum of voices, the scent of fresh bread and spices thick in the air. Vendors called out their wares, children ran past with laughter, and craftsmen displayed their finest work.

Dressed in simple garb, you and Mydei moved through the crowd with ease. If anyone recognized you, they were wise enough not to say anything.

Despite his usual stoic nature, Mydei’s presence was different outside the palace. He didn’t speak much, but he was aware of everything. His eyes flickered to every small movement, every shift in the crowd, every possible threat. It wasn’t just habit, it was instinct.

You, on the other hand, took everything in stride. While Mydei remained on guard, you blended in effortlessly, casually glancing at stalls, taking in the sights.

“You seem unbothered” Mydei commented after a while.

“Should I be?”

“You’re marrying someone you don’t love.”

“You assume too much” you replied, pausing at a stand selling trinkets. “Tell me, do you think I should be weeping and cursing fate right now?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but his gaze darkened slightly. “I expected some resistance.”

You let out a short breath, shaking your head. “You’re mistaken about a lot of things, Mydei.”

He frowned, but before he could press further, a vendor called out.

“Ah, you two! A fine couple, yes?” The elderly woman at the stall smiled knowingly. “A gift for your beloved, young man?”

Mydei didn’t react at first, his expression unreadable. Then, to your mild surprise, he stepped forward and picked up a delicate silver hairpin, a faint red gemstone at its center.

Without hesitation, he handed over a few coins and turned to you.

“For you.”

You raised a brow. “A bribe?”

“A reminder,” he corrected, stepping closer. He reached out, and before you could protest, he tucked the pin into your hair with precise movements, his touch lingering against your temple. “That you belong to me now.”

There was no arrogance in his words, no playful smirk—just cold, firm certainty.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Oh, Mydei.

If only he knew.

The wedding was grand, of course, it was. Two powerful families uniting was no small affair, and every noble, warrior, and dignitary who mattered was in attendance.

You stood at the ceremonial altar, adorned in regal attire, jewels glinting under the sunlight, your hair styled meticulously with the very hairpin Mydei had bought you days prior. Across from you, Mydei was a vision of strength, dressed in traditional wedding garb.

Phainon and the rest of your mutual friends were in the front rows, watching with barely restrained grins.

“My, my, what a sight.” Phainon drawled, his hair glinting under the light as he leaned toward one of your friends. “Who would’ve thought Mydei would actually settle down?”

“More like, who would’ve thought they’d agree to marry him” another friend teased.

The jesting continued, and you smirked at their playful antics. It wasn’t that you didn’t take this wedding seriously, you did. But the lightheartedness of your friends eased the tension of an otherwise overwhelming day.

Unfortunately, Mydei didn’t share the same amusement.

While you exchanged vows, sealing your union before the gods, you caught glimpses of him stiffening every time Phainon or another friend laughed, every time they whispered something that made you smile. His grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, his golden gaze darkening.

It was subtle, but you knew Mydei well enough by now to recognize what this was.

Misunderstanding.

The wedding feast was lively, filled with music, laughter, and endless toasts. You mingled as required, exchanging pleasantries with nobles and warriors alike. Phainon, ever the social butterfly, stole much of the spotlight, grinning as he recounted tales of past battles.

“So” he drawled, sidling up to you with a knowing smirk, “how does it feel? Becoming Mydei’s spouse, I mean.”

You rolled your eyes. “Why do people ask that as if I were shackled and dragged to the altar?”

“Because our dear Mydei isn’t exactly the romantic type” Phainon teased. “Tell me, did he at least try to woo you? Or did he just stare at you intensely until you agreed?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “He’s been… himself.”

Before Phainon could respond, a shadow loomed over you both.

Mydei's expression was unreadable, but the way he stood—close, imposing, was anything but casual.

“Phainon.” His voice was sharp, curt.

Phainon raised a brow, clearly amused. “Ah, husband duties already? Should I be worried?”

“Leave” Mydei said simply.

Phainon smirked but raised his hands in surrender, stepping back. “Alright, alright. No need to get all territorial.”

As he walked away, Mydei’s gaze snapped to you. You only sighed.

“Really?” You crossed your arms. “You’re going to be like this today?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he took your wrist firmly and led you away from the feast.

----

The journey to your honeymoon destination was swift. As per tradition, a private retreat was arranged—a secluded manor surrounded by sprawling fields and quiet lakes, far from the eyes of the kingdom.

You barely had time to take in the beauty of it before Mydei finally spoke.

“You enjoy his company too much.”

You turned to face him, unimpressed. “Whose?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Phainon.”

A laugh escaped you. “Are we seriously still on this?”

“You smiled at him more than you smiled at me today.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Mydei, I smiled at everyone today. It was my wedding.”

“You laughed more with him.”

“Because he was making jokes,” you deadpanned. “Do you want me to be miserable?”

He stepped closer, golden eyes burning into yours. “I want you to want this marriage.”

You exhaled slowly. “And what if I do?”

He stilled. “Then prove it.”

Silence stretched between you. Mydei was strong, a warrior of action, not words. He wouldn’t believe reassurances alone—he needed something tangible.

So, without another word, you reached up, fingers curling into the collar of his wedding robes, and pulled him down.

The kiss was unexpected—he stiffened at first, caught off guard. But when he realized what you were doing, what you meant, he responded with a fervor that sent heat curling through your spine.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you smirked.

“Was that proof enough?”

Mydei stared at you, stunned, then exhaled sharply, his lips curling ever so slightly.

“You’ll have to prove it again.”

And this time, you didn’t mind.

[lovelybluebirdie]

What is yours

Astarion x gn!Reader

Summary: A stroll through the market evokes an unpleasant sensation in Astarion.

Word Count: 3,1k

hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff

[ AO3 ]

The warm rays of the midday sun bathed the markets’ goods in a marvellous light. The place was bustling, a scent of spices lingering in the air and hurried voices brimming. 

If someone had told Astarion that one day he’d be able to move around Baldur’s Gate so freely again, he’d probably huffed merely a dry laugh – and yet here he was, following you through the narrow streets of his city, admiring how much colour the world had to offer.

Of course it was you who had dragged him along for the mundane task to gather some food for your companions back at camp. Astarion couldn't care less to fill up their bellies, as his own appetite was perfectly stilled from your generosity when it came to offer him your blood, but one blink from your doe eyes had been enough to convince him to accompany you.

Well, that, and perhaps that warm feeling that refused to leave his chest when he was with you. 

It was obvious that you loved to stroll around the market, savouring the colourful impressions while taking a break from all the fighting and gore your journey to rid yourself from the tadpoles held for you. 

Astarion had never watched you spending your coin so lightly before. You probably thought it was time to treat yourself once in a while, and who was he to deny you this little pleasure? He had to admit that he actually adored seeing your face light up over the different trinkets you bought, eagerly filling your bags and pouches with your newest additions.

“Let's get some fruit for the others while we’re at it,” you suggested, pointing towards a merchant presenting an inviting range of fresh goods. “Something nutritious seems much needed after we fed mostly on leftovers for the past weeks.”

Your shoulders were loaded with the various goods you had already bought – dyes, herbs, some new toys for Scratch and the owlbear cub and a bunch of flasks to fill with potions.

“As you wish,” Astarion replied, when a display of weapons caught his eye. His last pair of daggers had become rather blunt from the Goblin throats he’d cut, so maybe it was time to treat himself as well, he thought and gently grabbed your wrist.  

“On second thought, why don't you go ahead while I'll have another look around here, my love?” he asked and came to a stop. “I haven't much expertise to add when it comes to your culinary needs, and those daggers look rather appealing.”

“Sounds fine with me, but try not to spend all of our gold at once,” you teased and squeezed his shoulder.

“Hah, you're one to talk. Please remind me, who was it again that just bought five new toys for Scratch, so he had a set of different colours to choose from?”

“He needs some variety,” you muttered, trying to keep up a serious expression. “But nevermind, see you in a minute then.” 

You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and waved, already on your way to spend some more of your coin.

Astarion couldn’t help but smile over your excitement for the market, before he picked up a dagger from the display in front of him. The handle appeared to be of higher quality than his current ones, and the blade looked sharp enough to inflict some hurt.

As he gazed further through the wares, pondering which one would fit him best, he spared a glance to check on you. 

He spotted you a few stalls away at the fruit stand you had mentioned. The vendor you were talking to gesticulated wildly while presenting his wares, leading you to laugh.

Astarion frowned and put the dagger away to take a closer look.

The vendor was young, an elf with blond curls, and Astarion noticed that he wasn’t an unpleasant sight. 

He was immediately bothered by the smile you gave the other man, the way he touched your hands as he started to offer you bite-sized pieces of fruit to taste.

His fingers lingered too long against yours for Astarion’s liking.

As he continued to watch you from afar, something inside his belly started to seethe – hot and ugly.

A feeling he experienced before when it came to you, but couldn't quite grasp.

Well, whatever this was, Astarion certainly wasn’t jealous. Not of some random street vendor at least – and why should he be? Because you had smiled so sweetly at him? Or because you were laughing again as you took another piece of fruit from his filthy hands? 

What in the nine hells could be so entertaining about buying fruit anyway? 

It was ridiculous, really, and yet Astarion imagined how it would feel to rip the vendor's throat as punishment for daring to touch you. 

Would he bleed out quickly? Would he scream?

Astarion shook his head, shoving the violent image aside.

He remembered the previous occasions when that unpleasant burning inside his stomach had appeared. It was the moment Gale decided it was appropriate to show you his so-called magical weave, or the other day when Wyll proposed a dance to you. You had kindly rejected both of them, but Astarion was still not particularly impressed by their interest in you. 

He knew what others would seek from you. Why they wanted you. For the same reasons he enjoyed being with you: your compassion, the kindness you spread. Your special talent to make him feel seen. 

There was also your wit, the way you would crack a joke even in the most maddening situations, making him feel light. And not to mention, you were a beautiful vision if Astarion had ever seen one.

Of course there would be others who saw those qualities as well, aiming to claim you.

A sudden wave of anxiety flooded his mind, moulding an appaling image in his skull.

He wondered if one day you would prefer someone else over him.

Someone who would match your kindness – acting all selfless and heroic, indulging in activities he found little pleasure in.

Providing you with something Astarion might be unable to give you, ever, no matter how much he cared about you.

Hells, what if you were already seeking someone like that?

His stomach dropped.

The dreadful notion spread its relentless claws past his ribs, tearing holes in his dead heart.

Blood rushed to his ears.

Before he even realised, his feet were already dragging him towards you.

He needed to be close to you – doing anything to make this feeling stop.

When he arrived next to you, he placed a hand on the small of your back and grasped your tunic, a little tighter than he'd intended.

He tried his best to keep his composure.

“Are we all done here, my love?” he asked, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh, Astarion!” You smiled when you noticed him, unaware of his musings. Your pouch was filled to the brink with fresh fruits. “Yes, I guess that would be all.”

Astarion felt the need to pull you away, but before he came up with an excuse to leave immediately, the merchant was already addressing you again. 

“Think about it, will you?” A smug grin plastered that man’s face as he spoke to you, casually bending over his counter.

Astarion gave you a confused look.

Think about what? 

“Unfortunately there’s no time to join the tavern tonight, but thank you for the offer. Maybe next time,” you said amicably and packed up your wares.

What was that? 

Astarion thought he must have misheard.

“What a shame. Perhaps you can give it a second thought.” The vendor was still beaming at you, before he turned to Astarion. “Your friend can come too, of course.”

“Oh, that sounds splendid. We will think about it, will we, darling?”

Astarion bit his tongue, swallowing the impulse to spit a cutting remark on top of his obvious sarcasm.

What in the nine hells was this mongrel thinking, inviting you to the tavern? And how he was speaking to him – as if he was some irrelevant bystander.

“Let's see what we can do,” you said politely, already on your way to move on. “Have a nice day. And thank you again.”

“You as well,” replied the salesman and waved. 

Astarion gritted his teeth as he followed you through the busy alleyways, still processing what just happened.

The vendor's words appeared in his mind.

That man had obviously desired to fuck you, and wasn’t even trying to hide his advances.

How could he have dared.

Astarion regretted that he had acted so passive in that moment. Usually he wasn’t one to hesitate, always a sharp comment dancing on his tongue, and yet… the thought of losing you to someone else had shifted something in him, turning him small.

His fury grew.

Oh, how he would love to grab that despicable pig by his throat, banishing that filthy grin of his face. Making him bleed. But he knew that unlike him, you would gladly refrain from a public bloodbath, so he shoved away those violent fantasies, even if the fire continued to seeth in him – unpleasant and hot.

He tried to fathom what posed the worst about this whole ordeal: The way in which the man had aimed to claim you, or his fear that you enjoyed those cheap advances – possibly were fond of it even.

Astarion's mood couldn't have been more sour as you arrived at a secluded area, away from the markets bustling.

“Can you believe it? That seller insisted on giving me a discount,” you broke the silence and pointed proudly at the wares you had gathered. “And they say there are no kind people left in Baldur's Gate.”

And just as the words had left your throat, Astarion finally snapped.

“Is that so?” he hissed, baring his fangs. “How generous. What a nice, handsome gentleman he is, also inviting you to the tavern with him.” He spoke harsh – his tone cold and venomous. 

You came to an abrupt stop, resting the groceries on the ground and fixating your gaze on his, a furrow between your eyebrows. 

“What are you implying?” You sounded puzzled.

“Oh, don't act so naive, darling, you know what I'm implying. That man wanted to bed you, everyone could see it from the way he treated you. And by the laughs you offered him, you seemed to enjoy his attention as well, did you not? What a flirt you are.”

His accusations left a taste of ash in his mouth. Moments before his anger seemed directed at the man’s advances, and now his bottled-up wrath was boiling onto you.

The bewildered look on your face turned into something else, something sad, your eyes losing their shine. He sensed that he must’ve hurt you, and it tugged at his heartstrings.

“So, you’re jealous of that man, is that what this is about?”

“Me? Being jealous of some filthy street vendor?” Astarion scoffed, immediately falling back to his dramatics, gesticulating defensively with his hands. “Don't insult me, darling. I find it amusing that he thinks he can have you, and I didn’t fail to miss your interest in him,” he bit, almost choking on the dry chuckle that spilled from his lips.

“There was no interest from my side, other than purchasing some of his wares,” you explained. Then you opened your mouth again, sharply sucking air between your teeth, before your gaze softened. Your voice was calm, without spite or anger. “He recognized me, Astarion. From the article in the gazette. Slayer of the evil Ketheric Thorm and all that fuss. Does that ring a bell?” 

Of course he remembered. It was him that had to sneak past those giant steel watchers back at the gazette’s building, convincing the magical press to print an article in your favour. An article that wouldn’t taint your reputation, unlike the one Gortash had commissioned to derogate you. 

Astarion couldn’t deny that after the praising piece was published, you were indeed met with an unusual kindness from the people of Baldur's Gate. 

“Well, how could I forget?” Astarion's face twisted. “But that doesn't mean he didn't have something else in mind with you. Some people certainly would love to bury their blade inside a true hero for once, I can imagine.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Even if he did want to bed me, what does it matter?”

An icy grip twisted Astarion's chest. The image of you with someone else stung in his eyes, making him sick. 

Before he could growl another reply, you rested your hand on his arm, catching his fuming. “Hey – look at me, you silly goose.” 

Your tender touch was enough to quell the blazing flame in his belly. 

You spoke so warmly to him. So... loving.

Astarion rested his eyes on you and was met with an affectionate smile that disarmed him completely.

“Astarion, don’t you realise that I couldn't care less if thousands of people felt the sudden need to bed me?”

He bit his cheek, remaining silent.

“You’re the only one I want, you jealous fool. No one else – not now, not ever, and certainly not some random street vendor that throws a discount at me because he thinks of me as some kind of hero.”

Astarion’s features involuntarily softened as he took in your words. The fury that was about to overwhelm him dissolved into a flutter, engulfing his chest, washing away the seething that hooked at his ribcage.

“Really?” Only one word left his mouth, before he cleared his throat. “I mean – I'm not surprised of course, as you seem to literally cling to my side these days.” A poor attempt to cover his insecurity, but the best he could muster.

“Really,” you assured and gently tapped on his temple, “I vow on the tadpole flooding inside our brains.” You chuckled as you rested your hands on the back of his neck and shifted closer to him. 

“Well, but those might be gone someday,” Astarion mumbled.

“And even then, I will remain at your side. Only if you want me to, of course.”

Astarion didn’t have to think of his answer, the words spilling from his lips like a reflex.

“Yes, I would want that,” he whispered sincerely, his flamboyant mask crumbling. “Look, it's not that I don't trust you. It’s just… Well, I guess I'm used to losing what I hold dear. And the thought of losing you to someone else… I don’t know, apparently it woke something in me.” 

He felt almost ashamed over his sudden lack of eloquence, being so raw with you, but there was a sense of relief in opening up. To his surprise, it was even more soothing than losing himself in violence.

You looked at him with affection and cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin. He closed his eyes and sunk against your palm. 

“It's alright, Astarion, you don't have to explain. I promise you, you won’t lose me to someone else. As you said, I tend to cling to your side these days, and truth be told, I have no intention to stop.”

“I hope you won’t,” Astarion replied and took your hand in his to press a kiss to your fingertips. “But honestly, I have to apologise for doubting your intentions with me. With us.”

“I forgive you, lover,” you replied tenderly. “I didn't take you for the overly jealous type, though,” you added with a smirk.

Astarion offered you a wry smile. “Let's not dwell on it, shall we?”

Then he reached for your face, softly taking your chin between his thumb and index finger and rested his lips on your forehead, followed by a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You wrapped your arms around his waist to pull him into a close embrace. He could sense your heartbeat against his cold body, your pulse drumming in a comforting rhythm.

For a moment you were just holding each other, your head against his chest, Astarion relishing your warmth and kissing your hair. Your touch was relieving. Assuring.

You were with him, and had promised not to leave. 

Your affirmations repeated in his mind: You wanted him. Only him alone.

This was all new territory and Astarion sensed it would take some time for him to fully adjust, yes, but right now… this was all he could wish for.

“Somehow I don't want to let go of you, little love,” he hummed to your ear.

“Then don't,” you breathed and kissed along his neck, brushing his bite marks with your lips, sending a shiver down his spine. A particularly sensible spot, but you were allowed to touch him there.

Gods, how deeply he had fallen for you.

Astarion drew you even closer and sighed, your hands grasping the fabric of his shirt. 

When he gently peeled away from your hug, you looked up to him and bit your lip.

“Can I be completely honest with you?” you asked sheepishly.

“What is it, my sweet?”

“Well... I think that merchant truly wanted to bed me.”

Astarion laughed – deep, coming from his belly – surprised by his own lightness. The idea of fuming over your obvious admirer seemed almost ridiculous all of a sudden. 

“I told you so. But now that you see it too, I guess you wouldn't mind if we turn back for a quick chat? I would love to take care of that dear fellow,” he replied mischievously. While his fury was gone, he still wouldn’t mind some misdemeanour.

“Astarion!” you scolded, but joined his laughter. “Please spare that innocent man.”

“Relax darling, I will. For now at least. And only because you asked so nicely.” His fangs poked from the grin that adorned his lips.

“Good boy,” you teased and brushed one of his white curls behind his ear, his grin widening from your touch.

As you walked back to camp, hands softly entwined, Astarion noticed that probably for the first time in his life someone truly belonged to him – willingly, out of love.

You belonged to him. 

The thought grew in his chest, wandered up to his eyes, spreading affection through his entire body, and for the remaining way back to camp he didn’t let go of your hand.

Masterlist

[lushxboba]

The Emperors Prize

Emperor Geta X Peasant!Reader

Word Count: 2k

TW// 18+ ONLY (minors be gone), mentions of family members death, mentions of murder, spitting, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, thigh riding, if i missed anything let me know !!

A/N: i haven’t written in months so be gentle with me pls 🙏🏽

It’d been the longest year of your life. Ever since Emperor Geta took over after his father died, your whole life had been turned upside down. Your father died the year prior, finally succumbing to his disease after being refused medical care by the kingdom. And your brother was left to do the only thing he felt was right to take care of your family. Train to be a gladiator. Perform in front of the Emperor and all of Rome to fight for his families survival. Only to not survive himself. Leaving you to take care of your little sister and sickly mother all to yourself.

Of course you blamed the only person you felt was responsible. Geta. He killed your father. He killed your brother. You wouldn’t let him take the last of what you had. So you did what you needed to survive, and stayed far away from his tyrants.

You’d heard of his army walking the markets day to day, blending in with the rest of peasants just to try and find someone stealing. They would take them to the temple and cut their hands off, cut their tongue out, maybe even behead them then and there. But you were smarter than those people. And faster. You had to be.

Before your father died, he always told you that your speed would be your superpower to survive Getas reign. You’d never have to face the torment of being in the arena and using your strength against your neighbors, but you could use your speed against his tyrants.

You spent days running in the slums, back and forth until you couldn’t breathe again. Or until you felt like you could’ve lost them. You knew you were ready for anything. Considering you did steal food to survive, you had to be.

You never thought you’d get caught. You’d been doing it for months now, and it seemed that only the elderly were the ones being dragged back to the kingdom. Call it population control if you will. But your time was surely coming to an end, and you could feel it.

You took your weekly walk down to the market, keeping your hood up and frequently looking out for suspicious vendors and customers. You’d seen people dragged away enough to know what they’d look like. They weren’t very good at disguising themselves. To you at least.

You tried to go to different stands each week so they wouldn’t catch on to you. You found a nice fruit stand with more colorful berries than you’d ever seen in your life.

You approached the stand as you practiced your distraction tactic in your head. You took a look around the stand, asking the man about how much he gets each week to sell, making him turn around to look in his inventory, giving you the perfect chance to quickly shove pints and pints of fruit in your bag.

Before he could turn back around, you were gone. Quickly walking through the market fast enough to be out of his eyesight but not fast enough to cause a scene.

You’d made it halfway down the road, just long enough to think you’d gotten away with it until you felt two pairs of hands gripping on each of your arms tightly.

“Little girl thought she got away, huh?” A deep voice husks behind your ear. You don’t fight it. No point in fighting when they’ve already made up their mind. And they are clearly much stronger than you.

You just roll your eyes as you let them walk you towards the kingdom. You can feel the eyes of everyone on you as they practically carry you towards the kingdom, but you pay them no mind. Your father always told you there was no reason to fight.

Once you reach the castle, the anger in you bubbles more and more. Knowing two people you loved died here made you want to rip the ugly brown wallpaper off of the walls and break down the pillars.

