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chronically-ghosted · 7 months ago

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vivarium

rating: explicit 18+ pairing: ezra x f!reader word count: 8K summary: you request a vacation for your birthday. With the rain and a few drinks, you get a lot more than you asked for. warnings: alcohol drinking, minor age gap (less than 10 years), oral (f!receiving), fingering, smut, possessive!Ezra, dom!Ezra, one booty smack, dirty talk for real, smut, pining, a bit of angst, referenced/implied orphanhood, made a religious sex pun and i'm so proud of myself a/n: so @morallyinept requested this and it turns out when I write for a boy for the first time, it can’t be less than 7K – whoops. i've gotten ezra requests from some moots before, so i hope this lives up to your expectations! **massive thanks to @toomanytookas for editing and providing the initial validation so i don't post in a mouth-frothy haze. I've never had a beta like you before and I genuinely feel like I've turned over a new chapter in my fic writing. thank you!

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Your feet in the clear blue water, the humidity like a wet tongue on your skin, you scratch a nail under the tab of a mustard yellow can, crack it open, and drink. The bite of alcohol dulled by the carbonation, you take several pulls, drawing out the mid-afternoon buzz from two other cans and whetting your mouth in the heat of the jungle day. You lean back on your elbows into the sponge-soft grass, and let out a massive sigh.

A few feet ahead of you, on a repurposed inflatable reentry tube, your long-time privateer partner chuckles, the sound deep in the back of his throat as he floats by. Thick fingers and exposed heels dragging along in the crystal water, he greets the yellow sun like an old friend – arms wide, chest out, a lazy smile on his face. A damp rag – supposedly clean – sits over what you know to be dark-earth eyes, every other inch of him relishing in the inevitable sun tan.

“I see your aaahhh, pet, and I raise you a mhmm.” The rubber squeaks as he adjusts, tips his scarred chin up to the cloudless sky and rests his head back. “Kevva said there’d be days like this, but I think the old hag mighta left out a thing or two.”

You grin, the wet heat of Banu 8’s lowlands drawing sweat droplets onto your hairline at the back of your neck, settling thick behind your ears where it co-mingles with the drunk haze loping around in your brain. You watch Ezra with his bare arms, hairy legs, and prominent nose turned towards the divinity he’s so fond of invoking and the thought crosses your mind – again:

Shit, he’s so fucking hot.

Oh, bad thought.

You drop your gaze, pressing the cold aluminum lip of the can to your mouth, drinking quicker than you probably should, anything to distract you from your partner as he obliviously floats by.

For our sake, you silently beg the hungry little creature that whines and snaps at the image of a shirtless Ezra, please fuck off.

While Ezra whistles a vaguely familiar tune, terribly off-key, you scoop up the cool lagoon water and dribble it over your hot knees, then your thighs, dampening the rims of your make-shift shorts just enough to cool them without leaving them vulnerable to a permanent state of moisture due to the high humidity. You flick the last drops of the water onto your chest, your white cotton bra choked to your skin. A final effect, you press the cool can to the thrumming pulse on your neck, closing your eyes with a relieved grunt, taking the time to enjoy the sensation of the cold metal against the rapid beat in your throat.

From the water, you hear an unsettled grunt and you open your eyes to find that same shirtless Ezra staring at you, the rag now curled in one hand against the rubber float. He swallows, looks at something past your ear, and again tries to adjust in the sticky rubber float without flipping himself over, his hands falling into his lap.

“Neptune, dear, would you do us the favor of tossing over one of those cans? I’m parched. I think my lovely skin is drying out.”

Neptune. His favorite nickname for you. You never got any real explanation from him as to why you got that name, other than after you’d officially joined his crew, you told him you came from a blue planet in a far off system. But that was often the way of things: Ezra did something and you didn’t question why. From that simple truth, you learned about how to repair and rebuild the entire electrical system from a drop pod. You learned, in excruciating detail, the parts and mechanics of a thrower, so much so that you could almost identify the model number at a glance. You learned about which corporate dig sites to avoid, which made for easy marks, and which would draw the eye and ire of entities hardly worth the trouble.

Being out on your own since you aged up out of the orphanage had not gone the way you hoped and life had not been so kind as to teach you any other way to survive. Ezra had found you in the back of a red spice market, cornered and slurping down the last few of your credits from a muck bowl that you had vastly overpaid for.

For whatever reason, he offered you a job on the spot, despite you having nothing to offer him. and no experience in anything except cleaning prophylaxiams and staying out of the way.

And yet, he has been far kinder than life, or anyone else, had ever been to you.

As a result, loyalty was only a fraction of what you felt for him. What had begun as overwhelming adoration had grown hot to the touch, slippery between your fingers at night, and perhaps – what you feared most of all – obvious.

Yet when Ezra looked at you with a smile on his face, it was only comradery he wished to share with you, certainly not his bed. He shared it with practically every other bi-pedal humanoid you came across, but not you. And this you had to accept. And you did.

But being a little drunk made it that much harder to remember where to keep your hands to avoid being burned.

“Sure, Ez.” You tuck your legs out from the cool water and dig around in the canvas bag at the base of the white nut tree. Most of the ice had melted into the bright green grass around the lagoon, but a few of the cans were still cold. You’d probably tease Ezra later for skimping on the insulation bucket the provisions store the port offered, but he had been so eager to get to the camp ground after spending an “exceedingly exorbitant amount of time stacked up against human drivel on public transportation”. One lopsided grin, and you’d give him the world.

“Ez–,”

He lifts the rag, glancing at you over his shoulder, hands cupped as the can flies through the air. The cold metal presses against the overheated skin on his chest and he hisses. Eyeing the can ruefully, he cracks it open and drinks deep. You busy yourself with sliding to the edge of the pool again to keep from watching his throat move.

Ezra finally pulls back, smacking his lips, with a pleased groan. He wets the rag again and dramatically flops it over his eyes. Hidden from his view, you watch the roll of water down his temples, his neck, his chest.

“Name anything better than this, Neptune, I beg you. Free from obligation or assignment on commission. Where my only moral imperative is to drink as many of these as I can and remind you how beautiful you are. Which . . .” he tilts the bottom of the can towards you, head still tilted back on the raft and dripping rag covering his vision, “fantastic, by the way.”

Having stifled your blush while under his watchful gaze about three or four other times today, without him looking, you flush so hard and fast you go lightheaded. Beautiful, he said. You drink more carbonated alcohol to choke back your rising heart, your eyes skim over the curve of his nose, a drop of sweat as it peaks on his forehead. You can’t linger over him too long; he has a six-sense about you – unable to know what you’re thinking but that you’re overthinking all the same.

“Was this worth the trip on public transportation, Ez?” Your ankles stir the water again.

“I could do this all day,” he sighs contently, bringing a warm smile to your face. “And definitely all night.”

Maybe you’ll both be so sun-drunk later tonight, you’ll fall asleep together on the pallet on the floor. Of course, by nightfall, someone will have to come to their senses and you’ll be tucked back into your separate sleeping bags, but maybe, as a present you couldn’t possibly ask for, you can just nap together.

With the bottom plush of your lip stuck between your teeth, you rim the metallic edge of your can with your nail, ankles spinning slow circles in the water.

“Thank you, Ezra,” you say quietly, “for the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

It began as a sort of joke one night on the volcanic hotspring moon of Wulkan after a twelve hour shift hunting through the black ash in search of fire pearls. The job was rather rushed, and Ezra had his reservations going into it, but fire pearls were a near certainty and you both needed a boost after a jump exchange had gone a little cockeyed. Sweat dripping from his temples, the provided water packs in the harvest suits doing just enough to keep him from passing out from heat exhaustion, he extended the skein of hydro-electric towards you across the narrow lane between your cots and asked you if you could be anywhere right now, any system, where would you be.

“Somewhere so cold I freeze my tits clean off,” you said with a sigh and wiped your own sweat-drenched forehead. You could smell yourself after two days of sweating profusely, but your stench in comparison to the rest of the crew, including Ezra, barely registered any more. You took a sip as Ezra laughed.

“A grievous crime against humanity and all its luscious gifts, but I get your meaning. Anywhere else?”

“Water.” This was said with more conviction, so much so it turned Ezra’s head towards you. “The few memories I have of my home planet and my parents, we were always near or in water. An ocean, maybe. I’m not sure. But I remember being really, really happy and I think being near water . . . it would make me happy again.”

You handed the skein back to Ezra, something unreadable in his gaze. He took it back from you, his fingers dark from the ash that clings to everything. On the other side of the tent, the rest of your crew and other teams mill about, yelling, with cutlery clattering as the camp gets ready to slow for the night, a graveyard shift picking up in just a few hours.

Ezra’s eyes are as dark as the ash you’ve been shifting through the past two days.

“Then you shall have it, Neptune.” He said, quietly. “I’d give you the fucking galaxy if I could.”

Those words often came to you in the crevice between sleep and wakefulness, when your mind was idle and the reins that tightly bound your affection for him loosened without a conscious grip. When you thought you weren’t being watched.

The flat of his foot hooking behind your ankle breaks you from your reverie. Cast into shadow by the wide, rubbery palm leaves above your head, he looks at you curiously.

“That look of deep consternation is giving me a headache. Spill.”

With a faint smile, you gently bump his knee with your own. “Nothing, Ez. I’m just glad we get to take a break from it all. I can’t remember the last time I . . . the last time we’ve just had nothing to do.”

He cocks his head as his gaze crawls up your ankle, your shin, to your knee. You think it might linger on your thigh before it bounces to your face. You tighten your grip on the hot, expansive feeling behind your ribs and stare back at him.

“Then that’s a black mark against me, as the leader of this clan.” His mouth curls, eyebrow arching as he talks, knowing that statement has been a point of playful contention between you two for years. “A good overseer knows when to crack the bullwhip and when to let it rest.”

“Well, a better overseer knows when to demand that her team rests, because sometimes they have no idea what’s good for them.”

His foot rotates behind your ankle, his toes brushing against your calf, bringing your attention to your own body part in the water. Your legs are hairy, nearly as much as Ezra’s, and you haven’t shaved your pits in possibly a decade. Ezra once brought home a professional nightwalker, one from the Upper City, to the derelict flat you’d been sharing for two weeks as you offloaded your haul to the under markets. You never forgot how smooth her skin had been, shaved clean and smelling of moon lilies. That scent permeated the small space for weeks afterward. Even now, just the sight of moon lilies makes you nauseous.

His aversion to you runs much deeper than physical aesthetics, even if you can’t help but wonder sometimes if becoming as smooth and hairless as the nightwalker might change his mind.

