#is that we can watch it rise in different positions over the course of the year | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

endless-ineffabilities · 3 months ago

Text

Chemical Override (bonus chapter 2) - August!

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: this sweet one is set just before they broke it off (or rather, before the reader stomped all over his heart) in part five!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

August! (... slipped away into a moment in time)

It's a fine morning, albeit lazy, you and Ewan having done nothing but lay in bed and talk and cuddle.

Granted, you did a lot more than talk over the course of the night. And this continued in the morning, with Ewan gently coaxing you out of sleep in need.

He's been insatiable, not that you can blame him. You two are finally together, after months of dancing around each other, your friends in eager anticipation to see how the 'will-they, won't they' dynamic will culminate.

They'll be pleased to know that it all led up to the best date you've had so far, followed by a night of bodies burning for the other, marking their territory in the throes of pent-up desire.

Ewan was sure he would remain the gentleman, merely driving you back to your hotel and calling it a night.

But you had invited him upstairs for a nightcap. Maybe some tea, as the Brits do. Needless to say, the tea was quickly forgotten, along with any reservations he might have about simply having you.

The haze of it hasn't subsided. Clad in nothing but undergarments, your limbs are tangled with his under the sheets as you watch the newly released New York foods video he did with Tom a while back.

"Baby?" you say, running your fingers through his hair as he has his head propped on your thighs. The screen plays on, showing the lads thoroughly enjoying some New York City hotdogs.

"Hmm?" he responds, his voice hinting at how soothed he feels from your touch.

"You're such a baby."

"What?" He twists his neck to shoot you a look of betrayal. Adorable.

"I bet those chips weren't even that spicy," you say, rolling your eyes. "I would have devoured those jalapeño chips."

"They were spicy!" He leans against his forearm, which he quickly positioned on your thigh without thinking, causing your muscle to spasm from the sudden weight.

"Ahhh, Ewan!" you wriggle your legs. "Get off, get off..."

"Shit!" He bolts upright, immediately kneading the flesh with his palm. "Sorry, baby. Here, where does it hurt?"

You sigh audibly. "Oh, you." You narrow your eyes at him playfully, trying to look all tough, but apparently he takes it as a cue to press his lips to yours.

It's warm, a bit sloppy, your breaths stale from wine drank over the course of the night. And you don't mind at all.

He croons in your ear, "How do I make it up to you?"

"It's fine, I was only kind of messing - "

"Come now, darling, anything."

He gazes at you, awaiting an answer. In the background, you hear his voice saying, The Fuegos... I didn't like them, as the video comes to a close.

I saw your eyeballs sort of pop out your head a little bit, Tom says in response.

This is going to be fun, you think, smiling evilly to yourself.

Rising to your knees on the bed, you loudly declare, "Today, my love, you will conquer your fears and eat my favourite spicy food."

"Nooo!" He shakes his head right away, already plotting how to get out of this predicament. "Baby, please make me do anything else. I can't handle my spice!"

"My mind is made up."

"What if I do that thing that made you scream last night? When I buried my tongue insi - '

"Ewan!" Your face reddens, but you carry on. His face will soon have the same reaction, but for different, more savoury reasons. "I mean, I would like that but - "

"Alright, let's go baby, spread your knees - " he nods, desperate to placate you and your challenge, but also eager to get down to business.

You shuffle away when he tries to pry your legs open. " - I said I made up my mind! We're eating spicy food. We gotta eat anyway, I'm starving."

He groans, collapsing back on the bed. He runs his hand tiredly over his face, mulling it over. As if he actually has a choice. He wants to do this for you, seeing as how excited you're getting.

"Get up, ol' sport," you crawl on top of him, perching above his stomach. "We're gonna go get the goods."

"Hmm," he sighs contentedly, one look at you more than enough to quell his worries. For now.

"Okay, darling," he relents, then his eyes flash in mischief. "But before we get out of bed... how about I do that thing anyway?"

There is not a single chance in the seven hells that you could ever say no to that.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

An interesting spread is laid out on the round dining table in your hotel suite.

Your stomach growls in anticipation, while Ewan is stiff as a board as he sits beside you.

"I'm hungry, aren't you?" you nudge him, but he only moans, throwing his head back in his chair.

"What if I'd already eaten? I can skip this?" he tries.

"And what the hell did you eat?"

He smirks, and even though his answer won't save him from what follows, it renders him gleeful all the same. "You," is his reply.

That prompts an eye roll, but you shake your head at him fondly. "What should we start with, baby?"

"Water."

"Come on."

"How about the strawberry milk?"

"Okay, then I'll pick." You clasp your hands, surveying the options. "Let's start with something easy." You settle for the bowl of Flamin Hot Cheetos and place it right in front of him.

You help yourself to a few pieces, before noticing that he hasn't moved a muscle, so you take one and bring it to his lips. "Open up, handsome."

"Mmmm," he tilts his head away on instinct, but he gives in after a second. He makes a face as the snack crunches in his mouth. "Not... bad, I suppose.... Urghhh - " he coughs a little, making you snicker at him between bites.

"That's not spicy at all," you say. "At least, it's nothing compared to what we'll have next."

The chicken wings are an unnatural bright red colour, covered in hot sauce and dotted with flecks of chili. You lean down and take a whiff, your nose scrunching as the strong hint of spice hits your senses.

Your placating smile does nothing to ease Ewan, who only looks like he is regretting his life choices on the spot.

"O-kay, dragonblood. Time to breathe fire," you remark in an attempt to inspire some confidence in him. Didn't he take pride in playing a Targaryen dragonrider? Surely some part of him would want to overcome the big, bad opponent that is known in our world as spicy wings.

"Breathe fire?" he exclaims. "That does not make me feel any better!"

"Do it for Vhagar, my love. Do it for Vhagar."

"I'm doing this for you," he corrects, before gingerly taking the smallest bite of a wing. He waits for the impact, confused when nothing unpleasant occurs.

So he bravely takes another, heartier bite.

Big mistake.

His hand gravitates to the glass of water, and he chugs it down like a lifeline. His once pale face becomes the same hue as the fiery culprit.

"Fffuck, ba...by," he hiccups. "I didn't like that at all."

You have a bite, wincing just a little when it hits your throat. It wasn't too bad, so you tell him to calm down.

He complains anyway, "I think I just saw my life flash right before my eyes."

You chortle at that, which unfortunately makes some of the spice travel up your nose. "Oh god!" You instantly take a huge gulp of milk. "Don't make me laugh!" you say, when the heat dies down.

"See?" he cries out in vindication. "Why must we torture ourselves, darling?"

"The food's tasty," you counter.

"Yeah, but is it worth the price?"

You grip his shoulder, dramatically saying, "We have to keep going, soldier."

"No."

"Yes."

"You won't break up with me if I refuse, will you?"

You pause, making it seem like you are seriously deliberating it. "Maybe."

"What?!" His expression takes on a more real sense of alarm.

"I'm kidding," you giggle, nudging his leg with yours. He leans his head against your shoulder, responding with, "You're mean."

"And you're dating me. What does that say about you?"

He lets out a weary laugh, "That I'm just really in love, I guess."

That almost makes you give up on the challenge entirely. You could just let him eat the pepperoni pizza you have saved as the actual meal. But it wouldn't hurt too much to tackle the grand finale. The final boss. Maybe it will even get his taste buds to crack and cross over to the dark side.

"Baby?" Here goes everything.

"Hmm?"

"It's time for the spicy ramen."

He sighs a true sigh of defeat and acceptance. "If I survive this, you have to swear you're never letting me go."

"That's your bargain? Easy, baby."

His blue eyes bore into yours. His cheeks are still red and he's still sniffling from the spice, but his sentiment holds weight. He shrugs, before his arm reaches out for the bowl of ramen, making it known that he has already accepted his fate.

You slide the glass of milk closer to him.

"Try not to get it on your lips as much as possible," you advise him, growing worried as the ramen pack did warn that it was '2x Spicy'.

You cringe inwardly as a forkful of noodles enters his mouth. He drops his arm, chewing slowly, and finally the food gratefully slides down his throat.

"Mmm," he clears his throat, trying his hardest to remain calm. His forced, blank expression is even more alarming than the alternative.

"Ewan?" He turns his head toward you, slowly. And you see the full extent of the damage. His eyes well with tears, and his breathing is shallow from an even more congested nose.

"I'm okay," he wheezes, trying to maintain a show of boldness for your sake. "I can do this."

"You don't look okay." You shake your head at him, as his face takes on an even deeper shade of red.

A pained grunt escapes him. "Maybe a kiss will make it better."

A cursory glace at the ramen sauce staining his lips compels you to protest without a second thought. "How about no? You've got it all over your lips."

"Darling, who cares? You're going to eat them too!" he says, scandalised.

"But I've got a technique. I don't let it touch my lips so it doesn't burn!" You inch away as he leans in.

"So you won't kiss me?" He uses his baby blues against you, eyes bright and shimmering as he pouts in disappointment.

"You don't need a kiss." He tries to grab you, making you stand from your chair to get away. With your palm outstretched, you implore him, "Baby, just drink your milk."

"Then I get a kiss?"

"Fine. Then you get a kiss."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Tom calls you a few days later, his tone animated from the moment you pick up. "Would you look at that! I didn't think I would get a hold of you lovers. Thought you'd be busy doing somethin' else, if y'know what I mean."

"It's noon here, Tom," you reply matter-of-factly, stretching your legs out on the bed.

"So? I reckon Captain Big Balls over there has got it in him."

"Wow," you let out an amused exhale. Tom always did have a way about him, being a Manc and all. "Well, he's in the shower right now if you wanted to speak to him."

"I'm surprised you're not in there with him, love! You guys are all over the news, bloody hell. Even out here, everyone's buzzin' about the hot new couple from House of the Dragon. And no, it's not Matt and Fabien."

You smirk at his last remark, "Are you sure it's not Matt and Fabs?"

"Positive," he says. "But we never know what could happen. Anyway, how in the hell did you convince him?"

You rack your brain for what exactly he could be pertaining to. "Convince him to do what?"

"To create a bloody Instagram profile, that's what!"

Your mouth falls open, and you quickly put him on speaker so you can scroll to the aforementioned app. Sure enough, it doesn't take long for you to sift through your new follower notifications before you find him.

His username is on brand - straightforward and no-frills - just ewanmitchell . Already verified with a hundred thousand followers and counting. In his following list, however, there is only one - your profile.

If the papparazzi pictures and tabloid stories and fan encounters hadn't convinced everyone yet, likely this will.

Ewan, notorious not only for his charisma and pure talent, but also for being steadfast in staying off social media, has sent the entirety of Ewan Nation into a tailspin with his profile.

Icing on the cake - he only follows you.

"You see, this is what convinces the public that you two are not PR," Tom says. "Because Ewan would never, ever get on the socials for just anyone."

"I didn't even know he made this. I haven't been online in quite a bit."

"Been busy, huh?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Doin' a lot of stuff out there?"

"I guess."

"Like Ewan?"

"Tom, I'm going to lynch you when I see you."

He only laughs, having gotten his desired outcome from prodding at you.

The bathroom door slides open, and Ewan steps out with nothing but a towel haphazardly wrapped around his waist.

"Who's that?" he mouths at you.

"Tom," you answer loudly, prompting Tom to greet Ewan from the speakerphone.

"Aemond the Fierce!" he bellows, the long-distance call doing nothing to stifle his personality. "I always knew you had it in ya. Ever since you laid eyes on her during the table read, I knew it was only a matter of time."

Well, isn't that a revelation. You had thought it was just you harbouring a crush in the beginning. "The table read, really? I just remember being so nervous," you say.

"I thought you were attractive," Ewan admits, scratching the back of his neck. "And you were reading your lines with such passion that I... "

Tom interrupts, "He ran over to me and told me to show him your social media."

"Not just that, I - "

"He wanted to see whether you had any pictures with a boyfriend or something."

"Alright, alright." Ewan snatches the phone from your hand, as if that will keep Tom from exposing him even more. "How are you, mate?"

"I'm good, lad, and yourself?"

Ewan glances at you, seeing that you've gone back to reading a script, your brow furrowed in concentration.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"I'm great. I'm happy."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

"Over here! Over here!"

"How's your evening going, you guys? How are you enjoying LA?"

The papparazzi needlessly try to make small talk and they flash their cameras in your face. You and Ewan barely have time to grimace at each other once you get inside his car. The restaurant where he took you to dinner hadn't been crawling with paps when you arrived. Someone must have tipped them at some point.

Ewan instinctively reaches for your hand when you've driven some distance away from the restaurant, a breath of relief exiting his lungs.

"That's Hollywood for you, baby," he says amusedly, putting on his best standard American accent.

The car speeds through the streets of LA. Heading to Mount Hollywood, you have the famous Griffith Observatory set as your destination.

You have always wanted to go, and it only took one mention to Ewan before he planned it for your next date.

It doesn't take long before the observatory's iconic structure comes into view. Its white domes seemingly gleam under the night sky, a sentinel watching over the city of Los Angeles.

Stepping out of the car, you take in the scene in awe. The resulting look on your face lets Ewan know he made the right choice in taking you here. He'd take you here everyday if it meant seeing you in a spell of childlike wonder.

The observatory itself is just a bonus.

The outer balcony stretches like a vertice into the vastness of the city, a sea of lights glistening down below. It seemed to sprawl on endlessly, a labyrinth of hopes and pains and dreams.

You stand there, drawn to the view like a moth to a flame. The evening breeze dances through your hair, and your face is aglow from the illuminated city.

Smiling widely, you turn and find Ewan lingering just behind, watching you.

"Come and look at this, my love," you wave him over.

He wants to capture the moment, so he does. He subtly points his camera in your direction. Your profile is partially visible, with your face turned out into the horizon. Your silhouette stands before a mosaic of the shining city.

But it's you that has his attention. You that pulls all of his focus into the frame.

He never thought he would have much use for a public social media profile like the one he created on Instagram, but hours later, as you're sound asleep beside him, he finds purpose for such a thing.

He uploads the first ever photo on his profile - the one he secretly took of you at the observatory.

Too conscious to think of a caption, he doesn't type in any, content to let the photo speak for itself.

Putting his phone away, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead and falls into blissful slumber.

Ewan hadn't been aware of the phrase breaking the internet, and he's in for quite the rude awakening.

Even so, he doesn't let it faze him.

You're in shock when you discover the amount of comments under the photo, well past the twelve thousand mark when you wake up. Positive, negative, and everything in between.

Almost unheard of for an Instagram debut.

His reaction?

"At least everyone knows that you're mine now. What's wrong with that?"

You can vote here on the reader's hotd character name!

Taglist: @sprinklesprinkle888 @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @hotdismylife @vyctorya @wildrangers @livcookesgf @dracaryxzs @aemondwhoresworld @aisselasstuff @onlyrealjoy (continued in comments)

The sad, angsty bits will be saved for the next proper chapter! What happens to Ewan's Instagram then? What happens to him?? 🥲💔

I was going to include the double date idea, but alas, my ideas ran dry.

I've got nothing but love for all of you that have followed this story to this point! If you've got scene requests, just let me know!

#ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell imagine #aemond targaryen #chemical override #ewan mitchell fanfic #hotd

617 notes · View notes

dollfacefantasy · 1 month ago

Text

CRY IF I WANT TO ♡

pairing: negan x fem!reader

summary: life has been different since you've been taken to the sanctuary. you're not sure how you fit in here. some may call you one of the wives, but you don't think that's accurate. maybe his pet? his doll? as the days pass, you're not sure it really matters. the distinction doesn't get you any closer to escape.

cw: nsfw (18+), dark fic, smut, dubcon, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), kidnapping/captivity, stockholm syndrome, coercion, forced ddlg/daddy kink, humiliation kink, dacryphilia, violence (from negan, simon, and reader), hurt/comfort sorta

wc: 10.9k (oops lol)

a/n: ermmm... hehe yeah. i've been wanting to write this so i hope someone likes it. reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated <3

kinktober slot: day 13 - mindbreak (i think)

"Rise and shine, little lady. We got a lot of things to do today."

Your eyes flutter open, the bright light from the window in front of you broken up by the silhouette of the man at your bedside. The sight of him, even just the outline of his body, sends a nauseating crackle of dread through your bones. It's a feeling you can't verbalize of course - not if you want this day to resemble any sort of pleasant.

"There she is," Negan says, speaking with his signature cadence that made you want to rip out your hair, "How'd you sleep, babydoll?"

"Fine," you rasp as you slowly sit up. The mornings were the only time you could get away with dull answers like that. Any small bit of attitude could be blamed on you being 'cranky' rather than feelings of hatred that hadn't been broken down by this point.

He smiles at you, his rough hand cupping your jaw.

"You're so pretty in the mornings," he mumbles, sweeping a thumb over your pouty bottom lip.

You pause for a second, but so does he. Like he expects a reply. Unfortunately, you know the words he wants to hear. Swallowing the last sliver of dignity you have, you force out the response you'd been trained to say over the last however-long.

"Thank you, daddy."

He grins even wider if that's possible and pats your head. "You're welcome. Now let's get you dressed. Like I said, daddy's got a lot to do today."

You get out of bed and follow him over to the dresser that held your outfit for the day. The chill of cold air bites at your legs as the lack of blankets leaves them exposed. The generator had been out for the past day or so, leaving the Sanctuary victim to the harsh Winter raging outside. You were hoping he'd take that into account when picking your clothes, but you didn't hold out too much hope.

The two of you shuffle around the gray furniture of Negan's room. Even though you'd been in here more times than you could count now, you still marveled at the quality of the chairs and sofa. Items like these seemed luxurious with how the world was outside these walls.

When you reach the dresser, you follow the routine you'd become used to. You peel the small shirt you're permitted to sleep in off and drop it in the basket nearby. Your panties are next to go. You pull the dainty garment down and toss it to the same place as your top.

You can feel his eyes on you with every move you make. They watch how your breasts bounce when freed from their confines. They admire the curve of your ass when you bend over. They glimmer with smug satisfaction as you stand there nude before him.

"I'll tell you what. I never get sick of seeing this," he teases.

You offer a weak smile in return. The lack of energy almost seems to please him more.

He walks around to stand behind you, giving you a light pat on the ass as he does. His hands land on your hips first and then slide up to cup your breasts. He pulls you back, positioning you flush against his chest.

"You know I'd keep you like this all the time if I could," he murmurs in your ear, "Sweet and ready for me. Ripe for the pickin' whenever I felt the need."

The deep, gravelly rumble of it seems to trigger a flicker of heat in your lower belly on instinct, and you despise yourself for it. Shame burns so hot in your heart, it threatens to take the nausea you felt earlier into a full on dry heave. You're glad there's not a mirror in front of you. It's easier to keep a docile look plastered on your face when you don't have to stare yourself in the eyes.

The rough pads of his fingertips pinch and tweak your nipples, causing you to squirm a bit where you're standing, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a noise. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your neck.

You choose not to say anything to his last statement. There's no guarantee that he hasn't actually considered that, and you don't want to find out. Displaying you in that way in front of everyone doesn't seem like his style, but back when he had you lined up on your knees with the rest of your group, you wouldn't have imagined yourself ever calling him daddy either.

As you'd quickly learned in regards to most things around here, the risk just isn't worth it.

"I'd never do that to you though. Don't think anyone could keep their hands off if they saw all of you, and I just can't have that," he whispers, calming your fears for you. He pulls his hands away from your breasts and steps back to grab the pieces he'd be putting you in today.

He starts with panties. This pair is pink and ruffly just like the last. You step into it with rehearsed timing. One foot then the next. He slides them up to your hips and lets the elastic snap into place against your skin.

You had no clue where he got this shit. You didn't want to believe that his hold on his men was so strong that they'd waste an entire supply run raiding a Victoria's Secret, especially for women they never even got to touch.

It wasn't worth thinking about though. It's not like discovering the origins would spare you from wearing the damn things every day.

Next, Negan shakes the wrinkles out of your dress. You step into that too, just like you did with the underwear. Looking down, you catch a glimpse of the garment.

It's just as humiliating as all the rest he makes you wear. The fabric is bright white and baby pink. Like everything else, you have no idea how it was kept so pristine. The waist is accentuated with a pretty pink ribbon wrapped around it, tied into a large bow at the front. It's extra tight up top and melts into a puffy skirt down below.

He shimmies it over your body and yanks the zipper up in back. The dress conforms to the shape of your figure, leaving little to the imagination in terms of how much the neckline shows and how high the hem of the skirt sits.

Spinning you around, he whistles when he gets the full picture.

"Good God Almighty. Pretty as a picture," he praises, reaching out to pinch your cheek.

Again, you force yourself to smile.

He'd already dressed himself for the day before getting you up, so the rest of the time before you leave the room is spent working through the remnants of your morning routine. He takes you into the bathroom connected to his room to brush your teeth and do your hair.

"Say ah, sweetheart," he smirks before jamming the brush into your mouth.

He's not careful or attentive. He only does it long enough to let the weight of humiliation settle in your stomach. It's always obvious when it kicks in. You get this look on your face like that of an abandoned puppy. Only then does he let you spit and move on to the next task.

He styles your hair into something cute, though you hate it anyway. Like the dress, it's only intended to make you stick out. To draw attention to your status as his possession.

The last thing he does is put your socks and shoes on. Your feet get covered in a pair of frilly ankle socks before he slips a pair of chunky sneakers on you. At least if this place got overrun and you had to bolt, you wouldn't be totally fucked.

"You ready to go, honey?" he asks you when the first part of your torture has finally come to a conclusion.

Again, you nod while looking up at him.

He grins at you. "You're quiet today," he says.

"Sorry, daddy," you respond. The way he said it sounded like teasing, but you could never be too careful.

"Don't be. I like it," he says.

You don't know how he does it, how he deflates you so easily without even trying.

He turns and grabs that stupid bat he carries everywhere, swinging it to his side before facing you again and sticking out his hand.

"Got my two favorite girls, now we're really ready to go," he says. He gestures with his fingers. A small impatient reminder. "You know the rules."