The men carry you up the steps to a large room bolted down with a big gold chain. You don’t even bother being nervous or anxious about what’s behind that door. You know your fate is decided the second your name is mentioned to the emperor.

One of the men unlock the chain while the other holds your arm even tighter. You’ve made no signs of struggle so you don’t exactly understand why they have to bruise your arm in the process. The door opens to reveal a long hallway, covered with a red and gold carpet leading to a throne. You’d recognize that throne anywhere. Along with the man who sits on it.

The walk down the runway seems like hours, as the man you despise most in this world stares you down with his wide brown eyes.

“You’re dismissed.” He says in a dark tone. The two men let go of your arms and bow before Geta before turning and leaving the room. Bolting the door down once again behind you.

“Most people bow when they see me.” He says, his legs and arms spread comfortably on the soft throne paid for by his slaves.

“I’m not most people.” You stand tall in front of him, keeping eye contact. “...your highness.” You smirk before playfully bending your knee and bowing in front of him.

Geta scoffs before standing up from his throne, slowly making his way towards you. “You look familiar.” His breath lingers down your skin as he circles around your body, his arms behind his back.

“You killed my father… and my brother.” You can see the gears click in his mind as he stops right in front of you. He places his hand roughly under your chin making you shiver. He forcefully turns your head both ways before nodding. “Caius’ daughter. How could I forget those innocent eyes?”

Your breathing gets heavier as you remember everything this man has put your family through. You spit on his cheek, making him quickly shuffle back. He chuckles under his breath, looking up at you as he wipes your saliva off of his face. “I should have you hung for that alone.”

“You’re going to kill me anyways. What else do I have to lose?” You get down on your knees, placing your hands behind your back as you ready yourself for the knife that is knowingly going to come to your neck.

“Who ever said anything about killing you? I surely didn’t.” He steps closer to you, leaning down to place his hand under your chin once again, this time softer. “Who could kill such a pretty little whore like you?” He lifts your head up to look at him, smirking as your eyes meet his once again.

He roughly pushed your head away as he steps back, slowly untying his robe. “I’ve already done enough damage to you, don’t you think?” He smirks, dropping his robe to reveal his extremely toned naked body. His cock jumps up to his stomach in anticipation, and as much as you hate him, you can’t take your eyes off of it. “In return for letting you live, I say you do a little something for me, don’t you think?” He spits in his hand, moving it down to stroke his cock as you watch on your knees. “You’re already in the position… it’s only fair.”

He moves back to his throne, sitting with his legs spread as he continues to stroke himself. Your mouth salivates at the image alone. You get up from your knees, slowly walking towards him until you’re standing in between his legs.

“I’d rather die than do anything to serve you.” You spit on him once again. Before you can turn around, he grabs you by the wrists and pulls you down on to your knees, holding your hair in one hand so you can’t move.

“This wasn’t an option.” He grabs his cock with his other hand, tapping it on your cheek before roughly shoving it into your mouth. You can’t help but moan the second you taste his salty seed lingering out the tip. “The good girl likes it, too.” He chuckles.

You look up at him with fire in your eyes, slowly bobbing your head up and down his hard member. You keep your arms behind your back and let him take control. That is all he wants after all. You watch as he throws his back in pleasure, moaning loud enough you’re sure the rest of the kingdom can hear you.

He grips your hair tighter with each movement of your mouth, pulling you every which way he wants you to go. “Your mouth is so wet and tight. Can’t wait to see what that perfect cunt feels like.”

You quickly pull off of him, removing one of your hands from your back to stroke him. “You never said anything about fucking me.”

“Oh, but I just did.” He smirks, leaning down to grab your hips and pull you into his lap. “You thought you were going to get away without me feeling your cunt wrapped around my cock?” He grinds into you, his hands roaming up and down your sides. You can’t help but to grind with him, moaning into his hair as he attaches his mouth to your neck.

His hand reaches down to lift up your skirt, revealing no underwear underneath. He moans into your neck as his fingers trace along your wet slit. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him closer to you as you grind your pussy along his hand.

You reach down to palm his cock, making him moan even louder if that was possible. “Need to feel you already.” He whines as he pulls your shirt up, his mouth immediately sucking on your nipples.

You grab his cock and run the tip along your slit, smirking as you tease him. “Never thought I’d have the Emperor of Rome begging me to fuck him.” You laugh, still riding the tip of his cock.

He growls, grabbing his cock and quickly thrusting up into you. You gasp loudly, gripping his neck tighter than before. He wraps his arms around your back, thrusting into you hard. You match his movements with the bounce of your own hips, leaving both of you a moaning mess.

You can feel your own arousal leaking out and coating both of your thighs. The sounds emitting from this room were obscene, and you just hoped the Gods would forgive you.

You roll your hips faster against him as you feel the familiar coil burn in your stomach quickly. His cock twitches inside of you, making your ego bigger than it already was coming into this room.

“You’re going to cum.” You say breathily, gripping him by his hair to make him look at you. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks in your eyes with his mouth open as he thrusts into you one last time. His hands grip your hips tightly as you feel him dripping out of you. The feeling is enough to make you shake as you reach your own high.

You hold him by his hair tightly, your hips still slowly rolling against his as your both catch your breath. It doesn’t take long for him to remove you from his lap. He grips your hips and swiftly places you back on your feet.

“You may be dismissed now.” He says quietly, clearing his throat as he looks down at his feet.

“Nothing to clean me up at least?” You respond, looking at him even though he isn’t doing the same.

“You’re a peasant. You walk around dirty anyways.” He scoffs.

You walk close to him, lifting your skirt and placing a leg on either side of his thigh. You slide yourself down his thigh until it’s coated in your juices before hopping off.

You fix your skirt, smoothing it out as you smirk up at him. “Your highness.” You bow, pulling your skirt out each way before turning around and walking yourself out. Leaving Geta speechless… for now.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Have a Nice Vacation (NSFW)

Read on AO3.

Summary: The White Lotus was boring. The ocean, food, nor pool could make up for the gaping deficiency in what you’d really come here to seek: the men.

But this new man was easily in his late fifties: a flash of white edged his sideburns, his hair greying but still thick and full, lines swept into his forehead. A familiar shadow hung over him, a manifestation of unsatisfied anxiety, crinkling at the corners of his eyes—and his eyes. Large, pale blue, stark against the rich-man-tan so many of his ilk maintained. Busy with selfish concern.

He was perfect.

Words: 6500

Warnings: daddy kink, older man/younger woman, infidelity

Characters: Timothy Ratliff x Reader

A/N: Hi, this is me taking a break from the porn I'm writing to write new, other, different porn.

I saw Jason Isaacs' (prosthetic) cock and I simply could not get this idea out of my head. I've always dreamed of being a famous OnlyFans creator but I've neither the tits nor the patience to market myself. But I can live vicariously in reader's stead.

Hope you all enjoyed!! I sure had fun writing it, LOL. <3

All things considered, the White Lotus was boring.

Yes, when you rose in the morning to gaze out of your villa, you met a vision of the sky consuming the sea. Yes, the food had managed to fill your stomach without bringing on bloat. And yes, the pool temperature stole the endless waves of sweat from your skin. But neither the ocean, food, nor pool could make up for the gaping deficiency in what you’d really come here to seek: the men.

And every single one of them made you want to fucking gag.

Your current vomit inspiration was the man who’d stretched himself out on the lounge chair next to you like a proud lion. The moment he’d groaned, pulled his arms over his head to display his chest, you'd decided to check your recent subscribers.

For some reason, that wasn't deterring him.

“Finally, someone with some sense,” he said.

You snorted like mucus had caught in your throat. The trends on your most recent posts were pointing down and there was no sign of increasing interest.

If you didn't turn it around soon, you’d need to start actually trying.

Horrific.

The man laughed. “Yeah, I didn't wanna ditch the phone, but my dad made us.” He sighed, curling into his side to face you, sun-bleached brown hair sweeping his green eyes. “You here by yourself?”

You glimpsed him from behind your sunglasses. He wasn't bad looking. But getting past the obnoxious swagger would be a challenge. And he wasn't the type of man you made content with, anyway.

“Saxon,” he said, holding out his hand.

Puckering your lips, you looked pointedly at his hand before returning your attention to your phone. He withdrew it, laughing again.

“All right, all right.”

Even without looking at him, you felt the slime of his eyes trickle over your body, eat up every hill of your flesh, and consume the complex collection of straps making up what you called your bathing suit. He clucked his tongue, sitting up.

“Hey,” Saxon said, cocking his head. “Aren't you EasyDoesThem?”

You released the slightest exhale. Fuck.

“You are!” he said. “I thought I recognized you. Holy shit, do you want to film something together?” His voice dropped, and he sat up straighter. “I'm totally down. I can get my brother to film it, hold on—Lochy! Come here!”

“Wow. Actually, I have to get going,” you said, giving him a tight smile as you got to your feet. “Thanks so much for the offer, though.”

Saxon groaned playfully. “Aw, come on. Really?” His neck spun on a swivel. “Seriously, at least meet my brother, he’s a total virgin and it would be—”

“Later, Saxon.” With a swish of your hips, you abandoned him to whatever inclinations he’d dreamed of dragging his brother into, making your way to the bar.

There was no drink that appealed to you with men like him around, but your skin was prickling from the sun and you needed something to lower your core temperature. You jerked a chair free and plopped into it, requesting the lightest and fruitiest mocktail available before surveying your fellow patrons.

More men. At least these ones were over fifty—far more viable for potential content—but they were engrossed in conversation with each other, exchanging words like liquidity and amortization and other terms that you’d rather burn alive in this sun than become familiar with. Chewing on your lip, you pulled out your phone, deciding if you couldn’t be generating new subscribers, you could at least interact with the ones you had.

You took a selfie, tapped open the app and scrolled to the Polls section, typing out a quick and stupid question with some quick and stupid answers.

Thailand is HOT. 🥵🥵🥵 I can barely keep this on! What should I wear when I fuck my next Daddy? 💦🍆🔥😈 ⭕ Bikini ⭕ Lingerie ⭕ His clothes ⭕ Nothing

You attached the photo and hit submit, shaking your head. This was pathetic. At least that would keep them busy for a few hours while you tried to figure out what to do.

The bartender placed your drink in front of you with a pretty clink. As you went to take a sip, a new man took a seat next to you with a weighty, exhausted sigh. You frowned, peeked up from the rim of your glass. Stared.

This man was easily in his late fifties: a flash of white edged his sideburns, his hair greying but still thick and full, lines swept into his forehead. A familiar shadow hung over him, a manifestation of unsatisfied anxiety, crinkling at the corners of his eyes—and his eyes. Large, pale blue, stark against the rich-man-tan so many of his ilk maintained. Busy with selfish concern.

He was perfect.

You sat up, leaning towards the bar and into his line of sight, arms pushing your tits together. “Hi there,” you chirped. “Another day in paradise, hm?”

The man didn’t even spare your tits a passing glance. Considering how much effort it had been to pull this suit on, you were a little offended. What he did glance at, though, was your phone. His gaze narrowed.

“Is that your phone?” he asked, in an accent that was as southern as it was affluent. “We’re not supposed to have those out here.”

You pursed your lips, shrugged your shoulder. “Probably.” Holding it up, you presented it to the bar. “I’d like to see them take it from me, though.”

“Right…” Those gorgeous eyes of his settled on yours, then your phone, and he raised his eyebrows, as if to deny himself a line of thought. “You have a nice vacation.”

“Hey, hey.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, throat thickening at how sturdy and solid he felt underneath his linen shirt. “Don’t be shy.”

The man twisted in his seat, leering at your hand like it had pinched him. “What?”

“Come on,” you said, rubbing a small circle into his shoulder. “I can tell you wanted to ask me something.”

“No, I…” He stared at your hand. With a frown, his jaw shifted, and he bit back a snarl, rubbing his brow in exasperation. “Would you mind?” he said, like it pained him to ask. “If I used your phone?”

You smiled. He was hooked. “What for?” you purred, shifting your arms so your breasts became more pronounced.

Despite this, he still did not acknowledge you even had breasts. “I need to call someone,” he said. “It’ll be quick.”

“International?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“That’s no problem.” Humming, you took a sip of your drink. “But we’ll need to head back to my villa for it. I don’t use the cell service for international calls. Just wifi.”

The man considered you, his eyes glued to yours. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, sorry. It’s the only place I can actually use the internet,” you lied.

Then, miraculously, his gaze flicked to your tits. To your face. To your tits again. He sighed, voice whittling to a whisper as he displayed his left hand. “I’m married.”

You studied him. I’m married was a desperate protest by men of his ilk. It was the acknowledgement that he would be tempted, the demand that your morality win out over his own—a foisting of responsibility in your hands, as these men had been aching to rebuke that burden at first opportunity.

But you didn’t particularly care about the marriages of men who were willing to utter this sentence. Nor did you care to bear any of the terrible weight he considered fidelity. What you cared about, to be very honest, was getting his cock inside of you, and getting it on film.

The promise of the first typically spurred men into agreeing to the second.

Eyes wide like a fawn’s, you replied, “What are you saying? I’m talking about using my phone.” Shrugging to yourself, you started to place your phone into your handbag. “I guess you’re just as weird about this digital detox stuff as everyone else…”

“No, no, wait,” he grumbled, and you paused, eyeing him. He surveyed the group, drawing a slow breath. You lingered on how it swelled his broad chest, his stomach, your thighs pressing together. With an exhale and flourish of his hand, he shooed away the last of his restraint. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

You laughed. “Awesome.” Standing, you held out your hand, giving him both your name and your most charming smile.

He stared, sneered at what you could only assume to be his own weakness, and gripped your hand with his own. “Tim.”

“Nice to meet you, Tim,” you replied, giggling. “Very firm handshake.”

“Yeah,” Tim said, brows raising as he averted his gaze. “Thanks.”

Giving him a final grin, you strode past him, calling, “Follow me!”

The return to your villa was longer than you would’ve liked. You’d made comments along the way, receiving nothing but short, detached engagement from Tim throughout the journey. This was typical, you thought, of men considering whether or not they’d betray their marriage vows—or, at least, men who were pretending to consider it.

Regardless of their presentation, a sense of entitlement ran in canyons through the blood of men like Tim; a desire to obtain anything forbidden to the plebian, whether that be luxury, or freedom, or the soft, naked body of a woman half his age. Even if he’d gone his entire life never believing he’d seek comfort from anyone other than his wife, there came the question most men asked when presented the opportunity…

Well, why the fuck not?

You sauntered into your villa, holding the door open for him as he stalked inside, his neck twisting as if to make sure you were alone.

“It's just me staying here,” you said, shutting the door behind you. “Don't worry.”

“Yeah.” He held out his hand expectantly. “Is it connected to wifi, yet?” he asked. “Your phone?”

You stopped yourself from frowning. For a man nervous about following a woman in a bikini alone to her villa, he certainly seemed preoccupied with anything except said woman.

“Let me look.” You pulled it out and pretended to check before presenting it to him, unlocked. “Yep! You're good to go.”

“Thanks.” Tim grabbed it from you and started tapping away. “So you're staying here by yourself?” he asked as if the answer mattered less than anything he'd ever inquired about in his life.

“Mhm.” You decided to turn around and bend over, pulling the straps from your sandals. “Just me.”

“Uh huh.” He cursed under his breath and then cleared his throat. “Awfully young to afford a place like this all by yourself.”

With a wiggle of your hips, you stood, casting a glance over your shoulder. “Are you asking me what I do for work, Tim?”

Tim did not reply. He scrolled through something on your phone, his face scrunching in irritation. “God Almighty,” he growled. “Dammit.”

“I thought you said you had to call someone.”

“No, I didn't,” he replied, still scrolling. He rubbed at his brow like a farmer who'd just finished ploughing a field. “Lord…”

You actually allowed yourself to frown. Maybe he was one of those social media addicts getting bent out of shape over a Twitter war he was losing. Maybe he'd needed to check the stock market for his amortization or his liquidity or whatever. Either way, you were a little bit over it.

“Hey,” you said, walking over to him and running a finger down his arm. “Why don't we put the phone down and I can show you the view around here?”

He glimpsed you, scanned your figure. Resumed reading. “Sure. In a second.”

“Aw, come on,” you said, shifting your weight in a way that made your tits bounce. A teasing smile pulled at your cheeks. “The reviews of the latest Marvel movie can’t be that bad.”

Tim’s eyes widened. His jaw slackened. “Shit,” he hissed. “God-fucking-dammit!”

You retreated a step. There was a rash growing on his neck; his knuckles were starting to punch through his skin. This was way more than infidelity anxiety. Way, way more than you'd been prepared to soothe with your pussy.

“Uh. Everything all right, Tim?”

He cursed again. “No, everything is not fucking all right.” Head falling back, he rubbed his brow again, staring into the ceiling. “I'm fucked. I'm fucked!”

You swallowed. All right. This was a mistake. You'd misread him entirely.

“Why don't I just…” You tiptoed toward him, reaching for the phone. “Take that back—”

“Fuck the damn phone!” He met your gaze, his eyes pale with terror. “You don't get it, I—”

“You're right, I don't, and—”

Your phone hit the floor. “I'm fucked!” Tim grasped your shoulders, shaking you like a stringless marionette. “Everything is fucking fucked!”

You reeled back and slapped him across the face. He stilled.

Panting, his focus fell to the walls, the floor, your feet, traveling up your bare legs, your thighs, your stomach, stopping at your chest.

One of your tits had popped free from its binding. Your nipple poked out, pert and ripe. Breath rolling through you, you stared at his face, watched as the panic, the fury in his gaze hooked onto a different avenue of release, ice blue melting to something molten. Mercurial. Urgent.

“S-sorry,” he muttered, his hands falling from your shoulders, skimming the tops of your arms.

You swallowed. There was calculated risk, here. But the strength of his grip, the smooth plane of his palms on your skin, the primal spark in those eyes—your belly tightened with a low pull of its own, willing to ignite.

(And dear God, would this be good content.)

Breath held, you stepped closer, ghosting your fingertips down his side.

“It's… all right,” you said. “Are you… uh… Everything good?”

Tim stared at you like a tiger with taut haunches. His attention switched again to the phone on the ground, jaw clenching as he considered it. Then his eyes trailed a long, languid journey up your body once more, lingering on the curve of your hips, the supple flesh swelling between the gaps in your swimsuit. Your exposed breast.

His mouth parted. His throat bobbed. Glimpsing the phone a final time, he met your gaze.

“Fuck it,” he said, and clutched both cheeks of your ass as he captured your mouth with his.

You groaned, clasping both sides of his face, flattening yourself along his frame, seeking connection with him at every new opportunity his body offered. Growling, Tim stuffed his tongue in your mouth, deepening the kiss to something filthy and desperate seconds after it had begun. His fingers dug into your backside, he tugged your pelvis to his, and he rocked against you, holding you there, like he was grounding himself to you, grounding himself to this reality.

Fingers running through his hair, you met him in kind, licking into his mouth, rolling your hips so he could feel the heat of your cunt against his growing need. The scents of honeydew and aftershave flooded your nose, the pulse between your thighs came alive. You curled a leg around him, trapping him to you while you teased thumbs over the shell of his ears, earning a jerk of his body, a broken kiss, a deep, trembling groan.

Tim hunched over you, found himself nestled in your throat and took your bare skin as an invitation. His lips latched to your pulse, kissing, suckling, his hands caressing your sides, squeezing every new offering of flesh it found.

“Fuck,” you whispered, looping your arms under his so you clung to his back. “Oh, fuck, yes—”

“Where’s the bedroom?” he murmured against your neck.

You laughed. Why did men like him always prefer the bedroom? “That way,” you said, indicating with a tilt of your head.

Voice thick with need, he replied, “Let’s go.”

Tim grabbed your hips, stood you upright and spun you around, urging you forward. Before you moved, you turned to snag your phone from the floor, and when you stood, you met his frowning face.

“What do you need that for?” he said, pushing on your hip again as if to remind you of what you were doing. It was impossible to ignore the tent that had sprouted in his trousers. “Let’s go.”

You figured now was the best time—with him already hard and hounding at your heels—to present your plan.

“Hold on.” You squeezed his wrist, eyeing him coyly. “I want to ask you something.”

Tim exhaled, glancing between your tits and the door. “Yeah?”

“Don’t be like that.” Pouting, you pulled him close and grazed your nails through his hair, down his neck to keep him pliant. “You said that I seem young to afford this place by myself, right?”

He stared.

“I make little videos,” you said, holding up your phone, “of me and the guys I spend time with.” Grinning at him, you traced a finger from the divot in his throat down the buttons of his shirt. “And I think that you…” Your palm grazed over his erection. “Would be an awesome addition.”

Tim’s tongue sketched his lips. His eyes, swallowed by lust, flicked over your figure. “That isn’t going to work,” he said, shaking his head. “I—I’m married, I can’t be—”

“No, no, it’s not like that!” You patted his chest, pushed against him. “I don’t film anyone’s face but mine.” With a smirk, you added, “And you can hold the camera too, if you want.” To make your point, you gripped his length through his clothing. Your jaw dropped. “Holy fuck, you’re big.”

For the first time since meeting him, he cracked a smile. He gazed at you, head to toe yet again, finally recognizing what he’d be getting out of this arrangement. “And you won’t film my face?”

Your lashes fluttered, and you stroked him through his trousers, your core clenching when he throbbed in response. You let out a moan—you couldn’t help yourself. He felt thicker than any man you’d ever had inside of you. And that number was not insignificant.

“No,” you said, desire creeping into your throat as you met his eyes. “I won’t.”

Tim’s jaw was loose. He rocked his hips, perhaps only half-knowingly, into your grip. “Fine,” he said, and caught you in another kiss before pulling away and spinning you toward the bedroom again. “Now let’s go.” A hand cracked you across your ass.

You squealed, hopped forward with a giggle and skipped toward your room. Peering at him over your shoulder to ensure he was following, you caught him adjusting his cock, saw how thick it looked in his own, powerful hands. A thrill shot up your spine, and you bit your lip, bouncing on the balls of your feet into your bedroom to then flop backwards onto your bed. As Tim entered the room, you quickly checked the results of your poll.

Bikini - 32% |||||||||||||||||| Lingerie - 28% |||||||||||||||| His clothes - 14% ||||||| Nothing - 26% ||||||||||||||||

Well—at least they were getting what they’d asked for.

Lowering your phone, you were greeted with the sight of Tim unbuttoning his shirt, his attention trained entirely on you. Your mind staticked.

