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zhongrin · 6 days

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muzzled.

featuring... ❥ wriothesley

involves... ❥ afab!reader, fem!reader, muzzle, restraints, teasing (reader → wrio), feral!wrio, sweet & degrading petnames used, mentioned collar & leash at the end, not proofread

wriothesley was starting to regret agreeing to this.

the thing is, you’d lit up like a christmas tree as soon as he nodded, and the way your hooded eyes coupled with your signature cheeky grin were intoxicating in itself. he couldn’t help but growl from behind the muzzle you’d fixed around his mouth - that wasn’t part of the agreement, but it seemed like you, like the impudent-yet-endearing individual that you were, had planned this from the start.

“you look so good like this, wrio~” you hum, now stepping closer to tap on the black metal, crooning as if you were talking to an adored pet, “and now you can’t use those teeth to bite me, pup.”

he growled. the cuffs - his handcuffs, the one he always carried around - jangled behind him as he tried to move his limbs out of habit. part of him burned when you treat him like this. it was both pleasant yet humiliating, arousing and infuriating, to be reduced to a tamed dog, chained to its place.

your boyfriend received an amused chuckle from you. wriothesley’s eyes sharpened, his thighs flexing when he felt your weight descend upon him, sitting across his lap as if you belonged there. which you did. and he would have welcomed you with kisses and his arms wrapping around your waist if he weren’t in such… predicament.

seriously, why did he agree to this, again?

the man watched intently as you slowly traced the hard planes of his muscles highlighted by the black bodysuit, the heat and tension of being unable to grab and hold you driving him mad by each second. all he could imagine was him flipping your position, holding your body against him, and—

“you drive me crazy whenever you wear something like this, you know?” his thoughts halted from your words, breath hitching as he felt your hand grope and kneaded against his pecs.

“truly, sweetheart? more than when i’m naked?” though his voice strained, he challenged, cocking an eyebrow up as his lips tugged into a boyish smirk.

you huffed and punished him with a hand coming down to rest against his inner thigh, so close and yet so far from his growing excitement, the bulge evident against the dark grey pants. “still cheeky? i’ll have to remind you that you’re currently under my mercy.”

“only because of these blasted restraints and goddamn muzzle, doll,” the gravel in his voice deepened the timbre of his voice, causing an involuntary shudder to run up your spine, “the moment i get out, you know who’ll be under whose mercy.”

“ohhh? then you better work hard~” you sang, leaning in unabashedly to lick and nibble on his neck. a rewarding groan from your boyfriend was all it took for you to start to earnestly mark his skin, red-purples blooming on the exposed part of his neck and shoulder. the fact that you couldn’t mark his favorite spot - the junction of his neck - was both a blessing and a curse to wriothesley. he had half a mind to beg you to rip his accursed bodysuit off somehow, though he knew it would be hard to do considering the situation.

his wrists strained against the metals, a hiss escaping through his clenched teeth. you eyed his escape attempt in amusement, withdrawing from his neck only to place your lips near the base of his ear, “aww, poor puppy… bet you never thought your cuffs would be used against you, huh? or have you thought about it before? naughty, naughty…”

“shut up,” he shivered, wishing he could turn and shut you up with a deep kiss, but this stupid contraption—

a strangled groan of your name left his throat, his thighs twitching when your hand on his thigh moved to cup his bulge, fondling softly from behind the clothing, “fuck, shit-”

yet as soon as it started, it ended. wriothesley subjected you to a fiery frustrated glare by his icy cold eyes; you were truly going to be the death of him at this rate.

“you fucking brat.”

the nickname shot a rush of desire into your core. you knew you were succeeding in riling him up in that direction when the sweeter petnames were replaced with that kind of filth.

you wanted him feral, and it seemed like you were getting your wish if you could keep this up.

“who, me?” you giggled, knowing it would irate him further, “oh, but i’m just getting started, darling.”

you shifted to face him directly, completely straddling him on his chair. the lust-filled eyes of your lover were affixed on you, unable to tear away as your hands moved to unbutton the blouse you had; one button at a time, slowly exposing more and more skin. with every inch revealed, you watched as his adam’s apple bob, his eyes dilating, breathing visibly picking up when he realized you had opted out of wearing a bra today. shakily, momentarily, his gaze dropped lower to your skirt. what if.

“like what you see?” his vision shifted back to your face at your taunt. with all the buttons off, the cloth slipped down your shoulders until you maneuver it to drop onto the ground.

“you… naughty, evil, teasing-” his words died on his tongue when your hands - oh how pretty they would look cupping around his cock - moved themselves up your ribs to cup your breasts. your dainty fingers fail to appreciate them fully, in his opinion; unable to hold the soft plumpness properly, too small to knead properly. it should have been his hands, massaging and making you moan and writhe. should have been his calloused fingers that flicked your pert nipples, making you whine needily and tremble like that.

“unlock the cuff,” he gruffly ordered, chains clinking loudly as he tried to pull and tug against them, “right now.”

you tilted your head, pausing to bat your eyelashes innocently at him. you had no idea how much he wanted to see those pretty lashes wet with tears as he bit and mark and fondle your skin all over right now. oblivious to the picture he had on his head, where he held you down and pinned you on the bed as he ravaged you senseless.

instead of giving him salvation, you gave him sin. more of sinful provocation; your moans loud, one of your hand slowly trailing down your abdomen to slip beneath your skirt. the fact that he could picture your finger gathering slick from your slit, delving into your folds to then rub your swollen clit with your abundance of slick — yet being unable to witness the sight obscured by the stupid piece of clothing, was maddening. a crime, even.

did you have to slip your hand beneath your panties? or did you also decide to forego them just like you did with your bra? and did you have to moan so prettily while looking directly at him like that?

“damn it- you unfair little-!”

his cock was straining so hard against his pants, it hurt. you hummed, both amused and aroused at the words falling from his lips and the loud creak and clang of metal chains and wooden chair scraping against the floor. you knew he wanted to touch and taste you, you knew he was going to devour you if you kept this on. you knew you probably should stop teasing him so cruelly like this.

you waited for a particular word to slip out of his lips — the word that would stop your little game altogether.

but only curses and snarls left your lover’s lips, and you relished in the pure, unfiltered want on his expression. your fingers delved into your sopping cunt, a breathy moan and a shudder racking through your body as you pleasured yourself on top of his lap, slick dripping to stain his pants.

wriothesley’s breaths were ragged and loud, his jaw locked and clenched, eyes shifting between your expression, the hand fondling your breast and perked nipple, the way your other hand moved beneath the skirt— it was all too much, too much—

you gave him a knowing, sultry smile, and he could swear he entered some kind of hypnotic daze as you pulled your hand away from under the flimsy skirt, your dainty digits covered in wetness. his mouth opened automatically, tongue out as he tried to inch forward, chasing the honeyed treat.

the metal muzzle tapped against your fingers, just as your kind smile turned mischievous.

wriothesley

snaps.

you didn’t realize the chains broke until your vision shifts, your center of gravity thrown off balance. your back slammed against the hard surface of his desk, your breath stolen out of your lungs as you lost your bearings, confusion flooding your mind. you’d barely realized what had happened when you felt your skirt ripped away, your legs pushed apart and your knees kissing your ears before your beloved’s cock plunged into the wet, sopping heat. eyes rolling to the back of your head, your back arched as he started rutting, sparks of pleasure blooming rapidly in your senses.

wriothesley couldn’t even spare a moment to talk as his hips moved so deliciously, the hardened cock dragging against your spongy walls with vengeance. this was what you’d reduced him to: a mindless, ruthless beast only caring to take and take and take, after finally having the prey you bared and dangled in front of him. preys shouldn’t have taunted their predators, but you went ahead and did it anyway.

“w-wrio- oh- f-fuck-”

a deep snarl, and the hands you tried to reach out to touch him slammed back down on the desk. you inhaled shakily and almost moaned outloud just from the sight of him on top of you, still muzzled, silver blue eyes glaring down at you. untamed and feral, the merciless slam of his hips continued, blunt head reaching into the deepest part of your pussy as it convulsed around him. the sounds of your coupling filled the room, and your mind melted from the onslaught of pleasure, senses succumbing to the carnal lust you’ve inflicted upon your lover.

amidst the feral snarls and mind-numbing oxytocin, you barely heard his voice, panting and rough with unbridled need, “gonna cum,” the grip on your hands moved onto your hips, keeping you in place as the brutish thrusts started to turn uncoordinated, “gonna breed this perverted pussy. it’s what you wanted, isn’t it? you wanted to be fucked stupid like this? huh?”

broken moans left your throat, head spinning as the arrhythmical slaps of his hips against yours brought you teetering towards the precipice of euphoria. it took all you could to nod in agreement, and wriothesley’s smirk widen, a pleased growl reverberating within his throat as he felt his cock throb, ropes of sticky cum flooding into your deepest part. the warmth flooding into you triggered your own climax, spongy walls clamping down to milk him within the tight channel.

you exhaled shakily, quivering as the intense orgasm left you sensitive all over, body tingling as it relaxed, limp against the hard surface of his work desk. wriothesley panted on top of you, his breathing heavy and almost strained as his smouldering eyes saw your boneless body under him.

he bent down, and you would have thought he was about to kiss you if not for the contraption obscuring his mouth—

“you didn’t think that was enough for that stunt you pulled on me, did you, brat?”

your breath hitched as he ripped away the metal muzzle off his mouth, flexing his jaw and massaging the red imprint it made onto his skin. he dangled the item above you, eyes hooded and dark and mean.

“this time, why don’t i let you wear this? i already have a collar and a leash prepared for you to match, after all.”

❥ banner picture © nqrse ー hoyofair 2024

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #rin writes #minors dni

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godihatethiswebsite · 3 months

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Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°

✽ Part One - A twisted fate

I'm gonna be honest: this came to me in a tired, period induced haze and I have no idea what the hell I'm doing but the bunnies would not let me stop until I finished it. Was supposed to be a oneshot... until it wasn't XD Hoping this is just gonna be a short little pet project on the side. Lemme know if I missed any triggers!

Trigger warnings: SA (not by the 141), biting, claiming, angst, depression, hurt/no comfort, self harm

[Edit 7/16/24: updated relationship tags]

The parking lot was a certified mess to navigate, a veritable winter hellscape with the continual snowfall keeping the pavement slick and churning around spinning wheels to create a thick dirty slush. Packed cars fought for spaces towards the front of the store, wanting to avoid the headache of trudging through sloppy sleet, heavy carts overflowing with expensive gifts and last minute groceries.

Parents loaded up their trunks for their upcoming banquets. Little ones chattered in youthful exuberance about brightly wrapped packages and a jolly fat man. Festively dressed bell ringers exhausted their muscles for the cause of charity, offering joyous smiles to those passing by gracious enough to offer a token. Even six inches of heavy wet snowfall were not enough to deter shoppers from their mood. Coupled with the obnoxiously boisterous music that met you at the door it was almost impossible not to get swept up in the infectious holiday spirit.

Almost.

You hadn’t bothered joining the chaotic dominance for prime parking, opting to choose the very last row towards the street instead of wasting precious minutes yelling profanities out the window to an uppity pack trying to steal your spot. The harsh wind burned your face and nipped at your skin, pulling the woolen scarf tighter around your neck and up over your bitten nose. You avoided eye contact with the chipper lady at the front, not wanting to feel guilty for not donating when you barely had enough to scrape by as it is.

Normally you avoided venturing out this close to Christmas unless absolutely necessary. Holidays haven't meant much to you in recent years since your parent’s untimely passing and you hated the constant reminder of ‘the most wonderful time of the year’. Sure, there were still your other two alpha fathers, but they’d opted for someplace warmer in their age and visitation was difficult with your busy work schedule. Your younger brother wasn’t almost worth mentioning with his new prissy family somewhere up north. That bridge was burned the day he called you a harlot.

Needless to say, you’d become something of a grinch.

You’d been miserably sick the week prior and ate through most of your stockpile of hoarded food, not enough remaining to keep blowing off shopping with the bustling crowds. If you wanted to last past New Years then a trip into town was unavoidable.

The intense blast of hot air from the overhead heaters thawed your aching bones upon entering the store, shaking the accumulated dampness from your head and shoulders but leaving the thick cloth covering the lower half of your face. It would help you in your endeavors to get through the aisles expediently without irritating your delicate omega olfactory senses.

It got harder to distinguish the source of fragrances this time of year, when folk spent their days burrowed away from the bitter cold surrounded by the comforts of the season. A chilled glass of rich subtly spiced eggnog, smokey cedar logs crackling in the hearth, sweet woodsy pine wreaths and garlands wrapped around thick oak banisters, trees decorated with peppermint candy canes and dried strings of popcorn.

Gingerbread, mulled wine, cinnamon, orange, clove; a bountiful buffet of complementary aromas. Your own father had smelled of cranberry sauce once upon a time (it made the holidays that much harder when he was gone). And with so many people filling the space - even with the heating fans working overtime trying to filter out most of it - it could get difficult trying to figure out whether a boozy scent originated from a lovely beta or the soaked rum cake she was placing in her cart.

Honestly if it weren't for the outrageous delivery fees you would've had the groceries dropped off instead of enduring the aggressive pheromones floating through the air. Alas this was one of your few exceptions to your hermit lifestyle.

Truthfully, it wasn’t just December that had you hesitant to leave the sanctuary of your meager apartment.

For the past few years, you’d been battling a severe case of agoraphobia, something you’d been working on wholeheartedly with a therapist since the accident that made you so. It had crippled you to the point that even daring to have the blinds open on your windows sent you spiraling into that dark abyss of cackling distress, panic consuming every last ounce of breath until you found yourself minutes later curled up on the bathroom floor, lightheaded and queasy.

Nausea was a constant in your life, along with the cold sweat that had you sleeping on a towel just to keep from ruining your bedsheets. Lethargy was embedded in your muscle fibers. A searing ache in your throat. The painful deep tugging in your chest an ever present reminder of the uphill battle you fought each time you opened your crusty sleep filled eyes. Depression was your best friend, curled around you in a false sense of comfort where it was easier to slip into a maladaptive headspace than face the truth of your harsh reality.

But despite the physical manifestations of your trauma, you’d made good strides so far with your weekly sessions. It had been a difficult road getting to this point and your therapist praised you for your dedication to not letting it hinder the life you had ahead. You weren’t sure what it looked like, but you tried all the same.

Like a hound that heard you calling, that ominous presence that filled you with dread came crawling into the back of your skull, mittened hand discreetly itching at the wool around your neck and scratching the irritated skin beneath. Forcing yourself to take a few deep breaths until it settled, you grabbed one of the many baskets available and began the trek weaving down the rows of food.

Christmas was about a week away and the mobs were out in full force. Thankfully the items you were on the hunt for were not the same ingredients needed by everyone else. There was the occasional overlap of things like milk, eggs, bread, etc. But there was no call for a full sized turkey or spiraled ham; no sweet potato casserole or chocolate yule log to bake. Just some bologna, shredded cheese, a couple packs of ramen, and a few other household things here you were running low on.

Maybe for the hell of it you’d stop in the frozen section and find yourself a mini cheesecake to splurge on for when you inevitably opened that bottle of fireball sitting on the shelf come next Tuesday, forced to listen to your upstairs neighbors' horrendous attempts at Christmas caroling.

Halfway through the store, your browsing was interrupted by an alluring scent swirling somewhere nearby.

Citrusy. Acidic. Sweet. Airy.

Your scarf had slipped off your face when you bent down to grab something off the lower racks, exposing you to the freshly baked goods across the way. Someone nearby was carrying a batch of lemon cupcakes, your mouth watering as the scent invaded your tastebuds and forced a pleasant hum from the back of your throat.

Something curled in your chest like a finger beckoning forward, begging for an acknowledgement that had you standing at rapt attention. Your body seemed to move on its own, head swiveling like a rickety chair, scanning the nearby vicinity - for what, you couldn’t say. The inner omega that prowled just underneath the surface vibrated restlessly, choking back a needy whine while your eyes swept over the closest individuals. Something primal had called out to you, throwing your hormones out of whack, piecing together invisible clues so obviously standing right in front of you.

The summery concoction felt so out of place in the harsh winter months, swirling and nagging at the base of your spine, urgent and loud and taking up too much space until you felt like you could drown in its tang–

Your muscles locked in place, gaze affixed to something - someone - at the end of the aisle.

A big someone. An alpha.

And he was massive.

There was a natural musculature that came with the inherited alpha genetics. Beta’s could grow to a similar size if they worked at it, but there was a casual arrogance that was impossible to mistake with the former designation. Even still, this man towered over most others in the vicinity, lesser alphas giving a wide berth to the intimidating figure currently staring down at his phone screen. Thick grey hoodie pulled up over his head, a black military jacket layered over top. Dark wash jeans led down to warm boots hefty enough to stomp a man’s skull in. Messy dark blonde hair peeked out from up top, a black surgical mask covering the lower half of his face from view.

He couldn’t have given off any more ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes if he had it tattooed across his forehead. There was nothing sinister about his bearing per se - one hand casually shoved into a coat pocket as he leaned back against one of the dessert displays - but there was a coiled alertness that gave you the distinct impression he was more aware of his surroundings than he led you to believe.

One thing was for certain: you were never more sure of anything in your less than perfect life that that man was your scent match.

Your lungs expanded in your chest to drink in more of his scent. Palms turned sweaty, hair on the back of your neck prickled, the weight of the basket on your arm all but forgotten. Your throat parched at the prospect of getting to shove your face against his scent gland and taste the delectable lemony goodness right off his skin.

People went lifetimes never meeting their perfect scent matches. The odds of you ever encountering one wasn’t even worth holding out hope for. Over seven billion people on the planet and you had to win an epic fucking lottery to get as lucky as you just did. Bonding ceremonies like that made the news for how rare it was. You’d never even dreamed of this happening, making peace with the idea that mates only existed in fairytale romance.

You just about dropped your groceries when he was joined shortly thereafter by another gorgeous male, slightly shorter by a few inches and not as broadly built. Rich dark skin, effortlessly cool street style, short black curls, and a dazzling pearly white smile.

This new alpha didn’t seem to flinch in the presence of the other, lemon cupcake glancing up only briefly to acknowledge the newcomer whose toasted coconut aroma barrelled right into you, colliding like a runaway freight at an unguarded intersection. Gulping down mouthfuls of air like a fish heaving on dry land, your head spun wildly at the nutty intrusion; smokey yet sweet, conjuring images of a warm evening bonfire on a lush sandy beach.

Hope bloomed in your chest something fierce and bright. Your omega preened in unbridled delight, pawing at the surface, eager to get her hands on the two beautiful specimens whose every atom screamed ‘mine’. Tears stung behind your eyes, a mixture of relief and elation, vibrant like bursting fireworks and twinkling Christmas lights.

What would you say to them? Do you approach them first? Should you wait for them to scent you back or try to pretend you didn’t smell them yet? What did their voices sound like? You could see their lips moving, even if the ones’ were hidden behind a surgical mask. Tenor, baritone, rumbly bass? What were their names? Where did they live? Was this really happening right now?!

Something twisted and gnarled sunk its claws into your subconscious, rearing its ugly head in protest at the newfound revelation, but for the first time in years you didn’t fucking care.

They were here. Your alphas. Your pack. Your salvation.

“Babes!”

Decadent chocolate floated past you, a small apology from her lips as the omega brushed by, bumping her arm against yours on the way to her intended destination. You’d hardly noticed, too caught up in your own inner monologue and girlish fantasies to barely manage a quiet ‘no worries’.

For a split second, your eyes met coconut’s beautiful luscious brown, breath catching in your throat as the object of your desire finally seemed to take note of your existence. It was like gazing into the threads of the universe, pulling taut between you in a cosmic symphony that brought your stardust back together from whence it scattered at the dawn of time.

A perfect part of an incomplete whole.

…until those shimmering umber pools shifted left, aimed at the bubbly figure headed right towards them.

Huh?

Confusion as both alphas turned their full undivided attention to the dark haired omega, holding out a box of something for them to inspect and smiling when it met their approval, an affectionate pat on the head from lemon for her success that left her beaming with pride.

That’s when you noticed it - peeking out underneath the collar of her elegant peacoat. A faint white crescent moon shaped scar, standing out against her lightly tanned skin, a matching one a little farther down.

Mating bites. A bonded omega.

And your scent matched alphas were gazing lovingly at her as if she’d hung the stars.