Of course you know what he's referring to. Always hold daddy's hand when you leave the bedroom. One of the rules he'd prattled off to you when he first brought you here.

You reach out and take his outstretched hand, earning a kiss to your head.

The way he'd been holding his arm caused the leather sleeve of his jacket to ride up a bit. Beneath the stiff fabric, you could see the fading scar you'd given him around the same time you'd been informed of the rules. Two crescent shaped marks in the pattern of your teeth.

You can barely stand to look at it now. All it does is bring back memories of when you still held hope for escape or rescue. Back then, you'd thought it'd only be a matter of days until Rick or Michonne burst into the small bedroom they were keeping you in.

The day you'd sunk your teeth into him, he'd just finished giving you one of his speeches about your new life at the Sanctuary. According to him, you'd be so much happier here. Sure you couldn't see your family, but now you had someone better than them. You had him. And he would spoil and take care of a pretty thing like you in the way you deserved. Show off to the rest of your old group how generous he could be.

He'd reached forward to pinch your cheek just like he'd done earlier today. You wanted to smack him away, but he had your hands bound. So you did the next thing you could think of and bit him. Hard.

His eyes burned with fury you hadn't seen since. You can still hear in your mind the way he yelled, shouting "Goddamn it" so loud that the walkers out at the fence probably heard.

After that was a bit hazy. He'd snatched that limb away from you before bringing it back and striking you hard across the cheek. You'd nearly fallen off the bed from the force.

"You little bitch, you try some shit like that again, and I'll knock your fucking jaw loose," he growled before yanking you up right and forcing you to look at him.

Involuntary tears leaked from your eyes as you glared up at his face. Blood oozed from the stinging wound you could feel inside your mouth.

That cut had healed by now though.

You squeeze his hand harder while walking down the hall out of his room. Even though it was the hand that struck you, it was the only thing you had to hold onto now.

Your brain tries to compartmentalize him nowadays. There's Negan, and there's daddy. Negan is the one who gets mean. Negan is the one who yells. Negan is the one who killed your friends. Daddy is the one who cares for you. He keeps you safe and healthy. He'd never hurt you like that. You didn't think you'd survive with a shred of sanity without that distinction.

He feels your little grip and squeezes your hand in return. That's what daddy does.

You stay close to his side as he guides you on the walkway that looks down on the commotion of the main room. Even after what you guessed had been a couple months, if not more, you still didn't like this place. Everything was so transactional. No one cared about each other. It was all about what everyone had to offer. That was by design of course, but it didn't make you any less critical of it.

Your eyes scan the clusters of people below. Although you weren't allowed to socialize on your own, you were starting to get a grasp on the cliques here. Negan's closest advisors all seemed to amalgamate in one area, spare the guy with the burnt face. The table closest to the window was where most of the soldiers ate while the one by the door seated the workers.

You weren't completely sure what class you fit into here.

The most obvious guess would be the group you're about to encounter, Negan's wives. But there are stark differences between you and them that prevent you from feeling camaraderie.

The two of you approach the room where he keeps this group of women. He maintains a tight grip on your hand as you slip through the doors. The disparities between you and the others become obvious as soon as you're within a few feet of them.

All of these women get to dress in black. They stand tall in heels, have earrings dangling next to their faces, and for some, a red tint painting their lips. All of them get to openly glare at him. They don't have to hide their hatred behind a feigned smile or soft laugh.

You know it isn't right to be jealous of them. They're suffering too. This isn't a happy situation for them either. But god, you can't help it. Envy nearly sears a hole through your heart every time you come into this room. What you wouldn't give to be one of them. To be allowed to drink and talk with other people. To not be under the constant threat of punishment.

Despite all these thoughts swirling through your head, you manage to keep your mask on. A simple, thoughtless look on your features as you stand next to him like an oversized accessory.

He looks down at you before dropping your hand.

"Stay right here for me, sweet thing. Daddy's only gonna take a minute," he says.

He stalks off to the back corner of the room with a woman you'd come to learn is named Sherry. They speak in hushed tones, so you can't make out what they're saying. You figure it's about one of the girls sneaking around with some other guy. That's what it's usually about when he makes a stop here with you in tow. Even with their status elevated above yours, they don't get to escape the wrath of his possessiveness.

You stand there awkwardly, arms crossed over your midsection while your weight shifts between your feet. No one tries to talk to you. You can feel their eyes on your pastel form, but their gazes don't hold curiosity or interest. It's pity.

In the beginning, you thought they were looking at you with jealousy. After all, you got your own cell and then graduated to Negan's bedroom while they had to share amenities.

But they weren't naive like you had been. None of them wanted Negan's attention. They didn't want to be his pet or his dolly or whatever the fuck he would classify you as. They had each other, and they got to share the load between all of them.

You sigh quietly and look down at the sparkly trim of your white sneakers.

He finishes his conversation with Sherry and then migrates across the room towards a blonde, crying girl. They speak at the same volume as him and Sherry. It's not worth trying to eavesdrop on.

Instead, you patiently wait the couple minutes it takes for them to finish up and for him to return to you. When he walks back over, you can tell the discussion hadn't been a positive one. His shoulders seem weighed down by whatever information he'd gathered from them.

But the dark cloud above him fades away as his hand slips back into yours. He leads you out of the room just as you'd come in and continues walking with you.

You hesitate but decide to try. "Are you ok?" you ask softly.

His head turns slightly to cast you a look. For a moment, it seems the daddy act has fallen away. He looks at you like he would any other woman who asked him that. Cold. Analytical. But the persona makes its reappearance seconds later as he pulls on a smirk for you.

"Just fine, honey. You don't gotta worry about me," he answers.

You know you should just nod and shut up, but it drives you crazy being led around like a child expected to be seen and not heard. So you decide to try again.

"Did they do something bad?" you ask. You hate how weak your voice comes out. There's no spark to it, no bite or sharp edge. All of that, he'd extinguished in you.

He drops your hand and drapes his arm over your shoulders, pulling you to his side.

"What are you so curious for, huh? You know something about it?" he responds.

You shake your head. Your arm rises and wraps around his torso.

"No. I just don't like when you're upset," you say. You lean your head into his chest to really sell it.

"Oh-ho, look at you. Turning on the charm," he chuckles, "I am just fine, sugar. I swear it. Sometimes those girls give me trouble, but it's nothing I can't handle."

You decide to just take it and nod this time.

He looks at you with satisfaction. "They can't all be like you, y'know? So well-behaved," he praises.

The compliment makes your blood curdle. You couldn't stand that he would act like obedience was your defining trait.

When you were with your group - your family more like - you would never have been described as obedient. Whether at the prison or Alexandria, it felt like every other day you were sneaking off to try something. You were always quick to spring into action, never the type to let someone belittle you. Rick got on your ass about deviating from plans in spurs of emotion more than anyone else. Maybe that's how you wound up here.

You had tried to stop them from taking Daryl. On that dark night in the woods, surrounded by the ring of headlights, you had tried. You didn't rush at Negan like your friend. Not wanting someone else to get their head bashed in, you were more subtle than that. But you attempted to get in the way of the guys carting him off. That's what landed you here. Tucked under his arm, the very weapon that took away two people you love swinging a foot away from you.

But you swallow down all of this rage and nod again. You nuzzle into his chest, a way to conceal the tightening sensation in your throat and the sting of tears at your waterline.

This is the worst part about Negan, you decide. The way he makes you act like you want it.

From your first day here, he made sure to tell you over and over how he's staunchly against rape. He's not a monster. He's not that kind of guy. No, no. You are a prisoner, so yes, technically here against your will, but never in a million years would he violate you in that way.

And he'd stuck true to that. Whenever you screamed or cried or yelled "no" on a loop until he shook you around like a bobble head, he always backed off of his advances. He never copped a feel or slid a wandering hand in your panties while you slept, never held you down or physically forced himself on you.

Instead, he broke you down until saying yes seemed like the only sane option.

You didn't want his affection? That meant you must not want to talk to anyone at all. For days. You didn't want to sit in his lap? Maybe you'd prefer kneeling by his feet for a week, in private and around everyone else. You didn't want to sleep in his bed? Fine. You could sleep on the concrete floor without a pillow or blanket while the heat was out.

You reflect on all of this as the two of you trot through the boxy halls. He takes you around on all his errands for the day. You stop by the doctor's office, inventory, and Dwight's room. All over the place. You stay quiet the whole time. busying yourself with your thoughts as you stay attached to him.

Everyday the line between survival and free will becomes blurrier. You tell yourself that you have to be like this with him. You'll be worse off if you don't act the part of the sweet, adoring girl he wants. But then sometimes you wonder if you truly are becoming obedient. Like a wildcat tamed into a lazy house pet. You almost never resist his touch anymore. You even go to him for comfort sometimes.

The idea kills you, so you deem it best not to think about for now.

Rather, you focus on guessing what the rest of the day would hold. It's already the afternoon by now. The sun hangs low by the tree line, shimmering into the Sanctuary through the rectangular windows across the walls. He wouldn't have a meeting with the lieutenants today. Those were almost always around lunch time. You didn't think he'd spend it with one of his wives either. If that was the case, he usually gave you a heads up in the morning.

The most likely possibility you come up with is the dilemma from earlier. You had never been invited to see the culmination of those though. Normally, he kept you safe and sound in his room while he tended to matters like that, ready to provide him some stress relief when he finished.

But things can always change, and now it seems like that's the case.

He guides you back into the main room. A crowd has gathered down below. You can't see the center point of their conglomeration. All you can sense are the nerves vibrating between everyone.

Their feet shuffle around on the hard concrete flooring. They look between each other with anxious eyes. Hushed chatter clouds the area until you and Negan begin to descend the stairs. That's when they all go quiet. Mouths close and pupils snap to the position of their leader.

You look down to lessen the ache of humiliation that came with accompanying the center of attention. The few times you had scanned the crowd for others' reactions, seeing if you could find a sympathetic gaze or outraged expression, all you found was animosity. The male workers and soldiers leered at you. They smiled and smirked, visibly amused by your girly outfits and docile disposition. On the other side of the aisle, the women glared, taking in the details of your appearance with disgust, like somehow it was your fault you got toted around like this.

His voice booms out to his audience as he takes step after step towards them.

"You all know what we're here for today," he starts, "We got simple rules 'round here, but some people still seem to have trouble following 'em."

Your hand stays linked with his as the two of you reach the landing.

"Watch your step, babydoll," he murmurs to you before continuing his speech. Your cheeks burn with shame.

"It feels like I'm doing this every other month. It's getting ridiculous," he lectures, "I don't like having to be so harsh. Truly, I don't. But rules are rules, and I don't know how I can make myself any clearer. They are not optional."

He walks further into the room with you. Being level with everyone else, you can see more of what's happening. They're gathered around a furnace. Dwight stands near the opening to the flames, clearly preparing something. Another man sits a few feet away. Over in the corner, the woman from earlier is looking at him and crying.

Looks like your guess was correct.

"So we're gonna do this again. Hopefully it's the last time," he concludes.

The crowd parts as you and him head towards the center of the room. He leads you over to an empty spot near the wall. Dropping your hand, he cups your jaw and makes you look him in the eyes.

"Stay right here for me. Daddy'll be right back," he says.

You nod and then watch as he turns away, waltzing over to where Dwight stands.

While your eyes are up, they can't help but catch on somebody familiar standing at the front of the crowd.

Daryl.

Your heart stutters, and you can see on his face that his does too. He looks worn down. Eyes dimmed and face hollowed. His clothes, dirty and ill-fitting. You start to feel tears pricking at your waterline from the sight. You weren't the only one they'd broken down.

In him, you find the compassion you'd been searching for. The look that told you at least one person here didn't take enjoyment from your suffering. But it comes from someone who truly can't help you. Who's in a situation as bad as your own.

You sniffle and try to wipe away any beginning tears before Negan or someone who would tell him notices.

The loud creak of a metal door opening drags your attention to the furnace though. You watch as Dwight pulls out the item he'd been preparing. A burning, metal iron becomes the new focus of everyone in the room.

Upon seeing the small object, so many things connect in your head. You know what's going to happen. You realize why Dwight's face is scarred. You understand why that woman is crying. And you know no one is going to stop any of this now or in the future.

Your heart pounds harder, and your breaths become shaky. Tears blur your vision further. You dig your nails into your palm to try and ground yourself, but it doesn't help. The scene in front of you has whipped your mind into a frenzy. You haven't felt this bad since the early weeks of being in this place.

This stupid fucking place. You hate it. You hate how cruel it is here. How disconnected and lifeless everything feels. You hate him for being the only one allowed to really live. You hate everyone else here for letting him get this powerful.

It's a complete spiral whirlpooling in your mind, only made worse by the fact that you have to keep it contained. You try to tell yourself you just have to wait it out. This couldn't take more than five minutes and then you could go back to the bedroom. You'd be ok. You could take off this itchy dress and put your hair back to how you like it. You could kick off these shoes and hide yourself beneath the warm blankets. None of these people would be around, all you'd have is the quiet between those walls where daddy could make it all better.

As you're in the process of mentally talking yourself down, Negan takes hold of the iron. To free up his hands, he offers Lucille off to someone nearby. Your eyes follow his leather-clad limb to the neck of the bat and then up to its new handler. You see Simon.

You have to look down now. If you don't, everyone here will see the look of pure terror on your face. You close your eyes and rein in whimpers that threaten to spill from your lips. Everything feels fuzzy around you, intangible and like your hands would drift right through them. Your head heats up, the sensation making you dizzy. You try to steady yourself by leaning back against the wall, but the cool, flat surface does little to ease your nerves.

It does even less when you hear his voice closing in on you.

"Hey there, princess," he starts, voice laced with mockery, "You feeling alright?"

You're not looking at him, but the image of his stupid face projects with HD clarity in your mind. You swallow hard and nod.

Laughing lowly, he comes to stand beside you. "You sure about that? You're looking kind of lightheaded," he taunts.

"I'm fine," you choke out.

His hand darts up and grabs your jaw. He doesn't gently guide your eyes where he wants them to look. He yanks your face in his direction like an unruly child with a doll.

"I don't know about that. You're looking kind of rough," he says while glaring down at you with those ruthless eyes, "Maybe I should take you over to the doctor's. We both know Negan wants his favorite toy kept in good condition."

Your entire body vibrates with hatred for this creature. Every breath you take acts as an effort of restraint, a way to lull yourself into not ripping out what hair he has left.

You didn't just despise Simon because he's an asshole or because he was the person harassing your group leading up to that horrible night you were taken. Your aversion for him stems from experiences entirely your own.

A few days after the biting incident, you had tried getting physical with Negan one more time. You'd managed to worm one of your wrists out of your restraints, and instead of aiming for escape, you decided revenge held a higher priority. You waited for him to come check on you, keeping your arm tucked to your body as if it was still bound.

When he finally came in, you sat there and took the speech, took the condescension, and took the promises that you would conform. And then he leaned a bit closer. That's when you backhanded him as hard as he had you the few days prior.

After the hit landed, you lunged forward and tried to wrap the rope connected to you around his neck. You pulled as hard as you could, and for a moment, you thought you had won.

But wrangling you off was easier than you anticipated. They hadn't been allowing you much food or sleep, so the strike took most of your energy. It only took him a handful of seconds to snake his hand under the rope and then pry your arms away.

He stood up and slammed you into the wall with his hand around your throat. In that moment, he didn't look at you with the same fury he had before. This time around, frustration dominated his gaze.

"Was that fun for you?" he asked.

You didn't answer. Your chest puffed with exertion while your eyes stared daggers into him.

"What did I tell you last time? What did I fucking tell you?" he asked. Despite the look in his eye being less volatile, his tone of voice was dangerous as ever. "I told you I would knock that jaw of yours loose. That's what I said, and I meant it. I don't want you thinking I didn't. But I'm not gonna do that right now because I don't think it would work, and I'm not one to waste my own time."

Internally, pride swelled in your chest, thinking you had called his bluff. But then he kept speaking.

"I have a bad feeling that if I struck some sense into you that you'd just try to strike it into me right back, and I can't have that. That's just not gonna fly around here," he said, "So I'll tell you what: I have a better idea. You don't wanna play with daddy? Then you can spend a weekend with your Uncle Simon. See how much fun he can be."

Back then, you didn't know Simon as the right hand man. You didn't have his name and face connected yet. Now, you wished you could go back to that state of mind.

You were with him for three days while Negan did a tour of the outposts and subjugated communities. Only 72 hours. But an hour of him would have been enough to scare you for a lifetime.

When he first came into the room, you didn't get the feeling that him and Negan would handle you so differently. You could tell from the way he looked at you that, like his boss, he looked at you as something to toy with. A source of amusement. The difference, you soon found out, was how they played with their toys.

Unlike daddy, Simon didn't talk just to talk. He didn't warn you of future spankings or timeouts. He hit. And he kicked. And he shoved you down and tossed you around. He didn't offer the same condolences daddy did, there was no "this hurts me more than it hurts you." Nothing he did even bothered Simon. He watched you hurt, and he enjoyed it.

You didn't even get a reward once you'd settled down. Your attitude had disappeared almost instantly. Having the wind knocked out of you once was enough for you to become more amicable, but your change in demeanor didn't phase him. It wasn't his goal.

The only rules Negan left him with were the basic ones for the Sanctuary along with no killing you or causing permanent damage. But that didn't mean he couldn't threaten you with breaking them. He went on and on during the down periods where you cowered in the corner or huddled against the wall of your bedroom cell, telling you stories of how he went rogue before. Any horrible thing he could think of, he dangled in front of you as a potential fate.

When Negan finally came back, you eagerly awaited him. Despite your sleep deprived and bruised condition, your eyes stayed locked on the door like a puppy expecting their master. For the next week, you latched onto him. Didn't want to leave his side. He had made his point. You could hate him as much as you wanted but leave you alone with Simon for a little while, and you'd beg for him back.

That's how you feel right now, staring up into Simon's eyes while he holds your jaw. The pressure his fingers put on your cheeks serve as a reminder of the pain he can inflict while his other hand holding the bat twirls the weapon near your calf. As much as you had been internally preaching your hatred for everything to do with Negan minutes ago, all you want to do now is run into his arms.

You feel more tears wanting to slip down your cheeks, but you try your best to hold them in. The more you cry, the more I like it. That's what he'd told you more than once over those three days.

"Just leave me alone," you tell him. You try to sound as firm as possible, but even your own ears catch the way your voice quivers. "Negan wouldn't like you talking over him."

Your attempt at taking a stand falls flat. He doesn't back off any, rather, he leans in closer.

"Negan, huh? Are you even allowed to call him that?" he mocks and feigns a pout.

"Just shut up!" you say. You mean it as a threat; though, it hits his ears like a plea. More hot panic rushes down your spine from the stress of having to remain quiet while also trying to be assertive.

His lips flatten into a line before he continues speaking. "Your head's getting too big for those shoulders, little girl. You better watch your attitude, or I might have to suggest you're due for some more correction," he mutters.

A loud scream rips the two of you from your conversation. He drops his hand from your face, and you both straighten up against the wall. Negan stands in the center of the room, pressing the blazing iron to the side of the man's face.

He wails until he passes out, and that's when his leader peels away the device of torture. Sticky skin goes with it before snapping back against his face like a rubber band. You grimace, your stomach twisting at the sight. You'd seen so much blood and guts over the years of living out on the road and fighting with other groups, but melted skin was a new one.

Negan turns to Dwight and gives him the iron back. You breathe an involuntary sigh of relief, subconsciously soothed by the thought of him returning to your side.

The reprieve ends suddenly though when a small, sharp pain slices along the meat of your calf. You whimper and lift your leg away on instinct. Looking for the source, you see the bat twirling from the motion of Simon's wrist. One of the barbs had caught your skin. Your eyes flit up to him.

"Watch out!" you say. The old you would have been seething. She would have pulled out her pocket knife and given him a little receipt for the cut. But now, you watch him with fearful eyes, trying to gauge whether or not you would get in trouble for calling him an asshole.

"Remember what I said," he tells you quietly as a trickle of red runs down to the lacy frills of your sock.

Before you can respond, a warm hand lands on the small of your back. Your head turns to find Negan smiling down at you.

"What's with the long face, sugar? Simon bothering you?" he asks, clearly not meaning it seriously even though to you it is exactly that.

You part your lips to answer, but Simon beats you to it.

"Bothering her? C'mon. I'm just checking up on her. She looked a little dizzy, so I offered to take her to the doctor's," he says, light as ever, "I'm just watching out for her, y'know? Sweet thing like her will get eaten alive here if she's not careful."

Negan raises his eyebrows, and for a second, you think he's about to take your side. But then he just chuckles and shakes his head.

"She's doing just fine. That was her first time seeing one of those, so she's probably a little shaken up," he says, rubbing your arm.

"Hm... Sounds about right," Simon replies, "I know that's not how her little group did things."

"Yeah. So I'll get her back to the room. Think you can handle shit down here?" he says, gesturing around to the dispersing crowd.

"Always," Simon says with a mock salute. He then hands Lucille back.

Finally, you find some relief, some true sanctuary as Simon walks away. Your body physically relaxes. Negan feels it underneath his arm and spares you a glance as the two of you walk back up the stairs.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

You want to just take the easy route and say no, to play along with this sadistic charade and not cause any trouble. But you can't get the single syllable out. It feels impossible to even shake your head. Even though Simon's gone, the weight of everything that happened still remains along with the stinging in your leg.

Your throat feels tight, and your eyes feel like they're two seconds from overflowing. The lights suddenly seem too bright, and everyone here is too loud. You can't show him that though. You don't want more correction. You don't want someone to like it when you cry. But you can't ignore him either. That would be the worst thing to do.

All you manage in response is a shaky shrug. You let out a broken sigh with it and lean into his chest. The tension in your shoulders returns as you fight to keep the tears from leaking out against the worn leather.

At first, he doesn't say anything, and the two of you keep walking. Your steps remain in time with his as you traverse the walkway and around the corner. Then the two of you come to a stop when you're out of sight. He turns you by your shoulders, holding you in front of him so that you can't shy away.