Tim’s body was broad and heavy, soft flesh underlaid with a layer of muscle still evident in his arms and shoulders and chest. Grey hair bloomed at the inner crest of his pectorals, filtered to a sparse line of darkening hair over his thick, strong stomach. Between this and the promise of stretching around his cock, you felt ready to forgo the camera altogether, wrap your legs around his waist, and force him inside of you. But he had other ideas.

Shoes were flung across the floor, and Tim climbed on top of you, following you as you moved to the head of the bed, straddling your legs, his eyes frantic, hands clawing at the bottom straps of your suit. You giggled, squirmed with excitement, and he growled and yanked back. The fabric in his fist snapped.

“Jesus!” you gasped, looking up at him. “Someone’s excited.”

“Yeah,” he said, kneading the exposed flesh of your hip and belly. “You might say that.” Grunting, he tugged longingly at the part that concealed what was left to conceal your tits. “Take it off.”

Instead, you jerked the suit aside, your breasts jiggling as they were exposed, and you gazed up at him. Biting your tongue playfully, you squeezed his erection through his pants again. “Does that work,” you murmured, “Daddy?”

Tim’s brow furrowed. His face twisted in disgust. But his cock jumped in your palm, and his hips bucked as if to hold off a sudden climax.

“Don’t call me that.” He moved to unbuckle his belt anyway.

You gazed up at him, leaning back onto the pillows as he unbuttoned his pants, exposing his boxer-briefs. Batting your eyes again, you wedged your hand against his bulge, stroking it through the cotton, mouth watering at its steel need.

“Call you what?” you asked. “Daddy?”

His cock twitched again, the head poking over the Calvin Klein waistband. He swallowed, then exhaled. “Do whatever you want.”

Yeah. That’s what you thought.

He went to ease himself over the waistband, but you grabbed his hand. “Wait,” you said. “I want to record this part.” Nodding toward the other side of the bed, you said, “Lie back.”

Tim’s brows raised. But he relented, shifting to relax against the headboard beside you.

Phone in hand, you opened the camera and aimed the back lens at your face (a skill requiring an irritating amount of practice), pouting before turning your attention to Tim. You crawled over his legs and settled between them, your free hand sliding over his body. The heat of his skin sent goosebumps over yours, and he stared down at you, transfixed. Gaze focused on his cock, your jaw dropped as he released it from its confines.

You’d known it would have girth. You hadn’t expected, though, to wonder if you could fit it in your mouth, if you could even encircle it with your hand. A pulsing vein creeked from the base toward the tip, echoing his heartbeat, and the head was flushed with blood, leaking precum, the shaft fat with the ache to fuck you.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you said, and took him in your fist.

Tim groaned, cursing under his breath, and you cursed, too. He weighed huge and hot in your palm, like a stone furnace you stoked with every roll of your wrist. Each stroke earned a new twitch of his hips, a new throb of his cock, and he gazed down at you through half-lidded eyes, part hunger, part disbelief.

This was, you thought, your favorite part of fucking men like him. Every single time, despite the initial hesitance, or compensated swagger, or feigned dismissal—every single time, they’d shed that armor, reveal themselves as men who craved your cunt; men who had never believed they’d be able to get hands on flesh like yours again; men who, given a single gift of permission, would bury themselves to the balls in your young, tight pussy and flood it with their cum.

You eased yourself forward, licked at the tip of his cock, and his head fell back in a deep moan.

“Can I suck your cock, Daddy?” you asked, gazing up at him with the sweetest, most innocent gaze you could muster.

Tim glimpsed you, wove his thick fingers through your hair, and pushed your lips onto his length.

Keeping the camera focused on your face was the biggest challenge, and usually one you approached with concentration. But as your mouth slipped over his shaft, as he pressed on your tongue and stretched your jaw and hit the back of your throat, you found the importance of the camera falling to the back of your mind, only remembering at the last second to adjust it to the ideal angle. Your clit was swollen, clamoring for pressure, for friction. Tim’s breath was stalled, waiting for you to withdraw.

You sealed your lips around him, vision blurring as you dragged back, a groan rumbling in your chest. Tim’s grip on your head tightened; he locked you from pulling away, instead holding you still as he thrust slowly once, twice, pace torturous and casual, like he was priming himself to ruin you. Whimpering, you stared into his shuttering eyes, your free hand ringing the base of his cock, spit threading from your lips and spilling onto your chin.

“That’s it, honey…” he drawled, voice wrought with pleasure. “Just like that.”

This only encouraged you—your eyes flicked to the camera, as if to say, look, he loves it, and you sucked, twisted your wrist, caressed his shaft with your tongue. Another moan, his cock pulsing between your lips, and you hummed, gazing up at him, drooling over every inch, jaw already sore from how wide he forced it open. You were aching, your cunt soaked. You weren’t sure how long you could continue sucking him off without needing to cum yourself.

Tim met your eyes, something burgeoning underneath the thin ice of his irises. A twitch of cruelty at his upper lip. His grip tightened, and he fucked into your mouth, jabbing the back of your throat, his size making you retch despite your experience. Jerking his hips faster, the taste of his precum coated your tongue, the scent of him—clean musk—infiltrating your nose. The phone trembled in your grasp, and you glanced at the camera again, eyes flooding, moaning gratefully onto his shaft.

“Fuck.” He held either side of your head and drove his cock deep until your nose met the coarse hair at the base. You writhed, choking, and he studied you, words trapped behind his teeth, admiring your pleading face and your jiggling tits and the saliva running from your lips in rivers. “Fuck, yes.”

A final restrained sneer, and he released your head, allowing you to wrench yourself free. You spluttered and coughed, slinging spit across his stomach, your cheeks damp with tears. Lips swollen, you grinned up at him.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you said, earning another eager twitch from his cock.

Tim laid there, his pants still halfway down his thighs. A hundred ideas for the camera flit through your mind—him bending you over the bed, or your hands on his chest while you bounced in his lap, or your back pinned to the wall while he wrapped one leg around his waist—but spying the repression in his face made all of it seem completely unimportant.

Fuck the numbers. You’d find someone else at this godforsaken resort. You wanted him—all of him—without a single performance.

But you would at least get one more shot.

“You wanna hold the camera?” you asked, offering it to him.

He raised a brow. “If you want,” he replied, and took it in his hands, looking between you and the phone. “What do I do with it?”

Wetting your lips, you crawled up to straddle him, rocking your hips to tease your cunt over his cock and coasting a hand from his chest, down his stomach. “Film yourself,” you said, reaching between your legs to give his length a single stroke, “sliding that thick cock of yours inside of me.”

He allowed himself half a smirk. “Oh, yeah?” he said. “Is that right?”

“Hmm…” You grinned. “I think you’re trying to get me to say it, now.”

Tim snorted. “Sure.”

He placed the phone down and flipped you onto your back, shucking the rest of his clothing before returning to loom over you. Your mouth watered again, devouring his exposed thighs, the swing of his cock between them, the shadow of hair surrounding it.

Giggling, you spread your legs to welcome him. Tim picked up the phone again, face screwing as he fumbled with the screen.

“How do I—”

“The camera—”

“—turn this—”

“—app, you just open it and—”

“—thing—I got it, I got it—”

You nodded, stilling, holding your breath as he aimed the camera at the crux of your legs.

Tim’s free hand smoothed over your thigh, caressing every naked inch, thumb brushing your concealed folds. You bucked your hips, whining, begging with your body, but he was unmoved, teasing over your heat again, again, adding pressure each time, until he finally stroked your needy clit, and you cried out in bliss.

“Please,” you said, pushing out your lower lip for effect. “Please, fuck me, Daddy.”

Tim’s jaw tensed, as if he wanted to speak but his tongue was pinned. Camera still on you, he guided his cock to your cunt, the fat tip easing the fabric of your swimsuit to the side. Your breath caught in your throat, air whispering in your wetness, and you stared into the camera, wiggling your hips, trying to entice him.

Swirling the head of his cock in your slick, Tim’s breath quickened until he pressed himself to your entrance, his mouth parting and eyes rolling as he sank into your cunt.

“Oh, fuck, yes.”

“Oh, fuck, yes—”

If he had felt big in your hand, or huge in your mouth, he felt massive inside of your pussy. Tim was now, verifiably, the thickest man you’d had inside of you, and he filled you like a beast glutting itself on blood, stretching you until you were certain he’d pressed your pelvis. You were paralyzed, mind muddled, only able to focus on the air in your lungs, your fingers entwined in the sheets. Seething with bliss, Tim’s grip bruised you, and he slid out to sink in again, this time exhaling as pleasure washed over him.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he cooed. “I… I—” He shook off whatever he’d wanted to say, and resumed his rhythm, thrusting deep, his hips smacking your thighs, your tits bouncing, his head dipped in awe. “God…”

The camera wobbled, unsteady in his hand. It was time to relinquish him of responsibility. With a smirk, you snatched it from him, switched off the recording and laid it on your bedside table.

“That’s enough of that,” you said.

Tim was frozen, apparently uncertain if this meant he needed to stop fucking you, which he seemed very certain he did not want to do.

“You’re holding back,” you said, gliding your hands up his sides and curving around to his back to coax him over you. “I want to hear everything you want to say.” As he settled on top of you, his cock pulsing at your entrance, you nuzzled your head against his, and said, “I want you to fuck me.”

Tim tensed above you. You heard his throat work. Then he withdrew his hips, and drove into you, grunting at your ear, resuming a patient and painful rhythm. Each thrust split you wider, his hips snapping like springs, and you jolted with every connection of skin, your eyes shutting, your mouth hanging open with staccatoed sobs of delight.

“Yeah,” he growled, “fuck. You don’t care who fucks your pretty pussy, do you?” His voice scraped the depth of his chest. “You just want it—fuck—filled up.”

You nodded with a whine, voice lost to the intensity of how he stretched you. One of your legs wound around him, your nails skated down his back, and he slammed into you, his spine arching as if to pinch a desperate need. Shifting, Tim pushed you forward, your hips lifting from the bed, and then plunged into your cunt, spearing through you over, and over. You wailed, clinging to him, sweat slicking between you, enduring the onslaught of bliss and agony that shrieked in your skin.

With every new thrust, ripples of contact ricocheted to your clit, now more swollen and sensitive than a naked nerve. It throbbed, ached, pleaded with you to cum. Obliging, you reached between your legs, giving it only the suggestion of touch, and you shook with utter ecstasy.

“Yes,” you said, “I need—please, more, fuck—”

Tim’s ragged breath quickened. “That’s it,” he said, “play with that little cunt.” He groaned, bit it off with a growl. “Goddamn, you’re so fucking tight.” Faster, voice fraying at the edges. “So wet, so—” He stammered on his own pleasure, and laughed. “So much…”

Humming in recognition, you purred, “So much—ah—so much better than your wife?”

He laughed again. “Yeah.” Pumping deeper, muscles locking, he bowed his head, kissing, sucking at your neck like he could draw blood through your skin. “Fuck yeah.”

Smiling, you swirled your clit faster, passing your fingers over its throbbing edge, rocking your hips with his thrusts, meeting him again, again, wanting to break him, wanting to feel him fuck you full of cum.

“Yes,” you whispered, “I—Tim—”

Tim snarled, pushed himself off of you, and pulled out. You howled in protest, squirming with emptiness until he snatched your legs and flipped you onto your stomach. There was only time to blink before he yanked your hips backward, situated his cock at your pulsing core, and rammed in. This time, you screamed.

The man behind you was transformed from the anxious husk you’d met at the bar. This man was the echo of the one who’d shook you, who’d cursed the world before you, this man was the realization of the danger you’d seen flash in Tim’s eyes. He hammered your cunt, pounded your cervix, and your back bent, your hips canted, starving to take every single fucking inch.

Words escaped you, garbled nonsense that filled the room, and behind you, Tim was bestial, every breath fleeing his chest wrought with a frenzied, agonized euphoria. He subsumed you, saturated you, his thick cock stretching your cunt deeper, deeper. Lost to sensation, you reached toward your clit, grazing it with your fingertips, and twisted with ecstasy, sobbing in relief.

“That’s right, honey,” he said, barely intelligible himself. “You take it. You take—take Daddy’s cock.”

This shot straight to your clit, and you choked. “Yes, Daddy, yes, fuck me,” you sputtered, “I love your cock—”

“Yeah, you do,” he replied, “this is the best fucking cock you’ve ever had.”

“It is,” you said, panting, wailing into the mattress, “I want to cum on it, Daddy, please!”

“Oh, fuck.”

Tim’s grip tightened, you felt him hunch, felt him begin to piston his hips. You glimpsed behind you, and saw a man utterly awash in bliss—eyes shut, mouth open, chest flush with sweat—and the pressure and friction on your clit collided into a single cataclysmic peak.

“Fuck yes,” Tim hissed, “cum on it. Cum on Daddy’s cock.”

Inhaling a breath, you exhaled a sob, your climax short-circuiting every thought and every instinct in your mind. You became a bucking, twitching doll, orchestrated entirely by euphoria, your words lost to the ether besides fuck, and Daddy, and please. Tim fucked you through it, milked by your spasming walls until his hips stuttered, his breath collapsed into sound, and you felt the twitching of his shaft at your core, pulsing you full of his cum.

“Fuck.” Through his gnarled breath, Tim pulled at your ass, watching himself unload inside you. Humming in delight, you clenched around him, hoping to draw out an aftershock. “Oh, my fucking God.”

You giggled, wiggled your ass as he descended to reality, his softening cock slowly slipping free of your pussy. His cum drooled from your core, dribbled down your folds and onto your thighs.

Lowering to your belly, you craned your neck to look at him. Tim was staring into your cunt, watching his cum leak out of you, his cock shining with the combination of your fluids. To be honest, you were a little impressed.

“You actually came inside of me,” you said, easing onto your back. When he just looked at you and said nothing, you continued, “I mean, I’m on birth control, don’t get me wrong. But you didn’t know that. And you still did.” You laughed. “Most guys won’t risk it.”

Tim snorted. “Well,” he said, turning around to start grabbing his clothes. “Wouldn’t have mattered either way.”

You frowned. “Huh?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Tim dressed in silence, collecting only short glimpses of your body. When he finished, he looked toward your phone. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Uh, sure,” you said, sitting up and pulling your bathing suit back into place. “Did you, like, want to stay a little longer? Or come by tom—”

“No.” He looked in the mirror, making sure his hair was in place before turning back to you. “I don’t think you’ll be hearing from me again.” Realizing how cold that sounded, he cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry.” He met your eyes. “It’s nothing personal.”

You raised a brow. Shrugged. Not like it mattered to you. Though you would be sad to say goodbye to that perfect, beautiful cock of his. “All right, Tim,” you said. “Well, if I see you around, we won’t say a word.”

He nodded, glanced at his wedding ring. “Agreed.”

With that, he slipped into his shoes and departed the villa, haunted by the same shadow you’d seen at the bar. You sighed, snuggling into your sheets and grabbing your phone. You’d need to shower in a second, but you could at least post what you’d managed to get before doing so.

After uploading the videos (‼️NEW‼️ VIDEO 🫢🔥 I FUCK A HOT RICH DADDY 🤤🤤🤤🔥), you got into the shower, cleaning yourself of sweat, of cum, of man. Tim had been a nice enough guy, but like almost every other man you’d met at this resort, he’d carried too many skeletons in his suitcase for you to feel particularly bad for whatever his current situation was.

Once clean, you wrapped yourself in a towel and bounded back to your bed, hoping that the new content had managed to excite some of your subscribers and potentially entice a few more to join. To your surprise, the comments on the video of Tim fucking you were already exploding in ratio. You opened them, skimming through.

is that the guy from the NYT article? holy shit, that’s the sho-kel dude whoa did you fuck timothy ratliff????

Your eyes widened. Tim? Timothy Ratliff? But…

You tapped on the video.

“How do I—”

“The camera—”

“—turn this—”

“—app, you just open it and—”

Your jaw dropped. He’d started recording with the front-facing camera. You’d just posted his face to all of your subscribers.

this is so hot i had no idea sho kel guy had such a huge cock his prison buddies are gonna like that!!!!! im getting my friends to subscribe they have to see this lol

Blinking, you examined your numbers. There’d been a huge jump in just the past half an hour and still climbing.

Thank God. You were going to get something out of coming here.

It was unfortunate, sure, that he’d accidentally recorded his face. But from what you could tell, Tim had bigger problems than worrying about his face on your amateur porn. Grinning to yourself, you placed your phone on your bedside table, and turned over for a nap.

[rookiesbookies]

Inspired by my lovely mutual @shotmrmiller and a second submission to #Soapitup (im summonimg you again @glitterypirateduck ). Im actually going to name this one and it’s called:

A doll and his loser.

Its loser!reader x sex doll!Reboot!Soap

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see!

Especially let me know if you want part two

Fic under the cut as always.

Edit: im incredibly dyslexic im so sorry for typos

When the line of 141 sex dolls, which were based on random men she had never heard of who seemed just magically created for this line, showed in a sketching email in her inbox, she must have been truly weak that night. She had been incredibly drunk and disappointed by a man who just didn’t even bother to bring her pleasure. So of course she ordered the sketchy, ‘satisfaction guaranteed’ doll. There were choices, quite a few actually. But it was the beefy Scottsman that stood out against the rest, she couldn’t tell you why. Maybe it was his soft face, his muscles, or maybe the outfit he came with, it could even be his hair. Sure there was a photo of what his cock looked like on the sight, a normal length with a great amount of girth, but she wasn’t too picky.

She had completely forgotten about the lifelike sex doll she ordered, she learned was named ‘Johnny’ until the giant box that weighed more than she did sat on her doorstep. She quickly shoved the package marked ‘fragile’ in her door. The gibberish language on the side of the box wasn’t one she recognized, she realized as she struggled to get the box in. She gently put the box on its side before grabbing a butter knife from her kitchen.

When she got the sides of the box open she saw his face. So much softer in person, with his long lashes and plush cheeks. She traced her thumb over his cheek and over his lips before his eyes gently fluttered open at her touch. He seemed almost surprised before his eyes relaxed. It must be the personality software? It did say something about that. His eyes a crazy blue, the kind that looks like the ocean meeting the sky, they were so glossy and sweet, they seemed, truthfully, real. She brushed it off, its just a doll, this was a high tech sex doll, at least that's what the marketing said.

He studied her features and watched to lean into her warm touch, but his rigid body wouldn’t allow it.

She did her best to get the heavy doll out of its box. Dragging it into her bedroom. Even his hair is life-like, which was crazy.

When she got him onto her bed she propped him up against the headboard of her bed, his eyes watching her every move as she walked back out to search for his manual.

“Stupid company didn’t even send me a manual.” She grumbled, a few things were written on the box.

‘Ejaculates like a real man!’ ‘Life-like groans!’ ‘Tease him to get him up!’ ‘Built like a real stallion!’ There was a forth thing that the words had pulled off of when she tore off the tape, now it was illegible but she saw it pointed to the lips, so she assumed they were ‘soft like a real man’s!’

He was almost static in whatever position she put him in, one of his arms hovering in the weird position she left it in.

He seemed almost too lifelike, the way his eyes watched her.

“What?” She asked, “you seem surprised.”

She was met with silence.

“Oh, who am I kidding, you’re a fucking doll. You’re not going to reply to me, this isn’t some X rated Toy Story movie.” She grumbled before her stomach grumbled back. So she left her doll man to get some food.

She cooked herself a quick meal then went to go shower, completely forgetting about the doll as she stripped until she noticed the large bump in his change.

“I didn’t realize stripping to shower meant teasing,” she thought out loud. “At least now I can check if you were marketed correctly.”

She gently undid the belt on the doll’s pants, which seemed like real high quality jeans a real person would wear, before undoing the button and the zipper. Sliding down the waistband of his underwear she noticed the monster.

Her eyes flew wide, “maybe I should ask for measurements next time,” she mumbled, she wanted to faint. “They didn’t tell me you had a horse cock, big guy,’ she chuckled to herself, his eyes almost looking prideful, pupils seeming larger with almost bedroom eyes. They must have some crazy tech.

“I must really be losing it, talking to myself,” she sighed.

She let her fingers gently graze his dick before she spit on her hand, she wrapped her fingers around his fat cock delicately, not reaching all the way around. She sighed before getting up to pull more lube from her night stand. One of her hands, now covered in lube, began to massage him while her other hand began to rub around her pussy.

She hummed, mumbling about how needy she was, how guys had disappointed her in the past, what she wanted. This went on for a few minutes until she was sure she was prepped, awkwardly climbing on top of her beefcake sex doll before lining him up with her hole and sinking down. His eyes rolled back but she didn’t notice because her’s did too.

“Oh fuck,” she mumbled almost pitifully, letting her head fall against his hairy chest, a tattoo of a Scottish flag pulled tight on one of his pecs. “I haven’t been filled like this in so long.”

She sat there and adjusted, hands balled into fists against the doll’s chest. A chest that felt so warm and inviting.

She slowly began to rock her hips, soft whimpers and moans falling from her lips that got louder as she began to bounce on him. She supported herself with one hand while the other was in her mouth to suffocate her louder moans. Her eyes teary from the girth of him.

The doll let out little groans and moans too that slipped from behind his sealed lips.

It wasn’t long before her tight walls began to flutter, he came almost instantly when they began to flutter, she gasped at the feeling but kept going until she reached her own peak. But it wasn’t quite enough, so she kept bouncing. He came faster and faster, cock starting to ache because of the bonnie lass that was riding it. With a cunt like that on him he couldn’t help but shoot hot, white spirts into her.

When she got off him, it slid down her inner thigh, she swiped it up and stuck it in her mouth which made him almost faint.

“Jeez, it tastes real too,” she said like a question before walking away.

She got a wash cloth she had been planning to use for a shower and cleaned up the dolly with gentle touches. She felt like she needed to treat him like a real man, he was so close it seemed. She zipped his pants back up and set him on the ground before putting a sleep mask over his eyes.

“Nothing personal, I just don’t know how to put you in sleep mode and I don’t want to accidentally turn your dick on again when I get out of the shower.” She said before hopping in the bathroom. Her pussy was sore to say the least, but the good kind, the kind that makes a girl feel well used and fulfilled, she did her best to get the most of that fake cum out of her cunt.

After she scrubbed herself clean of the day and of that fulfilling session with her doll she made her way back into her room and flopped on her bed before crashing and falling asleep.