She was theirs. They’d already found their mate.

And it wasn’t you.

Something died in your chest, a broken scream torn silent from your soul as it condensed into a burning black hole. Agony unlike anything you’ve ever known, piercing your fragile heart and burrowing like a plague into your veins until the sickness had spread to every corner of your being. Your omega clawed at her eyes, willing the visions in front of you to vanish like a twisted mirage, begging for a bullet to erase the image of coconut planting a soft forehead kiss before wrapping an arm around her waist and turning to leave.

A dejected whine ripped from your throat as you took an unconscious step forward, hand vaguely outreached, instincts screaming to chase after them and make them choose you instead of her. But you did no such thing. You watched helplessly as the alphas who were supposedly destined for you by the stars turned their backs on your pathetic existence.

This couldn't be happening. Why was this happening?! Please turn around!!!

With the same circulating air that had guided their scents to you, the wind in the store shifted.

Lemon cupcake went ramrod straight, whipping his head around so fast you were worried it’d go flying off his shoulders. It was uncanny the way he immediately zeroed in on your poor trembling figure, standing in the middle of a crowded aisle, uncaring to the concerned glances of the other shoppers as he unknowingly ruined your life.

Recognition sparked deep behind voided irises before going completely neutral, steeling his expression but remaining unmoving as stone. It’s like the two of you were locked into place, orbiting each other by an invisible tether, watery eyes begging the ones staring back to please… please not leave you behind.

Coconut halted in his own step at the end of the aisle, sniffing the air for a moment with a furrowed brow, glancing over his shoulder at lemon, asking him something too far away to overhear. You can only assume the contents of his reply, the slightest shift of his mask the only tell he’d responded before coconut turned to face you as well.

This time garnered more of a physical reaction than the last, jaw dropping while staring just as unabashedly as his alpha companion. Eyes swept from head to toe, cataloging every minute detail the same as you’d done to them. Pupils dilated exponentially, nostrils flaring taking in the crisp pear scent you exuded, memorizing every facet and swallowing it down like a ravenous predator.

What a sight you must’ve made; eyes red and puffy from the tears that now flowed freely from suffering instead of the earlier jubilation, meek and sheepish and falling apart at the seams. What a piss poor impression to give the men fated to be your mates.

There was a brief moment where coconut seemed to match your initial energy, a flash of something saccharine and longing, only for it to collapse under the grueling weight of our fatalistic reality. There was an internal struggle in the crease of his brow, the downturned expression souring behind clenched teeth and tight fists. But more than that there was pity - pity at how you couldn’t have met sooner. Pity that you’d had to discover them like this, a woman on their arm and bite marks on her neck. Pity that they hadn’t had faith that they would be the lucky ones in a packed society.

You can make out a question on the chocolate omega’s perfectly pouty lips, trying to put the jigsaw together as to why her alphas were suddenly acting this way while glancing between the three of you.

Ignoring her, coconut takes a half step forward; you take two steps back. There’s an apology in your watery eyes, a hushed ‘merry christmas’ too strained for their ears. Your heart’s beating too loudly, your breath comes too shallow. You don’t even realize you’re sucking in heaving sobs until a gentle hand of a passerby lands on your shoulder, snapping you out of the chaos of your psyche.

You can’t take it any more; the shame, the embarrassment, the gut wrenching defeat.

The basket falls to the floor with a loud clatter, startling the people nearby who let out shrieks and gasps of surprise as the spilled contents inside break open and shatter. Eggs crack, milk pours onto the mud trekked tile, a fragile jar of strawberry jam splatters across someones pristine boots with an indignant shout.

A smooth tenor voice calls out ‘WAIT’, but you’ve already rounded the corner, barreling through the crowds of happy smiles and ecstatic giggles, too torn up inside to feel anything but desolation at the future so cruelly ripped from your fingers.

The crisp frigid air smacks the breath from your lungs, winter boots slapping on the slushy frozen ground. The squeal of brakes accompanies you as you sprint uncaringly through the bustling traffic, horns honking and voices shouting, muffled and far away as you drown in the whirlwind of your mind. It’s a miracle you’re not hit by a car, an even bigger one that you make it back to your own unscathed.

Slamming the car door shut, you smack your padded palms repeatedly against the steering wheel, banshee wailing your vocal cords raw in despair. The dark presence creeps in once more, a mocking chill down your spine as it caresses your fractured soul. The nausea comes back full force, the tugging on your chest, the burning in your throat. There’s a desperation as you tear your fitted mittens off, reaching under the woolen scarf and incessantly scratching at the irritated skin until it shreds under your nails. The pain doesn't register through your emotional torment, blocking out the inner voice until it inevitably slinks back into the shadows after its bitter lick of victory.

Panting hard, your head slumps back against the cloth headrest, stewing in the silence of misery and defeat, the distant joyful bells of Christmas the only company you have on this cold winter’s night.

It takes a few tries to fit the key in your deadbolt, blinking through tears now frozen to your eyelashes. There’s no recollection of how you even made it home in your brittle mental state. For all you knew were twelve civilians flattened like pancakes on the side of the road and a warrant out for your arrest.

Wouldn’t that be nice? A break from having to pay bills and function like an adult.

Stumbling through the door, the sparse furnishings of your minimal studio glare at you, flipping them off as you shuck the damp outer layers from your frail form. A mess to be cleaned up another day.

It wasn't just the rejection of your fated mates you were facing. It was the knowledge that your entire future had been ripped away and no amount of hot glue could piece it back together. Today’s revelation was the final nail in the coffin for the rest of your life.

The bathroom lights flickered with dying bulbs, something that had been on your shopping list tonight and was now being swept off the floor along with everything else you’d left behind. It didn’t stop you from locating the first aid kit under your sink, setting it on the ceramic counter and pulling out the well loved supplies inside.

You avoided staring at your gaunt reflection, not wanting to see the person looking back as you tugged at the thick scarf looped around your neck. The constricting material tore away with ease, falling into a discarded heap on the floor, revealing the torn mottled flesh hidden underneath.

Your own set of crescent shaped scars - where the line of your neck connected to the meat of your shoulder, long since healed over and faded with time. The area surrounding it was now swollen and inflamed, raised angry red lines dotted with scrapes like a bad case of road rash, bloody from where you'd furiously clawed at your neck on the car ride home. The only time the fucker in your head shuts up - the connection tethering you emotionally gone silent once he got tired of feeling physical pain across the bond.

Memories came unbidden. Flashes of that fateful encounter coming home late from work, dragged into a sequestered shadowy overhang a few meters down the darkened alleyway. A feral alpha hopped up on something illegal, tearing into your clothes and violating the virginal space between your thighs. The muffled cries as he overpowered you, panting through a rut with his greasy fingers shoved down your throat to silence you, gagging on the musky taste. The scream as his teeth pierced your flesh, the bond snapping taut and stealing your future from you without a thought to your own wishes.

He’d fucked you ragged that night, waking up with your cheek pressed into the damp pavement and his arm slung around your waist from hours earlier. There’d been no one to turn to, no one who would care. By law now you were his - no matter the means it had been done.

A mating bite was binding.

You’d crawled away from him, your outfit in tatters hanging loosely over your bruised form, dried blood stuck to your neck and a stabbing pain at your apex. You felt dirty and used and wanted nothing more than to strip the skin from your bones. The unconscious form of the– your alpha flopped prone on his back, crimson stains around his mouth and his flaccid cock still half out of his trousers. The pinpricks on his arm told the tale of a junkie. It’s possible he hadn’t even been fully aware of the crime he’d committed.

You didn’t stick around to find out.

But you paid for that decision harshly, opting for a life not attached to your abuser, at a steep tormented cost. Bonds weren’t meant to be strained for so long. It starts to cause negative impacts on the pair, the omega bearing the worst of the brunt. Nausea, sweating, pain, dizziness, fatigue. The chronic illnesses you endured day in and day out would stay with you for the rest of your life. So long as he was up and walking free - alive somewhere on the other side of the country - his greasy claws strumming your senses through the connection tethering you eternally.

Only a perfect scent match could override the original bite and free you from the oppressive bonds that shackled you to an invisible alpha - the last remaining hope you had at any semblance of happiness.

And you just lost it.

°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°

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thevoidstaredback · 5 months

Text

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

Dick had to give it to the kid, he'd somehow thought of everything. It was a little concerning, actually, but the kid had brushed off every attempt had probing for answers. Who trained him? If he was trained at all. ...had the kid gone into vigilantism alone? Oh, dear. THat's not good fro Dick's current worries.

Reading the file Danny had handed him, Dick had to wonder how long it had taken him to put together this cover story. Also, where he'd managed to get the equipment to do it. At a glance, the kid didn't seem to have much on him. Not even a phone!

He closed the folder and set it back down on the table. "Really?" he asked, "'Congratulations, it's a boy'?"

Danny's cheeks turned a bit red as his gaze shifted to the folder. "Well, yeah. You're stuck with me now until I can get you into good habits and a healthier schedule."

"That implies that you're planning on leaving."

Danny shrugged, all his confidence now fading away. Is this what he's really like? "Well, I mean, I'm sure you don't want me sticking around at all, let alone for a while."

Dick frowned and looked back at the black folder and the binder sitting on his coffee table. God, his apartment's a mess! He smiled at Danny. "My name's Richard, but everyone calls me 'Dick'. You can stay in the guest room."

Danny lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. "Really?"

"Yep. You went to all this work, it'd be a shame if it all went to waste."

The grin on Danny's face was more than worth the security risk that he now posed. "You won't regret it, Mr. Dick!"

Dick smiled back at him, "Please, drop the formalities. We're cousins, apparently."

Was he attached? No. He wouldn't allow himself to get attached. Sure, maybe he was letting this kid - he really needs to start calling him Danny - stay with him for a while, but he wasn't going to get attached. Getting attached meant losing him. Dick wasn't sure he'd be able to survive if he lost someone again.

...damn it.

***

First order of business, now that Danny was officially Dick's - why would he willingly go by that nickname? - ward/cousin, Danny was going to make sure he got some sleep. Today was Dick's day off, so Danny had sent him to his room to take a much needed nap. The man was basically dead on his feet and Danny would be damned if he let him wander around this mess of an apartment with blurry vision.

The second thing he did, once he was sure Dick was asleep, was start to clean up. The place was a stereotypical bachelor's pad, complete with questionable stains in the carpet, rips in the cushions, dishes piled up in the sink, and old take-out on every table and counter. Gross.

He made quick work of the old take-out by throwing it all away and hitting it with a very small and controlled ectoblast. He was so glad Dick had disposable gloves on hand.

The dishes were the next thing he handed. The water was cleaner than in Gotham, so he didn't worry about washing the dishes by hand when they all didn't fit in the dishwasher. He dried the ones he'd hand washed before putting them away. Dick had no organisation in his cupboards, so Danny fixed that, too.

The fridge and freezer weren't too bad. Sure, the dairy products had all expired and most of the food was freezer bitten, but none of it was moldy yet and the appliance itself was in perfect working order. He'd have to go shopping later.

Danny had never liked cleaning, but he'd had to when his parents refused to follow any OSHA laws or Lab Safety courses. So, when he found the cleaning supplies, he took a deep breath and began scrubbing the bathroom. It wasn't too bad, thank god, and was already fairly clean. It was quick and he was able to move on very quickly.

The counters, tables, walls, and tile and wooden floors were all easy to clean with a wet rag and a broom. He wasn't going to even try saving the rug because it looked well beyond the point of no return. The couch and chair cushions could be sticked up, but he didn't have a sewing needle and thread with him.

The last thing he did before taking his backpack into the room he'd been given was to write down a shopping list and leave it on the counter. It wasn't a lot, just food and some dishes and toiletries. He'd have to figure out with Dick a way to pay rent, too, but that was a later Danny problem. He'd tired himself out and was still running on pretty much empty. So, he allowed himself to fall asleep. He'd check on Dick when he woke up.

Part 4 Part 6

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@flame-343 @ghestie93 @anarinette @aglmry @peachtreewriter @evix-syne666 @loudlypanickinginvenezolano @lumosfeather18581

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sunni-stuff · 5 months

Text

No longer a fan.

—★! Tags: NSFW, MDNI, Jaw hurting blowjob, creampie, not proofread + made late at night.

★- This is the end!

The sight of his cock in front of you made your eyes grow wide, your tongue peaking out between your lips as Simon runs a hand through your hair. “Think I like that look on your face doll,” he breathes, fisting his length in his opposite hand. You can’t bring yourself to look away as he gives it a few strokes, pre-cum beading at the tip. You’re lost for words, hands reaching up to rest on his muscular thighs. You see his cock twitch in reaction, leaning forward to take him into your mouth before his fingers stop you in your tracks.

His laugh is cruel in your ears. “Eager little thing aren’t you?” He waves his cock in front of your face, barely brushing it against your lips as he holds you steady. He’s teasing you, enjoying the way your mouth opens for him, practically begging for him to fuck it. Even when you squirm in place and your thighs press together he refuses to indulge in the temptation that is your sinful mouth, wanting to see just how desperate you can get for him before he takes what he wants from you.

“Hungry for it, ain’t you? So innocent-looking but the whole time you’re just a cock-hungry whore.” You whine again, pressing your nails into the meat of his thighs. The sting of it makes his eyes roll. “Come on, use your words,” he gasps, almost feeding you his thick cock—so close, and yet so far. “Use your words darling, tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

He's a real bastard, the way he makes you beg for him. But you can't resist, even as your mouth hesitates to open. Your shame is long gone, especially since he already had his fingers inside you. "Please, Simon," you plead, your cheek pressing against his thigh as you look up at him with those coy eyes of yours. You want his cock now, there's no denying it.

Simon hums in approval as his hand gently guides your head. His cock stands tall in front of you, emitting a powerful musky scent that makes your senses reel. The aroma awakens a deep desire within you for more, more of him and what he can offer. You eagerly take his cock into your mouth, your lips latching onto the head and your tongue eagerly exploring every inch. He tastes so good, a delicious mixture of saltiness and sweat that ignites your taste buds and fills your throat as you try to take more of him, ignoring the slight burn at the back of your throat.

“Yes, that’s it, you’re a natural,” he grunts, being careful enough not to push your head too far. “Just needed someone to stuff that pretty mouth, is that it?” You’re already a sloppy mess, spit running down your chin, eyes watering. Simon's intense gaze pierces through you, filled with twisted desire as he watches you go down on him. You seem so small trapped between his legs, sucking him off with such vigor that he worries your jaw might lock up. He tightens his grip on your hair, pulling you away for a moment to help catch your breath but all he hears is a whimper from your lips. "Don't worry, doll. I'm not going anywhere."

You gaze up at him with a dazed expression, your eyes filled with desire as his thumb gently traces your bottom lip, catching the trail of saliva that dripped down your chin. Just his touch alone ignites your entire body like a Christmas tree. This man is dangerous; he may just be the death of you. It's a fact now, one you can't deny. "Why did you stop me?" Your voice comes out slightly hoarse from your activities below.

“You're too eager, love. Don't worry, I plan on being here all night.” He grins widely, enjoying your stunned reaction. Before you can defend yourself, he pushes himself back into your mouth, silencing any protests. You comply, closing your eyes and following his lead, savoring every moment with the man above you. Your head moves slowly, accommodating for his size as it stretches your throat beyond its limits. The sounds of his moans only urge you on further; you want to hear more. More of his gasps and groans that leave his chapped lips. Lost in the moment, you suddenly realize that his entire length is now down your throat. Your face buried in his pubic hair, and the manly smell of him has you dripping onto the floor beneath you. Simon was completely captivated. Although he had been with many people before, men and women, none of them could compare to the woman currently on her knees in front of him. His moans escaped him in a primal, guttural cry that only grew louder with each suckle of your lips. Your mouth felt like heaven to him, causing his eyes to roll back in pleasure. He couldn't help but grip your head tightly as he began to thrust into your mouth, the sound of your gags only fueling his desire further. "Yes… Come on, sweetheart. I'm almost there," he groaned out, feeling his legs tremble.

The force of his thrusts and the taste of his precum are overwhelming. Your mind goes numb as he takes full control, completely dominating your tiny mouth. Your jaw aches and tears well up in the corners of your eyes as his cock hits the back of your throat again. Suddenly, without warning, his release is imminent. "Shit… fucking perfect," Simon's voice is deep with desire but not as thick as the rush of liquid that fills your mouth. His cum has a sweet taste with a hint of salt, almost overpowering at first, but you manage to swallow it all down.

With a smirk, Simon slowly removes his cock from your swollen lips, taking in the sight of your flushed and aroused face. He reaches down and helps you to stand up, his eyes fixed on you. Your mind is still reeling from what just happened as you look at him. "I should go clean up," you murmur, starting to pull away. But he pulls you back in, his lips crashing onto yours. Simon doesn't care if you taste him on your lips or if you find it gross. Teeth clash and tongues collide as the heat builds. By the end, you're breathless and unable to speak. He asks, "Where's your bedroom?"

In a blur, you find yourself back in your bedroom, lying on your back with Simon hovering over you. He carefully inserts two fingers inside you, marveling at how easily you accommodate him. It won't be long before he replaces his fingers with something much larger. It has only been a few minutes since he entered your room, and he wastes no time getting to business. Your soft whimpers turn into loud moans that mix with his low murmurs as he maintains his rhythm, keenly observing your responses and adjusting accordingly. His heart pounds in his chest, and his own arousal throbs against his thigh. "Nice room you have here," he teases, taking a moment to look around at the colorful décor which is clearly your personal touch.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you let out a whiny gasp. "You can't be serious right now," you say, disbelief evident in your tone. But he just smirks at you, clearly not taking your words seriously.

Simon lets out a low chuckle as he leans in and captures your lips in another kiss, effectively silencing you. "Hmm, deadly," he murmurs against your mouth.

Control. Control was the only thing that held him back as he expertly pushed you closer and closer to that second orgasm, that edge, loving the uncontrollable whimpers that slipped out of you lips.

As he caresses a tender area inside of you, your lips part involuntarily and his name escapes in a pure moan. He continues with steady, rhythmic motions, and the squelching sound of his fingers only adds to the erotic atmosphere. The wet slurping sounds fill your ears and drown out any other noise.

Before you could even process what was happening, a sudden tightness consumed your stomach and sent waves of ecstasy coursing through your body. Your core tenses around his fingers as another orgasm crashes over you, leaving your vision hazy and your skin tingling. You took a moment to catch your breath, throwing an arm over your face as the cool sheets of your blanket helped to soothe your heated body.

Simon pulled his sticky fingers out and surveyed the mess he had made. He couldn't help but feel proud of himself as he tentatively licked them clean, savoring the delectable sweetness of you. Slowly undressing himself, he kept his eyes locked on you the entire time, taking in the rise and fall of your chest and the glistening sweat on your skin. His hands shook slightly as he removed his shirt over his head.

The sound of rustling fabric catches your attention, and you look up to see Simon standing there completely naked. He was a work of art, his body strong and defined with the marks of hard work and struggles. Every inch of him was pure muscle, from his chiseled chest down to his toned abdomen. Scars decorated his chest, each one telling a story you couldn't even begin to imagine. His masculinity was on full display, and it was enough to make any woman feel weak in the knees. You were no exception.

With wide eyes and an open mouth, you could only manage a hoarse whisper - "Sweet Jesus." The sound of your voice drew a hearty laugh from him, his deep chuckle filling the air around you.

"I can't guarantee it won't hurt, love," he said with a sly smile, pleased with the sight of his erect manhood looming over you. The power and dominance emanating from him was palpable, and your heart raced with a mix of fear and excitement. His words filled you with a sense of anticipation, unsure of what was to come. But the raw desire in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

A sharp, searing pain surged through your body, causing your back to arch. Your mouth dropped open, a mixture of pleasure and agony escaping in a silent cry. Your eyes flew open, tears welling up at the corners. The sensation of his erection entering you was almost too much to handle. Another intense orgasm washed over you, tightening your muscles around him and drawing out everything he had to offer. You were wetter than ever, coating his shaft with your juices as you came.

Simon let out a low growl as your third orgasm rocked through you, your walls tightening around him. The sight of his member disappearing into your core, the sensation of your body quivering beneath him, the sound of your moans—all of it drove him wild. "Another one?" he asked, amazed by how sensitive you were compared to others.