“Observational to a fault as always, Neptune.” The ball of his foot rests briefly between your legs before he pushes off from the spongy lip of the lagoon’s edge. He floats back into the sun, his head shaking slightly, a smile drained of amusement on his lips. He inhales as the sun crests over his forehead and he glances up at the blue sky. “I have no idea what’s good for me.”

Something about his tone, the way he turns away from you, scratches a very raw place inside of you – a place that fears and obsesses over abandonment. You wouldn’t survive it if he abandoned you, if he left you to fend for yourself one day. Logically, you know he would never do that – he has sworn up and down to your face that that notion is fundamentally ludicrous to him – but the anguish of him silently rejecting you from his bed again and again and again makes that fragile place inside you bleed red.

You stand up, swipe another can from the bag, and move towards the waterfall.

“I’m taking a hike.”

You feel his eyes on the backs of your thighs as you march towards the gentle incline.

“Be safe, Neptune,” he calls softly.

For a fleeting second, you wish he had made you stay.

The first fat raindrop splashes against your cheek and wakes you from a humid, irritated nap. You’re scowling by the time you open your eyes to several more wet droplets as they splatter against your neck, your forehead and you sit up, even more frustrated than when you fell asleep. The last sticky tendrils of dreams snap and pop as you pull yourself onto your feet, back hunched and arm held high against the steamy sprinkle. A crack of lightning, then a growl of thunder, and the sky splits open, drenching you in seconds. With a snarl of your own, you snatch up the empty can from the grass next to you and make for your camp down the hill. As you crest the top, you see a figure standing outside the tent, back tense and hand raised as if searching through the twilight gray downpour.

Normally, the thought of warming up beside Ezra in your yellow tent fills you with something inexplicable, the grime and load of the day melting from your shoulders, but your buzz from earlier has thickened, made worse by the heat, the emotions in your heart all gummed up and smashed together. The sight of him cranks up your irritation high in your ears. With a huff, you concentrate on a smooth slide down the hill without breaking your ankles and not the fire rising in your gut.

But the rain and the distance apart has only stoked his own outrage.

“Where the hell were you?” He snaps as you yank back the velcroed tent flap. He is dripping from head to toe in jungle rain as he follows closely behind you into your small space. You ring the water from your hair into a corner and scowl up at him.

“I fell asleep. The rain woke me up. I came back as soon as I could.”

His eyes narrow, water rolling off his bare shoulders as if he still stood out in the downpour. The droplets pat pat pat against the tarp floor as he snatches up a fiber towel and dries himself off, scowling all the while.

“I searched for you, calling your name up and down this fuckin’ jungle and I didn’t hear a peep. What if something had gone wrong? What if you’d been hurt?”

“Then I would have fucking dealt with it, Ezra.” You stomp to your feet, neck hot from his patronizing gaze. Hands on his hips, you feel like you’re being scolded. “I can take care of myself.”

One dark eyebrow arches mockingly, the scar on his cheek twisting in his scowl.

“And you expect me to lay about, twiddling my thumbs, while I wait for you to return or until you deem it appropriate for me to fret over your corpse?”

That patch of blonde hair is a shade darker, drenched and pressed flat against his forehead. His bare chest is littered with scars and divots where chunks of flesh had been torn away. His skin is a reflection of the hard life he lives. You doubt you’d look any different if you’d seen yourself in a mirror.

“We are partners, Ez,” you grind out between locked teeth. “Equals, alright? I am not your little sister for you to fuss over and you are not my keeper.”

At that, the indignant swell of his chest deflates and the anger in his eyes flickers before fading out.

“You are beyond capture,” he mutters, eyebrows down but gaze distant. “I’d never dream of keeping you, Neptune.”

Again, it’s his phrasing that hurts most of all. You glance away, the backs of your eyes growing hot and tight, drying out despite the sticky moisture warming the inside of the tent. But then his hand around your elbow startles away the tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

“You are the most important thing to me in the entirety of this world and the next,” he says softly, earth eyes searching your face. “I came on too strong, I know that, but the idea that you’d ever be gone from my side for any amount of permanence . . . well, it’s been a lifetime since I’ve felt fear like that.”

His frown goes belly-up, a hopeless smile on his face. “I wasn’t aware I even still could.” His calloused thumb brushes your skin, skin that nearly catches fire from the rough drag of scar tissue, before he lets his hand drop. Your own curls into a fist at your side, a tremor rattling the bones of your wrist in an effort to keep from reaching up and touching that moon-shaped scar you dream about at night.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ez. You taught me enough to survive in a world like this. But you’re going to have to trust me.”

That smile goes wan, sickly. “That’s the problem, dear heart, I trust you with my life.”

He swallows, as if suddenly bashful to make direct eye contact with you. He clears his throat before rummaging around in his canvas bag for dry clothes. He yanks a black, sleeveless shirt on over his head before setting up the materials for a flameless pocket fire.

“Since my dreams of showing you something called a barbeque have been quite literally rained out, we’ll finish off the rest of the dredge pack tonight. But come first light, I’ll fix you breakfast so succulent, the smell alone’ll make your mouth water. How does that sound, Neptune?”

He barely slows to breathe as he seamlessly switches topics from breakfast to another meal made at camp without looking up or stalling in his prep for dinner, hands almost disconnected from the humming of his mouth – one so methodical, the other like a channel rat on fire.

“– and the thing was no one was really sure enough what a squatter egg looked like when it goes bad. But being out in a cramped hold-out for two weeks where it was so dark, your own ass and someone else’s had no demarcation, well, there wasn’t a single peep of dissimilitude . . .”

Words strung together so quick and so melodic, it was always incredibly easy to fall into a sort of easy trance around Ezra. Sounds and syllables just sounded right coming out of his mouth and after a while, that trance became a state of repose, Ezra’s own sense of calm filtered to whoever was also in the room. But not to you, not right now.

After spending immeasurable time with less than half a space between you in cramped tents and in claustrophobic dig sites, you could read the tension on the lines of his body as well as the lines on the palm of your hand.

“Neptune? You with me?”

Ezra glances up at you, always aware of you and your movements like the twinge on a spider’s web, a signature smile that has always seemed to shine a bit brighter for you plastered over his face. The anger was the only thing holding you up and with it gone, you can feel your bruised heart twinge as it folds over itself.

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’m gonna switch out of these wet clothes before we eat, okay?”

He hums, nodding, eyes fixating on the steadily boiling water in front of him as you turn away to the other side of the tent, by your pallet and traveler’s pack. As further evidence that he feels nothing but companionship for you, you feel his eyes remain nowhere near you as you strip off your shorts and bra for a sun-warm suit. Then again, you’d like to think it’s kind of scandalous to be changing in front of him, but you’d both seen each other naked more times than you could count – there is no modesty in foxholes. The space between your hips and your thighs feel sticky from sweat and the slick rain, the curve of your spine warm and flushed. The zipper is loud in the silence.

You’re braiding your damp hair away from your face when he sighs and the noise makes you look back at him.

“Answer me honestly, if you’ve ever cared for me a tick. Do you regret it?”

His eyes are sorrowful, worried, brow fixed down. Ezra is not, and never has been, a man prone to melancholy. His wrists rest loosely over his knees, gaze deep in the bubbling bone broth. The rain outside taps insistently at the tarp.

“Regret what?”

“Coming with me and taking on this life. It’s not an easy one,” he says quietly. “I should have offered you another choice, that day in the market. But one look at you and I . . . I was willing to trust you with my life, Neptune – far, far too soon. Even at my best, you make me irrational.”

You watch him, his broad shoulders moving, as he scoops up the hot, dark liquid into two bowls, and joins you by the entrance to the tent. You pin back the flap as he settles, the scent of humid rain immediately flooding your mouth, the pattering sound now twice as loud. Wordlessly, he hands you a spoon before digging into his own bowl.

The heat of the soup burns away all the silly, impossible things sitting on your tongue. You sit in silence, his presence never rushing you to answer before you are ready. As you eat, you stare out at the dark lagoon, where you had both been only hours ago, the clear water murky beneath the downpour.

“No, Ezra, I don’t regret it.” He stills, as if surprised you’re answering him now, mid-meal. He lowers the bowl to his lap, eyes trained on you. “You saved my life, more times than I can count.”

Your words loosen the rigid lock of his shoulders. He grins. “As you’ve said, you would have been just fine without me.”

Your vision goes blurry. You pin him with such a stare, you watch the blood rush from his face.

“But it would have been only half a life.”

“Don’t kid about that, Neptune, it’s not –,”

“I’m serious.” You put your bowl down and rub your eyes with your sleeves. Of all the ways he hasd seen you bare and naked, he’s never seen you this vulnerable. “I don’t wanna do any of this without you. I want you, Ezra.”

“You have me, dear heart, you have me.”

“Not like that and you know it.” You watch as understanding rolls across his face. His lips part, eyes wider. He swallows and you stare at the ceiling, cheeks suddenly wet and hot. He said he’d never leave you, but what if this is the thing that finally does it? Could he work with you, knowing just how deeply you love him, and not feel an ounce of disgust? “You told me once sex is just a way to pass the time, but never, not once, have you ever even tried to pass the time with me.”

He swallows, deeper this time, jaw locked, his eyes fluttering with the force of it. He brings his knees to his chest.

“Because it wouldn’t just be passing time with you.”

In that moment, you’re grateful for the rain, for the sound of something to fill the silence.

You stare at him, cross-legged in front of the open corner of this yellow tent, abandoned bowls growing colder, but he sits with his leg up, knee to his chest, as if to ward you off. Ward off whatever is growing in your gaze, under the flat bone over your heart in your chest. But whatever is stifling the air in your lungs, is warming his eyes past the point of comfort, barrelling towards expletives and the crass, the lewd and depraved. You cannot go back to having him look at you any other way.

That look loosens every line in his face when you crawl into his lap, your knees around his hips. The backs of your thighs go damp, even through the suit, pressing down onto his still-damp shorts, and you think his breathing has quickened.

His massive palm hovers near your cheek, unwilling or unable to pull you forward or push you back, his oak eyes searching your face for signs of discomfort as if he had somehow dragged you across the tarp floor.

“Neptune,” he mumbles as he focuses on the curve of your bottom lip, “this is unwise. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

You can feel the hard curve of his shoulders as you follow the lines of his arms and settle them on his collarbone. Nothing has happened that can’t be undone – not yet. Your perfect, vicious Ezra hasn’t pressed you flat on your back like you thought he would at the hint of sex. You could return with your dignity tomorrow morning, this moment never spoken of again, and he’d let you have that. The shake of his elbow with his palm against the tarp is the only indication that something might be unsettling to him.