She used him about every other day or so for the next couple weeks before she started ovulating. She was like a bitch in heat, her body couldn’t calm down. She was flushed and couldn’t stop. She had two days off from work and pulled Johnny from where he had been set on the chair, returning him to her bed. The weird doll must have realized something weird was happening because it- he- was immediately hard. She immediately got on too of him, she had tried other positions but cowgirl was just the easiest by far with Johnny. She immediately lubed herself and him up, pumping him twice to make sure he was fully hard before sliding on.

The broken moans that fell from her mouth were a chorus of angels singing in his ears.

“I feel like such a loser,” she whined, “talking to and fucking a sex doll instead of a real guy, i feel like a weirdo.”

She put her head to his chest with whimpers falling from her mouth. He had already cum, his noises turning to the broken ones they always did before he came, a nice audio cue for the doll to have.

“Just a little more, please,” she whined to her doll.

After she rode out her high she laid sprawled out against his chest.

“I wonder how you’d be im bed if you were real,” she asked no one in particular. She was so especially weak right now. Ovulation making her so needy and sad, she couldn’t help but place a gentle kiss to his stiff lips as she let her eyes flutter closed to take a breather before the horny took back over.

She didn’t feel his stiff body relax, she didn’t notice anything until his plastic-y fingers ran up and down her waist.

“You won’t have to wonder any more, bonnie lass.” His voice was a low grumble in here ear, his scottish accent loud and clear. “How do you want it, I’m going to take good care of you.”

Hope you have a wonderful day, lovely reader💜 you deserve it

ALSO SIMON’S IS UP NOW.

[reikissu]

Baji Keisuke dating headcanons.

a/n: a new dating hcs for baji, since my last ones were ooc as hell 😟 (mikey, draken, mitsuya, pahchin, kazutora)

genre: fluff, a bit of comedy

reader: gender neutral

warnings: cursing, mentions of violence and injuries

baji’s an odd one, despite him being an infamous delinquent and being held back a year, he’s the sweetest boy ever.

he’d call you baby, dumbass or babe, it depends on different days.

he’ll do anything for you, even if it meant killing someone. need help with something? alright, he’s up for the job, but if it involves homework, he’ll try his best. you hate someone with a burning passion? he’ll beat the living hell out of them for you.

he sometimes gets into fights on purpose so you’ll take care of him, you’ll hear a stone hitting your bedroom window and you’ll see your beaten up boyfriend with a shit eating grin outside your house.

“babyyy! treat my wounds please!” “you got into another fight? oh my god. 😠” “hehe.” “don’t hehe me, keisuke! whatever.. get in here.”

his mother adores you, she’s very happy for you and keisuke. she’s proud of her son because you always tell her how well he treats you, she now knows her son will be a good husband. ryoko would give you food as thanks for making keisuke happier, she’d also always ask him about you.

“how’s y/n?” “huh? oh, they’re doing good.” “oh okay, when will they stay over again?” “hmmm.. not sure, i’ll ask them tomorrow.”

there’s times where he’s in a bad mood, he gets the urge to punch someone or burn cars, but he then remembered that you told him not to. so he just pays you a visit whenever he feels cranky.

his type of dates would be after school or at night, after school you both would go to his favorite café and eat while telling each other what happened in your day, at night he would take you out on a ride or bring you to a night market.

he dreams big, and he works hard to make sure he’ll be able to achieve that life with you. a life with you where you both are newlyweds, living in an apartment without a single worry, having cats and cute kids. it makes him blush when he thinks about it.

if you’re a hardworker who never takes a break, he’ll drag your ass out. “Huh? Kei, where are we going?” “We’re going to that place you like so much.” “Why? I was doing something you know!” “Dumbass, it’s been days since you haven’t left your room, i don’t wanna open the door and see you dead on the floor.”

he would give you small things as his way of showing you his love aside from kisses and hugs. like your favorite snacks, keychains of your favorite flower or animal, and jewelry he can afford.

you both would have matching phone charms and rings, the phone charms would be cats and the rings would be sun and moon themed. he never takes off his ring, even if he was in a fight or if he was taking a bath.

he would proudly introduce you to mikey and the others, he doesn’t care if it’s embarrassing, he wants to show you off.

“Meet Y/N, they’re my lover.” “Wait, what?!” “Woah, you got yourself a saint if they can handle how much of an asshole you are.” “Nice to meet you, Y/N.” “Man, i never thought you’d be able to get a lover!” “They’re hot.” “HA?!” and everyone else has to hold baji back from beating kazutora up.

he gets jealous, even of kids. one time, a little boy came up to you and told you that he wants to marry you one day, you just said thank you and laughed it off… while keisuke, was glaring down at the kid and was like “😠… Hm.”

he would introduce you to every cat he owns. “This one’s Yuko, this one here is Peyoung, and this one, my favorite is named Y/N Jr.” “You seriously named a cat after me?” “Duh, you should’ve expected that from me.”

he’d always crave for your warmth, even at school. whenever you two are alone in a place at school, he’d hug you, if you two are staying over at his place or your place, he’d cuddle you. his arms around your waist, his face buried into the crook of your neck as he takes in your scent.

if you have younger siblings or pets, he’d gladly take care of them if you are busy or anything. he’d be the type to get along well with your parents too.

he would smell like Versace Eros, he would probably have that as his perfume because one of his rich relatives gave him that as a birthday present. so it makes you giddy inside whenever you hug him.

he isn’t very talkative and nice to other students except you, if they’d try flirting with him he’d immediately tell them you’re his lover. you are the only exception to him, no one else can play with his hair, touch his body, or even try to fix his necktie and fake glasses.

rando: “Ah, Baji-kun, your collar’s wrinkled.” he’d swat their hand away if they even try to touch his clothes, “Don’t touch me, i can fix it myself.” but if it’s you, it’s an automatic yes.

baji would ask help from you if he was having hard time with some topics in some subjects, and he’d feel bad for bothering you. but you always assure him it’s fine for him to ask for help. that’s why his test scores went up, all thanks to everything you taught him.

in short, he’s the type to improve his flaws, to study hard, to be more careful with his attitude, all for you. he’s willing to do everything, even if it has risks of death. his heart only belongs to you.

© reikissu do not repost/steal any of my works and repost it on other platform/s. I do not own the characters i write for at all, reblogs are appreciated though ♡

[pascaloverx]

MESSY

Summary:

You need a place to live, and Michael needs a roommate. You love cleanliness, while he is pure chaos. Do opposites really attract?

Author's Note: The character Michael does not belong to me, but to the film Hoard (2023). There won't be a summary at this time because I'm unsure if the fanfic will continue. So, if you enjoy this preview, please comment and like. Engage! Thank you for your attention.

PREVIEW

ONE

If regret could kill, you would already be six feet under. First and foremost, that man—whose hygiene habits seemed to belong to a bygone era—had simply abandoned you in the filth. You had spent the entire night trying to make his house at least somewhat livable, which, as it turned out, was becoming an impossible task.

But you had persevered. Between scrubbing the floors and washing the dishes, you had done your best. Of course, that was only after taking a much-needed shower and hunting down the cleaning supplies, which, unsurprisingly, were buried under layers of dust and neglect.

After cleaning as much as you could and taking a shower, hunger set in—only for you to discover that perhaps the only clean part of the house was the refrigerator, which was completely empty.

You recalled passing a market on your way to Michael’s house—wherever he had disappeared to, he still hadn’t returned. Grabbing your bag, you headed out to buy as much food as possible for the next few days, along with some proper cleaning supplies.

When you returned, or rather, when you arrived back at Michael’s house, you found him standing in the darkness, lighting a cigarette. Your hands were full with grocery bags, and your body was burning with rage—whether from the humiliation of having scrubbed a filth that wasn’t yours or from the smug little smirk playing on Michael’s lips.

You take a step forward, still holding the grocery bags. "You’re going to end up dead with the way you smoke," you remark, watching him. Michael takes a drag, exhaling the smoke lazily before finally realizing that he should probably help you.

"I see you already care about me. I’m flattered," he says, smirking as he takes one of the bags from your hands.

"No need to be so arrogant. I'm just worried you'll become one more thing rotting in this house while I'm here," you reply, shooting him a quick glance as he effortlessly keeps the cigarette between his lips.

You open the door and head straight for the kitchen to put away the groceries, expecting Michael to do the same. But he doesn’t. Instead, he grabs one of the beers you bought, pops it open, and takes a long sip as he settles onto the couch in the living room, irritating you even more.

You take a deep breath—then stop. That’s exactly what your mother used to do when putting up with your father and his disgusting habits. Finishing up with the groceries, you walk over to where Michael is lounging, reach into the bag, and grab the bottle of milk. Without hesitation, you pour it over him.

"Oops, did I get you dirty?" you ask, watching as the milk drips down his face, soaking him completely and cutting short his enjoyment of the beer.

He wipes his eyes slowly, scanning you from head to toe with an expression that is almost sinful. Rising to his feet, he murmurs, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I thought you needed some help getting even filthier. Or maybe a milk bath would bring you back to reality. Who in their right mind steals someone else’s beer?" you retort confidently, as if daring him to challenge you.

A wicked grin stretches across his lips before he tilts his bottle, dumping the rest of the now-warm beer over you.

"Here, have your beer, then. And forgive me for thinking I deserved one after helping you with the groceries, you ungrateful brat."

You stand there, dripping, as the cold liquid soaks into your clothes. Then you let out a short laugh, tossing the empty milk bottle to the floor and fixing Michael with a glare.

"You have got to be kidding me." Another disbelieving chuckle escapes as you shake your head at his audacity. Your frustration boils over, and you shove him.

"Don't do that again," he warns, watching you with something between amusement and impatience, as if he's enjoying seeing you this riled up but is also testing his limits.

"Why not?" you challenge, pushing him again—this time deliberately provoking him. His tongue flicks over his lips before he suddenly grabs you by the waist, lifting you off the ground as if you weigh nothing, and slamming you against the wall.

Your legs, acting on impulse, give in to Michael’s touch as his hands slide over your thighs, gripping them firmly. His fingers venture dangerously close to your backside, making you gasp.

"What are you doing, Michael?" you ask, barely comprehending how the two of you ended up in this situation. Yet, you don’t pull away—you don’t even try to escape his hold. As much as you hate to admit it, being wrapped in his arms is leaving you breathless.

"Playing with fire, apparently," he murmurs, his face drawing closer to yours. And before you can protest about the lingering scent of milk on him or the beer clinging to you, his lips silence you.

The kiss is heated, almost desperate, as if he’s savoring the taste of you. You surrender to it, gripping onto him as his hands roam lower, squeezing you with a possessive hunger. A muffled moan escapes your lips as you fumble with his jacket, tugging at his shirt in an attempt to strip it from his body while your mouths remain locked in fervent kisses. His lips leave yours only to trace a path down your skin, trailing kisses from your lips to your jaw, then lower—until they find the curve of your neck, where he presses deeper, as if branding you with each touch.

You tug at Michael’s hair forcefully, as if daring him to lose control. He looks at you with something dark, almost erotic in his gaze, before leaning in again. You tease him first, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before biting down on his lower lip, just enough to break the skin. The metallic taste of his blood spreads over your tongue.

"You’re worse than you seem," he murmurs, his grip on your body tightening as if he never intends to let go. Without hesitation, you run your tongue over his wounded lip, tasting him fully. He lets out a low groan, wincing slightly as he tilts his head back. You press your fingers against his lips, tracing the shape of his mouth before pulling him in by the nape of his neck, crashing your lips against his in a ravenous kiss.

The kiss starts slow, his mouth moving in sync with yours, deliberately soft. It feels like you’re learning each other, your tongues intertwining in a dance laced with the taste of blood and cigarettes, the scent of beer and milk clinging to you both.

This entire mess should repulse you. Something deep inside screams for you to push Michael away, to run upstairs and scrub yourself clean in the half-decent bathroom. And yet, the way he holds you, the way he claimed you just moments ago, makes you want to rip his clothes off with your teeth. But just as his hand grazes dangerously close to your core through the fabric of your clothes, drawing a breathy moan from you, a sharp knock at the door shatters the moment.

"Are you expecting someone?" you ask, pulling back in surprise as Michael turns toward the door, looking just as caught off guard.

"Shit!" he curses, still holding you. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he abruptly drops you. You try to catch yourself on the couch, but you still hit the ground, a dull ache spreading through your back. Ignoring you, he hastily grabs his shirt and throws it on before rushing to the door.

"What took you so long?" a woman’s voice—older, firm—cuts through the tension as you push yourself up from the floor, wincing slightly.

Your shock only deepens when she steps inside, cradling a baby in one arm while carrying a diaper bag in the other. You barely manage to compose yourself as she glances around the room, eyes scanning the beer and milk mess with a disapproving frown.

"I didn’t know you were busy, but you did know it was your night to take Mikaela," she says, pointedly.

Michael exhales sharply, already reaching for the baby, his hands surprisingly careful as he takes her into his arms. The sight alone is enough to make your brain short-circuit. Who in their right mind would leave a baby with Michael?

Trying to steady yourself, you step forward. "I’m Y/N. I’m renting the spare room," you introduce yourself, extending a hand.

The woman shakes it with a friendly smile. "Glad to hear it. Michael could use both the company and the rent money. I just hope he treats you well," she says before glancing at her watch, suddenly in a rush.

"I’d stay, but Maria is waiting for me. It was nice meeting you," she adds before turning to Michael, who is now at the mercy of Mikaela’s tiny fingers pulling at his hair.

"Take care of your daughter, treat your tenant well, and clean this house. It reeks of beer," she scolds before disappearing out the door. Michael groans, struggling to pry Mikaela’s hands from his hair, then looks at you expectantly. "You’re not gonna help?"

Laughing, you step back, already making your way toward the stairs. "Sorry, darling, but she’s your kid. And I can’t stand this smell any longer. Maybe later," you tease, grinning at his exasperated expression before heading to the bathroom, already anticipating the long, hot shower that awaits you.

[covetyou]

no shortage of sordid

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader, Joel Miller x m!OC (unnamed) rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: very dubious consent (not from reader), oral sex (m receiving from m), voyeurism/exhibitionism, degradation, brief mention of food and allusion to hunger, unnamed m!OC, m/m, Joel is not exactly gay he's just a domineering asshole, drug reference word count: 3.1k summary: Your deal with Joel has changed into something else, something different to when you first came to his door asking for help months ago. But, when you try to take him up on your new arrangement, you're met with something you never expected.

A/N: this was originally a much shorter deleted scene from the start of the dark caress of someone else. I took it out because it was too much and after writing that chapter I told myself I would avoid writing threesomes for as long as possible, because god damn it there's too many body parts. well, me, fuck you, this is threesome adjacent and not technically a threesome at all.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Six days. That's how long it takes for you to cave and admit you want him. It takes you another two to do anything about it.

The first time you make the trip to Joel's apartment, no pills necessary, you're faced with silence and a door that won't open.

With an hour break between your jobs the next day, you make another attempt. But, you barely make it through the market when you see him trailing behind Tess, hulking figure parting the crowd with ease. You don't stop to see where they're going, instead choosing to turn on your heel and head back the way you came. The less you know, the better. Using the cards he handed back to you nine days ago, you stop by a street food vendor on your way to your next job, eating your first hot meal not only of that day, but that week, the warm food soothing more than just the emptiness in your stomach.

It takes you much longer to convince yourself to try on the third day. Your thoughts hadn't immediately gone to Joel Miller that morning. You had toyed with going for a walk, with seeing if you could pick up more work. But soon your hands ache, bones creaking in their joints as you clench them once again, trying to stave off the want in your belly with the pinch of nails digging into your palms.

Fuck it. You're going. Whether he's there or not, the need to get out of this apartment far outweighs the desire to stay warm inside it.

So, one gray trudge across a gray Boston to a gray apartment block later, you're at his door. Again.

Only this time there's not silence on the other side.

You can hear a murmur - undoubtedly Joel by the heavy rasp of a wry laugh that follows it - and a garbled whimper.

And, of course, you could leave. You could turn your back and leave Joel up to whatever it is, whoever it is, he's doing in there, but you don't. You knock, wanting him to know that even if he's occupied, you showed up. You came to him, not for pills, but for sex. For want, for desire, for the ease of the ache between your legs and the itch in your palms that just won't quit no matter how much you make yourself come.

Even with company, he doesn't make you wait long.

So it's not that you're not expecting the shuffle of two sets of feet. Or the thud on the door, heavy and dull like something big had caught itself before falling down. You knew he wasn't alone and, after all, the only thing you could really expect when visiting Joel was that nothing would be as expected.

No, that's not what surprises you at all.

What surprises you is when the door drifts open a fraction, a disembodied hand reaching through and pulling you through the gap, dragging you inside. What surprises you is tripping over his shoes, only they're not his shoes, the feet turned the wrong way up to belong to the all too familiar man standing before you.

What surprises you is seeing a man on his knees in front of Joel Miller.

It surprises you so much, you don't even notice as the door clicks shut and the hand that dragged you inside pulls you once again to stand at his side.

From here you can get a full view. There's a man on his knees in front of Joel. Joel's pants are unbuckled and pulled low on his hips. And then, the entire scene becomes very, very clear.

There is a man on his knees in front of Joel with his cock in his mouth.

So, when Joel looks at you with a glint in his eye, you're suddenly rooted to the spot, staring between him and the man beneath him. A smirk from Joel tells you you've been looking a little too long so, embarrassed and not quite sure what to do with yourself, you spin around, turning to inspect the back of a chair as if it was the most interesting thing in the room, not the man currently bobbing his head up and down on Joel's length.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he drawls from behind you. "Ain't no fun for me if you ain't lookin'."

As you always do where Joel is concerned, you do as you're told, taking a deep breath as you turn back to watch the man swallow down Joel's cock. You'd seen this kind of thing before - turned down the wrong street at the wrong time more than once only to see someone on their knees for someone else, earning yourself a wink or an insult for the privilege. But you never stayed to watch. Yet, here you are, staying and watching either because it was Joel, or because he asked, you weren't too sure.

The why doesn't exactly matter, you figure, not when your cheeks were rapidly heating and the wet patch in your panties was doing nothing but grow.

"Think he likes the audience too," Joel is saying, nodding down to the guy on his knees. "Don't you?"

You can see that he does. There's a hard bulge in the front of his pants, a bulge that looks much harder than the cock currently in his mouth.

"Dick always so hard for a straight guy. Think you like being a cocksucker." Joel gives the man an awkward pat on the head and huffs out a laugh, looking away from him to look back at you.

"Likin' what you see, sweetheart?" he jokes, casting dark eyes up and down your body. He can't see much. It's still fucking freezing, which is no surprise for a February in Boston, and you're still wrapped up against the elements because of it. But you know his gaze is looking through all of it, seeing through the layers straight down to your flesh, to your hard nipples and the wetness between your legs. He raises that infuriating, knowing, eyebrow at you and you roll your eyes.

"'m serious, you gotta keep lookin' or I'm never gonna come," he says then, and you drag your eyes back in an instant. You briefly wonder why - how - he would never come from this until it hits you.

Having a man suck his dick isn't Joel Miller's idea of a good time. Whoever the man on his knees is, he owes Joel. Maybe just like you did, or maybe worse. It doesn't matter, because you're not witnessing a blow job, you're witnessing a fucking business transaction.

And so you laugh - not at Joel, or the man, not really, but at the entire fucked situation and the world that brought you to this place.

"Y'hear that?" Joel growls down at the man. "She's laughin' at you."

Pinching his eyes shut, the man groans, and you swear you can see a dark patch starting to form on the front of his pants. It almost feels wrong, looking at another mans bulge like this when Joel's cock is right there, disappearing in and out of the strangers mouth at a languid pace. You can't even ask his name - his mouth too full to get out more than a garbled moan. Maybe names don't matter either.

Joel's eyes haven't left you, and yours haven't left the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. He's harder now, softness completely gone now that you're here to witness it. Giving and watching a blow job are so much different to what you expected. There's a wet sound in the air, for one. That rhythmic, wet noise of a throat being fucked was usually masked by your own moans, made easy to ignore by the distraction filling your mouth. But here, several steps away, it is loud.

"That's it. Keep your eyes right there," Joel murmurs before pointing to your outer layer. "Unzip your coat, lemme see. Get those pretty tits out for me, sweetheart. Don't mind him. He ain't gonna look. Are you?"

The man groans again, keeping his eyes shut as his head bobs on Joel's cock, taking an impressive amount of him down his throat with each movement. There's a small shake of his head, and while you don't believe him, you find you don't care either. You don't know the man on the floor any more than he knows you, and you have a feeling he's likely to keep his mouth shut once he leaves Joel's apartment today anyway.

A fraction of a second later, you're pulling your jacket open and yanking your sweater up above your tits, baring them to Joel. He murmurs something to himself, fisting his shirt tightly as he holds it up, exposing his belly. It strikes you then how damn distracted you had been every time before now - Joel's fingers, or tongue, or cock working you in such a way that you were brainless and oblivious to the physical affects you had on him. Now, its obvious. Like a man possessed, he watches you with blown eyes, his cock in full hardness now as the man below him works him over with his mouth and tongue.

Dragging cool fingers down your exposed chest, you meet your already pebbled nipples, pinching them and holding back a soft gasp. It's as much for you as it is to get a reaction from Joel, and if he didn't know you were wet before, he does now.

"That's it, play with 'em. And keep watching, sweetheart. Want you to watch when I come down his throat."

It's a struggle to keep your eyes open, but certainly not a chore. The man has picked up his pace, sucking and moaning around Joel's length as he slurps it down. He holds back a splutter when Joel's hips buck forward just as you pinch your nipples harder again, squeezing the flesh of your tits in cold palms.

"Fuuck, that's it, keep watchin'. You like that? Bet you want a taste of this dick too, huh?"

You nod, words stuck in your throat as Joel presses the mans head further into his crotch, rocking his hips to fuck lightly into his mouth.

"You needy and dripping over there ain't you?" he growls. He doesn't wait for you to nod, he doesn't need to. "Yeah you fuckin' are. Dirty fuckin' girl, watching my dick gettin' sucked. You like watching, don't you? Say it. Wanna hear it."

"I like it. I like watching, Joel," you say, barely more than a whisper as you become more and more entranced by Joel's cock in the mans mouth.

"Shit. Keep watchin'. Gonna come. Need you to watch."

It's all you can do to hold back a moan, your panties now probably ruined by your dripping, neglected cunt. This was not what you came here for, but watching Joel mumble obscenities and growl filth to you and the man on his knees as he gets his cock sucked was something you never knew you wanted before now. Sure, you want to touch, to play with him yourself. But watching is getting you wetter and wetter without even a finger or the press of your thighs to help you along the way.

