#most of these are 1-2k words long

[envy-of-the-apple]

hi :)) are you able to let us know which of the fics you have chosen to potentially write? so, so, so excited for whatever you've chosen!! :)))

apart from the beast thing i wrote i got a couple others. a fic where the mc was able to kill their jjk kidnapper and they turned into a cursed spirit. a fic where gojo manipulates the mc into thinking she took advantage of him so that he stays with her. a gojo blackmailing his teacher/professor fic. an acopylpse fic where gojo and the mc dont know eachothers languages. a monster!beel fic. someone also requested a vash fic!

but i think im mostly excited about the bakugou soulmate fic that someone sent me! cant wait for yall to see it!!!!

[miupow]

──★ BAD DOG !

★ pairing。choi beomgyu x fem!reader genre。⧼ 📖 ⧽ smut , pwp warnings。minors do not interact! est. relationship , sub!beomgyu , pet play , furnature fucking , cumshot , breeding kink , oral (f. rec) , collar and leash , dirty talk , degredation and humiliation kink , praise kink , pet names , facials , squirting , creampie mentions , mommy kink , cum eating mention

★ synopsis。you can't help but please your puppy, even when he's being punished.

a/n ⸝⸝ rewritten work inspired by a thought written by @tigerhoshibby with her permission. i haven't written any sub!idol content in such a long while... excited to finally get back into the game. [ 1. 2k words ] ⸝⸝ [ m. list ]

beomgyu’s eyes brim with tears as he kneels on the floor between your legs, his shaking hands gripping tight onto your plush thighs. you looked down your nose at him, pouting and squirming beneath you as you lounged languidly on the couch, leather collar pulled tight around his neck and catching at his bobbing adam’s apple– another sharp tug of the leash wrapped in your hand makes him whine, unable to pull himself forward and meet you where he wants you the most. “dumb mutt can’t control his dick,” you spit with a sick grin, giggling at the way beomgyu’s breath hitches, “did you just cum from eating some pussy?”

pearly white strings of cum covered his belly and thighs, his cock flushed a deep shade of pink and still rutting mindlessly against the ruined couch cushion underneath him. your own arousal dripped from his lips and chin as beomgyu pants like a dog, slack jawed with his tongue out, those teary eyes blown wide and fixated on your wet pussy. he struggles against the pull of the leash, desperate to dive his head back in between your thighs, a pathetic whimper slipping from his swollen lips when his collar cuts off his breathing, choking him. you watch in sick delight as his cock twitches.

“now look at you getting hard again just from me being mean to you!” you jeer, “disgusting dog, fucking the furnature like some bitch in heat. i bet you want to cum again, don’t you?”

beomgyu’s desperate gaze snaps to yours and he nods his head vigorously, his hips bucking hard against the cushion. a thick bead of precum leaks from the tip of his cock.

“good boys use their words.”

“yes, yes, please–” he whines shakily, voice rough from disuse. “please, please can I cum?”

you pat his head tenderly, running your fingers through his long hair; he arches into your touch like he’s been starved of it, a pretty moan escaping from deep in his chest. a false sense of safety. “where do you want to cum, puppy?” you ask sweetly, the sudden switch in your tone sending beomgyu reeling. 

“i-inside, please, wanna give you my pups,” 

“dumb dog wants to breed like it’s instinct?” you glance at the creamy mess coating beomgyu’s tan skin, faking a sympathetic pout. “but you wasted all your cum, there’s not enough to fill me up…”

you both knew you were full of shit, beomgyu could cum over and over for hours– but in his current headspace he hung onto every word you spat at him, his cries growing louder and louder as your grip on his leash loosened. poor thing, already fucked stupid without even getting his dick wet; you finally drop your hold on him, letting him dive down and press his face against your cunt, his pleas for another release muffled by your swollen pussy lips. 

you sigh in pleasure as beomgyu’s tongue works at your engorged clit, his big brown eyes looking up at you from between your legs. “i’ll let you cum, beomie.” you hiss, reaching for a fistful of his hair to tug. “if you follow my orders.”

“anything, i’ll do anything,” beomgyu begs against your pussy, lapping at your juices as if he was drinking ambrosia.

“i want you to keep humping that cushion like the dog you are. go ahead and ruin it some more, and maybe i’ll forgive you for being such a bad dog.” your voice was far too gentle for your vulgar words, venom disguised as sweet honey. 

beomgyu shakes his head, his glassy tears threatening to overflow sending a sharp shock of arousal up your spine. “nuh uh, wanna cum in you–”

“sorry pup, I already told you there’s not enough.” you lie again. beomgyu presses himself further into your heat, crying out when his oversensitive cockhead brushes the rough fabric of the cushion. 

“i don’t wanna, mommy, please!” he warbles.

“i said no, baby. either cum on the cushion or not at all.” you scratch at his scalp gently, causing him to shiver– he can’t escape the growing need to obey, such an obedient pet even when he’s being bad. slowly and uncoordinated, he rocks his hips back and forth against the cushion, thrusting his tongue into your fluttering hole to cover up his pathetic sobs. his cock throbs an angry red, velvety skin pulsing obscenely as he falls into an unsteady rhythm. every thrust against the cushion makes him cry more and more, so good yet so painful all at once. the friction burns on the underside of his shaft, his weepy fat tip, your poor pet unable to hide his masochistic pleasure as he hiccups pitifully, whines and begs to be touched while he eats your pussy so deliciously. his tears finally fall down his flushed cheeks, and the sight of him so debauched is almost difficult to look at with the way it makes your cunt throb around his tongue. “good boy,” you praise in a whisper, tugging at his hair, watching how he digs his nails deep into the cushion to keep himself from touching without permission. “such a good pup.”

his hips pick up speed, erratic and rough against the cushion, a telltale sign that he was close. he pulls his face out from between your thighs just enough to clearly and properly beg; “please, mommy, i’m gonna cum, don’t wanna cum, let me fuck you, let me cum inside, please–”

you had half the mind to give in to his wishes– you knew he wouldn’t last a few seconds once he was inside of you, his cock swallowed by your warm gummy walls, immediately shooting what was left of his hot cum deep into your pussy… but he was just so cute when you didn't give him what he wanted

“no, mutt. Be a good boy and make a mess on the couch. better make me cum too.”

“mommy, no–” he sobs, reduced down to nothing but a dog doing tricks to impress it’s owner; yet he revels in it, the humiliation of it, and it just brings him closer and closer to spilling his seed everywhere. his cute pink cockhead pokes out with every one of his thrusts forward, leaking a steady stream of precum that does barely anything to aid in the slide. 

he doubles his efforts on your pussy, hot mouth sucking perfectly against your most sensitive spots as you rode his face, throwing your head back with a sharp cry when the ever-growing knot in your belly snaps and you squirt all over beomgyu’s crying face. your orgasm triggers his own, his moan just short of a scream as his tip starts spewing thick ropes of cum everywhere, across the cushion, the floor, and the front of the couch. some of it even lands on your legs, thighs shaking as you ride out your high on his button nose.

“bad dog!” you chastise gleefully once you’ve recovered enough to speak, beomgyu still shaking from the aftershocks as he nuzzles against your thigh. He glances up at you in confusion and surprise. “you made an even bigger mess than before. got your nasty cum everywhere… now lick it up.” 

[cozage]

Hello, first of all, congrats on 2k followers, you deserve that and more ♡

I would like to request on the option 1, a scenario with Zoro, Sanji and Luffy (and if you can, Law, Ace and/or Kid) where the reader asks "could you hold something for me?", and the reader gives them their hand to hold.

Thank you in advance, hope you have a lovely day ♡

Characters: gn reader x Zoro, Sanji, Luffy, Law Total word count:700

A Hand to Hold

Zoro

He’s napping on the deck of the Sunny when you stride over to him and sit down next to him

He peeks his good eye open just a fraction of an inch, trying to see what you want. 

“Can you hold something for me?”

“Can’t you get someone else to-”

“Zoro!”

“Fine!” He holds his hand out, slightly irritated.

You place your hand into his, watching his reaction closely. 

Immediate response? He would just deadpan and stare at you. 

“Why? Why did you give me this? Is it bleeding or-”

“No Zoro!” you giggled. “Just hold it.”

“Did Luffy put you up to this? Or Nami? Or that damn-”

“No!” you said, starting to pout. The mood was ruined. “Just forget it.”

As you pull your hand away, he grips it a little tighter. When you look back at him, he’s got a little bit of blush across his cheeks. 

“I’ll hold it,” he grumbled, closing his eyes. “As long as it doesn’t interrupt any more of my nap.”

Sanji

As soon as you walk through the door, you can smell your favorite dessert being made.

But Sanji is nowhere to be found.

“Sanji,” you called. “Can you hold something for me?”

“Of course, my love!” he shouted from the pantry, and a moment later he rushes out and toward you. 

His hands are empty, already forgetting whatever he was planning to grab in exchange for what you need him for. 

He holds his hand out, and when you place your hand in his, he looks at it, confused for a moment. 

He’s afraid he had misheard you. “What did you need again?” he asked.

“I needed you to hold something.” You give his hand a light squeeze. 

“Your…hand?”

You smile, trying to hold back a laugh. “My hand.” 

He crumples to the ground, overwhelmed with emotion. For a second you’re worried you’ve killed him, but he’s still breathing, thankfully. 

Luffy

“Luffy!” You shouted to your captain, who was at his seat on the figurehead. “Can you hold something for me?”

He groaned at your request, not wanting to leave his seat. “Come up here and give it to me!”

You joined him at his seat on Sunny’s head and sat next to him, waiting for him to hold his hand out. 

“What do you need me to hold?” he asked, looking at you with confusion. 

“My hand,” you said, placing your hand in his. 

“Oh.” Luffy shrugged, looking back out to sea. “For how long?”

You smiled. “For however long you want.”

“We could make a game out of it.”

That piqued your interest. “A game?”

He grinned mischeviously. “Yeah! Hang on for as long as you can!” 

Suddenly he shot his other arm out to the mast, and the two of you flew threw the air, gripping onto each other for dear life. 

Law

You walked into his lab, looking for the golden-eyed doctor. 

“Law!” You turned the corner to find him measuring out a strange liquid. “Can you hold something for me?”

“Kinda busy,” he mumbles, his teeth gritted in concentration. “Can someone else help you?”

You giggle. “I don’t think so. I can wait,” you said, plopping yourself down on a nearby stool and opening a book.

After a few minutes, he finally turns to you. “What is it?”

“I need you to hold something.” You held your hand out in a fist, as if you were holding something.

“Is this one of yours and Shachi’s pranks?” he asked. But he trusts you (most of the time), and holds his hand out to take whatever you had. 

You quickly intertwine your fingers with his, clutching his hand tightly. “Thanks.” You return to your book without another word. 

“Your hand?” he asks, nervously glancing back at his project. “Can we do this later? I’m kind of on a timetable with that mixture.”

You frowned. “Fine. But I’m adding interest.”

“Deal,” he said, pulling his hand away and running back to his project. 

You were a little hurt, but he quickly realized his error and ran back to you, plopping a kiss on the top of your head before rushing back to the table. 

[junityy]

🕸 — stay.

pairing. spider-man!jake x fem!reader genre. fluff, slight angst, slightly suggestive?? wc. 2k warnings. for context, this is the #infamous scene in the amazing spiderman 1 when peter shows up hurt at gwens window!! and yes im including the lizard LMAO and jake is kinda down Bad note. THIS TURNED OUT SO LONG.... and also NOT how i wanted but erm well.. spiderman jake is truly all i can think about so i hope you enjoy!!!

You were just finishing up your chemistry homework when Jake leaned against your window frame outside, and lightly knocked against your window. By now, this had become a routine-like thing, so you didn't even flinch.

The first time he did that, though, you felt slightly creeped out before letting him in regardless - because, after all, you do live on the 21st floor. The second time he did that, you started getting used to it. After all, your boyfriend just so turned out to be Spider-man. It was just something you'd get used to sooner rather than later.

Turning around and telling him, “Come in.”, you could already feel your lips form into a smile like that of a little kid's. Jake does as you said and opens the window, slowly climbing inside while you quickly save your homework document in the meantime.

“So, big guy, what was saving New York like today?” you joke before turning around to look at him. Though, once you see Jake holding onto your armchair for stability, your smile fades as quickly as it appeared and you get up when your eyes scan his body - three major scratches across his chest, along with other small wounds across his face (though these are a given by now). But also- scratches? No, it looks more like someone tried to slice him up with.. you don't even know what. Knives? This big? You can only imagine how he got these.

“Different, for sure.” he replies in a joking manner (even though there is no smile), and you can hear just a tiny bit of the pain he must be in in his voice.

“Jake?” you end up whispering as you walk towards him, and he simply lets himself fall onto your armchair before you sit down beside him.

“Seems that reptiles aren't my biggest fans.” he jokes; now smiling as he lets his head fall back while trying to catch his breath. In the meantime, you can't help but scan his wounds up close and - it's safe to say, someone (or something) possibly did try to slice him up from the looks of it.

“Reptiles?” you repeat, the confusion in your voice being very easy to identify; something Jake had already seen coming though, so that is far from surprising.