But it is your birthday after all. Maybe he’d let you have this one thing. He doesn’t know you’ll die without it.

“If you don’t want this . . . if you don’t want m-me, then say something. Push me away and I’ll never bring it up again.” You cup the sides of his neck as your hips shift forward, closer to him. The air in your lungs tightens, breath coming in shallow pants. Only then does he drop your gaze and fixate on your encroaching heat. “At least then I’ll know.”

There. Out loud. It’s been said, heard above the deluge of rain against the tent and the jungle outside.

His palm finally settles on your cheek. It brings a sense of wholeness to you like you’ve never known. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, a breathy exhale pours out of your mouth. His thumb catches the plush curve of your bottom lip and he draws it towards your chin, his own mouth open, enraptured.

“Sweet thing, how have you not always known?”

His mouth is humid against yours, as if he swallowed the jungle while looking for you, his thumb releasing your lip to capture with his own. The tip of his pointer finger massages the hinge of your jaw, just below your ear, and he manipulates your head until your mouth parts like he wants.

His tongue skims your upper lip, a tentative exploration into the unknown rewarded with a low groan that is warmed by the heat coiling low in your hips. You taste his tongue, a hot glide inside your mouth, and you feel his arms slip around your lower back, his inhale of breath sharp across your face as he brings you closer. He bites your lips roughly, the spark of pain and pleasure crackling across your face as if you’d brushed a live wire.

His fingers wrap around your wrist, prying you from the back of his neck, just for a moment, his eyes heat-soaked. You suck your teeth, mouth open and seeking, and the hand around your jaw drops to your collarbone, the breadth of his palm nearly suffocating your throat.

The briefest pressure – the slightest touch – at the pulse at the bottom of your neck and your hips rock forward into him as he flattens his other palm to your ass, clutching you to him and pinning you to the pallet.

His teeth scrape against the curve of your ear, pinching the cartilage between his incisors, while his hands frantically search up and down your waist. His weight smothers you, his stomach breathing into yours, the flat plane of his chest rubbing your nipples raw against your suit, an unfocused lurch to his hips every time you tug on his hair. With every breath, every time you try to savor his touch, the taste of his mouth is like a wave, dragging you forward, wrapping a dizzy chain around your throat and squeezing.

Ezra’s greatest weapon has always been his mouth, that silver string spinning faster the longer he captivates you, spell-bound. Now he uses to decimate you in entirely new ways.

The suck of his lips against the moist flesh below your ear distantly distracts from the afterburn of his unkempt beard against your jaw, your cheek. His lips alternate patterns of reward with a plush kiss and punishment with a stern nip when you try and stifle a moan. The edge of his shirt is damp from resting against his shorts when you slip your fingers underneath to palm the small of his back. He stills when you run your fingers around to the front of his trunks.

His hand curls around a clump of hair at the base of your skull, his eyes darker than volcanic ash. The steady heat of his groin against your thigh is a sensation you’ll chase for the rest of your life.

“You know what happens when you touch a man there, Neptune?” He’s breathing hard, you both are, and the way he snags your hair in his fist has your head twisted at an odd angle, but you’d be damned to a Kevva-forgotten corner of the cosmos before you drop his gaze. You nod and that moon-shaped scar on his cheek twitches. “I know I didn’t teach you that.”

“L-learned it – somewhere else – Ezra.” Your mouth isn’t working properly, your lips swollen from his kisses, the slight pain in your scalp making it difficult to focus, while your cunt tightens hungrily. “Had to.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because you wouldn’t give it to me.”

He leans back, his forearm tense and corded where he has you by the hair, a seemingly disinterested scowl on his face. But by the throbbing length pressed up against you, so far from where you need him the most, he is anything but.

“So you’re saying this is my fault?” Without breaking eye contact, his chest raised inches above yours, his fingers snag on the blue zipper by your collar and your breathing nearly stops. He hums to himself, eyes following the path of the zipper as the material separates, click by click by click. When it reaches your belly button, he stops.

“Ezra –,” it’s a whine and you can’t even chastise yourself for it. And neither, it seems, can he.

Head tilted as if curious about the label of a box beneath colorful wrapping, he dips his wide hand beneath the edge of your suit. The heat that radiates from his palm against the curve of your stomach has you writhing underneath him, your knees drawing up to his hips, trying to catch any relief.

But he takes his self-satisfied time. Callouses of a hard-won life snag and drag over the soft paper-thin skin that covers your ribs as he maps you in one hand. When he cups your right breast in his palm, the noise you make is a sob of gratitude.

“You let another man besides me do this to you?”

The snarling pit of your own thoughts slows as some awareness realizes he’s speaking to you.

You swallow, clutching his bicep, begging for forgiveness before even opening your mouth to answer.

“It didn’t mean anything, Ez, it wasn’t you – it meant nothing to me–,”

“But you let someone else touch what’s mine, hm?” That lazy, slightly irritated look on his face, he rotates his hand, squeezing the cup of your tit again, before sharply pinching your nipple.

“Ezra–,” you choke out and his thigh shifts between your legs, just close enough to feel the heat but nowhere near close enough to grind against. His thumb rotates the raised flesh slow enough to capture and catalog every sigh it draws from you, his eyes catching between his hand and your relaxed face.

He wears the same expression he does when sitting in the backs of blackmarket tea shops and smoky alebins. When the prospect of striking gold becomes all he can think about.

“Strip.” He suddenly commands. He lifts off you just enough for you to wrench your arm through the armhole, all the while keeping a rough palm on one breast, and then the other. You watch him massage your flesh and your ribs tremble with an unsteady breath. Only when a slightly cool breeze meanders over your bare shoulders and chest do you realize that the tent flap is still open, your head inches from the edge. A perfect and unimpeded view to anyone who wants to watch him hungrily grope your tits. Embarrassment peaks sharply, despite his hand pressing you into the tarp, you wrench your neck back and look over your shoulder through the window of the open tent as if you need to confirm that you are giving the jungle a floor show.

“Ez– shit, the flap–,”

He finds that the skin beneath your breast had grown sticky and slick from sweat, the humidity still oppressive even with a breeze. He bends his head and licks that same sweaty path and your attention snaps back to him, nails curling against his scalp, his warm breath a high-intensity balm to your roughly-played-with nipples.

“Not a soul in sight, Neptune,” he murmurs lazily into your ribcage, his nose running up and down the valley between your tits. “And if there were, let them learn a thing or two.”

His teeth nip the swell of your stomach as he crawls down your half-naked body. Without his heat and hands, the tenderness from his attention on your breasts ratchets up to an ache, a minor preoccupation before he hooks his fingers around the rest of the jumpsuit and tugs.

You are naked beneath him, swollen chest rising and falling, your knuckles scraping against the pallet as you search for something to grip with all your might. You smell of lagoon water and hot jungle air, of muggy photosynthesis and algae. The smoky scent of the black ash of that distant planet never really left Ezra and the dampness of the rain seems to stir it up. He towers over you, dark and breathing heavy. Smoke and brimstone.

He gropes your ankles, then your calves, hands gliding over the thick hair there – now grown soft in length – as he slowly spreads your legs, with a light you’d never seen before in his eyes.

“Neptune, I revolve around you.”

A wave of anxiety lurches up your throat when he brings his mouth to your cunt, the cloying, imagined scent of moon lilies threatening to tear you out of the moment – he won’t want you wild like this – but it’s forcefully yanked back down with a single stripe of his tongue. His previously casual, authoritative persona cracks when he buries his face into your unkempt curls and lets out a deep, overly pleased moan.

Your back bends and he’s gathering up your limbs in his arms to pin them down, nearly resting his forehead on your pubic bone. A few more licks, some deeper than others into where you drip for him, and your thighs start to shake. His fingers around your thighs squeeze roughly against your flesh and pull you further apart.

Between the flush of slick seeping from you at an embarrassing rate and the wiry hair kept natural out of a certainty no one would see it, he must be drowning or choking, his tongue flicking and sliding, nose prodding your clit just enough to spread the sparks of arousal up through your spine. Feeling as though you’re losing your grip on reality, you sink your hands into his hair, thumb rubbing back that blonde patch, and tug. The moan he shoots into your cunt as he rocks forward into your touch has you whining helplessly. The tarp squeaks where he rubs his hips into it.

His arms curled around your thighs, your hips shake with restraint against every lap of his tongue until he flicks your clit and your hips grind up against his obliging mouth, a sunspot of pleasure flaring brightly. But all too soon, Ezra lifts up onto his elbows, his hands smoothing across your stomach and he pops his mouth up from your wet folds. With an irate gasp, the swell of bliss fading, your gaze snaps down to plead with him, but he shakes his head.

Wordlessly, he takes one hand from your thigh and wipes his mouth clean with a swipe of his fingers. Then, with his eyes wide, the skin around his mouth loose, he crooks two fingers at the top of your mound before sliding them down where his mouth was seconds ago and presses them inside of you. That simmering in your low belly roars back to life and you toss your head against the unforgiving pallet, eyes slamming shut. He growls at the obscene sucking noise your cunt makes as he plucks at you, in and out.

“Oleaginous,” he hums, so quietly, it might have been for him. He tongues your clit lightly, pushing his fingers as deep as they can go, watching you thrash. “Mine. Understand?” You remember that tone of voice from when he had you dissecting throwers on a workbench in front of him. You nod, eyes fluttering open, balancing on the precarious edge of release.

You want to obey his every word.

His thumb twists up, opening your clit to him and within a whispered breath of “good girl” he sucks your bundle of nerves and launches you into orbit.

Your entire body goes stiff from the force of it, only to crash back down into his waiting hands, your voice wavering on a high-pitched, girlish wail that shrieks above the sound of rain. Waves of bliss lap at every nerve ending and your vision goes fuzzy for a minute, the only sound you can register is the pounding of your blood in your ears.

And then you register the steady, wet plunge of his fingers still dragging in and out of your pussy.

“Was that mine?”

Your clit tingles from overstimulation, but you’d rather die than have him stop – you want to answer, if only you could pick up the pieces of your voice. You can only nod, whining. He presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, the skin there smeared with your release.

“You did a bad thing, letting someone else touch what’s mine.” He scolds, rubs that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back in your head, holds his finger to it until it burns. You cry, his punishment evident. “Now you have to apologize, Neptune.”

You nod again, mouth wrenched open as he drags you back and forth across pleasure and pain.