Simon groaned deeply as he felt your walls constrict, his throbbing member fully engulfed in the wet heat of your pussy. The intensity of it all was almost unbearable, causing him to clench his jaw in an effort to hold back his release. He watched you with wide eyes, a mixture of pain and ecstasy etched on your face as he stretched you to your limits. It was a sight that would be forever ingrained in his memory - your body trembling beneath him as he filled you completely, filling every inch of you with his hard, pulsing cock.

You became too accustomed to his manhood. Far too accustomed. Probably, because he had already stretched you out so much that your body instinctively knew to relax and welcome him. Your soft cries evolve into moans as your head falls back onto the stack of pillows on your bed. Simon is a master at pleasuring your body, knowing precisely when to thrust and when to pull back, and always praising you whenever he hits that sweet spot that makes you cling to his arm for support. He knows every curve and crevice of your form better than you do, and it's both exhilarating and frightening.

He pulls out, his cock glistening with your juices, before slamming back in. The squelching sounds of your wet pussy taking his cock, the sight of you writhing beneath him, the feel of your tight warmth—it was all too much to bear. He wanted to fuck you until you couldn't walk, until you were a whimpering, shaking mess under him until you were begging for him. Simon loved seeing the way your eyes looked up at him, all pliant and already fucked out. You were better than any toy, any woman or man, he’s ever recorded with. Maybe, just maybe, if that pretty little brain of yours was working after this he’d ask to see you again.

Simon could feel another orgasm building within you, your pussy clenching around his cock as he slammed into you. He was on the brink of his own release, his balls tightening as he neared his climax. You're such a good girl, taking me so eagerly. Can you handle a little more?" He whispered, his voice heavy with lust.

As his words reach your ears, your cloudy eyes clear up. The feeling of his cock thrusting deep inside leaves you disoriented but able to hear him clearly. His praise makes you involuntarily grasp around him. You can sense the effort it takes for him to hold back, though he doesn't say anything about it. It takes a moment for you to realize why - there's no condom.

Breathless gasps escape your lips as euphoria pulses through your body. You looked up at him, meeting his confused gaze before speaking again. "I-I'm on the pill," you managed to say, the words mingling with your moans. His brows furrowed in confusion, but you reassured him with a seductive glint in your eye. "It's okay…to cum inside."

With one last powerful thrust, he finds his confirmation and releases himself deep inside of you. As his cock throbs, he continues to fill you with his hot cum. Your body tightens and releases around him, drawing out your own orgasm as you collapse against him. Gazing up at him through hazy eyes, you notice for the first time that he seems completely spent. Simon slows down, trying to catch his breath and regain his composure. Yet, he remains buried deep inside you, the warmth and tightness of your pussy reminding him of what just took place. He then picks up pace again, renewed energy coursing through his body as he continues.

"Simon?" Your body resists, but he persists. There's that tingling sensation again. Without speaking, he leans in and softly kisses your lips, silencing you. He must have noticed how starved you were for touch, as each time he kisses you, you go quiet and still. "Just a little longer, love." he pleads for once. This isn't an order, but a genuine request for more. And how could you deny him, when he clearly needs it?

An entire hour had passed, and the two of you were still going at it with no signs of stopping. Simon instructed you to switch positions, and now you lay on your side, one leg draped over his shoulder as he continued to thrust into you unrelentingly. Every muscle in your body pulsed as he penetrated deeper each time, reaching a place that no other man had ever reached before.

The sound of the old bed frame creaking filled the air as your bodies rhythmically moved up and down. His movements were powerful, and every time he pushed inside you, your leg would automatically lift up to deepen the impact. Your arousal was evident as your slick walls eagerly welcomed him, trembling uncontrollably when his tip hit that delicate spot inside. You couldn't contain your moans any longer; Simon made you feel too good and he knew it. He gave you everything you needed and more, completely abandoning caution in the heat of the moment.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Your moaning abruptly stops when a loud noise startles you, and the knocking on the wall next to you snaps you out of your lustful haze. Your neighbor has finally had enough of hearing you say the same guy's name over and over again.

"Shut up! Some of us have things to do!"

You feel a rush of embarrassment and shock as you feel your face flush, expecting Simon to stop. But he doesn't; in fact, He somehow pushes himself even harder than before

Simon couldn't care less about your neighbor; you were all he needed. You had given him an hour of pure satisfaction, not just underneath him but on top of him as well. Your neighbor could go to hell because Simon was already in heaven with you. You bit down on your pillow, trying to contain any moans that threatened to escape your lips. It was a struggle to stay quiet when Simon moved his hips so sensually against yours. Your vision began to blur as your walls eagerly pulled his manhood back inside, each thrust accompanied by his praises.

"Simon, gotta quiet…" You whispered to him and trying your best to keep quiet. You were completely spent, stretched to the limit by his skilled cock. No other man would ever be able to fill you so fully or even fit after experiencing Simon's prowess.

"Who says?" Simon's voice was deep, teasing, and seductive as he watched you while thrusting and grinding against you. He was impressed that you could still speak coherently while being pleasured by him like never before. He didn't care who heard you; anyone listening would know exactly who he was - the one giving you the best fuck of your life. This only fueled him to adjust his grip on you, lifting you higher against him so he could penetrate deeper and touch every nerve in your body with each thrust.

That's all it took, your mind was completely consumed by him, unable to do anything but moan endlessly from the passionate experience. You exploded around him, covering his cock in a frothy white mess as your mixed juices flowed out of you. Your hips were connected by thick tethers of cum, evidence of just how full and satisfied you were after being thoroughly fucked by Simon.

Simon pulled out slowly, admiring the trails of cum connecting the two of you. He wanted more, but seeing the tired look in your eyes weakened him. Another loud knock on the wall broke through the moment, causing him to roll his eyes.

Looking back down at you, he noticed that you had fallen asleep. It seemed like he may have gone a little too far. Letting out an affectionate sigh, he gently patted your thigh before getting up and moving around your room.

He went into your bathroom to grab a washcloth and wet it before returning to carefully clean you up. The warm cloth stirred you awake and you murmured in response. "Mmm…?" Simon stated simply, "Just cleaning you up, pet." He made sure to leave no trace of the mess you both had made on your body.

What a man he is. You watch his every move until he pulls away, but then reach out to stop him, pulling him into bed with you. "Stay."

Simon raises an eyebrow and for the first time tonight, he's about to protest until you suddenly kiss him, silencing any words he had planned to say. "Well, since you asked so nicely."

Together, you lay next to each other in bed, still tingling from the sex. His arm instinctively wraps around your waist and without saying a word, he pulls you close, letting your head rest against his warm chest as you listen to his heartbeat. Together, you sit in silence for a while until finally, the question that has been on your mind since he you met him slips out. "So, are you GD?"

Simon's eyes widen in shock before he quickly tries to play it cool by trailing his fingers teasingly down your spine. "Why? Are you a fan?

He causes you to shiver as you hum in response, rolling your eyes playfully. This guy, he's full of jokes, isn't he? "I don't know... I think I'm more than a fan at this point."

♡! I tried to make this one really long because It's been literally TWO MONTHS. I'm so sorry. I had planned to come back in April after school died down but I ended up getting nerve damage in my dominant hand and was left unable to type. I hope this makes up for it :c!!

˚ ✦ . Taglist (People who commented): @forgotten-lego-piece @theirkenfiles @gluttonybiscuits @urbimom @blackhawkfanatic @mimidonottouch @madamemelancholysstuff

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost smut #simon riley #simon ghost x you #simon riley x you #cod x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #call of duty smut #mayadarlings

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wildestdreamsblog · 10 months

Text

Latibule Season 2: I

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which he lost his latibule.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: In the spirit of Christmas hehe

Masterlist, Prologue

He didn’t believe that you were gone no matter what anyone said.

Everyone was saying the same thing. You were gone and there was nothing anyone could do to bring you back. However, Min Yoongi didn’t like their answer and anyone who said that you had already passed on from this earth was met with his wrath that was communicated through his fists and weapons. No one could even tell him that he now couldn’t physically follow where you were. In his twisted mind, he thought that he could follow you because you never left this earth. Of course, he could follow. You did promise, after all, that you would never go somewhere where he couldn’t fucking follow. His angel would never lie to him, he thought. But your absence was saying otherwise. Your absence was too loud.

The days following the moment he opened his eyes and learned of your demise were bloody and dark. Everyone was on edge, and the traitors went to hell here on earth. They did wish they had died instead, but death was never quick when it came to them, nor was it painless. Min Yoongi made sure that they felt every ounce of pain he felt when you were taken away from him. His brothers could not even reason with the man. They didn’t know how to handle this Min Yoongi. It was as though he died there with you, and what was left of him was only his darkness. Agustd was already ruthless, but now he was just outright cruel, burning everything and everyone that crossed his path.

No one could even say their piece to him-well, all except Kim Seokjin. Despite Jin choosing the less violent life and despite him spending his days treating people in the hospital, no one could deny the power he naturally excluded. It was the power that was inherent to him when he was unfortunate enough to be born to a father that was the previous mafia king. Kim Seokjin may possessed the face of an angel, but he was the most dangerous of them all. It was just that he had a patience of a saint, and everyone fret the day someone snapped his patience. He was a dangerous, eccentric man. And he was a ticking time bomb in comparison to Taehyung who just kept on exploding without an end in sight. Min Yoongi, though, was known to be a reasonable man, his calm nature was never broken. It took losing you to break the calmness in him. The days after he woke up, he was seen back where he was the happiest. Day after day, Yoongi could be found there, leaning against the tree with cigarette in between his lips as he looked at the ruins of your house. The fire took everything from him. It was angry as it smoldered what once was his latibule to the ground, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. Yoongi thought that the world was simply too cruel to him to strip away the only place he had of you. He couldn’t even smell you anymore, couldn’t even go to the place that was full of your presence.

How cruel was it to have you once and never again? How cruel was it for him to finally have found the warmth, to finally have basked in it for a moment too short, only for him to live in a winter forever after you? He would never admit to anyone that each time he closed his eyes, the only thing he saw was the moment you fell as the bullet pierced your skin. So, he had not been sleeping well. If you were here, he thought, you would chase away all the demons in his head. If you were here, you would put your arms around him, rub your hands on his shoulder in a soothing way only you knew how, and you would silently tell him that everything would be okay, that he wasn’t as bad as he thought he was. Yoongi couldn’t do anything. All he did was to go to the place where he found and lost you.

He was always there, Jimin noted. He made this place your temple, mural and shrine. However, never once did he visit where you were finally laid to rest. Never once did he even acknowledge your death. It was like not seeing it would make your death untrue. And so, day after day, hour after hour, the man could be found there as though he was waiting on a miracle, as though if he waited long enough then you would return, as though if he stayed long enough, you would walk back and smile at him, all while calling him a fool for looking too sad.

But you never did.

And after a whole year, Min Yoongi never uttered your name again.

---

“Y-you’re supposed to be the good one! W-what is the Chief of Police doing here?!”

Yoongi watched in boredom as Jungkook pushed a man to kneel in front of him. The warehouse was quiet, well, save for the screaming of the traitors. The other brothers were busy with torturing the remaining traitors they kept alive. And today, he was faced with the last remaining traitor they had yet to kill. See, this asshole was so below the rank that he didn’t know that the Chief of Police was also the same Agustd, the leader of the mafia.

He was nothing, Yoongi thought. And yet, he was the one who blew up your house. He could almost laugh if he still knew how. “T-the public will know! I’ll tell them that you’re the d-devil!”

Yoongi blew the smoke on his face emotionlessly, a strand of his dark hair falling on his face. “You’re not an intelligent man, are you?” he asked evenly before pulling the cigarette in between his lips and onto the idiot’s eyelid. He heeded his screams no mind as he removed his jacket with his badge on it. Someone from his right stepped in to carefully fold his jacket. Yoongi folded his sleeves to his elbows and without any warning, punched the man on his face.

The man proved to be an even greater fool as he laughed in false bravado, blood a stark contrast against his crooked teeth, “Is that all you can do? You don’t have it in you to kill. You’re a civil servant!”

“Is that so?” he asked in a conversational tone as he picked up a knife, putting it up over the light to inspect it before turning to the buffoon. “Which hand burned the house?”

“What?”

Yoongi looked at Jungkook and the latter manhandled the man near the table, flatting both his hand on it. “Which hand should I cut?” He walked nearer to them as though he had all the time in the world. “This one,” he stabbed the table, missing the man’s hand by a centimeter. “Or this one?” he repeated the action for the right hand, except that this time he intentionally stabbed the knife through his thumb, severely cutting it. “Oh no,” he said in a deadpanned voice before looking directly at him. “Guess my aim got bad.”

“W-who are y-you?!”

He smiled at him; his eyes remained emotionless. “Hi, I’m Agustd. Nice to meet you. So which hand?”

“N-No! No, please! I’ll give you what you want-“

Yoongi sighed, already losing his patience. “You do have to choose. We won’t stop until you only have one hand. Or do you want me to choose?”

“L-lef-“

Before the traitor could even finish sputtering what Yoongi deemed was bullshit, he buried the hilt of the knife into his hand. He didn’t even blink when he felt resistance from his bones, Yoongi merely kept on pushing, uncaring of the wailing man. He never stopped until he the knife finally touched the surface of the table.

And after that, he stabbed his hand again. He never ceased, not until the hand was completely mutilated. He never stopped, not even when the blood kept sputtering on his face from the man’s open wound, a stark contrast on his pale white complexion. He never stopped even when the man lost consciousness.

“He’s going to die, Yoongi,” Seokjin noted lightly from his seat. From outside looking in, he looked like a perfect image of peace, yet the hold he had on his phone was a telltale sign that he was far from pleased. He was not even phased by the violence around him, his focus merely on the whereabouts of his runaway sunshine. “I do not have the patience required to revive a dying man tonight.”

Yoongi paused, leering at the man who was slipping in and out of consciousness, before heeding his hyung’s statement. He did not want to test Jin’s patience tonight when it was apparent that he was barely holding on to his control.

He didn’t want to kill this man tonight. No. He planned on keeping him alive for years and years to come. He planned to give him hope, only for him to squash it away like he did his. As long as Yoongi shall live, then he shall suffer with him. As long as he was living in this fucked-up nightmare where you weren’t by his side, then so should he lived his very own crafted nightmare.

If he wasn’t happy, then why should anyone be?

---

“That phone looks like it wants to rest,” Jimin observed lightly as he and his hyung visited another crime scene that was definitely not because of them. It was three hours away from Seoul, the travel time giving him headache, similar to what Jimin was giving him. He watched as Yoongi ended the call before glaring at him.

“What about my phone, Jimin?”

“It looks like it wants to retire. Please, for the love of all that’s good, let me buy you a phone.”

“No.” It was the only thing he had of you.

“Whyyyyy do you love that phone so much, hyung? Our enemies would think our business is not doing good that you cannot even buy yourself a phone!”

Yoongi just shrugged his broad shoulders before walking out of the police line and through the busy market. He nodded at the policemen as they acknowledged him. His watchful eyes observed the chipper attitude of the marketgoers, chatting among themselves. He wondered how people could wake up this early and yet looked so alive. He hadn’t felt alive since that night. However, he thought that had you been here, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would. He would wake up at an ungodly hour for you.

He could hear Jimin chatter beside him as they navigated their way out of the busy street when it happened. Until it all turned into a white noise when it happened.

When he saw you.

He halted his brisk walk, his eyes following as you walked away yet again from him.

For a brief moment, he believed your eyes met. For a brief moment, he felt his heart beat again. Yet, your eyes seemed to hold no recognition for him as it only passed through him. You didn’t even stop. It was as though he was merely a stranger.

On the other hand, he thought that you looked different, but he knew in his dead heart that it was you.

Or was it his mind finally crumbling on him, reveling on his insanity?

He blinked once and you were gone.

Jimin, suffice to say, was shocked as his hyung ran back. He never saw him moved that fast, uncaring of the people who he would runover from his haste. His dark coat trailed behind him as he moved, a touch of desperation evident, compelling Jimin to reluctantly trail after him. Yoongi forcefully cleared a path, parting the crowd with determined strides. His singular focus was on reaching you, leaving his mind devoid of any other thoughts.

It was you, he was sure. It was his angel.

He was almost sure.

But when he reached where he saw you last, you weren’t there.

Jimin was breathless when he finally reached his hyung who was looking around the crowd like a lost child. His hands were on his waist as his desperate eyes searched for…who, exactly?

“What happened, hyu-“

“It was her, Jimin-ah. I saw her.”

He blinked, following his hyung’s shifting gaze. “Who?”

“My angel. She’s alive."

Latibule 2.II

#bts fic #yandere bts #bts yandere #min yoongi fic #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x y/n #min yoongi x reader #yandere min yoongi #yandere agustd #yoongi x you #yandere yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi fic

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harianaswhore · 7 months

Text

⟡ ₘₐₓ ᵥₑᵣₛₜₐₚₚₑₙ ₂ ⟡

NONE OF THESE ARE WRITTEN BY ME

ᵐʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʳᵉᶜˢ ᶠ¹ ʳᵉᶜˢ

— ᶠᴸᵁᶠᶠ ⟡

cuddle bug - @chrisevansonly

playing cupid - @pucksandpower

that pretty head of yours (^)

if i was a worm (^)

getting jealous over him - @theemporium

gift giving (^)

he must be lucky! - @adventuringblind

beach read - @monzabee

too cold - @predestinadora

you mean everything (^)

made for each other - @sinofwriting

even kiss begins with tabs (^)

"i might have had a few shots" - @forzalando

anyone can cook (^)

the ways in which max shows you he loves you - @thatsdemko

purrfect christmas tree - @gentlyweeps-world

protective - @verstappen-cult

5 times max refuses to acknowledge he’s sick + 1 time he does (^)

reuniting (^)

flowers are a language of their own - @lightsoutletsgo

little verstappen - @lxclerc

sore loser - @charlessainzz

cat-quette - @charles-leclerizz

love tropes - @mariahcarreyyy

overprotective (^)

missed her too - @s1ipstream

THE birkin (^)

the brains of the relationship (^)

— ᴬᴺᴳˢᵀ⟡

the grudge (sibling!reader) (tw: jos verstappen) - @hockeyshmockey

solace (tw: mentions of jos verstappen) - @adventuringblind

need me - @silverstonesainz

under the opulence (family issues) - @struggling-with-drivers

matilda (tw: jos verstappen) - @twirlyleafs

the mighty has fallen (but you'll rise again, love) (tw: mentions of jos verstappen) - @amaranthineghost

— ˢᴹᵁᵀ⟡

whiplash - @pucksandpower

burn for you (^)

it's only natural (^)

thighs (suggestive) - @vivwritesfics

handcuffs (^)

use me - @fxrmuladaydreams

size kink - @baby-dr1ver

neck kisses (VERY suggestive) - @verstappen-cult

obsessed (^)

let me take care of you - @talkdutchtome

devil's advocate - @luvth0t

sultry vindications - @charles-leclerizz

post race present - @emchante

— ˢᴼᶜᴵᴬᴸ ᴹᴱᴰᴵᴬ ⟡

straight home to me - @redclercs

manifestation boo - @lorarri

horner!reader - @pucksandpower

ramsay!reader (^)

hamilton!reader (^)

slay intensifies - @vivwritesfics

daniel is a man's bestfriend - @marlenesluv

princess treatment - @natailiatulls07

paint him red ! - @agendabymooner

full of fan behavior - @nouvellevqgue

new desire - @formulafics

love story - @verstappen-cult

big brothers - @theyluvkarolina

lacy (^)

good luck - @55szn

up the oranges? - @tinycoffeeroom

girldad max - @edwardslvrr

paint me in lovely red - @bth3cowboi

won gold - @maxverstappendefender

my personal volkov - @hamilando

your honor, he's a simp - @httpsserene

— ˢᴱᴿᴵᴱˢ ⟡

lucky red bull driver make it work - @fxrmuladaydreams

my love mine all mine - @dreamauri

i do not two three four imagine - @imnameimswrld

little big fan - @thef1diary

little traitor - @norrisleclercf1

let me be the lighter - @nostappen

the mad dutchman and the fearless dutchess his eyes it's just us (smut) - @delulujuls

start of season drama two - @twirlyleafs

gold-digger two (^)

superheroes and flat caps a conversation stuck in your throat you are in love summer of love birthday boy - @illicitlimerence-writes

wrong number what if we met? chase call me max verstappen - @astonmartingf

coney island two - @madelynn-sienna

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thetriumphantpanda · 9 months

Text

i've got my love to keep me warm | joel miller

Summary | Joel agrees to spend Christmas with your family, away from the warmth of Texas, and it takes him a little while to warm up to the idea.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!reader

Word Count | 1.4K

Warnings | Grumpy x Sunshine vibes, some sweetness, some suggestive thoughts but nothing explicit, mentions of consuming food and alcohol.