"I got one more thing to attend to out by the fence. Think you can handle that?" he asks.

Your heart pulses to an uneven rhythm, trying to decide what to do without devolving into pure panic. You bite your lip as you mull your options over. Say yes and go with him. Then inevitably fail to contain yourself and get in trouble. Or, say no now and risk punishment for being defiant. You're not sure which one will end up worse.

"Can... can we just go back to the room?" you ask. Your voice comes out weak as if every word siphons a drop of energy from you.

He eyes you with uncertainty of his own; though, there's no fear in his look. His gaze is careful, an attempt to decipher if this is some kind of deception. You'd been pretty well-behaved as of late, but one bad day could take even the most obedient pet to a rabid dog, jaws primed to gnash.

But you didn't really have a reason to lie. The bedroom with him would provide the least likely chance at escape, and in the condition you were in now, you didn't seem to be planning an attack.

Slowly, he nods. "Sure, honey. I'll have Arat handle the other shit," he tells you before leading you in the direction of his bedroom.

The words he mumbles through his radio sound distant to you. You watch your legs switch between one and the other as you walk. On your right, you see the small red splotch staining the pristine cloth of your sock.

Before you know it, he's pushing open the bedroom door and bringing you inside. It then closes behind you, creating a barrier between you and everything else out there. It gets a little easier to breathe.

He guides you the few steps over to the edge of the bed and sits down, pulling you onto his lap. You feel his eyes scanning over you in an attempt to figure out the problem without asking. His hand rubs up and down your back over the crinkly fabric of your dress. His other palm focuses on your legs, coasting over your knees and the area of your thighs the skirt doesn't cover.

The code is harder for him to crack than usual. Normally when you got upset, it resulted from something he said. And he knows that because, usually, that's his intention. It was always either that or you'd just generally be feeling down, missing your home. But that doesn't seem to be the case right now. You seem more antsy than your normal bouts of sadness. He doesn't think it was from watching the spectacle downstairs. He knows you hate the saviors indiscriminately. Watching some random guy's face melt off wouldn't have you this upset. Finally, he relents.

"What's wrong?" he asks. He actually makes an effort not to sound like he'll make fun of whatever your answer may be.

"I just don't feel good," you choke out and bite your lip.

He feels you shudder on his lap, and he knows it's not the full truth. Pulling you a little closer on his thighs, he continues to look down at you.

"C'mon, baby. Tell daddy what hurts," he coaxes.

Your face tenses, but you know he won't drop this. "Just... just... I don't know. A lotta stuff," you say. You couldn't decide on a lie to commit to.

He sighs and bounces his leg with you on it a few times. "Did someone say something to you? Was someone bothering you?" he asks as his scope of potential causes narrow.

You're in the middle of trying to think of a cover story when his hand glides down to remove your shoes. He knocks one off. Then the other. The foamy white sneakers clatter to the ground next to his foot.

He goes to bring his hand back up, dragging it over the fine threading of your socks, but his eyes catch on the bloody splotches near the edge. Grabbing your ankle, he tugs your limb upward. It puts you at an awkward angle and nearly knocks you from your perch on his thigh. He stares the small wound down, assessing every detail of the tiny scrape.

"How'd you get this?" he asks. He looks over to you.

In reality, it may have been the most standard question in the world. But it hits your ears like an accusation and brings a fresh wave of tears that you can't control. Your lip quivers as your lids blink a few droplets over your water line.

"Simon did it," you weep.

You're scared he won't believe you, but after a few seconds, he drops your foot and pulls you close. His arms wrap around you tight and keep you flush against his chest. The warmth of the embrace encompasses you. You let the dam burst and cry into him, pouring all your sadness out against his body.

His hand sweeps up and down your back in comforting strokes. "Shh, shh, shh, sweetheart. Daddy's got you," he murmurs.

You feel him shrug off his jacket and push it aside, leaving the plain material of his t-shirt to soak up your anguish. He keeps you as close as possible. One of his hands cradles the back of your head to ensure you don't pull away.

"Does Simon bother you a lot?" he asks.

You nod. "Whenever I'm not with you," you choke out.

He hums in acknowledgement. "I'll talk to him. He's not supposed to hurt you when you're being such a good girl for daddy."

"I was trying really hard," you sob, your voice cracking, "I've been trying to be good. But he just hates me anyway. He's so mean to me."

Your arms snake around him as tight as a pair of snakes aiming to kill. You cling to him with everything you have, as if he's your one true savior from this living hell and not the cause of it.

In your head, you feel like you're annoying him. He's probably waiting for you to calm down, so he can nip this blossom of resentment in the bud. Good girls don't have tantrums or meltdowns, right? And all he cares about is that you act the part of a good girl.

But you only think all of that because you can't see the smile on his face right now.

He's grinning more than any of the times he got you to say something humiliating or cooperate with a punishment. The look he displays now reaches a new level of smugness, higher than the night he killed two of your people and traumatized the rest of them. His satisfaction runs deeper this time because right now, you're truly broken.

This isn't something you agreed to because the other option was worse. It's not something he had to coach you into or manipulate a situation into becoming. You did this all on your own. You came to him. Sure, he had to coax it out of you a little bit, but once he got his foot in the door, you let him right in. You're clinging to him for comfort, looking to him for a solution. He couldn't be more pleased. This is exactly what he wanted - to break you down. Now he just had to reel you back in the slightest bit, get you in that perfect middle ground between too independent and non-functioning.

"You have been doing really good for me, y'know? I'm proud of you, baby," he tells you in the most earnest tone he can manage, "Don't worry about Simon for right now, ok? Daddy's gonna set him straight. He won't bother you again."

You nod, but the reassurance doesn't stop the flow of tears from your eyes. Your fingers stay clenched around the fabric of his shirt.

"No more tears, honey, c'mon," he coos. He pries your limbs from around him and boosts you to your feet, standing you between his thighs. "I'll take care of it just like I take care of you. Let's just worry about what my little baby needs to feel better right now."

You take a few seconds to think about it, but the answer comes with relative ease. The most agitating thing about this situation right now is wrapped all around you, scratching at your sides and digging in under your arms.

"Can you take my dress off?" you sniffle.

His eyes fall from your face over your body. "What? You don't like this pretty little number?" he teases.

For once, you don't feel like you're two seconds away from punishment. You feel like it's a joke, and you don't have to awkwardly straddle the line between playing along with the humor and submitting to the literal interpretation.

"It's ok... it's just kinda scratchy," you say and wipe away your tears with the back of your hand.

"Spin around for me then. We'll get it off you. Can't have it irritatin' that soft skin while you're tryin' to relax."

You take the few steps to turn around. His fingers grasp the zipper and undo the baby pink prison you'd been trapped in for the day. Feeling the chafing fabric pulled away from you lets you take a real breath for the first time in hours. Already a small bit of relief. It only compounds when the garment hits the floor and pools at your feet.

He tugs you back by the waist and lays you across the bed, body on full display for him. Right now, you don't mind his gaze tracking your curves. He leans over you, his hands coasting from the sides of your breasts down to your hips.

"You're prettier like this anyways, princess," he praises.

"Thank you, daddy." It spills out as naturally as water from a faucet.

He rewards you with his lips on your stomach instead of words. Kissing the smooth, warm skin, his lips travel from just above your navel to the divot between your breasts. Your nipples rise to attention automatically.

His hands slide up to cup your mounds of flesh. He fondles and gropes them as his lips migrate up the curves to the hardening little peaks. They don't latch on just yet. He teases them with kisses instead, letting the anticipation of blissful suction build.

You take your lip between your teeth as you watch him. Chills break out across the rest of your body. You know you should be fighting. You know you should kick and scream and cry. You should try to take advantage of his closeness and get towards your revenge. But in your hellish life, are you not allowed one moment of pleasure? You haven't let those plans of escape and vengeance go, but you want this right now. You want to feel good, and he gives you that.

This isn't Negan. This is daddy. And you don't wanna hurt daddy.

His tongue peeks out from between his lips to trace wet circles around your nipple. The sensation draws a whine from you. Your body squirms beneath him with an eagerness to feel more.

"I think I know how to make you feel better. Take your mind off all that stuff from before," he whispers.

He takes one of your nipples between his lips, flicking the bud with the tip of his tongue and scraping his teeth against the sensitive area. You reward the choice with a mewl and squirm your legs. He chuckles and then switches to the other one.

"That feel good?" he asks.

You nod, your head tilting back and your eyes fluttering.

Grinning, he continues his work on your chest. You whine and squirm for him, giving him all the reactions he craves. Soon, his hand ghosts up your inner thigh. His fingertips drag over the flesh and land on your clothed center. Through the thin pink cloth, he rubs at your clit. That garners a breathy moan and a full body shudder.

"Goddamn, you are so cute," he chuckles, "Just a few little touches and you squirm around like a virgin for me."

Heat floods your cheeks, but you don't bother disputing the claim. It was the truth. You weren't sure what it was about him that got you so amped up and needy.

The pad of his middle finger swirls around the little nub in your panties. He can already feel the fabric getting sticky from the wetness between your thighs.

"Poor baby. You're so easy to play with," he says.

His mouth leaves your breasts now and begins to retrace its path down your stomach. It glides over your skin with open-mouthed kisses all the way down to the hem of your underwear. His fingers fall away from your center to your dismay.

Your disappointment is short lived though. You feel him position your thighs on his shoulders. When you look down, his eyes are staring right back up at you, gleaming like that of a panther ready to pounce.

"You want daddy's mouth on you? Will that help you feel better?" he rasps.

You nod quickly. "Please, daddy," you whimper.

"So polite. You didn't even need me to remind you of your manners," he smirks.

You don't even care about that remark. It washes right over you. All your mind is concerned with right now is getting more of his touch.

He brings his index finger back between your legs. He hooks it beneath the soaked seat of your panties, pulling it to the side and revealing your slick folds to him. The thumb on his opposite hand comes up to rub over the length of your slit up to your clit. Back and forth, nice and slow, just to tease you.

Your hips writhe the slightest bit, and he nips the skin of your inner thigh.

"Tsk. You know good girls are patient. They don't wriggle around. I've taught you better than that," he chides.

"Sorry," you say, backing down quickly.

"It's alright. I know you're having a rough day, so I'll let it slide this time," he says. He then leans in to lay some kisses on your clit.

Your eyes roll back and your toes curl. He never let things slide. This must have been a miracle. The same man who always toted that the rules weren't optional, letting you bypass one? Maybe you were his favorite. That's what you took it as anyways.

He makes out with your cunt like it's the prettiest thing he's ever seen. His lips engulf it, spreading his affection from your little bundle of nerves all the way down, nearly reaching your puckered entrance below. You whine and clutch at the bedsheets. You were still too scared to grab his hair. You weren't sure if he'd like it and groan or glare at you in a way that said you'd pay for it later.

It doesn't matter to you right now though. What you hold isn't important when you feel this good. It feels like a firework show is erupting in your belly, bright bursts of all different colors. Your heels dig into his back, subconsciously keeping him buried between your thighs.

He's tempted to tear your panties off and fling them aside. He would if not for the limited number in his possession. If this was normal life, he'd rip a pair to shreds on a weekly basis. These things were so cute when he put them on, but when he wanted at you, he despised them. If this was normal life, he'd just buy you new ones whenever a tattered one had to be tossed. But then again, if this was normal life, he wouldn't have you at all, so it isn't really worth thinking about.

Refocusing his mind on your pleasure, he dives further into your cunt. His nose bumps your clit as his tongue fucks into you. He pushes it in a few times before pulling back and just lapping at your pussy in broad strokes, getting every drop of you he can. Two of his fingers prod at your entrance before slipping in. They fuck deeper than his tongue, but don't stretch you out like his cock. A happy medium to walk the steps of preparation.

He maneuvers his digits with expert precision, scissoring and curling them at the perfect intervals. You can't help the way your hips buck in response. He doesn't get on you about it though. He just wraps your arms around his hips and holds you in place.

Your thighs squeeze around his head too. Luckily, that wasn't against the rules. He loved feeling the heat of your plush legs wrapped around his skull, keeping him close.

He pumps his fingers faster, curling them right against that spot that got you to squeal and cry out his name.

"Cum for me, babydoll. All over my face. I wanna feel it," he rasps.

It's a fortunate coincidence he gives you that command because you were about two swipes of his tongue away from doing it on your own. You melt against the bed, eyes fluttering and body jerking and quivering as rushes of pleasure sweep through you.

Your fingers grip the blankets so tight they threaten to tear into them, but then they loosen completely and go lax next to your hips. He licks your cunt through the entire thing, not letting you come down until the euphoria has thoroughly washed through you.

While you're lying there, dazed and blissed out, he untangles himself from your legs and stands at the edge of the bed. He wipes your nectar from his facial hair before pulling his shirt over his head and unzipping his pants.

"I think daddy deserves a little reward for making you feel so good, pretty girl. What do you say?" he asks.

Of course, you nod. There was no way you would reject him while still so close to the high of your last release. He grins at your hazy movement and shoves down his pants, jerking his cock a few times and crawling on the bed to hover over you.

"You're such a good girl for me. Better than I ever thought you'd be," he says while looking down at your face.

"Wanna be good for you, daddy," you say softly, blinking at him with your misty doe eyes.

His grin spreads even wider. In your sane mind, you probably would have thought it looked like some creature out of hell. But right now, the look just makes you giggle and squirm.

Down below, he lines up at your entrance. He slides his tip through your arousal a few times, getting it nice and wet before he sinks in. A smile of your own rises on your face, and he groans at the deep satisfaction of having your cunt embrace him so readily.

"Perfect little pussy, fuck," he grunts, "Think it's the best I've ever had."

You preen at that compliment. He balances his forearms on each side of your head as he begins to thrust. Your legs rise up and lazily wrap around his waist, which he loves. He can't get enough of the fact that you want him, that you're pushing him deeper and not letting him pull out too much.

His head falls beside yours, letting you hear every pant and grunt that falls from his lips. Your walls squeeze around him every so often. The noises make your tummy flutter for him. It drives you wild to know you brought him to such a state of lust.

"Christ, you're so fucking tight," he mumbles.

You giggle again and drape your arms around his shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut. You just get lost in the feeling of him inside you, his cock battering all your sweet spots just right. He leans in and kisses at your neck. His hips pump deeper, ramming his shaft further into the warm depth of you.

In this moment, everything feels so good and pure. You can't even imagine any of the pain he inflicted on you before. It all feels like a distant dream. Memories that belonged to someone else, not you. At this second, it feels as though this bliss will last forever. Just you and him tangled in the throes of passion without a concern for anything else happening beyond the privacy of his room.

When you open your eyes, they're a little watery from all the stimulation and how good it feels mixed with your saccharine thoughts. You arch off the bed a few inches, pushing your pert breasts against the warmth of his chest. He pushes you back down with ease, keeping you angled exactly where he wants you.

Pulling back a little to look at your face, he smiles when he sees the water gathering in your eyes.

"Oh, those are the tears I like to see," he croons.

You moan, a little shiver coursing through you. It only encourages him to pound his hips harder against you, in and out, in and out, until you're both approaching the edge.

"You gonna cum again for me, sweetheart? Show daddy how good he's making you feel?" he murmurs.

"Yeah, mhm, ah-" you whimper, "I wanna cum daddy, wanna cum for you."

"I know you do," he chuckles, "I can feel it."

Your cunt contracts and releases around him with increased frequency now. He knows you're moments away from reaching the peak. Swiveling his hips, he tries to strike that chord and bring you crashing down.

You whimper, the pitch getting higher as the glass gets closer to shattering. Finally, with one good jerk of his pelvis, you tense up and cry out. A couple tears trickle from your eyes. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

Your body trembles and rolls with the feeling. He fucks you through it, savoring every delicious squeeze of your cunt around him. A few breathless groans rumble out of him. He gets every last second in your hole he can before he has to pull out.

He snaps his hips back, replacing the tightness of your pussy with his hand. It's not the same, but it will do. He gives it a few quick strokes before he explodes and spills on your belly. You lift your head and watch as the ropes of hot, sticky cum land on your skin.

His hips jerk with each surge of release firing from him. When he finishes, his head hangs, and he takes a moment to catch his breath. He scoots off of you and cools down beside your body on the bed. It's quiet for a few moments; though, he's never one to be vulnerable, so he doesn't let the silence linger for too long.

"You feeling better?" he asks and rotates his head to look at you.

You nod, visibly more relaxed than before.

"Thank you, daddy," you say, sweet as can be, before leaning in and pecking his lips.

He stares at you for a few moments in fond satisfaction. Then he gets up, and pulls you to your feet with him.

"C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up," he says.

You follow obediently to the bathroom where he wipes you off with a damp rag and makes sure you're all set to get some rest after. Both of you make your way to the dresser next. He pulls another set of those panties out and slips you into them. They don't feel so horrible this time around, but in the back of your mind, you're sure that won't be the case tomorrow morning. A soft, thin shirt covers your upper body next. It's the same baby pink color as the dress, but you don't mind since it's much more comfortable.

On your own, you tuck yourself to his side for the short walk back to the bed. He climbs in first and then tugs you into your spot next to him.

"I want you to try and get some rest," he tells you, stroking down the side of your face, "When you wake up, I'll get you something to eat, but for now, I want you to take a nap, ok?"

You aren't particularly tired, but while living here, sleep has become your greatest method of escape. You never reject a chance at it. The only thing is, right now, you don't really want to escape. You don't feel a horrible gnawing sensation from being so close to him.

However, you agree anyways because daddy knows best for you, and you don't want to make him upset.

You lie your head on his chest and snuggle up to him. He holds you close, rewarding the compliance by rubbing your back.

"Sweet dreams, babydoll," he murmurs.

You shut your eyes, allowing your mind to recede into visions of the life and people you had before this. The life you still hoped one day you would get back, even as it became more and more like a fantasy rather than a realistic future.

#negan x reader #negan smut #negan x you #negan smith x reader #negan smith x you #negan smith smut #twd x reader #twd smut #twd imagine #twd x you #twd x y/n

657 notes · View notes

lvndosnorris · 6 months ago

Note

sex with lando while he wears his racing helmet. ive been DYING for someone to do this!

"no— keep it on," your voice trailed off, fingers digging into lando's wrists as he went to tug off the helmet that was still covering his head. all you could see were his eyes narrowed in confusion, your imagination left to assemble what expression he was definitely pulling as you rocked a little further onto his lap, "i've wanted you to fuck me with this on for as long as i can remember."

of course that was the truth — always finding yourself chewing on the inside of your cheek as you waited in the paddock after his races, squeezing your thighs together in a discreet manner as you let your mind run wild. you'd stumbled over your words before, coming so close to pleading for him to slip it on in the bedroom. but your mouth would open and close, dumbfounded as you pushed the thought to the back of your mind and found yourself dumbly peeling off your clothes.

"is this what you've always wanted, hm?" lando's teases surged straight through your body, fingers tripping over themselves as you partly undid his racing suit. glimpses of his chest trickled through your hazed vision, his prominent erection creating a mound beneath your clothed cunt as you whined impatiently. time was not on your side, the idea of being walked into when you were both in your most vulnerable states making your chest heave — "you need some help with that baby? does my girl need some help?"

his question oozed smugness as he lifted his hips, only slightly from the padded chair of the backroom you'd dragged him to, helping you thumb over the waistband of his boxers before tracing over his clothed length. there was a part of you that wanted to rip the helmet from him so you could taste him, the urge for his mouth against yours quickly fizzling out as he grazed his hands over yours, almost following your every move in case you dizzily failed.

your dress was already hiked up your hips, the material bunching over the expanse of your stomach as you groaned at how he simply slipped your underwear to the side. there was no need to get you ready, bottom lip drew between your teeth as you positioned yourself blindly above him — the stinging sensation of him stretching you out earning a guttural whine from you, the exact noise that lando often found himself dreaming about. it was dirty, pornographic even. but he loved it.

there was nothing you wanted more than to watch his face twist in pleasure, how his mouth would hang open as he panted. his eyes creased as they screw shut until he was seeing stars. but this was even better; his visor open, noises concealed by his helmet as you grasped his shoulders for support. each rock of your hip pushed him further inside of you, his tip kissing your cervix with little to no warning, stomach tense as you cursed at how good he felt, how big he felt.

his words were slurred as he gripped your shoulders for dear life, helping you rise and slip down on him, his cock twitching uncontrollably as he studied how different you reacted to him. it was obvious that this was a fantasy you'd been swallowing back for months, your nails etching into the padded material of his race suit as you trembled. praises of how much of a good girl you were became accompanied by whimpers, his lap bucking up to meet you halfway as he noticed how you struggled to keep a rhythmic pace.

you didn't realise you were orgasming until is crashed over you, your limbs alight with pleasure as his name fell from your lips. it was harsh, sudden, every part of you shuddering against him as he continued to fuck up into you. he could have sworn he saw heaven right there and then — your cunt squeezing him tightly, the warmth of your juices coating his shaft and your inner thighs. words failed you, cries of oversensitivity filling his ears as he stilled inside of you, soothing down your back as you stifled a worn-out giggle, "we need to do this more often."

850 notes · View notes

nvuy · 6 months ago

Note

im like itching for a boothill x single parent romance. LIKE WHAT IF they moved in next to boothill and everyones like "naww dont go near that guy hes scary and shit" but when kid sees boothill they get so intrigued by boothill they try to get close to him every time they see and hes just... scared? or paranoid, so he doesnt let them close. and then one time kid was still asking questions to boothill and stuff, parent was rushing looking for them, they see them, and then goes like "omf sir im so sorry my kid bothered you" and then boothill is like "nah its ok id do anyt- no what i mean we just met its cool btw lmao"

yk that one scene in a goofy movie where max get laughed at on the bleachers and then roxanne comes and picks him up and asks if he’s alright and then max starts babbling absolute gibberish yep

“So, how strong are you, mister?”

Boothill’s fingers are pressed against the girl’s tiny tiny hands. So small and little and squishy, and he seriously contemplated squishing her until she popped. His palm is cold against hers, and she giggles at the difference in size.