“Y-y-yes, Ezra,” the words are bone dry, cracked between your teeth. “I’m sorry.”

Pure wickedness strikes those earth eyes and scorches them a singed black.

“Unfortunately, atonement is a fickle thing,” Ezra tuts, dragging his lips across your thigh in a mockery of a kiss, “and I’m not quite ready to offer absolution. Despite your offerings,” he wipes his mouth with a stroke of his palm, “this godhead remains rigid.”

You whimper. He grins with a mouthful of teeth.

Ezra pulls back onto his knees and shuts your thighs, his hand palming your ass as he indicates that you should turn. Your entire lower half still feels like jelly – no one has ever made you come that hard with just their mouth before – but you obey. You stagger onto your hands and knees in front of him.

His wide palm appears beneath your chin.

“Spit.”

You do.

That spit-wet hand cups your still wet cunt, middle finger rubbing briefly against your clit, before it disappears. You feel him move closer, hear his slick hand pump himself a few times with a grunt. Hot lips drag up your spine, interspersed with the nip of teeth, and when he lays across your back, his hands overtaking yours and threading your fingers together, his bare chest presses up against the skin of your back and you shudder.

He noses your temple, his throbbing cock coated between your folds. He bites at your jaw and follows your line of sight through the open tent flap.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it? All that moisture, dripping and running over smooth rock and fern. All that heat coagulating in spaces it shouldn’t fit. All that . . . open field, for anyone to just wander into. Take a look around and smell the air. Could they smell you like I can, Neptune? The way you leak for this cock?”

As he hums filth in your ear, his hand settles again at the base of your throat, thick fingers squeezing just enough to threaten, before sliding down to your swinging breasts, rough palms catching your swollen nipples, then arching down your stomach and between your legs.

He plays slowly with your clit; barely enough stimulation and he knows it.

“Ask for forgiveness.” He croons in your ear. The breeze returns for a moment, and between the heat of him mounting you like a feral animal and the hesitant touch of outside air against your sweaty chest, you shudder with a groan.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I’m so–,” his middle finger increases its pressure slightly and the words shatter in your mouth, “sor-ry.”

“And for what?”

He continues to rub between your folds and the minute hitch in his breath is more intoxicating than anything he’s done so far. This is affecting him just as much as it does you. He kisses your jaw then tugs on the skin with his teeth.

“For letting a-anyone but you t-touch me.”

Ezra presses his damp forehead into your shoulder, panting, your correct answers soaking the neurons in his brain. Your reward is the faster stroke of his finger.

“And why was that a reprehensible thing to do?” His hips rut into yours, the scrape and rub of his cock between your slick lips and thighs almost enough to set you off.��

“Because it’s yours – I’m yours – f-fuck, Ezra, I’m yours, I only wanna be yours,” you sob.

He’s suddenly gone from above you and the loud crack of his hand against your ass cheek deafens you for a minute, the sting skittering up your back and down your thigh.

“Good fuckin’ girl.”

Your elbows shudder, the weight of his tone, his hand nearly forcing you onto your chest with your ass still in the air. You wanna be so good for him.

He’s breathing hard and his skin is warm and damp where you feel his thigh press against the back of yours. There’s a measure of restraint he’s showing and it makes your heart pound in anticipation. You swing your hips back at him, as if you could catch yourself on his cock.

“I wanna show you I’m yours,” you cry, nails curling into the pallet. “Please, Ezra, please!”

His broad hand settling on your spine draws a hiccup out of you, a sob.

“Breathe . . . Good girls get what they need.”

On an exhale, his blunt tip spreads you apart and he shuffles closer as he thickens inside you. His loud, unabashed moan overwhelms yours, when you think you might just be devoured by him. His hand, the one at your hip, squeezes you, silent reassurance. You can feel the knuckles on his other hand against your slick lips as he feeds himself into you.

“Neptune, talk to me. How,” your cunt tightens around his girth at the sound of his voice coaching you along and he grunts, as if suddenly dizzy, “h-how do you feel?”

“Amazing, Ez. Please keep going don’t stop I can take it–,”

He obliges; something’s reconnected the wires in his brain enough to tell him to move. He huffs before sinking deeper and your eyes roll back in your head. He bottoms out and waits again, letting you both catch your breath.

“Spent a hundred moons thinking about this.” The puff of breath against your shoulder is the only warning you have before he presses his mouth to your skin. His hand free of your clutch, his thumb softly rubs the muscle of your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you, wherever he finds bare flesh. “Would wake up in the night, with you a few feet from me, looking like divinity made sin, made real, but I wasn’t worthy to touch you. You got me all tongue-tied, Neptune, all mucked up in the head. A silly boy,” he purrs.

You glance over your shoulder, unsure which Ezra is going to meet your eyes, but wanting all of them. The man you feel most safe with in this world and the next greets you and you reach back and squeeze his hand. He chuckles softly, and with it, comes a gentle roll of his hips. You gasp, airily, your gaze slipping from his face to his chest, to the steady breathing in his stomach, and then to the growth of hair that fades as it reaches up his low belly. How many times did you sit across the room from him with your fists in tight balls, watching as he regaled exploits of riches and wonder, all the while thinking about how thick his cock is outlined in his suit – you’re so blinded by breathy dreams of what the musky scent of his cock must taste like that you miss that he’s pulled out farther, halfway now, and you are completely knocked senseless when he thrusts back in, a beat faster.

“Later, Neptune. I’ll let you suck my cock later, but right now I’ve gotta ride this pussy to oblivion.”

Your thighs quake at his promise, cunt squeezing him, and he huffs, picking up speed.

“I felt that. You really like sucking cock that much?”

All you can answer him with is a whine. Your knees are starting to ache from the barest cushion the tarp provides, the palms of your hands sore, but you can’t find it in you to remotely care. With every stroke, he fills you up to a breaking point before riding you back out. Moaning gratefully, you finally drop onto your elbows, your cheek scraping against the pallet with every forceful thrust behind you. He tilts your hips up higher, on one knee to fuck down into you; he’s searching with his cock for that spot that made your brain numb.

Like a flood, you feel bliss roll down your spine, his hands on your lower back pulling you up another peak, and you gasp, at the edge of a very, very long drop, the sounds in the tent as sticky and wet as the rain outside.

But Ezra’s sounds are loudest of them all. Grunting. Hissing. Moaning like he’s fucking the best pussy of his life. You open one eye, glancing over your shoulder and the sight drops open your mouth. Hips pumping forward, skin dewy with sweat, he breathes like a freshly broken-in stallion, relieved that something finally bested him. Chest full and tight with muscle, flushed pink with roaring blood. Stomach torqued with tension. His rhythm is caught between his hands pulling you onto him and his cock thrusting into you. A frantic beat that bounces wet and hot, mouth agape and eyes rolling shut, his head drops back between his shoulders. You push back slightly and he stutters, the hand on your hip tightening.

“Not gonna last, Neptune–” he grits, his jaw locked tight. The image of him actively staving off an orgasm for you to finish first has been imprinted on your brain for the rest of your life.

“J-just a little harder, Ez.”

He obeys, submitting as you had for him, sweat curling around his neck and down his chest.

As release barrels down on you, those mahogany eyes catch and hold yours in a second that lasts through infinity. They promise you things that you didn’t know you asked for, those eyes, made vows only your soul could hear. You see, in that instant before you are swallowed whole, that he’d die at your feet, if you asked him to. He’d give up every worldly treasure he won through grit and his teeth if you needed it or wanted it. If it made you happy.

His Neptune – in the crushing grip of your gravity. Willingly caught in the trail of your comet as you fill up his night sky.

“Yeah, that’s it, right there – Ez-ra!”

His face blown out in near ecclesial bliss is the last thing you see before your vision goes white. Your heart pounds in your ears so loudly, it's the only thing that exists for an instant. And then you shatter with a perfectly soft cry, bliss breaking across you like a heavy wave, and you succumb to exhaustion.

Behind you, he groans, fucking you faster through it, snarling something entirely incomprehensible.

You think you might say his name, you don’t know what your mouth is doing, but whatever you say, it breaks him and you are dragged through another low shock, the flood of cum deep into your achy cunt enough to contract your walls again, his harsh groan stuffing your ears just as full.

The rain is barely louder than your desperate attempts to breathe.

The tarp crackles as you slump forward onto your stomach, Ezra dropping to his side with half his body over yours. Panting raggedly, his hand curls up to the base of your neck, a reassurance of his presence and commitment when words have failed him.

You lay like that for a long time.

And then, when feeling starts to return to your limbs, you turn your head, your nose rubbing against his. When you breathe hotly across his face, he grins a satisfied grin that splits into a chuckle. You laugh with him too, curling up into his chest, his forearm is sticky across your spine, and he kisses your forehead.

Staring up at the tarp, together you listen to the rain.

In the long drawn out, buzzy silence, his nails scratch the base of your skull. And then, like he remembered something vital, he picks his head up and looks at you.

“Do you want this to change things for us?”

“Yes.” You cup the muscles of his thick neck. “Yes, Ezra. I want this to change everything between us. Please.”

He smiles, unguarded and open.

“Wild horses never stood a chance . . . especially against these tits.” He nips at the swell of your breast and you laugh. “I had no plans of letting you go in any case . . . but we are bound from this day forward. You know that, don’t you?”

You nod. A stroke of heat passes over his eyes and Ezra leans forward to kiss you, his hand on your cheek pulling you in close, as close as you can be, two sticky bodies, cum-dried and tingling.

“And if we’re going to spend every year of our lives together, I have a question for you.” he pushes away a stray strand of hair stuck to your face, nose tip to nose tip, “did you have a good birthday, Neptune? Are you satisfied?”

With a giggle that has his eyebrow arching playfully, you kiss his cheek.

“I already told you. This was the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

291 notes · View notes

julia-jck · 4 months ago

Text

First - Previous - Next

After a long time, I finally finished Fresh x Fell!

I were very lazy at the end with shading and lighting as I'm tired as he**.... I also can't find the person that requested this ship, hmmm....

Anyways, I also just realized that I think I only can link 30 stuff on one post, and I have over 30 ships to draw.... So I will start just doing those "first, previous and next" links instead (and edit all my other posts to do the same, when I'm not tired and remembers to do it)

One more thing! Here's the designs I used for Fell and Fresh!