Authors note | For @yeollie-plz- It's your @pedrostories secret santa!! I really hope you love this because it was good fun to put together! Happy Christmas to you!

“You know, you could at least pretend to be happy?” You tease, nudging your elbow into Joel’s side.

With the way he’s bundled up in his big coat, you’re not sure he actually feels you do it, but he grumbles all the same. Whatever he says in incoherent, but you can discern the meaning perfectly. What’s the point in being here as grown adults? What’s the point in wandering around, looking at lights and getting excited about Christmas, when, for the first time in years, there won’t be any children around?

“Come on,” You beam, taking his gloved hand in yours, “Maybe a drink with a little something in would make you happier?”

“What would make me happier would be sat indoors outta this snow.”

You roll your eyes, pulling on his hand to get him to follow you. He walks by your side, gloved hand sitting in yours as you weave through the crowds of people. Joel had wanted to stay in Texas for Christmas, something about the familiarity of it, not wanting to spend too much money on travelling at this time of year, but knowing it was his first Christmas without Sarah, now that she was all grown up with her own family, you knew that he’d be miserable, no matter that you’d be there with him, so you’d put your foot down, told him the two of you would spend Christmas with your parents up north, somewhere cooler, more festive.

He’d met them plenty of times before, they loved him, thought the sensible, stoic man was good for you. He had his head on his shoulders, a home of his own - settled, is what they’d called him. A far cry from the other boys you’d chosen in the past few years, and they were overjoyed to have a house full of people this year - your brother and his wife, you and Joel, a real family affair.

The centre of town always reminded you of being a child when you came back at this time of year. The streets filled with small stalls - some selling food, some filled with little trinkets from small businesses, all set around the main square, with its big tree, lit up and sparkling.

There’s one stall you zero in on, a small line that you stand in, still gripping at Joel’s hand as you step further towards the front each time someone walks away. You remember the first time you’d stood in this line - you were eight, and your dad had passed you a cup full of warm hot chocolate, a towering swirl of whipped cream on top. You’d sipped it so slowly, savouring the cream and the sweetness of the chocolate, and anytime you’re here, you have to get it, it’s just that these days, it’s always spiked with something.

Joel, of course, orders an Irish coffee - black, bitter coffee, split with cream and his favourite whiskey. You watch closely as he pulls one of his gloves off with his teeth, slipping it in his pocket so he can feel the warmth of it in his palm. He’s watching you just as closely as the lady hands you the cup of hot chocolate, mixed with Bailey’s, still with that tower of whipped cream too.

You both step away, standing off to the side as Joel takes the first sip of his drink. You can see the slight softening of his expression as he goes in for another sip, this one bigger than the first. He’s watching you as you dart your tongue out, taking some of the sweet cream into your mouth before you sip the drink, hissing when it burns your tongue a little.

“That’ll be hot, baby.” He teases, earning a little glare from you as he drinks his again, seemingly unaffected by the steam that rises from his own cup.

“It’s good,” You muse, holding it out to him, “Try it.”

“I don’t want none a’that,” He shakes his head, “Too sweet.”

“Joel Miller,” You chastise, pushing the cup closer to his face, “It’s Christmas, for the love of God, try the hot chocolate.”

He sighs, shakes his head in that way he always does when he knows he can’t win the battle. He hands you his drink, laughs a little when you wrinkle your nose at how strong it smells, takes yours from you and brings it to his mouth, taking a big sip, and when he pulls it away to hand back to you, you can’t stifle the giggle that falls from your mouth.

“What?” He asks, as your giggle falls into proper laughter, “What the hell’s the matter with you?” He snatches his own drink back sinking his neck down into his coat to keep the biting wind from his skin.

“Y-you’ve,” You choke out, pointing at your own nose, “You’ve g-got something here.”

You bring your hand up to his face, running the pad of your thumb over the tip of his nose, swiping the cream from his face. You go to pull it away, to wipe it away on the leg of your jeans, but Joel has other ideas, gripping your wrist to still you. He brings your hand to his mouth, enveloping your thumb into the heat of his mouth. You suck in a breath, feeling the tip of his tongue dart out against the skin, licking the cream off, before he drags your thumb from his mouth with a soft pop.

He drops your wrist from his hold, but you’re stuck, staring right at him, with the familiar throb of want settling across you.

“Thought it was too sweet for you?” You raise an eyebrow when you’ve composed yourself enough to speak.

He shrugs, takes hold of your hand and starts walking you back towards the tree, “If you’re gonna laugh at me, I ain’t gonna make it easy on you.” That familiar tone of grump is back, but you know he doesn’t mind really as he walks slowly, guiding you both to a bench that looks directly at the tree, dressed in red and gold, icy lights casting that familiar festive glow across everything.

He wipes the snow from the bench, makes sure it dry enough for you both to sit on, draping his arm across the back of it, encouraging you to curl into his side. The two of you sit for a while, watching the people come and go - young children excited to stand in line for the chance to meet Santa in his grotto, men on their own going from stall-to-stall, clearly shopping for last minute gifts, and couples, just like the two of you, wrapped up in nothing but each other as they hold hands, point things out to eat other.

“Thank you for coming,” You speak softly into his shoulder, looking up at him as he looks down at you, “I know it’s not really what you wanted, but I like that you’re here.”

“Of course it’s what I wanted,” He speaks just as softly, leaning down to press a featherlight kiss to the tip of your nose, “I only ever want to be where you are baby,” He motions his head to the scene in front of you, “Even if it is in the freezing cold, surrounded by too many people, wherever I’m with you, I’m happy, okay?”

You smile at him, tilt your head slightly, as his lips come down onto yours, cold and chapped from the winter air, but oh-so familiar as they slant across your own. You open your mouth against his, let your tongue meld with his own, the bitter of his coffee mixing with the sweet of your own drink. It’s soft, gentle, and over far too quickly. He pulls away, places two more soft pecks against your mouth, and then settles back against the bench, his hand now resting on your shoulder.

A shiver settles across your bones, something to do with the fact that even a few years into your relationship, he still sets you on fire without even trying, but mainly because it’s fucking freezing. Leant against Joel’s body, you feel him shiver a little too.

“Home?” You ask.

He looks back down at you, smiling a little with a nod, “Home.”

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misctf · 9 months

Text

Christmas Revenge

For Scott and his girlfriend Holly, the past year had been nothing short of magical. As the manager of his family’s Christmas tree farm, Scott enjoyed sharing his love for the holiday with anyone he met. And when Holly visited from the big city, he was happy to share it with her too. But Scott could’ve never imagined that their initial interactions would lead to a serious relationship. Holly left her job at a new tech company to come be with Scott and help on the farm. But while things seemed great, Holly insisted that Scott be careful. It wasn’t just her job that she left, but her boyfriend as well. Jared founded the tech company and didn't appreciate being rejected. But Scott brushed Holly off- besides, he was a beast of a man. He could handle Jared if he ever looked to cause trouble.

So a year passed without incident and Scott couldn’t help but forget Holly’s warnings. And as she gave him a kiss goodbye and headed out to start prepping for the holiday party down at the farm, Scott couldn’t help but think he was the luckiest guy on earth. But his thoughts were interrupted when he heard a knock at the door. Not thinking much of it, he continued getting ready, until another more forceful knock forced his hand. He opened the door to see who it was, only to be met by nothing but an unmarked package on the ground. Scott raised an eyebrow, looking around to see if he could see whoever delivered it. But without any luck, he shrugged and proceeded to bring the box inside, setting it down on the table.

“Wasn’t expecting anything.” He murmured to himself, quickly going about opening the strange box, “What the fuck...?” Scott frowned as he lifted what he could only assume was some type of costume- a gray bodysuit, “Who would send this?” He wondered aloud, placing the gray suit back in the box.

But Scott had bigger concerns- he needed to get ready for the party. He quickly stripped and stepped into the shower, enjoying the warm water that caressed his body. He rubbed soap through the hairs on his muscular chest and along his sore biceps. And as he enjoyed his shower, he heard something shuffling from just beyond the curtain. But when he pulled it back to inspect, nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. The gray body suit was standing on its two legs and shambling towards him weakly. But when it “saw” it’s apparent target, it leapt at Scott with such force that it knocked the man to the ground.

Scott attempted to wrestle with it, using the strength he had built up over the years to resist the lifeless suit. But he watched in terror as one of the suit’s legs opened up and wrapped around his muscular calf. He winced in pain as he felt a burning sensation emanate from where it made contact and he watched in horror as more of the suit wrapped around his meaty thighs.

“Get the fuck off me!” He shouted, attempted to push the suit off of him.

But the suit was quick, and Scott watched as he inadvertently placed an arm within the suit’s. He attempted to pull it out, but the suit quickly locked onto his arm, preventing him from moving it. The suit wasted no time, and puppeted the trapped arm to pin his other arm down. Scott yelled out for help as the suit continued to wrap itself around his body, despite his attempts to break free. Even with all his muscle, the suit itself seemed to have an unfathomable amount of strength.

“Please...” He begged as he felt his muscles tire out.

Now at the complete mercy of the suit, he could only lie there as it wrapped around his other leg and arm. The remainder of the suit opened up and wrapped around his torso and chest, covering him completely in gray. His dick and ass were no exceptions as the tight suit forced his dick against his abdomen. Now nearly fully encased, he felt an intense heat be applied to his skin, as well as a new sensation primarily from his cock and ass. Pleasure maybe? The warmth felt good against his skin now and he let out a low moan as his tired muscles began to relax. But before Scott could fully appreciate these newer sensations, the remainder of the suit began to wrap around his bearded face. His eyes widened before his vision was flooded with gray.

And so Scott remained there, encased in the gray suit as it started to alter his body. He silently moaned as the suit compressed his muscles, shrinking his impressive physique into something much leaner. And it wasn’t just his musculature that was impacted, but his height as well. Inch by inch, he continued to shrink until he was about a foot shorter than where he had started. But for each inch of height lost, his ass expanded an equal amount leading to quite an impressive amount of additional padding. Minutes passed as Scott underwent his metamorphosis but eventually the suit simply dissolved away and disappeared down the drain. Scott moaned and gripped his head, shuddering at the cool air that touched his warm skin. He picked himself up, wobbling slightly as he adjusted to his new proportions.

“Oh god, what the fuck.” Scott said aloud as he finally viewed himself in the mirror, wincing at his newly high pitched voice.

Scott couldn’t even recognize himself. Every physical attribute that had made him the man he was had been removed. His body hair was absent. His musculature reduced to nothing. His dark hair now blond. His skin tan and smooth- not a callous to be found. But what he noticed in particular was his newly plump and jiggly ass- one of the only things that hadn’t been reduced in his transformation. This was nearly too much for the man and he quickly pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts that unintentionally highlighted his giant globes. He needed to find Holly and fast, but as he headed out the door to get down to the shop, he felt a pain in the back of his head and his world went dark.

When Scott woke up a few hours later, he found himself in what appeared to be an office building. He quickly looked down at his body and felt his heart sink as he realized the changes were very much real. But now, he wore nothing but a blue thong.

“Ah Scottie.” Scott looked up at the young man who entered the room, “I think we met briefly last year.” Scott shuddered as he realized it was none other than Jared, Holly’s former boyfriend, “Looks like our tech did exactly what it was supposed to, wouldn’t you say?”

“Y-you did this to me?” Scott mumbled.

Jared nodded, his eyes narrowing. He proceeded to explain that his company worked on tech to modify the human body. And when Scott stole Holly from him, all he could think about was bringing him down. How barbaric men like Scott needed to be taught a lesson. And for Jared, taking Scott from a rugged, masculine man to a small helpless twink was the perfect revenge.

“But Scottie, there’s something that bothers me. I want to know why Holly found you attractive. Would you care to educate me?”

Scott wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. To tell him that he was absolutely insane. But before he could say what he wanted to say, he started explaining to Jared why such big sexy muscles were such a turn on. How just the thought of hairy chests and big dicks were enough to get him off. And as Scott continued to listen to himself explain these things and the horrible things he’d let such a man do to him, he realized that he fully meant it. With each word, he felt his ass throb in pleasure with a need for one of these men- a man to slap his ass and use him. By the time he was done, he was nearly drooling in anticipation. Jared smirked.

“You see Scottie, that suit did a whole lot more than give you the body of a depraved gay slut.” He stated, “I’m sure I don’t need to explain that to you.” Scott nodded, barely comprehending his words, “But don’t worry, I know many men who would love to try out your new uh... talents.”

Scott was never the same after that day- unable to go back to the life he once lived. Gone from the world was the small town hunk, replaced with a slut that craved to be manhandled by the type of men he once was. And Jared made sure Scott was well taken care of so that he could focus all his energies on the only thing that mattered to him: pleasing other guys. So Jared was more than happy to provide any support Scottie needed. Besides, for Jared, this was the best Christmas gift he could've asked for.

#male tf #male transformation #straight to gay #mental change #personality tf #twink tf

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sunluvbot · 9 months

Text

✮ my favorite ao3 enhypen fics ✮

|| updated 9.17.24 ||

*disclaimer: all of these fics are mxm & contain smut (mdni!!!)

˗ˏˋ heeseung + jake ˎˊ‐

✮ - oh, is it love? by malamyszk

✮ - like a prayer by achoome & pinkfire

✮ - all i want for christmas (is you, tree farm guy) by malamyszk

✮ - mixed up by pinkfire

✮ - a haunting (and now you’re mine) by malamyszk

✮ - but no one’s supposed to, they just want to by malamyszk

✮ - what the water gave us by malamyszk

✮ - like there’s no one other than you (and our kids) by malamyszk

✮ - you’re the warmth in my chest (let’s light a fire) by mooniik

✮ - that’s how the light gets in by ponyohoon

✮ - have to pay by pinkfire

✮ - i’ll be like one of your girls (or your homies) by ponyohoon

✮ - curiosity killed the… dog by pinkfire

✮ - surfacing by enhasjaeyun

˗ˏˋ heeseung + jay ˎˊ‐

✮ - primus inter pares by justlookagain

✮ - can’t control my body by geminicat

✮ - always home by amoreyen

✮ - the virtruvian man by yvth

˗ˏˋ jay + jake ˎˊ‐

✮ - he my best friend, yeah we not a couple by devianthee

✮ - we got seven seconds left in heaven (then it’s back to life) by devianthee (pt. 2 of he my best friend, yeah we not a couple)

✮ - one more time by orphan_account

✮ - tricked my treat by midge03

✮ - nirvana in different skin by celestefics

✮ - good for you (series) by wwisteria

✮ - open up your soul a little more, flood it by worldstar

˗ˏˋ jay + sunghoon ˎˊ‐

✮ - head shot-drank by scarletsunbeams

✮ - cotton, kfc and a mother’s sickly love by midge03

✮ - from the top (to the bottom, what is this?) by midge03

✮ - insouciance by etudeism

✮ - kiss it better by anonymous

✮ - leave it like an unmade bed (keep it messy) by ponyohoon

˗ˏˋ jake + sunghoon ˎˊ‐

✮ - all was golden in the sky (when the day met the night) by anonymous

✮ - all day (burn me) by anonymous

✮ - littering is butch (no not really) by midge03

✮ - it’s just a “bro” thing by anonymous

✮ - footsteps by nicoismysenpai

✮ - sink or swim by ponyohoon

✮ - 1-800-want u by devianthee

˗ˏˋ sunghoon + sunoo ˎˊ‐

✮ - anything but mine (1/2) & you were never mine (but do you remember?) (2/2) by darlingriki

✮ - fever by reesablue

✮ - love the way you wear that by eatcereal

✮ - want you (to want me too) by collectingseaglass

˗ˏˋ heeseung + sunoo ˎˊ‐

✮ - eat me softly by gemxblossom

✮ - this kind of love is getting expensive by pinkfire

✮ - yours for the weekend by anonymous

˗ˏˋ sunoo + hyung line ˎˊ‐

✮ - bad behavior (one-shot series) by sunoosphere

˗ˏˋ jay + jake + sunghoon (mxmxm) ˎˊ‐

✮ - use me, defuse me by devianthee

✮ - just between you & i by enhasjaeyun

✮ - adventures in shame by myathewolfeh

✮ - fifth wheeling by wwisteria

✮ - pass your boy the heatwave by devianthee

˗ˏˋ heeseung + jake + sunghoon (mxmxm) ˎˊ‐

✮ - fresh paint job, check! by worldstar

*note: as you can tell, i’m a heejake enthusiast and heavy heejake reader LMAO also malamyszk is the BEST heejake writer in the entire world so please show their works some love!! let me know if all the links are matched up correctly, this took me a while to do so there may be some mistakes. i’m not sure if you need an ao3 account to access these, but the link should bring you right to the fic!*

#enhypen #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #jake smut #sim jaeyun #heeseung #heejake #jay enhypen #jay smut #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon #park jongseong #lee heeseung #kim sunoo #sunjay #jayhoon #jayke #heesun

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joelscurls · 9 months

Text

a heart for melting

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 2.7k

warnings: post-outbreak, implied age gap, themes surrounding child loss and grief, some angst but mostly festive fluff, grumpy x sunshine dynamics (Joel is a grinch & reader loves the holidays), reader is described as having long-ish hair

summary: Jackson's first annual Holiday Market brings about more than just cheer.

a/n: Merry Christmas @thetriumphantpanda; I'm your pedrostories secret santa! I hope you enjoy this lil festive take on grumpy!joel x sunshine!reader — I had lots of fun writing it 🤍🎄 🥧 🪵 🦌

Joel doesn’t want to be here — surrounded by garland and ribbons and so much unadulterated joy, it’s nauseating. No, he was forced to be here.

Please, Ellie had begged, it’ll be good for you to do something other than patrol or drinking with Tommy. Plus, they’re too good to keep to yourself.

They, being wood carvings — the tiny sculptures of deer and bears and birds, tufts of hair and bunches of feathers drawn out of driftwood with the tip of his blade. It was only ever meant to be a hobby, a way to busy his hands after they’d been wrapped around the cold metal of his rifle all day. Something lighter, creative rather than destructive, an act of giving rather than taking.

But sharing them with other people? He hadn’t been interested. Maybe he’d make one for Ellie or Tommy. Wrap it up in a piece of cloth and offer it as a gift for their birthday.

Not that he thought they were any good, really.

With the announcement of Jackson’s first annual Holiday Market, though, came Ellie’s pleading. “I’ll help you,” she’d bargained. “You don’t even have to give me anything!”

“Who said I would anyway?” he’d grumbled, digging his spoon into the bottom of his bowl of stew and sifting out a chunk of meat.

Joel despises the Holiday Season. He’d welcomed its disappearance with the end of the world. Because he had no reason to celebrate, with Sarah gone. Her absence stung like salt in an open wound on any normal day. But on Christmas, memories of her hanging her favorite ornaments on the tree and sneaking one of the cookies baked for Santa burned behind his eyelids. Left him heaving through hot tears.

The holidays had no place in his world, but they certainly had a place in Jackson. The first time he and Ellie had strode through those gates, they’d been met with that damned Christmas Tree, towering over the settlement like a beacon. And he hated it, hated the way it brought about that pounding in his chest and that spinning in his head.

How could anyone find any good in such a poignant reminder of loss?

Tommy says it’s about new beginnings, finding ways to be happy again. And what’s happier ‘n Christmas? God damn Santa Clause, hot chocolate, children singin’ carols?

Still, Joel isn’t convinced — not yet.

Standing across the mess hall, at your table piled high with baked goods, you are far too cheerful. You’re humming some song with a jovial beat, absentmindedly swaying as you rearrange rows of gingerbread and muffins and scones — all of which are draped in white icing, like flocking on Christmas trees. You pause to wish a happy holiday to everyone who passes through.

Joel knows he’s seen you before, flitting in and out of the community’s kitchen, always with that signature smile scrawled across your face.

And god, you’re so bubbly, taking to everyone you meet like a bee to honey, letting them in without a care in the world. Popping from table to table, making sure they have enough to eat. That they’re doing well.