Before speaking up to elaborate further, he lifts his head again to look at you up close, then explains; “Remember that thing on the bridge yesterday? The thing that was ‘bigger’ than a human.. Well, turns out it's actually some kind of giant, mutant lizard. And it's living in the sewers, apparently.”

“A what?” raising your eyebrows in shock immediately, you can't help but blink in utter confusion a few times - at least before your eyes find their way back to his chest, and some dots start to connect by themselves. Well, his wounds make a little sense now at least. Still, neither of you could deny that ‘giant mutant lizard’ doesn't sound absolutely insane - so naturally, it takes you a second to process and.. imagine what that fight must've looked like just now.

“You're..” you frown; making eye contact with your boyfriend again after breaking it shortly. Jake on the other hand can't seem to even think about taking his eyes off of you. As per usual. “You're telling me you're fighting.. giant lizards?” you simply add. You're also certain that no matter how you would've worded this, it would sound equally just as crazy.

But, well.. your boyfriend IS Spider-man after all. So really, nothing should probably surprise you anymore. If you had to guess, things would, most likely, only get crazier from here on.

“Yeah. Well, they suck.” Jake scoffs, followed by another smile on his face, but he quickly groans in pain right after; your eyes still fixated on his wounds. It’s not like he'll die of them, so you try telling yourself to stop being so dramatic, but still.. it's a sight you'd rather not get too used to.

You hate seeing him like this. Usually, you're pretty used to seeing him with small or at least smaller wounds by now, but this? This is.. low-key crazy. You keep telling yourself that he is literally Spider-man, and that there's.. kinda no way to avoid getting hurt, yet all you hope for is to see him in one piece every single time. And it seems that the longer he keeps doing what he's doing, the chances of seeing him at all keep getting slimmer. Which is something that truly keeps you up at night, easily causing goosebumps all over your body.

“Hey.” Jake quietly says, simply to bring you back to reality once he notices you're lost in thoughts, and the next thing you feel is his hand on your cheek, softly cupping it.

Once you're actually back, you properly reconnect the eye contact you so love with him again. “What is it?” he questions not too long after, barely whispering while trying to read your expression. You, on the other hand, just remain silent; swallowing, before taking a sharp breath.

“Take this off, I'll take care of it.” pretty much avoiding the question, you point to his suit instead (or at least the upper part of it) - since, every time Jake has come here, you took care of him and his injuries. And today was gonna be no different.

While he makes sure the city is okay, you need to make sure he's okay. And vice versa, Jake has to make sure you're okay, by coming back to you every time like promised. New York could be safe for all he wants - only seeing your face every time makes him feel truly safe and sound.

And so again, he does as you say; moving to sit on the floor while leaning against your bed, he watches you do your little magic in silence. Silence, awe, admiration - it's all the same when it comes to you, really. He doesn't even deserve you, Jake thinks to himself. Like he does everyday.

Your ‘little magic’ though, simply includes disinfecting his wounds first; a process the both of you have gotten used to by now.

Once he's rolled down his suit a little, you begin to carefully pat his chest with the tissue again and again, so careful as if he'd break if you made one wrong move. Which.. seems sort of funny. You're patching up the Spider-man after all.

Jake, in the meantime, can't seem to take his eyes off of you again, so he simply doesn't. Instead, he watches your every move like his life depends on it. The look in your eyes has changed. You've gone quiet. Like, awfully quiet.

“Y/N.” he tries again after just a moment - after you clearly avoided his question the first time. When you look up just the tiniest bit, you're immediately met with his eyes on you already in no time. Oh. His eyes. “What is it?” he repeats, hoping to get you to talk this time.

Looking at him, it takes you a few moments to even form a somewhat coherent thought. Sometimes you wish you could just stop time and stay like this. With him, here. Forever.

Sure, being Spider-man's girlfriend had its perks - like Jake taking you with him to swing around New York together. Surely.. an original experience! But it also meant praying he'd come home to you every time there was trouble in the city.

“I'm just scared for you, is all.” you sigh quietly, tilting your head a tiny bit. For just a moment, silence enters, and it feels like you're falling in love with him all over again. You're just glad he's here.

“You won't lose me.” Jake assures you in the softest tone possible and immediately brings his hand back to your cheek, only to bring your face closer to his. Close enough to place a kiss on your lips, a reassuring one. A kiss that, as you both know, says something words wish they could truly encapsulate. Breaking the kiss for a short, simple “I promise.”, he immediately reconnects your lips again like he'd suffocate if he didn't.

What starts as a lovely, reassuring kiss, quickly seems to turn into something much more intimate when you feel Jake rest his other hand on your waist only to pull you as close as possible; to feel your body right against his.

Spider-man might have impressive healing abilities that are above those of the average person, but Jake felt as if having you near him was already enough healing.

“I love you.” he breathes into the kiss, and quickly tries to catch his breath when you do the same for a second. Your faces still dangerously close, all you seem to be able to get out is a “I love you too.” that sounds very out of breath, like you were the one fighting a giant mutant lizard just before.

Bringing your hand up to rest on the side of his neck, Jake can't help but sigh when he backs off a tiny bit, only so he can get a good look at you. God, you're beautiful he thinks to himself. Basically looking at you the same way he did when he first told you he loved you, he automatically moves the few strands of hair out of your face; tucking them behind your ear, while his eyes simply shine with admiration. But mostly love.

“I just love you, Y/N.” your boyfriend repeats while shaking his head slightly, and sounding completely hopeless as if he just accepted that he is, indeed, hopelessly in love with you. Though, that was more or less the case anyway.. it still is, actually. Watching his eyes go back and forth between your eyes and lips, Jake speaks up again in a low voice, “You won't lose me.”. However this time, it's a promise rather than a reassurance.

Your eyes lighting up with pure love at his words and the look in his eyes, you can't seem to hide the way your lips are forming into another tiny smile - so you decide to just let them speak by placing them on his once again.

It's like your lips were perfectly made for each other, especially when Jake tilts his head a tiny bit more to deepen the kiss - his hand still on your neck, and if it were to go after him, he'd never remove it again. It's like you were perfectly made for each other.

“Jake.” you mumble into the kiss, yet keep it going because his lips feel a little too good moving against yours. Although you don't wanna let go, you (sadly) do end up breaking the kiss - which causes Jake to immediately look at you as you're gathering your thoughts one by one.

“I need to ask you a favour. It'll sound really selfish, though.” you begin quietly, only to receive a promising nod from his side, waiting for you to continue curiously while his eyes go back and forth between your eyes and lips again. Swallowing, you carefully ask, “You know I love that you're Spider-man, but can you just be Jake for tonight and stay?” Yeah, you were right about it sounding kinda selfish. Jesus.

But, like, it's true, and you couldn't really figure out a better way to word it. I mean, obviously you love that he's Spider-man - literally who wouldn't? But it's true that you love Jake Sim more. Even if just a tiny bit, which is why you want, - or need, actually - him with you tonight. Just Jake. Just the two of you.

“It doesn't sound selfish.” is the first thing he says in response, slightly shaking his head for further assurance. You're not only glad about it, but you feel your heartbeat increase rapidly when you see yet another smile form on his face, which (thank god), he doesn't even try to hide as it's getting too big. “Actually,” he lightly scoffs, biting on his lip as you watch him do so (it drives you nuts every time).

“I was hoping you'd say that, princess.” is the last thing he says before pulling you in for a kiss much, much more intimate than the ones before.

taglist @tyunni @geombyu @jaeyunverse @yjwfav @sieuneo @beombisou @neos127

[strawburry01]

Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby

Ford Pines x Fem! Reader (no Y/N mentions)

Summary: Ford and you are trying to find another cryptid but a thunderstorm causes some emotions.

AN: Thanks for liking the first one all! This is technically a Part 2, but doesn't rely on anything from the first part so don't worry.

Part 1

Word Count: 2k

 You stood in your dark room, humming along to the spinning vinyl as you painstakingly converted your camcorder footage to a VCR tape. Ford always noted that you could just save them to a computer, or just keep it on the camera itself- not understanding your insistence on saving it as physical media. Something in you liked the process though. It was meditative. Being able to uncap your marker and squeakily write the date and contents on the side, and then slide it alongside the rest of them in your growing library. It was rewarding to see the pile growing. Ford still had his growing notebooks, and you now had your growing video library. Between the two of you, both of your research had really been taking off.

As soon as the grant was passed, Ford and you shoved all your collective crap into his car and drove through the night, and then some, to make it to Gravity Falls. From the moment you crossed into town, you could tell he was right with his analysis. Something about the town felt so distinctly, well, weird. It was a quiet, small town, but everyone you met had been kind, although not very outwardly chatty. To be fair, two strangers from the east coast just moved in and were far too excited to be there. It was enough to confuse and freak out anyone.

But the two of you were fine with being the talk of the town. In fact you secretly thought Ford enjoyed the positive attention based on how much he convinced you to go to Greasy’s Diner for brunch. 

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, it’s scientifically proven,” Ford would always say trying to defend the addiction. As long as he paid, you weren’t complaining.

In the background your vinyl began to skip. You grumbled and flipped it over for the next side of songs as Ford entered, head deep in his notebook, not even acknowledging your presence.

“Knocking is considerate,” you commented as you focused on your work, glancing up at him as he sat in the chair nestled in the corner of the room. You had found it on the way into town on some random road with the word FREE spray painted on a sign nearby, so after mild convincing, Ford and you were able to balance it on top of the car.

“The door was open, you relinquished knocking privileges,” he said, without looking up,

“What if I was changing?” you said, “I could’ve been naked you perv,”. You watched as his face reddened and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as he snapped out of his reading. 

You both liked each other. You felt like it was painfully obvious to everyone, even each other, but something kept you both from ever admitting it. Was it your scientific brains always insisting that it was some stupid imbalance of hormones and forced proximity? Both of your egos trying to constantly one up each other, never wanting to admit you liked the other? Perhaps the fact that if you actually admitted to liking each other, what would that mean for research? Or even worse, liking each other would mean you fell into the cliche.

But god, you had been around each other practically 24/7 for the past months now in Gravity Falls and it was only getting worse each day. Like a growing vine, only getting larger and larger. The only reason you were so confident Ford liked you back was the fact he never attempted to deflect your teasing. He was one to always correct you, or really anyone, if they said something incorrect, but whenever you taunted him, he would just redden and try to change the subject. 

Ford coughed in his chair and shifted as he uncapped his pen to continue an entry in his journal, trying to move past your teasing.

“Sounds like a safety hazard if you were in here without clothes,” he muttered. You threw a marker at him across the room.

“Don’t judge the artist, perhaps I was trying something new,” you said as you slid another tape, labeled “Gobblewonker Part 3” besides Part 1 and 2. 

“Let’s move from this hypothetical,” he said, firmly closing his journal, “there’s a storm coming in tonight according to weather reports. I wanted to try and see if we could catch the Thunderbird at some point,”.

“Pretty elusive fella, no?” you asked, scanning your tapes to see if you had anything on Thunderbirds.

“Yes, and unless you agree to a goat sacrifice this time we’ll just have to be patient and attentive,” he nodded. He really wanted you to agree to a sacrificial goat to draw one out. You crossed your arms and stared at him.

“Stanford Pines I’m not letting you go to hell for animal sacrifice,” you said.

“Fine, but don’t blame me when we can’t see one, because someone has strict morals all of the sudden,” he said as he stood up and left. 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ALL OF THE SUDDEN PINES?” you shouted after him.

It was no use. He disappeared into the small cabin you were both calling home for now. It was dark when the rain started. Big drops pelleted the roof, which didn’t enthuse you as Ford insisted on setting up outside. You bundled your rain slicker close, trying to create some warmth, but instead only making your clothes underneath damp. Ford on the other hand couldn’t be bothered it seemed. He was moving around his instruments too much for his hood to actually stay on, causing his hair and glasses to be drenched. 

“Do you need help?” you asked, not being able to watch him struggle for much longer.

“Can you just line up that telescope with the gap in the trees there?” he asked with a point towards the sky. You nodded and risked your fingers in the cold to swivel the telescope until it was centered on the break in foliage. You stood back up and saw Ford staring at you before he quickly looked away. He seemed stressed, so you spared a joke.

He let out a sigh as he stood back, looking over the set up. He dragged over two lawn chairs and held out his arms, gesturing for you to sit in one. Ford was damn lucky you believed in his confidence, you thought to yourself as you sat down. You couldn’t even use your camcorder out here because of the rain. You didn’t want to risk it. 

The two of you sat, listening to the rain fall off the trees for a while until you started dozing off, catching yourself every time and jolting up. Ford scooted his chair closer and put his arm on your chair. 

“Sorry it’s so late,” he said, “sleep on my arm if you need to. You’ll ruin your neck if you keep sleeping like that,” he noted. You smirked to yourself as you took him up on the offer, leaning onto his shoulder, not minding the drops that had accumulated on his coat.Before slipping into sleep you felt him put a hand on your leg, gently running over it with his thumb.

You weren’t sure how long you were out for when a crack of lightning lit up the sky and awoke you. Ford was instantly up and checking all his devices for the elusive Thunderbird, but you were frozen to your chair. The rumble of thunder filled your ears and paralyzed you in place. It was stupid, it was so stupid. You’re from the damn east coast, get over it, your brain chided, but your body couldn’t agree. You’d always been terrified of thunder, despite your knowledge that it was unlikely anything from a lightning storm would ever hurt you, you couldn’t help that loud noises from the sky scared you to death.