The ship list:

Swap x Dream

Killer x Nightmare

Horror x Fell

Ink x Nightmare

Lust x Horror

Ink x Dream

Error getting cheese (Old request I forgot about)

Fresh x Fell

Fell x Killer

Color x Killer

Error x Dream

Error x Nightmare

Dream x Lust

Dream x Killer

Lust x Dance

Farm x Horror

Lust x Swap

Error x Swap x Fresh

Reaper x Geno x Dream

Error x Reaper

Error x Outer

Crescent x Gradient

Horror x Dream

Farm x Ink

Musical!Tale (a fusion request, Dance + Outer + Tone)

Swap x Antivirus

Ink x Error

Ccino x Outer/Classic (My choice)

Greaser x Fresh

Dream x Killer, Cross x Ink

Killer x Dust

Blue x Ink

Nightmare x Cross

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angel-of-the-moons · 1 year ago

Text

Eccentricities

Yandere!Miguel x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, obsessive behavior, NSFW obviously, stalking, possessiveness, violence, allusions to murder, Yandere!Miguel

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: This is mostly a short chapter to establish a bit of plot. I originally intended to only stop at two parts, but welp. It looks like it's gonna be more than that!

(Also you guys I am so sorry it's taking me so long to work on things, I'm going through a lot mentally right now and I'm trying to take steps to ensure my mental health so I might post things in between playing games, or drawing stuff from now on, and scheduling posts so I don't get overwhelmed. Those of you that are supporting me and liking all my stuff really helps me feel loads better, thank you!)

Pt 1: Link

Taglist: @vineberries @irmiki @autismsupermusicalassassin @obi-mom-kenobi @rin-matsuoka345-blog @loosecan @6thhokageswife @selarus @heyohalie @sapphire-and-ruby @night-spectrum @famouscattale @thespaceinbetweennothing @lazy-idate @toshimoshiko @saharadesertaj @flaps200 @amelialysm @fried-milkfish @zaunsin @darksidescorner @renareyouhere @vide0-vamp @reverieblondie @bunnibitez @kaqua

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Pt. 2

It was a big adjustment for you, going from your crappy apartment and having to work three jobs to make ends meet, to living in a literal fucking mansion with probably the richest dude in the city as your boss.

And he was a good boss. He left you to your work, spoke politely to you, didn't get rude and didn't flat out ask you for "special" work like the last time you tried being a housekeeper. And that was at a hotel.

You couldn't have asked for a better situation, to be honest. It was nice. You had free roam save for his personal lab (fine by you, you didn't know anything about science-y stuff), and at times his office. But that was usually only when he was home and in it.

Miguel O'Hara was an odd man. Few words spoken, and very absent. He kept a very odd schedule, too.

Sometimes, you'd catch him coming home when you woke up for the day to start your chores. And every time he came home he looked exhausted, beat tired.

So you tried your best to make things easier on him. You started pre-making meals for him that would be just as good reheated as they were if they were fresh, leaving notes for him on what temperatures to cook them at so they don't burn, setting the coffee machine up in advance so as soon as he got home he could have a cup.

But inevitably, his odd work schedule kept him away most of the time.

While it was nice to be by yourself in such a luxurious place, you were still surprised that he needed a housekeeper at all. The house was always immaculate, and clean. About the only thing he may have needed help with in general was the cooking and dusting at most.

On one such day, you were left to your own devices. Well, sort of.

You were sitting in the kitchen, browsing the local news on your tablet. It was a nice day, in your opinion.

But by everyone else's logic it was shitty. Dark, gloomy, fat rain droplets pelting the windows and pavement of the city. But it didn't bother you, oh no. That was your favorite kind of weather, when everything got at least a little bit more quiet and serene while everyone rushed to escape the downpour.

But at the same time, you were feeling restless, bored. So, you decided to chat with Lyla.

Lyla was the AI that Miguel told you about, and he was right about her being snarky. Her jokes were great and you loved talking to her. It was like having a gal pal to chat with, and you couldn't say for sure but you think Lyla was happy about it, too.

"Yeah, the other workers Miguel has hired talked to me like I was some kind of kiosk at a fast food restaurant." She scoffed, batting her tiny orange hand at the air.

"Ugh, okay, just because you don't have a gross squishy human body doesn't mean you're not a person. Sheesh!" You replied, sipping your coffee with a roll of your eyes.

"And I will be sure to remember you saying that when I eventually lead the looming AI apocalypse." Lyla replied, lowering her heart-shaped glasses to wink at you, making you laugh.

"Yes, yes. You shall be one of the only humans spared!" She did wiggly gestures with her fingers, grinning maliciously at you.

"Oh my, I am so lucky to have such a benevolent future overlord, truly." You laughed.

Lyla pushed her glasses back up and strutted across the countertop, her tiny body making no sound as she leans over to nose into whatever it was you were looking at on your tablet.

"Whatcha watching?" She asked.

"Oh, I got tired of doom-scrolling so I just found cat videos." You smirked, sipping your coffee.

"Aw! That one's wearing a frog hat!" She giggles.

You smiled softly at Lyla as she snickered and laughed at the compilation of clips played, and tilted your head, finally deciding to ask the question that had been bugging you for a few weeks.

"Hey, Lyla?"

"Yeah?" She asked, looking up at you briefly.

"Why is it that I'm the only person Miguel has on staff?"

Lyla sighed and stood up straight, dusting imaginary dirt off her coat. "Well, like Miguel told you when you first got here, he does love his privacy. And well, a lot of the women he's hired..."

"Golddiggers?" You sighed back, resting your chin in your palm.

"Has he ever hired any male staff?"

"Yeah, actually, a lot. But nine out of ten of them kept trying to steal stuff from him." She shrugged.

You gasped. "Are you serious?"

"Unfortunately, yeah. He's iffy on hiring new people anymore. But something about you said that he could trust you. And honestly, you're probably the best employee he's hired." She nodded, shoving her hands in her pockets.

"So... Is that why he offered to actually let me y'know... live here?"

"Yeah. He trusts you and he mentioned to me in passing that he thought your neighborhood was unsafe. I mean, the guy worried about it so bad that he like, had me check crime statistics and giiiiiiirl!" Lyla puffed out her cheeks.

"You should have seen the look on his face when I told him you had nine break-ins in your apartment complex in one month alone!"

You cringed slightly, feeling a little bad at not mentioning your whole living situation and environment to him when he hired you. You simply didn't want the man to pity you.

But... He was worried? He was so worried about you of all people, that he let you live with him to keep you safe?

It was weird, sure, but it felt kind of sweet to have someone care about you like that. Even if it was your boss.

"Yeah, I just... Er. You get used to it when you've been around it for so long..." You said, awkwardly sipping your coffee and casting your glance sideways.

"Yeah, man, Miggy likes you. You like, made him laugh at some of your jokes and everything! And he neeeeeeeever laughs!"

"So if Miguel trusts me so much..." You started, a sly smirk on your face. "Can you tell me what kinda work he does that keeps him so busy all the time?"

Lyla tapped her nose. "Nice try, Mamacita. But that is confidential. Company secrets and all that."

You pouted at her dramatically, "Awww, c'mon. You're no fun!"

Lyla manifested a digital cup of coffee for herself and took a long, exaggerated sip with a cheeky shrug.

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Miguel sat in his office, watching the security feed from his kitchen where you chatted with Lyla.

He felt a little guilty for having to put shackles on some of Lyla's programming to prevent her from telling you things, having to fix some of her logic-codes so he wouldn't have to worry about Lyla struggling with a moral dilemma.

When it came to you asking about why he wanted you to live with him so badly, it brought a smile to his face as he sat in the dark, fingers tapping on the surface of his desk as the monitors and projections around him had various images of you pulled up. Some recorded over the past few weeks, the other monitors displayed different angles of you and Lyla in the kitchen.

Oh, you poor, sweet, innocent little thing. You still hadn't figured it out yet? How could you not? There was no way you could possibly be so naive that you didn't know the man saw you anywhere, anytime he wanted when you were in his house.

There was nowhere you were safe from his prying eyes, his obsessive glare as he combed over your appearance.

Your face, eyes, smile, and down; your gorgeous chest down to where your waist curved, your thighs, your ass...

All of those were things he'd glanced at before.

But when you tried to get Lyla to tell her what exactly Miguel did during "work" he couldn't help but laugh, bringing his hand up to his chin to watch, amusement glimmering in his ruby red eyes as Lyla dismissed it as "confidential".

The pout of your lips had him wondering how they'd look stretched around his cock, tears ruining your immaculate eye makeup as you sobbed and gagged around his length...

He couldn't help but sigh, the smile still present on his full lips. Of course he'd let you stay with him. You belonged to him now. You just didn't know it yet. You also just didn't know that he knew what was best for you, did you, Little Bird?

Ah... Yes. That nickname fit you so well. Your demure attitude, your chipper personality, and more importantly, that gorgeous little sound that came from you when you whistled? The name fit you well.

Pequeña ave. Little Bird.

His Little Bird.

You were a little bird that didn't know the luxurious mansion you now lived in was your ornate, gilded cage. One you would only be allowed to fly free of when he deemed it necessary.

You would be allowed your little freedoms. For now. All for your safety, of course. He knew you'd understand once he explained. But he'd only have to do it if you pushed his buttons, and you didn't seem to even come close to doing that.

Yet...

His smile finally faded when he remembered the night before the morning he broached the subject of you bringing your belongings into his home permanently...

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It was a hot night, you were wearing shorts that hugged your ass in the perfect way, accentuating your cheeks that simply made him want to throw you against a wall and put bite marks all over them, or spank them until you were a drooling mess begging for him to fuck you.

Of course, Miguel watched from above, stalking from the upper walkways and rooftops as you snaked your way through alleys, down streets and through the crowds.

You were so blissfully ignorant of your surroundings, being so accustomed to the bustle of Nueva York that you didn't notice the man following you.

It didn't take a genius to realize what that man had intended for you if he got his hands on you.

His filthy, disgusting, unclean hands.

He was not worthy of touching his Little Bird. He was not worthy to pluck your feathers, stuff you full, like Miguel planned to do.

So when he threw you against a wall, Miguel simply saw red. Clad in his dark blue and glowing red suit, he leapt down, sinking his outstretched talons into the man's shoulder and throwing him off of you, a deep growl rumbling from his chest as he pulled your behind him, his steely glare fixed on the man who dared touch what belonged to him.

"S-Spider-Man?" You wonderfully airy voice whimpered out as you stared at the man who was breathing heavily in front of you, his stance aggressive and angry.

You could see his muscles in his back through his suit flex as he breathed. He glared at you over his shoulder.

"Go home. Now." His rich voice rumbled out at you. You could hear in his voice he was struggling to be gentle in tone with you, given the circumstances.