It shouldn’t surprise him that you’re so…spirited, too. You seem to find the good in everyone and everything, after all.

It infuriates him, nonetheless.

Joel groans to himself. Stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans as an elderly couple rounds on him.

He grumbles a hello to them when they approach. They offer him half-smiles in return, beginning to pick up some of the carvings laid out on the table — turning them, inspecting them.

“This one’s nice,” the man says to his wife. She hums in agreement.

“You got any tigers?” the man asks.

“Tigers?”

“Yeah — I used to love ‘em as a kid.”

“Got what’s on the table,” Joel grumbles.

“You make ‘em custom? I can offer some homemade jam in return — elderberry.”

Joel sighs in annoyance.

“Don’t make ‘em custom. Got what I got.”

The man seems defeated, nodding and walking off without another word. The woman follows closely behind.

Just as they leave, Ellie appears. She sidles up to Joel and shrugs her jacket off. Pulls a chair up next to him.

“There’s so much cool shit here!” she exclaims, too loud. A judgemental set of eyes flit her direction. She glares right back at them.

“Do you mind?” Joel huffs, jaw ticking.

“Jesus, who pissed in your Cheerios?”

“How do you even know what Cheerios are?”

“Don’t,” she admits. “I read it in a book.”

“Of course you did.”

Ellie leans back in her chair, pulling an apple out of her backpack and biting into it. She shuffles some of the carvings around on the table. “Gotta fill in these gaps, man,” she says, juice dribbling down her chin.

Joel ignores her. He sneaks a glance at you; finds that you’re already looking. Your expression is unreadable, gaze unmoving as he studies you.

Despite your upbeat disposition bothering him, he can’t deny that you’re gorgeous: bright, beckoning eyes, siren-like smile — it’s like you’re peering into his soul.

He didn’t think he still had one of those.

“Dude.” Ellie nudges him. He peels his eyes from you reluctantly. “I asked how many takers you’ve had.”

“Uh.” He pretends to think.

“You have no fucking idea, do you? Too busy staring at that girl.”

“Wasn’t starin’,” he clips defensively.

“No? Well she’s coming over here, man.”

Sure enough, you’re striding right toward him, abandoning your post. Joel barely has time to prepare for impact.

He unconsciously straightens up and pulls his hands out of his pockets. He brushes them on his jeans just as you stop in front of his table.

“Hi there,” you say.

“Hi!” Ellie chimes.

You pick up a carving of a two-headed deer. His favorite.

“This is beautiful,” you coo. “The craftsmanship is lovely.” You’re running a finger along the grooves in the wood, holding the piece delicately in the palm of your hand — as if it’s made of glass, not wood. “You have a real gift…”

“Joel.”

“Joel,” you repeat. He ignores how sweet his name sounds coming out of your mouth. You tell him your name, and it fits you, he thinks. It’s pretty.

“How long have you been making them?”

“Just since I got to Jackson. ‘ts somethin’ to pass the time.”

You nod. Continue scanning over the intricacies of the deer. “I was never much of a baker before I got here, either,” you joke, gesturing back toward your table.

“Good one,” Ellie laughs. “You’re funny — isn’t she funny, Joel?”

In his head, he’s glowering at her. Outwardly, he feigns amusement.

“Real funny.”

“I’d love to see how you make these sometime,” you say, then, placing the deer back on the table gingerly. “Do you have a workshop?”

“In our shed,” Ellie pipes in before he can say anything. “You should come by tomorrow! Joel’s off patrol.”

He shoots her daggers. She pretends not to notice.

“I’d love that! I have to work in the kitchen, though. I could come by after?”

Joel starts to shake his head no. Ellie’s hand wraps around his arm like a vice grip. He stills.

“Sure,” he grits.

“I can bring some pastries, if you’d like.”

“Don’t like sweets.”

“Oh,” you say, a little thwarted, but you’re undeterred. You shift on your feet. Chew your bottom lip. “Well, how about something not sweet, then?”

Your brows lift, narrowed eyes on him as you await a response. Joel still isn’t thrilled about the prospect of a visitor. Really, he doesn’t like anyone on his property that isn’t Ellie, or Tommy and Maria if he’s invited them. But you don’t seem so bad, offering to bring him food.

He can probably deal with your sunny disposition in exchange for a full belly. Lord knows he went too long without that luxury, and he’d be a fool to deny himself of it ever again.

So, he agrees, the garbled sure less than enthusiastic leaving his mouth. Still, you don’t seem too offended. In fact, you smirk at him, wordlessly sauntering back to your table, sneaking glances at him every so often for the remainder of the afternoon.

Sure enough, the next evening, while Joel is whittling in the shed, you show up.

You’re wielding a basket of savory hand pies, as promised, and Joel has to stop himself from drooling. They smell incredible. And they’re still warm, somehow, steam wafting off of them even after your walk here.

“Come in,” he gruffs, his nose following the scent like a dog’s as he trails behind you inside.

His set up is minimal: a rocking chair next to a bench, a couple stools he made for when Tommy comes by to play poker. But his works are scattered throughout, every surface in the small room cluttered with little carvings.

He settles atop one of the stools as you begin to wander around the room, plucking sculptures off shelves and awing at them with such genuine admiration, it causes something to pull in his chest.

Every so often, you make a remark about the details in a piece, how the fur on the deer looks real, how you can practically smell the replica evergreen in your grasp.

And something shifts — carried by your kind words through the stuffy shed.

Taken by the slight lilt in your voice when you speak to him, the almost-shy smile that pulls at the corners of your lips — Joel is attracted to you.

He’s following the line of your neck down to your collarbone, ogling at the exposed skin there when you pick another carving up off the shelf. And he feels guilty — he shouldn’t be looking at you like this. You’re just being nice, being neighborly, and he’s gawking at you like you’d have any interest in him.

No; you’re young, beautiful, could do a lot better than an old grump like him.

He averts his gaze quickly when you suddenly set down the tiny, carved bird that had been in your palm, round the workbench and perch yourself atop the stool next to his. You retrieve a handpie out of the basket and pass it over to him.

“It has braised rabbit and carmelized onions in it,” you explain, taking a bite and letting the steam roll out.

He follows suit and — it tastes just as good as it smells, if not better. He’s salivating again, letting the dough melt in his mouth before swallowing.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence, getting through the entire basket in mere minutes.

When you’re finished, you ask him where he’s from.

The question shouldn’t feel like such a shock to the system. But after a year of being in Jackson, successfully avoiding conversation about his life before the outbreak, it sets off a panging between his eyes, a dull ache in his viscera.

“Texas,” he tells you plainly. “From Austin, originally.”

You nod. And you must be able to tell that he’s not used to talking about himself — by the tick of his jaw or the lack of eye contact — he’s not sure. Because you don’t pry. Instead, you say, “you can ask me something.”

He nods. Thinks on it for a moment.

“When did you arrive here? To Jackson?”

Unlike him, you do not grimace at the intrusion. Instead, you tell him: about your parents, their untimely deaths, the harrowing road that led you here. You do not cry, but Joel can see the pain in your shiny eyes.

It’s inevitable; there isn’t a single person here who hasn’t been dealt a bad hand. But you wear your past like a badge of honor, like you’re still grateful, after it all, to be alive.

Joel envies your tenacity.

So when you ask him about Ellie, if she is his daughter, he lets the walls around him down — just an inch. He doesn’t get upset when he stumbles over his words while telling you about Sarah. He finds comfort in confiding in you, in the way you so attentively listen, quietly nodding along as he recalls his version of the end of the world.

“Thank you,” you say when he’s done, burying his hands back in his pockets.

“For what?”

“For sharing that with me. I know it can be difficult to relive it.”

“I relive it everyday,” he admits. “Everything reminds me of her in one way or another.”

“I understand,” you nod. He believes you do.

So sweet, gaze like honey, you are an enigma to him. He hasn’t met many people who are kind just for the sake of it — not in a long while. Maybe that’s why he’d been so bothered by it at the market. It had felt almost unnatural to him, bound to be laced with an ulterior motive.

He’s still learning how to trust people again. It doesn’t come easily after twenty-odd years of rationing it like the pills he’d stowed. Still, there is something innate about baring his soul to you. Letting you in through the cracks in his battered being. You are safe, he’s sure of it; benevolence radiating from you like warmth.

It drips off your tongue when you ask him to show you how he does his craft — slips down your fluttering lashes. No longer can he deny you of anything — he’s accepted this swiftly — and so he obliges.

A half-whittled fox materializes from his coat pocket, along with his blade. He passes both to you and pulls his stool closer to yours.

He guides you, taking your hand in his, encouraging the press of the blade into the wood. Shows you how to round out a corner with a subtle twist of the knife. You’re a fast learner, Joel notes, attentive, taking every instruction like gospel.

The slow drag of steel, your fingers wrapped tightly around the handle; you’re so focused that you jump slightly when he places a reassuring hand on your knee.

“Doin’ great, darlin’,” he says, and your lips pull around pearlescent teeth. Joel feels as enraptured by you as you do the carving — the loose tendrils of hair that drape over your shoulder, the clinging of cotton to your soft curves. Though he hardened into stone a long time ago, he feels smelted in your presence. So he cannot help it when his fingers begin to drift up your leg, settling at your side as he turns his body toward yours.

The blade stalls, tip still stuck into the wood, puncturing the fox’s non-existent spine, and your face lifts.

“Is this okay?” he whispers. You nod, gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

You’re so close like this; Joel can smell the floral perfume dappled along your neck, can feel your warm breath fanning his face. He has half a mind to stop himself from sealing the sliver of distance left between you. But then you’re sighing, placing the blade and the wooden fox on the tabletop. And it’s your turn to guide him — winding your delicate fingers around his wrist and settling his hand at the small of your back.

The air in the tiny workshop grows heavy with unspoken desire, a longing to disrupt; to create. Your body forms to his languidly, arms interlocking behind his neck, fingers weaving in his hair to pull him closer to you. And then your lips press to his — hesitant at first, then not. You drink from each other until you are drunk, breathless and giddy when you separate.

“That was nice,” you whisper, and Joel chuckles.

“Just nice?”

“Great,” you amend. “It was great. Better than I imagined, even.”

“You imagined this?”

“Yes,” you smirk. “On a loop since I first saw you at the market.”

He pulls you back in. Gives you another chaste kiss. “For good measure.”

“Joel,” you say then, “will you and Ellie come by mine on Christmas? I could even cook — it’s just-”

“Yes,” he’s accepting before you can finish. “I’d love that. As long as you make more of those,” he gestures toward the empty basket on the workbench.

“That can be arranged,” you grin.

As soon as you leave that evening — sent off with a goodbye muttered between slotted mouths — Joel starts on your Christmas present.

end notes: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment if you enjoyed <3

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal as joel miller #pedro pascal #pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories

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frannyzooey · 1 year

Text

Short Days, Long Nights: 13

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: E (pregnancy sex, lactation, grief)

A/N: Thank you endlessly for being so patient with me while I've been on hiatus ❤ I'm gonna stay off for another couple weeks, but I didn't want to leave you hanging for too long. I appreciate every single person that has stuck with me on this! Thank you to @the-ginger-hedge-witch and @the-scandalorian for helping me with this one - you both are the biggest brains and the most wonderful writers and I am insanely lucky to have you on my team. Enjoy! ❤

Jackson.

The image of the map is burned into Joel’s mind, always present.

More concerned with your safety than anything, he knows you should leave, but as the weeks slip by, what picks at him more is that he didn’t have an answer to your question that day.

“Where are we gonna go?”

He should be one step ahead. He should be on top of the potential outcomes. He should have a plan, since that’s always been his role. Stepped up with one when he had Sarah, took care of Tommy before the Outbreak, and after, led their way in the QZ. After Tommy left, he still did it, even if he was going through the motions more than anything. Doing it has always been second nature, a means to survive.

You’d let his lack of answer drop because he knew you didn’t want to leave, and of course, he knew you shouldn’t. Not right now. But still - still - he should have had a plan for something he knew was bound to happen sometime. Blinded by the light of your fierce optimism and wanting so badly to believe in it, he simply…didn’t think about it. The first time that’s happened in decades.

You’re depending on him, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t have an answer ready.

“Where are we gonna go?”

He doesn’t fucking know.

Wood dust floats to settle on the floorboards around his boots, and he runs a piece of sandpaper over the beam of rough lumber that rests across his lap. The rhythmic sweeps soothe his nerves, and he tries to focus on how good it feels to do something useful with wood again. Something familiar, the dry grain sliding against his palms. A task done because he wants to, instead of as a means to get by like so much else in his life.

This…this was for him, and for you.

The late afternoon sun streams through the window in the shed, not quite enough to dissipate the chill. Crisp air breezes in through the open door, the sweet smell of damp leaves blending with the wood and the tips of his fingers are cold enough to stop, but he doesn’t. He has to make the most of your nap times if he wants to get this done before next week.

Before Christmas - or the closest approximation to the date anyway, using your rudimentary calendar. Celebrating the holiday had been your idea, and like every other time when it came to something you asked for, he couldn’t say no. He said yes when you asked him to cut you a tree, nodded when you pointed to the one you wanted after a trek through the woods, helped you rip strips of red, moth bitten flannel that was worthless for clothing just to watch you tie bows to the end of the branches, as a means to decorate it.

He was impressed by your constant resourcefulness and ingenuity when it came to the things you’d been given, and at night, when the lantern shone on it and bathed the living room in a cozy glow, it almost did feel like Christmas time. The closest thing to it that he’s felt in years, anyway.

Placing the sandpaper on the floor and picking up a knife, his mind follows the trail marked on the map. Winding through woods and across open swathes of land, it passes right through your area and he knows it’s only a matter of time before someone else follows the first. He knows that man can’t have been the only one with a map.

He frowns, gouging the wood a little more forcibly as he works through a knot, and he pictures the curve of your cheek, the delicate line of your neck, the bright happiness in your eyes here. That Christmas tree, in the front room. Torn between the idea of the unknown being just as unsafe as being a sitting duck at the cabin, he is restless with the need to move. The urge to keep you tucked away and protected from the world spreads beneath his skin and grows stronger every day, along with your stomach.

It’s large enough that it strains against the shirts you’ve borrowed from him, and though you’ve started choosing large sweatshirts instead, it’s begun to push against those too. You’ve begun to sway when you stand in place, an unconscious rock as a means to relieve pressure on your lower back, and he pictures you doing the same with a baby in your arms as you stand next to the cradle that he’s been building.

When he thinks about leaving it behind only to gather dust as he drags you somewhere else, the image eats at him, reminding him too much of another room, left behind to rot.

Another life, upended by abrupt violence.

Guilt has always gnawed at him for so many things, and following the mental image of you holding a baby, he adds to the growing list: the idea of another child replacing the one he had.

He fixates on all the things he couldn’t do for her on that last day but also the things time has robbed from him: the image of her face, the sound of her laugh. The books she liked, the order in which she lost her teeth, the weight of her infant body in his arms. How much of that time he spent without her while trying to provide for her, and how here, he’s got all the time in the world for this new child. His new child.

More feelings; the knife gouging deeper. Looking forward to a holiday that can’t include her, nervously anticipating holding a baby that belongs to him, looking at you and what you’ve built together and being so fucking happy he missed his mark on that bleak day ten years ago.

Is it betrayal to feel joy?

He’s not replacing her. He knows that. He knows, and yet the guilt never stops and so neither do his hands nor his mind, both working on fixing other problems that can be fixed.

Jackson.

A bed for the baby.

–

“I know it would be cold, but I think I’d rather have snow.”

You look out at the sodden garden, the neat, large borders that surround it blending in with the damp landscape. The fence that Joel built the only visual marker of where it’s at, it’s prepped for winter, buried in a dense layer of leaves and compost. You absentmindedly finger the leaf of a plant you brought inside with you, sheets of rain sliding down the window.

“Not me,” he says. “Might look pretty, but it would be a whole lot more dangerous.”

The blurred, muted mash of colors outside all blend together, the world a canvas of dingy brown and bleak gray. Everything soggy and limp, everything saturated with wetness: at this very moment, you’d take danger over another day of this.

Turning away from the depressing sight, you watch him sort through a pile of loose screws and nails on the coffee table. His head bent in his task, his shirt pulls tight across his shoulders as he hunches over and nudges each piece of metal with the tip of his finger, sorting them. Listening to the pleasant clink of them being dropped into glass jars, you go back to watering the plants.

After a process that had you pouring over the gardening book for days, you left what you could in the garden in order to have a good base for the spring, but took the rest inside, to see if you could keep growing anything through the winter.

Mismatched buckets and pots, an amalgamation of anything that would hold enough soil to plant a seed in, it was an experiment for sure. Enough was stored in the pantry to get you through the winter if you stayed lean enough about rations, and Joel had been pushing his portions upon you like there was no tomorrow, constantly assuring you that he had plenty.

“What is this?”

Stopping to stretch his back with a groan, he’s picked up a loose, shapeless scrap of fabric off the couch.

“Wait –” you protest, setting the watering can down.

He frowns at it, turning it in his hands, and when you make a hasty grab for it, he keeps it out of your reach with a chuckle.

“This my present, honey?” His facial expression still puzzled, he tries to work out what it is.

“It’s for the baby,” you explain. Coming to stand next to him, you turn it upright. “See? This is the neckhole, and the arms go here.”

“.......And the legs?”

“I’m not that good at sewing, okay?” you defend yourself with a laugh. “I thought maybe their legs could just hang out in this little…sack area.”

You make a self deprecating face, looking to him for a reaction, and he fingers the bottom of it.

“That ain’t bad. You should see if you can tie up the bottom, you know, for a draft or somethin’.”

“I used all the spare laces on the pants. I tried to make some, but of course I don’t have elastic and I don’t know how big to make them around the waist for a button, so I thought I could just cut two holes and make like, a little belt so that it would grow with the baby and...”

Your words taper off when you realize he’s staring up at you with an amused expression and you let your shoulders drop in defeat. “This kid is gonna look like they’re from the eighteen hundreds, aren’t they.”

“I guess you would know, with the books you’re always readin’,” he says with a grin, and the stack of historical fiction next to your side of the bed comes to mind.

“Oh God,” you moan quietly to yourself.

Standing with a soft grunt, he bends to press a kiss to the crown of your hair.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” he murmurs. “You about ready for bed? I’m gonna go do a final lap.”

Checking the perimeter of the cabin while you bank the wood stove for the night, he eventually joins you in the bedroom, bringing in the smell of cool night air with him. Already in bed, you’re propped against the headboard with your book in hand, and you admire him as he gets ready for bed himself: the edges of his curling locks catching the light in a glowing chestnut, the warmth held in his tanned skin as he peels off his shirt, the soft give of his still trim stomach as he pads over to bed. He climbs in, adjusting the covers around the two of you.

“What about Mae?” you ask absentmindedly, skimming the book in front of you.

He shrugs. “Not bad.”

You make a face at the reception. “What about….Lauren?”

Stretching out on his side to face you, he rests his hand on your bump, smoothing the fabric of your sleep shirt down. A small movement nudges underneath his palm, and the corner of his mouth lifts. An intimate, quiet moment, you keep reading while he chases the constant movements with his touch, his fingers splayed wide, searching.

“Always so squirrely at night,” he says, the words rounded with softness.

“Tell me about it,” you sigh.

You set your book to the side and slide down next to him as he reaches to turn off the lantern, and the two of you lay facing each other, your belly between the length of your bodies. His hand finds your stomach again, and you let yours rest over it, guiding his touch lower. Lower, until the tips of his fingers brush against the band of your underwear and also right where a set of feet (or hands) slide underneath your skin. The taut skin shifts with rapid movement, a sensation that never fails to mesmerize you, but it’s something else when he’s the one who gets to see it. Watching him experiencing it is your favorite.

“What about Margaret? I’ve always liked that name.”

He makes a face, telling you all you need to know. “What makes you so sure it’s gonna be a girl?”

You shrug, lifting the hem of your shirt so you can feel his skin on yours, and his hand slides right back into place.

“Have you thought of any names?” you ask quietly.

“I, uh…I was sorta thinkin’ about June.” His dark eyes flit up to yours. “After June Carter Cash. Or Pearl, after –”

“You wanna name my baby after Pearl Jam?” your eyebrows raise. You’ve heard him humming “Future Days” while working outside, you know the band is a favorite of his.

He grins at your reaction. “That a no?”