"That's it. You keep suckin'. Fuck. Gonna bet you want this load in you not in him, right?"

Nodding frantically, you move a hand to your waistband, a soft plea on your lips, ready to pull your pants down any second. "Please - "

"Fuck - shit - well too bad, sweetheart. You look at that dick gettin' sucked. Shit - gonna come. Look at me. I said look at me."

Your eyes meet his just as they flutter closed. Joel groans a curse, his balls starting to empty into the throat of the man in front of him until he's suddenly tugging the mans hair, pulling his mouth off of his cock. The man gasps, swallowing down what he can as Joel rapidly strokes his spit soaked length, jerking the remains of his spend over the mans face and mouth. His eyes immediately flick to yours, a soft moan having left your own lips the moment Joel started to come, and he groans again, a final spurt coating the mans chin, soaking his facial hair. It's filthy. Not the most filthy thing you know Joel's done, but the most filthy thing you've ever seen him do from the outside. You can't help but stare on in silence, too captivated by the spurts of milky white dripping over the mans face, his eyes still screwed tight. You're aching and desperate to stick a hand down your pants, to feel how wet you are, to touch your clit and make yourself come as you try to hold yourself upright on shaky legs.

Through syrupy blood pulsing in your ears you hear Joel growl down at the man, removing his hand from his hair like it's burned his palm. Then, he's looking to you again, deep brown eyes searching your own before falling down, down to where your hand cups your breast and your other fists the waistband of your pants in a tight grip. He knows - knows that even if you came here already wet and wanting, you were even more so now.

And it's with a smirk and a sharp snap of his fingers that he pulls you back into the room. The man's eyes are open now, avoiding yours as he wipes cum from his face with his sleeve, covertly licking his lips for any remnant taste of Joel. You can't blame him, fuck knows you'd done the same when Joel had swiped a taste of himself over your own lips, but you can't help the jealousy at wanting to taste again too.

It's then you remember your exposed chest, and you yank your sweater back down without another glance to the man on his knees. Joel shakes his head, a shit eating grin spreading across his face as he strides across the room. He goes to the cupboard where you know he keeps a small amount of his stock, rifling through for a second before coming back with a baggy and tossing it down on the floor at the mans knees. He scrambles for it immediately, climbing to his feet and grabbing the door. Joel doesn't look at him again.

"Say hello to your wife for me," Joel calls over his shoulder, and the man scurries away without a word.

Now it's just you and him, his unbuttoned pants the only remaining evidence of what just happened.

You hesitate, partly in stunned silence, partly your brain having turned to liquid between your ears, all coherent thought lost the moment Joel's cum spurted across the mans face. But there's still that unsatisfied ache between your legs, throbbing and making your hand twitch, willing you to reach for him now that he's so close.

Joel sees it, he knows, knows what you came here for and knows what you won't be getting.

"Not today, sweetheart. Couldn't even if I tried," he says gesturing to his spent already dick tucked back into his pants. "Gotta head out again too, so whatever you got goin' on in those panties, you gotta deal with it yourself." He finishes with a wink and a tap to your chin before grabbing a small gym bag from the couch. You hadn't even seen it there, brain too occupied by more interesting things happening in this room at the time.

So it's no surprise, really, when your mouth starts running before your mind can process what it's doing. There's only one thing you're thinking of. One thing, aside from the throb in your core, that you can't stop thinking about, that envy won't let you give up.

"Would you - " your mouth gapes, opening and closing like a fish while your mind stutters and stops. You shouldn't even ask. There's no answer that can satisfy that particular itch. Not as quickly as you'd want it, at least. If he said yes, he'd already said nothing could happen right now, and if he said no, well... there was something about the thought of him denying you that did something to you too. There was no winning.

"Would I what?"

Of course, Joel had already heard. Even as he potters about the apartment, dumping stuff into the bag from places you've not been paying attention to. He stops, prompting you to go on.

"Would you... Would you come in my mouth like that? One time?"

He stares at you with his mouth open in disbelief. "You want me to come in your mouth?"

You nod, your mouth suddenly so fucking dry you can't speak anymore. You'd been salivating, able to practically taste the phantom flavor of Joel's cum on your tongue just a moment ago. Now, it was like you'd been chewing on bricks, tongue sticky and dry and your teeth feeling like an awkward jumble in your mouth.

"Well, shit. Call the press. Respectable good girl wants to be my little cocksucker -"

"Fine, if you're going to make fun, I don't -"

"Woah, hold on, I'm fuckin' with you. I ain't gonna turn down shutting that pretty mouth up with my dick. Gotta do it more than one time though, sweetheart. You around tomorrow?"

Between jobs and your dad having a day off, it would be a few days before you could come back. Shaking your head, you offer up Thursday instead. It's only three days away. You can make it three more days. Right?

"Thursday works for me. Come by in the afternoon. I'll come in that mouth, and then I'll play with that pussy while I get worked up again," he says before adding, with a cock of his head, "Then I'll come in that too."

And you're dumbstruck - the fantasy you concocted in your own head far surpassed by Joel's own, seemingly thought up right on the spot as he maneuvers you out into the hallway.

"See you then, sweetheart."

He pushes you out of the door, fingers electrified where they touch your shoulder. You expect the door to snap shut behind you, like it has so many times before, but he follows you out into the hallway, locking the door behind him. With a wink, he stalks off down the corridor, legs carrying him out of the apartment block too quick for you to keep up.

Later that night, alone in bed and wondering how the hell you're going to last two more days like this, you rub yourself stupid to thoughts of Joel's cock in a mouth that isn't yours.

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr

[coralinnii]

❋ If you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice ❋

feat: Floyd

genre: slow burn romance

note: sequel to reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy AU Floyd ver, no pronouns used for reader, 2k word count

Series masterlist

A new normal has unfortunately assimilated into your life since your incident during that fateful ball. You felt your entire being sink into the pit of your stomach as your brother came running to you when he returned from the party, frantically asking why one of the Leech family sons was asking about you.

“You fell on top of him? And then just ran away?!” You were close to strangling your younger brother for his big mouth, especially when your outraged mother just happened to walk in right at the moment, though you were sure the birds resting in your gardens would have heard your brother’s obnoxious exclamations.

“I can’t believe you didn’t even say sorry, just running away and leaving the poor boy” After scolding your ear off, your mother wrote a letter of apology to the Leech household and to your dismay, invited Floyd to your home so you could personally apologize for your rude behavior. “It’s the least we could do,” your mother said.

Soon, an apology dinner led to a quick tour around your father’s training ground, then eventually there wasn’t a day where you didn’t worry that you’ll see a head of ocean teal hair bursting through your doors, naturally making his way into the guest room like it was made for him, though your mother probably did request the servants to keep that room clean everyday for his arrival anyway.

“Fishie, I’m bored~” You were convinced that Floyd was aware of your wariness of him which was why he intentionally spends his time constantly by your side, poking you and demanding you to entertain him anytime he was bored, which was all the time. He complains when you wouldn’t pay attention to him (eventhough he barged into your classes), drags you to spar with him during your father’s knight training sessions (eventhough you weren’t part of your father’s knight squad), and even naps in your bedroom while waiting for you (eventhough there’s a guest room literally just for him!).

Your wariness soon became frustration as you swore that Floyd was doing this just to get a rise out of you, for you to finally snap and give him a reason to squeeze you. You couldn’t figure it out but you’re starting to realize that the tall intruder only seems happy when you’re mentally suffering from his antics.

What’s worse was that your family doesn’t seem to see this as a concern. Your father was pleased to see potential in Floyd as a fighter and your brother became fascinated with the stories of merfolk and trinkets Floyd brings anytime he visits. The worst was your mother who was happy to have the sharp-toothed man visit them so often, calling him a sweet delight in the home.

“Crazy. They’re all crazy!” Your sanity as thin as silk thread and about as high-strung was tested everyday and it was at its breaking point one day when you had to join him for a night in the town, where a small festival was being held.

“Your dear friend was kind enough to invite you… you should go out more…Don’t be such a slugabed…Why can’t I be a slugabed, mom? Nothing wrong with that” lost in your grumbles, Floyd pulled you around the bustling crowds of the market to various food stalls when he felt an inkling of hunger. You supposed you were glad he was in a good mood for now, beats the alternative.

“Hey Fishie, Check this out!” You looked to see your companion with a satisfied grin on his face. “Look at what I got from the kebab stall!”

A satisfied grin plastered on his face, Floyd held out what you assumed was a meat kebab but the sheer length of it caught you off guard. The impulsive eel persuaded the stall owner to combine the sticks together to create a kebab much longer than intended (or recommended). Adorned with alternating grilled meat and vegetables, Floyd’s kebab stick was more of a kebab sword.

“Oh my goodness” you let out a gasp, wide-eyed at oddity before you. “Is that possible…or safe?” Clearly it was possible with the monstrosity clearly in his hands but your concern was more towards if such a food-covered stick was safe to wave around in a crowded area like this, where someone could accidentally get hit by that thing-

Whack “Hey, what’s the big idea?!”

Why couldn’t you be wrong?

As you feared, Floyd's creative street food managed to swing around and smacked an unsuspecting man in the back of his head. He turned, and your instincts immediately warned you that this man was not the forgiving type of fellow. His scowl seemed to target you, possibly because you seemed to be an easier victim to blame.

“What’s the big idea? A couple of prissy nobles walkin’ around thinkin’ they can do whatever they want?” The ruffled man snarled out in a gruff tone, his friends behind him copying his scowls with furrowed eyebrows and visibly clenched fists. “You better walk away if ya know what’s good for yer.”

But Floyd was not the least bit intimidated by the hostile group and started to scowl back, a dangerous look glazing over his mix-matched eyes. Before you could apologize, the tall merman stepped in front of you, towering over the stranger and blocking your figure from sight. Bystanders whispered and gasped as many started to back away from what looked to be an impending fight.

“Haaa? You minnows tryin’ to pick a fight?” Floyd tilted his head to the side glaring down at the other man, a hand squeezing his shoulder as though to limber up his arm. To you, he seemed like the meaner bully than anyone. “Sure, let’s have some fun then.”

“What’s going on over there?!” You heard another voice bellowing from afar and your worries suddenly shot up. Amongst the crowd, you could see a pair of men in armour making their way towards your direction where the commotion was.

“No. No. No. I don’t want to spend my night getting arrested!” Looking back to Floyd, you saw the wildness in his eyes barely being held back, dead set on starting a fight. You knew there wasn’t a chance to talk Floyd down when he gets this riled up so in a panic, you made a risky move.

Quietly crouching down, you scooped a handful of sand and gravel. With all your mustered courage, you side-stepped from behind your tall friend and threw the debris straight into the ruffian’s eyes, momentarily blinding him. The stranger bellowed with pain as he quickly back again in response.

“AARRGGHH, YOU CRAZY B-“ the blinded man couldn’t finish his sentence as you made the final blow by kicking him further backwards, his friends scrambling to catch him as he groaned in his suffering.

Taking the chance, you quickly grabbed Floyd and rushed away from the scene. Your mind ignored voices cursing you as you recklessly weaved through the crowd away from the knights and the ruffians and towards anywhere that had less of a crowd, your hand tightly holding on to the merman who was strangely quiet, stunned by your impulsive actions. But the ruffians were quick to recover as they started catch their bearings and chase after the two of you, rage fuelled in their motivations.

The chase brought you to a pier by the ocean that was as ink black as the night sky. You could still hear their voices coming closer and soon regret and fear flooded your senses.

“What do I do…what do I do?” You mumbled in panic, with tears lining your eyes. You have completely forgotten that Floyd could feel you shake through your hand still interlocked with his.

Your companion watched you quivering like a scared little seal and hearing angry footsteps approaching, when a fun idea crossed his mind.

“Hey Fishie,” his casual voice finally made you remembered his presence. “We gotta hide, right? I know a place~”

“Wha-“ Without a second to let you ask more, Floyd swiftly picked you up from your shoulders to fling you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and in one fluid motion, he threw you right into the waters without remorse.

Splash

In your flabbergasted state from the audacity and the sheer ice cold feeling of the water, your frazzled mind didn’t even register Floyd jumping in soon after you until he wrapped his arms around you, clasping your hand over your mouth to stop you from screaming. Floyd was surprisingly comforting with his hold on you as his long arms kept you afloat above the cold waters as he expertly led your body further from the pier where you could faintly hear shouting from afar.

Eventually, the noises quiet down and all there’s left were the waves of the water splashing against your skin. Unfortunately, the darkened sky allowed no light for your eyes to scan your surroundings. You could barely see Floyd very well despite feeling his body close to yours. “Floyd, can you see the pier?”

“Yea, can’t you?” Floyd asked but you shook your head, your eyes couldn’t adjust to your surroundings with almost no light in sight. “Too dark, huh? Hmmm, close your eyes for a second, will ya? I’m gonna do somethin’”

Though skeptical, you did as he asked. Minutes went by and before the fear that the ocean-haired man might had left you, a luminous glow nearly permeated through your eyelids. You could tell there was bright beacon of light close to you but there strangely wasn’t a sense of heat from the source.

“…Alright, open ‘em”

Floyd watched intently as you opened your eyes and saw something purely inhuman. The once tall man was no longer in his human form but instead his long eel-like body was wrapped around you which glowed a shimmering blue light from his bioluminescence. This was the first time you’ve him in his most natural form.

Floyd waited silently for a reaction from you, an unreadable look in his gold and brown eyes. With his natural glow, nothing was hidden from you. You could see his sharp claws protruding from his large webbed hands, his dotted blue skin coated with slime, and his large monstrous tail in lieu of those human legs he acquired. All land-dwellers do is gawk and shriek at whatever is unnatural to them and he suspected you’d be the same, just like all the boring humans…

“Floyd, you’re beautiful!”

You couldn’t help but marvel at the sight before you. Your old life fantasized and told tales of merpeople but would never come to see such a visionary sight like this. Even after finding yourself in this new world, many mermaids and mermen had to hide themselves from anti-merfolk humans on land so you still haven’t had the chance to meet them in such a natural form…Until now.

“Wow, you’re glowing from your chest to your tail…” your eyes sparkled with child-like wonder as you watched the light from Floyd’s body shimmer in the waters, reminding you almost like the waves of light of an aurora in the sky. Your fingers curiously grazed the surface of Floyd’s tail which felt cool and smooth to the touch, most likely due to the natural secretion of his skin to keep him hydrated. You reached back to his clawed fingers which you swore looked bigger than those of his human form, bigger than yours at least, which made you ponder if merfolks varied in sizes as well. “This feels like a dream”

“…Hehe, how long are you gonna touch me, Fishie~?” Floyd’s little tease snapped you out of your daze as he grinned down at you. His tone sounded accusatory but his sly grin spoke volume of his amusement over your fascination with his body.

Quickly, you let go of his webbed fingers. “I-I’m sorry, Floyd. I was just surprised. I’ve never seen a merman’s body before and-and” you stammered and splashed around but not even the ice cold waters could cool the sensation in your cheeks. You felt the burn of embarrassment just thinking how Floyd was watching you fawn over his body like a reckless pervert.

Distracted by your shame, Floyd took the opportunity to hold you tighter than before, his glowing body coiling around your legs and letting you feel his firm muscles as you felt forced to sit atop of his tail. Gently, the merman cradled your head as he smiled a toothy grin at you, seemingly happier than you’ve seen him all day, though you couldn’t figure out why.

“My Fishie never disappoints~ It’s always so fun when I’m around you, I can’t get enough!” Floyd surprised you by pressing his cheek to yours, nuzzling against your skin as he hummed in a satisfied tone. Seriously, what’s gotten him in such a good mood?

“Wait, don’t think I’d forgive you for throwing me into the water!”

[asumofwords]

Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Slow burn, pining, kiss.

Note: EEEE! Here is chapter two of my little mini-series! Thank you all so much for your patience for this update, to say it has been hard has been an understatement. An odd thing to put into the notes of a fanfic, but From the River, to the Sea. 🇵🇸

Chapter 2: Unfamiliar Changes

The next few days were the same routine as usual, but with a new addition; A man who had been at deaths door, recovering in your bed. 

The lighthouse, you knew. 

You knew the way to light it, tend to it, care for it. It had been your life for many years ever since your Pa had died, leaving its responsibilities to you.

It had been him who taught you everything. He who had raised you to know what you now do, to do as you now do each day. And you were thankful. Thankful to not be married to a Fishermans son, or market boy at a young age, to squeeze out child, after child, in a marriage that had no love or care but rather a societal duty. 

But now, there was a man in your home. 

A man on your small, little, isolated island which you sought refuge in. An island and isolation that had been all you had known, and yet now, here he was, laid in your bed with hair like spun silk that lay around his head, a violet eye you had only heard in the tales on shore, a scarred cheek and sharp mouth. 

Was he a pirate?

You had heard of those, but for some reason, he didn’t seem to be as brash and roguish as those stories either. And whilst his presence was not all begrudged, it did throw your small little world into a loop. So with the duties of old, came the duties of new. 

You would rest, only shortly, wake, and tend to the lamp, the storm slowly moving away inland, but the winds too high to take your small boat alone, or send your pigeon with a letter to alert them of the wreck and lone survivor.

Thereafter, you could come back inside, fix yourself a tea, and here began the new routine; you would make two instead of one. 

Two plates or bowls of food. 

Two cups or glasses of water, or tea.

Two of everything. 

One for you.

And one for the man. 

A man who still had not told you his name.

That was until that evening.

The winds had begun to yield, but the soft grumbling of thunder still prevailed in the near distance.

You were eating the last of your stew together, though this time, he was seated at the table. You having dragged the only other chair on the island down the many stairs of the lighthouse to the cottage. 

He was still rather pale, and wheezed and coughed on occasion, but after his many days in your presence, you realised that he was not pale because of his ailment, but rather, his skin was just as white as the porcelain William’s wife owned. His cheeks however, gained some colour, and his lips were no longer cracked and dry, but now hydrated.

And plump.

And soft.

And-

“-Aemond.”

The spoon you were holding clinked back onto the side of the bowl.

“Pardon?”

“My name,” The man put another spoonful of stew into his mouth, chewing before swallowing politely, “Is Aemond.”

You tested the name on your tongue. It was definitely not a common name from around your part of the world.

“I take it you are a long way from home?” You chewed on a chunk of potato, watching as the man nodded.

“Aye.”

“Your ship-“

“-Vhagar.” So that’s what its name was, “Sunk to the bottom of the sea, I presume.” His lips pulled down at the sides.

You nodded solemnly, “Was your family-“

“-No. No family. Just me and my crew.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly before nodding, “I’m sorry. Though we have the Gods to thank. They favoured you when they washed you ashore.”

Aemond, the man before you, scoffed, “Favoured. Sunk my ship and my men. Drowned me.”

You sucked your teeth, feeling slightly guilty about your choice of words, “Yes, and yet you are here. I prayed-“

“-You prayed?”

A nod, though his gaze seemed more intrigued than mocking, “To the Drowned God. Prayed to anyone who would listen to spare your life.”

You watched as the corner of his lip twitched, “And why should a Lady such as you, pray for a sailor such as me?”

“I’d hardly like to deal with a corpse on my beach." You stirred your stew, "And I am no Lady, I have told you this.”

The snort from his nose made way into a smile that was contagious. 

At least you could be blunt.

And in some ways, you supposed that he liked this bluntness. 

You shared your meal together quietly, the crackling of the fire and sound of rain and occasional thunder outside. You found, much to your displeasure, that you did not mind having his company after all.

He did not talk to fill the space, and seemed to think deeply before he spoke, at least when he was not irritated or slightly offended by your own remarks. All in all, he was a welcomed presence in your modest home.

And that was what scared you.

“Do you often have drowned men wash ashore?” His spoon was delicately placed in his bowl, bread devoured shortly after given to him. The way in which he ate, the manner in which he sat back, rod stiff, indicated to you that he came from some form of high society, far higher than you, and likely came from money and wealth that you could do naught but try to imagine. 

You smiled coyly, “You’re the first. An achievement to some end, I am sure.”

The corner of his lips pulled again, yet this time, it developed into a full smirk, “Then I am honoured to have been the first, Miss.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, and you had to look away.

The way in which he spoke, the way his voice became deep and smooth like the whiskey in your cupboard, had sent shivers down your spine with the implication that perhaps there was a double meaning to what he said.

To what you had said. 

But then he continued, “And how does a woman of your stature become the keeper of this Lighthouse?”

“My Pa. He was the keeper before I. Taught me all there was to know. It was just me and him on this island for a long, long time, and now it is just me.”

“Is your father-“

“-Dead.”

“I see.” Aemond nodded, “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be.” You gave him a small smile, “He died doing what he loved.”

A silver eyebrow raised above the man’s seeing eye, “And what was that?”

“Drinking on the job.” You poked your tongue in your cheek to stifle the laugh as you watched Aemond’s composure become flustered, “It’s okay,” You reassured him, “You can laugh. My father was not a solemn man. I like to think he enjoys my humour.”

A hum was all you received, though he did not smile as you had hoped.

You had not fully seen him do so yet, and although there was glimmers of a more playful and relaxed man, you wondered in that moment if perhaps he was simply just a rather stern and serious sailor after all. That his nature was to be stiff, and bold, and unbendable.

And if he was to be that, a small flicker inside of you wished to make him bend. 

Gods, what was wrong with you?

Had you grown so lonesome in your isolation that the first man to wash upon your shore, literally, was whom you would grow some sort of desire for?

Sure, you were no stranger to pleasure, chasing your own peaks with your hands as often as you’d like, of course, if it did not endeavour to endanger the care of the lighthouse. And now, that a man was sat before you, kept in the confines of your home by storm and ailment, you wished to taste what it truly meant to be pleased. 

It had of course crossed your mind once or twice on your rare travels to shore. Speaking to the locals in shops or on the street, friends of William, or any decent man who cast you a glance. You had thought about it seriously, allowing some sort of dalliance to form, to warm a mans bed and then leave on the morrow to go back to your life of solitude. 

In fact, it had almost happened. 

A sailor named Dalton Greyjoy had caught your eye on the occasions he would be on shore at the same time as when you were. He was sailor from a well known, and well to do family. He came and went as he pleased, and it was no secret that he liked his women. Dalton's hair came below his ear, curling slightly atop his head, the colour as black as night and with his eyes to match his hair; a piercing, deep black which captured and lured anyone who caught his gaze.