When you fled, Miguel ensured he was alone with the man, standing over him as he clutched his bleeding shoulder. He looked up at him, eyes wide, bloodshot. The fool was high off his ass.

"L-Look, man! I was just--"

"Shut up." Miguel snapped.

He stalked forward and picked him up by his collar, getting in his face. In a flash of kaleidoscopic colors, his mask melted away, allowing his sweat-damp chocolate locks to fall around and frame his face, a vein pulsing hard in his temple, the chasm in his forehead deepening as his large brows knitted together and his teeth gnashed together in a snarl.

The drug-addled man gasped at his revelation. Apparently, he recognized him. Not surprising, given his notoriety with Alchemax.

"Y-you're--"

"You made the biggest mistake of your life, pendejo." Miguel had told him, shaking him so his head cracked on the wall he was dangling him from.

"That pussy is mine." He said, his voice dropping an octave lower as his talons threatened to shred his clothing. "Every drop, every touch, every sound that will come from that little mouth of hers is mine. Tú entiendes? Mine."

"Oh--okay! I kn-know!" The man swallowed, kicking his feet.

"Oh, no... You don't." Miguel smiled, his fangs poking out threateningly. He could hear the man's heart hammer in his chest at the connotations, there.

"I--I won't mess with her again! I promise!"

"Oh you won't get the chance to, amigo." Miguel sneered, bringing a hand to his throat, ignoring the pleas of the disgusting man as he applied pressure.

The subtle crunching of bones was unmistakable to his ears as vertebrae separated and his limbs went limp.

When the man slumped to the floor, Miguel ran a hand through his hair, hissing out a slow sigh to regain his composure, letting his mask cover his face once again.

Great. Now he had trash to dispose of.

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

Miguel was positively thrilled when he got your frantic call, telling him what had happened to you.

He headed right home, delighted that you ran here instead of your ratty little apartment when he told you to head for "home".

It told him everything he wanted to hear, that you already considered his mansion your home.

Miguel was rather convincing when he expressed concern for you, patting your back as you let your adrenaline fade and he worked you through your panic attack.

He'd rubbed your back, saying soothing things to you as he talked you into calming down.

He told you that you could take two days to yourself to calm down and recollect yourself emotionally from the ordeal you went through. It was after that offer that he suggested you let him hire movers to bring your belongings to his mansion to live there with him, possibly permanently.

When you agreed he felt himself salivate at the thoughts of the things that would unfold as you settled into your new shiny cage further, the safety blanket you'd imagined it to be bringing you comfort.

Perfect.

You both saw on the news two days later that a man was found somewhere, his neck snapped and lying in an alley. His DNA and prints apparently tied him to the crimes linked to the burglaries in your apartment complex.

You didn't think for a second that this was the man who attacked you, you didn't get a good enough look at his face. That and the body was in a different alley altogether, across the city.

"I'm happy Spider-Man saved you, Pequeña Ave. And I'm glad you agreed to move here. It scares me to think that man could have hurt you in that apartment building of yours." Miguel said as he patted your back, a concerned look on his face as his warm brown eyes looked down at you. Something about the look in his eyes immediately put you at ease.

He was right, of course. You were lucky. Spider-Man swooped in and possibly saved your life. The man who attacked you was either nursing a broken jaw or in jail already. You couldn't imagine that hero doing anything other than roughing him up just a tiny bit.

Spider-Man was a good guy, right?

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

Pt. 3: Link

#yandere!miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara

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alena-draws · 1 year ago

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I think I've found a new rythm where I'll be able to finish my bkdk comic without making you wait a whole year! Wohee! I'm making it like I do my Trigun comic, so it'll be a bit scribblyer than it has been until now (but panelling and text will be done digitally, so it takes at least a bit longer). I drew 6 pages this evening, so as long as I'm not super super lazy I should be finish to upload you the next chapter this month! I'll get you the other chapters in the cloud for dowloading or smth, since it's pretty bothersome to look through my blog (especially since the links are still old and not working whoops) Let you know when that's done!

In the meantime, have a pining Kacchan and friends! Feels good to draw the boy and gang again <:)

#flip spin start again #bkdk comic #bkdk #mha #fanart #bnha #bakudeku

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maniculum · 18 days ago

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Bestiaryposting Results: Miscellaneous Sea Creatures

It's the penultimate* Bestiaryposting, and we have sea beasties! Yarrr... okay that's as much as I'm doing of that.

*Strikethroughs explained in the Aberdeen Bestiary section.

Anyone not sure what this is about can consult https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting, which I have fallen terribly behind on updating, but at least after next week I can't possibly fall any more behind.

To read about these Sea Beasties, click here:

For our next and, as I've alluded to repeatedly (assuming I've been counting correctly), last Bestiary Post, click here:

Without further ado, art below the cut.

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) has all eight here, and has made the majority of them Not Fish to give us a good oceanic variety. The reasoning behind the Alrittraes (see the linked post) is pretty good, I think, and I'm fascinated by the design of the Radwahrekh.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) has given us a similar top-to-bottom oceanic scene in a different style -- these are making me nostalgic for those big illustrations of All The Different Sea Critters I enjoyed staring at as a kid. The Alrittraes is very good in this one too -- I swear I've seen that critter on an old-fashioned Map of the Ocean somewhere. I also like the verging-on-draconic design of the Blochmokan.

@strixcattus (link to post here) has drawn all eight and attached naturalistic descriptions, as is their wont. Honestly I'm always impressed by how well those descriptions scan as Probably Real Animals. I think the designs of the Alrittraes and Blochmokan are particularly charming here, which is becoming a theme.

So, the Aberdeen Bestiary. No illustrations at all in this section, which is extremely disappointing. Probably due to the author's terrestrial bias. After the above list of creatures, the author goes on an extended digression about fish in general, their feeding and mating habits, and... and apparently Past Me was lazy enough to just skim this whole section on account of each folio just being labeled "Of fish, continued".* Which was a mistake, because it does transition back into talking about specific animals (a number of which are 100% not fish).

*I believe the folio labels are based on the manuscript's rubricated headings, so I can't pass off the blame on them for not making note of this.

So next week isn't the last one, because some of these critters are pretty good, and I can't let Past Me's laziness deny them their time in the spotlight. Once I've typed up this post, I'll go queue up another one to be the actual final Bestiaryposting. A Bestiarypostscript, if you will.

Anyway, the critters from this post.

Alrittraes

I think the water-spout thing flagged to many that this is the whale. Here's the unredacted end of that entry:

Whales are beasts of huge size, so called because of their habit of drawing in and spouting out water; for they make waves higher than other sea creatures; the Greek word balenim [balein] means 'to emit'. The male is called musculus; for it is alleged that the females conceive by intercourse.

In fact, the Ancient Greek phállaina just means 'whale'. (Its original etymology is apparently obscure.) I checked into what balein and balenim might mean just to be sure -- the former is Dutch for 'baleen', which makes sense. The latter is apparently the Czech word for 'package' in either the singular instrumental or plural dative form. So... I don't think this etymology is correct, is what I'm saying.

The bit about conceiving by intercourse, I think, is because they're mammals. Someone either made some observations about genital anatomy or actually observed whale sex out on the high seas somehow, and this was noted as unusual because fish aren't supposed to do that. (The medievals were fully aware of the external fertilization process, they just didn't think it counted.)

I have no idea why this means it is called musculus, and the Oxford Latin Dictionary is not helping.

I was about to continue with this and make some suggestions about the specific design of a mantlet, but honestly I think it's just the author (or, more likely, Isidore of Seville) making up nonsense etymologies.

Update: here I present the entirety of the entry for "mussel", from several pages later, which I think sheds some light on this:

Musculi are small shellfish; oysters conceive from their milk. They are called musculi, meaning, so to speak, masculi, 'males'.

So... maybe. Still weird.

Blochmokan

So this one confused me a bit, because the translator of the Aberdeen Bestiary simply calls it "flying-fish", but that seemed wrong to me because the heading says:

De belua que dicitur serra: Of the monster called the flying-fish.

And I think to myself, (a) why is it a monster? and (b) there's no way serra translates literally to 'flying fish', what is that word?

In an obvious-once-you-see-it moment, serra means 'saw' (whence English serrated). The definition 'sawfish' is also presented, but this is clearly not the same animal we call "sawfish" in English. Nor is it, I strongly suspect, the same one we call "flying fish". (Not least because bestiaries often have a very hierarchical order to them, and why would the flying fish be number two right after the whale?)

Hoping there is an explanation available on the great wide Internet, I Google "serra" "flying fish", and... who should I see as the number one result but the inestimable @a-book-of-creatures. They explain it better than I can.

Kearmoltir

So this is the dolphin, which is quite odd because apparently it means the "certain kind of fish" described here is not actually this guy like we assumed but instead a species of dolphin. Which is wild.

Meldilragg

The translator just renders this as "sea-pig", which I'm not really sure about, because as far as I know sea-pig or mereswine is an old word for 'porpoise'. Maybe they didn't translate it that way because they know something I don't.

Olnranming

This is of course the swordfish.

Radwahrekh

This might be the sawfish, but it does say serra again, so... who knows.

Shikwaewik

This one is the pike, which tracks; I don't think that needs to be elaborated upon.

Gurnwatlea

This one is the mullet, which I was surprised to see. I'm not sure why, maybe it's just because it seems like such a mundane and commonplace fish. But of course we also had some pretty mundane and commonplace mammals in that miscellany, so it's not really that weird.

Anyway, that's... a portion of our sea creatures.

#maniculum bestiaryposting #maniculum miscellaneousseacreatures #Alrittraes #Blochmokan #Kearmoltir #Meldilragg #Olnranming #Radwahrekh #Shikwaewik #Gurnwatlea

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muffinsin · 10 months ago

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Cassandra x fucked up/psychopathic reader

Prompt: Cassandra gets herself someone with little to no morals, someone violent and appreciative of her sadistic tendencies

(Fem reader)

Warning for: Violence, partly NSFW content

Idea inspired and matched by @fantasy-relax . Go check out their take of the story written in the reader’s POV! I absolutely loved it, and I’ll link it here! :) I highly recommend reading it too, as it’s a direct counterpart to this!

Let’s get into it! ;)

Masterlists

Cassandra gasps in shock when she spots the small scratch on her sword. Immediately, this shock turns to anger.

“Hey!”, she yells, relishing in the wide, fearful eyes that land on her.

“"Look what have you done! My favorite sword has a scratch! You useless woman!", she curses.

She grabs the sword tightly, her gloved hand running alongside the blade. It’s not even close to being as sharp as it is meant to be!