“I should have guessed it would be music related,” you tease with a smile, scooting closer. “I like June. It’s pretty.”

The gentle exploration of his touch soothes you, and you close your eyes to savor it.

“What about boy names?” you ask. “I can’t really think of any. It’s actually what makes me think it’s a girl, like she’s trying to tell me something.”

“I haven’t thought of too many either. Thomas, for my brother, maybe?”

“That’s a good one.” You yawn, and sleep softly rounds the edges of your words. “Are you ready for next week?”

The preparation of his gift has your hands aching and grasping one with the other, you rub the tender knuckles, working some of the soreness out. Wordlessly, he reaches for your hand and takes it into his own, kneading the joints.

“I think so. S’kinda nice, havin’ a Christmas.” His touch lingers on the tips of your fingers, warming them. “Too cold in here? I can put another log on if you want.”

“No, it’s just…they ache. They're so swollen they get stiff sometimes. I don’t think the damp is helping.”

You hear it now, peppering the window in the dark. The steady drum of rain on the window, the sound makes the room all the more inviting: warm and safe, his body heat radiating underneath the quilt. He keeps rubbing your fingers, his own larger hands cradling your smaller one, and akin to someone rubbing your back to sleep, the touch lulls you, your eyes fluttering shut.

“This good?” His mouth brushes lightly against your knuckles, his lips pressing against your fingers before he breathes warm air on them.

“Mmmm, yea.” Silent for a moment, you speak. “Joel?”

He hums in acknowledgement of his name, and you voice the nightly request you started asking him weeks ago.

“Tell me what you know.”

A prompt he’s seemingly ready for, he shifts to get comfortable, letting out a sigh. The motion similar to someone getting ready to tell a bedtime story, your reaction to curl tight next to him is the same.

The first time you asked him this, he barely remembered anything. Other memories taking their place, the finer details of pregnancy and birth were buried deep, most of them forgotten. He remembered the doctor's visits but not the frequency. The general concept of birth but not the stages. The pain, but as someone who didn’t go through it, he couldn’t tell you what labor actually felt like.

All guesses and long ago recollections, you took them because they were better than nothing. Tonight, he tells you about the night feedings.

“Babies, they uh…” he begins in his gravely, lowered voice, trying to speak softly in the darkness. “You know they eat every couple of hours or so for a while after they’re born. Weeks of it.”

You nod against his shoulder, listening to his deep drawl.

“I don’t remember much because when you don’t get a lot of sleep it all tends to blur together, y’know? But I do remember some of them. Peaceful, sometimes. Everything is so quiet and still, and there ain’t nothin’ but you and them, sittin’ together.”

He stops, and you reach up to brush your fingers along the edge of his jaw, just enough to let him know you’re listening. He sighs, a heavy, contemplative thing.

“They are so small in your hands. So small it’s scary. I remember bein’ so careful, always feelin’ like I was gonna accidentally hurt her, or –” his breath hitches, and he swallows hard. He’s silent for a moment, and your breath slows and evens out. “Anyway, they don’t let you get any sleep, not for a few months, but sometimes….sometimes, you don’t mind.”

Your body loose and relaxed next to his, you’re on the edge of sleep when the words tumble softly out of your mouth.

“Joel?”

“Yea?”

“I’m scared.” The confession is whispered into his bare skin, and you breathe in his comforting, familiar smell, the steady drum of his heart beating underneath your cheek. His hand is a weighty drag down the line of your spine, the feeling of it steadying you.

The wind blows outside, rain pelting the glass.

“I know, honey,” he answers. “Me too.”

–

Long after you’ve fallen asleep, he stays awake, his mind lost in a memory.

Her tiny body rigid with deceiving strength, he struggles to force her arm into a small sleeve. His hand is huge compared to her fragile arm, her skin downy soft under his palm, and moonlight shines through the window in her bedroom just enough to light the features of her scrunched, upset face. A small wail pierces the darkness, and succeeding in dressing her, he lifts her up.

One hand cupping her entire bottom with the other covering her back, he makes low shushing sounds with his mouth to soothe her, inhaling the milky sweet smell that clings to her skin.

“Hey baby girl, shhh. I got you. I got you.”

Her tiny face burrows into his chest, her body squirming until she gets comfortable, and he keeps soothing with low hums, his hand rubbing a slow circle over her purple pajamas as she settles.

Moving slowly so as not to disturb her, he sits down in the rocking chair and continues to hold her; the carpet plush under his bare foot that gently pushes off the floor. His sleep blurred eyes focus on the small turn of a glass butterfly that hangs from her window, the rounded curves catching the moonlight as she sleeps on his chest.

He lets the unearthed, vivid memory wash over him as his chest constricts, the pain suffocating. Finding himself in this position more and more since you started asking him about what he remembers, he closes his eyes and succumbs to the pain: worth it, to see her face again. To remember things he’d thought he’d forgotten.

The edges of the memory blur and crumble, his mind losing its focus on that purple room and on the cusp of sleep, he tries to grasp and hold on tight to the details until they fade away.

–

“Keep your eyes closed, okay? Wasn’t much to wrap with.”

Anticipation thrums through you, your features lax with fondness as you wait patiently on the living room floor with your eyes closed. A fire crackles in the wood stove next to you, shadows pooled in the corners of the living room where the light doesn’t reach, and you scoot a little closer to absorb more heat.

Never one to linger in bed, he’s been up since dawn, and when you awoke alone, there was a weighted, peaceful stillness in the air—a significance to the day that was at best, a guess. Still, you felt it all the same: through drinking tea with him on the back porch this morning, through reading on the couch this afternoon, through helping him prep the small feast you allowed yourselves for dinner.

You hear and feel a shift in the air when he comes to sit in front of you, setting your present at your feet.

“Okay, you can open ‘em.”

Laughter bubbles bright and loud when you see what it is.

“Joel Miller, you shouldn’t have.” Picking up the bottle of vinegar, you tilt it in the light to see how much is left: about half, which is a find indeed. “How long have you been hiding this?”

He shrugs, looking pleased with your reaction. “Not too long. I found it when I went to check out that last cabin. I know it’s not a lot, but I thought it would be useful.”

Vinegar means pickling, means cleaning, means acid for the soil of your plants that you moved inside for the winter, and even though the label is half peeled off and the contents might not be as potent as they once were, you have never been so happy to see a bottle of the stuff in your life.

“Thank you,” you say softly, leaning forward as much as you can, presenting your lips for a kiss. He gives you one, and you pull back, your mouth twisted in an apologetic pout. “This is a way better gift than what I got you.”

“That’s not true,” he argues. “You fixed my favorite jacket. Feels brand new.”

After snagging it on a tree branch while hunting, he had been so disappointed when he inspected the size of the rip when he came home. Handing it to you, he had declared it no good anymore and told you to use it for something else, but knowing it was his favorite, you’d been mending it in secret while he went out for the day. Textiles being a scarcity aside, that jacket was also your favorite: it’s the one he’s been wearing since you first started out; the sight of it comforting to you.

“I actually got you somethin’ else, but you’ll have to close your eyes again.”

You automatically squeeze your eyes shut, your hands playfully grabbing the air as you squirm on the floor, and the sound of his low chuckle makes you smile wider. Hearing the front door open and then close, you frown when the object he places at your feet sounds heavy.

“Okay, open em’ up.”

It’s immediate, the way your expression drops from delight into something more reverential. Your breath frozen in your lungs, you reach out and touch the smooth edges of the cradle. Tracing the perfectly fit together corners, you take in how small it is – so small - but perfect.

Your eyes lift to meet his, tears blurring your vision. “Did you make this?”

“Yea,” he replies softly. “I kept in the shed, workin’ on it when you were napping. I knew we needed somewhere to put her, so I thought –”

“Her?” Your fingers brushing along the neat edges, you look up at him with a small, watery smile, and he matches it with a soft one of his own.

“Sure, why not. You’ve convinced me.” Affection is open and obvious on his face, the lines that normally crease his forehead softened as he watches you look it over.

“This is…so much, Joel. It’s beautiful. I don’t even know how…I was thinking we’d have to put her in a dresser drawer or something, and I –” Overwhelmed with his thoughtfulness, you’re at a loss for words. “Thank you,” you eventually settle on, hoping the sincereness in your words expresses everything you feel.

“You look so surprised,” he says, teasing laced in his tone. “Did you really think I would get you just a half bottle of vinegar for Christmas?”

“I don’t know!” you laugh, a hitch in your breathing as you settle your emotions. “We can’t exactly go Christmas shopping, so I figured you did the best you could.”

He reaches to swipe a tear from the round of your cheek, and you chase the heat of his palm, leaning into it. “It’s been so long since I gave anyone a Christmas present. Glad I’m not totally out of practice.”

Gently sliding the cradle out of the way, you rise to your knees to give him a kiss.

“I love it.”

You kiss him again, his lips tinted red from the wine at dinner, and the bitterness sweeps through your mouth when he gifts you a slow slide of his tongue. The tentative heat held in his response passes to you, and swallowing his hunger, it spreads through your limbs to pool between your legs. Pressing forward, your hand reaches out for his shirt, and you deepen the kiss.

You hope it conveys everything you want to put into words but can’t: appreciation, love, gratitude. Keeping your mouth on his, you slip your hand around the back of his neck and threading your fingers up through his locks, you hold him in place, his hand grasping your elbow to steady you as a soft sound rumbles from his throat.

“I guess you really liked it.”

You just nod, pulling him in for another kiss, his familiar taste and scent filling your senses as he presses himself closer, and when you let out the catch of a moan in your throat, he pulls back just far enough for you to see hooded want in his eyes.

“We done with the gift exchange?” He presses a kiss to your your throat, his lips warm and delicate over the skin he finds and you nod, letting him taste.

“Here,” he asks, his mouth moving just below your ear, “or in the bedroom?”

“Here,” you breathe, cupping his whiskered cheeks to pull his mouth back to yours. Your hand slips between his thighs, finding him half hard under his jeans, and groaning into your mouth, he shifts on the floor to kneel in front of you. Your fingers work the buttons of his flannel open, pushing it from his shoulders at the same time he grabs the hem of your shirt to work it over your head and off. Undoing your bra, you fling it onto the floor as his hand reaches back to tug his t-shirt off in a smooth, overhand motion, and your hands drop to his belt buckle, tugging it open.

The back of your knuckles swipe through the line of coarse hair that leads under the waistband of his jeans, a slight shakiness to your movements betraying the need you feel, and it’s something he sees and rewards with another consuming kiss.

The rest of your clothes tugged off in a rush, he rests his back against the couch and guides you onto his lap, the soft inside of your thighs straddling the outside of his firmer ones. One of the only comfortable positions you’ve got left, it’s been your favorite because it gives him unfettered access to your breasts and when he palms them in appreciation, anticipation sends a warm thrill up your spine.

Using both his hands, he cups the sides of your jaw to draw you in, holding you in place while he opens your mouth with his, his tongue sliding smoothly against yours. His fingertips dig into the nape of your neck, one hand dropping to palm the plush weight of your breast, and you kiss him back even harder while he delicately teases your nipple with his thumb.

The calloused pad skims over the top of it, the contrast between the tender touch and the fierceness of his kisses making your head swim with arousal, and pulling back, he takes in your kiss-swollen mouth only for a moment before bending his attention to your breast.

Using the cradle of his hold, he pushes it up to draw the peak of it into his mouth, and your head tips back, a broken cry coming from your throat.

“Please. Please.”

He would give you anything – anything – you ask for, and this is no different. He laves his tongue over the peaked bud, dragging firm pressure over it as he draws it into his mouth, and when you dig your fingers into his hair and pull with a moan of pleasure, his hand cups the underside of your breast to push more in. Frenzied, rough, desperate for more, a deep groan slides out of his throat at the same moment you feel a strange, tingling sensation on your nipple.

Surprise shows in his brown eyes when they flick up to yours, and pulling back, you both stop.

“Was that –” you ask, and he looks down at your breast, his thumb dragging delicately along the peak.

“Yea, I think it was,” he answers, slightly mesmerized.

A drop of milky liquid hangs from the tip of your breast, and he wipes it away, smearing it on your soft skin. Another one takes its place, and his eyes flicker with interest.

“Holy shit.”

The words slip out faster than you can stop them, and the corresponding lift of his eyebrows makes you laugh, his own deeper chuckle joining your lighter one. He pulls you in for a kiss right as you’re leaning down for one, and you find there was no hunger lost while the moment was broken; instead it comes back even stronger as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and he holds onto your back with a splayed grip so fierce it makes you squirm.

Unsure of when you started grinding your hips against his, you work them slightly faster. Spread and wet on his lap, you’re so achingly empty right over where you can feel the heft of him pressing between your bodies, and fire lights under your skin with how much you want him to just take.

He’s been so careful with you, so considerate in his handling of your body these last few weeks. Always taking care of every need that you have, he’s done so with no less attentiveness, but you can tell that he’s been holding back—a telling rigidness to his muscles when he moves above you, a tightness to his strokes every time he fucks you as if he’s keeping his body in check to make sure he doesn’t lose himself. Missing the sharp edges to his love, you kiss him harder, and he groans as if in pain, his tongue sliding deep into your mouth. His beard rubs your chin raw, the pressure of his response forcing your body to tip back slightly in his hold.

“Fuck me,” you whine, the words breathless against his lips, and he groans again, breaking your kiss.

“Christ, honey, turn around.”

Desperate to follow anything he tells you to do, you grip his shoulder to steady yourself as you turn yourself around, your back to his front. His mouth is an immediate brush against the nape of your neck, a heady sensation that has you melting back into him, and his hands travel up your sides to cup your breasts, pulling at the peaks.

Your ass grinds in his lap, the thick, stiff line of his cock trapped between your bodies, and when you arch your back and lean forward in a silent invitation, he reaches down to line himself up. Easing yourself back down, the stretch is delicious but so tight it’s almost unbearable.

“Goddamn,” he groans over your breathless whine.

Wrapping your smaller hands around his thick wrists for purchase, you pull at your bottom lip with your teeth as you sink all the way down to the base, and when he’s fully seated inside you, he bands his arms just under your breasts in a tight hold, keeping you in place. You can feel how hard he’s breathing between your shoulder blades, his beard rubbing against your skin, and squirming in his lap with a soft sound, you start to roll your hips.

He’s so deep this way, so much deeper than he’s been in weeks, and taking a moment to get used to it with a couple of slick strokes down, you chase the thick, filling stretch of his cock. Leaning forward, you brace your hands on his knees, and the deep groan you hear from behind you makes you wetter; your body physically reacting to his wordless praise.

“You feel so fucking good, honey. So good.”

His hands traverse your back—one splayed wide to drag heavily down your spine, the other curled around your hip to guide your movements–and when you bend forward as much as your stomach allows, his hand drops to your ass, spreading you from behind.

“I wish you could see how wet my cock is. I want you to see how you’re soakin’ it.”

“I can feel it,” you moan, your hips working faster.

You can: every down stroke is smooth and audible, the tight walls of your cunt stretching around him to take him perfect and fluid every single time, and when you start to pull him deeper, he sits forward with a cinch, pulling you back towards his body. The solid, warm wall of his chest cages you in, his arm looping around your hip so his hand can reach your clit, and when he finds it, everything spreads warm and thick from your center outwards, your head tipping back to rest against his shoulder.

“There’s my girl,” he smiles when your body drapes pliant and loose against his, your hips chasing the pressure of his fingers. Forward into his touch and backwards onto his cock, you can hear him breathing heavy and low into your ear and your hands find his forearms to hold on tight, your nails digging into the thick muscles as you work yourself faster.

He rubs your clit in quicker, more precise circles, just right with the firm slip of two calloused fingers, and your thighs tighten in their tremble, your release a bright, shining edge that beckons.

When it happens, it breaks you – clamping tight around him as you’re suspended in a state of strained rapture, his hand comes up to cradle the base of your throat in a possessive hold while his other hand keeps working, and a second wave takes you by surprise, washing over your skin as you cry out. You can feel the wetness that soaks his fingers when he reaches down to feel where you’re stretched around him, letting out a groan against your skin.

His hand smears damply across your hip as he lifts you from his lap, slipping out as he guides you on to your hands and knees, and loose and pliant, you let him position you anyway he wants.

“Just a little more, honey. Just a little longer,” he coaxes.

Resting your cheek on the floor, you arch your back to put yourself on display for him as you catch your breath, but it’s stolen just as quickly when he gives you a rough, open mouthed kiss to your cunt. He eats you like a man starved, the wet muscle of his tongue flattening against you as he keeps you open with his hands splayed on your ass, and a deep rumbled groan is felt against the inside of your thighs when you reach back to tug on his hair.

His tongue dips deep inside you for a taste, and just when he pulls back, he goes in for more, like he’s changed his mind because he can’t get enough. Harder this time, more forceful, the action pushing your hips forward, and when you cry out, he’s dragging himself back, pulling away to position himself.

The heat of his body radiates along the back of your thighs, the thick tip of his cock notched against the slick dip of your entrance only for the barest of moments before he pushes himself in with a stroke of his hips, and you hear a hiss behind you, one you almost don’t catch over the low moan that spills out of your mouth.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, his hips fitting neatly along your ass. He slides out and then back in, giving you time to adjust to his size. “I want – Christ – I want…can you take it harder for me?”

“Yes. God yes. Please.”

He answers with a rougher slide in, an audible muted pound of his hips against your skin. “You tell me if it’s too much, honey, okay?”

After turning your head and nodding so he can see you, he gives you another rough, smooth stroke in and then another one, each one filling you until the air feels like it’s being pushed from your lungs, and then he picks up his pace, letting out a low, heavy breath for every thrust. It sounds obscene: his rumbled, low groans and grunts, but you can barely focus on it for how sensitive you are to his thickness. Everything tighter, the fit is a snug, slick slide in every time, and you squeeze around him, earning you another hiss of appreciation.

“This pussy is gonna kill me,” he groans and then holds nothing back: his hips snapping against you with his hand resting flat on your tailbone, every jolt rocking your body forward.

Exactly what you asked for and what you’ve been missing, you let him know.

“It feels…it feels so good. God I’ve missed this.”

“Yea?” The word is a breathless growl, and you clench down on him again. “What about this? Did you miss this too?”

His hands wrapping around the inside of your elbows, he tugs you back and up until your back is arched with your ass in his lap and then he’s pounding into you.

“Joel!”

Faster and harder, his hips work ceaselessly behind you for a dozen strokes and when he comes, his fingers dig tight into your skin, your arms aching as he holds you in place to take every last drop. Panting behind you, his strokes slow into a rhythmic grind and sliding out, he eases you gently down onto the floor where you slump, your cheek resting on the fold of your arms.

Dazed and loose, with a content smile on your lips, you lay down on your side and he joins you, dropping to the floor. His arm slung over his eyes, you watch his pulse pound in his neck as he tries to catch his breath.

“So…was that also a Christmas present, or….?” you tease, the question coming out slow and saturated with contentment, and he laughs, a breathless thing that’s carefree and deep.

“Sure,” he answers, rolling onto his side. “Merry Christmas.”

The light of the flames dancing across your bare body, shadows slide over his tanned skin and the bluntness of his reply makes you laugh.

The two of you look at each other for a moment, his hand coming up to brush away an errant lock of hair from your temple. His hand glides down the length of your torso, coming to rest on the swell of your stomach and leaning in, his mouth meets yours.

Still smiling, you cup his cheek and with a slick slide leaking between your thighs, pull him closer to deepen the kiss.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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cowboydisaster · 10 months

Note

I have no idea about the historical accuracy of this but imagine a reader who used to be in a pretty well off family (think like the braithwaites level in society) but she left it all and gave everything up to be with Arthur. It’s her first Christmas away from her family and she misses the Christmas tree back home. Queue Arthur cutting a tree down with his big manly man strength and dragging it back to camp to surprise her🥲

* ˚ ✦ Stardust * ˚ ✦

pairing: arthur morgan x f!reader word count: 4k a/n: margo!! This prompt was too cute. I kinda took it and RAN so I hope I did it justice! xx

cowboydisaster's christmas countdown: SEVEN days 'till christmas!

christmas countdown┊main masterlist┊rdr2 masterlist

If there's one thing you haven't gotten used to in this way of life, it's the elements. Camp is situated in Big Valley along the Upper Montana River. It's beautiful, and more open country than you've ever seen in your life. But damn, is it cold in winter. Snow drifts down from Mount Shann, creating a beautiful flurry of white around camp, albeit a freezing one.