“Shit, are you okay?” Ford asked, realizing that you were not by his side. He turned and saw you, sitting down, but looking thousands of miles away. You wanted to nod your head yes, that everything was fine and you were over your dumb overreaction, but you couldn’t. You stared up at him through his dewy glasses and shook your head.

“I hate thunder,” you muttered, embarrassed, flinching as another rumble went overhead, “I thought I’d gotten over it…”. Ford stared at you and then turned back to his devices. 

“Let’s go inside. These will get any data and recordings I need,” he said as he pulled you up out of the chair. 

“I’m sorry-” you started to say before he cut you off.

“Don’t apologize. It’s a very understandable fear. It’s not worth your wellbeing,” he said as he continued leading you inside. 

Inside the house the noise from above only reverberated more it seemed, causing you to jump. You caught Ford almost commenting on it, before he closed his mouth and helped you out of your rain jacket instead. You kicked off your boots at the door and they thunked with mud against the wall. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you scared,” Ford quietly remarked as he hung up his own jacket. Before you can reply there’s another rumble of thunder, louder now, causing you to jump into Ford’s arms. You feel him seize up under the sudden touch, but he quickly wraps an arm around your back with the other on the back of your head, pressing you into his red-sweatered chest. You slowly let out a shaky breath as you tried to calm your nerves. Ford slowly started running his hand up and down your back trying to calm you as well. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he repeated.

You two stood like this for a few minutes as lightning lit up the sky outside.

“I-I’m sorry Ford, I’ll be okay, I’m just going to go to my room,” you said as you stepped back out of his arms, despite your brain screaming at you you were a fool for doing so. 

“Can you actually sleep like this?” Ford asked, watching you walk to your room only to get stopped by another thrum of thunder. You looked over your shoulder.

 Swallow your pride you idiot, you both thought.

“Would you-”

“I could-”

“-keep me company?”

“-stay with you?”

You bit your bottom lip as you laughed, Ford laughed too and rubbed the back of his neck. Both of you could’ve been mistaken for high schoolers in that moment. 

You changed into your flannel pajama pants and oversized t-shirt as Ford dutifully faced the wall before changing into his boxers and one of your other oversized shirts you threw at him. 

“I don’t need this,” he said, holding it up.

“I can’t handle this much skin on you yet,” you replied as you slowly got under the covers. You felt the weight of the bed as he got in behind you. He softly grumbled complaints about wearing a shirt as he snaked his arms around your waist. 

"Is this okay?" he asked into your hair.

“Yes, now hush Pines,” you mumbled back. You shuddered a little as thunder rolled overhead again, causing Ford to tighten his hold on you.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he repeated as you calmed down again. You sighed into your pillow as you began to close your eyes.

“So…” Ford said, causing you to open an eye, “does this mean you like me?”.

“Do you like me?” you asked, tilting your head so you could try to face him. Ford took his chance to quickly kiss your cheek before you hid your head back into the pillow.

“Of course I am, are you kidding me? I’ve liked you since the first week of knowing you,” he said, “people aren’t friends with me, let alone people like you. You’re really important to me,”. You could feel your face heating up at his compliments as you tried to hide in the pillow, “Are you blushing? I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you do that…” he said with a chuckle.

“For fucks sake of course I am Ford, I’ve liked you for so long now too,” you admitted. The two of you were silent as rain continued to patter on the roof.

“Damn,” Ford said before nestling his head into the back of your neck, “I guess my brother was right,”.

You smiled as you began to doze off, with Ford holding onto you. Neither of you knew that you wouldn’t sleep alone again as long as you were in this universe.

Part 2.5 up

[daydreams-after-dark]

Good things come in small packages

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Mini Han x fem reader

Synopsis: One year ago you purchased a ‘miniature companion’ named Hannie. He’s the size of a Ken doll but alive and horny. But something unexpected happens on your one year anniversary.

Word count: approx 2k

A/n: Hey!!! It's finally here! My Mini Han oneshot (posted in a couple of instalments because I get too excited to share). The idea for Mini Han was born through a conversation with my girl @noellllslut (we always have the most unhinged thoughts). Then I wrote a little "imagining" here (which I’ve incorporated into this fic anyway, so you don’t have to read), which then sparked quite a bit curiosity amongst you sweet/filthy readers. Questions came, and I felt compelled to explore more of this theme.

I hope you enjoy this little fic. It's sweet and smutty, and as I kept writing, I fell in love with our dear y/n and Mini Hannie. I want one for myself tbh.

CW below the cut

CW: supernatural themes, oral sex, sexual acts, sexual themes, voyeurism

You've had your miniature human, Hannie, for almost a year?! You realize, sitting at your work desk as you look at your desktop calendar. You smile and make a note to organize a celebration for just the two of you, and to buy a cheesecake for dessert. Hannie loves cheesecake. Your smile grows. He always manages to get it all over him, then wants to get it all over you so he can lick it off you.

One year this coming weekend. It feels like time has flown, yet at the same time it feels like he’s been part of your life forever. Your heart bursts as you think back to how it all came to be.

You had been lonely. You'd broken up with your long term boyfriend and was feeling sad one night. So you went online to doom scroll, and online shop. You expected you'd end up down a rabbit hole of cat memes and be $500 down in shoe purchases, but instead an ad appeared on your screen.

"Miniature human companions" it said, with images of very attractive men. Miniature men. Were they human? Couldn't be. Were they robots? Probably. They must be really expensive to make which is why they are so small, you'd decided.

You were intrigued, so you researched the company, finding that this new type of 'companion' utilizes cutting edge technology that simulates actual human behavior and bodily functions.

By 4am you'd chosen your companion. His name was Han. He was adorable and attractive, with fluffy black hair and pouty lips, and from the personality trait notes, he sounded like a lot of fun.

"Pay Now". You can still remember the feeling of excitement that ran through you as hit the button to complete your purchase.

When he arrived, he came in a box with air holes, which you found kind of weird considering he didn't actually breathe oxygen. You set the box on your kitchen table, took a deep breath and lifted the lid. You gasped as you peered inside.

A little man, about the size of a Ken doll, sat on a blanket eating miniature crisps out of a miniature chip bag.

"Oh hello!" he looked up at you. "Are you my Noona?" he waved excitedly.

Holy fucking shit. You almost fainted as you stumbled to sit down on a dining chair.

You knew he was meant to talk, but he just seemed so real as he chewed his food then licked the seasoning off his lips like he could actually taste it. His little chest moved with his breath, like he was really breathing. Could he do everything a human can do? You wondered.

"My name’s Hannie." He said standing up and brushing the crumbs off his trousers.

"Um...I-I'm Y/n..." you stuttered, trying to process what you were witnessing,

"You're really pretty, Y/n." He beamed up at you with a gummy grin.

You prepared him a little space of his own, with a makeshift bed, clothing that you had also ordered from the company you purchased him from, and bought a set of Barbie sized cups, plates and furniture. You even bought him a Barbie Dreamhouse to live in, but he preferred to just climb up your full sized furniture and use that.

You studied the information manual that came with him and learned that he could in fact, experience life just as a human did. He needed to eat, sleep, wash, poop. Oh and he could get erections and ejaculate. Wow!

Over the next weeks and months you'd gotten yourselves into a routine, and became really close. He was your best friend. You did everything together, mostly staying at home. You assumed he was some sort of AI, and that's why you got along so well, but the longer he was with you, the more his own interests came to the surface. Like singing and Anime.

He helped you bake, often getting himself covered in flour and other ingredients. You'd watch movies together. Most nights you'd lay on the couch and he'd lay face down on your chest while you watched your favorites. Sometimes you'd feel him get hard against the curve of your breast, and you'd think inappropriate thoughts about him. You'd grow wet between your legs and wish he was able to touch you.

He loved it when you’d brush his hair with a tiny little hairbrush and sit him on your benchtop in the bathroom when you’re getting ready for the day. You know he loved it when you forgot he was there one time and you took a shower in front of him. He got so hard watching you soap up your body.

Sometimes you'd take him out on a picnic somewhere secluded near the ocean so he could freely move about the picnic blanket without fear of being seen. Or he'd sneak into your work bag and scare the shit out of you when you were working.

In the early days, you'd occasionally go on dates with actual men. Mostly to take your mind of your growing feelings for Hannie. You'd bring them home and fuck them in your bed, knowing he was somewhere watching, listening. You'd imagine him getting hard from your noises, and it made you moan even louder just picturing it. You'd imagine it was Hannie inside you too, pounding hard into your cunt, and making you come on his cock.

He was distant with you in the days after. He’d sit around sulking and pouting.

"What's wrong, Hannie?" You asked him after he’d ignored you for three days.

"Noona... it's just…I get so jealous of them." He burst into tears. "I want to do things like that to you. I want to the be the one who makes you come." He sobbed.

Things changed after that. You no longer went out with other men, and you and your miniature companion began to explore a more physical, more sexual, relationship.

From letting you see each other naked, to mutual masturbation, to eventually touching each other and making each other come.

You soon learned that even though Hannie is small, he is extremely talented with his mouth, and he can make you come harder than anyone had ever before.

One morning he noticed that you were still asleep, and very naked. The way you were laying, legs splayed out looked so inviting to him. You’d kicked your blanket off at some point. He couldn’t help himself.

You woke up to a sensation between your legs, and when you looked down you saw him kneeling between your your legs, using his arms to push your pussy lips open and doing his very best to lap at your clit.

“Hannie?” You whimpered. He stopped for a moment to stand up and wave at you, the entire front of his body dripping with your arousal. “I’ve just found my favorite thing to do!” He said enthusiastically and then he was back to being buried against your pussy.

These days, at night time he’ll climb up onto your chest while you’re lying in bed watching videos on your phone. He still loves to nestle against the bulge of your breasts, especially if you’re in a loose satin camisole, and he’ll slide himself under the fabric.

“What do you want to watch, Hannie?” You’ll ask him.

“Porn!” He’ll answer excitedly. The phone is like a giant screen to him and it’s never long before you feel him shimmying his clothes off and rubbing his little swollen erection against your skin.

He’s such a desperate little thing that you let him do whatever he needs to get himself off. Often, he’ll rub his cock along your bottom lip while he humps your tits, or he’ll scramble to suck on your nipple. He does his best to stretch his mouth around it, while he grinds against you and cumming on your soft skin. Then he’ll pass out right there. Poor little tyke gets himself tired.

Some of the kinkier things he gets you to do include tying him up and edging him until his cock becomes so painfully red and engorged that he’s crying. His naked body is delicious to look at, and you love to run the pad of your index finger over his muscles. He’s perfectly toned, his skin honey brown, and his cock is mouth-wateringly big for his frame.

He’s rendered helpless as you stroke your finger gently up and down his body. Then, using the tip of your tongue, you lick his cock carefully whilst shoving your pinky finger into his mouth.

There are times when you’ll dress up in lingerie covered in buckles and straps and he’ll climb up your body like he’s doing some kind of adventure hike. He gets so sweaty and very hard as he explores the terrain of your body.

He really is the perfect companion.

You are broken from your thoughts by your alarm signaling it's time to go home from work, and you hurry home to see your Hannie.

_____________

"Fuck! Hannie! Please... need to come...need one more...please. Don't stop." You pant. It's later that evening, and you're on the verge of your third orgasm with Hannie between your thighs sucking expertly on your clit. He's got your lips spread open as far as he can manage, and he's grinding against your core seeking his own release. Inside your pussy you've got your vibrator egg on full intensity. "Yes!!! Yes...coming!!!" You cry as you arch off the bed as you come all over him.

He quickly climbs up your body, almost slipping off because he’s covered in so much of your cream, and kneels on your chest to pump his cock until he’s spurting cum onto your tongue.

“Tastes so good, Hannie.” You show him your empty tongue, but he’s already collapsed across your body.

You clean him up and put him in his striped pajamas, before you both nestle into bed. You’re used to him sleeping on the pillow next to you now, although it took you a while to stop worrying you’d roll on him in the night.

“Noona? Did you know that tomorrow it’ll be one year since I came here?” He says sleepily.

You roll onto your side and smile. “Yes, actually I do, honey. Have a think about what you’d like to do to celebrate, okay. Anything you want."

He nods. “Yeah, I’ll think about it. But just so you know, it’ll involve me being buried in your pussy.”

————-

Han laid back on the pillow. What would he like to do to celebrate? He’d love to celebrate by being inside you. Properly. Fully.

He wishes he could do the things he'd seen those men you’d do to you all those months ago. To pin your legs up and fuck you so hard the bed would shake. He takes his mind back to when he’d hide on your shelf and watch, fucking into his hand and holding back tears of despair.

What would it be like to bend you over and fuck you from behind? What would it even be like to fuck you at all? He wants to know so bad.

But he does have a special relationship with you, he supposes. Not every guy has to stretch his mouth around a nipple or clit like he has to. Can those men be covered head to toe in your juices? Or lay completely across the bulge of your boob. No. They can’t. Only he can.

He pouts to himself.

He knows he’s got it good, you are his everything. But as he lays on the pillow next you and closes his eyes, he wonders if he’s enough for you? Could you give up real men forever, with real sized cocks that can stretch you out and fill you deep? Would you be okay with never having a boyfriend you could take out in public, or take to family events, or be seen with?