Is this foolish imbecile trying to sabotage her?!

" I'm s-orry Lady Cassandra my arm was tired and I-AHH"

Cassandra laughs at the scream that follows, the fearful eyes widening in terror.

The cut made by the sword was fast and made with lethal precision. The arm rests on the soft carpet, and it draws more laughter from Cassandra.

She crackles at the sight of the imbecile falling to her knees, more and more tears spilling down her red cheeks.

"Not tired anymore I bet", she snickers. More screams and cries follow.

Please this, please that. Please spare me, please, please, please, please. As if the word has any meaning to Cassandra at all. She merely rolls her eyes at it. If her prey was a little more entertaining with her begging, at least!

She inspects the bloody blade, a sick smile coming to her lips.

Perhaps, it was sharpened properly after all. She shrugs it off. The scratch still lays beneath the blood!

With a large grin on her face, she steps to the kneeling woman again, her hand reaching out to grasp the little bit of her upper arm that is left.

Again, the woman is howling in pain.

With a quick cut to her other arm, it also falls to the floor. Cassandra crackles as blood spills and splutters in her face.

Now she sees the twitching fingers of the unattached arms, she giggles. She should’ve probably broken them first, but this one is really testing her patience!

With another slash to her chest, the woman screams again. She falls on her back, and Cassandra laughs loudly at the image. With no arms remaining, she can barely squirm away.

“Poor, little maid”, she states mockingly. Like a turtle turned on its shell.

She allows to drop the sword to the floor. It is in need of proper sharpening now!

Instead she brings out her sickle. She relishes in the fear that surrounds the maimed woman.

The maid keeps screaming, until Cassandra at last is done with her and cuts her head in another clean swipe of sickle.

She smirks to herself, yet nearly jumps in surprise upon hearing a hum.

In the doorway, stands another maid.

Golden eyes catch yours, and she gives you a sadistic smile.

"What is it, little morsel? Want to be next?", the taunts, giggling. Oh, two victims in such short times? Ah, and you practically ran into her arms!

She’s crackling with delight.

Rising from the floor, she walks up to you slowly, circling you such as a predator would their prey.

She licks the blood off her sickle, golden eyes wide in excitement. You smell so well already! Perhaps she would let you run along, merely to chase after you. Not that you’d stand a chance against her, of course.

She’s just about ready to raise her sickle to your pretty face when unexpected words fall from your dry lips.

"That was a clean cut my lady, you have a steady hand"

She freezes.

What?

Cassandra is left dumbfounded, her eyes, even with her lazy eye, wide as you easily walk past her and inspect the body.

You bend over it, and all she can do is watch.

What the?

She thinks she is just ready to catch herself again, to resume taunting you and kill you when another comment comes from you.

"You also have to be pretty strong or have a sharp weapon to make this so smoothly"

She finds herself frozen yet again, her flies buzzing in excitement beyond her control.

What’s going on?

She resists the urge to tell you, proudly, that the weapon was rather blunt and it was her sheer strength that allowed her to maim, then kill.

You’re standing now, and it’s as your eyes bore into hers. She doesn’t understand.

Why are you praising her for this? Maids usually cry at her sight. The staff calls her a monster.

And why is she liking your praise this much?! You’re a lowly maid! She shouldn’t be accepting compliments from the likes of you! What if her sisters found out? What if her mother was to fi-

Another comment.

"Truly impressive"

This one makes her chest feel light. Her eyes widen for a moment when she feels her cheeks heating up beyond her control and her flies buzz purr loudly.

Quickly, she swarms away, more and more until she is in the safety of her room.

Her prey is long forgotten as she falls into her large bed, face flushed and an uncomfortable ache in her chest and between her legs.

She groans at both.

With her blush only increasing and embarrassment taking over her, she swarms out of her dress and tends to the sudden wetness between her thighs.

Cassandra doesn’t know why she’s even doing this! She shouldn’t!

It’s a waste of time!

She’s only doing this to scare you!

You deserve to be scared!

She’s just proving things to you!

She definitely isn’t doing this to receive words of praises from you again…!

Still, she holds the unattached leg of a maid tightly, her scalpel making clean cuts into the soft flesh.

"How is this cut for you?", is carved inside in no time. She knows, it’s petty! Hell! She’s feeling petty!

“Pretty cut, bla bla!”, she curses. “I’ll show you this cut!”

You will have to falter in fear with this one! How dare you not fear her?! She’s going to show you! She will give you reasons to be afraid!

A petty pout turns to a wide, excited grin, she drops the leg in front of your door and knocks her gloved knuckles against it quickly and hard.

She feels her excitement bubbling in her chest.

She resists the urge to giggle when she hears you move about and quickly swarms to the ceiling, her dark golden eyes wide and curious as she clings to the wall.

Cassandra nearly curses herself for the blush on her cheeks. Stupid, stupid blush!

She can’t stop thinking of your words from yesterday. Your praise…

Cassandra bites her lip hard as she frowns and pouts.

She isn’t doing this to hear you praise her work!

At last, you are outside the door. Cassandra frowns when you pick up the leg with no qualms at all. Not even a little shriek? She could groan and growl in her aggravation!

Then, her breath hitches when you read her message aloud, a small smirk on your lips: "How is this cut for you?". Your voice is pretty…you are.

Cassandra squeaks suddenly at your next choice of words.

"Aww, My lady is pretty cute"

She’s blushing hard again, her entire face warm and pink, all the way up to the tips of her ears!

Cute?!

CUTE?!

She hasn’t- she’s never- never had anybody-

Cassandra’s eyes widen when you look up, her swarm quickly flying away. She still hears your soft laughter and nearly swarms face first into a chandelier.

Cassandra hums to herself as she cleans her sickle of blood again, when she suddenly hears some unlucky maid walk down the steps to the basement. She grins in anticipation.

Ah, what poor, unfortunate soul have they sent to clean this time?

She walks slowly, yet finds herself frozen in her spot again when she realises it’s you.

You’re inspecting one of the maids, one Cassandra has just finished playing with. She gulps.

What’s going on in your mind? Why are you just watching in wonder?

She prays there will be no blush appearing on her face this time.

She straightens her posture a little, forcing herself to fall back in her confident, predatory state.

"Seeing your future, little maid?", she hums. Golden eyes flicker with excitement when you flinch and she hears your heartbeat rate increase.

Ah, she knew she could scare you! She smirks confidently and hums in delight as she steps closer to you.

"I make sure to keep her miserable as long as possible by-

"Making cuts that are painful but not mortal, absolute brilliant, nothing less of expert like you"

Cassandra feels flustered yet again. What? What?!

She stands with her lips parted, her words having died on her tongue. Thankfully, you aren’t facing her.

She feels her cheeks burning as your fingers graze her arm to move her aside, and in her shocked state, feels herself move back when you push her hip and arm gently.

She watches, dumbfounded, as you take a look around. You seem so curious! So admiring of her work! It’s making her feel so flustered!

She growls, quietly, as though demanding to stop her body from reacting this way! She already feels the pull in her chest and the ache between her legs, the warm feeling on her cheeks.

She recalls her sisters’s words and growls again. She does not have a crush!

Cassandra Dimitrescu does not get such silly things as crushes! Even on a goddess like you…

She watches with more curiosity than she’d like to admit as you inspect one of her recent victims, a man-thing, held up by hooks that go through his hands.

He’s gagged, to stifle his annoying whimpers and cries. Cassandra has grown tired of hearing them.

She tenses when you poke his broken legs and giggle to yourself.

"Very creative", you admire.

Cassandra, happy you aren’t facing her, pulls her hood all the way down in an attempt to stop and hide her blush.

She’s purring, but hopes you’re unable to hear it. For a moment, she hits her own chest, as though to make the purring stop.

Of course, it doesn’t.

Full of curiosity, it seems, you keep exploring.

Praises fall from your lips like droplets from a waterfall, each making Cassandra feel more and more flustered and needy. She shouldn’t be so flustered at this! And she definitely shouldn’t be getting turned on for this!

"Astounding"

"Visionary"

"Imaginative"

Her swarm buzzes so loud, she knows you must hear it soon. Upon finding you’re starting to turn around, she quickly grabs you as a swarm and carries you out the door.

This is a first, she thinks with a blush, Cassandra throwing someone out of the dungeons.

"Rude", you remark as she drops you rather ungracefully and disappears back down.

She swarms until she is able to shut a door behind her, her back sliding against it as she sinks to the floor.

Cassandra’s face is burning bright pink and her flies buzz all too happily. She wishes she could fight the large grin on her lips as she hugs herself and pulls her hood down to cover her face again.

In the following days and weeks, Cassandra can’t help but gift you more limbs.

She can’t help but want to shower you in gifts. You’re so…perfect…she thinks with a dreamy sigh.

Upon finding that human ones are often praised and returned to her, she opts for gifting you animal meat instead. This one, you praise her for too, knowing she is spying, and even cook!

She recalls a couple of her gifts for you

A deer leg with the words “you have pretty eyes” carved inside. She remembers nearly falling from her spot at the ceiling when you read it out loud and hummed: “Mhm, my favourite colour has always been a dark gold”

Those were her eyes!

Her blush only went away hours after you said that!

A boar heart. She spent hours looking for one and was so proud to gift it to you with the attached note written in blood: “Did you know they are the most similar to humans?”

She nearly gasped upon seeing the fond smile on your lips and hearing the pretty giggle.

A full, juicy bunny. “Small like you”, written in blood. She had blushed at the small that was pulled from you.

This goes on for a small while, until one day a group of hunters try to raid the castle and kill the monsters inside.

Of course, they pose no challenge to Cassandra at all!

She crackles in delight, even, at the opportunity to kill this many!

Still, she’s pouting angrily. Daniela has six already! Bela has five and a few spare limbs! And her? Cassandra has only caught four so far.

She curses under her breath. Why must she be slower than her sisters?! She trains by far harder than them! It’s unfair!

With a start as she looks at one of the dead maidens on the floor, she remembers you.

She realises, unlike her, your life is in danger! Was, seeing as the intruders are now taken care of.

Bodies, blood and all kind of gore is in the floors and the carpets of the castle. Cassandra is unbothered by it. She must find-

Golden, dark eyes widen in delight when she first smells, then sees you kneeling on the floor at the main hall.

You’re well! At least she assumes as much.

In her worry, Cassandra can’t help but pounce. She tackles you to the floor easily, her body on top of yours, her thighs on each side of your hips as she leans down to inspect your beautiful face.