And you had caught his, on more than one occasion, and each time, he had tried to woo you. Tried to offer a trip on his sturdy ship which carried more than one hundred men. Or a tour of his home which lay on bountiful lands on shore.

He had even offered a drink in the local tavern, and a meal, with a desire to speak to the ‘beautiful woman who keeps my ship from ruin’. 

And you had thought on it, had almost given in, and when you had rejected him the last time, you had meant to offer him refuge on your island, should he ever so need it. If he was ever so inclined to have a tour of your own homestead, of your lighthouse which kept him from ruin. 

But when you had moved to tell him thus, he was gone, back to the seas for the Gods only know how long, perhaps months, before he returned to shore. And that had been two months ago, and you had almost kicked yourself at the missed opportunity of having a man warm your bed, and then leave. 

The convenience was lost.

You were under no impression that it would be anything more than a release for the two of you, and in your eyes, it was perhaps, a perfect arrangement. Yet, you had strung him for too long, and the seas had called him once more. 

You had thought to wait to look for his ships arrival as it passed from you to shore, and lowered its anchor within eyesight. You had thought that perhaps at the sight of it, you would send your pigeon to her, the large ship, or to shore to send word of your request of his presence. But then, you thought, perhaps you would make a quick stop to the markets, weather permitting, and keep your eyes widened for the dark black hair which you sought. 

But now, as the man you had come to know as Aemond, grew stronger with each day, the desire to meet your desires with Dalton faded, and were now replaced for the desire of a man who was the stark opposite.

No black hair, only silver. No black eyes, only lilac.

Would his lips be as soft as they looked?

Would he hold you passionately? Whisper in your ear? Give you pleasure that you had only read of?

This was what you thought of, thighs clenching as you pulled the old wick from the lamp to replace it with a new one, careful to not spill any oil around the lamps enclosure or yourself. You were exhausted as you lit the flame, night crawling towards you rapidly.

There was not much rest that you could get when sleeping on the worn down lounge of your home, mind reeling at the thought of the handsome man not too far from you in the warmth and plush of your bed.

Once you were positive the lamp was fine and well lit, you trudged down the stairs, eyes struggling to stay open as you made your way back to the cottage, the wind blowing your hair roughly as you closed the door behind you.

The fatigue dragged you down, limbs feeling as heavy as stone as you moved to make yourself some tea, feeling all the more exhausted than before, eyes half shut.

Once your tea was made, you sat on the couch and stared at the fire, blowing the steam away and sipping on it to warm your chilled bones. The lighthouse was cold inside, no warmth but the lamp, and despite wearing your warm layers, the cold still nipped you to your core.

There were no thoughts as you moved half asleep around your home, pulling the heavy waxed coat from your shoulders to place on the hook by the door.

Your boots came next, and then your socks, and finally you pulled away at your dress, untying your stays as it slid down your hips to the floor.

You trudged to your room, having extinguished the lamps and candles in the cottage, leaving the fireplace to burn through what was left of the night.

It was dark as you pulled back the sheets, mind in memory and eyes already shut, as you slid into bed in only your slip, pulling the sheets up to your neck as you lay on your side.

Then sleep came just as quickly as your eyes closed.

-

It was hot. 

Too hot. 

There was a warmth that radiated around you as you slowly rose to consciousness.

Then, came the weight. 

A weight of something wrapped around you, behind you, heat seeping into your spine. You blinked sluggishly, confused as to what it was as you shifted, feeling whatever that warmth was shifting with you. Solid.

Arms. 

Two arms.

One under your head, the other draped over your middle, hand splayed across your stomach as your back was pressed into the flush of someones chest. 

Not someone.

Aemond. 

You jerked, suddenly awake and out of the bed, looking down at the man who looked tiredly up at you, corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he fought away a smirk. Heat rose up your neck and into your cheeks in embarrassment. 

You had been in bed.

With him.

Tucked into him.

Oh Gods.

Your mouth opened and shut as your brain misfired, unsure of what to do our say. 

Do you apologise?

Gods, you had been so tired you hadn’t even realised. 

You were suddenly mortified at the thought of what he must now think of you. 

He must-

“-If you want to get into bed with me, all you must do is ask.” Came the low timbre of Aemond, who now smirked freely at you. 

Your heart raced in your chest as you became flustered, a small squeak escaping your lips. 

Aemond’s eye bore into your own as you stood there, bare feet on the cold flagstones below, chest heaving as you were at a loss of words. His eye then roamed lower, taking in your appearance as you felt the heat of his gaze blanket over you.

It was then, that you realised, you were in nothing but your thin shift.

“Gods. Fuck.” You swore, turning quickly to throw on an old dress, foregoing your skirts, stay and stockings.

You kept your back to him as you hastily did up the many buttons, suddenly cursing each and every one of them as your fingers struggled to do them up the more you become flustered, all the while you could still feel his heated gaze upon you from the bed.

You uttered an embarrassed apology, too ashamed to even raise your eyes to look at him, before you fled from the cottage, forgetting your coat, and not even doing up the laces of your boots as you shut the door behind you and raced towards the lighthouse. 

You had never quite climbed the steps as fast as you had in that moment, desperate to get away from his salacious gaze, and your burning embarrassment.

What had you been thinking? Climbing into bed with him like that? He must think you desperate. Depraved. Unkempt.

Gods be good.

The embarrassment made tears prickle at your eyes.

Though the lamp in the lighthouse was fine, and there was no true reason for you to monitor it, the worst of the storm having moved away, you did not return back to your cottage. You stayed in the cold, no coat and shoes half tied, shivering in the stone walls of the lighthouse to avoid the mortification of that morning. And yet, despite trying to avoid him physically, there was no possible way, you had tried, to avoid thinking of him. 

Thinking of his touch, how warm he had been behind you, how his large hand had completely spanned across your middle as he held you to him, how his fingers had twitched and pulled as you wriggled in first wake. How he smelt of the sea, and sweat, the stew you had cooked him, and the smell of your own sheets, but beneath it all, there was his natural scent, something earthy and musky and like sandalwood that surrounded your every waking moment. 

If it wasn’t for his legs and his near death, you would think the man was a Siren.

You thought of how cold he had been when he washed ashore, how pale and almost blue he looked, and now he burnt hot, and although he was still pale, the flush of life coloured his cheeks and lips. His lilac eye devouring you every chance he had.

At first you had thought you were mistaken, that he was simply looking at you, but now you were sure of it. His eye, the seeing one, unclouded by injury and simmering a bright lilac, watched you almost always half-lidded and ablaze with something you now thought could perhaps be lust.

Gods. 

You buried your head into your hands, deeply exhaling before standing up straighter, trying to erase the images and thoughts of him from your mind, but it was hopeless. He was all you could think of, all you could smell, or see behind your eyelids, and you yearned to reach out and touch him. Hold him. Caress him. 

Your thighs instinctually squeezed together and you sighed, feeling a wetness that had settled between them. 

Gods be good, you were in trouble.

You shivered again, rubbing your hands together as you looked out at the sea, mentally cursing yourself for not having more than two chairs on the island, but you had never needed more than that.

Your legs ached from not having sat in the hours that had passed, and you had turned to pacing the small landing back and forth to try and keep yourself warm. 

A soft clunk came from the bottom of the lighthouse. 

You mustn’t have shut the door properly. 

You continued your pacing, back and forth, breathing into your icy palms as you tried to warm them, mind straying to a body of warmth that you knew, if you pressed your palms against him, would warm in an instant. Your hands coming beneath his tunic to splay against his stomach, working their way-

The sound of rustling came from behind.

You spun on your heel in fright, breath caught in your throat to find Aemond behind you. Now standing straight, the man towered over you, looking down his sharp nose at your shivering form. His hair was slightly wet, stuck down to his shoulders and dripping from its ends onto the floor of the lighthouse. The tunic he wore, stuck to his skin where spatters of rain wet the material. 

In his hands, your coat. 

“Gods be good.” You cursed at him, hand immediately shooting out to press against his forehead, having to rise slightly on your toes to reach, “Have you gone mad? You’ll catch cold and grow ill again.”

Snatching your coat from his hands, you threw it up and around his shoulders, pulling it together tightly at the front, watching as his brows furrowed at you.

His hands caught your wrists as you fussed over him, and you immediately could no longer meet his eye. The warmth of his hands seeped into your bones, and a barely contained sigh fell from your lips.

Aemond was so close, so close to you, you could feel his warmth, smell his-

“Go back to the cottage before you become feverish again.” You tried to pull your wrists away from his hands to push him back to the door, but the man did not budge, his grip only tightened. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Came his low response, jaw tensed as he watched you. 

You swallowed, looking anywhere but his eye, “No.” You lied terribly, hoping he couldn’t feel the way your pulse quickened at your wrist, “I have to tend to my duties.“

“-You’re a terrible liar.”

You bristled, heat rising in your cheeks again before you met his eye.

Exhaling shakily, you tried again to get him to release your wrists with no avail.

“Please let go of me, Sir.”

Aemond’s cheek twitched, before finally he let go, and you begrudged his warmth leaving you the second he did. 

As his hands dropped to his sides, your eyes flitted to the exposed skin of his chest, if only for a moment, where his tunic was ripped down the middle. He moved, arms coming up again as he pulled your coat from his shoulders, stepping towards you suddenly. 

You stiffened, feeling his warmth envelop you and the subtle scent of salt and sandalwood engulf you as he wrapped you in your coat, pulling it tightly against you at your front. Your arms were trapped beneath it as he kept his hold on you, the coat pulling tighter as he stepped closer.

“You’re cold.” He whispered, head ducking slightly as he looked at you, long strands of silver cascading over his shoulder. 

Okay. You were sure of it. 

Perhaps he was a Siren. 

And now he was going to drag you to the sea and-

You watched in a confusion, or horror and delight as his head began to dip down towards your face, eye watching you intently as you held your breath.

Oh Gods, was this really happening? Was this man-

“Sīr gevie.” Came a deep purr from the back of his throat, and there it was again, that half lidded gaze. 

You parted your lips instinctually, feeling his nose brush against yours, your eyes fluttering as you looked down to his lips which were parted a hairsbreadth away from you, “I don’t know what that means.” You whispered, feeling his breath fan across your lips warmly. 

“Beautiful.” Came his response, less purring than the last, more of a whisper, more delicate, like the silk that spun his hair, ready to break.

His face loomed closer, the tip of his pink tongue coming to wet his lips, and all you could think of was how you wished to close the distance, to press against him, taste him, have him. 

Your lungs ached from the breath you had been holding, and a sudden gust of wind knocked at the windows of the lighthouse. It seemed to have broken the spell, jerking you away from the man in front of you, who blinked longingly at you.

Swallowing thickly, trying to ignore the ache in your core, you uttered, “I need to prepare supper.” Before you dashed away from him and down the stairs, almost tripping over your half laced boots in the process. 

As you wound down the stairs, you felt a pang of guilt leaving him up there.

Would he be fine to get down himself?

What if he grew ill? It was cold, and he had no coat, and you had just-No. If he had made his way up those stairs, then he could surely make his way down them.

You wasted no time preparing dinner, darting about the kitchen noisily as you began to prepare your meal, cutting the vegetables on the chopping board, and moving for some more dried meats to add with it, soaking it in some bone powdered broth you had made days earlier.

When the door of the cottage opened, and then clicked shut, you ignored the mans arrival, keeping your back to him, pretending that you were all too busy preparing the dinner to spare him a second glance, and not only that, you were far too engrossed of thinking what was coming next, and not at all how his lips might have felt on yours. 

You heard him settle at the table by the fire, and without looking, cast your voice behind you, “I still have my fathers belongings,” You told him, voice shy, “Seemed a waste to be rid of them when he passed. You may fit them. I’ll let you look through the trunk after supper so that you may have some cleaner, warmer clothes.”

A hum, and then, “Thank you. You are a gracious host.”

You blushed at his compliment, thankful that your back was turned to him so that he would not see you shy once more. Once your meal was cooked, you brought it over to the table for the two of you, including a plate of some of your scones, as well as the jam from Celia to go with them after.

It was a mostly silent affair, a tension strung between the two of you, pulled taught as the minutes went by. That was until-

“You are not married.”

It wasn’t a question, more of a statement of fact. 

You blinked, taking your eyes away from your meal as you looked up at him.

He was already watching you.

But there was nothing malicious about his statement, more so curious as to why.

Aemond continued, “You are a beautiful young woman, a shame that you are not out in society.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling vulnerable at the turn of conversation. 

You knew it was unheard of a woman of your age to be unwed, and not only that, alone in a usual mans position. You knew that the townsfolk at shore talked about it, whispers behind your back at why that was.

There had been a cruel rumour once that you simply enjoyed the coming and goings of the many different sailors who came to and from the port. It didn’t help that Dalton was not quiet about his interest in pursuing you, at least, not as his wife anyway.

“I am content where I am.” You sighed, “I have no desire to be flaunted on a mans arm as merely decoration. I have a responsibility to those on shore and on sea, and I doubt any man in town would know more about the mechanisms of working such a lamp than I do. They would be more of a burden than a blessing.”

Aemond blinked before lifting another steaming spoonful of food to his lips, “And do you not grow lonely on this little island?”

Did you?

You didn’t think you did.

At least, not until he arrived on your shore.

“Not at all.” And unconvincing lie, or perhaps not a full one, “William comes to bring my reprieve, and I go to and from shore as I wish for the whims of societal company.”

The man swallowed his mouthful of food, head cocked as he looked at you, “William?”

“An old friend of my fathers.” You explained, watching as he relaxed at the explanation, “Brings food and goods to me when I cannot get them my own, which is more often than not. His wife and daughters join him here on occasion.”

Aemond hummed, “It is a shame you have no feelings of loneliness.”

“A shame?”

The corner of his lip twitched, “I thought you might have enjoyed my company.” Before you could respond, he spoke again, “Though, perhaps it is not a shame after all. There is no husband that I need worry about.”

Heat rose into your cheeks fast, and a flush of hurt crept up your throat.

Of course he would make a comment about you being unwed. 

He was just like the others in town. 

“You mock me.” You grit angrily, hands twitching on the table. 

You watched as a flash of regret creeped over his face.

“I don’t.” His tongue darted out to lick at his lips again, the hungry look in his eye not at all for the food on his plate, “I would worry that my attempt to court you would be burdened by a disgruntled husband.”

Court you. 

Court. 

Your stomach turned tightly, and you found yourself pushing your chair behind you quickly as you stood, grabbing your empty plate as you moved to take it to the kitchen, unsure of what to say, mouth dry and mind reeling. 

As soon as your back turned, you heard a deep chuckle behind you, making your cheeks flush with heat once more. You did not even bother to clean your plate, instead dumping it into the dry sink before you snatched your coat off of the coat hook and moved to open the door.

“You cannot avoid me forever.” Came his low purr, and would if you tried.

The door thumped behind you as you swept yourself outside.

-

By the time you finally returned to the cottage, the night had flown away from you, having spent the majority of it trying to cool the heat in your body that he had stoked, resting your cheeks against the cool class of the lighthouse, anything to soothe the molten blood that coursed through you.

The storm had mostly passed, and your home was quiet as you snuck back inside, darkness filling the majority of the space bar the fireplace as you pulled your coat from your shoulders, back facing the room.

When you turned to walk further inside a small gasp pulled into your lungs. 

“You’re awake.” You blinked at Aemond owlishly, watching as he leant back on the small worn couch, his long limbs stretched out in front of him by the fire, with one arm resting against the back.

“I am.” You shifted on your feet, unsure of what to do or say. 

Damn your anxious mind, reeling in circles at the thought of him, and his desires and if he desired you as much as you desired him. And what if-

You shook the thought away, “Well, you must be tired. You need to rest so that you may go home. The storm is passing, and I’d wager that you could return to shore now.” You wrung your hands together. 

You didn’t want him to go, but you knew it was logical.

He would have to leave. He would have to go home. To his family. To his friends. To his land. And then, you would be left alone with the spiralling 'what if's' of his stay.

“You speak of fatigue as if you sleep more than I, and do less.” Came his pointed remark, “I am well aware of my need to recover, and my abilities.”

Speechless. 

That was what you were.

The fire crackled loudly between you as you watched him shift, moving to lay himself down onto the couch which was comically too small for him. His long legs stretched over the arm, feet dangling almost to the floor whilst his head was tucked at an awful angle on the opposite arm. 

He looked like a doll that had been carelessly tossed onto the couch by a child.

“You need rest.” He mused, eye roaming over your body shamelessly, “I shall sleep where I am.”

Your brows furrowed, “You can’t suggest that you wish to sleep there.” Your hand pointed to where he was uncomfortably lain, “You do not fit. You shall see no rest and I will have to nurse you to health once more.”

“All the more reason for me to stay here.” His eye slid shut, seeming to make a point of sleeping on your lumpy and aged lounge.

You guffawed at him and his brazen flirting, mouth hanging open as your hands moved to your hips, “Go back to bed.”

His brow lifted, but his eye stayed shut, “A command or request?”

You blinked, “A request, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Will you be joining me?” Came his purr, eye cracked open at you, the bright lilac having turned as stormy as the sea once had been.

“No.”

Another hum, something you had grown used to by now, his eye sliding shut, “Then I shall stay put.”

You stormed towards him, looking down at him, trying to not notice how soft his hair looked, or how the pale skin of his chest looked like a cozy place to-

“Really, Sir.” You sighed, exacerbated, “I must implore you to sleep in the bed tonight. You will only hurt your neck and back. I am far smaller than you, and-“

“-Sīr byka.”

The language was smooth, the r curling in the front of his teeth, all creamy, and soft like syrup and warm. It sent heat straight into your core. 

“What does that mean?”

His eye opened again as he sat up, “Would you like to know?”

Gods, he was infuriating. 

“Yes.” You grit out, “Or else I wouldn’t have asked.”

“I said you were little.”

Embarrassment curled in your chest, but not only that, something else that sent heat striking through you. 

You tried to blink it away, “An obvious observation. And the bed would fit you perfectly well, if only-“

“-Nyke kessa mazverdagon ziry-“

“-Would you stop that?” You snipped, chest heaving as you blushed, watching as the tall man pulled his legs down and sat up, looking at you predatorily. 

You were in trouble.

Every hair on your body stood up as he watched you beneath his lashes.

“Stop what?”

You wet your lips, “T-that.”

“What, byka ōños?”

“That!” You pointed, running a hand through your hair, “You- You make a mockery of me.”

His head tilted, “I do no such thing.”

“You do.” You countered, looking anywhere but him, “You speak in tongues that I do not understand. For all I know, you could be throwing insult at my person. I know that I am not as educated as you-”

“-Do you want to know what it means? You only need ask.”

“What does it mean?” You breathed, watching as he stood from the couch, sucking all the air from the room as his head slowly came up to your height, then finally looming over you down his nose. 

“What does ‘what’ mean?”

“Fine." You huffed, "You shall stay on the couch, and I shall send word tomorrow-“

“-Little light.”

You lashes fluttered against your cheeks as you felt him step closer to you, your chest heaving as one of his hands reached out to caress a lock of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. You shivered as his fingertips grazed a path down your neck, his eye intent on you. 

“W-what?”

“Byka ōños,” Aemond purred, “It means ‘little light’.” He took a step closer to you, his chest brushing against yours, warmth immediately seeping into your dress as you craned your head to look up at him, "Byka perzys.”

“And what does that mean?” Your voice was quiet, unsure, the air around you crackling with the tension that had been building for days.

“Little flame.” He translated, large palm moving behind your neck as he gripped the back of it softly, fingers tangling in your hair. Your breath hitched as he moved forward, his eye on your lips, yours on his.

“Byka jelevre.”

“What does t-“

Aemond’s lips crashed into yours hungrily, silencing your question. You squeaked, eyes widening before they slowly slid shut, hands coming to the front of his tunic as you fisted them tightly, rising on your tip toes to meet him. His kiss melted you, a fire being stoked in your gut steadily as the fingers in your hair tightened.

Then as sudden as it came, it stopped. 

You were both panting, looking at one another as his tongue wet his lips.

“Fuck.” He growled, before crashing into you again, teeth nibbling at your bottom lip as you sighed into his embrace.

His other hand wrapped around your waist pulling you tightly against him as his tongue licked at your bottom lip. It was unfamiliar, uncertain, and your lips parted in a small gasp, immediately feeling his tongue lick tentatively at your mouth.

You were still, frozen as you thought of what to do as the hand on your waist moved to pull at your skirts hastily, dragging them up your legs.

And then, it was as though the fog was cleared, and your mind re-emerged. You pulled back with a gasp, hand gripping the wrist that was pulling at your skirts, your eyes searching his face with uncertainty. 

And then, slowly, it dawned on him, realisation washing over his features. 

“You’re untouched?” Came his quiet breath.

You swallowed, shutting your eyes to avoid his prying gaze, too afraid of his next reaction as you answered him. 

“Yes.”

The warmth of his body left yours, and you almost subconsciously followed it, eyes reopening. 

He looked at you with a new expression you could not quite understand. 

Your chest ached to be held again, to feel his want and his hands pressed against your body. To feel his chest against yours, his lips on your own, his tongue teasing yours as you sighed into it. You wished to feel the calluses of his hands, and smell the salt and sandalwood that lingered around him.

You felt stupid for having told him, for having stopped him. You wished you hadn’t. You wished you had just let him have his way-

“-Apologies, Miss. I did not mean to overstep.”

Any thought that you had vanished, and you found yourself gasping for air like a fish out of water.

“I shall retire for the evening.” He took another step back, his eye not once leaving yours as he shifted his body towards your bedroom, “But if I do take your bed, I would like to earn my keep around your home as I recover.”

If this man did one more thing out of the ordinary, you thought your head may spin off your neck.

“Your keep?” You echoed, feeling the tingle in your lips from his kiss. '

Did he mean-

“-Work around the island. Cleaning, gardening. Anything that you need or want from me. I am yours.”

You felt that his last offer meant more, but you did not have the wherewithal to ask for elaboration, nor did you have the courage. 

Gods, what was it about this man that turned you to syrup?

You nodded slowly, watching as relief washed over his features, “It is much appreciated, though I will be hard pressed to find things for you to do yet.” You shifted on your feet, hands wringing together once more, “I shall send word soon of your survival to shore. My pigeo-“

“-No.” Aemond said hastily, to which he recovered a moment afterwards, “No need until I am hale and healthy again. There is no point for false hopes, I may turn on the morrow.”