“Hmm…” He leans back on his heels in his squatting position in the front garden. He taps his chin in thought. “Don’t gotta clue. Anythin’ you need me to pick up?”

The girl gasps and there’s stars in her eyes. “Can you pick me up?” She stretches out her arms towards him.

He cracks a grin at her and ruffles her hair. “I dunno. You might be a bit heavy.” He’s teasing her, of course, but she pouts.

“At least try.”

“Alright, little lady.” He hooks his arms underneath hers and hoists her up easily, hands locked at her ribs. “How’s that? Good enough for ya?”

She hums thoughtfully, a cheeky smile on her face as she, too, taps her chin. “Now you gotta carry me for the entire day.”

It was his turn to pout. “N’aw. That’s no fair.”

“There you are!” There’s a rustle of footsteps and the jangling of keys to his left that made him stiffen for a moment, before your familiar face comes into view. Your eyes flit from him to your daughter. “I’ve been calling you for lunch.”

Oh, great Heavens.

“Hi, gorg– uh…” The ranger stumbles over his tongue and zips his lips shut when a small smile stretches into your lips. “We were– I was just– uh…”

Your daughter looks upset when Boothill gently places her back down in the grass.

“Just horsin’ ‘round,” he finishes. “I was just passin’ by, y’see? And your lil’ princess chased me down.”

You clear your throat, staring down at your shoes for a moment and trying to hide the heat rising from your neck to your face.

“I’m sorry about her,” you say to him. “She’s, um… hard to control.”

“That’s a good thing,” he whispers down to your daughter. “Means you got a free spirit.” He pokes her in the side and she giggles.

You give him another look and his eyes snap to the left, and a casual tune leaves his lips in the form of a whistle.

You offer a hand to the girl. “I made pasta.”

Your daughter practically barrels into your side, almost knocking you over with how her small arms wrap around your hips—she used to only be able to reach your knees. God, time flies.

Your eyes flit to the ranger once more. “Um… I made a lot so… if you’re hungry…” Your eyes trail down to his stomach before you swallow. “Do you get hungry?”

He studies your face for a moment with a pensive look.

Then, Boothill snorts. “Nah, sugar.”

Your face is burning. “Right. Well, you’re welcome to come in, anyway.”

“Oh, please have lunch with us!” your daughter all but begs. Her hands have now interlocked in front of her in a pleading gesture, and she’s offering him her most intense puppy eyes. “I can show you my room.”

He’s immediately swayed. “Well, it’s hard to say no to a cute thing like you.” He reaches down and pinches her cheek.

He watches you blink, perhaps taken aback for a moment.

He thinks you’re so beautiful, even if the apron you’re wearing is covered in sauce stains.

He almost starts cheering when you visibly perk up. “You’ll join us?”

“’Course! I’d do anythin’ for y–” He stops himself by digging his teeth into his tongue. “I mean… if ya insist.”

He can tell you’re biting the inside of your cheeks to keep yourself from smiling too wide. You pucker your lips and look elsewhere, face dark with blood.

Your daughter is strangely silent. He notices she’s enamoured with a bright blue butterfly floating along one of the bushes nearby.

“Cool.” You can’t think of anything else to really say. You rock on your heels absentmindedly. “I’d like that.”

His smile grows impossibly wider. “Would ya now?” He taps your nose once before he bends down to greet your daughter again. “Lead the way, little lady.”

“One sec,” you mumble, digging in your pockets.

You fumble for your ring of keys before you throw them quite badly at the cyborg. He manages to catch them well enough, fingers frozen over the steel.

Huh?

“It’s, um… the purple key. For the front door.”

Sure enough, one of the keys was coated in a deep purple.

Your daughter has already begun sprinting towards the front door. You’re half keeping a close eye on her through your peripherals, but your gaze wanders from her to watch him closely.

“I have a spare so… you can have it,” you continue slowly. Was this… too forward?

Boothill eyes you for a moment. A hand moves to his hips.

Then, in a flash, he pulls the purple key off of the ring it’s attached to and gently tosses it back at you. You struggle to catch them, but you manage with shaky hands and stuff them back into your pocket.

“‘Ppreciate it, pretty thing. You know just how to make a man swoon.”

He blows you a kiss with the steel to his lips and then tips his hat. He catches up with your daughter in no time, sweeping her off her feet and letting her slot the key in the lock to open the door.

You realise when he’s staring at you, one hand holding your own front door open expectantly, that you’re standing out in your front garden gawking at him like an idiot.

You quickly follow him inside, and he closes the door behind you. He’s quick to swing an arm around your waist when you guide him into the kitchen.

#boothill x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill hsr #boothill #this blog is so boothill centric it’s disgusting … please stop ……#the damage this man has done to my brain is irreversible #✦ ( love mail. )#✦ ( anon. )#✦ ( scribbles. )

797 notes · View notes

wakeup01 · 11 months ago

Text

Two Twinks, One Wish

“So Charlie, what did you wish for Christmas?”

“Really? Can we just watch the movie?” I say, annoyed.

Daniel had been my boyfriend for about a month now and had recently moved into my flat, just in time for Christmas. Since then things had been a struggle, he would continually whine about my inadequacies - how I didn’t tidy enough, didn’t appreciate him and most of all how I was a terrible top.

See, the problem was, we were both twinks. We had the same skinny body type, with barely any muscle definition. The only real difference being he had the better ass. Admittedly, I had a severe lack of confidence in the bedroom, frequently failing to get in the mood. Daniel on the other hand was very particular about what he liked and what he expected.

“Come on! You must be able to think of something. God knows there’s enough things you can be better at…” Daniel chastised.

Even now he had turned a harmless movie night into another chance to take petty digs. We were on the couch watching some cheesy xmas film, where the protagonist makes wishes that magically come true. Now he was insisting for me to make some stupid wish.

“Why don’t you go first? You seem to have a lot of ideas in mind.” I shoot back, not taking my eyes off the screen.

“Hmm, I got the perfect one! Charlie, I wish… you were a better top!” He laughs and nudges into my shoulder.

I roll my eyes, of course, I should of guessed this is where things were heading. Ugh. Out of nowhere I feel a chill wash over my whole body and a tightness take hold in my chest. After a moment the feeling subsides.

“Very funny. Have you been thinking that one up all night.” My voice dripping in sarcasm.

I shift in my seat slightly, a dull warmth emanating from my crotch. I must be feeling unwell, I’m definitely not being turned on by his degrading remarks. But the heat doesn’t fade, in fact it only grows in intensity. I get the impulse to grope at my growing bulge, the tightness straining against my jeans. Daniel would never live it down If I did, but it was becoming rather uncomfortable.

“You look a little flustered there… ah. I see. Are you really getting horny from this? Christ, you’re pathetic.” Daniel scolds, reaching his hand down.

Before I can object he unzips my trousers and pulls down the waistband of my briefs. My cock bursts forth and slaps against my chest, pre already leaking from it’s tip. Except it’s not my cock, this monster is almost twice my normal size. And my balls are inflating in front of my very eyes.

“What the hell?” I shout.

“Woah, oh shit, it’s working. It’s a Christmas miracle!” He exclaims in barely contained glee.

“Daniel, what did you do!” My voice cracks.

My dick continues to snake up my torso, going from 5 inches, to 7 then to 8. As it grows, so does my hornyness, overpowering my head as I fall into a drunken stupor. This is the most intense erection I’ve ever felt. My hand rubs up and down the entire length and I attempt to wrap my fingers around it, before discovering its girth is now thicker than my hand.

“Nice cock ‘bro’. Good tops are well equipped downstairs. And now, you are too. Hahaha” I look over and see him smirk at me.

He’s enjoying this far too much for my liking, but I’m in no position to fight back. Why did he make that stupid wish, I better not be stuck with this forever. At this point I don’t think my cock would even fit into any underwear I own. How exactly can I walk around with this thing swinging between my legs.

“You know who makes good tops? Jocks. That cocky attitude and carefree nature, coasting through life without thinking.” Daniel suggests, wistfully.

Jocks are also narcissistic morons. And I’m certainly not going to be one just to be a better ‘top’. I’m suddenly distracted by a chafing from my rear, a pair of straps seem to be cupping the cheeks of my tight butt. Below my balls now sits a stained pouch, the smell of musk rising from it hits my nose and I recoil.

“I think it’s jockstraps only from now on Charlie. And woof, sweaty ones at that.”

All of my senses are being overpowered, it’s like my head is in a vice that keeps on tightening. The film in front of me becomes a blur, my focus shattered by the intense pleasure from my new cock.

“Cock.” I blurt out.

I hear Daniel laughing from out of view.

My head is starved of oxygen as all the blood rushes to my groin, I’ve never been this horny before. I feel the strangest sensation as my brain thickens, filling up with throbbing meat. All the space padded out until I’m holding up a heavy dumbbell on the end of my neck. My thoughts were still there, somewhere, but it took so long to find them. It was quicker and easier to just embrace jockdom, stop worrying so much and just go along with the flow. If I was unsure of what to say then bro, I’d just say ‘bro’! A bro can fill in sentences with ‘bro’ and everyone will know what a bro they are. And bro? Being labeled as a dumb bro means no one expects anything meaningful from me. Brawn over brains is the mantra of my life dude.

“Jock’s also like to wear their bro-hood on their sleeves, and in your case, quite literally.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth I feel a sharp pain, as if a hundred needles are stabbing down my arm. I brace myself before glancing down. And there it was, 🍖 the meat emoji tattooed on my left hand. Huhhuh, awesome bro. Branded a meathead for life.

“Bro?” I ask slowly, my voice now considerably deeper.

“Yeah ‘Chad?’” Daniel emphasises.

The name immediately sticks to me like glue. Chad. I am such a Chad. I have some distant recollection of being someone else, but I can’t be bothered to search my brain for it. There’s a more pressing concern.

“Bruh, I need to empty my balls.” I grunt. The pressure from my engorged member becoming unbearable.

“Then you know what to do. Good muscle tops have their cocks milked every day.”

I grip my cock and begin pumping in earnest, my jaw hanging open. As I masturbate, my hands and arms bulk up with muscle. I see my veins very noticeably pop out. I feel a desperate urge to flex, letting one hand go from my dick. I ball it into a fist and raise it to the side of my head, squeezing my biceps. My arm pulses with meat, sending a vain satisfaction to my pleasure center.

“Good dumb tops spend all their time in the gym or on the field. Sculpting their body into the perfect chiselled shape.” His nasally voice instructs.

Muscle continues to form all over my lithe frame; my shoulders broaden and my chest ripples into a tight 6 pack. My clothes are loudly ripped to shreds. Memories enter my head of spending hours working out, of hanging with the other jocks and forming a vacant facade of a personality. Sweat drips from my hairy armpits, staining the couch under me. The room quickly starts smelling like a gym, my rank feet tearing free from my socks. My face cracks as it squares out into a more defined outline, brow growing heavy above my distant eyes. My body is now taking up most of the couch as Daniel budges over to the side. I quicken my pace, pumping now with both hands. My balls tighten.

“Fuck yeah brah.” I roar, reaching climax.

My cock spurts rope after rope of musky cum directly at my face, I’m left covered in my own seed. Daniel leans over to me and begins to eagerly lick at my face. He savours my taste on his tongue before swallowing. The sign of an expert bottom, huhuhu.

“Mmm. Great Tops know how to take control. And you’re a great top Chad.” Daniel moans in lust.

He’s right.

“Dude, this film is fucking dull. I’m changing to the sports channel bro. There’s a sick game playing today.” My hands take the remote and switch to a noisy football game.

I grab Daniels’s tiny little body and force him onto my lap. I flex again and push his face into my armpit. His tongue drags along my wiry dank hair. He moves his hand between my legs and starts passionately fingering his hungry ass hole, using my cum as lube. I hear him panting heavily like a dog. Man, my boyfriend is such a whiny brat…

“Bro, it’s my turn.” My cocky voice booms.

“What?” I hear his muffled voice cry out.

“Uhh… I wish… I wish you were a Bro like me, Bro.” I smirk.

“Wait, noooo!” He screams.

His body shudders and contorts as I hold his face to my pits with my newfound strength. He packs on pounds of muscle in a matter of seconds. Dan’s moaning turns to grunts. He’s going to make for such a Good. Arrogant. Dumb. Bro.

I watch his dong stretch down his leg, his balls sagging between his thickening thighs. The head of Dan’s veiny cock leaking like a faucet. A pair of juicy pecs push out from his chest and his adam apple swells. I pull away the remains of his clothes, letting them fall to the ground.

Dan’s dainty feet beef up to a size 12, sweat gathering between his toes - smelling like a real man should. I feel his previously fat bubble butt tense with lean muscle on my lap. With a squeak, his thoroughly abused fuck hole tightens shut, never to be stretched open again. He only tops after all, like me.

I release my grip on him and he pulls away, my sweat covering his square jawed face. He stuffs his junk into a jockstrap, looking barely concealed as it throbs with need. His messy hair has receded into a clean as fuck buzzcut. We now look almost identical, except that his meat emoji 🍖 tattoo is engraved on his right hand.

“Bro!” Dan’s voice deepens.

“Let’s go find some sluts to breed, bro.” We both smirk at each other and flex.

#transformation #gay #jock #brainwashing

957 notes · View notes

dhampling · 9 months ago

Text

the sunwalker's gift gn!reader, 3.3k

“What is all of this in aid of, anyway?” He asks in a lazy drawl, seemingly unbothered. “The adventuring stuff. Do we have a destination yet?”

inspired by this ask where the reader finds a ring - after a lot of searching - that allows astarion to walk in the sun, and proposes with it. enjoy! wc: 3.3k cw: none. gn reader, fluff, all good stuff. no use of y/n. like one vague reference to sex. that's it. liberties taken with the idea of the sunwalker's gift.

Tardy.

“Here then, yes?”

A gentle dirt path carries to the town boundary, the marker one of dry wood and old brandish. Windows of amber; smoke rising to the stars, a biting chill settling on the ground as gateclose approaches.

You turn the map in hand to compare against the settlement before you.

“Think so.”

Astarion takes your arm in his, leaving the map hanging free in his wake.

It takes all the will you can muster not to take his hands in yours and spin him in some sleepy glee-bound whirl in the sheer ecstasy at the thought of what you have planned - instead pulling each other something ragged down the slope in a half-step, half-cant; giddy at the thought of Firewine by a fireplace as your breath clouds the air foggy past your heads.

You’re in a position where - maybe for the first time since the Netherbrain fell - you can see the end.

And it’s close. Ridiculously close.

You want nothing more than to drop and do it now. Knees muddied in the dew-thickened dirt clod and breeze heavy with frost under the big pale moon - teeth chittering, looking up to him;-

Gods. You can picture it. His eyes hooplike with uncertainty, the one last drip of doubt teetering on his tongue - is this some kind of cosmic joke? - a quiet whisper under his breath, a little tilt of his head. Hair rippling in the moonlight. A moment of mutability as he reconciles all you are, all you’ve become together. That there’s a future in which sincerity is all he knows moving forward.

No.

Before morning, for sure.

The gate welcomes you in one last waning breath as the guards head to their watch turrets until dawn, and it takes a minute to truly come to terms with civilization once more. Your eyes flit to each of the little flickering lanterns and candles in windows; to the railings adorned with browning vines and disused terracotta pots.

It’s been months since you and Astarion have been somewhat settled anywhere. Since the Absolute fell and you set off for adventures beyond anything you or he could ever imagine. Navigating the Underdark together, treading darkness above ground; wherever, it wasn’t of any real importance. You’d find lodging where you could, eat with whoever welcomed you; and you did it together.

Of course, your ulterior motive has managed to remain a secret. From clandestine discussions with the Society of Brilliance all the way back to the Gate; to fevered exploration in the deepest chasms of Sembia. Nights spent looking over the ferryboats on the Sea of Fallen Stars and discussing so many different futures the two of you could live.

He is completely disarmed and unsuspecting at your side. Radiant. Hopeful. The world is changed and he wants to see every bit he passes with eyes wide open to good fortune.

“A town called Tardy? Really?”

He sneers.

You shrug.

“It has a fun ring to it. Tardy.”

The word bounces on your tongue as you taste the mull-soak set between your teeth.

A wordless mission to stave off the chill now has you settled fireside in the closest inn with mulled Glowfire. The clock ticks and there’s lively chatter a little behind you in the main tavern room.

“The Scoundrel's Cellar, though. Now that’s a good name.’

He takes a small sip.

‘Why Tardy?”

You turn your head to him with a tight quirk of your upper lip.

“You’re asking me why?”

“Not really.’

Astarion looks at you and smiles.

‘It’s just… nice. To be able to talk at such leisure like this, I think.”

His cheeks are ruddied by the lashings of wind, the hint of a twinkle in his eyes as he reveres you. Hair a little unruly in the mop of curls atop his head but still unbelievably well-kempt for a man who's been on the road for months now. Lost wholly in his sheer exuberance, his joy in living despite the lack of a pulse. His chalice is close to his chest as he warms his hands.

You daren’t linger on your own appearance, thinking a silent prayer that the bathroom has a mirror.

It’s a long moment before you reply.

“Yes! Yes. Absolutely.”

He throws you a quizzical glance but the smile doesn’t leave his face as he shifts to look down at his drink.

“I sometimes picture having a fireplace, you know. How-’

A brief pause.

‘How nice it’d be to sit by it, on an evening like this. Home.”

Astarion stretches a palm outward to the flame and closes his eyes, basking in the scalding heat. Amber shades. Pallid skin a perfect canvas.

“What would you be doing, by the fire?” You query softly as you watch the gentle flickers of his hand, outstretched.

“I- I’m not sure.”

Something resembling a coy smile creeps onto his face, overrun by a timid quiet uncharacteristic of your long-term lover. You lean over to him and take his nimble fire-warm hand in your own. A small kiss planted firmly on the hot skin.

“Go on.’

The willing smile on your face as you egg him on, chin to palm. He tilts his head coquettishly.

‘What do you see in that beautiful head of yours? Because I can see it now - a sitting room full of tapestries and hangings; all of your design, of course. Patchwork blankets. Big comfy seats.”

“Ugh. Fine. Yes.’

Any ill-mannered jest fades almost immediately as he looks into your eyes and beams once more. He is safe here. He knows it.

‘I’m thinking big seats. Maybe-’

He brings his arms out wide.

‘Maybe this big? Possibly bigger? Somewhere to lounge, naturally.’

His hand finds yours in the low light once more, a tentative clutch as he maps out the vision in his head.

‘Soft carpets on stone floors. Incense - none of the dull stuff though, darling; only pure patchouli - and… and lanterns with glass of all colours, so the room glows with light constantly.”

“So we’ve set the scene. Then what?”

Astarion rolls his eyes at you fondly.

“And then… I don’t know. A little cat on the cushions. Books, papers scattered on the carpet as despite the fact we have those big comfy seats; I’m not seeing myself to be inclined to move Her Majesty.”

“After the cat at the Last Light?”

“The very same. But I want a girl cat. Boy cats feel… weird to me. Cats are girls.’

He grimaces and waves his chalice-hand.

‘Anyway. Her Majesty on the lounger, me on the floor. I’m drawing up patterns early into the morning. Big, thick shutters over the windows; but it doesn’t matter because the lantern light is so vivid, and you;-’

There’s a feather-soft look to him when he does look at you.

‘Oh, you.’

You become aware of him drawing small circles with his thumb, eyes unmoving; unblinking.

‘Always you. My love. Should you decide to join me in long-term domesticity-’

He plants a kiss on your hand as you did his. Your stomach is pure cream as you listen, nodding slowly with lids of honey.

‘Then you. Everywhere. Beside me on the carpet, laughing in that delicious way you do. Astride me in our bed -’

You smirk. He looks at you a little deviously.

‘Well, not just bed. Anywhere, really.”

“Is that what the loungers are for?”

A small grin.

“Maybe.’

You gesture for him to continue with a knowing grin.

‘Anyway. Yes. The future. Us. A townhouse somewhere in the Gate.” He sips slowly while pondering.

“What about younglings? You were fond of Yenna.”

The wine erupts down his pale chin in shock, eyes like saucers.

“I’m sorry?”

“Children.” You repeat, holding his gaze with firm affection.

He moves to laugh but there’s a wavering indecision in the way his brows crease.

“Is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. But if it is?”

He stops to think for a moment when the call for Grand High Lord Supreme General Admiral Ancunín - his favoured travelling name - comes from the frazzled barmaid at the front of house to signal your rooms are ready, and all discussion overruled by the fact you’re both bone-weary beyond belief.

As your hand moves to your pocket, you feel it.

Sequestered away in the little velvet box you bought from the Night Market months ago and kept for this.

Later.

Hours on and you’re settled. A small room with an adjoining washroom - modest, but surprisingly comfortable; and just as you’d hoped, there’s a balcony.

Astarion lounges on the bed with a large leatherbound book, looking fondly at you from time to time as you busy yourself with your recent findings, taking inventory and stashing bits away in their respectively labelled bags of holding.

“What is all of this in aid of, anyway?” He asks in a lazy drawl, seemingly unbothered.

“What?”

“This. The adventuring stuff. Do we have a destination yet?”

“No, not in particular.’ You turn to look at him over your shoulder.

‘Why? You’ve not been bothered before?”

“And I’m not now. But I am curious.’

He grins devilishly on the bed and flips the book closed, placing it next to him and sitting straight - legs crossed.

‘What’s the plan, lover?”

“Who says there’s a plan?”

He’s got you right where he wants you.

You feel yourself becoming giddy again - heart wholly aflutter. You’re aware that he’s attuned to the regular pitter-patter between your ribs and despite the conscious attempt to regulate yourself back to calm; you almost want him to find you out this way.

“Nothing. I’m just wondering where we’re - well, wandering. It’s beginning to feel a little aimless”

There’s a moment of silence, prolonged as you fiddle further with your trinkets.

“I-’

You reach for the box in your pocket and run a thumb over it reactively.

‘I’ll tell you later. I promise.”