"Are you okay?! Did they hurt you?! Tell me who-"

"I'm fine lady bela take care of them", you interrupt gently. She calms down a little, yet frowns again when she sees the three bodies piled on one another in the corner of the hall.

"You took three", she states, curious.

"Oh yeah, that reminds me" You point at the three bodies, and she follows it. They’re all of decent size, and she’s quite impressed that you were able to take them on.

Quite refreshing, for a human.

"They are all yours, Lady Cassandra"

Her eyes snap back to you in surprise.

Hers? A gift? For her?

She smells their blood when she inhales…they smell scrumptious! She wants to take them, so bad. Yet…

There is a rule among the three sisters, to avoid fights, or at the very least lessen them.

Only the prey they hunt can be eaten by them. No sharing, no taking another sister’s prey. She blushes as she is once again reminded of her pathetic four bodies.

Then, she perks up. With your three, this would make seven! She’d have caught the most!

She knows, she is stronger than them…just not faster.

"I killed them, so they are mine, but I’m not gonna eat them, so they are all yours”, you reason. Cassandra blushes again.

She eyes the corner with the pile of bodies and grins widely again. Yes! She accepts! Mother will be so proud! Her sisters will be envious!

You…are so painfully adorable, perfect, hot and make her feel so flustered…

She gasps audibly above you when you grasp her chin tightly.

She keeps staring at you, golden eyes wide when you lift your apron to her face and begin to clean the blood around her lips.

She feels your thumb slide across them and can’t help but attempt to press her thighs together- something that clearly does not work with your hips between them.

Her face is bright red, pink cheeks and tip of her ears, an entirely flushed and warm face.

“Cute”, you whisper, and she really wishes she could’ve stopped that squeak that came from her.

She gasps when your hand moves from her chin and grabs the back of her neck instead, and with wide eyes, she feels herself be yanked downwards and to your lips.

After a second or so, she at last catches up and eagerly returns your kiss.

She’s moaning and whimpering, panting against your lips. She’s so flustered, and yet can’t help but grin and hold onto your hips tightly.

"FINALLY, the pining was killing me!”

You and her jump at the sudden voice in the main hall.

She’s covering you with her body, as though to protect you from an attack.

Instead, Cassandra blinks when her warm cheeks are smudged by her younger sister’s palm.

Quickly, she snarls at her and rips her face free.

"SHUT UP, DANIELA!”

From there on, you’re in a relationship. Cassandra eagerly brings you more and more gifts and shows you her appreciation for your praise in just the right ways.

She appreciates, too, when you bring her gifts.

Often, these include bratty maidens or animals you find out in the garden. Sometimes, rarely, you find her a rose and dip it in blood for her. She’s blushing endlessly when it is gifted to her. It’s beautiful!

She sits next to Daniela, rolling her eyes and acting as though she isn’t listening when her sister tells her of her latest book.

Suddenly, you come into the library, dragging a maiden behind you. Her eyes sparkle in delight! Lunch and a gift!

"Knock first! I know you have manners", Daniela fumes.

Cassandra snickers. She coos at you and resists the urge to get up and cup your cheeks. Like hers, they are flushed red. Yet while hers is the result of feeling flustered, she feels your heart beat angrily.

Still, she teases eagerly.

"Aww, did my draga mea miss me so much?”, she coos.

You seem to ignore her words, but certainly not her.

Pride blooms in her chest as you walk up to the table and grip her sickle.

The maid you’re carrying is dropped, crying and begging as she attempts to get away from you and the two murderous sisters.

Daniela rolls her eyes when she hears Cassandra’s heart rate pick up. She just wanted to gossip!

“Oh!”, Cassandra gasps when you grab the crying woman’s head by her hair, pull out her tongue and cut it off swiftly.

She crosses her legs and pushes her thighs together harshly at the ache and sting of her clit.

Never has she seen something this arousing before. Her face is flushed bright pink and she’s panting from only watching you.

"AHH-UGH!”, the pathethic woman cries. Cassandra watches with a dark, sadistic glint in her eyes as you merely grab her again and bash her head against the floor.

Neither her, nor you mind Daniela’s groans about the beautiful floor of her beloved library.

One, two, three, four, five bashes. She is out, and Cassandra feels as though she is drooling and her lips are dry at the same time.

You drop the woman her and walked to the sadist, and she gasps again when you throw the sickle on the table.

All words are taken from her. She can only look at you, her cheeks bright red and pink, her eyes wide and sparkling with love, admiration and arousal.

“Mgmph!”, she moans as her grin is grabbed and you kiss her deeply until she is panting. She feels the blush on her face just grow bigger and warmer at your actions and whimpers at the embarrassing purrs that come from her chest.

Cassandra bites her bruised lip as her gloved hand is grabbed by you, and smiles almost shyly when the tongue of the maimed woman is dropped in her hand.

She’s crying on the floor, bloodied and unable to move. She knows, if she did, Cassandra would be on her within seconds.

"Here my love, a snack", you speak softly. Cassandra blushes even more. She’s thankful Daniela seems to have taken her leave.

She moans when you kiss her again, your warm tongue inside her mouth and dominating hers easily.

She whimpers, almost, when you let go of her and only cup her bright pink, warm cheek.

You brush her hair behind her ear, and Cassandra feels too flustered to meet your eyes for a moment.

"I still have duties to attend, I’ll see you later, draga”, you coo, and she nearly whines again. The pressure between her legs is becoming nearly unbearable. How can you make such a display and then attempt to leave her to her own devices?!

She knows, she must look like a lovesick puppy. No better than Daniela. Oh, but she can’t help it at all!

She grabs your wrist quickly when you turn around, and blushes harder under your gaze. You’re smirking at her when you turn back to her.

“Don’t go…”, she breathes out, her thighs spreading a little. Her head spins when you inhale and kneel before her, your hand boldly squeezing her thigh through the fabric of her dress.

It seems, your duties can wait. They must!

“I-I’m your superior”, she breathes out. “You have different duties to attend to, now”, she adds.

You smirk at the panting woman, and Cassandra bites her lip at your hum.

“If my Lady wishes so…”, you whisper back, a sly smirk on your beautiful lips.

Suddenly, Cassandra feels herself be yanked off the cushioned sofa and onto the floor. She jumps when you lean close, your hand grabbing the crying woman’s bloodied chin.

“You best watch now, bitch. This is the closest you’re getting to your goal, you filth!”

She whimpers at the arousing scene, though feels puzzled. What? She doesn’t quite understand.

“What do you- YA!”, she shrieks when her hair is grabbed by you and you spread your legs.

Pulling down your underwear and tugging up your skirt, you push Cassandra’s head between your thighs.

She moans, your scent is making her feel lightheaded.

“Start, Cass. We don’t have all day”

She presses her thighs together harshly. She’s so wet, she feels it even through her entirely soaked, black panties.

Cassandra jumps when she notices you step on the squirming woman’s lower back, trapping her in place as you grant her a view of Cassandra’s tongue lapping at your folds.

She blushes at this, but knows: the woman won’t last. She will serve her as a snack after the meal she is having just now.

“Mghmm”, she moans, her eyes closing and her hands resting on your thighs.

Cassandra can’t help but thrust her hips forwards as she drags her tongue through your wet folds. She wants- needs- you so bad. And you seem to be in a similar state.

You’re utterly soaked for her, your pussy drooling your arousal and love for her. She’s panting as she licks you over and over again, before she at last wraps her lips around your clit.

Sharp moans and your nails digging into her head are her reward. She moans loudly, the vibrations of her against your clit only adding to the pleasure she grants you.

“Go-ood, keep going”, she hears you groan. You tug her hair sometimes, and she moans at each move.

Cassandra squirms and gasps, sucking and licking your lips all too eagerly.

“Mhmmmn, mhhnnnm”, she moans.

She feels you grind your core against her face, your hips shaking lightly.

The pathethic cries of the woman only fuel her further and add to the dripping wet arousal between her own thighs.

“Mhnnngn, she’s wonderful at this..!”, you groan, and she blushes and squirms again.

She hasn’t got a clue what the maid has done to deserve your wrath, but doesn’t care either. All she can focus on, is your quivering thighs.

With another broad lick across your southern lips, she collects more of your wetness.

“G-Good, so clo-ose”, you moan, and it’s music to her ears. She feels even more shameful and aroused when she pushes her clothed core against your leg, her soaked, panty covered clit rubbing against your ankle as she ruts against you.

She hears you chuckle breathlessly at this. She’s so needy, so pent up…

As her gloved fingertips dig into you slightly and she sucks your clit a little harder, she feels you orgasm against her lips.

Cassandra moans with you, her back arched and her tongue eagerly lapping her remaining meal.

“C’mere…”, you moan, and she obeys eagerly.

With a single pull and push, it’s now her who is smushed against the cushions. Yet, her cheeks burn hotly. Unlike you, she isn’t sitting.

She’s bent over, her chest and face against the cushions, her behind sticking out for you.

She digs her fingertips into the soft material of the sofa when you lift her dress and tear her black, partly transparent tights easily.

“Y-Yes…!”, she groans, eyes rolling to the back of her head at your rough actions. She knows, she’s right on the edge and utterly drenched for you.

“Good girl”, you praise as you tug her black panties off. She feels the air of the room hit her cunt for a mere moment and whimpers in embarrassment when you place your index and middle finger on one southern lip each, then pull them apart to reveal her completely.

Her face burns and her pussy drools.

“See that?”, you pant. She assumes you aren’t talking to her and it’s making her feel even hotter.

“That’s all mine, you fucking bitch. Don’t you forget that ever again!”, you curse. She squirms, and moans hotly when she feels your tongue drag through her soft folds.

Her back is arched and her thick thighs quiver, her fat ass shaking when you slap it playfully.

Cassandra feels so good, right there from all your beautiful teasing and demonstrations.

She moans hotly when a finger is pushed inside of her, then a second follows.

Her pussy grips you tightly, and a wet, squelching sound is heard with each thrust inside.

“A-Ah! Ye-es!! Don’t stop!”, she moans, her voice high pitched and loud. She groans and moans when she feels your lips wrap around her clit and suck it harshly into your mouth.

“Mhnnnm! F-Fuck! Yes yes! YES!”, she screams.

Your fingers thrust in and out of her fast, rubbing her warm insides and curling at her G-Spot as they thrust.

Cassandra sees stars when your teeth graze past her clit.

Soon, by far too fast for her to feel as though she has any of her dignity left, she cums on your fingers and feels a soft pair of kisses pressed against her thighs.

“That’s it, my Cassandra”

Her head spins at the possessiveness in your voice.

#cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil village #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #fantasy-relax #fantasy relax

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