You shook your head, a small laugh falling from your lips, “I see no possibilities of you turning to meet the Stranger tomorrow. You-“

“-Please.” Came his voice once more, rough and quiet, and more strained than before, “Let me stay dead for a while longer.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@blackswxnn @marihoneywk @targaryenrealnessdarling @namelesslosers @aemondsfavouritebastard @dahlias-and-marigolds @aemondsbabygirl @toodlesxcuddles @jemmaagentofshield @malfoytargaryen @bellaisasleep @aaprilshowers @assortedseaglass @elizarbell @xpersephonex @lijeno @likeanecho344 @coffeeobsessedtrencher @diannnnsss @lexwolfhale @notasockpuppetaccount @at-a-rax-ia @spinachtz@marysucks-blog @generalkenobitrash @zenka69 @shygardengalaxy-blog @kittendoll05

[mystic-writings]

selfishly, i love you | eleventh doctor

PAIRING — eleventh doctor x fem!reader

SUMMARY — after two years of being burdened with love for the doctor, you make the choice to leave him behind. 

WARNINGS — angst

WORD COUNT — 1,818

NOTES — matt smith i will always love you

masterlist | navigation

You weren’t sure what hurt more — your utterly unrequited love for the Doctor, or the fact that you were leaving him behind. 

After years of waiting, of being his companion and seeing every corner of time and space with him, you were finally choosing to leave his impossibly addicting lifestyle behind. 

Oddly enough, it was such a trivial thing that brought you to the decision. 

Visiting the future was always a tricky thing; rarely did the Doctor get the timing correct. This was one of the few times that he had, on a trip that was just for you and him. No Rory, River, or Amy. Just the pair of you, exploring New New London in all of its intergalactic, interspecies glory. 

It was a treasure, seeing glimpses of a world that would only come to fruition after you’d be long gone. You think that’s why you loved travelling with the Doctor as much as you did. To know that despite everything, the world wouldn’t end when you eventually died. That no matter how bad the trivial things seemed in the smaller picture of your life, the world would keep on going. 

You’d been wandering a food market together when it happened, taking in the bustle of people as vendors displayed all sorts of things — clothes, food, anything your heart wanted. 

“Doctor, look!” You pointed excitedly at one of the market stalls. “They’ve got those candies! The three berry ones that I’ve been looking for!” 

The Doctor shared a smile with you as you dragged him by the sleeve of his tweed coat over to the market stall. 

Excitedly, you pointed at the bag of candies. “How much?”

“Four credits a bag, or two bags for seven credits,” the older man said, rather gruffly, despite the smile on his face. 

The Doctor transferred enough credits for you to take four bags of candies, and you thanked both him and the vendor profusely as you pocketed your bags. 

“You know,” the vendor grunted, “you two remind me of myself, when I was young. With my wife.”

Before you had a chance to open your mouth, the Doctor scoffed in disbelief. “Wh- us?” He nearly laughed. “We’re not- no, sir! We’re just friends, that’s all. Yes, friends.” 

You could feel your heart cracking in your chest, as it usually did. You were surprised there was anything left of it now, considering how many times the Doctor had unknowingly shot you down. 

“Thank you, sir. Have a nice day.” You muttered, voice cracking as the Doctor moved on promptly. Your chest ached at the pitiful nod the vendor gave you, delivering another blow to your battered heart. 

That was all it was. A comment from an unsuspecting street vendor, and the well-intended, panicked response from the Doctor. 

Upon returning to the TARDIS later that evening, you walked past the control panel and toward your room without a word. 

“Wha- Y/n!” The Doctor called out, likely in the middle of a one-sided conversation with you. “Where are you going?! We still have to decide where to go next!” 

“To my room, Doctor.” You shouted back, climbing the stairs. “I want to go home.” 

You paid the Doctor no mind as he made a noise of protest, but didn’t follow you as you headed into one of the hallways. The TARDIS materialised the door to your room, decorated with stickers and polaroids of yourself, the Doctor, and your other friends, from travels over the past two years. 

With a shaking sigh, you pulled the pictures down and walked into your room with them in hand, tossing them onto the bedside table. 

You dropped onto the side of the bed, shoulders rounded and sagging with the weight of your own mind. Replaying the moment with the vendor caused you nothing but pain, but your mind seemed to make the decision for you, displaying it on a cinema screen for you to pick apart and torture yourself with. 

It felt like hours of you doing only that; letting your mind wander, overthink the scenario and digging up long forgotten ones that all pointed to the same conclusion — you loved the Doctor, more than you could bear handling. And he didn’t love you at all. 

Of course, that wasn’t entirely true. He did love you, he’d said it himself. But he always followed up the word ‘love’ with ‘family’ or ‘friend’. He loved you the same way he loved Rory and Amy, as a member of his makeshift little family. 

Even though the Doctor had given you his love, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the right kind of love. 

Selfishly, you wanted more. You wanted him, in a way many companions had before, and in a way none of them had ever achieved. At some point, even Amy had wanted him that way. How could she not? The Doctor was entirely irresistible. 

But you knew you could never have him. If today was any marker of how he felt, then your paths ahead were simple: either stay and live with the pain that slowly chipped away at your heart, or leave the Doctor and his radiance behind in the hopes that one day, you’d be able to move on and live a life that resembled everyone else’s.

Surprisingly, the Doctor had left you alone during your time of contemplation. Typically, if he was alone for too long, he’d grow restless and come knocking on your door (or, more commonly, walking into your room unannounced) to talk to you about anything that was occupying his mind. 

Once you’d decided, it didn’t take you long to pack up your room. 

The polaroids were tucked neatly into an old leather suitcase, one that was probably stolen from the 1950s. Your clothes and trinkets — all of which were souvenirs from past travels — fit neatly into the main compartment, and suddenly, within fifteen minutes, your entire life was packed neatly into a single leather case, ready to be carried away to God knows where.

Your heart ached at the thought. At the reality that, for your own good, this life would be no more. No more hot cocoa and tea with the Doctor, no more karaoke with Rory. No more exploring alien planets with Amy, disregarding the Doctor’s cautious instructions. No more admiring River’s bravery. 

No more adventure. Just the trials of an average life on an average planet as an average human. And while you lived for the days you spent with the Doctor, you weren’t sure you’d be able to go on living with him. 

With the love you carried for him. 

Taking a deep breath, you held the suitcase with one hand, and opened the door of your room with the other. 

It seemed, as you stepped into the corridor, that the TARDIS had put your room further back than it had materialised it in the first place. You were forced to walk the halls, footsteps echoing in your ears as you soaked in your surroundings for a final time. 

When you entered the control room, the Doctor was flipping switches frantically, talking to you without looking. 

“Finally! You’ve come out of your room!” He exclaimed. “Look, I was thinking I’d take you to that planet I was talking to you about, with the cats and talking cars and two-headed people. Sounds like it’d make for an interesting visit, no?”

“Doctor,” you called out from the top of the steps, quietly. 

“Or!” He shouted again, moving about the console. “I could take you to see the Roman Empire! You’ve talked a lot about that one before-” the Doctor looked up from the console to find you with your bag in hand. He pointed to it, eyes gleaming. “What’s that for?”

“I want to go home, Doctor.” You said, chest bubbling with emotion. “Please, just take me home.” 

“Why?” He asked, wringing his hands. 

You exhaled a sigh, dropping your head. There was no way for you to be able to explain it. “Because, Doctor. I’m tired.” 

“But there’s a bed in your room, you can sleep in there, can’t you?” The Doctor asked. 

Descending the steps, you shook your head. “It’s not that kind of tired. I can’t just sleep it off. It’s been wearing me down inside for a long time, and it won’t go away if I stay.” 

“What d’you mean?” Worry pooled in the Doctor’s eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Doctor.” You gave him a tight-lipped smile, one you knew he would see right through. But you didn’t have the energy to try convincing him any further. “I just need to go home.” 

The Doctor nodded, solemnly, before pressing a few buttons on the console beside you, eyes barely leaving yours. The TARDIS whirred, bringing you back to your home. 

Within minutes, you were there. In your small backyard, leading up to the back porch door of your small townhouse. Where you’d be alone. 

You opened the door, and stepped outside. The Doctor followed you, catching your wrist and turning you to face him. 

“Doctor, please,” you pleaded. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what, Y/n?” He asked. “I’m going to come back ‘round later, okay? Maybe when you’re feeling better we can go see that planet I was talking about.”

Tears swelled in your eyes, blurring your view of the Doctor. Misty rain coated your hair and clothes, because of course it had to be raining. You shook your head solemnly, a shaking breath wracking your body. 

“I’m not coming back, Doctor. I can’t.” You told him, voice cracking and wavering. “It’ll hurt too much.” 

“What are you talking about, Y/n?” The Doctor’s voice cracked with worry. “What’s going on?”

You gingerly put your suitcase down, stepping closer to the Doctor and cupping his jaw with your hands as the rain began to set in. “You are the most brilliant person I’ve ever known, Doctor. You’ve shown me so much, more than I ever thought I’d see in my lifetime. But I can’t continue being with you. Because I love you, more than life itself. Wholly and selfishly, I love you, Doctor. And I know you don’t love me, so I have to leave. If I don’t leave, It’ll destroy me.” 

“But I-I do, Y/n,” the Doctor shook his head. “I do love you.”

“As a friend, Doctor.” You reminded him. “And I’m sorry, truly, but it’s just not enough.” 

Your tears fell freely as you let go of the Doctor’s face, stepping back and picking your suitcase back up. Solemnly, you smiled and said, “See you later, Doctor. Don’t do anything stupid.” 

The Doctor only nodded, watching you disappear back into your home. 

If only he could bring himself to chase after you and find some sort of way to get you back. But even he knew it wouldn’t work. It had been your choice, after all. And who was he to ignore that?

permanent taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

eleventh doctor taglist: open!

taglist form link !

[ms-spkhd]

been dabbling in omegaverse lately, so congrats, you get an excerpt of one of my WIPs

(tw for period-typical homophobic and ableist language)

Funny. Eddie could have sworn that the padlock on his locker door had been completely intact when he last checked before first period biology. 

Well, he’d hoped, since he changed the little bastard three times since the school year started–some barbarous, degenerate dickheads thought ransacking his locker and painting freak across the walls would really warm the cockles of their sad, commiserable little hearts. But those hopes, puny at most, seem to be dashed the moment he dragged his feet back from his final class of the day and found his locker, visibly padlock-less. Fuck.

Eddie stares vacantly at the door.

Well, it’s not actually funny. The joke never is, anyway, but what’s really funny is that Eddie has absolutely no clue if this whole thing is a joke or not. There’s evidence of funny business, of course, but the door isn’t tagged with fag or spazz or that ever-prevalent freak. He turns his head from left to right, surveying his surroundings, but nobody’s huddled together and snickering behind their hands like he’s the punchline of a school-wide inside joke. The hallway is relatively empty, save for plucky junior Gareth who’s hurrying towards him with his backpack slung around his shoulder and–funnily enough–Harrington, who quickly averts his gaze when Eddie’s eyes fly past him. 

Eddie huffs. So much for a damn Alpha, huh? Can’t even make eye contact with the freak of five years worth of weeks.

“Eddie!” Gareth greets enthusiastically, skidding to a stop next to Eddie, “What’s up, man?”

“Somebody fucked with my locker,” Eddie says blankly and points to the door. “The lock’s gone.”

“Shit, that’s not good.”

“I concur,” Eddie mutters bitterly. “Should I open it?”

Gareth straightens and takes a defensive step away from the locker. “No way,” he insists. “Knowing those guys, they’d put live frogs in your locker.”

‘Those guys’ is too broad of a statement–it could be anybody, considering their steadfast placement at the rock bottom of Hawkins High’s metaphorical feudal system. Now that he thinks about it, with Harrington leaning faux-casually against the lockers and occasionally scratching at his nose, it ought to be the work of the basketball team; no doubt Billy or Jason at the forefront of it all.

There’s a faint stench of anticipation whirling around the air. Dread, Eddie realizes. It smells like…like freshly ground pepper and the dewy forest behind his trailer. Like dead leaves and suburban rot.

“I don’t hear any croaking,” Eddie says, resolving to approach the situation with some natural caution. He swallows a great big breath and opens his locker.

The good news is that there’s no frogs.

The bad news? What he finds instead is fucking confusing.

All four walls are spotless, apart from the tally-marks he scratched into the left wall with a nickel for every detention he’d score, and there isn’t a single textbook, notebook, or balled up wad of graphing paper out of place. But, smack dab in the middle of his locker, nestled between the half-eaten tuna sandwich he’d forgot about last Thursday and a dog-eared copy of Brave New World, is a ziploc baggie of chocolate chip cookies, a black velvet pouch, and a piece of lined paper folded into a neat square.

“Any animal bits?” Gareth asks.

“Worse,” Eddie confirms.

To start, the gifts and the free food aren’t usually a thing. In fact, they’re never a thing because Eddie’s not a hot item in the high school market. He’s nowhere near lukewarm, practically Antarctic, at that. He’s no Ubermensch Alpha, weighed heavy with the stink of fresh blood and ash, nor is he a simpering and sweet-blooded Omega. He’s a Beta, like the other 80% of the high school population. There’s no reverence in the way he’s treated–he isn’t worshipped for his ‘powerful masculinity’ like they would an Alpha, and they definitely wouldn’t idolize or protect him for his honest to goodness high fertility rates.

Eddie is just Eddie. No one would even think to look at him twice if he didn’t decide to scrap his normalcy for the ‘devil-worshipping freak’ shtick. Jocks with inferiority complexes loved him for that. They loved the big red target he painted on his back, how it made them feel powerful, like big tall Alphas that howled into the moon and shifted the tides. But he’s not weak–he knows he’s not weak. He yells and claws and makes a scene; lets them know he has just as much power as them.

But that’s beside the point. No one is kind enough to sneak nice shit into Swirlie-boy Munson’s locker without ransacking it.

Eddie fishes out the pouch from between the cookies and note and examines it carefully, as one does with a bomb or vial of rat poison. As he loosens its tie, the sickly smell of apprehension spikes with his heart rate. 

What he finds only compounds his confusion. 

“It’s a D20,” Eddie tells Gareth, feeling light-headed. Gareth squints at him, his face scrunched like his brain hasn’t caught up with the information yet, which Eddie thinks is fair enough.

The dice is a yellow like sunshine, like a dandelion pinched between his fingers when he was small. It’s beautifully shiny, polished enough for Eddie to nearly see his reflection on its surface. There’s not even a single stain of a fingerprint on it. God, it must be brand new. It’s beautiful.

“Holy shit,” Gareth says, dazed.

“There’s no way,” Eddie breathes out, because the universe couldn’t possibly be this kind to him. There’s gotta be a catch–what if it exploded? What if it’s blackmail? Oh, God, the note.

Eddie fumbles with the pouch and tosses it into Gareth’s hands, who holds it gently in both palms as if he’s nursing an injured mourning dove. Like a bat soaring out of hell with its ass ablaze, Eddie snatches the note out of his locker and almost rips it to shreds in his haste to unfold it.

Dear Eddie,

I know I’m not the best with words, but I need you to know how much I feel towards you. I feel like we’re both on different sides of the track, a real Romeo and Juliet type situation, if you ask me–you’re King of the underdogs. You fight for your friends and the little ones you keep under your wing, and you have no idea how much I admire you for that. I guess you’d call me King of the school, but I hate that title. It’s got a lot of baggage I don’t handle too well, and, well, I’ve never been brave about it. I watch you and I see braveness personified, and I know I never fought for you like you fought for the guys in your corner.

Not just that, you’re beautiful too. Every time you look at me I feel like I shot a three-pointer at the championship game. It feels like a winning move. Those eyes you have, they’re like stars. And, God, your scent is so good. Like ginger and cinnamon behind all that tobacco, I wish I could smell it forever.

I know I’m not the type of guy you’d go for, or the type of guy you even tolerate, but I hope you’ll give me a chance.

Yours, 

S.H.

(Ps. Sorry about the lock, I accidentally broke it trying to jimmy it open like an idiot. I’ll pay for it if you want me to.)

(Pps. Look behind you.)

The first thing Eddie registers is the overwhelming scent of peppercorn swirled together with rain-soaked oakwood. “Time and place?”

Eddie’s eyes widen before he whirls around and almost brains Steve fucking Harrington with the white-knuckled fist clenching his letter. Harrington dodges his swing swiftly, catching Eddie’s hand in his, and smiles expectantly.

Holy shit, holy shit.

Gareth is braced against the locker beside Eddie’s, eyebrows high into his hairline and mouth aghast like a suffocating walleye. His eyes dart back and forth between Eddie and Harrington like the latter is going to swing back and stuff both of them into a locker.

Eddie swallows, feeling ill and cotton-mouthed. He wrestles his hand out of Harrington’s grip, hard enough to almost slam his knuckles back into Harrington’s pretty face again, and shoves the note into his front pocket with a huff. He shoots a glance over at Gareth and gestures at him to find Jeff or Phil with a flick of his head.

Gareth, typical of his dutiful nature, flips Harrington off with both hands and scampers off, sneakers squeaking distantly against the linoleum flooring.

Once Gareth rears the corner, Eddie sets his jaw and squares his shoulders. “My bench behind the school,” he says rigidly. He’s going to set this right. “Now.”

Harrington’s eyebrows scrunch curiously. “What?”

Eddie grabs the lapels of Harrington’s Members Only jacket and yanks him forward with all the force he can. “I said now.”

[verystrxxwberry]

MOONLIGHT LOVERS CHRISTMAS HEADCANONS!

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: The first time celebrating Christmas in the mansion! Individual, long headcanons, routes x reader (not Neil I'm sorry, I have personal issues to write for this man) ↝ 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Merry Christmas! I wish you lots of happiness for these holidays and please stay safe. There might be misspellings, mb I did this quickly ily all.

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

AARON

He has never considered Christmas as something that was very relevant. He has celebrated it with his mother, and even though they were happy together, he was always anxious about how his father would be and whether he would return or not. Aaron does not consider Christmas as something happy. Some people spend it all alone and the wild animals are the ones having a harder time with such low temperatures.

At the mansion, Ethan, Ivan and Beliath are the ones who bring the Christmas spirit, but Vladimir has always cut off their enthusiasm. Once you arrived and expressed your desire to celebrate it, oh, Aaron didn't hesitate for a second to talk with Vladimir and convince him to do something for Christmas.

He gladly helps with the decorations and the Christmas tree. He’d tell you to go do another thing to not tire yourself, but if you insist with helping, he will make sure you don’t get yourself injured. At some point he’d grab your waist and carry you so you reach higher spots for decoration.

Don’t let this man enter the kitchen during the Christmas noon as Vladimir is cooking the dinner because he will certainly steal some food. 

Aaron will probably invite random wild animals into the mansion so they do not freeze. (Vlad won’t be happy about it)

He dislikes snow and definitely prefers to stay inside, cuddling with you under the blanket and in front of the fire. But whenever it’s not snowing, he might accept to go visit the Christmas market!

He would buy you whatever you wanted if he wasn’t so broke. But will consent you with any pastries, a cheap necklace or ring you want! He’d feel bad if you left the Christmas market without trying anything.

Aaron adores how everyone seems to get along in the mansion during the Christmas dinner. He’s even more open to do jokes and explain stuff knowing there will be good vibes.

He compliments at any second he can about how good you look during your Christmas dinner outfit. Aaron might look at you with a lovesick smile without even realizing. He might be such a gentleman during that night (plus he considers you’re the best gift he could get for this celebration!).

He’s not good at all at gifting. And knowing how honest he is, he probably asked you about the stuff you needed so he could gift you most of those things (plus his kisses might be considered another gift)

He accepts wearing the typical Christmas sweaters only because you and Ivan insisted a lot. He doesn’t feel ashamed though.

Next morning he will try to convince everyone to go get churros with hot chocolate. 

BELIATH

December equals to Christmas for him. Every. Single. Day. He LOVES the Christmas spirit in the city, and it is one of the things he had loved about humans the most; their adorable excitement for this season.

And the moment he finds out you’d like to celebrate Christmas with them his heart quite melts inside his chest. “Oh, really? You’re so cuuuute,” and a great smooch to your forehead, “let’s perturb Vladimir then.” 

As he is decorating the mansion he is definitely singing to Christmas songs. And he will incite you to sing with him.

When he places the mistletoe in the doorway between the kitchen and the big living room, he might casually drag you there and play like he didn’t know the mistletoe was right on top of you… “My my, looks like we are under the mistletoe…” and giggles like a dumb teen. (He simply wants to kiss you)

He will purposely stop under any mistletoe of the city to kiss you.

He is the one in charge to do Christmas parties in home.

Obviously the Christmas day will be reserved only for the family (the other guys and you), and then moondance time! You’re invited ofc.

He’s very original with his Christmas dinner outfit. He REFUSES to wear any kind of ugly sweater, I’m sorry. Yet he braids his hair with some fancy accessories for hair (Christmas themed because he needs to fit the mood) He might find some elegant red pants and a stylish black shirt with a red tie. He truly thinks he ate with that outfit. And please tell him he did.

Vladimir has hit Beliath with his cane several times because he decides to play All I want for Christmas is you in a freaking loop randomly.

Beliath finds excitement in baking Christmas cookies but might end up causing a great disaster. Not because the cookies were burnt, but because the cookies didn’t even have any sort of healthy cookie appearance. They looked poisonous.

He is very good at picking gifts for everyone. He is very observant and knows what people need and want, so he makes mind-lists. A great plan for you two is to go shopping together! 

The most elaborated gift will be yours. You’re very special to him and he won’t only buy anything you need but will also consent you with silly little things.

And no, he’s not rich. He also uses his power in stores to make everyone believe he had paid for so many things.

RAPHAEL

He has a good memory of Christmas and actually likes this season due to how families seem to be more joined. And not going to lie he had wished to feel a sense of familiarity with the vampires at least once. He would like to see Beliath and Vladimir in the same place having fun, he would like to see Ivan and Ethan able to keep a decent and friendly conversation.

It was Raphael’s excitement for your request of celebrating Christmas that made Vladimir accept it. And Raphael was so grateful with you! 

Raphael can’t help much with the decoration, but he can yap about Christmas’ lore. He can also help by giving his opinion about the food to Vladimir (he’d advise him if it needs more salt, if it is burnt…)

He walks around the whole mansion with a blanket around his shoulders as if he was the king of a nation. He doesn’t like coldness and searches warmth whenever he has the chance, snuggling to you when you’re close to him. He also glues to Vladimir by accident just for warmth, even though the British vamp doesn’t complain (he knows that Raphael’s sensitive to coldness)

Drinks too much during the Christmas dinner that he is more talkative than usual. He might have his cheeks completely red and would be smiling more than usual. You along with Ethan and Ivan laughed a lot at this drunk facade of Raphael.