Could you settle for him? A miniature version of a man?

He sighs. "Goodnight, Noona. Love you." He whispers as he leans over and gives your giant lips a kiss.

"Goodnight, my sweet Hannie. I love you too." you reply sleepily.

As he drifts off to sleep he wishes what he always wishes. That he could be human sized and be with you like a proper human.

-----------

The morning sun peeks through your window, landing on your face and causing you to stir. You groan and try to stretch, but a heaviness across your middle keeps you in place. You peer down to find a man's arm wrapped around you, snuggling you tight.

Fear courses through your body, and you scream as you fling the arm off and jump out bed. You grab your lamp, ready to hit the intruder.

"Noona?" The man lifts his head, his dark locks falling around his face.

Your eyes almost pop out of your head when you see the confused look on his face. "Hannie!?" You choke, hands poised to strike.

"Noona? What are you doing?" he peers down at the pillow his head had been resting on, and then down the bed toward his feet. "Why is your bed so small?"

"Hannie?" You whisper, lowering the lamp, letting it drop to the floor.

"Why is everything so small? Wait. Why am I naked? Noona, have you been playing with me in my sleep?" He looks up at you confused and worried. "Noona, why are you looking at me like that?"

His eyes land on his pajamas, torn to shreds next to him. He picks up the scrap of fabric that was his pajama top, and his eyes widen. "Why are my clothes so tiny?"

"Hannie," you take in the man before you, naked and taking up most of the bed. "You're big."

To be continued…

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @chuuchuu1224 @fun-fanfics @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @armystay89 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @kyunchoni @justforreaders @melochacco @scenuniverse @oddracha @ismokeeweed @galaxycatdrawz @jiminssluttyminx @teddy-stay @kayleefriedchicken @imperfectlyperfectprincess1

[httpsserene]

I LOVED daniel ricciardo x max verstappen x reader!! could you write a part 2?

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 2𝕶 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 | 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖊𝖑 𝕽𝖎𝖈𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖔 𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐞: 𝐊.𝐎. !

summary: Okay, Daniel may have won the first round. He cleared her dry spell with no problem and used Max to do it, too. That’s completely fine, she will never complain about experiencing some of the best orgasms of her life. But, Max (the man unable to not have the last word) coerces her into giving Daniel a taste of his own medicine.  As soon as they can manage to walk on two feet, without a wobble. Mark their fucking words.  pairing: daniel ricciardo x max verstappen x fem!black!reader content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. author recommends reading part one before this. polyamory. threesome. massages. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. safe, sane, and consensual. bondage. safeword mention. unprotected sex. ruined orgasm. handjob. oral sex (male receiving). edging. crying during sex. praise kink. nipple play. dom/sub ig? joking during sex. dom!max verstappen. switch!daniel ricciardo. sub!reader. vaginal sex. anal sex (male). sex toys (butt plug). frottage. don’t like don’t read. no beta we die like men. edited by the author, though. this is a fictional depiction of real-life people, and this is not an accurate representation of them. word count: 4.3k words

author’s notes: to all the lovely readers who begged for a part two of my f1 kinktober special | overstimulation kink w danny & max. these tags may look crazy...okay, they are but the fic is reasonably crazy i would say. this was humbling to write, you have been warned. my 2k followers special comes to its end with this final installment and there will be no part three of this fic < 3. i may repost this on ao3 in a week or so, for ease of reading as i know long fics on tumblr are kind of annoying :)

(i'm going to take a little pause from writing daniel ricciardo fics but those of you that have requested things for him i will get to them in due time xxx)

prev part 1 2k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents↻

Your body feels like it’s been wrung out: legs wobbly, thighs bruised, hips aching, back broken, and numb with heat between your legs. You refuse to wear pants as the friction is too paralyzing to take more than a few steps. Loose dresses are your best friend–for the first couple of days, you even went commando around the ranch—thank god neither one of your boyfriends clued into that. 

However, it’s not like you disliked the oversensitivity and aching muscles that came after sex. You loved the feeling even more as it was the first time you’d been properly fucked in a few months. Having that unending thirst for Max and Daniel quenched; it’s heightened how you experience life. You swear that your vision feels sharper, your melanated skin softer, anything you eat tastes better than delicious, the homemade lemonade is sweeter, and most importantly, your desperation has calmed. While you love life on the farm, where living has become succulent under your senses—Max’s attitude has done a complete 180°.

His energy is completely subdued. It’s like Daniel drained the cum and brat out of him. Max is all stuttered words when he makes eye contact with either of you, blushing fully at the lightest tease or brush of skin, voice soft when he speaks, usual bluntness replaced with shyness, and he’s even clingier than normal. If he hasn’t glued himself underneath Daniel’s arm, he’ll be plastered against your back.

You wonder if he’s embarrassed that Daniel changed their “plan” on him at the last minute, or if it’s because Daniel used him as a tool to get you off—but, asking Max would only scare him away or cause the brat to resurface…so you don’t verbalize your theories. You find Max in this state more adorable than usual, and you won’t complain if it means a surplus of Max-cuddles.

Yet, the figurative rug is pulled from beneath your feet when the three of you go Christmas shopping. Daniel had separated from the two of you to go pick up a gift for his nephew, leaving you and Max alone to browse through knickknacks that decorate the shelves. Your eyes were caught by cat ornaments that looked exactly like Jimmy and Sassy but before you could reach out to grab, them Max grabbed you by the hand and pulled you to hide in the next aisle over.

“I want to break Daniel with so many orgasms that he won’t be able to speak by the time we’re done with him,” Max states bluntly. The brat is back.

“Regulate your volume,” you whisper-yell at him, hand moving to cover his mouth as you look around to see if anybody heard your Dutch boyfriend, “We are in public and you decided now is the time to bring this up?!”

He pulls your hand off his face, looking at you with wide eyes, “But, liefje–c’mon! Daniel’s been way too smug recently. Whenever I’m around him he doesn’t miss the chance to mention how he made me cry—made you cry, too!”

“Inside voice, Max,” you bite out, continuing to look at the Christmas decorations in this aisle.

“Fine,” Max whispers, rolling his eyes, “Technically, it’s another Christmas present for him if you think about it.”

“I’m trying not to think about it if you haven’t noticed.”

“Don’t you want to even the board? Imagine it: Daniel underneath the two of us, and we’re overwhelming him with pleasure. Doesn’t that sound like a good time?”

You stop walking abruptly and Max runs into your back. You spin around and stare at him with narrowed eyes and a flared nose.

“You seriously thought the best time to discuss this is in the middle of a family-friendly store, where our boyfriend is picking up a gift for his nephew?”

“Yes.”

“If you stop talking about it for the entire time we’re shopping today, I’ll consider it. We can discuss this when the phantom feeling of his cum on my skin goes away.”

That evening, you and the Dutchman watch Daniel fix a motorbike out in the driveway from the garage. He’s shirtless, sweat dripping down his face and back, you can see every muscle engage and relax as he moves. He’s silhouetted by the Australian sunset and you hear Max choke on his breath when Daniel’s loose jeans slip down his hips, exposing the waistband of his briefs—twin sighs of disappointment leave you both when he catches and drags them back up. With shaky hands, you grab the pitcher of lemonade you prepared to pour a glass for each of you. Ignoring how you missed the glass on your first few attempts, you two bring the drinks to your lips and dry the cups embarrassingly quickly to satiate your desperation—the lemonade doesn’t help. 

Daniel finishes with the bike and wipes his hands on a towel he had tucked into his back pocket, looking your guys’ way. He smiles brightly—shamefully, you wave in response and Max tucks a nonexistent strand of hair behind his ear; the two of you are acting like school girls with a crush. 

The Australian stands and in a few relaxed strides, he comes to a stop in front of you two. 

“Can you pour me a glass, sweetheart?” his request rumbles out velvety.

Stuttering, you scramble to do as he asked and find that Max has reached for the pitcher as well when your hands bump into each other. The two of you freeze and stare at each other with wide eyes; Max’s blush blooms red across his face and yours warms the brown skin of your cheeks. Daniel’s chuckle of amusement snaps you out of it; Max pours the drink, and you hand it off to the Australian, avoiding eye contact. He brings the glass to his lips and drains it dry. You and the Dutchman stare with gaped mouths, watching the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, whimpering and pressing your thighs together at his ah in satisfaction when finished. 

He leans down to place the glass back on the tray and smirks at you and Max, “Absolutely delicious. It almost tastes as sweet as either of you is acting right now.”

Both of you stay silent, squirming in your lawn chairs. Daniel takes a second to slowly press both of your mouths closed with a nudge of his fingers before straightening up and clearing his throat.

“Thank you for the drink, sweetheart,” Daniel cocks his head to the side in question, before winking, his smug aura radiating off of him, “Or should I say, ‘sweethearts?’ As both of you seemed so eager to help me quench my thirst.”

Your mouth pops open again and Max audibly whimpers next to you. Daniel laughs and walks to enter the house, “Don’t feel afraid to join me in the shower.”

The plan is set before Daniel’s out of the shower. You’ve changed into a black mini slip dress, curls loosely cascading down your back as you’ve draped yourself on top of the bed sideways, face-down on your tummy, not caring how the back of your dress has ridden up a couple of inches. Max laid himself on his side next to you, dressed in a navy Enchanté shirt and a pair of Daniel’s briefs that hug at his thighs a little too tightly, and plays with the bottom hem of your dress, letting his fingers drift underneath to press at bruises that haven’t healed from that night. 

At the sound of the shower shutting off, the two of you glance at each other; Max checking in with you one last time before you guys follow through with the plan. At your nod, Max presses a soft kiss to your lips and goes back to fiddling with your dress. You rest your head on your folded arms and as your eyes flutter shut, the bathroom door opens.

You hear Daniel humming some country song and he gets about three steps into the room before he stops abruptly.

“Well, if I had known this would be waiting for me out here, I wouldn’t have spent a lifetime in the shower waiting for you guys to take me up on my offer.”

Max makes a noise of confusion, his hand pausing at your hemline, “What are you talking about? We just thought it would be nice to give you a massage—you know, prevent any muscle tightness from when you were hunched over the bike.”

“Is that so, pretty girl?” Daniel questions you, looking past Max. He’s dried off from his shower already, skin gleaming thanks to your cocoa butter lotion he probably stole, hair still damp but not dripping, and a towel wrapped around his waist. You’re sure he’s trying to sniff out any weakness; to see if he can bend you into revealing Max’s agenda for tonight. Little does he know that you’re not an accomplice, you’ve put a good amount of work into this plan too.

In response, you offer a small smile and hold up a bottle of massage oil that was previously tucked into your side. Daniel’s narrowed eyes flit between the two of you, and then he relaxes, shrugging loftily as he motions for the two of you to move so he can lie down. 

“Okay, sure,” Daniel laughs, falling into the bed as soon as the space is available, lying flat on his stomach, face planting into the pillows and his next words are muffled but loud enough to understand, “You don’t have to use ‘giving me a massage’ as an excuse to feel me up, but I’m not going to turn it down if you’re so willing to do so.”

You and Max are kneeling on opposite sides of Daniel’s body on the bed, resting on the heels of your feet, and you muffle a giggle at Max rolling his eyes at your boyfriend’s words. The younger man slaps his hand on Daniel’s back, grinning at the stifled yelp that sounds from near the headboard, and coos sarcastically, “Do you think you can handle that level of pain? Considering this is a deep-tissue massage?”

You drizzle a nice amount of oil on the middle of his back, letting your laughter escape as Daniel pleads, “Woah—hear me out, what about a regular massage? I would like to end this massage without crying from soreness, please.”

Slowly the two of you turn to look at each other, smiles spreading across your lips, and Max murmurs, “Oh. You’ll be crying by the end of this.”

You ignore Daniel begging for mercy underneath you and beginning massaging. For all of the Dutchman’s ribbing, the two of you are gentle. Your hands soothingly rub any tension out of his back; the two of you are only doing this to melt Daniel into the bed. He protests and grumbles through the both of you digging into his shoulders, but quiets as you make your way down his back, practically moaning when you push a knot out from behind his shoulder blade. Max manages to wrangle out a whimper when he presses his thumb into the dimple of his lower back. Neither of you gets close to the towel resting low on his hips; you want to keep him as calm and unaware as possible, but getting close to that towel would do the opposite. When Daniel’s breathing slows and his sounds of relief start to lessen, Max gently coaxes Daniel into rolling on his back with ease.

The brunette’s eyes flutter open, but you tut disapprovingly when his gaze meets yours. With a kiss on his forehead, Daniel closes his eyes at your word, not fighting you for a second. And from that point, you and Max begin conditioning the older man to get used to only having one pair of hands on him at a time. Max massages his chest, you take a break, you massage his chest, Max takes a break; and as Daniel starts to relax at the rhythm, you guys slowly increase the length of your breaks. 

Until the breaks get long enough to slip the ties that you guys fastened to the headboard out.

Daniel was so entranced at the sight of you and Max sprawled on his bed that he forgot to examine his surroundings. They’re silk ties, with pre-made straps for you to tighten as soon as his hands are inside them. The two of you take it to the next step; you each begin to massage his arms (still employing your regular breaks), raising them upwards to “get a better angle.” Daniel doesn’t even shift at the change, he just hums under his breath when either of you soothes across a good spot. And with little effort, you and Max raise both of his arms and smoothly slip his tattooed hands into the ties, tightening the straps in the blink of an eye.