He looks at you with a curious furrow, trying to eke out a little more information in the quiet din but you’re wise to it at this point in your relationship. You simply yield into his glance with a pleading smile.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll leave it with you. But I do expect answers!”

You heave a sigh of relief. He’s definitely picked up on it.

Once all of your spoils are packed away you take a trip downstairs to purchase more wine and request a bath to be drawn - after all, you’ve been on the road with rivers as your only source of cleanliness for gods know how long.

There are nerves. Of course there are nerves, small pins prickling from within and setting you ablaze with each new thought of him beside you for life, threads weaving a rich tableau life together. Lilting violins and piano sonatas. Finery for days. Some small townhouse, just as he’d described it downstairs.

But you found the thing you’d set out to find on your adventures. Where you head next is entirely up to the both of you.

Provided he says yes, that is.

You imagine the worst possible rejection he could give you - “No, darling. Let’s keep things as they are for now.” - and yet the thought of him calling you darling in that syrupy murmur is rousing enough to keep you afloat.

The bath is tepid, door open whilst Astarion watches from the bed between pages.

“More wine, love?”

“Please.”

Calm. Rain on the thatch roof.

He perches on the side of the washtub, one leg crossed over the other as he passes you a glass full of red. Hums absent-mindedly as he swirls the perfumed waters with a dainty hand.

Your mind drifts to the ring. How beautiful it’ll look in place.

He looks at you with that curious glint in his eye, and you roll your head to the back of the tub in an attempt at meek avoidance.

“Pretty.” He quips.

You laugh quietly.

“Hm?”

“You. Pretty. Hair all mussed like a siren. A vision.”

He lifts your wrist from the water and kisses the back of your hand a few times over, while you squirm in jest. He only retaliates by kissing you harder with a fiendish giggle.

“You’re one to talk.”

The lantern by the mirror lights the tips of his curls from behind. Angelic.

“Yes, I am beautiful. So are you. My darling.”

It must be late now. Maybe late enough.

As you lift from the water - assisted by your lover’s hand - and enrobe once more, you feel it.

Now.

Astarion begins his usual routine of light-proofing the room and blocking the shutters as the threat of sunrise looms on the horizon.

Well. Light.

The rain doesn’t show any sign of ceasing.

Nonetheless, you feel ready. A habit you can’t wait for him to break, checking the shutters for cracks.

“C’mere.”

He turns to you and looks you over.

“Hm?”

“Come here! Please! I’ve got something for you and it simply can’t wait any longer.”

The box is light in hand, soft. You’ve checked it multiple times for the ring and all is in place.

The way he steps to you is cautious. Catlike.

“Is this the thing? Is it finally time?’

You pull him in next to you on the edge of the bed, taking both hands in yours.

‘I can see that little box. Hopefully a trinket worth the hours of agony I’ve endured waiting for you to reveal your secrets.” He grins, pulling you in for a gentle kiss.

You don’t say anything, freeing one hand to take the box.

“This is-’

A sharp inhale.

‘This is it. Wherever we go from here, it’s mutually agreed. All of it. But this is what I’ve been looking for, hence my leadership skills taking forefront again.”

“Don’t tell me. It’s a Bracing Band!’

You shove him gently and he giggles, reinforcing his clutch on your hand.

‘Okay, okay. I’m done. Show me.”

He waggles his fingers around your palm and grins expectantly. Gods. You rip the bandage off and open the box to him.

He’s seen a picture of it before - it’s in one of his books, that’s where you got the initial idea - but you know he hasn’t read it or he’d onto you weeks ago.

And he doesn’t recognise it.

“I- What is this?”

A gentle whisper as his eyes run over the golden rays cast with aged enamel.

“A ring.’

Astarion’s death glare takes a new form, this time wholly inhibited by the uncertainty in his frozen hunch.

You stand and spin to a kneel on the floor in front of him.

‘A special ring. Really, really special; in fact.’

Plucking it from the velvet, you hover the band over his fingertip.

‘Firstly though. Marry me?”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so completely and utterly shocked.

Mouth firmly agape as red round eyes attempt to scan yours for any sign of deceit, jowls trembling a little in the yellow lantern glow. A small gulp as his lips meet once more.

“You picked an inn called The Scoundrel's Cellar, in a town called Tardy, in the middle of a thunderstorm; to propose marriage to me?”

“Had to be here, had to be now. Couldn’t wait any longer. You’ll understand in a minute, I promise.’

You rise a little to cup his jaw in hand, sinking into a chaste kiss.

‘Astarion Ancunín, will you marry me?”

“Gods!’

There’s a brief tremor as his lips wobble, then a practised breath as he speaks. One hand reaches for your flushed cheek to mirror the gesture.

‘Of course I will, you brute. Maybe you could’ve done with a better choice in ring, of course; but I can learn to love it, I’m sur-”

“You are beyond insufferable, Astarion. Kiss me right now.”

The immediately resulting kiss is brimming with yearning. A cup full to spilling as he takes the ring in your hand whilst you put it on him.

He hunches all the way over to meet you on raised knees, grabbing at body-warmed bedclothes for one another; tenderly, in peals of quiet laughter between breaths and silent shouts.

“Wait. I’m not done.’

He’s giddy now, too. Knee bouncing.

‘There’s a reason it had to be that ring.”

“It’s hideous, pet. Give me a reason to love it.”

You spin to your feet and to the furthest shutters, opening them a slight as he watches on in guarded curiosity with the biggest smile lingering on his face.

The first hint of light.

“C’mere.”

“You’re bossing me around an awful lot today, my darling betrothed.”

The weight of the moment is colossal, ocean deep. Despite his sheer joy he won’t come willingly. The burns from the dock the day the Absolute fell were molten for weeks and you still both have night terrors ringing loud with the sound of his agonising yells.

A gentle hand extends to him.

“The Sunwalker’s Gift.”

Then it clicks. Slowly. The final puzzle piece.

“No. Surely.”

“Yes.”

“It can’t be.”

“It had to be.”

“What if it isn’t?”

“Then we have a wedding to plan in the Underdark. But I wouldn’t traipse across the realms on just an inkling, you know.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“Well then.’

Your hand waits expectantly, fingers mimicking his waggle.

‘Just a finger. Please.”

He sits on the bed, spinning the ring mindlessly; before he looks at you with a resolute nod.

“I’ve trusted you with far worse, all things considered.”

Astarion approaches slowly and meets your hand, interlinking your ring fingers together and waiting for your word as you position yourself within the light.

“On three?”

Three arrives and nothing happens.

Hands raised, fingers lit in a single low beam of early light. Frozen.

“Astarion? All good?”

He moves your hands wholly into the light. Nothing. Twists the tangled fingers as if examining for damage. Rain careens into the window.

“I- Yes. Yes. All good.”

Dumbfounded.

You erupt into a bubbling grin, pulling him to the balcony doors and planting another soft kiss onto bewildered lips. Looking to the worn bronze handles with a brief head tilt.

A simple, overwhelmed nod. Brows knitted together in a milky daze, mouth slack. He looks like he’s going to collapse.

The doors edge open and you cautiously step to lead him by arm.

Nothing. Not a single sizzle, no cinders. Forearm, arm, body; head.

No tug on your hand as he races back indoors. No wretched cries of pain nor gasps of hurt.

It’s a few seconds before he speaks. The sun now burns bright enough to see the streets below with razor clarity.

“The rain. My- my hair-’

Barely above a whisper.

‘Looks perfect. As it always does.’

Your eyes don’t leave him. Not once. He’s completely floored, gazing into the middle distance mindlessly.

‘Love, sit.”

You gently tug an iron-wrought balconette chair over to him and help him to find purchase atop it amongst his overwhelm.

“I- I love you. Thank you.”

“Anything. Anything for you.”

He shakes from his haze once wet through, lightning on the horizon awakening the Astarion you recognise best. Closes his eyes with a soft smile.

“You’re going to catch your death out here, you know.”

His grip on your hand is vicelike, clutching it to his chest with zealous reverence.

“Then we’ll have to have a hot bath later. Right now though, I think a celebration is in order.”

You free yourself from his grasp for two moments, barreling back inside for the last of the wine and the large bedsheet. You place both chalices on the iron table and sit beside Astarion outside in fits of laughter whilst wrapping the sheet over both of your heads. He snatches your hand back and kisses it for an age. Devoted.

“To Tardy?”

He lifts his chalice in his free hand, and you do the same in yours.

“Tardy!”

#my writing #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #astarion x female reader #astarion x male reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x tav #fluff #one shot #x reader

898 notes · View notes

kdogreads · 9 months ago

Text

Richie Jerimovich NSFW Alphabet

Co-written with the incredible @foreveraimingtowardsthesky

Thank you so much for collabing on this, my friend! It’s been a longtime coming but here we are 🤪😍

Enjoy this look into our wildest delulu fantasies with our bb Richie. This was a 50/50 project and still took us forever so please APPRECIATE IT 😂❤️

A — Aftercare

There is nothing Richie loves more than smoking a cigarette with you in his arms after he blows your mind. He’s trained to read people and you are no exception. He’ll help you clean up then he’ll cuddle you, or kiss you silly, or light you a joint, or brush your hair for you. Whatever you need this time, he’s on it.

B – Body part (favourite of yours and theirs)

Richie likes - no loves - your mouth. The way your lips close around a cigarette plucked from his hand, the wet heat of it when his fingers press against your tongue, how you open up so readily for him when you’re on your knees, the sharp indent of your teeth in your lower lip when you’re trying to be quiet.. Yeah, he could lose hours dreaming of your mouth, thinking of new ways he can make it his. Spit in it. Gag it. Have you clean him up with your tongue..

C — Cum

Richie can be nasty. He wants to cum on your face, your chest, your ass, literally anywhere he can. It’s his way to mark you as his without leaving hickies or anything, ever the practical thinker. His favorite by far, though, if you’ll let him, is to cum inside you. Chef’s kiss.

D – Dirty secret

Richie has fucked, or tried to fuck, too many short-lived staff at The Beef to mention. But that’s no secret. In fact, there’s really only one thing he hopes never gets out. Luckily for him, she feels the same way. Chalk it up to the effects of grief and alcohol, explain it away however you like, but if word got round? I don’t think her little brother would ever get over it.

E — Experience

Honestly, Richie doesn’t have a ton of experience with different partners, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t treat you R I G H T. He’s only had a couple relationships besides you and Tiff and maybe he brought home a girl from the bar once or twice before you. This man is a very, very fast learner, though. It doesn’t take him long to learn every little thing that drives you wild and he’s more than willing to experiment with what you like (always with permission first).

F – Favourite position

Richie wants to see. He wants to see his cock sinking into you. He wants to see your face when you come. He wants to see the rise and fall of your chest and he wants to see his hands on your body. Richie also wants to bend you over and fuck you from behind. He likes how it makes you whine when he pulls your hips back as he fucks into you.

So he fucks you on your knees in front of the mirror on his bedroom wall, drags his fingers through your gathered slick and rubs the mess across your tight little asshole, his thumb circling and circling and circling before pushing inside. Like this he can watch as he fills you up, and see your fucked-out face as you fall apart.

G — Goofy

Our Richie is a big goofball in every aspect of his life and sex is no exception. He loves being able to laugh with you and tease you while he’s inside you or eating you out. One day he gets it in is mind that you have to call him Mr. Jerimovich as like a demeaning/authoritative thing, but when you actually call him that, he cracks up laughing. Cannot keep a straight face for the life of him. “It sounds like you’re talkin’ to my fuckin’ granddad. Too fuckin’ weird for me, baby, m’sorry.”

If he’s had a rough day, though, and needs to take it out on you, it’s all serious. No jokes, no laughing, no teasing. He just takes when he needs from you — and of course makes sure you have a good time, too.

H – Hair

How well groomed is Richie? Richie is a low-maintenance, one-bottle-in-the-shower guy. He keeps his hair and his beard short, that’s his look. Once upon a time, he got clippers and a beard trimmer for Christmas, so he does this himself, and every so often the rest of him will get the trimmer treatment. He’s not super hairy but he likes how his dick looks bigger after. He’s only human, after all.

He’s clean, but not meticulous. He doesn’t mind things getting a bit.. dirty. And if you’re honest with yourself, you sometimes like him best at the end of a long day. A little sweaty, a little rough around the edges, his skin tasting like salt and cigarette smoke.

I — Intimacy

Richie the cuddle master, am I right? He loves physical affection and just being close to you. If you’re having a slow, sweet love session, he’ll hold your face and tell you the stickiest sweet things you’ve ever heard in your life. “You were made for me, baby. I was made f’you” and “You’re so beautiful, sometimes I can’t believe you’re mine” and “I love you so much my heart fuckin’ hurts.” Loves eye contact, loves holding your hands, loves loving you basically.

Talks you through it. Big time. He’s in his daddy era and he’s desperate for his baby to cum. 🥵

J – Jerk off

In a word. Yes. In the shower most mornings. It’s a Pavlovian response now. Routine. The hot shower spray. The steam. His hand wrapped round his cock.

But he’s seen the way your breath catches. When he’s knelt between your spread legs. When he drags it out just a little longer, his fist working over his cock as though he prefers it to your pretty pussy. How your eyes follow the movement of his hand as he makes you wait, how your tongue darts out against the softness of your lips..

Until finally - - You like watchin, huh? Your face had heated under his scrutiny, but you couldn’t deny it. And since then? Pictures. Videos. Whenever you’re apart for while and sometimes even when you’re not. His hand sliding over his hard dick, slow at first, then faster. You can hear his breathing, all the bitten off sounds he makes - - fuck. Sometimes it’s a piece of your underwear that he’s ruined, the sheets, his shirt. Sometimes come splashes hot against his tense belly. It’s insanely hot. It makes you ache for him. And he knows it.

K — Kinks

This man will shock you with just how freaky he can get. Choking, gun play, knife play, slapping, daddy/sir, tying you up/getting tied up, he’s into it all. Something you’ve always wanted to try? He’s down. It doesn’t always have to be super kinky stuff, though. Sometimes he’s in the mood to make love to you and, when he is, he’s the stickiest sweet lover you’ve ever had.

Once he discovers the the free use concept, it’s his favorite. “Don’t let me stop ya, baby. You keep workin’ on that,” while he proceeds to fuck you into a different universe. 🥵

L – Location

Anywhere. At the restaurant when everyone else has gone home (that reservations desk is his in more ways than anyone else knows). In his car, where there’s just enough room for you to straddle his lap in the driver’s seat. Up against the wall in some dark corner when he just can’t wait. On the couch, forgotten movie in the background. The kitchen counter in the middle of a lazy weekend breakfast. In the shower, the pretty noises you make bouncing off the tiles. In your bed. In his bed.

That’s probably his favourite. His bed. When you’re waiting for him at the end of a long day in his bed. Wearing his shirt. Your perfume on his pillows.

M — Motivation

YOU. Richie is such a romantic at heart and, if you’re his, he wants nothing more than to make you happy any way he can. He loves to hear you whine and moan for him or squirm under his touch. Part of him selfishly loves knowing he can make you feel better than anyone else ever has. He loves making you forget all your worries with his fingers or his mouth or his cock. He gets off just by knowing how satisfied he can make you.

N – No

It’s a short list, but anything you’re not into is at the top of it. You can also add to that anything too elaborate. Role play’s fine just nothing too fuckin weird alright.And he doesn’t need a red room of sex shit, doesn’t need whips and chains when his tie looks so pretty around your wrists, when his belt drags so nicely against your skin.

O — Oral

You mean Richie “could eat pussy for three meals a day” Jerimovich?? He LOVES oral. As much as he loves feeling your lips wrapped around him, he loves feeling you squirm under his tongue even more. He’ll have you pinned down with his arms begging him for a break at any chance he gets. Giving is his favorite, but he loves receiving, too.

He loves when you give him road head. Loves it. Only when it's late at night and you're alone on the back roads, though. He knows just what you're thinking when you reach a hand over coyly and scratch your nails along his thigh. A silly grin spreads across his face and he gives you a subtle nod to encourage you. By the end he's usually pulled over somewhere with both hands in your hair and a plan in place for when you get home...

P – Pace

He can go slow. If that’s what you need. He likes how he can feel everything when he takes his time, but it wears away at his self control and he didn’t have much to begin with. You like to ride him, achingly slowly, stretching his restraint as far as it’ll go before it snaps, before he grips your hips and fucks up into you, or until he flips you over and fucks you through the bed.

Q — Quickie

Are you kidding me? Richie loves quickies. Possibly his favorite thing in the world. Just finished dinner service? He’ll fuck you in the alleyway. Popped in to say hi while you’re running errands? He’ll bend you over Carmy’s desk. Even just going about your day at home he’ll come up behind you in the kitchen and pull you up onto the counter. Any chance he has to get you off he’ll take.

R – Risk

Is Richie a risk taker? Yeah. He gets a kick out of the possibility that the two of you might get caught. Actually no, he gets a kick out of you getting so fucking greedy and needy for him that you’ll let him touch you, let him fuck you, where anyone might see. His hand between your legs under the restaurant table, his mouth on your breasts in the cool evening air, your back against the wall and legs round his waist, your body pressed to the high rise window of the nicest hotel room he could afford. It fuels his possessiveness. You’re his and he wants everyone to know it.

S — Stamina

Richie isn’t as young as he used to be, but he uses what energy he has wisely. In his younger days he could go at it for hours, but nowadays his poor achey back can’t take more than one, maybe two rounds. He gets you off more times than you can count before he even thinks about fucking you, so don’t let his old age scare you.

Just because his body gets tired faster doesn't mean his sex drive has gone down, though, so don't you worry about that.

T – Toys

The first time Richie caught you with your favourite toy, he’d watched from the doorway with a dangerous mix of jealousy and want. You’d pulled the toy from your body when you saw him, but he’d shook his head and something in the look in his eyes made your mouth go dry and your stuttered explanation die in your throat. – - Don’t stop. He’d climbed onto the bed, sat back against the headboard and pulled you to his chest between his spread legs. - - keep going.. s’it feel good? .. feel better than me, huh? - - you’d said no, but he’d slapped your hand from the toy anyway, taking it from you and mimicking the movements he’d watched earlier, but harder, faster, more him. And he’d liked the way you’d surrendered control so easily, the way your head fell back against his shoulder, how your fingers twisted into the fabric of his sweats. And it occurred to him that he could keep this up for hours..

U — Unfair

Richie is a little shit… of course he loves teasing you. He’ll send you dirty texts all day while you’re at work and get you all hot and bothered. Then he’ll edge you for what feels like hours if he feels like it. He always leaves you satisfied after his fun, though, he is a gentleman after all.

When he first discovered what his "harmless" teasing does to you... Oh man. It's like he can't stop now. He'll pull you into the office at work just to whisper dirty things in your ear.

"You look real pretty tonight baby," He leans in to kiss your neck, hands wandering all over your body, "Fuuuck, you want daddy to take care of you, hm? Touch you? Make you scream so everybody knows who you belong to, yeah?" Swoon.

V – Volume

Richie has the dirtiest mouth in all of Chicago. He remembers the first time he’d called you his good fuckin girl. He remembers because you came hard and tight and wet before the words had barely left his mouth. Now he won’t fucking shut up. And you love it like that. But the best thing? There’s this noise he makes when he’s close to losing it. A filthy low groan as everything begins to unravel. It might be the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

W — Wildcard

Richie definitely has a thing for public sex. The thrill of potentially getting caught, having to show off his pretty baby to whoever catches you… He can’t help it if he wants to show you off and make it clear just who belong to.

X – x-ray

What’s going on in those tighty whiteys? He’s not gotten any complaints. Well, no, that’s not quite right. He’s gotten loads of complaints. Just not about his dick. If he was the type of guy to be heading down the gym (although lets face it, he isn’t ) he wouldn’t need to be shy in the locker room, if you catch my meaning. Alright, alright.. it’s big. You happy now?

Y — Yearning

He may be in his 40s but his sex drive is stronger than ever. He always wants you. Richie is just insatiable sometimes. It’s like he can’t believe you are his to take care of and please whenever he wants to and he does.

Z – zzzz

He’s not even stayed awake long enough for you to read the end of this. Sorry. But let’s be fair, he’s a hard working guy and he’s had his fair share of sleepless nights. So you can’t begrudge the fact that he sleeps like an angel (an angel splayed across 75% of the bed, but still..) once you’ve both had your fill. Now roll him over before he starts snoring.

#richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #kdogreads #richie jerimovich smut #richie x reader #the bear fic #the bear smut #the bear fx #richie jerimovich fic #reader insert

286 notes · View notes

wheredafandomat · 1 year ago

Text

In my Solitude

Thor x Reader x Loki - Asgard AU

18+ | contains smutty themes + adult themes etc. angst

Chapter 2 | prev | next

“And you’re sure?” You questioned cautiously, looking up at the nurse.

“Positive my lady” she nodded.

“No one can know, you mustn’t tell a soul” you threatened.

“Of course my lady” she nodded again as you began to stand, feeling a little lightheaded.

“Tell me about Midgard” you requested, your head against Loki’s arm as you looked up at the stars from your perch on one of the balconies. Taking the almost empty bottle of mead from your hand, Loki took a swig before he spoke.

“Well, I suppose it’s like here but with fewer stars” he answered.

“Really?” You asked, awestruck.

“Well there’s a few differences like they don’t have any magic there they have something else called technology and the music y/n, the music is dulcet. The harmonious melodies they have there are the real magic.”

“Really?” You gasped.

“Really” he smiled, glancing down at you before looking at the sky again “and they’ve got different countries with different rules and different rulers” he continued.

“I bet you would be the best ruler, you could rule them all” you giggled.

“I agree,” he nodded, “although I don’t think they’ll take kindly to that.”

“You’re wasted here” you murmured, looking up at him.

“How so?” Loki questioned, looking down at you.

“Here you’re cast to the shadows, always following in his footsteps but elsewhere you’d be able to shine, you’d be a king Loki” you grinned.

Loki let the words linger for a moment before he spoke.

“A king needs a queen,” he stated.

“We get along, I could be your queen” you suggested playfully.

“Yeah?” Loki smiled.