He’s very lovely and sweet with everyone during that night! You might even see him being so clingy with you, Aaron and even Vladimir. 

The hangover wasn’t so easy on him next morning :(.

He sends Aaron to buy gifts for you (he makes a great list of stuff for you). He is subtle with getting ideas for you, and he is most likely relying on his creative side to write a poem for you (if he could paint for you, he’d do it)

If you decide to bake something for Christmas he will offer himself as the main tester of your tarts and cookies.

He will let you gift him cute Christmas pajamas just because they are warmer and very comfy.

VLADIMIR

The reason why the vampires didn’t really celebrate Christmas was because of him. During these holidays he gets the most melancholic. He believes that everyone forces happiness during those days, and he never enjoyed them. He was certainly curious and was wondering how would it feel to do it with the guys, but why would he force it?

What he didn’t expect is that everyone had hopes of doing it thanks to you. You were truly a revolution for his life… yet it did take him time to accept. And even if he had a lot of questions, he ended up accepting.

You helped him to plan the events for the Christmas day. He somehow found the idea of a dinner pretty interesting and decided to be the one cooking. But he refused to wear some sort of silly accessory. Later in the dinner Beliath would place a Santa Claus hat on him, and he’d get grumpy like a grandpa.

But he had fun.

He was the one forcing Beliath and Aaron to set the decorations since they were tall.

Somehow you will find him smiling constantly during that day. And you knew that even if he didn’t express it openly, it was the first time he was enjoying Christmas so much. All his sad heart needed was the warmth of everyone’s presence in a friendly environment. 

He cried when he saw that everyone had a gift for him. He honestly believed that no one would give a single thing to him. He felt awful because he didn’t leave the mansion to buy a single gift.

But Vladimir is a kind person, and he wants to give what he received, and he wouldn’t accept to be empty-handed for so long he’d make sure to have a gift for all of you in less than a week.

He’s the best at wrapping gifts.

Have you ever seen Vladimir hugging someone else that wasn’t you in private? Well, that night he hugged everyone.

After the dinner he gave you a great session of love and cuddles. He was overwhelmed from the amount of warmth and happiness in his heart. You’d hold him in your arms as he cries from happiness :).

ETHAN 

He didn’t really celebrate it when he was a kid, but doesn’t think of Christmas as something bad. He likes it.  And he literally brags about having the Santa Claus village in Finland.

Don’t worry, if he is able to bring you there, he will. He is excited himself to go there.

Loves to play in the snow and will definitely throw a whole big ball of snow at you. He will get you to make snow angels with him, and he will feel as if he was once again a little happy kid. 

He will make you laugh so much when you’re both playing on the snow that even your tummy will hurt. 

Luckily he can not get sick, but you can. And spending so much time outside with him had its consequences. Ethan will say that it’s merely a skill issue, yet he’d feel terrible for making you fall ill during winter. But you won’t lose anything from what they all prepare, you just skip all the preparations which is lowkey good if you’re lazy.

Ethan will spend any free moment besides you, taking care of you. Don’t you dare to get up or he’s tying you up in the bed to rest (not kinkily). 

He is in charge of decorating the Christmas tree with Ivan, and more than once used the lights to wrap them aroun the young vamp. Luckily you aren’t sick enough and can separate them, or they will end up like a cat and dog.

He brings all the ugly Christmas accessories to the dinner and forces everyone to put on something. The board games can’t be forgotten either.

And he will print those pics and stick them into the walls of everyone’s room!! He aggressively forces them, but it’s his adorable small sign of affection towards the others. He is more open with his affection towards you though.

It’s impressive how much does this man eat during the dinner, not even Aaron was capable to win his large stomach.

This man is supposed to not drink alcohol, please control him or next day he might be throwing up all he consumed the last day.

He has a tiny Christmas tree in his bedroom.

Pretty decent with his gift picking. He prefers to give practical gifts and not spend much money.

But he is truly chaotic to wrap the gifts. You can always tell that he wrapped it because it is TERRIBLE.

IVAN

After Halloween, Christmas is one of those holidays which heals his inner child so badly:(. He had a great time during this month with his family, he even had the opportunity to do trips with his family as a way to celebrate Christmas.

He is excited about iceskating and literally spends weeks telling you to go.

When you finally go he ends up with a few bruises from the amount of times he has fallen. And of course a new trauma for him.

Anyway he had fun with going out with you so that’s more than enough.

Ivan wears every single day of December those ugly Christmas sweaters. And he will give you a few of them so you both can go around matching sweaters! 

He is a great enjoyer of seasonal movies and will force you to have cuddling sessions every night and watch any random movie from his laptop.

He drags you to decorate the Christmas tree with him. And you’ll see him smile like a little kid a lot, he’s honestly very happy!

During the dinner he is mainly trying all the plates on the table, too focused on eating to talk. 

He has a lot of fun playing board games (tries to cheat on them but ain’t subtle about it)

He makes the most random gifts to everyone because he has no idea about what to give any of you. He apologizes but at least he makes the moment funnier.

Don’t expect him to be elegant during the dinner. He’s gonna wear Santa’s hat and grinch socks. And he is proud of his outfit!

Do not let him bake anything, for everyone’s sake.

Offers you to spend the whole Christmas night awake, but he dies (falls asleep) the moment he finds a comfy spot in your chest. 

This baby is perfectly aware that now that you live with them, every Christmas will be great and will feel different with you in them. 

✰; remember to reblog and like to support my content, I hope you enjoyed it! Merry Christmas and happy new year everyone!

[bweeeb]

HOT THIEF

Negan Smith x Reader

Warnings: Sucking dick, age difference, Negan's ex-student, mention of sexual relations.

Summary: When the person who has been stealing from Negan's community was his student, the only way to stop her from talking to much is putting her to her knees.

Your feet crunched on the gravel, your breathing was too loud for your liking, and your hands were covered in blood from your leg, which had been scratched by a piece of log you had tripped over. — Shit. — You murmured as you climbed a tree in desperation. Stealing food from communities with weak points was never safe, and you were fully aware of that, but never getting caught was a consequence that kept you stealing. Until you were actually seen by the Saviors, a bunch of men with grotesque faces who acted like they owned everything.

— She came this way.

You heard the voices approaching and tried to climb the tree faster to hide in its canopy. However, the evident cut on your thigh made you misstep, and your bag slipped off your shoulder to the ground, catching the men's attention as they looked up and pointed their guns.

— Get down from there if you don't want to end up dead.

— I’m not a boy, asshole. — You murmured as you analyzed the situation. Maybe you would die either way, right?

— Come on, hurry up! Another shout came from below, along with the sound of a gunshot.

— Alright, alright, I’m coming down. You yelled, and the murmurs grew louder and then stopped when a whistle echoed through the forest.

— What do we have here? You heard as your feet touched the ground covered with dry leaves. Your hood over your cap covered your face well, and you were sure it made them think you were a boy. — A little thief. If you want to steal, learn to face the consequences.

The deep, rough voice of the man you assumed was the leader said in front of you. You kept your head down until they pushed you to your knees on the ground, and the man’s voice in front of you rose in tone. — I’m talking to you, and when I talk to you, you LOOK at me. He said, and immediately your hood was yanked down, and your head was pulled up by the chin.

Your gaze met the older man with black hair and a graying beard looking into your eyes and a sadistic smile spreading across his lips.

— Damn, a girl was stealing from me. You let a girl step in your shit, huh?

As he spoke loudly, a memory of him came to you, and immediately your eyes widened in recognition.

— Shit. You whispered moments before looking back at Negan standing in front of you, holding a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.

— Oh shit, girl, you think you can come here and take whatever you want? This isn't a free market, princess.

— Your security sucks. — You said, and Negan laughed.

— We’re taking you with us, and then we’ll talk, doll. As soon as he said it, it was done. You were thrown on the path and taken to the Saviors’ community.

They threw you into a cold, empty room for who knows how long until the door opened again, and the figure of Negan stood there with his baseball bat on his shoulder, looking at you with a smile on his face. — You know, I usually am a nice guy, so I’m going to listen to you. How did you get in here? Who’s been helping you, baby? Negan asked, approaching and dragging the bat's barbed wire

beside his boots.— Stop trying to blame one of your men for treason. I already said, your security sucks. You said, and deep down, you were cursing yourself for having a big mouth.

— Alright, you like to make things difficult. Listen to me. Negan said firmly with a laugh, approaching you and making you back up against the wall. — Looks like someone needs a lesson on respect and survival because you’re trying to get yourself killed. And I’m an excellent teacher. Negan said softly near your ear, and you rolled your eyes as you felt your body shiver, not out of fear.

— Since when? As far as I know, good teachers don’t fuck their students in their office after class, Mr. Smith. You said, and as soon as the words escaped your mouth, you looked at Negan, who had his eyes fixed on you. His body moved closer to yours, pinning you against the wall.

— I knew I recognized that dirty mouth from somewhere. Damn, Y/n. Negan said, stepping back from you as he walked around the room, looking at you. — Stealing food is the quickest way to become an enemy. And I’m not a fan of enemies, even more so if it's you. If I let this slide, everyone will think they can do the same. And I can’t allow that. He paused, giving you a thorough look from head to toe. — First, I need to know where you came from. Who have you been stealing for?

— No one. You denied, and Negan squinted his eyes suspiciously.

— Last chance to explain. My patience is running out.

— You always run out of patience, Negan.

— Let’s do this: I have three options for you. One, you work for me, tell me where you came from, get a bath, a pair of skirts that I know you love to wear for me, and live like a damn queen. Two, you work for me, help me use those little hands for more useful things like you did here because stealing from me is off-limits, but if it’s someone else, that’s interesting. Or three, you don’t make things easy, and I have to punish you. Lucille is dying to smash into your pretty little head. Your choice. Negan said, and your gaze fell on the bat in his hand as you chuckled, licking your inner cheek.

— Alright, you named a baseball bat after your ex-wife, the one you had problems with and who cheated on you. Fine. You chuckled nasally, and Negan hated your audacity towards him. Maybe you had gone too far, you knew that, but you loved the adrenaline.

Angry, Negan lunged at you, dropping the bat and wrapping his hand around your throat, choking you like he had done before. — Damn, I remembered you talked a lot, but I didn’t remember you had such a filthy mouth.

— What a shame. You know, if you want to kill me for stealing a bit of food for myself, which is no different from what you do to other communities, kill me now. You said, and almost instantly, Negan forced you to your knees.

— No, before that, I need to shut that big dirty mouth of yours. He said, unzipping and pulling down his pants. Your gaze rose to him, looking down with a sadistic smile on his lips. — Suck my dick like it’s an ice cream cone, baby. He ordered, lowering his underwear and freeing his erect penis right in your face. Wasting no time, Negan grabbed your head and pushed you forward, making you take his dick into your mouth.

Negan grabbed your hair into a ponytail and fucked your mouth like there was no other chance.

Some grunts escaped your throat as you began to run out of breath. Negan pulled your head out, and his hand pumped his shaft up and down until you recovered and resumed sucking his dick.

— That’s it, ah, you do such a good job, little one. Negan moaned as he began to feel the pre-cum sensation. — You always sucked my dick so damn well, yes, right there, baby.

Negan grunted as he came in your mouth, cum dripping from your lips. You looked up, panting, and Negan smiled at you, lifting you afterward. — You’ve always been such a good girl. Did you swallow?

He asked, and you showed your tongue to him, proving you had swallowed. — Good girl. — He said, kissing you on the lips. — Now you’re mine.

— In your dreams, Mr. Smith.

In fact, you managed to escape the next day, and Negan would be doing everything to bring the little thief back to him again.

<<<<<

Requests are open✨

[crazybiscuit]

Spellbind

Pairing: Mercenary!Jason Todd x Witch!Reader Summary: One second Jason's ready to leave town, the next he's married to a witch. How did he end up here? Warnings: Historical AU but it will have inaccuracies, mentions of executions and hangings (no deaths), injuries and blood Word Count: 2,335 Credits:  @sweetmelodygraphics thank you for the divider! A/N: Why do I do these things to myself. I hate deadlines… Anyways, I will most likely turn this into a series in the future. Enjoy!

Shouts filled the market square, people bustling about their day carrying baskets of food and other goods. Jason weaved his way through the crowd, his dark red cloak hiding his face as he quietly stepped out of the dark alley. Despite his build, he was able to make his way without garnering much attention. He had just wrapped up the job assigned to him a few days ago and the assassination had surprisingly gone smoothly, which made him even more eager to get out of town before it all went to shit.

However, much to his dismay, it seemed the crowd grew denser as he approached the main road where his inn was. He bumped into the man in front of him and apologized, “What’s going on over there?”

The middle aged man glanced at the cloaked figure next to him and let out a small chuckle, “Execution. Our town hasn’t witnessed one in half a year now!”

Jason frowned slightly, lowering his hood to get a better view, and finally noticed the gallows standing in front of the sea of people, “What d’he do?”

“Not he,” the man responded with a smirk, “The royal guard caught a witch during their nightly patrol.”

The comment made Jason’s expression harden as he pushed past the man to get closer to the stand. A few seconds later, two graying knights dragged you, a young injured woman, onto the wooden stage. Your hands and feet were bound with iron cuffs and you had an old blindfold wrapped around your head. Blood had stained the thick white fabric due to the cuts on your face. 

“Damn idiots,” the tall man mumbled to himself as he watched the cheering crowd in front of him. Jason had never believed in the stupid stories about witches. Sure, he had been brought back to life thanks to a puddle of water with supernatural abilities but he’d never met a magic user in his years as an assassin and even in his life as a knight and lord prior to his death. He personally believed the “potions” were likely just the result of knowledge on plants and other ingredients. As for things like foretelling and visions, he brushed it off as fraudsters or simply a case of hysteria.

The knights had given you to the executioner, who didn’t hesitate to wrap your neck with the noose, which caused the crowd to cheer. You stumbled as the executioner pushed you on top of the trapdoor and you cursed under your breath, frustrated with your lack of vision. The local priest hesitantly stepped up on the gallows to give you your last rites and attempt to cleanse your soul of the Devil. 

This was enough, he needed to do something before these people did something stupid. Jason noticed the executioner walk towards the lever, his mind ran to find a way to help the innocent woman and he ended up shouting out, catching everyone's attention, “WAIT!”

There’s a moment of silence as the crowd quiets down, trying to figure out who shouted and why. Jason felt a little embarrassed, sensing the eyes of strangers falling on his figure, but he ignored the feeling and repeated himself with a firm tone, “Wait. I’ll marry her.”

The captain of the royal guard took a step forward on the wooden stand, his cold eyes glaring down at the man standing in the front of the crowd, “Excuse me?”

The people in front of Jason moved aside slightly, giving the knight a better view of Jason’s face. Jason straightened his posture, regretting the choice he made to not simply fight. He obviously knew it wouldn’t  have actually worked but it would at least be less awkward, “I’ll marry her.”

The captain glances back at his subordinate, laughing at the statement, “You hear that Sir Harry, he wants to marry her!”

The crowd watched the knights laugh and slowly began to join in, which caused Jason to close his eyes and take a sharp breath, feeling frustrated with the situation. You had perked up at the words, recognizing them from your dream and you called out to the crowd, still blindfolded, “I accept-”

You made the mistake of taking a small step forward despite your shackles and the knights drew their swords. The captain pressed the blade against your chest, causing you to hold your breath, “Don’t move.”

“And you,” he lowered his sword and glared at Jason, “You aren’t marrying her. She’s a witch sentenced to be execut-”

Jason cut him off, not caring if he would be called insolent and rude for talking to a noble as such, “I’m asking for a foot of the gallows marriage. This will guarantee the woman a pardon.”

“A foot of the- What are you even talking about?” the captain exclaimed in frustration and Jason grew amused at the noble’s (even if he was likely only a lowly lord) lack of knowledge on the obscure laws of the kingdom, “There’s no such-”

“The 1542 pardon of Sire Fabian was the first case of a Gallows Marriage and it was enacted into law shortly after. It was never repealed,  which means it’s still applicable today, even if the law is over 100 years old.”

“You impudent, lying scoundrel!” the older gentlemen shouted, “How dare you take me for a foul? Making up ridiculous claims-”

The priest put his hand on the captain's armor, trying to calm him, “Actually, the young man is correct. I’ve seen the law when transcribing the law books for the monastery.”

You let out a shaky breath as the knights seemed stunned with the words of the priest and you thank the gods beneath your breath. The priest motioned the executioner to remove the noose and approached you, seemingly no longer worried about your wickedness, “God has intervened today, my child. Don’t forget this.”

You let out a hiss, squinting as the light hits your eyes. You stared down at the whispering crowd, who looked stuck between fear and shock. The priest motioned someone from the crowd forward as the knights reluctantly began to disrupt the gathering of people, which resulted in many objections and complaints. The executioner carefully unlocked the cuffs on your ankles and wrists before helping you down the stairs with the help of the priest.

You were still recovering from the sudden turn of events as you stumbled down the stairs and you were slightly stunned to see the familiar figure of a tall, bulky man with black hair and a distinct white streak. You did your best to hide your expression as the priest asked for the man to introduce himself.

The makeshift wedding was held on the church’s steps and there were too many guests present to observe the bizarre turn of events for both Jason’s liking and your own. The vows were swiftly exchanged and there was no celebration that followed as we left the building. You stayed quiet, following him down the street, ignoring the stares of the townspeople as he led you to the inn he was staying at.

You suddenly stopped, hissing as you cut your foot on the stone and the man finally glanced back at you. You lifted your foot slightly to see the damage and he sighed, shoulders relaxing a bit. He looked around, thinking for a moment and hesitated before giving you a small blade, “Put this in your pocket and stay there. I’ll be right back.”

You don’t get a chance to object before he walks off, leaving you alone surrounded by people you personally believed would love to drag you back on the gallows. After a few seconds, you decided to sit down on the small stone wall next to the bakery. You did your best to avoid the attention and, eventually, the people went about their day, mostly losing interest in you.

The crows on the ground became the best source of entertainment for you as you waited. The blood on your foot had coagulated by now but the injury still hurt when you applied pressure to it. You could feel yourself growing tired with each minute, causing you to close your eyes for a second but it’s quickly interrupted by the sound of hooves stopping in front of you, “Sorry that took so long.”

“It’s fine…,” you quickly sat up, glancing up at the beautiful black Arabian horse as he dropped down to the ground, carrying a few bags with him. He walked over to you and lifted your foot to see the damage.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t have shoes?” he grumbled as he poured water over the wound, cleaning it out. You felt a little embarrassed as he scolded you and you tried ignoring the sharp pain, “Luckily it doesn’t look too deep…”

You let him wrap up your injury securely and he did the same with the other cuts on your body. Jason then dug through the bags and pulled out a pair of shoes he just bought and put them on you. You remarked that you could do it yourself but he ignored you. He also pulled out a dark cloak and wrapped it around your frame before grabbing your hands to help you up, “Does it still hurt?”

You shifted your weight slightly. The boots were a little too big but you could walk. They did help with the pain a bit but you still winced, “A little…”

He nodded and turned to the horse, tying the bags back up on the animal before motioning you closer. You limped over and you let out a surprised yelp as he put you on the horse. There was little conversation as he held the reins, walking the horse out of town. All he could think about is how lucky it was that despite the scene, he wasn’t recognized as Red Hood or else you both wouldn’t have made it out.

“Thank you,” you called out, clinging onto the black stallion as the forest grew denser around you.

“Don’t,” his tone was dry and you had the impression that he wasn’t much of a people’s person, “For all you know, I could kill you.”

“You won’t.”

“And what makes you so confident, huh?” he asked, mildly annoyed, glancing back at you.

“You went out of your way to save me and bought me new clothes.”

The man seemed annoyed but he didn’t respond.

You hesitated slightly, “And… I’ve had a vision of you…”

Jason paused in his steps for a second but brushed it off, “You shouldn’t make comments like that. That’s how morons of the Royal Guard think there’s women out there with actual magic.”

This was your first time confronted with a skeptic and it amused you, “You don’t believe in witches?”

“No,” his response was stern and you wondered if you should simply let it be.

“Hmm… Well, I usually don’t tell people about my abilities,” this caused him to roll his eyes as you looked around, “Where are we going?”

The sun was beginning to set, meaning the forest would quickly become dangerous, “The capital city. I have connections there that will be able to help you start a new life.”

“What about you?” you asked, sensing that he wasn’t planning on staying in the picture despite your newly wed status.

“You don’t want to be intertwined with me.”

“Why do you speak for me? We might be married but I’m fully capable of deciding the level of danger I will expose myself to.”

He gritted his teeth, sensing that he would have a hard time getting used to your presence, “Fine. Then I don’t want you to be intertwined with me and drag me down.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you are kind of an ass?” 

“Everyday.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, “If you’re worried I’ll hold you back from your mercenary work, it won't be a problem.”

This time, when he stopped, he turned to face you with a harsh glare.

“What did you say?”

“I told you,”  you repeated calmly, “I saw you in a vision.”

“Like Hell you did!”

You cut him off before he could draw a weapon, sensing this was escalating quickly, “The curtains were down, making it easier for you to walk past undetected in the dark room. You met with the Archbishop of Canterbury, who was passing through town, under the pretense of a business meeting but you were actually assigned on a mission to kill the corrupt Cardinal.”

His eyes widened and his hand fell from his sword’s handle.

“The Cardinal didn’t fulfill his end of a deal with the Archduke of Luthor, who hired you. You killed him and his attendants without catching the attention of anyone, without getting blood on yourself or leaving any traces behind.”

“How do you know that..?” he whispered, not liking how knowledgeable you were on his kill from earlier today.

“I already told you. I have a talent for clairvoyance.”

He didn’t seem impressed but he also couldn’t come up with a rational explanation, “Are you a part of an outlaw group? Because if you are, you better let your partners know I don’t take too kindly to threats.”

“You aren’t very trusting,” you sighed, “I’m not and, honestly, I can’t really prove that to you. You’ll just have to learn to trust me.”

The man was irritated but he decided to not leave you stranded in the woods. You didn’t seem like you were involved in the crime underworld and honestly, he didn’t think you would’ve had time to be recruited by an enemy during the time he left you alone, “I’m taking you to the capital but we are parting ways afterwards.”

With that, he began to lead the black horse again through the woods. It was getting late and you could tell the ride was going to be long but you were also looking forward to learning more about your new "husband".