The older man startles, eyes flying open as he tries to yank his wrists free of the binds, “Uhhhh, what the fuck?”

Both of you watch as Daniel tries to free himself without any luck, enjoying the show as the silk ties prove they won’t give out. Chills shudder down your spine as your older boyfriend tries to order the two of you to release him, but he must see the feral glint shine in your eyes because he switches to asking when neither of you moves.

“You know what to say if you really want us to let you go, Daniel,” Max states bluntly, pulling off his Enchanté shirt easily. 

You hum in agreement, straddling the Australian’s hips and simultaneously tugging your slip dress over your head and tossing it to the side, exposing your bare body before seating yourself on the bulge showing through the towel. Daniel chokes out a curse, his eyes dancing between yours and Max’s bodies being dangled in front of his face without being able to touch.

He tests the binds for any give half-heartedly before sniffing dismissively, jaw tightening as he challenges Max, “Do your worst, baby.”

Max scoffs out a laugh, “That is the plan.”

From there you and Max turn into savages. Both of you bypass kissing Daniel, pressing lips and biting bruises along his neck and torso instead. The man can only cry out as Max terrorizes his nipples with teeth and pinching fingers while you paint marks on his hipbones and navel. The older man isn’t convinced that the night will end without the two of you seriously attempting cannibalism but the thought is pushed away when the towel is tugged off his hips.

Max laughs mockingly and flicks Daniel’s already-hardened length, “Well, this will be even easier than we thought, liefje.”

“I was half-hard from the minute you guys put your hands on me,” Daniel snipes, “Don’t let this go to your head.”

You raise an eyebrow in question, tilting your head to the side innocently which contrasts the strong grasp of your hand around the head of Daniel’s cock, “Isn’t that a compliment, though? Anyways, it clearly went to your head.”

Daniel groans in pleasure as you start to rapidly stroke along his quickly reddening length, “That was a terrible pun–fuck–but, I’m only letting it slide because your hand is on my cock.”

He bucks up into your fist and you release him immediately, smiling as you see him choke down a whimper of disappointment. The older man isn’t left alone for long, as Max drags the tip of his index finger along the slit of Daniel’s cock before flattening his palm across the head and roughly circling it to overwhelm him with an alarming amount of pleasure-coated friction. 

The brunette can’t stifle his cries this time nor can he buck his hips, thanks to the Dutchman pinning him down with his free forearm. Max pulls both of his hands away quickly, delighting in Daniel’s sounds of displeasure, the two of you watching as he attempts to chase a hand that isn’t there anymore. His length is throbbing, pulsing angrily, redder than the blush that stains his tanned chest. You swallow wantingly. Both of you thought that you would be able to get a few more rounds out of a handjob, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Max gets his hand around the base and yours circles the tip. Simultaneously, the two of you start rubbing him off in time, keeping your fists just tight enough and your motions just quick enough to hurtle Daniel to the edge. He throws his head back into the pillows, hips freely bucking as neither one of you attempts to stop him, his hands pulling against the ties all the while,

“You can cum whenever you want, Daniel,” Max states.

The older man lets out several pants of desperation, calling both of your names as he nears his climax. And when you both see the telltale sign of Daniel’s chest rising and falling heavily, you release his cock.

“No! Wait–shit,” he tries to gasp, but it’s too late. His cock starts leaking, jerking pathetically as cum drips down his length in ribbons—his orgasm ruined. Dry sobs escape his lungs as he humps the air, looking for friction that isn’t there, continuing to beg for a hand even as he struggles to breathe as a result of the unsatisfying release.

You let him come down hard, offering support in a quick squeeze of the meat of his thigh over his tattoo. When he catches his breath, his eyes flutter open. Max sees the wetness gathered in the waterlines and moves in the blink of an eye, enveloping Daniel’s still-hard cock in his mouth. 

The Australian’s back arches off the bed, hips racing forward then backward as he cries out, unsure if the feeling of Max’s mouth is good. Both pairs of your hands fly forward to still Daniel, forcing him to feel every crevice of Max’s tongue and throat, trying to bring him to another orgasm as quickly as possible. It works, Daniel stops fighting and starts obeying, rolling upward into Max’s mouth, whimpering out depravedly as he struggles against his binds again. You see his abs start to undulate in waves, a second orgasm trying to form and you slip your hand underneath Max’s chin, lightly squeezing at Daniel’s balls—and the tears fall as his release slams into him like a semi-truck.

The younger man swallows around Daniel, humming as he does it, yet the bobbing motion of his head doesn’t stop—Max is going to try his hardness to prevent Daniel from going soft, even as the older man tries to fight and twist away from the wet grasp of his throat. The Australian’s tears paint his cheek as he sobs messily, and you’re quick to check in with him as Max’s mouth is occupied.

“Daniel, color?” you manage to make your voice sound steady, but your thighs are trembling, your cunt pulsing with wetness and need. 

The man whimpers, eyes unseeingly looking down at you and Max as he cries messily, “Green.”

You moan breathily, finally giving in to your urges and rushing forward to messily kiss Daniel. You let him cry into your mouth, nipping at his lips and tasting his tears before pulling away. Max pulls off Daniel’s cock with a reedy gasp and moves backward quickly so you can slip in between them, seating your cunt atop the half-hard length and beginning to grind along him. The brunette makes a sound as if he’s been punched in the gut, arms pausing in their fight against the ties before they resume with renewed strength. Daniel scrambles to get his feet underneath him, trying to buck off the hot, wet drag of your cunt against his cock. It’s pulsing so violently that he swears he can feel it in his throat. 

Max knocks his feet down, and tugs Daniel’s chin to look at him with a hardened grasp, with his voice rough and croaky he commands, “Can you give us one more, Daniel?”

Daniel's glossy, brown eyes stare at Max without answer, mouth parted as drool slips from the corners of his lips. The Dutchman’s brow tightens with worry and he releases his chin to pull you off. But, before he can stop you, Daniel gasps out desperately.

“M’ green—please, please, Max,” Daniel nods viciously, “Green, green—one more.”

The younger man soothes Daniel with sweet words, praising and comforting him as he leans forward to pepper his lips and neck with kisses and kitten licks, pausing to motion you to continue. 

You line up Daniel’s cock easily and murmur out a ‘thank you’, before sinking down and not stopping until your ass meets his pelvis, uncaring of how he attempts to shake you off. His body is reacting in too much, but Max and you both see and hear how his brain interprets it as too good. 

You keen in pleasure but your noises are deafened by Daniel’s cries and begs for relief. Well aware that you have to get yourself off so Max can have a turn, you find that toe-curling angle with the help of Max directing your hips, holding yourself steady with one hand behind you on the bed and the other drawing rapid circles on your clit. Max moves to let you rest your back along his chest, your frizzed curls a mess as they bounce with your movements. 

The visual stimulation of Daniel in front of you moaning and heaving for more, the frantic twitching of his length inside of you, the sound of your skin slapping against his, and Max’s voice ghosting right by your ear, the ‘good girl’ that left his lips taking a second to process; all of it pushes you into the abyss. You don’t know if it’s you or Daniel that screams, your blood rushing in your ears and your vision flashing white clouds your mind as the explosion of pleasure burns your nerve endings. 

With a choked ‘fuck,’ you slump over, slipping off his twitching cock and slinking down next to Daniel as you shiver and shake through the last dregs of pleasure. Max flutters over both of you, unsure if he should keep pushing the limit, but both you and Daniel yell confirmations of “Green!” that have Max ripping off his briefs, reaching between his legs and whimpering as he carefully tugs out the plug he’s had in for the entire time.

Daniel’s eyes roll in disbelief, his brain exhausted to the point where he can’t string together any words to communicate his confusion.

Max huffs out a hysterical giggle, one hand stroking along his cock as he tosses the plug off the side of the bed. “Fuck–you were in the shower forever, Daniel. I’ve had that in for too long.”

The younger man shakes as he lowers himself on Daniel’s cock, bottoming out with a whimper as he mouths down at Daniel, “Just one more, baby, okay? Make me come, yeah?”

The older man’s moan is curdled with overstimulation, but he finds the will to get his feet underneath him and shakily thrust upwards into Max, hoping somehow that that’s enough. Max lets his head fall back in pleasure, thankful for the moving pressure of Daniel’s cock inside of him rather than the consistent annoyance of the plug holding him open. Coupled with the stretch of his rim and his hand furiously twisting along his length, Max reaches his peak quickly.

Before taking the plunge, he chokes out words of praise at Daniel and you rush to do the same, understanding that Max is attempting to push Daniel over the edge as well. You see tears of frustration build in Daniel’s eyes as he struggles to fully give in, and you fall forward to tug at his nipples with your teeth, reinvigorating Daniel’s attempts at slipping from the silk ties. At the sight, Max shouts, body tightening and then relaxing as he strokes out ribbons of cum. Daniel’s hips stutter when the first drop of cum lands on his skin and you feel his lungs halt as the strongest orgasm—most likely dry, at that—wreaks havoc upon his body.

His body goes limp underneath the two of you, and his hands droop in their binds. You speedily untie Daniel’s arms as Max slowly slips off the man’s rapidly softening length, trying to lessen any unwanted stimulation for the unaware Australian. You catch his arms before they fall against the bed, rubbing your hands against them to coax proper blood flow in them. Spent, Max stumbles to Daniel’s side, taking one arm out of your hands and matching your movements.

“Good job, liefje,” Max breathes out, smiling up at you with an exhausted smile, his hair drenched with sweat and falling in front of his eyes. You blush and kiss him sweetly, “It was your idea!”

Max shakes his head, pausing his hands to reach down and brush Daniel’s curls off his forehead, “No; you made half of the plan. So, it was our idea.”

The Australian groans, eyes fluttering open but they’re still clouded enough that you both know he’s going to need more than enough TLC tonight, “ —idea made me think i w‘sgonna die.”

Max laughs, rubbing circles around the man’s temple, “I guess we forgot to factor in your old age as a variable, didn’t we, liefje?”

Daniel’s face flutters in displeasure at being referred to as “old,” even when he’s not quite come down, “Mean, Maxy.”

You giggle, “That’s what he calls mean out of this entire experience?”

The Dutchman presses kisses to both of your foreheads before he stumbles out of bed, “I’m going to grab some fruit and cream for Daniel’s wrists. Should I grab anything else?” He directs the question to you.

Of course, the Australian jumps in before you have the chance to respond, “Lemonade, please.”

© httpsserene2024

[miley1442111]

reams and reactions (part 1)- r.cameron

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a/n: HELLO! welcome to my new obx series, don't worry, if you follow me for cm or anything else I'll still be posting that, but i've just been on a obx binge recently so i cooked this story up in my head.

tropes: childhood bestfriends to lovers, enemies to lovers

pairing: rafe cameron x fem! reader (use of Y/n, and the nickname Bunny/ bun (but i promise not in a weird way there's a story to it i swear it's not just one of those weird smut things))

summary: how you and rafe fell apart, then finally meet again.

warnings: drugs, drug use, drinking, parental and sibling death, kissing, crying, violence, fighting, cursing, guys being creepy, misogyny, asshole dude. (i think that's it?)

not entirely proofread

2k+ words

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When Rafe was 5 years old, he ran with you in the garden of Tannyhill, chasing you in a game of tag. When he finally caught up to you, you both fell to the ground, limbs tangled in the way only friends did, giggling the way only friends do, and he pressed the sweetest kiss to your cheek. 

When Rafe was 8, he came sobbing at your doorstep, on the verge of throwing up. He’d run all the way there. His mom was dead. He didn’t know what else to do. Besides his mother, you were the only person you’d ever been there for him like that, showing him that emotions were ok, and normal. When he felt you hugging him, and crying with him, he knew he would be with you forever. That he would stick with you through anything. 

When Rafe was 10, he came back to your house after a particularly long day (aka you had no classes together) and you two sat on your couch with your family surrounding you, Romeo and Juliet on the screen. He felt himself blush when your sister made the joke that he was like your Romeo, since your dads didn’t get on. Though you both adamantly denied it, a few minutes later he felt your hand holding his under the blanket, your matching friendship bracelet brushing off each other's skin. He was smitten. A smile landed swiftly on both of your faces. 

When Rafe was 13, he watched as you walked down the aisle of his father’s second marriage, a bunch of flowers in hand. He thought you looked beautiful, you were so beautiful. The pale blue dress Rose had picked and, of course, white roses in your hand. You shot him a small smile, one he responded to by blowing you a kiss. You laughed it off and went to stand where you were meant to. Rafe’s eyes were glued to you through the entire ceremony, almost forgetting to give his dad the rings. After the ceremony, you two ran off, away from Tannyhill. You went to your ‘little cove’ as you’d call it. It was a tiny beach just beside your house, but it led into the most magnificent field full of wildflowers, insects, and tall grass. It was beautiful. You and Rafe spent the whole night there, joking and talking. Then he finally mustered up the courage to kiss you. You kissed him back, but you’d both never speak about it again, too scared to mess up your incredible decade of friendship. 