At this moment, though, the cold doesn't bother you. In the safety of your tent, back tucked against Arthur's chest, it's impossible for the cold to reach you. He keeps you warm. Like a furnace, that man. You'd be worried he was running a fever if you weren't so used to his toasty-warm temperature.

You shuffle against Arthur, readjusting in the soft cotton cot. The wind whispers quietly outside, peacefully. Gone is the loud whipping ice storm that had come through a week or so ago. It's been replaced by a quiet falling of snow, the creak of nearby oaks.

“Darlin’? What is it?” Arthur whispers, voice sleepy against your ear. The hand that's hung over your waist squeezes gently, a small act of encouragement to respond. You smirk. You can picture his face, eyes closed, or half-lifted, eyebrows knitting with worry.

“What's wrong?” He whispers again. The hand on your waist flattens against your stomach, gently pulling you back towards him.

Oh, your Arthur. His heart is perfectly in tune with yours, and well, when yours is sunk, he notices. A peculiar little thing you've discovered– he always notices those small details, those small fluctuations in your mood. On top of that, he always addresses them.

Those selfless personality traits are why you left the city in the first place. Arthur is genuine, real. He's caring, and he communicates with you when you're upset. Your mamá and papá were far too concerned with selling you off to the most eligible bachelor in Saint Denis to care about your feelings. The bachelor's characteristics were of no importance, just his wealth and status in society. That life was… a load of shit, as your dear Arthur would say.

You'd started sneaking downtown at night to get away from the chaos of your home. Your parents were always fighting and screaming. Broken dishes and ringing ears became a staple in that house. La Bastille Saloon was a short walk from your house on Flavian Street. And that's where you met Arthur.

Despite his career, you immediately recognized him to be the first honest man that you'd ever met in your life. In a mere thirty seconds of conversation, you'd found a depth to him that your father could never scratch, a kindness that no arranged husband would show you. And so it became a habit. You'd sneak out of your window a few times a week, meeting him at La Bastille– talking, laughing, drinking. Arthur's whiskey burned far more than the French wine you'd sipped on in your life. Where you came from, drinking was for show. To sip on a glass of imported chablis was to assert class, but Arthur taught you how to drink for fun. He'd taught you how to play cards and how to cure a hangover. Your parents would be mortified at your unladylike behavior.

Arthur showed you fun, and kindness, spontaneity and honesty in a world that you thought was without those virtues. When Arthur had asked you to join him, it was an easy yes. He laid it all out. the good, the bad and the ugly. Criminals, you'd be joining. He was afraid that you would turn away, but crime is no stranger to you. Coming from high society, you saw the rich take from the poor time and again. You saw laundering and fraud, servitude, coercion and arranged murder.

All your family does is twist lies for their own benefit. They're all snakes, sinking their teeth into everything they come across. Gluttonous in their pursuit to expel venom. It has drowned the whole city of Saint Denis, sunk into the cobblestone roads and poisoned the entire place.

You see more honesty in the Van der Linde's life of crime than in your family's. At least the Van der Lindes are honest about what they do, and only rob from those who rob from others.

Leaving with Arthur was the most freeing feeling you've ever experienced. You love him with all your heart. You love the gang, and your new life, and yet even with all that you've gained, you still left so much behind. Joining Arthur; it's the best decision you've ever made, and you don't regret it for a moment, but the approaching holiday is bringing out sadness, memories of your childhood, friends that you'd left in the city. Any good memory of the city is recalled through rose tinted glasses, but still, it's beginning to sting now that it's almost Christmas.

“Darlin’?” Arthur says, the grogginess no longer evident in his voice. He pulls you back to the present like a tether. His thumb drags soothingly over your hip bone, and underneath the thick blankets, you lay your hand atop his.

“Hmm?” You offer.

“Where's your head at?” Arthur whispers, breath against your ear.

“Oh, just thinking.” You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. It's a sad smile, bittersweet. If a candle were lit, and he could see it, Arthur would be much more worried.

His fingertips brush your hair away from your face, gently pulling some strands behind your ear towards the braid they have escaped from.

Arthur lifts his hand from you, adjusting the blankets as you turn over in bed. Once you're facing him, he makes sure that all of the blankets cover your frame.

“It's just that this will be my first Christmas away from home.”

A small silence ensues. One that threatens to let tears slip down your rosy cheeks. Your nose tucks into Arthur's chest as you sniffle, hoping he hasn't taken your words with offense. This is your home now, and you wouldn't have it any other way. But old habits die hard.

“You missin’ home?” Arthur whispers between kisses to your hair. You shake your head quickly

“No-no. I don't want you to think-”

“Baby, I ain't gonna give you a hard time ‘cause you're missin’ home. Hell… my childhood weren’t nothin’ but a world of pain, and sometimes I miss it.”

You should have expected his understanding. Arthur's never made you feel foolish for your feelings. His hand traces along your hip, keeping you warm and coaxing you to settle back into the comfortable space that he’s surrounded you with.

“I’m finding it difficult.” You whisper, “The holidays are coming up, and they’re bringing lots of memories. Fond ones, things I don’t want to forget.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Well…” You crack a small smile, eyes going far away, back to old memories long ago, “Papá would have a Christmas tree shipped from Cumberland forest, only the best for him of course.” You chuckle, and Arthur smiles for the sweet sound.

“And we would decorate it with candles, blown glass, popcorn and cranberries. Oh, it was such a sight Arthur.” You say, a wonder in your voice. The memories are crystal clear in your head. Bright colors, laughter, songs.

Arthur's Christmas memories don't bring much joy. Except for the year his daddy didn't come home. Still, the way your eyes have lit up– Arthur wishes he could have experienced the Christmas that you're describing. He wishes he could see you with that much joy.

“Have you ever seen a Christmas tree?” You ask, rekindling that tether and pulling him back to you.

“Nah, only in the papers. I ain't never lived nowhere so fancy to have a Christmas tree.”

“It was so beautiful…” You whisper, a chill running down your spine. You hardly notice it, but Arthur pulls you closer nonetheless, his body heat wrapping around you like the warmest of blankets.

“It seemed as if when the tree was decorated and we all sat together, maybe it was not so bad.” You murmur, and the wonder dissipates from your eyes, replaced with reality.

Arthur waits for you to collect your thoughts. A whistle of wind breaks the silence before you do.

“Ah, I'm sorry for this show of emotion. It's silly of me.”

He shakes his head, forehead gently meeting yours. Your eyes marvel up at Arthur, making out the deep blue of his eyes from a stretch of moonlight that's infiltrated the room.

“You ain't ever gotta apologize for gettin’ emotional, sweetheart. Not with me.”

All you can do is nod, feeling again like a schoolgirl with butterflies running rampant in your stomach. His breath traces your face, noses just barely lining each other.

His lips meet yours, soft and sweet. Your heart soars like it does every time he kisses you. It's something that you're sure you won't ever get used to. But something you're hoping to find familiarity in, because you never want to stop kissing him.

He pulls away all too soon for your liking, placing a sweet kiss to your forehead. When he hears your small whine, he huffs.

“I know, get back to sleep baby, I'll still be here in the mornin’.”

It doesn't take long for you to slip back into slumber, not with the soft whisper of the wind, and the cocoon of warmth around you. Arthur practically carries you across the threshold into sleep with the way his arms wrap around you.

In the little tent, deep in the snow, Arthur begins to hatch his plan. He kisses your head, climbing over you and out of bed to light a candle. It provides just enough light to illuminate the pages of his journal. Just enough light for him to illustrate his surprise.

He had promised you– all those months ago, when he'd packed your bags onto his horse and ridden you out of the city– that he would do anything and everything to make you happy. It's a promise that he intends to keep

— — —

a few days later

“This is the one.” Arthur marvels, sparkling eyes cast upwards toward the fullest, greenest evergreen in Cumberland Forest. You deserve nothing but the best, and he’s sure that he’s found it.

Arthur takes a short moment to pull out his journal, dusting some fallen snow from the leather cover. He sketches the tree, a way for him to remember the moment. To remember how the tree had been, perfectly untouched in nature. He takes his time, back propped against the unhitched wagon in the forest, hat covered in a thick dusting of snow. A few flakes even drop onto the page, melting and smudging his charcoal.

When the branches are sketched to his liking, he accompanies them with a quick passage and closes the book.

For the lady. Christmas. 1899.

When the book snaps shut and is stuffed back into his journal, he looks up, finding a questioning look on his trusted stallion’s face.

“What?” Arthur’s brow furrows, “I’ll plant another one.”

The stallion sighs.

Arthur moves around the back of the wagon, pulling an ax from the toolbox, dusting some snow off the handle with gloved hands. The ground is covered in a thick layer of white, the horses too. They press their noses together, whinnying and rumbling, entertaining each other with horse-typical play in the snow.

“Jasper. Sugar. Quit bein’ sweet on one another, we got work to do.” Arthur calls back to the two horses. What a pair, those two.

Jasper is Arthur’s stallion. He’s well behaved. Shy. Obedient. Then there’s Sugar. She was a gift from Arthur to you. White as snow and wild as the wind. She still is, despite all of her training.

Arthur had brought the pair of them with the wagon to pull the tree back to camp. But now, Sugar seems more interested in kicking up snow, and well– Jasper is only interested in following Sugar around, hearts practically emitting from his eyes.

Snow falls in thick flakes, dotting Arthur’s red flannel and melting against the thick material. He pays it no mind. The snowfall silences the forest, save for the rhythmic whack…whack of Arthur’s ax hitting the evergreen, and the softened sound of playful hooves in the snow.

“Don’t tire yourselves out.” Arthur huffs to the horses, “Jesus.”

A few more swings of the ax, and the tree begins to fall. It hits the ground with a thud, not nearly as loud as Arthur imagined it would be. But, the snow softened the fall, he supposes.

In a matter of minutes, the tree is in the wagon. Just a few more, and Jasper and Sugar are pulling it home.

If everything is going according to plan, right now you should be with Marybeth, picking holly. She had taken you out, because she had “wanted to spruce up camp a bit.” Little do you know, the little adventure is a part of Arthur’s plan. With you away from camp, he was able to borrow Sugar, take Jasper, and get the tree. With you away from camp, the final touches can fall into place.

Arthur gently taps the reins over the horse’s backs, urging them into a faster canter along the beaten down snow path back towards camp.

“Hyah! C’mon, we’re pushin’ it.” He calls to the horses. The little golden bells on their harnesses jingle and ring as he pushes them towards camp, massive evergreen in tow. He checks his pocket watch, cursing quietly before putting it away. Sadie should be done by now.

It’s not long before the horses are pulling into camp, large puffs of white billowing out from their noses as they catch their breath. Arthur hops down from the wagon, his hand running along the expanse of it as he reaches the back.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Dutch’s voice booms from across the camp. He makes his way towards the wagon, “Now this is how we celebrate Christmas!”

The evergreen nearly overtakes the wagon, branches sticking out from all directions, billows of snow still stuck to them. Dutch has no idea how Arthur managed to get it into the wagon. An approaching Hosea is just as flabbergasted.

“You know, I never took you to be much of a romantic, Arthur. But this might just prove me wrong.” Hosea

“Whatever you say. Now, quit gawkin’ and help me get this big bastard up.” Arthur mumbles, grabbing the thick tree by the trunk and pulling it down. Sap sticks to his hands as he begins to drag it out of the wagon. Carrying it into the center of camp is a group effort– much easier than Arthur getting it into the wagon by himself.

“I reckon you two can handle this. I got some other things to check up on.” Arthur steps back, sizing the tree up and down.

“Run along then and leave us the hard work.” Dutch muses, within earshot of Arthur.

“Figured it would do your old bones some good to do real work, Dutch!” Arthur hollers back over his shoulder, chuckling to himself as he makes his way towards the circle of tents.

“Mrs. Adler?” Arthur hollers, approaching the A-frame tent, “You in there?”

Before he can part the white canvas tent, Sadie emerges, and he backs up.

“You get it done?” Arthur asks, cheeks tinged bright pink from the cold. Hat white instead of black. Sadie chuckles for it.

“Did I get it done?” Sadie mocks with a huff, “A’ course I got it done.”

From her tent, she pulls out a Christmas tree garland. A string carefully woven through dried cranberries and popped corn. It's beautiful and long. It must have taken her hours to make. Arthur’s eyes go wide in small wonder as she transfers the garland to him.

“S’perfect, Sadie. She’s gonna love this.”

A wide, bittersweet smile stretches across Sadie’s face, “Jake taught me how,” there is a pause as Arthur nods in understanding, “Now go. Go decorate it for your woman.” Sadie smirks.

“Dear boy! Dear boy, how does it look?” Hosea calls out, and Arthur’s attention shoots towards the tree. They have it standing upright now, perfectly in the center of camp. It stands tall, a real beauty.

“Perfect.” He gapes at it, wishing he could have done something like this when he was younger– hoping that it will live up to your memories. Arthur doesn’t have the money to buy fancy ornaments, but he’s doing everything in his power to make it special for you.

With the help of the horses and the wagon, everyone manages to wrap the garland the whole way around the tree, even up to the top. The little trail of white and red looks beautiful against the dark green of the pine. Arthur places lit candles in holders on the branches, casting a beautiful hazy glow that lights up the tree. Camp members begin to gather, circling around the tree, watching and helping. Mrs. Grimshaw offers some holly. Karen offers some candy canes that she had bought in town, hanging them from the branches.

The sun begins to set, and Arthur checks his watch, knowing that you’ll be back any minute. A small tug on his pants pulls his attention downwards.

“Uncle Arthur?” Little Jack whispers, eyes sparkling with the reflection of the tree lights, “I made this for you! For you to put it on auntie's tree!”

Arthur’s brow furrows, and he glances quickly up to Abigail, who is smiling warmly. Jack reaches into his little bag and pulls out a beautiful paper star. He has apparently put a lot of time and effort into folding and cutting the paper into a perfect little topper. Jack’s little hands extend the star up to Arthur, the smile on his face brighter than any of the tree’s candles.

“You made this?” Arthur asks.

“Yep, I sure did! Momma even helped me cut the paper!”

Arthur kneels on the ground– eye level with Jack, a smirk on his lips, “I think we better put it on the top then, don't you?”

“Oh yes! It would be perfect on top! I just hope aunt y/n likes it…”

“She’ll love this, buddy.”

With some more help from a very grumpy Sugar, Arthur manages to place the star perfectly on the tree top. And just in time, apparently.

When Arthur steps back, taking in the tree for all its glory, his jaw falls slack, eyes filling up with wonder.

It's beautiful. At dusk, the candles shine brightly. The garland has attracted a few red cardinals, and they rest in the branches, comfortable in the new camp tree. Everyone looks in awe. It’s perfect.

— — —

“No peekin’.” Arthur whispers in your ear from behind, his hands covering your eyes. He slowly walks you forwards towards… something. He hasn’t explained anything to you, just… kidnapped you right outside of camp. You’ve been walking with him, eyes covered for nearly five minutes.

“Oh, Arthur, what is going on!?” You giggle, hands covering the length of his own, a smile plastered on your face.

“S’a surprise, darlin’. That’s why you can’t peek.” Arthur’s voice whispers from behind you, his chest nearly pressed against your back as he inches you forward.

You roll your eyes. Suddenly, his footsteps are still behind you, and you stop in return.

“Is this why I was stuck in the forest picking berries all day?” You ask. Arthur huffs.

“Shhh. We’re here.” He shushes.

Your heart quickens with excitement, bottom lip tight between your teeth with anticipation. As much as you try to listen for any clues, all you can hear is the munching of hay and the crackle of the campfire– typical for camp after dusk.

“Arthur…?” You whisper, almost afraid to break the quiet. Anticipation swirls in your stomach, followed by anxiety tickling up your spine.

His calloused hands pull away from your eyes, and your lashes flutter as you focus on the sight in front of you.

It’s… a christmas tree. Your jaw falls slack, and as unladylike as it may be, you can’t help it. A small gasp escapes your rosy lips.

It must be twelve feet high, and it's thick with branches. Candles, and decor wrap around the tree like a dress tailored to perfection. Color and light burst from the beautiful tree, and before you can control yourself, tears are welling up in your eyes.

“Arthur, I–” Your voice cracks, the tears almost spilling over.

“Darlin’?” Arthur’s thumb softly brushes the inside of your hand. For a moment, he worries that he’s misstepped terribly. The sight of your tears brings forth a small panic, quelled by the outburst of your smile. Tears fall freely from your eyes, but they are of joy– not sadness.

“You got me– You got me a Christmas tree?” You smile, wiping away the tears as he envelopes you into his warm arms. You sniffle, laughs of pure joy escaping into his chest as he holds you tight.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” Arthur whispers to you, arms wrapped around your waist. The light from the tree dances in your eyes, almost as beautiful and bright as your smile.

“Oh, Arthur, it’s perfect.” You gasp, eyes glued to the tree, pulling away to glance into Arthur’s eyes, “How ever did you get it here?”

“With a little help.” Arthur nods towards the horse station where Sugar and Jasper are laying in the hay, nuzzling each other sweetly. As if knowing, Sugar whinnies towards you softly, followed by a quiet neigh from Jasper.

Your eyes wander back towards the tree in front of you, and then to Arthur once again. His hands slide down from your waist, thumbs settling into the dimples in your back.

“It's beautiful.” You say.

“It’s all yours.”

In all of your life, Arthur has been the first person to cater to your emotions– to care about them. Your heart fills with love, so much that it overflows and floods the earth at your feet. Soaking into the ground of the camp, touching the hearts of the others around you.

“I love you.” You whisper, head resting on Arthur’s chest, eyes fixed on a cardinal that’s pecking at the popped corn on the tree.

“I-” Arthur pauses, realizing. His brow furrows, eyes flickering down, “Wait, what?”

“I said I love you.” You reiterate, chin propped on his chest to look up at him. Arthur looks nearly blown away by the words. Words he’s not heard from you yet. Words that he’s nearly let slip time and again over the past few months.

Arthur’s lips crack into a smile, crows feet wrinkling for the action. His thumb brushes your cheek before trailing down to your chin, pulling you in towards his lips. You lean on your tiptoes, brushing your lips against his, meeting him with all the love and joy that you never thought would be possible for you. He’s taken you from a bad situation, and given you everything you could have wanted and more. Your lips press against his, pink-tinged noses lining each other. Your eyes flutter shut, snowflakes catching in your thick lashes as you deepen the kiss. Your fingers tangle into the hair at the base of his neck, your tongues dance with one another.

When you pull away to breathe, your eyes lock with his, sparkling with light.

“I love you too.” He smirks, hands wrapping under your thighs, eliciting giggles from you as he hoists you into his arms. Fat snowflakes fall into your hair as Arthur turns towards your tent, ready to carry you to bed.

“No- wait!” You grip his arm, stopping him in his tracks, “Please, Arthur- just five more minutes. I’d like to keep looking at the tree.”

Arthur pauses, brushing your cold cheek, “Alright. Five more minutes.” He smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to your hair.

The tree shines bright as ever, as if god had sprinkled stardust down from the heavens, painting your tree in beautiful white light.

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola

#divider by cafekitsune #cowboydisaster's christmas countdown #bea's christmas countdown #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan fluff

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mrsriddlenott · 10 months

Text

The Fifth Day Of Smutmas

[smutmas masterlist][main masterlist]

~ Decorate With Me ~

Alpha!Mattheo Riddle x Bratty Omega!Reader

Summary: Alpha!Mattheo is too lazy to decorate the house for the holiday’s, thinking it useless, you however entice him to decorate one thing at a time as you strip for him, teasing him and escaping his grasp until all that’s left to do is place the ornaments on the tree, leaving him to decorate you.

- kinda AU but not really, Omegaverse and no mentions of magic, implied businessman Mattheo bc thats hot☺️ -

Warnings: 18+ Content!! Language, SexualTeasing, Stripping,Marking Kink, HairPulling(only a lil),Unprotected PinV, Cumplay, Breeding Kink, Consensual Sexual Punishment, D/S Dynamics.

“Come on Matty, pleeease” You begged, standing over Mattheo where he sat, his navy colored business suit contrasting the black leather of the large couch.

“I said no. What’s gotten into you, you always listen to me why the fuck aren’t you now?” He rolled his beautiful eyes away from yours and back to the book in front of him that gripped his attention in this moment far too much for your liking.