“Yes” you nodded, your gaze dipping to Loki’s lips as his lowered to yours. The tense seconds that passed between you both felt like hours as you ripped your stares apart, Loki clearing his throat.

“But alas, you’re promised to someone else” he continued the conversation.

“Well I’ll run away if you will,” you laughed.

“Yeah, we’ll meet at the palace gates and run off into the sunset together” Loki chuckled.

“Stranger things have happened my friend, stranger things” you smiled before a comfortable silence settled between you both.

“Will you take me one day, Loki, to Midgard?” You requested.

“I’d do anything you ask” he answered quickly, too quickly.

Eventually, the two of you decided to head back to your chambers, Loki helping you to yours as you stumbled over your own feet, giggling with each step. Allowing you to lean on him, Loki guided you towards your bed before you inelegantly threw yourself into it, rushing underneath the duvet. You looked up at him as he looked down at you, knowing you wanted to say something.

“Yes?” He prompted.

“I want to hear more about Midgard,” you asked.

“Of course you do,” he smiled, noticing your shiver before he clicked his fingers, igniting the fireplace as you moved across the bed to the other side, gesturing for him to lay down. Without pulling the duvet back, Loki laid down and began to speak as your eyes fell closed.

“And that’s not even the half of it” he finished, placing a kiss against your cheek as he heard your breathing even out. Standing to his feet, he looked at you for a moment, the rise and fall of your chest before he silently bid you goodnight and left your chambers.

Waking up the following morning, you cursed Thor’s mead as your head throbbed. Like most mornings, your chambermaids bathed you, clothed you and fed you before reading your daily schedule. Today you had meetings with your ladies in waiting, meetings that mostly consisted of you sitting bored as you sipped tea. As you left your chambesr to attend the first meeting of the day, you spotted Loki heading towards one of the training rooms. Dismissing your escort, you followed Loki, slipping in behind him before the door closed. You watched him, intrigued as he began laying out various weapons from the weapons vault, his back to you as you slowly stepped towards him.

“You know it isn’t polite to stare”

You gasped, your breath escaping you as Loki spoke in your ear. Spinning around, you were met by Loki who was smiling coyly at you. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw the other Loki practically disappear.

“A clone” you figured.

“You shouldn’t be in here” he smirked “this is my domain”

“Is that a threat?” You stood your ground as Loki began to circle you.

“Merely a statement, a fact if you will,” he shrugged.

“There isn’t anywhere in the palace I don’t have access to, this room, your domain included” you smiled smugly.

“I don’t doubt that,” he agreed. “However there are certain places that have certain rules, rules that must be abided by, even by you” he spoke.

“Such as?” You ventured.

“No one enters this room and leaves without a fight” he informed you.

“Am I supposed to be scared?” You smiled.

“Very” he answered in a tone that could have been mistaken for sultrily, a tone that made you falter for a moment before composing yourself again. “I promise, I’ll go easy on you” he assured.

“Oh Loki, the last thing I want is for you to go easy on me” you dared.

“So you want it hard then?” He smirked.

“I was trained as a Valkyrie Loki, do you want it hard?” You rebutted.

“Very well” he began, taking a dagger from his ankle holster and handing it to you “are you sure you’re dressed appropriately?” He asked, eyeing the dress draped over your body, touching the floor. Using the dagger, you tore the bottom of the dress off to allow your feet to move more freely before nodding.

“Give me your best shot” you spoke before you and Loki began to fight. Your blades clashed against one another as you dodged eachothers attacks. You couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across your face at the feeling of a sharp dagger in your hand again, the feeling of fighting again; you couldn’t remember the last time you felt this alive. You could tell Loki was holding back. He was one of the most skilled fighters in the nine realms and yet you had managed to nick at his skin a couple of times.

“Stop holding back” you shouted over the clanging of metal and your heavy breathing paired with his.

“I’m not, maybe you’re just that good,” Loki answered.

“Nonsense” you huffed, holding the dagger against his throat.

“Fine” he caved in, wrapping his arm around your back as he pulled you against him “if you step backward, this dagger plunges into your back.”

“And if you step forward, this dagger slices your throat” you shot back, your eyes boring into one another’s.

“So, we find ourselves in quite the predicament” he voiced.

“Although I’m at an advantage” you spoke, causing Loki’s smile to fall as you stepped back a little, freeing yourself from his grip as his dagger pierced through your dress, penetrating your skin a little.

“Y/n!” Loki gasped, dropping his dagger as he spun you around.

“It’s fine, just a little scratch, these dresses have such thick corsets attached” you dismissed.

“I could have seriously hurt you” Loki reprimanded you, untying the strings of your corset “let me heal you” he offered, removing your corset and placing his hand over the graze. The area felt cool for a moment before Loki let go. Unlike the last time in your chambers, you were wearing undergarments so your body wasn’t completely unclad, not that you would have minded with the way Loki was looking at you, forcing himself to focus on your eyes, hungry as you turned to face him.

“So, I win?”

“Get out y/n” Loki spoke, causing you to furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“Sorry I—” you began.

“Go, now!” He raised his voice a little, catching you off guard as you quickly spun around and headed for the door.

Bit of an abrupt ending 🤣

Tags 🖤

@lokisgoodgirl @thenotoriouserg @chantsdemarins @donaweasley @xorpsbane @mcufan72 @loz-3 @sailorholly @lovingchoices14 @lokiedokiee @noideakitten @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokiprompts @lulubelle814 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @gigglingtiggerv2 @tmilover1993 @lyds247 @dustychinchilla74 @lokis-dark-queen @november-rayne @12-pm-510 @newtomofgods @eyesbluelikethetitanic @lokiestorch @beautyb1ade @angelilacsworld @lokidokieokie @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @asgards-princess-of-mischief @anundyingfidelity

#Loki #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#oc fiction #loki fanfiction #tom hiddelston loki #loki x y/n #loki x you #asgardian reader #loki imagines #loki fluff #loki god of mischief

229 notes · View notes

poomphuripan · 4 months ago

Note

Hello Claire,

First of all, thank you so much for everything you have been sharing these last few weeks about My Stand-In and Poom (and Up). It's such a treat ❤️

Was My Stand-In Poom's first project out of CH8 or was it Bake Me Please? I hope his popularity will rise and allow him to be cast in different kinds of show and role. Because it must be frustrating to always play the same type of character... And do you know in which agency does he belong please?

Have a nice day ❤️

hiiii (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

well thank you for following and always supporting my gifs i see you (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

So Bake Me Please is actually Channel 8 (CH8)'s first ever BL series where they got their rising male actors (Ohm, Guide, Poom, Atom, Prame, Tawan) to star in, so BMP is actually a CH8 series.

I believe Poom's first ever non CH8 work is Saneha Stories Season 4: Saiyai Saneha (2022) which is a two-episode mini series based on the real life story of a gay man. This was aired on AIS Play and produced by TV Thunder.

Poom also has another comedy series Jenny A.M./P.M. (2022) on AIS Play but this was in collaboration with CH8 which is why there were some CH8 actors (Poom, Nonny, Prame) in the series. Poom plays the straight best friend of the male protagonist (played by Singto Prachaya).

So technically My Stand-In is Poom's 2nd or 3rd work outside of CH8 (depending on how you view the two projects above) but it is Poom's first lead role in a major production and Poom often refers to My Stand-In as his first ever lead role in interviews so that's Poom's position on it 😅

For some background on Poom's agency. He is managed by RSDG - a production/talent management subsidiary company of RS Group, a Thai entertainment and media company that owns CH8. So basically Poom is a Channel 8 actor but it seems that CH8 is a bit more laxed about their actors partaking in series outside of their network (but that also comes with a cost).

I've heard rumors that CH8 gave Poom an ultimatum between becoming 2ML in another CH8 lakorn or choosing to star in My Stand-In (a non CH8 work) and not having any CH8 lakorn projects left for the rest of the year. I have no idea the accuracy of this rumor but I guess all we gotta do is look at Poom's schedule for the rest of this year and see if he's got anything else other than MSI fanmeetings here and there ಥ_ಥ

But I have a lot of fun watching Poom playing his evil lakorn villain roles at CH8 as well and I think those scenes helped greatly in honing his acting skills throughout his acting career so far (you can watch Poom being very stiff in his early works and the gradual improvement progress over the course of his lakorn works). If you pick a random CH8 lakorn with Poom, his character is sure to be killing or dying or crying or getting mad or fucking someone (sometimes all of the above).

Whatever the future holds for Poom, I'm very happy that he chose My Stand-In because I can't imagine a world where we do not get Poom Phuripan as Joe. Poom expresses a lot of happiness from finally getting positive reactions about his acting performances for the first time, which is a thing that I think lakorn actors will hardly get (especially if you play supporting roles at an obscure TV channel with low to average viewership). I also feel like Poom is pretty happy to finally get to play a character that's so close to his personality in real life (bonus the fact that his character isn't dying or going to jail).

I too hope that My Stand-In will be the breakthrough project Poom needed to get the attention and the opportunities he deserved after being much underrated and typecasted at CH8, manifesting many interesting scripts and acting opportunities come his way 🥹

sorry op i hope i answered some of your inquiries. i totally get carried away whenever i'm rambling. tldr: poom is managed by rsdg group so officially speaking, he's an actor for channel 8 but sometimes they let him out to star in non-ch8 works.

#poom phuripan #my stand in #my stand in the series #bake me please #jenny am pm #saneha stories 4: saiyai saneha #saiyai saneha #claire replies #manifeting poom can escape ch8 to go independent the way bright rapheephong escaped ch3 #i s2g the moment bright got out of ch3 he immediately got 4 different works lined up 3 series and a film #GURL LIKE I NEED THIS ENERGY FOR POOM #claire opens her goddamn mouth

69 notes · View notes

shantechni · 1 year ago

Text

Leo the Leader vs Leo the Learner

I know almost every iteration of TMNT emphasizes that the boys cannot properly function as a team without everyone there, especially without their fearless leader.

In terms of cartoons and movies though (as much as I've had time to watch/rewatch), the '03 and '12 series are my personal favorites, with Rise and MM tying for a very close second, because they both acknowledge issues in the team that the characters work to fix. '03 Leo and '12 Leo both struggle to lead the team at significant points in their respective stories, but the manner in which they struggle and what they struggle with differentiate, in a good way mind you.

In the 2003 series, the very first episode opens with Leo already being in the leading position as he tries to keep his brothers from going off script or doing something irreparable while they work to find Splinter. And when they do eventually find themselves in trouble, he's the one to lead them through it and make it back to Splinter in one piece. We see this formula more or less repeat for almost three seasons with a few different variables to spice things up; the brothers look to Leo for guidance, think of a plan of action with their combined efforts, and go from there.

Until the S3 finale.

The boys had times where they wondered if they'd make it out alive, but this was the first where it genuinely seemed like the end for their little family, and Leo could do nothing but watch as they execute their plan to blow up with the starship.

Of course they survive, otherwise we wouldn't have another four seasons💀but that short amount of time was more than enough to scar Leo, physically and emotionally. When he begins closing himself off from everyone, April's the only one to get him to open up and he lays it all out: He feels like a failure of a leader. He wasn't strong enough to protect his family or stop the Shredder, their last resort was going out with a bang, and they had to be saved by the Utroms. It doesn't feel like they won and he doesn't feel like he accomplished anything.

His fears and frustrations manifest into an ever present anger, slowly going from cold to hot, that chooses its target at random. His brothers don't know what to do since they don't seem to know why Leo's behaving this way, nor have they ever seen him like this. And dear Mikey says something that so accurately sums up their team: "...it can’t be fun always being the responsible one, and we’re the ones who really benefit. Raph’s free to not think ‘cause Leo does all the thinking for him. Don’s free to dream, and I’m free to take it easy, all ‘cause Leonardo is busy being responsible enough for all of us."

Mikey knows Leo is cracking under the pressure of his role partly because they've become so comfortable in their own roles, and no one refutes him. They didn't intend for Leo to translate this dynamic into, "everything is on you," but that's how it inevitably turned out over time. One could even argue that them not knowing how to handle this new Leonardo is yet another downside to them getting too comfortable, and it doesn't help that Splinter is the only one (aside from Usagi on one instance) who attempts to help Leo, even when the young turtle is pushing him away.

Things finally boil over when Leo pushes a little too hard though and harms Splinter during training, a regrettable action that clears away the steely air he had around himself for so long.

It's not until Splinter sends him off to see the Ancient One that Leo finally pulls himself out of that bubble of negativity and he accepts that there was nothing more he could've done in their final fight against the Shredder.

He did all that he could, and he can continue doing all that he can for his family.

In a weird way, Karai's violent eviction notice was exactly what everyone needed.

Leo was told his family likely hadn't survived the attack, something he'd spent countless days trying to prevent through relentless training, but he believed they were okay and ultimately found them alive. He wasn't there to protect them, but he sees for himself that they made it out without his help, and this was also a learning experience for the others if you think about it. They've already been shown to be capable of handling situations on their own or in pairs, but this was the first time they had to deal with a huge confrontation as a team without the comfort of their leader behind their shells.

Raph is the one who takes the helm for a brief few seconds and dishes out instructions amid the chaos, telling everyone to split up, find their way out and meet back up on the surface, with one last demand for them to be careful. And when Leo finds him, his distress is palpable; he couldn't find the others and therefore had no idea if they were okay, let alone alive, while he kept himself hidden from Karai's forces. Before this, we see that Raph is willing to make his own plan of action in this series' version of City at War when he doesn't go with Leo's word. But this time, in Leo's absence, we see he's willing to fill in as leader when the situation calls for it, and he realizes he isn't quite cut out for leadership like Leo.

We don't see any significant shift in team dynamics after this, mainly because Leo's inner turmoil from their fight with the Shredder is what caused problems with the team in the first place, but that goes to show that outside influences are what gave birth to the team conflict. Despite me pointing out earlier how Leo shoulders quite a bit not just because of his role but because of his brothers' roles as well, we can see throughout the series that Leo doesn't buckle from the pressure until they're in a situation where he can't effectively perform his role to his satisfaction.

As I mentioned in the beginning, Leo had been a leader in essence and in name for many years before their first home was raided by the Mousers. It makes perfect sense for him and his brothers to be accustomed to it by now.

2012 Leonardo is not used to being a leader. He may undeniably be a leader in essence, and had the drive and desire to be one, but he definitely wasn't a leader in name. The very first episode doesn't even open up with Leo being a leader, let alone with the turtles being a team. Their first time fighting together is a train wreck, and rather than Leo's strong sense of ethics and honor being the catalyst for his recruitment (not at first at least), it's the beginning of their long battle against the Kraang that convinces Splinter to officially deem him the leader of a newly formed team.

Being leader doesn't automatically mean the team will follow or respect you, which is something Leo learns right away thanks to his brothers, with Raph in particular challenging him when they butt heads over their opposing plans and ideals. It's touched upon in Rise of the Turtles Part 2, but Raph's desire to lead isn't a major plot device until New Girl in Town where he gets a taste of how Leo feels everytime he's responsible for his brothers and their wellbeing. However, Raph makes it known that even though he's resigned himself to not being the leader, he still doesn't like being told what or how to do something. Even Donnie challenges Leo when they can't agree on the best course of action in preparation for the Kraang, but Donnie realizes arguing was pointless as the invasion begins without warning and makes the idea of a second base the more favorable option.

His brothers aren't his only test of will though, as there are a handful of times where Leo questions his ability to lead and wonders if Splinter chose the right turtle for the job. Throughout all of that though, the boys ultimately rely on Leo and follow his lead when all is said and done.

Where this Leo truly differs from '03 Leo is that he not only struggles with leading a team that isn't so keen on being led, but he also struggles to grasp that he leads a team.

There are many times in the series where Leo runs off on his own or makes the decision to tackle something himself rather than with help, and that's not out of the norm, especially in comparison to his own brothers and '03 Leo. The problem is that '12 Leo's solo decision making more often than not leads to trouble (we all know the tale of him trying to turn Karai to the good side without informing the team about her). One of the first major examples of this though was in the S1 finale when he takes Splinter's words a little too close to heart and gives his brothers the scare of their life. Granted, him holding back Kraang Prime kept it on the sinking Technodrome, but you get what I'm saying.

His family actively calls him out on this behavior on two separate occasions during S4.

After they'd spent six months with the Fugatoid fighting the Triceratons and racing to collect every piece of the black hole generator before them, Fugatoid reveals that he was the one who made the world ending device, a reveal that lights a flame of betrayal in everyone, especially Raph and Leo. Believing that they're being used by Fugatoid, Leo rides off in a stealth ship on his own and nearly gets himself killed, a move that has his brothers scolding him, with Raph being the most vocal about Leo's idiotic decision: "Leaders are called leaders because they're supposed to lead a TEAM!"

The moment isn't lingered upon for long, but they all make it clear that they're tired of Leo's one man missions. They're a team, so they should plan and function like one.

Then, in Broken Foot, Leo starts doing missions with Karai and Shinigami in secret to aid them in taking revenge against the Shredder, but, in an attempt to find out what Leo was hiding from them, the other turtles get caught up in their plans and Donnie gets hurt. Leo immediately abandons Karai (who later apologizes for what happened) and Shinigami to check on them and come clean.

He explains to Splinter later on that he didn't fill anyone in on the situation at first because he knew no one would've agreed to help Karai get revenge, and he acknowledges that it was stupid of him to think he could control the situation. Splinter expresses his disappointment, and April reprimands him for once again not trusting his own team enough for them to help him.

Leo apologizes to Raph and Mikey afterwards, even going so far to say he probably doesn't deserve to lead the team after this, something Raph just harumphs at while Mikey remains silent. He pleads for their help in stopping and eventually aiding Karai and Shinigami, and they go along with him to fix things as a team.

We no longer get any one man missions from Leo in S5 (there surprisingly weren't any in S3 lol), likely for a whole list of reasons ranging from leading in Splinter's absence to learning from his mistakes over time. But he makes sure that whatever they have to do gets done together, and he does his best to keep his brothers in line.

I suppose one could say that '03 Leo remembered what it meant to be a leader, while '12 Leo discovered what it meant to lead.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2k3 #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt leonardo #tmnt leo #2003 leo #2012 leo #analysis

327 notes · View notes

skelliko · 9 months ago

Note

Can you do a Matsuno Chifuyu request with friends to lovers trope of Emma daring the reader to do a run and jump into his arms in front of the boys cause Emma’s sick of their pining?

Chifuyu matsuno |°- friends to lovers - g/n pronouns used

two friends, friends that just so happen to make the other's heart run a hundred beats a minute. friends, that talk about the other to their other friends enough to make a 60/60 marked essay. friends, that secretly make fake scenarios of the other before drifting off to sleep. things that just happen when two people get closer than others. that's normal, right?

"-oh yeah, and chifuyu will be there" Emma mentioned, she and y/n were making their way over to the basketball courts where they would meet with the boys, something about them having a small competition because someone wasn't able to have an agreement. and the two were invited for motivation, to cheer on or something.

just the mention of chifuyu made y/n feel fuzzy, their heart grew warm but at the same time, they felt a type of feeling that can only be explained as 'pining' the feeling of being warmed yet also saddened when realising the true meaning of their feelings. they're in love and is longing for him, but also understand that nothing can be done.

"wait he's gonna be there?" it was more of a repeated statement than a question, of course, chifuyu will be there, y/n just still needs to adjust to her thoughts and feelings. constantly being in denial.

Emma is aware of it all, so aware that it's starting to almost claw at her skin from irritation because all she can hear is y/n yapping about chifuyu and their friendship and how much her guilt and sadness eats them up. don't get Emma wrong though, she listens closely and takes everything into consideration however sometimes it may be a bit too much, it's like listening to a friend talk about their crush for the 20th time of the day but only keeps mentioning the same thing over and over.

though a little plan has settled into Emma's mind as well as a little devious smile. she knows y/n likes Chifuyu as more than a friend but this pining has gone way too far and y/n is in need of a little push otherwise this constant loop will never end. y/n would only be taking 360 turns thinking it would lead to somewhere only to end up in the same position.

Emma and y/n were nearing the basketball courts that's on the side by a park. a few people were around such as those who were walking their dogs or taking their toddlers out to enjoy the sun but it wasn't like anyone would disturb the basketball game that the toman boys were playing.

despite there being others in the court the first person that y/n had her eyes on was chifuyu. his blonde hair slightly rising up and falling as he tried to throw the ball into the net but missed making his face cringe a little at himself, but when he turned around to fit back into the game he couldn't help but notice y/n at the corner of his eye making his full focus to leave for a short moment.

it was as if he was struck with a sword in his chest due to their beauty, despite them being at a fair distance he could still make out their eyes that always makes him feel almost lost. though that trance was rid of after Baji slapped the back of his shoulder to get him back into the game, "they'll be watching, try and pay attention" baji knew what he was setting up in chifuyu's mind, though it couldn't be decided if that caused anxiety or determination knowing that y/n will be watching him.

before going back to the game chifuyu smiled and did a quick wave at both Emma and y/n before having his eyes back to the basketball and who's around.

Emma slightly nudged y/n with her elbow closely, "what if... you randomly hug him?"

"hug who?" -y/n

"I shouldn't need to specify, you know who" looking at y/n with slightly raised eyebrows knowing that the person is obvious enough

"...but we usually hug?? I don't see what the difference would be" not exactly enthused by the whole situation, always thinking about him and their friendly relationship causes some sort of desperate feeling to grow inside of her heart, like it's slowly breaking but at the same time also repairing itself with the good and bad feelings.

though talking about hugging him is causing y/n to feel a little giddy as if they haven't done that in ages. even though they have, probably last week

"no but I mean, unexpectedly... jump into his arms! that sort" Emma however had a wide smile on her face, she wanted nothing more than to see y/n get out of this confusing state and see them both finally make some sort of move.

"what?! I can't do that"

"yes you can! you mentioned you've hugged before, what's the difference?" mocking her previous statement

"no no there is a difference though, what if he doesn't like that and I ruin things?" a slight feeling of panic drove over them, just picturing out the scenario of them running up to him to put their arms under his arms and around him but it only being a one-sided excitement is giving themselves embarrassment. can't help but always think about the worst.