When Rafe was 15, he saw you for the last time. Three months earlier you had come to him, sobbing about the fact that you were moving to California of all places. More than a day's drive away. 42 hour drive. He promised you, no, swore to you that you’d keep in touch, that you’d be there for each other even with the distance. 

He was wrong. After a few months, he’d stopped texting back, stopped calling back, stopped being there for you. And he never saw you again. 

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Rafe woke up with a banging headache and an uncontrollable urge to vomit but swallowed it back and took the glass of water that remained on his bedside table for days at a time. Today was going to be shit. It was the 28th of July, the day you left him, and the day his world got turned upside down. This day was always hard. He was reminded of everything he’d messed up in life. What was he now? A drug addicted, drunk, piece of shit. He was barely getting by in college and he’d already had to repeat a year twice. Often, he’d go to your little cove and sit, thinking about what you were doing now. Were you a teacher, like you’d wanted to be as a kid? Were you an artist? He remembered how good you were at sketching. Were you even alive and he’d missed the funeral? What did you look like? What colour was your hair? Did you think about him?

Everything was too loud in his mind. He grabbed a beer, and set on his way. The cove was in full bloom, a sea of colours under the boiling sun. He sat in his usual spot, the spot where you two had kissed. You two had these small chairs that Rafe barely fit in then, and definitely didn’t fit in now, so he sat beside them. What time was it? Was the sun going down? He searched in his pocket for his phone, only to find it dead.

“Excuse me?” He turned to see a girl shouting from across the field. 

“Yeah?” he called back, feeling rather inconvenienced by the whole ordeal. 

“Do the Cameron’s still live in Tannyhill?” She asked. 

“Yeah, why?”

“Just an old friend, thanks!” 

And she walked off. He tried to remember her physical features as best he could, but ultimately forgot them in his pursuit of washing his troubles away with the beer in his hand. 

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“Y/n? Is that you?!” Sarah squealed as she leant out the window of the Twinkie. 

“Sarah?” You practically ran into the road to meet her. The car was stopped at a stop-light, and she pulled you in to properly greet you. 

“Oh my god! It is so good to see you!” She smiled. Despite you and Rafe’s falling out, you’d stayed in touch with Sarah, even though you were a little older than her. You even followed Wheezie on instagram and texted back and forth sometimes. But Rafe… static. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m here to teach, I just finished my 2nd year of college and I’m doing my work experience here!” You explained, as she pulled away from the hug. 

“So you’re going to be here, like for the whole year?”

“Not just the whole year, I’m moving back once I'm done with my exams,” you explained. “I’m doing this programme that means I can work from here and do college from here, I’m so fucking sick of California.”

Both Sarah and Kiara squealed with excitement, and the three boys cheered. You’d been friends with the pogues, being a sort of pogue-kook hybrid. 

Kiara pulled you in for a hug, then Pope, then Jj, then John B gave your hand a squeeze instead, since he was busy driving. 

“So you’re back for good?” Kie asked. 

“I’m back for as long as you’ll have me,” you smiled. 

“We have to celebrate tonight!” Jj cheered.

“There’s a party down at Figure 8, I’m sure Y/n’s kook heritage will get us in,” Pope shrugged and you all agreed. 

You spent the rest of the afternoon hanging around the pogues and Sarah and got ready at Kiara’s place for the party. Her parents welcomed you back with open arms, and then asked the dreaded question of ‘how are your parents?’

Your parents had been dead for 3 years. They’d died in an accident, and you’d been alone since then. 

“They’re good,” you lied. “Working hard back in California.”

That satisfied them, and they stopped asking. 

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The Figure 8 party was just how you remembered them to be. Loud, drunk, and almost too much. Even though you had been 14 at the time, Rafe had convinced you to come to one, since he was friends with some older kooks who wanted him there. Halfway through you told him you were going home, and instead of just waving you off, he brought you to your little cove, and sat with you for a couple hours. After that he brought you back to his house, and you had a sleepover.

When you’d asked him why he did that, he’d just shrugged and said ‘I prefer being around you.’

God, you could’ve married that man. You were supposed to, if your diary ‘ideal life’ had gone to plan. 

Step One: Start dating Rafe

Step Two: Become highschool sweethearts and make it through college (even if it's long distance) and become a teacher! 

Step Three: Work as a teacher and live on the mainland for a few years, have Rafe propose in the little cove, say yes, obviously and start wedding planning. 

Step Four: Have the wedding at Tannyhill, move into a house on Figure 8 and start having kids, we’ll have 4 or 5 (Rafe wants 7 kids????? 4 or 5 is pushing it buddy), and live a long happy life as a teacher with Rafe and our family. 

Step Five: Die happy. 

Ok, it wasn’t exactly inspired, but come on, you were 13. 

You noticed what looked like a grown version of Topper in the crowd and when he turned and saw you, a smile grew on his face. He ran over and scooped you up in a hug.

“Bun! You’re back!”

Bun was the nickname you were given as a kid because well, you liked bunnies. You had two as a kid, and for a year, you wouldn’t respond to someone unless they called you bun. It was ridiculous, but people obliged all the same. You'd never regretted anything more in your life in that moment.

“Hey Topper,” you smiled. 

“Have you seen Rafe yet?” he asked.

“No, not yet,” you smiled slightly faltered, but you kept the smile up for good appearances. When you’d gone to Tannyhill yesterday, only Ward, Rose, and Wheezie were in, so your anxiety around seeing Rafe had grown. One day, he’d just stopped replying. Not one reason, not one apology. Nothing. One part of you wanted to say he didn’t even deserve to see you, and another missed her best friend/ supposed love of her life. “Is he around?”

“He is, but he’s high as shit,” Topper laughed. Rafe Cameron? Rafe Cameron was getting high?

“Rafe is high?”

“Oh yeah, he’s totally into all that shit now,” he laughed and you noticed the dilated pupils, the white residue on his nose, the red, irritated skin of his nose. He was high too. “It’s good shit too, you want some?”

“I’m good, just point me in Rafe’s direction,” you nodded, deeply uncomfortable with the drugs around. You’d grown up with a brother who did drugs, who’d died from drugs at the young age of 17. You didn’t want anything to do with drugs, but here you were, being led into one of the Figure 8 mansions to be led to Rafe Cameron, selling, and doing drugs. 

“Gentleman, I present to you, the Princess of Figure 8, making her great return, Bunny!” he cheered as all eyes turned to you. The group of boys cheered, getting up to give you a group hug. Rafe stayed seated. 

“How’s life on the mainland Bun?How was Cali?” Kelce asked, sitting down beside you as you joined the circle, trying to ignore the cocaine on the table. 

“It’s fine, but I’m back in the Outer Banks for good now,” you smiled as another round of cheers rippled through the group. 

“We’re finally good enough for you again?” Topper joked. “What’s brought you back home huh? Aside from the strapping young men?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m teaching here Top, I'm in my third year of college.”

“Shit no way, you’re a teacher?” Ryan, a sleeze you remembered from school. He was always the creepy guy, trying to look up girls' skirts and play kiss-tag at the ripe old age of 12. “You're way too sexy to be a teacher. You should be a pornstar or something.”

You felt bile rise in your stomach as a handful of the boys laughed at the joke. 

“That’s not funny,” Kelce defended. “Fuck off asshole.”

“What? You and I both have eyes and we can both see her tits. Too bad Cameron has dibs.”

You froze and looked to Rafe who was looking at you through hooded eyes. 

The silence was awkward, and you knew it was time to take your leave, even though you hadn’t said a word to Rafe, so you said your goodbyes and left in search of the pogues. 

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“Gentleman, I present to you, the Princess of Figure 8, making her great return, Bunny!” Topper announced as all eyes turned to you. 

Holy fucking shit. You were gorgeous, and it was you. Rafe’s Y/n. Rafe’s Bun. He was shocked to see you in the Outer Banks again, let alone in person again. You were here. In front of him. Then he realised, you were here. Here, where there was cocaine on the table, and he was the one selling it. Here, where there were about three guys looking at you like you were a piece of meat. Here, where he sat at the top of the table, stoned out of his mind. 

“How’s life on the mainland Bun? How was Cali?” Kelce asked, sitting down beside you as you joined the circle. Rafe could see you trying to ignore the table, staring directly at Kelce, all your attention on him. He couldn’t help but feel jealous. You were his best friend before you were anyone else’s friend. He’d known you better than anyone. And here he was, silent as he watched you talk to everyone else. 

“It’s fine, but I’m back in the Outer Banks for good now.” 

His heart almost stopped. Back in the Outer Banks, for good. 

“We’re finally good enough for you again?” Topper joked. “What’s brought you back home huh? Aside from the strapping young men?”

You rolled your eyes at him, but Rafe could tell it was playful. God, his life was so fun when you had been in it. Impromptu boat rides and trips to the mainland, spending hours just talking and laughing about nothing and everything all at the same time. He missed it. He missed you.“I’m teaching here Top, I'm in my third year of college.”

“Shit no way, you’re a teacher?” Ryan. Rafe often wondered why he even kept him around. He could feel the awful comment coming, but he knew he couldn’t stop it. “You're way too sexy to be a teacher. You should be a pornstar or something.”

Rafe felt the anger boil in his blood the second he said it. Ryan should’ve known better than to talk about you like that.

“That’s not funny,” Kelce defended, beating Rafe to it. “Fuck off asshole.”

“What? You and I both have eyes and we can both see her tits. Too bad Cameron has dibs.”

Rafe stared back at you as you truly looked at him for the first time that night. He couldn’t tell how you felt, something he didn’t like. Ever since you two were kids, he could always tell how you were feeling, what you were thinking. He could always anticipate what you needed. He didn’t know now and it scared him. He just looked back into your beautiful eyes, allowing himself to be lost in the fact that you were here in front of him. 

The silence was awkward and he knew it, so he didn’t protest when you took your leave, even if he wanted to. He spoke when he knew you were out of ear and eyeshot, he didn't need you know what he was about to do.

“Ryan?” he scoffed. “You have ten seconds.”

“Until what?” Ryan chuckled. 

Rafe counted down the seconds in his head, Topper and Kelce became more and more uneasy as the seconds went by. 

Rafe didn’t even give warning, he just got up, grabbed a nearby beer bottle, and smashed it over his head. Nobody dared to stop him, not even when he started punching Ryan, promising to kill him if he ever spoke about you like that again. 

People knew not to fuck with Rafe and, even after all these years, you were an extension of Rafe. Too bad Ryan forgot that.

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obx masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

[pure-smut]

say red.

featuring: Iwaizumi Hajime x f!reader

contains: academic rivals to lovers, dom!Iwaizumi, rough s*x, degradation, dirty talk, creampie

note: all characters are over 18!

MDNI | 18+ content

word count: 2k

series: 1. say red | 2. say red | 3. say red

masterlist

You’d never paid attention to Iwaizumi Hajime. Just another face in the lecture hall, another voice answering questions, another serious guy with a serious face taking things so seriously.

It’s only when you’re paired together to work on a semester-long project that you pay attention to him for the first time. And wow – he’s fucking annoying.

“We need to meet up more than once every two weeks,” Iwaizumi tells you, frowning at your suggestion. “We won’t get enough done before the deadline.”

“It’ll be fiiiine,” you sigh. “The project barely contributes to our grade. All we need to do is pass.”

Iwaizumi narrows his olive eyes at you, entirely displeased.

“How are you,” he bites out. “… top of the class?”

You give him a sweet smile, throwing up a peace sign.

“Because I’m great, obviously.”

You had somewhat noticed that Iwaizumi’s name was always second below yours whenever test scores were published. It’s clear that’s a sticking point for him because he clenches his teeth so hard, you can see a muscle bouncing in his jaw.

“We’re meeting up twice a week,” Iwaizumi says, standing. When you open your mouth to protest, he gives you a hard look. “That’s final.”

You roll your eyes and shrug.

“Fine, fine.” A grin crawls across your face. “Iwa.”

He shoots you a disgusted look.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What, Iwa? It’s cute.”

Iwaizumi pokes his tongue into his cheek and rolls his eyes skyward.

“Whatever.”

With that, he gathers his bag and stomps out of the lecture hall. Your gaze follows the back of him as he disappears, the smile only slipping off your face when he leaves.

“So annoying,” you mutter to yourself, packing up your own things.

But it’s only until the end the semester. You can grin and bear it that long. Plus, it’s like you said before – the project barely impacts your grades. Iwaizumi might want to force you into way too many boring meetings but you have absolutely no intention of cooperating.

*

Iwaizumi messages you his address and a time to come round to work on the project.

Gotta buy a girl dinner first before you invite her to your bedroom, you message him back. He ignores you.

Like most other students, he lives on campus with a few other roommates. You half-expect to see them when you arrive at Iwaizumi’s but he tells you he’s chosen a day when everyone else is out.

“I need some peace and quiet if I’m dealing with you,” Iwaizumi says.

“Flattered,” you reply.

His room is neat and tidy, a smattering of volleyball trophies on the shelves. You vaguely remember that he’s on the college volleyball team but you didn’t know he’s good enough to have trophies. You smooth your features into something neutral so he doesn’t know you’re impressed.

You both sit at his desk, where Iwaizumi’s already set up notepads, pens and sticky notes.

“You’re prepared,” you remark, eliciting a heavy sigh from Iwaizumi.

“I’m sure it seems that way to someone who doesn’t even bring a pencil to class.”