“I told you, I want you to decorate with me.” You pouted, crossing your arms and poking your hip out defiantly, “Me and my family decorated every year, and now that we live together you have to too. You’re just holding it off because you’re lazy, you put the tree up weeks ago and it’s still empty.” You sighed, pointing your arm in the direction of the large, bare Christmas tree.

“I think you’re forgetting that I do not have to do anything Princess, and you calling me lazy is rather funny considering I work for the money that pays for everything you can ever desire. So please decorate if you wish, but I’ll be sitting right here while you are.” Mattheo’s voice was laced with indifference as his eyes remained unmoving but focused on the pages in front of him, gripping his glass of bourbon tightly at your intrusion. After days of being denied his help you were fed up, you knew of one surefire way to grab your mates attention and that was of course, you naked in front of him ready to do anything he wished for. But….until he granted your wishes you wouldn’t be granting his.

“Fine. I will just do it all alone.” You stated innocently, walking off as you discreetly began tugging the thin straps of your red gown down your arms, allowing it to slip off your frame and pool around your ankles where it was kicked off towards the man behind you. Mattheo’s knowing gaze immediately latched onto your matching lingerie set and stockings with a scoff before locking with your eyes over your shoulder, licking his lips in an obvious attempt to control himself.

“What do you think you’re doing? Did you fucking plan this?” You giggle as his brows furrow, looking away from him and arching your back much more than necessary as you bent to grab the large box of Christmas decorations you were allowed to take from your parents when you moved in with Mattheo.

You felt his eyes dig into your behind, giving a little shake as you tossed the lid open and began grabbing the lights that were neatly coiled above the many layers of decorations, “This isn’t gonna work y’know,” Mattheo laughed, slamming his book shut and tossing it aside as he pushed himself further down the couch cushion, spreading his legs to give himself more space as he watched you move about the room. The way the hem of your lace underwear was cradling your curves in a teasing manner as your tits bounced against their harsh confines was cracking his reserve already, “You think I can’t resist you prancing about in that….” He spoke in a deeper voice now, clearly affected by your body and clearly trying to convince himself of what he was saying.

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Your face grew warm as you twirled the string of lights around the base of the tree, avoiding his burning eyes as you sauntered around it teasingly, reminiscent of how you would a pole. His eyes trailed along your exposed thighs and stomach, aching to have you in a way he hadn’t felt since your last heat. You weren’t usually such a brat and he was loving every minute of it, he saw how you became whiny after he had told you just a few days ago that he was too tired to decorate, fully intending to do it the next night. However, when you stood there with crossed arms and a deep pout he just had to see it again. Now though, he was losing his patience, he had to have you and he’d do anything for it.

Once the lights shone brightly up and down the tree you stepped back to observe your handy work, placing your hands on your hips as you looked over your shoulder to find Mattheo’s eyes raking up your body until they fell into yours with a silent order you weren’t going to follow. You could sense his desire to gain control again as he always had, but you wanted more from him, you needed more. His little reaction had done nothing to stray you from your plan, you saw in his dark eyes that he wouldn’t last long.

His eyes followed your movements as your fingertips ghosted up your body, tickling against your flesh to slowly grasp the latch of your bra in your steady hands, turning back to observe the tree as though nothing was happening. Mattheo’s breath hitched as you slowly unhooked your bra with your back still facing him, your shoulder blades moving teasingly as you shoved the material onto the floor in front of the partially decorated tree, still not turning to show him your exposed chest. He hissed as you stepped forward again, moving away and out of his sight to grab more decorations, his pants were tightened around his growing dick as he took the last swig of his drink before abruptly standing to follow you.

You noticed his presence behind you immediately, the tension in the room growing as soon as he stepped through the entrance, “You think you can tease me like that?” He asked, voice low as he approached your turned back slowly, each step sending a shiver down your spine and directly to your core as his expensive dress shoes hit the wood below them tauntingly. He chuckled, clearly thinking he had you cornered as he grew closer, gripping your hip in his aggressive hold as he leant over your nude shoulder, his warm breath against your neck filling you with a mix of expectance and defiance of his actions.

In one quick motion, Mattheo’s strong hand spun you to face him, almost knocking you off your feet as they attempted to catch up with the maneuver. His eyes met yours before trailing down your chest with a genuine smile, “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he sighed, his free hand finding your neck as he began melting into your touch. You allowed him to pull you into him, almost touching your lips together before you pulled away, “I need to get this box to the living room, we can get back to this after,” You almost let out a chuckle at the mans dumbfounded expression as you grab the box behind you, conveniently hiding your chest as you maneuvered around his still figure to the door behind him, “It would go way faster if I had some help though.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Mattheo mumbles to himself as you leave him alone in the spare room, his mind racing with ways of gaining power over the situation but each one required focus he couldn’t obtain while you strutted around the house half naked. So instead he opted to give in….just this once.

The echo of Mattheo’s footsteps didn’t shock you, nor did the growl that escaped his lips as he took in your now entirety bare ass in front of him, the only remaining part of your outfit being the white and red stockings that were driving him absolutely insane with each passing second. “Okay! You win, give me the fucking Santa,” Mattheo snapped, making you turn to him with a wide smile before throwing yourself onto him for a hug, almost immediately stepping out of his grasp quickly as he attempted to pull you back in.

He huffed behind you as you handed him item after item to find a place for in your home, still solely focused on your almost fully nude body in front of him even as he placed miniature Santas and reindeers all around your house. Eventually however all that was left was to place the ornaments on the tree which only took an excruciating 30 minutes before he could finally have what he wanted.

Your face smashed into the couch as Mattheo aggressively shoved you forward, tugging your hips upward as his hand firmly placed against your face, “Do you need me to fuck this attitude out of you Princess?” Your incoherent mumbles of yes go unheard as he forces his fingers into you hair, tugging you upward and against his clothed chest, “I asked you a question,” He whispered against the shell of your ear, nibbling on your flesh before he spoke again, “Now fucking answer it.” He spat out, shoving you back forward as you begged him to fuck you senseless, his hand finding it’s spot against the side of your face once more as he tugged at his belt buckle. The clinking metal sending shocks of pleasure to your core, drenching your entrance as it ached to have your Alpha.

In a matter of seconds, Mattheo tugged his dress pants and boxers only partially down his thighs, leaving you fully exposed and vulnerable in front of him as he lined his leaking cock up to your entrance before plowing into you with no real warning. Stretching you out almost beyond your limit as he immediately set a steady, rough pace to his thrusts, grunting above you as you clutched onto the leather of the couch. “Oh fuck Mattheo, you feel so good,”

Your almost incoherent babbles of pleasure egg him in as he snaps his hips faster against yours, eyes trained on where he disappeared deep into you, pulling out almost completely before slamming back into, pulling a scream of a moan from the back of your throat as he groans at the sound. The feeling of your walls clenching around him, silently begging him to stay inside of you, urging him to fill you up with his cum almost made him lose focus of his goal, snapping his hips harder and faster, his public bone bouncing against your clit every few thrusts as he built up his release.

Your mind was hazy as his warm, rough hand held you against the heating leather, the grip of his other hand on your hip surely leaving an entirely intentional print of his hand that had your mind going dumb as you clamped down around him, your legs shaking each time his tip slammed against you g-spot sending you soaring as your mind fogged, so close to your orgasm it felt almost painful.

“Oh fuck Matty please” You practically screamed, begging to cum as Mattheo slammed into you, the sound of damp skin smacking together echoing across the hardwood floors as you mewled and whined below him, his hard grip being the only thing keeping you in your position as you absentmindedly began bucking back against him, feeding his ego as you bounced on his cock, meeting his thrusts with a lazy smile on your face.

Your moans became whimpers as your walls clamped down on him tightly, unrelenting and desperately trying to hold him inside while you came around him, your legs were shaking uncontrollably against him as you quickly approached your high falling over the edge as Mattheo’s thrusts sped up, hitting your g-spot repeatedly, almost overstimulating you as he grew sloppy. His hips stuttered against you, groaning above you before he was pulling out of you entirely causing a desperate whine to escape you, sending him flying over the edge, shaking uncontrollably as thick spurts of his cum covered your back.

You whined below him, unable to form full words as you clenched around nothing, still coming down from your high as you almost cried at the lack of the full feeling Mattheo always left after filling you and stuffing his fingers back inside to ensure nothing came out. You wiggled your hips as if expecting him to go again just to fill you with his seed.

“Oh my pretty, bratty Baby,” Mattheo mockingly pouted down to you as he mindlessly played with his release covering your back “Are you mad I didn’t fill you up Princess?” Mattheo asks, knowing the obvious answer as he laughs over you condescendingly, “But I thought you wanted me to help you decorate, isn’t that why you thought this all out? Well….think of it as your punishment for being such a little brat to your Alpha.” He chuckled at himself, falling down beside you as he tugged your face into his chest, whispering to you that you did good for him and looked absolutely gorgeous covered in his cum.

~~~~

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yoongsisbae · 2 years

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Stories by Member

JJK

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KTH

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V is for Villain 1 / 2 / 3 - 90% What does it mean to be a villain? What does it really mean to be a vigilante? A vanquisher of evil or a victor for the good? Stories praise the fall of devils, cheer at the marvels of the virtuous, and forget the victorious tell a version conveniently veiling their own atrocities. Evilness was once the brightest star in heaven. And goodness, well, morality can so often be contentious. This time, there is the hero with the strength of a hundred men, there is the villain that can vanish his vulnerabilities in a very instant, and then there’s you. Superclumsysuperhero!RMverse AU.

PJM

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KNJ

Your Friendly Neighborhood Superhero, RM Best friends 2 Lovers. Idiots 2 Lovers. Lovers 2 Enemies? This is a different kind of superhero story ;) Christmas Lights Out! Agust D vs RM Super Hero Christmas Special! You visit your hometown during the holidays. You and your childhood friend Joon reminisce and you learn more about your smooth tech talker business partner Yoongi. Can he win you over once and for all? Set in Super Clumsy Super Hero RM universe. Extended Scene: The Mind Reader, The Telekinetic and The Closet just silly and raunchy and ridiculous, dirty thoughts...it goes there. V is for Villain 1 / 2 / 3 - 90% What does it mean to be a villain? What does it really mean to be a vigilante? A vanquisher of evil, or a victor for the good? Stories praise the fall of devils, cheer at the marvels of the virtuous, and forget the victorious tell a version conveniently veiling their own atrocities. Evilness was once the brightest star in heaven. And goodness, well, morality can so often be contentious. This time, there is the hero with the strength of a hundred men, there is the villain that can vanish his vulnerabilities in a very instant, and then there’s you.

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JHS

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MYG

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KSJ

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Christmas Lights Out! Agust D vs RM Super Hero Christmas Special! Extended Scene: The Mind Reader, The Telekinetic and The Closet just silly and raunchy and ridiculous, dirty thoughts...it goes there.

Gangnam Girlfriend: Korea’s #1 Celebrity Dating Show with your Host, International Super Star, Jin Welcome to Gangnam Girlfriend! Where Korea’s top eligible singles fight for a chance at love! You're supposed to be playing the dating game right? Not sneaking off in the middle of the night with the show’s host to watch the stars and talk about all your lost love connections, cuddling under a blanket. And even if the choice is clear, Kim Seokjin can't date you, the reason you joined is because you wanted a public relationship, and Jin could neverrr. Even though he wants to finally settle down! But Hybe wouldn't let him join as a contestant so he took the next best thing instead, our story's beloved host, yet now he's regretting his decision as he watches the girl he is starting to fall for fall for someone else, oh no! Meet the Cast / Epi1 - 85%

OT7

SERIES

Bon Voyage: Into the Sea [Fantasy AU] A storm capsized your boat and looks like you were the only survivor. Somehow you made it to shore, but where? Stranded, you suddenly find out you are not alone, and now you’re stuck in the middle of a centuries old conflict between 7 monsters. Member Imagines /Ch1 / Ch2 / Ch3 / Ch4 / Ch5 / Ch6 / Ch7 - 5% / ?

Handshakes of a Lifetime [Soulmate AU] …the meeting room is getting closer and closer, basking you and those around you in warm light, and you think about all the internet comments people write about this kind of moment, “she must have saved a country in her past life to experience this.” Playlist / Ch1 / Drabble - JJK / Ch2 / Ch3 / X-mas - JHS / Ch4 / X-mas - KSJ / Ch5 / Ch6 / Ch7 / Ch8 / Ch9 / Ch10 - 10% / ?

Caught! House of Cards [Yandere AU] You needed money. The pandemic offered little options. So you joined a website to make some quick and easy cash. Men paying to look at you, harmless fun, right? It was a decision you didn’t think too much about, you just wanted an income again. Little did you know how dangerous the members of House of Cards were. You weren’t prepared for the consequences of your actions. Watch out! Houses built with cards come tumbling down… Profiles / Ch1 / Ch2 / Ch3 / Ch4 / Xmas Drabble - KTH / Ch5 - 90% / ?

Run Run Run [Zombie Apocalypse AU Slow Burn] A zombie apocalypse breaks out and you’re stuck on a plane with none other than…BTS! Oh, you thought because you were an Army that would help you survive? Girl think again. Member Poll / Seoul Flow / Yangyang Living / Seoul Town Road / Hwarang Freestyle / Seoul Close / Samsung State of Mind - 5% / The Big Hit Break In! - TBA / ?

T H E T A K E O V E R [BTS Apocalypse / Dystopian AU Thriller] The recruits of Bangtan Academy were trained to be super soldiers, to be the strongest, fastest, most cunning fighters in the world. Now they are being put to the test! You were at the bottom of your class, but you noticed the cracks in the system first, what are you going to do? Run or try to save the world Prequel / Ch1 / Ch2 / Ch3 - 78% / ?

DRABBLES

BTS (as kisses) / BTS (as holidays) / BTS (as drinks)

BTS Cheering You Up While Studying Korean

MASTERLISTS

Naughty Girl Christmas BTS X-MAS Masterlist

Spring Fling Fantasy Stories that Bloom Masterlist

BTS Supers RM Verse Masterlist (coming soon…)

Original Masterlist

#bts masterlist #bts imagines #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts fantasy au #bts hybrid au #bts yandere #bts soulmate au #ot7 x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #yoongi x reader #jimin x reader #namjoon x reader #hoseok x reader #seokjin x reader

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lovelytsunoda · 11 months

Text

sleigh ride // lance stroll

summary: christmas has never been his holiday. but she adores it, and he wants to make this christmas one that she won't forget.

pairing: lance stroll x fiancee!reader

warnings: marriage proposals, fluffy lance, it's super duper cheesy, lance quotes emily henry's "beach read", where can i get a lance

the snow fell down on niagara falls in scattered flurries, the waterfalls the town used as their namesake almost frozen solid in motion as they spilled into lake ontario. the sun was setting, with niagara-on-the-lake doused in an orange-pink glow as the couple ran out of the b'n'b, giggling hand in hand.

"lance, where are we going?" she giggled, mitten-clad hand clutched in her boyfriend's as he pulled her along the snowy sidewalk.

"just trust me, but you'll need to close your eyes." lance stroll insisted, turning to face her, pressing his warm lips to her rapidly cooling forehead. "we're almost there."

"if you say so." she chortled, closing her eyes and following lance as he guided her, gentle flakes falling against her knitted hat.

the breeze was cold, cutting through the many layers that they both wore as lance urged her forwards. her mind was swimming with all the possibilities lance could have come up with, but she couldn't settle on any.

christmas had never been his thing. he was raised jewish, and she had celebrated hannukah with his family before, so why would he celebrate christmas anyways? the answer was simple: because she enjoyed it. he could convince himself to embrace a little more of the christmas spirit than normal when she was around, when she insisted on putting that stunning tree in their living room, or buying elf ears for their dog.

"okay, you can open your eyes now."

she opened her eyes, instantly covering her mouth to stop the delighted scream from coming out and scaring the horses. sitting in front of her were two stunning black mares, towing a snow-white sleigh, decorated with white glitter and snowflakes, a plush throw blanket thrown over the bench in the back.

"lance, this is incredible!"

lance beamed, glowing under the streetlamps as he pulled open the metal gate door. "milady." he giggled, reaching for her gloved hand to help her into the sleigh.

she curled into him on the bench, lance fluffing the blanket out behind and over their bodies before the well-dressed man sat in the driver's seat of the sleigh flashed them a smile, and the horses began their slow trot down the cobblestones.

she slipped her gloves off, taking lance's cold hand in hers as she played with his fingers, head resting comfortably on his shoulder. her breath crystallized in the air, snowflakes falling into the sleigh and promptly melting on the winter mats on the ground.

lance himself was fidgety, the tiffany and co. box burning a hole in the pocket of his parka. he was so anxious about asking that he'd almost done it that morning, over coffee and croissants at breakfast.

but she deserved more than that. she deserved something meaningful, something special (not that there was anything wrong with a little bit of privacy and keeping it lowkey, he just wanted to have a great proposal story to pass down to their kids. after y/n told him that her father proposed to her mother by saying 'we need to talk', he vowed that his proposal would be special).

she turned her head, pressing a frosty kiss to his warm skin. "i love you, lance."

he smiled, burying his nose in the top of her knitted hat. " i love you more, pretty girl. i've got another surprise for you, if you're up for it."

she looked up at him, hair falling in front of her face, skin pink from the cold as she smiled back at him. "what kind of surprise?"

"you'll see. it's just around this corner, love."

the sleigh pulled up to a small gazebo, cords of string lights wrapped around the weathered wooden beams to light up the small space, now that the sun was behind the clouds, the last dregs of daylight hovering in the space between night and day.

lance got to his feet, opening the sleigh gate before the driver could even get down from his perch. with her long fleece scarf hanging down to her knees, she daintily descended from the sleigh, hand in hand with her boyfriend as he led her towards the gazebo.

the snow beneath their feet was dusted with deep purple rose petals, some small tea light candles on the steps. as they got closer to the gazebo, she could see the small lightbox letters, lit up in a warm, soft yellow as they got closer, spelling out two words.

marry me.

"oh, lance." she breathed, at a loss for words as she anxiously wringed her hands.

she could hear the wooden boards creaking behind her as lance sunk down to one knee, reaching into his pocket for the turquoise box. he rested the box on his knee, frozen hands shaking as he pulled it open.

"i really should have thought this through a little better. i'm cold as shit." he giggled nervously. "but i know christmas means a lot to you, and i wanted to make this as special as i could."

she gasped, hands coming up to cover her mouth as she saw the ring: a single princess-cut diamond resting on a silver band, two small pink gemstones holding the center gem in place.

"y/n, i'm head over heels for you, and i always have been. every morning i wake up next to you, and i think, this could all go away. the racing, the money, the fame, all of it. but as long as i had you by my side, i wouldn't care. as long as i had you, i'd be happy. because you make me so happy, y/n. you remind me of all the good in the world, all the reasons to keep going. in the words of emily henry, yes, i've read your romance books, 'when i watch you sleep, i feel overwhelmed that you exist'. man, she got that right. i feel overwhelmed with love, and with care. and some days, i wonder why you chose me when you could have had any man you wanted. y/n y/'l/n. pretty girl. love of my life." lance sniffled, wiping at the tear that was threatening to fall into his stubble. "will you marry me?"

"yes!" she shouted, her voice echoing across the clearing as she started to giggle. "yes, of course i'll marry you." her eyes started to sting, tears pricking the corners of her vision, so overcome with love for man on his knees in front of her.

she sunk to her knees as well, the frost on the gazebo cold against the knees on her jeans. she clasped lance's hands in her own, pulling him in for a gentle kiss before he slipped the ring onto her finger, foreheads resting against each other.

"thank you so much for saying yes. i can't think of a day in the foreseeable future that i don't want to spend with you by my side."

"oh, lance." she laughed through her tears of joy. "don't make me cry."

"i'm not trying to, my love." he laughed, tears pricking at his eyes. "god, i just love you so much."

"i love you more." she laughed, tucking her arms around him, pulling him in for a hug before glancing down at the sterling silver on her finger.

lance kissed her hairline, holding her close and breathing in her scent.

if this was every day for the rest of his life, then he was wondering why he'd waited so long to ask.

TAGS:

@libraryofloveletters @magnummagnussen @lorarri @httpiastri @cartierre @sidcrosbyspuck @scuderiamh @oconso @thatsdemko @silversainz

#lance stroll #lance stroll x reader #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #the christmas collection 2023 #mini fic

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