"oh cmon you're being dramatic, Chifuyu is the last person that would brush off a hug- especially from you!"

the boys were running around the court dribbling the ball while y/n and Emma stayed outside of the fenced area. occasionally the two would cheer for the opposite teams though it seems as if Emma's team has a higher advantage all because of draken's height. though Mikey and chifuyu on the other team have the speed making the scoring constantly switching.

(Mikey is ranked first, and Chifuyu ranked third in speed from the official rankings)

Sometimes Peh would yell at someone on his team for not being able to dribble the ball which becomes entertaining for y/n and Emma but not so to the others cause it just ends up being a petty argument, though I guess that'd be expected since he's the reason why the game has started in the first place.

"hey, I dare you to jump into Chifuyu" -Emma

"nu uh doesn't mean I have to" y/n shaking their head trying to protest the idea. it still seems like a bad idea though it doesn't mean that the idea wasn't growing onto her.

"don't nu uh me... I bet you want to~" She got closer to y/n to try and playfully pester them a little in hopes of them giving into the idea, "You'll run up into his arms and he'll be taken off guard a little bit but then swiftly gives in and wraps his strong arms around you-" Emma couldn't continue any more because she started to laugh at her own little sarcastic comment,

"what kind of fanfic did you take that from?" both of them having a small fit of laughter picture Chifuyu and y/n in different scenarios but they all came from cringy fanfics that they had previously read together out of boredom at a sleepover.

though in all honesty that's probably how it would play out... maybe. that dare was still playing over y/n's mind.

"I dare you, no buts or if's, it's final"

"why does it matter so much" y/n pouted a little

"it matters to me because-" *gasp* the final point of the basketball game between the boys were scored and the winning team was Mikey's. also the team that Chifuyu is in.

Emma nudged y/n almost frantically, way too frantically. and the both of them cheered on, even though Emma previously was on Draken's side she should still celebrate her brothers' victory. Even though the game on the outside seemed something minor and fun, for the guys it was competitive.

a minor disagreement between Peh and baji so the others chose to battle it out with a game. though halfway through those who had nothing to do with the disagreement, forgot what everything was about and just played like it was a regular game.

"this is your turn, go hug him" Emma leans to the side of y/n to quietly nag. though at that very moment it seemed as if y/n had their strings pulled because after hearing Emma's voice and making eye contact with Chifuyu, it was almost like a direct calling.

or maybe because on their side Emma gently gave y/n a push in the direction of the open gate of the fenced court, her balance got a little unsteady but after that push, it seemed as if the dare was non-negotiable.

slowly walking up and through the open gate soon enough turned into a little awkward run to then being a full-on run with a smile that just screams 'I don't know what I'm doing but I'll pretend I do' running straight towards Chifuyu. nothing else mattered to y/n at that moment, just him and needing his embrace.

he was casually standing around trying to catch his breath after all the running and jumping with the basketball, his body had grown extremely hot and sweat had built up on his forehead that Chifuyu then wiped off with the back of his arm sliding along to the back of his hand.

despite being on the winning team it hasn't really made him feel some emotion about it other than being glad it's over.

he's never once forgotten that y/n was there, part of the reason why his performance got a little worse than how it was in the beginning because his mind kept going back to her. he was like a little kid again trying to impress his crush from afar but kept failing because of a constant repeat of nervousness.

though without him knowing he never once disappointed her, the only reason why he keeps thinking that was because he's trying so hard to reach them but just doesn't know how to without wussing out.

the brief eye contact that they make always creates some sort of spark in-between them. it starts off as a small sparkler but then into a firework that shoots up but doesn't end up exploding. that's the situation they've always been in, hypothetically.

though this time it's different, it has to be, right? the eye contact broke but it felt different unlike any other time, it can't exactly be explained other than seeing it for yourself,

the other toman boys focusing on their loss/win of the game, while y/n got closer and closer his heartbeat quickened unsure of when they'll stop but upon seeing them not slow down he took his hands out of his pockets out of slight panic and as if preparing for collision,

"wait wai-" he panicked about how close they got to him and how they didn't stop, he didn't expect them to just jump up at him, but he didn't hate it.

y/n had gotten closer and without saying anything they jumped up at him and wrapped their arms over his shoulders and around his neck, he stumbled back a bit due to the sudden weight on him but he didn't think twice about holding them in place so that they won't fall off. one arm under their thighs and the other arm over their waist.

It caused the both of them to get butterflies in their stomach, it also felt like the butterflies were transferring through each other by how close they were pressed against.

chifuyu had a happy but awkward smile on his face, he's happy and excited but was unsure of what to say or do at the moment.

"wu- you alright?" he let out a small laugh too before looking over at y/n's face to see if they were in fact okay

"of course I am, just wanted a hug" they made eye contact and it was as if their shared smile was mouthing the same thoughts. 'I want this to last forever' but neither said anything.

though one thing that hadn't registered fully until this very moment is that everyone is watching, and if they weren't before when they firstly latched on, they certainly are now.

"oh shit, everyone's probably watching" Y/n quickly looked to the side and sure enough people were eyeing the two of them with their whispers and laughter, y/n quickly looked away from the group and showed movement of wanting to get back down to the ground however he didn't allow that.

"it's fineeeee, let them be jealous" he replied in an almost whisper with a small tease and his embrace squeezed a little signing that he didn't want to let go.

y/n's face started to heat up a little at the reply and didn't dare to look back up but instead hid their face by his neck. though that didn't mean that Chifuyu was getting all bold, nu uh, he was getting frantic in his mind thinking if he said the wrong thing.

but after noticing the group walk past and happily cheer him on even though it also kind of seemed like an average teenage boy mocking, it made chifuyu loosen up a little knowing that what's happening currently, is good. he didn't need to be reminded of that though but he just needed the reassurance either way.

"you guys should do that more often, it'd help the pinning" Baji quickly mentioned while walking past, he had a proud, toothy smile knowing exactly what he said to both of them.

y/n looked up a little after hearing those words and caught Baji's eye for a second before he left Chifuyu and them alone in the basketball court.

after the group left a few more seconds and he had finally let her down whilst asking a question,

"what made you do that?"

y/n was unsure of what to respond with, say something like 'i just wanted to' or say 'it was a dare'? which one seems more suitable currently?

"it was, um, a dare"

unaware of what y/n has now caused to spin in chifuyu's mind, saying that seemed to be an okay response, i guess it is the truth. though chifuyu didn't exactly take that lightly, in his mind he now has the thought that he's a side thing that can put targets on him for them or anyone now when it comes to dares, the moment seemed so put together and genuine that thinking about it now is just making his smile to weaken a little.

"oh, a dare" he's trying to keep his tone right but it seemed to go down a little as disappointment, even his eyes were avoiding them.

upon hearing his tone and taking a look at his face, y/n couldn't help but let out a panicked gasp, which definitely got his attention making his eyes fall back onto them. it clicked in that the previous response to his question could have been taken the wrong way, but looking back that probably shouldn't have been a questioned response since saying 'it was a dare' after doing the most butterfly-causing act is never the right response. what was y/n thinking?

"but it's not like I didn't want to though! I guess in a way Emma just suggested it" They quickly spoke up about it and explained a little, after some thought to this, it made his smile turn upwards again.

They both took a seat on the concrete floor with their backs against the fence, the court grew completely empty and the sun was almost setting making the sky to be a mix of yellow, orange and still a bit of blue. the rest of the group either went home or to someplace else.

"hey what did Baji mention before? about the pining" y/n mentioned out of curiosity.

"oh uhhh, that's..." he tried so hard to find any sort of right words to save himself here but he couldn't find any, his mind was so full yet he could hardly think and it almost seemed as if it was actually blank rather than full.

y/n saw chifuyu stumble on his words, avoid eye contact and the way his fingers would curve a little making his nails scratch the concrete floor a little. he was nervous, and yet this made y/n almost giddy because they knew exactly what pining meant, they knew exactly what Baji meant and they took in every expression and movement that Chifuyu made when they hugged.

"what if we went out?" y/n randomly blurted out making chifuyu to turn his head in an instant and make his previous, rushing thoughts silent.

"what do you mean by that?" chifuyu looked at them slightly confused, yet hopeful. going out can mean plenty of different things, but there was only one that stood out the most in his mind.

"like I don't know, just us two but..." they were going to continue on but by this time they were unsure of how to phrase it without maybe saying the wrong thing

"so, a date?" having a hopeful tone and smile, y/n shared the same smile and for a few seconds, silence lingered on by, but it was good silence, the type of silence that happens between two people before laughing or saying something that makes the friendship stronger.

"yeah, a date"

or, instead of making the friendship stronger, they make something new bloom. a relationship.

♡----

#tokyo revengers #fanfiction #matsuno chifuyu #chifuyu x reader #baji keisuke #chifuyu #tr chifuyu #chifuyu matsuno x reader #friends to lovers #emma sano

110 notes · View notes

eveningepiphany · 10 months ago

Text

pirates gold | H.S series, part three

[series masterlist]

summary: finally, a break from the ship is in sight. you and harry end up in a very pirate-y bar, but even a good night can’t last forever. and seemingly, neither can uncomplicated feelings.

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, teasing, sexual mentions, tension, pining, protective h, y/n being an absolute menace, mentions of death and disappearance, alcohol, violent themes.

a/n: this is really humbling to post after so long. I hope you all enjoy it, I’m so sorry for the wait.

———

You don’t realise how easy it is to forget sometimes.

How fast an old life can fall out of view, and shed off you like an old skin. How on occasion, it happens so quickly you don’t even register it’s occurred.

The shortest periods of time can alter how you view your life. You didn’t realise how different being on a ship was when compared to living on land— not until you bridged between the two while conscious, and felt the transition with your own body.

Your feet had came to the ground more unsteady than you’d thought. Maybe you forgot how to walk too. As dark had already consumed the town, you’re not sure if you were shaking out of anxiety or genuinely from how long it’s felt like it’s been since you’ve stood on solid unwavering ground.

Harry, whose hand occupied the flat of your back, felt the intake of breath your lungs pulled in as you finally made it all the way onto the dock.

He had come back into his room to find you asleep, curled into his side of the bed, knees tucked into your chest. To it, he’d smiled… legs carrying him over to glance over your peaceful frame closer.

Examining the rise and fall of your chest, as air passed through your nose softly. He noted that your hair looked damp, and he almost chuckled at the fact you’d seemingly helped yourself to a shower.

He gently said your name, “Y/N…”

When you didn’t stir, he muttered it again, hand coming to jostle your shoulder slightly. The touch woke you up, your legs uncoiling from their tucked up position, stretching out down the mattress.

A tiny sound whimpered from your throat as you started to fully wake up, eyes flitting open with a sleep-induced glaze over them.

“Evenin’.” He remarked, “fancied a shower and a nap, aye?” When you took in his frame standing next to the bed, he had an armful of brown paper bags.

You sighed out, sitting up, “Not much else to really do.”

However your brain was rerunning the fact you had plenty you could’ve done since you found that key in one of his pockets. Mentally, you had to shove it away so you didn’t end up with a guilty look plastered on your face.

“Well, waits over, dove. Got ya some clothes, you’re welcome to pick something out before we go. Want you t’blend in.” He placed the bags down onto the bed for you to shuffle over to.

You felt oddly curious, like a child on Christmas. All these bags filled with things for you. The abundance of clothes you pulled out shocked you, because there really was half a wardrobe in there. Including a pair of boots, ones you’re not sure how he figured out would fit your feet.

There was also white linen blouses similar to his own— others black lace with intricate detailing, and brown fitted long sleeves— and also an array of pants, all slightly differing in styles. You stumbled across a black under-bust corset, and your eyes shifted to him. He was leaning against the wall watching you, a smirk over his lips. That wasn’t even the only corset he had bought, there were 2 others.

However, the satisfied look on his face only grew as you reached the bottom of the last bag. Several undergarments lay folded, bras and underwear.

“Had to do some guessing with the sizing of those…” His voice comes from a few feet away from you. All too close given the fact you’re staring at intimates he bought for you.

Your face was flaming red, unable to contain the embarrassment that was coursing through you, purely at the fact he was shopping for your underwear and bras— probably imagining you in them. Someone acting so casual about this was throwing you into disarray.

His passing comments and dirty teases were one thing, this however, was another.

“Everyday you get a little more pervy.” You bite out, and he laughs at your defensive tone.

“Did you suggest I leave you without any? A thank you will suffice perfectly fine. No need t’insult me when im jus’ looking after you.” A smug smile fell over his features.

“Harry.” You groan, voice warning him, and he let it go after rolling his eyes.

He allowed you to pick out what you wanted, watching you flush as you discreetly pulled a set of undergarments out of the bag.

You had picked a white linen shirt, matching his own, and a black pair of pants. He let you change into them in his bathroom, but when you’d come out adorned in clothes that perfectly fit the pirate energy, he was holding what he’d deemed as the final touch.

The black under-bust corset.

“C’mere. You’ll be fine.” He says at your immediately displeased face.

“You might not be.” You sneer, frowning at him as the loosened corset hangs in his hands— leather shining with the golden reflection of the candle light around the room.

He walks over to you, since you clearly weren’t going to be the one to do it, and a tut comes from his pink lips, “Always so stubborn.”

You decide to just let him— since partial freedom is in sight— and you stepped into the corset, allowing him to slide it up your body, until it was in place underneath your breasts.

“This fine?” He checks in as he tugs the strings, waiting for your confirmation before the leather was too tight to your waist.

“I still think I should just elbow you.” You glare, hands clenched at the sides of your thighs with the looming pressure of the garment.

His attempt to be courteous was to no avail, clearly. And the white linen gets sinched inward, and he wrenches the strings roughly with purpose.

His deep laugh sounds, and with that firm pull you’re bought close enough to him you can feel his warm breath against your ear as he leans down.

“Let’s not be mouthy, dove. Not when I’m in control of how tight this thing is on you.” He tugs the laces a final time, hard enough the material feels like it’s completely restricting your diaphragm— making you hold your breath for a moment.

At your silence, he lets his hand relax, in turn the strings loosening enough for you to intake a breath. Your soft gasp makes his stomach heat up, warm with an unexplainable feeling.

He ties the corset at the back, and you don’t even get to step away before he’s linking arms with you.

“You look good." He states with a nod, and your eye's veered downward to see the corset against yourself.

That was what lead you to here, stepping off the pier, lit only by the latern Harry was carrying, and onto dirt.

Dirt that may have been separated from your feet with a pair of shoes, but was amazing to feel press against your boots again.

You were so eager to touch something other than wood, that this was like heaven.

The sea lapped up against the shore a few metres away, as the earth transitioned back into sand on the shore. You felt deep anticipation to get further away from the uniting of the two worlds. Because away from anything regarding the ocean and the vessel that floated upon was freedom in your mind.

Harry could see every micro-expression on your face, despite the weak candlelight. The way your eyes had lit up at the sensation of soft dirt below you, and it was endearing. He’d never seen one get so excited over merely dirt.

The air was warm, and felt like a summer night— but the breeze that blew through your hair was crisp. Whispering hints of a change in weather sooner rather than later.

He watched the wind twirl your hair, and he was almost envious of it. Watching its fingers comb through it, in such a way he could only imagine himself in its place with an intense longingly.

“The boys are at the bar. But if that’s not your scene, what we do is up to you.” He supplies, watching your eyes slant to him.

You hadn’t really thought this far ahead, what you’d do once you were off the boat. You looked at him, and then back to the cobble path that lead presumably into the heart of Sintir.

The buildings were lit up, warm light glowing, “Do they have a night market?”

“Mhm, infact they do.” He nods, beginning a slow walk to encourage you onwards.

Oddly enough, as his body was pressed to your side, you felt safe. He was something familiar in this new environment. “How exactly are you going to hide me?”

The pressing question to you was merely a slight concern to him.

“Chances of them knowing that you’re the missing princess is unlikely. And if they have seen the posters with your face on it, I somehow struggle to believe they’ll connect the dots.”

“That’s a lot of faith you have in that.” You comment, boots hitting the cobblestone with the same clacks they did back at home. There was a sense of invigoration that rushed through the blood beneath your skin at the sound.

It bought back your nightly adventures around Kelna, where nothing mattered. And all you had to worry about is what time you were sneaking back through your window without getting caught by your own guards.

It was nostalgic in a weird way. The kind that threw your mind spinning, since the memory was so fresh yet so distant. Too much had changed in the time from then to now.

“‘Cause y’don’t really look anythin’ like your picture.” He comments, dragging his gaze along your frame again, playing a mental spot the difference. He’d seen the flyers earlier that day, and was honestly unconvinced it was really you himself.

“God— tell me they didn’t use an ugly picture of me from 2 years ago…” It’s the kind of thing your parents would do, but Harry only shakes his head, letting out a prompt cackle at your distress.

“No, they didn’t use an ugly photo of ya at all. You’re just s’put together in it, hair slicked back in this fancy satin dress and pearls.” The two of you are walking between the first two buildings facing the sea, luminaries lighting up the path.

He continues, waving his hand as though it adds something to the conversation, “Now, y’hair is down now, all wild. And you’ve got this untamed look in y’eye. No one would look at ya an’ see y’fine dining in a gown.”

You’re not sure what to make of all of this, since he’s talking of you like he’s certain. Coming from his own perspective more than anyone else’s.

“They see a pirates girl. Probably look at you and think y’wrapped around my finger.” He nudges, and you finally scoff, “I would prefer they see it the other way around. That you’re following me like a lost puppy.”

“That’s never usually how it is, though.” He raises his brows, and your arm slips out of his, walking backward as you face him.

“But maybe it could be in their mind. They see you foaming out the mouth for me. And it’s like that ship docked over there,” your point in the direction you’d both originally came from, “is all mine.”

The concept feels like a power trip. You do wonder how many female captains there are in this world. Likely not enough.

“Sounds like quite the fantasy y’ve built up.” He muses.

“I want to go to the pub.” Your tone is certain and confident. To this he raises his eyes brows in challenge.

“Perhaps you’ll share a drink with me, dove?”

“Or it could be the other way around.”

“Well, it couldn’t, because you don’t have any gold to pay with. An’ things here aren’t complimentary like they are at home.” He huffs in amusement, poking fun at your previously lavish lifestyle.

“I don’t need gold,” you begin with a smirk that’s starting to spread across your mouth, “all I need to do is undo a few buttons on this blouse and I’ll probably be able to get a round for the whole crew on the house.”

You’re walking backwards, hands clasped together behind your back, a grin on your face that makes him feel insane.

His eyes immediately darkened, pupils blowing out at the thought of what you’re insinuating. Flirting your way for a free drink… something he can’t imagine you’ve ever done before. Yet would probably succeed at like you have a million times over.

“Right,” He clears his throat, trying to calm himself down, “didn’t take much for you to start whoring yourself out for some booze.”

“It’s not whoring… men are horrible creatures. They’ll do anything if they think it’ll get their dick wet.” He thinks you’re so… uneducated and naive. That just because you’re in a court, that you know nothing of the males on this earth.

However it’s quite the opposite. Sexual topics are strictly forbidden in the palace and court meetings… but elsewhere, when it’s private and no one is around to hear it, men help themselves to the topic.

They have no concern discreetly passing by you, head turned in whisper, just to tell you what a body you have. Or just how badly they want to…

And on the street, it’s even worse. So you know more than enough when it comes to that. That makes you anything but stupid to a man’s intentions.

He picks up the pace of his steps to breach the distance between you both, so that if you were to stop walking suddenly— he would probably crash into he was that close.

“You’re not doing that.” He says, tone serious.

“Why not, afraid you’ll get a little jealous?” You’re flirting with something dangerous now. Eager to prove a point.

“Don’t try to get a rise out of me. Because I said you’re not. Do y’want a drink or not dove? Because the way you’re headed, all your getting is a glass of water.”

“Whatever.” You scoff, still unsatisfied, but resigning your argument for now.

“I’m concerned your attitude will only worsen with alcohol in your system.” He deliberates.

The streets have now fully lit up, with other people starting to appear, and the nightlife is able to be heard from where you are.

The singing happening in the tavern can now be heard as you round a corner into what can only be deemed at Sintirs town centre.

A night market is clearly running, and you can see the pub a few doors down from it. Men and women out the front, drinks in hand and cigars hanging from their lips.

He catches up to you enough to slide his arm between your elbow again, silently obliging you you to stay right by his side.

As you get closer to the tavern, he verbalises this.

“You don’t move from here,” He pulls you tighter into his frame, “and you don’t make any trouble. Otherwise it won’t be pretty.”

His tone is firm, unwavering. You nod to it, accepting the rules begrudgingly, “Yes, Captain.”

You both come to the door, and he pulls it open. The building on the outside was rustic bricks, and inside it was the same— except the flooring was wooden. As the door opened, a bell chimed, but it was drowned out by the overwhelming amount of noise.

Men were shouting, and bellowing all about. Drunkenly chatting, playing darts, and stumbling around. There were women too, but they were not near as rambunctious. All of them were dressed like pirates… and it was clear this place was specialised for them. Maps on the wall, and news clippings of what appeared to be local Sintir pirates were framed around the place.

A few blokes stopped to greet Harry. And he engaged in short conversations. But in the back of his mind, he was regretting bringing you in here. Not because anyone recognised you, but because he could see every single slimy gaze that dragged over you.

One man stopped him by the darts—Harry had called him Evan— he said greetings to the captain, but his gaze never left you.

You had noticed immediately, and it was a bit disgusting. It made you regret calling Harry a perv. Because he was nothing like this.

It immediately pissed Harry off, the way the brutish and large man was eyeing you up and down like you were an object. And his blood spiked when he considered the array of things likely running through Evans head.

The grip he had tightened on you.

It’s protective, you feel. And at the least, you know you’re safe with him.

Harry almost regretted putting that corset on you now. It made you look too good. Too enticing.

He, unlike others clearly, has a moral compass. And enough human decency to see you as a human opposed to a sexual object. He was forgetful that most men lacked that ability.