You swing side to side on his wheely chair as Iwaizumi launches into his plan for the project, talking you through the list of bullet points. You make noncommittal noises, your eyes drifting off.

He has kind of a nice face, you think, your gaze dropping from his short dark hair to his sharp jaw. Iwaizumi’s wearing a t-shirt that stretches across his broad chest, the sleeves tight around his biceps. Damn, he’s pretty built, too.

Iwaizumi continues talking as your mind wanders. You wonder if he’s a good kisser. Hmm, probably too serious for that. Only chaste tongueless kisses and missionary in the dark.

You grin at your own thoughts and Iwaizumi stops talking mid-sentence.

“What are you laughing at?” His brow furrows. “You’re not even fucking listening.”

“Uh, no, not really,” you admit, throwing your hands up in defeat.

“Jesus christ…” Iwaizumi puts his elbows on the desk, digging his palms into his eyes.

He wants to launch himself out of the window. How is it possible that you of all people beat him in class? He freezes when he feels your finger trail over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Iwaizumi looks up.

“You’re so tense,” you say. You’re not lying – Iwaizumi’s muscles are like boulders. You give his bicep a poke and realise there’s almost no give. “Maybe that’s why you’re taking this so seriously.”

“You’re just taking this too lightly,” he says, frowning.

You’re looking at him weirdly, your eyes locked onto his, and the way you’re touching his arm is making his cheeks feel warm. What the fuck is going on?

Iwaizumi’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard and you smile, knowing you’ve got him. You stand up to move over and put yourself in Iwaizumi’s lap instead. His thighs are as hard as the rest of him and it feels like sitting in an actual chair. You wrap your arms around his neck.

“You’re kind of cute, y’know,” you say, cocking your head.

“Kind of,” he echoes, giving you a flat look. “Thanks.”

Iwaizumi’s hand rests on your thigh despite his unimpressed tone. You give him a sweet smile and trail a finger along his jaw, feeling the slight stubble there.

“Maybe you need some stress relief, hm?” you suggest, dragging your finger down to his hard chest.

“And you’re offering?”

“I thought you were supposed to be smart?” You cock an eyebrow. “Obviously, yes.”

Iwaizumi regards you, eyes sharp, and your breath hitches. Your smile nearly falters but you save it in time. It feels like he’s looking through you, into you. It’s a struggle to hold his gaze but you’ve never been one to back down. So you look right back at him.

Iwaizumi’s eyes soften and you see him smile for the first time. No, he smirks.

“Say red,” he tells you. “And I’ll stop.”

“O-okay.” You’re annoyed at yourself for stammering but something’s changed with Iwaizumi and it’s thrown you off.

“Repeat it back to me.”

“If I say red, you’ll stop,” you tell him and he gives a short nod, satisfied.

“Good.”

Iwaizumi stands abruptly, picking you up with him and throwing you on the bed. You yelp at the sudden movement, bouncing softly against the mattress.

“What-?”

You don’t have time to ask what the fuck is happening before Iwaizumi’s on you. He presses his mouth against yours, kissing you roughly. He pushes his body between your legs, forcing them apart to accommodate his thick frame.

One of Iwaizumi’s hands grabs your hip as the other snakes around your throat, holding you with enough force for you to feel it but not so hard you’re gasping. His soft lips are in contrast to the sharp stubble scratching your skin, his tongue sliding over yours.

Okay, I might have been wrong, you think. There’s nothing chaste about this.

Iwaizumi grinds his bulge against your clothed pussy, now exposed to him as he tugs up your dress. The friction through two layers of fabric is teasing, making your hips buck, desperate for more. You moan into his mouth and he squeezes your throat.

“Needy little slut,” he says roughly.

Iwaizumi’s degrading words only serve to turn you on even more. His voice has completely changed, now deep and throaty and utterly commanding. Iwaizumi keeps one hand around your neck as his other reaches down to unbutton his jeans.

“Is this what you want so badly?” he says as he pulls his cock free.

You gasp as it slaps against your mound, sending a spark of pleasure through you. You try to nod but Iwaizumi has your throat in too tight a grip.

“Use your fucking words,” he spits. “Tell me.”

“Y-yes, I want it. Please, I want it.”

Iwaizumi reaches down and you hear a violent rip. You’re not able to look down, your head fixed in place, but there’s a cool breeze across your exposed pussy. Your mouth drops open as you realise he’s ripped your panties clean off.

Iwaizumi smirks at your reaction.

“You act like a slut, you get treated like one.”

The Iwaizumi you knew before, so serious and studious, is long gone. You look up at him, his eyes feral, and realise you’ve severely underestimated who you’re up against. He lines up the fat head of his cock with your dripping hole.

“Look how fucking wet you are already.” Iwaizumi pushes himself inside you and you give a choked moan at the feel of him stretching you. “You don’t even need me to get you started, do you? You’ll spread your legs for fucking anyone.”

Iwaizumi’s flurry of degradation is making your pussy drool for him, only spurring you both on. But a nugget of defiance forms in your chest, even as tears stick to your lashes.

“This what your needy little pussy wants?” he demands, pushing in deeper to bottom out.

His cock feels so fucking good, dragging against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside you to make your whole body feel like it’s on fire, but your determination not to let him take over fully kicks in.

“Y-yes, Iwa,” you breathe out.

Iwaizumi’s jaw clenches.

“I told you not to fucking call me that,” he grits out.

As if to punctuate, he starts to pound at you hard. Every slam pushes you closer to the edge, sending a jolt through your body to the tips of your toes. His large hand around your neck is delicious, pinning you beneath him as he fucks you raw. You sink your nails into his forearm, lustful whimpers falling from your lips.

“S-sorry…” you gasp. “… Iwa.”

Iwaizumi growls, moving faster and setting a brutal pace.

“Fucking brat.”

You don’t have the strength to talk back anymore. Iwaizumi’s cock is pulling you to the edge, making your eyes roll back in your skull as he rips an orgasm from you. Your pussy clenches down like a vice grip around his cock and a moan escapes Iwaizumi’s throat.

“Fuck… fuck…” he groans.

Iwaizumi fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, wanting to watch you bounce under him. Your walls are so slick, so hot, so fucking tight. You’re tearing down all his restraint, moaning so sweetly even as his fist is wrapped around your throat. He knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“I’m… gonna cum…” Iwaizumi says, voice hoarse.

“Inside me,” you plead. “Cum inside me, Iwa.”

Your words tip him over the edge.

His grip tightens on your neck, almost making you dizzy, as he thrusts once, burying himself fully. The moan he makes as he comes undone inside you is intoxicating, satisfying in a way you can’t explain. Iwaizumi’s chest heaves as he half-collapses on top of you, his arms shaking as he holds himself up.

Neither of you say anything, breathless and sweat-slicked.

“Well.” You break the silence with a grin. “I dunno about you but I definitely feel better.”

Iwaizumi’s serious face returns as he rolls his eyes, pulling away from you. He tugs a few tissues free from a box on his nightstand, handing them to you first before himself.

“What a gentleman,” you coo, cleaning yourself up.

“It’s polite. I’m not a savage.”

“The way you fuck says different.”

Even though you’ve still got his cum spilling out of you, Iwaizumi’s ears go pink at your comment. He ignores you and buttons his jeans back up. Cute, you think with a smile.

You point at your destroyed underwear.

“And you ruined my panties. That was rude.”

Iwaizumi’s cheeks tint as he blushes harder.

“Yeah, sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll buy you a new pair.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Finished cleaning yourself up, you hop off his bed and straighten your dress. “I’ll just make sure I’m not wearing any next time.”

Iwaizumi stills.

“Next time?”

“Duh.” You put a hand on your hip. “That was great, right? And my head feels totally clear. I think I’m actually ready to listen to your project plan or whatever.”

You take a seat at his desk, hands clasped demurely on your lap and smiling sweetly.

“Twice a week you said?”

[back2bluesidex]

Six Degrees of Separation - MYG [Preview]

✨ Patreon Membership Exclusive Series ✨

Pairing: Best Friend!Yoongi X Female Reader X Doctor!Seokjin

Theme: Angst, Unrequited love au, pining, more angst, eventual cheating and smut and fluff.

Word count: Each part will contain 1k to 2k words.

Summary: Break up hurts, but being rejected by the man you have loved for five solid years and losing him and his friendship in one damn night - only for him to show up a year later holding your cousin's hand all ready to tie the knot hurts more.

Break up hurts, but going through all six degrees of separation from the Man who was never yours - hurts a lot more.

Warnings: heartbreak, rejection.

Update Schedule: Every Tuesday 4:30 am UTC.

Read the full chapter

Chapter index:

Prologue

Degree 1: Shock

Degree 2: Denial and Desperation

Degree 3: Anger

Degree 4: Depression

Intermission - Meeting Seokjin

Intermission 02: Min Yoongi

Degree 5: Acceptance

Intermission 03: Hyeri

Degree 6: Moving on

The Gaps of the Theory

The Exceptional Case

“So, do you have anyone under your radar? Anyone you like?” Yoongi is funnily interested now. It’s probably the most interested he has been in your love-life. 

Again, the reasons stay unaware.  

“Yes. Yes, I do.” You manage to utter, heart already acting wild inside your ribcage. 

“Really? Who is it? Do I know him?” Your best friend perks up. 

Curiosity makes him look so young. You see the young, twenty one years old Yoongi whom you met through Jimin. You see the Yoongi with mint hair too focused on the bottle of your nail polish reading the chemicals that it contains, you see the twenty three year old boy who waited for you at the hospital lobby when you banged your head against the corner of your bed, you see the twenty four year old man who cried like a baby in your embrace when his grandfather passed away - right then you realized you never wanted to see him cry again. Right then you realized Yoongi’s happiness means more to you than your own. 

You see the twenty five year old Yoongi, the Yoongi who made you realize what jealousy is, the Yoongi who made you realize - you had fallen in love with him. 

“It’s you. I am in love with you.” it’s not you, it’s the memories you share with him that makes you speak, that makes you confess. You never meant to say these words without any preparation, you never meant to say these words until you reach your breaking point - maybe you have reached it after five years?

Your chain of thought has clouded your head so much that your mouth ran in its own accord.

And you regret it. 

You regret letting out the truth you have successfully hidden for the past five years because the look you see in Yoongi’s face can’t be compared to anything you have seen before. 

It’s a mixture of disgust, disappointment and hurt.

“W-what? Y/N you can’t-” 

“Why can’t I, Yoongi? Is it forbidden for me to love you?” You chuckle dryly. 

Yoongi closes his eyes, runs a hand through his hair and sighs deeply. “If this is a prank, Y/N, I-” 

“It’s not a prank, Yoongi! I love you! I really do. I have been in love with you for the last five years but you are just too blind to see!”     

Yoongi turns his back towards you, as if looking at your face will pollute his vision now, “I wasn’t blind. I was just-  was just praying to be wrong, Y/N! Damn it! This is not right. You and I, we are friends! This is not-” 

While you have been praying for Yoongi to feel the same, Yoongi has been praying for the complete opposite. As his words sink in your blood, your vision starts blurring. 

“Yoongi, can’t you try?” You plead. Never in your life have you ever considered pleading with anyone for love - but when it comes to Min Yoongi, your resolves don’t last long. 

“No! No, Y/N! I can’t. You are my friend. My best friend. I can’t see you as anything else!” He finally looks at you, looks into you and rows his words deep in your soul. 

Yoongi takes a step back from your figure, then another, then another, “and just so you know… I have someone.” 

With that he walks away in the opposite direction, leaving you behind. 

The first stage of separation is Shock. 

They say shock happens on both physical and psychological level, that it leaves you feeling out of your own body.

As you stare at his retreating figure with tears making a mess on your face, you realize, you just reached the first degree of separation from Min Yoongi - a man who was never yours to begin with.

[pedrito-friskito]

hello my dear!! 🫶🏼

🌸🌸🌸

eddie with smut prompts 10 & 1 pls 🥵

hello my love!!!!

I apologize in advance for this (well, kinda but not really…)

patience (or a lack thereof) - eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: the horny really jumped out on this one. drug use, cockwarming, unprotected p-in-v, fingering, dirty talk, soft dom!eddie vibes (I think)

The problem here, is that weed makes you horny.

Like…really horny.

Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem. Friday nights at Eddie’s place have a pretty repetitive flavour, and it’s one you now crave. You’ve been seeing each other nearly six months now, and your friends have all given you shit for it, but you don’t care. Fridays are for Eddie.

More specifically, Fridays are for getting stoned in Eddie’s bedroom and cumming so many times you lose count. 

By now, you’d usually be between his sheets already, two or three rounds down, a quick breather in between. But tonight, something’s thrown a wrench in your usual plans. Really, it’s your own fault — you’d shown up unannounced at Eddie’s place Wednesday night, the night he usually reserved for D&D planning. Wayne had taken an extra overnight shift, leaving the place to the two of you, and well, you made the most of it.

But with Wednesday night planning out the window, Eddie has a Saturday session and nothing prepared, which you know is not a good thing.

But weed makes you horny.

You’re sprawled out on his bed, your pants long discarded, wearing only one of Eddie’s Hellfire shirts, flipping through one of his music magazines. You’ve tried reading the book you keep in your bag, tried distracting yourself by changing the records on the player, you even tried taking a quick cat nap. Nothing has worked. The ache between your legs is ridiculous.