When he spots his crew, he uses it as a quickly conjured excuse to get away from the other pirate. And as he leaves, he tugs your body in front of him, shadowing your retreating figure from prying eyes.

You’re a bit overwhelmed, in all honesty. But accept it as normal— you hadn’t been anywhere so busy for a while now. Especially when it’s in such a rowdy way.

The second his crew spots the two of you— your body sheltered by his own, and his hand on your hip urging you forward— Niall, the blonde one whose name you finally remember, lets out a bellowing cheer.

“She made it!” He’s excited like you’re an old friend of his, and he drunkenly rises up from the booth the boys had taken.

Harry feels a little more at peace knowing he’s now with his crew— the two of you are less likely to be bothered now, and he knows his mates will look out for you as well. Prisoner or not, you’re still a human.

Niall barrels towards you, and Harry renounces his hold on you. Chuckling as he pulls you into a drunk bear hug.

You’re unsure what to do with your hands as he rocks you around like a child, “Glad ya here, lovie.”

“Mmhm…?” You agree, looking helplessly his crew mates as they cackle hysterically— smacking their hands down on the table and sloshing their pints of beer in fits of laughter.

He eventually slides his arms off you, and hiccups, “are ya havin’ a drink?”

His already heavy accent is slurred as you make out what he’s asking, and you don’t even get an answer in before he reaches over the table and grabs you his.

Sliding the cold glass, around 3 quarters empty, into your hand.

“‘Ave mine! I’ll go get anotha’” He chortles, and then stumbles off just like that.

Harry watches in surprise as you bring the glass up to your lips and down the rest of it without hesitation. Hoping alcohol will take the edge off all the overstimulation you’re having in here. Calm you down a bit.

The rest of his crew whoop and cheer for you, which at the least gives you a bit more confidence.

Before they can all hand you over their half finished beers, Harry comes back to your side, head craning down to talk in your ear.

“Let’s go up t’the bar, get ya somethin’ fresh, instead of people leftovers.”

You nod, walking with him as he pulls you through the crowd.

At the bar, there’s several people sat at the stools. Including a touchy couple, that are practically feeling each other up, front and centre. She is sitting on the seat, but is taller than the man that’s between her legs. Clearly she’s in charge, and you smirk.

Go girl, you thought, and Harry clocks your pride for the woman. Something stirring in his chest.

He ignores it, going up the bar to place on order.

The lady at the bar, whose got muscles on her like an absolute god, nods at him to rattle off his order.

“Two beers and a shot of the best liquor y’ve got, thanks, Naomi.” He asks, but you interrupt before she can walk away.

“Make it two shots, please.” To your quick mouth, she smiles. She has dark skin, and a beautifully done head of braids, it’s clear you’ve piqued her curiosity.

“I’ll make it two,” she smirks, getting two shot glasses from beneath the counter.

“And who is the second one for?” She asks, implying she wants your name.

You slide your eyes to Harry, who is shocked that you’re trying to get his permission for giving your name. He blinks sharply in disapproval.

“Mary.” You nod, listing the fake name off like it was nothing. It was a common enough name, so she takes it.

You don’t realise how effortlessly you and Harry are communicating without words until he ghosts his thumb over your forearm, and you know he’s thanking you.

Naomi smirks at you, “Well, miss Mary, I have to say i quite admire you.”

You give her a thanks, and she slides the two shots on the counter, going on to prepare the beers.

“Been a while since your captain here has bought a girl around… nice to see.” The irony of the situation could almost make you laugh.

“Well, someone’s oughta keep him inline. Otherwise he’d end up prisoner somewhere.” You supply, putting up your best pirate imitation for her.

He shakes his head, your play on words half amusing, half unbelievable.

“Was good to see you, Naomi, thanks for the drinks.” He says, grabbing the beer while you grab the shots.

She gives her momentary goodbyes, and he walks over to a vacant barrel to place the beer down.

You follow suit, but with only one of the shots. You toss the other back before he can say otherwise. The brownish-gold liquid burning a trail down your throat.

He watches in disbelief. You are so shockingly rough around the edges, that the idea of you being a princess feels unfathomable to him.

“You broke a lot of those royal rules, didn’t you.” He raises his brows, voice unreadable.

Licking over your lips, the strong alcohol gives a zip up your spine, “on occasion.”

“Christ.” He mutters, picking up his own shot and downing it.

The two of you take your beers back to the booth his crew was at, and you drink that and whatever else got handed to you by his crew mates— that you’ve officially learned most names of— and are well and truly a bit drunk.

You were sat between Liam and Harry, and the night was actually quite fun.

It was nice to truly forget the situation you’d landed yourself in.

That was until, as the night drew on, and once the early hours of the morning were likely in play, the pub quietened.

It was now regular noise level, just drunk and tired chatter, and someone came over to your booth.

A lanky guy, sporting long dreaded hair with olive coloured skin. Despite his moderately tan complexion, there was an almost queasy undertone to it. It stained a faint yellow tinge under his eyes, and screamed future liver failure the longer you stared.

Yet a gold tooth that peaked through when he flashed a smile. He looked like the epitome of a pirate.

“Ah, Styles and his crew are back in town.” He announces rather loudly, like as if he has an audience he’s talking to.

“Leon… Hello.” Zayn drawls, far from enthralled to see the man.

“Great to see you all,” he claps his hands together, smiling, “now, I’ve jus’ come round to spread the word…”

It piques the men’s interest slightly, and they all start to pay attention to the skinny bloke.

“Garrets boat was found the otha’ day.” He states, looking between the boys, eyes stopping momentarily on you.

Harry pipes up from where he’s sat next to you, and if there was anything amiss, the only telling thing would be the way his hand snakes to your knee, tensing around it slightly.

It’s his bruised hand, and you try to draw your attention away from it.

“I’ve heard word of that… did he not turn up with it?” Harry asks, nonchalantly.

“No… it was in perfect nick, jus’ without its capan’.” He sighs out, stepping forward to trail his boney hand over the wood pattern on the table, “Reckon someone’s got him… so keep an eye out for raiders.”

“Mm, alright. Thanks for the heads up. Hope ya’s stumble upon him…” Harry nods, hand clutching your knee harder.

The man’s missing…

And suddenly, it clicks in your brain.

Despite his crews unreadable faces, you are almost certain that the man currently in the chambers of their ship is the same person Leon is on about.

It sends a wave of anxiety through you. In a room full of pirates, you are something they all would want. Yet for varying reasons.

You’re suddenly grateful again that Harry and his crew seem to only have the intention of money with you.

What a horrible thing to be thankful for in this world, you think.

That you’re happy the people who kidnapped you don’t want to use you in worse ways. Don’t want your body or to keep you as a souvenir.

You’re drawn from your spiralling thoughts as Leon speaks again,

“Ah, and you have a las with you too…” he remarks, although it adds no substance to the conversation.

“Mary.” Harry provides, and the boys all exchange a glance.

“You keep your eye out too then, sweetheart. You women have an attention to detail that us men don’t...” He flashes his golden tooth, and gives a final nod to the crew before turning away.

You purse your lips, glancing down at your lap, trying to hide your frown. Confused if the approach was a convoluted kind of threat, or just an odd exchange.

“That’s us done for the night,” Harry says, his previous relaxed tone was gone. It was riddled with seriousness now.

“Give it ten so it doesn’t look suspicious, and then we’re leaving.”

That was confirmation to you that Garret is the man below deck… and you were itching to ask questions, but knew now was likely not the time.

The tension aided sobering everyone up, and after around ten minutes they all collectively rose. And Harry scooted out of the booth, and gestured you to follow suit.

You slide out, leather gliding against your skin as you got to the edge and took his hand without protest. Despite being upset at this situation only minutes earlier, you craved to feel safe.

So as anxiety was welling in your chest, you easily allowed him to pull you against him. Tan hand clasped around yours as he held you firmly close.

This time, he held you with his good hand, free of dark purple bruises.

You transfixed on his complexion instead now. It was completely different to Leon’s. Tan from the sun, yes. But Harry was— as always— all beauty. Liquid gold was accidentally spilt into the colour of his skin. It shone under even the dingest of bar lightings, and never failed to completely encapsulate your attention. His skin had no sickly undertone.

Tiny freckles and beauty marks that trailed up his forearm. They were colour of chocolate… and he was perfection.

Christ.

You got pulled out of your trance by the tug of his hand, his bruised one busy fishing out a small bag of gold.

It’s unbelievable the state he can put you in. It’s otherworldly, and you feel sort of ashamed how easily your mentality can fold to him.

Taking you up to the counter that Naomi was scrubbing down with a rag, he placed the small coin bag atop the bar.

“Thanks for your hospitality as usually, there’s a little extra for all your help.” He was keeping the exchange short, bidding his farewells after her gracious appreciation.

She smiles a goodbye to him, yet eyes slide back over to you,

“And you too Mary, keep y’man in-line.” She teased, and Harry genuinely rolled his eyes.

“I will.” You stated, voice oversaturated with faux confidence.

With that, you all left the tavern. It felt odd stepping into the now cold air, a change coming in quicker than expected. The market having packed up for the night likely hours ago.

Goosebumps erupted over your skin as the boys moved in haste, a unity of clanking boots against the paving.

“Y’shivering.” Harry remarked.

“It’s colder than it was earlier.”

“Even the tropics must feel the cold.” Tanner states matter-of-factly.

Once out of the town centre, they start running— it was sudden and unexpected. Like once they were fully out of view, urgency could be expressed.

“This’ll warm you up.” Harry raises his voice against the wind, pulling you along to match his pace.

By the time you made it back, storming across the pier, you were near breathless.

Blood pumping, and you did feel a little warmer at the least.

“Alrigh’, Liam, are you right enough to get us going?” He asked, patting his back as the boys walk along the temporary bridging from the pier to the ship.

“Plenty fine, H.” He nods certainly.

“That’s the way…” his voice raises, “Ashton, Miggs, batten down the hatches!”

His pirate-y tone was prevalent as he threw orders left right and centre. Before you knew it, the ship was starting to move from port. You were shocked, considering half of them weren’t even fully sober. But you supposed this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, readying up the ship for something unexpected while half drunk.

Maybe things were done better that way, with beer in the blood, you supposed. More officiant.

Once he was finished confirming what everyone was doing, his voice lowered, and gaze softened as he turned to you.

His eyes fell where you rung the bottom of the corset cinched around you. You were evidently anxious, it was written all over your face.

“Cmon, dove…” he walked the minor distance between you, “I’ll take you back below deck.”

“To the chambers?“ your voice was abundant with sudden fear, and the thought of going down there knowing there’s likely a corpse in the room across from you made you feel sick.

“No.” He immediately clarified, “My room. You’re not going back down there, Y/N.”

He said it with such certainty, and you wondered what changed to make you a permanent fixture in his room.

You were lead down the increasingly familiar way to his bedroom, “Nothing you can task me with?”

He laughed at your question, “Nothing, love. I doubt you even know how to tie a knot on a rope.”

You couldn’t say you properly did. And then you wondered why exactly you offered to help, considering you have no business aiding people who kidnapped you.

“I don’t.” You sigh, as he lets you into his dark room. He felt oddly domestic, stepping through the doors quickly to light a wall lantern so you can see.

“Then you’re better off safe in here, the waters already a bit rocky.” The ship was rising and falling more dramatically than this morning, which added to your list of things to worry about.

“Harry,” you say his name before he can walk out.

“Y/N?”

“Can you be honest with me…?”

He huffs a laugh, “Tha’ depends.”

“Is the man in the cells dead?”

The seriousness in your tone has him dead quiet. And you can hear the ticking in his brain as he decides on whether he’s answering you or not.

The innocent look in your eye pushed him to be truthful. He wasn’t used to this. Seeing someone undeserving of being captive on the ship. It was always horrible people.

“I’ll go a step ahead of you, yes, Garret’s dead.” He answered like he knew your next question would be that. And he was right, because it was.

You draw in a breath, the only sound heard is the crashing of the ship against the waves.

“Does that scare you?” He asks, and then asks deeper, “Do I scare you?”

You pause to then think how to answer that.

“Yes and no…” You deliberate, because you truly don’t know. You felt safe with him today, but the concept of what he’s probably done to people is eye opening to say the least. And always the potential of what he could do to you.

The air was thick— the alcohol in both of your systems clouding your judgements— and something churned in your hearts. There was a shared breath in, and out.

You feel the cruciality of the moment, and are certain he can too.

Right now, this goes much further than the taking of a royal, the trapping of a person. It’s a question that the answer can only create more confusion.

Because why on this cruel, twisted earth would you be thinking of any response other than a plain, hard, yes.

A breath catches in the back of your throat, and the real answer slips out with a rasp.

“You scare me because I don’t know how to fully hate you. I hate you, but not like i should.”

A half blink, and the look in his eyes switches. It’s unreadable for a moment, blank in processing.

He steps closer, feeling an urge to touch you that he can’t explain where it come from. It’s so forceful he breaches the distance between you faster than he can rethink it. Fingers reaching out to brush a gentle stroke over your cheekbone.

Your lips part, the haze in your mind making you wonder if this was a dream of sorts.

All Harry is thinking about is the fact he wants more right now. The same whirlwind that pushed him to cradle your cheek with his hand is begging his lips to brush against yours.

He pushes it down into the pit of his stomach, replying with a tone so tender he wonders how it come from himself.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise on the damning of my own soul.” He reassures.

The lines have blurred. Blurred from keeping his prize safe, to keeping you safe.

His words feel like they carry too much weight to be coming from a pirate. Like the impact they have is meant for manipulation.

And if that’s they’re intention either way, it worked. Because a part of you resigns to believe it.

He waits for confirmation on your end that you understand, and you give that to him through a curt nod.

“Good. I’ll be back later, you go to sleep.”

Your heart wrenches for no apparent reason as he lingers close to you for a moment longer. Then he drags himself away from you, despite the intense urge to do otherwise.

You catch his eyes a final time as he leaves the room. Leaving the door unlocked…

It tempts you, but with the boat rocking like this, you think better for yourself.

Now you want to throw yourself off the ship again, but for an entirely different reason.

You’ve laid trust in him. Something you said you wouldn’t ever do. Oh how that promise to yourself broke quickly.

But you’re drunk and vulnerable, and his words were so soft and sweet. Two sides of yourself are at war.

Yet either way, you feel it can only lead to a plethora of bad things. It’s all too much for you right now.

Unlacing your own corset, you wiggle out of it, then slip out of everything else. You stand in only undergarments, realising how truly exhausted you are now that you’re back in his room.

The alcohol and emotional turmoil settles deep in your bones, you feel it rattle heavily with each step.

You grab soft clothes he bought for you today, and pull them over you, taking off your bra.

The storm is coming. You feel it within you. It’s a foreshadow of your mentality, the precursor of what’s to come with all of this— and the ever growing complexity of your feelings.

You crawl into Harry’s bed, ashamed at the way you inhale his scent. Hating the way it’s turned into a form of reassurance.

He has kept you safe this last week, which in your subconscious— whose clinging to any sort of saftety— means he is something to you that he shouldn’t be. And you wonder when he went from something you disdained to something you craved connection with.

The idea of stockholm syndrome was familiar to you, but didn’t resonate. Or maybe you were in denial… who fucking knows. All you are sure of is that he makes you feel somewhat stable. Your body craves that shred of stability more than anything.

Either way, it didn’t stop you from nestling into his sheets. Or falling asleep curled up in them.

Nor did it hinder you from when he finally returned to reach out for him, all while still hazed with the slumber you were just in.

A meek call of his name came from your mouth as he gets into his bed, it was at least an hour or so later. The sun would be closer to rising then not, but you choose to haul your body closer to him the second you could.

He sighs with relief of finally laying down, the weather sounds worse outside now. It’s gotten harsher sooner than he expected, something hurrying the system further south. Although it means it’ll hit earlier, at the least it’ll be over in a day or two.

He must’ve gotten undressed, because as you press yourself into his back, his bare skin is warm to the touch.

It was evident feeling him now that the sun coursed through his veins, it replaced the blood of a regular person. He spent so many hours in it, it seemed to be a part of him.

“You’re so warm.” You stated quietly, half conscious.

“Mm, and you’re so bloody cold.” He mutters, voice deep and ready for sleep. His comment causes him to roll into you, tugging you closer into his chest.

Somehow, regardless of if you had been asleep for an hour, you still felt exhausted. Maybe it was the drinks too, they were settling a slight hangover upon you. So, shamelessly you coiled further into his arms.

Your hands snaked up his bare back, and into the hair at the nape of his neck. The curls were damp as you played with them.

There’s definitely still something in your system, and he notices it as well.

“You’ve gotta be still a little tipsy… ya all over me dove.” He laughs tiredly.

Your front is pressed to his, his scent equally as distracting as the slabs of muscles you could feel up against you.

“Tipsy and exhausted.” You murmur, eyes fluttering shut as you carry on playing with his hair.

“Oh, are y’feelin’ needy?” He teases, voice slipping into a shockingly deep lilt, one you’d caught glimpses of yesterday morning.

It sparked a feeling in the pit of your stomach, “Shut up.”

The two of you did eventually go quiet, nothing but the sounds of mixing breath and the brush of hands against skin.

His own hands had taken refuge on your waist, rubbing gentle circles with calloused fingers. Somewhere in the back of your head you reevaluate for the seventh time just how intoxicated you still both were. Enough alcohol in your system to completely blur the lines.

You couldn’t even claim in the morning the cuddling was an accident on part of your sleeping selves. You’d have to try and pass it off as the drinks from earlier. Which although true, feels like a harder excuse to play off this significant.

You were wrapped up in his arms. Voluntarily. And… enjoying it.

It’s a horrible thing to be indulging in. It’s only going to spell you more trouble. But you can’t find it in yourself to care.

He felt you slip back into a quiet sleep, evident in the way your fingers ceased their movement where they sat, tangled in his hair.

In the silence of the night, he thought about you.

Images trailed carelessly through his mind, dragging up ideas of what the two of you looked like right now. He wished he could see it from an outside perspective.

The way you had completely settled into his frame. Chest to chest.

He could feel the ridges and dips of your body too easily, only separated by a thin cotton sleep shirt you’d put on.

Something throbs inside of him at the touch, and to make matters worse, you stir, throwing your leg over his hip just like you had the night before.

He feels dirty as he conceptualises the idea of something more with you.

He wishes he didn’t drink now, because he can’t get the vision of himself inside of you out of his head. He’s weak after some beer and liquor, he lacks self-control, even when half of him is begging to sort himself out. Now, because he hasn’t stopped himself early enough, his prick has swollen in his boxers.

Thank the stars you’re asleep.

He stays deathly still, pursing his lips, waiting his boner out.

Staving away the idea of being pushed inside of you. Such a pretty girl, you were. It’s hard not to wonder how good your mouth would be against his own.

It takes atleast 15 painful minutes for his cock to soften. He’s thankful for being tired, because once the thumping of his heart calms down, he allows himself to pull you further into his hold.

He will let himself have this, at the least.

———

Waking up was almost a carbon copy of the morning before.

A tangle of limbs, but you’ve had a warmth that’s sprouted through you the entire night.

However, this time, Harry was already awake.

The hours of sleep you got were minimal. And the sun wasn’t even fully up. It was mostly cloud coverage outside the window. The room still dim.

He watched you wake up, thankful it’s now— because otherwise he would’ve had to get up and go. Too much to do to be laying in bed with you, unfortunately.

He got to watch your eyes slowly open, their glossy appearance. They lazily scoped the room, as if re-familiarising your brain with your surroundings.

Then they dragged to Harry’s face, catching the softness of the morning still on him.

“I have a headache.” Was the first thing that croaked from your lips.

Your throat hurt and the hangover was clearly in its full effect. You did not usually drink that much.

He hums a laugh at your lack of greeting, starting off the morning with a complaint. Oddly charming somehow?

He wanted to kiss you still.

“Big night for you last night?” He asks, jokingly, but he knows you didn’t drink enough to forget anything.

“Don’t tease.” You plead, head dropping back down to between his chest.

He strokes a hand along your back, “We oughta get some food into ya.”

His gentle encouragement falls on deaf ears. All you’re able to do is fall back into his hold.

“Dove.” The coo he lets out does nothing but makes your stomach flutter.

You shake your head against the warm skin of his chiseled chest. All the muscle there… fuck it makes you light headed.

But you can’t think about that.

You just wanted him with you right now.

“Harry.”

Hearing his name makes the heart in his chest clench.

“Stay here.” You say, simply.

At his momentary silence, your voice drops.

A whisper.

A plea.

“Please?”

Everytime you talk to him like that, a piece of him unravels.

Already too far in, he throws another handful of cation to the wind. Before he knows it, there will be nothing left.

His quiet demeanour is unusual. Where was his quip that usually followed?

You were slowly poisoning him.

“You’re like a drug.” He states.

You’re not sure how to feel. Is that good… or bad?

“Is that bad?”

He doesn’t say anything, just rolls his body weight to the side, moving you to be facing one another.

He stares into your eyes, searching for something. An answer maybe.

But it’s just not one he’s going to find yet.

Time is a virtue, they say.

And maybe if he waits long enough, unravels far enough, gives away enough of himself. He’ll know.

He’ll find out what it is about you that drags him in.

Maybe you’re like the current. Yet he’s not sure if it’s taking him out to a reef, where paradise lay. Or dragging him out into a rip.

His eyes wander the plains of your face.

And finally, he speaks.

“I guess we’ll have to find out.”

———

taglist:

@saturnheartz @slap-me-harry @ilovehsstuff @ameerakane20 @matildasatellite @harrysslut7 @sunflowersey @styleswiftie @anotheryoutubefanpage @straightontilmornin @oknothanks26 @closureesny @angel-upon @brother-lauren @maddie7writes @tenaciousperfectionunknown

(—comment or reach out to be added to the taglist for future parts🤍)

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #pirates gold #piraterry #pirate harry styles #royal y/n #fantasy #writing #I have the worst upload schedule ever I am so sorry #fanfic

137 notes · View notes