He’s been at it a couple hours now, and you know he takes his time when it comes to D&D. He’s meticulous with his planning, thinking out every possible outcome and coming up with a contingency for each, even having a few throwaway plans just in case his players come up with something completely outrageous. You don’t mind it at all; it’s quite the opposite actually. His passion is…sexy, in a nerdy kind of way. It just adds to his charm.

And right now, it’s not helping matters. He’s perched in his desk chair, flipping through the Dungeon Master’s Guide, a pencil between his teeth. He’s wearing an old Hawkins High Phys Ed t-shirt, sweat shorts, and his hair's a mess. Unable to stop yourself, you roll off the mattress and onto your feet, crossing the room and standing behind his chair. He makes a little noise as you gather his hair in your hand, sweeping it over his shoulder so you can fit your face in the curve of his neck.

“Eds.”

“I know, baby,” he replies, the words muffled by the pencil between his teeth. “I’m almost done, I swear. Gimme like five minutes, and then I’m all yours, yeah?”

You whine, closing your lips around his pulse. You left a nice hickey there the other night, and your cloudy mind yells at you to make it bloom against his pale skin even brighter this time. Your arms hang over his shoulders, pressing your palms against his stomach, humming into his neck.

“Eddie, please?”

Your hands move lower, one glancing across the crotch of his shorts. The pencil falls out of his mouth. “Sweetheart,” he sing-songs, a halfhearted warning. But you do it again, fixated on the way his cock twitches to attention, even with just the lightest of touches. You let your teeth graze his throat, nipping at the same spot until the bruise starts to reform. Eddie tilts his head back, a low rumble moving through his chest, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. When they open again, his pupils are blown, and he lifts his hand, burying his fingers in your hair. “Someone’s needy tonight.”

“You know that weed makes me ho—”

“Weed makes your horny, I know, baby,” he finishes, dragging his nail lightly against your scalp. “I’m almost finished, I promise. Come here.”

He turns in the chair, swinging around until you’re standing between his legs. Eddie drags his hands up your thighs, the cool metal of his rings making you shiver. He’s fully hard now, shorts tented, and he hooks one thumb in the waist of your underwear, pulling it down slightly. It makes you throb.

“You can sit on my lap till I’m finished,” he says, squeezing your hips. “That make you feel better?”

Your eyes widen slightly, feeling yourself melt into his touch. “You mean…?”

“Come here,” he says again, his tone more assertive this time. He pulls your underwear down further, lifting the hem of your shirt at the same time, and swoops in, pressing a sloppy kiss to your hip. Your underwear drops to the floor and you kick the fabric away. Everything in you goes tight as he hooks his fingers in the waist of his shorts, pulling them off and settling back in his chair. The sight of his cock curving towards his belly makes your mouth fill with saliva. “You need something else first?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly. “Need me to open you up a bit, pretty girl?”

He pulls you closer, one hand back on your hip, and the other slides between your knees, moving up to the inside of your thighs. He moans when he feels out wet you are, dragging his fingers through it, pushing them past his lips a second later as he pulls your body even closer. You move quickly, lifting your legs and planting your knees on the seat either side of his hips.

Eddie grins as you lower yourself slowly, reaching around to take himself in hand, guiding his cock into your nearly dripping pussy. The feeling is overwhelming, to say the least, and you bury your face in his neck again as you sink down, your breathing coming faster as he fills you up. 

Fully seated, your first instinct is to move, rolling your hips into his, but Eddie grips your waist tightly, clucks his tongue at you. “Ah, ah, ah, not yet, sweetheart. Let me finish first, and then I’ll take care of you, alright?”

When you don’t answer right away, he lifts his hips slightly, the tip of his cock nudging at that delicious nerve inside you. “Shit.”

“Gimme five minutes, baby,” he says again. He takes your hands, draping your arms around his neck. A soft kiss is pressed to your mouth, and you have to stop yourself from chasing it, taking what he gives. “Just five minutes.”

It’s fucking torture. Five minutes feels like five hours. Every tiny movement makes the pleasure spark, but it’s just shy of not enough, leaving you wanting more and more and more. If it’s driving Eddie just as crazy, he doesn’t let it show, giving you a broad grin when you settle deeper into his lap, resting your forehead against the dip of his shoulder. 

Finally — fucking finally — he flips his notebook closed, tosses his pen aside, and puts his hands on you. He grabs your hips again, guiding you along him, and the sudden movement sets your whole body alight. You toss your head back, your mouth dropping open as he lifts you up, pulls you back down. He fills you so perfectly, leaning in to suck a mark at your collar.

“There she is,” he murmurs, dragging the tip of his nose along the underside of your jaw. “C’mon, my needy girl, tell me how bad you want it.”

Eddie slides his hands under the hem of your shirt, fingers tapping along your rib cage. Your fingers chase his, reaching for the edge of the fabric, pulling it up and over your head. You toss it away, and Eddie groans, instantly lowering his head, scraping his teeth along your tits, your nipples pebbling at his attention. Your hips roll, dragging yourself along his cock, the pleasure making your eyes roll back.

“Look at you,” he moans, sucking a bruise beside your nipple, his other hand coming up to toy with the other. “You just need to be fucked so bad, don’t you?”

“Eds, please,” you manage to mumble out, a whine trapped high in your throat. You can feel how wet you are, the slick glide of your thighs against his. He grins, pulling his face from your chest, tilting his head back so his nose pokes yours.

“Almost there,” he says, his voice goading. “Use your words. Tell me.”

“Eddie—”

“Tell me specifically,” he mutters, pinching your chin in one hand, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip, “how bad you want it.”

You start babbling. His request opens the floodgates. Your words are in time to the movement of your hips, and Eddie is grinning like the devil he is. Please, Eddie, I want it so bad, I want you so bad, fuck me please, I want it hard, want it fast, wanna feel you tomorrow. Please, please, please, please, please.

He gives you what you want.

You squeal when he scoops his hands under your thighs, lifting you as he moves out of the chair, keeping himself buried inside you. He aims for the bed, you think, but gets thrown off course, and instead you end up sprawled on the floor of his room. He hikes your legs over his hips, grabs your waist and pulls you down onto him with every thrust.

Back arching against the floor, you’re climbing higher and higher, and the weed buzzing in your veins only makes it that much more thrilling. You’re probably going to have carpet burn on your ass, but you don’t fucking care.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Eddie coos, and when your thigh starts to shake, he drops a hand between your legs, tracing his fingers over where he’s disappearing inside you before drawing a perfect circle around your clit. “Give it to me.”

You nearly shout his name as you cum, and Eddie rides you through it, his own orgasm not far behind. He pulls out at the last second, cums hot against your stomach, and flops down on the floor beside you. His hand lingers, tracing the curve of your tits, making them peak harder just for him. You curl your hand around the back of his neck, keeping him close while you catch your breath.

“You alright, baby?” he asks, dropping his jaw to kiss your shoulder, still petting his hand across your chest. “You want a pillow or something?”

You shake your head no. “Just…don’t move yet.”

Eddie chuckles, teeth nipping at your skin. “Okay, baby.”

Your body is caught between begging for more and tapping out for the night, but you think you know where the scales are about to tip. Especially if he keeps touching you like that. Your mind whirls, eyes fluttering open so you can look at him.

“Can I ask you something?” you murmur.

Eddie hums the affirmative, sitting up slightly to pull his shirt over his head. He uses it to clean his cum from your stomach and leans over you slightly, mouthing at your tits again. “Anything, baby.”

“Why didn’t you ever make a move on me before,” you ask, “when we were in high school?”

He tilts his head, lifting one brow with his lips still latched to your skin. “Why do you ask?”

“Just realizing how much mind-blowing sex I missed out on,” you reply.

Eddie chuckles. “I wanted to make a move. I really wanted to, trust me. But you had a thing for jocks back then, if I remember correctly.” He bites at you again, softly, dropping his chin to your chest. You can feel his hand roaming lower, glancing over your knees and thighs. Your legs part slightly, letting him in again, your blood spiking when his fingers trace the inside of your thigh. “It sucked, honestly. You have no idea how much I hated seeing someone else touch you, when I wanted it to be me.”

The tips of his fingers prod at you, curling just slightly. “But now you can,” you tell him, your voice turning breathy again, back arching as he pushes his fingers deeper, scrapes his teeth against your nipple.

“Now I can,” he agrees, “and I’m never gonna stop.”

[elvirable]

Ambrosia (Act 1)

[ Astarion x f!Reader ] | ao3 link

rating: explicit | word count: 2k | status: ongoing themes/tags: vaginal sex, feelings realization, denial of feelings, light smut.. for now, and a whole lotta angst, will add more smut tho in the next chapters, soulmates, fluff, written as a glimpse into his mind during each act ———–

Astarion would never tell you, though - it was his little secret, one he hid away just for himself.

In other words: A delve into Astarion's thoughts, starting with the day he met you. *will update description at some point. ———– A/N: i wrote this as a peek into Astarion's mind throughout Act 1. plan to continue as i progress throughout the game. lmk what you think and if you like this style!

-------

Grief had a penchant for wearing different masks.

Phantom faces that slithered through shadows, white-hot wrath that clawed at the throat, an endless gnawing that swallowed one whole: all faces of a primordial monster that had existed before time itself.

Astarion knew all this. 

He had met them all – intimate with its simplest form, a cold polarizing solitude; a loyal companion for two centuries, teaching him to lick his wounds with malice. Others had taken everything from him, or they were too weak to lift a meaningful finger. It took several lifetimes to finally mend his precious pride back together. Why should he practice mercy when no one had shown him any?

And by some stroke of luck, he was free – at least for now. Opportunity had fallen before his feet; he could chase after power, clutch revenge in his pale fingers, walk amongst the sun. Red eyes clung to the light glimmering across the water and wavering leaves. A desperate urge pulsed up his spine, insisting he memorize each saturated detail before it faded away like the most ethereal dream. The exhilaration rose wildly before plummeting to the pits of his stomach.

Huh, that was odd. It had never dawned on him that grief could also bloom in the slow, golden sunlight.

Languid beams washed against his flesh and through the faint hem of his shirt. Every fiber of his skin ached, dull and shallow, at the sacred warmth that had been a stranger for so long. He felt this haunted and holy gift – the vigor of life from each ray of light running over his fair face. Reunited once again, like long-lost lovers.

It was the sound of boots thudding against dirt that pulled him back into the world, on the ravaged beachfront. 

With straight posture, a hollow smile painted itself across his lips. ==

“You have your mother’s eyes, you know.”

No, he didn’t know.

Quiet was this small voice that, for some odd reason, had grasped onto his conscience the night he died. It had sung loud in the beginning, but now it was just a whisper. Everything else had reduced to dust, long-buried beneath the cold earth. 

But if he could conjure the ghost of his mother, he couldn’t be bothered to. Astarion envisioned a sharp tsk , a scowl dripping with disgust if she could see the creature he was today: a thrall to his own hedonistic desires, wielding manipulation and seduction as an instrument. A vampire , taking solace amongst the shadows and draining the life around him.

Maybe he was the same, just calloused and rearranged by the fate spun for him. 

However, there was no need to exhume the past. It proved futile anyway; he couldn’t even recall the previous hue of his eyes, much less run his hands over his reflection. The only thing worthy of concern was survival. Memories had been shrouded by the same pivotal virtue, the one that carved the habit to become shapeless – to cater to every impulse and whim of those who could serve useful. Those who could protect him, at least for the time being.

And that was exactly what he tried with you, as his breath was inches from your slender neck and your eyes widened in hazy alarm, catching him by surprise. 

“Shit.”

You scuttered to your feet in the frantic silence, dozens of excuses fluttering to Astarion’s tongue. The fatigue of bloodthirst hindered his wit, but he raised his palms in reservation.

He had already taken note of your misleading presence – you were small, but heavens , would you put up a fight. Other companions had already turned towards you for guidance the past few days, and you were carved with a beauty that could intimidate. Though, there were cracks underneath that facade – ones with darkness in between. 

Peering into these cracks was his only outlet to earn your trust; after all, it was paramount for survival.

“I – I wasn’t going to hurt you,” exasperated breaths pushed from his throat. “I just needed, well.. blood.”

Basked in the dim firelight, your wary gaze studied him for what he really was: a vampire, a slave to sanguine hunger. He caught the stutter in your furrowed brows before they eased. Smug delight settled in his nerves when you, although with apprehension, allowed him to taste you.

Astarion eagerly obliged, immediately losing himself in the euphoria– the sweet vigor of your blood, how silky and rich. A low hum vibrated in his throat, and he barely registered when your palms pushed his broad weight off of you. Lush satisfaction that quenched his blood-thirst still coursed through him like a stimulant, but he still caught the tail-end of your groan.

“I don’t care that you’re a vampire. Just –,” you paused briefly to reel from your daze. “We’re all a team now, so I have to have some trust in you. Just ask next time.”

He felt happy, more alive – not only from the fresh blood still lingering on his tongue, but that you trusted him. Maybe not entirely, but the anchor had already been dropped; one step closer to wrapping you around his finger, even if you weren’t entirely flexible. He could feel it in your gaze, in the little quivers that rolled through you while his fangs sunk into your soft skin.

Once you had returned to sleep and his frenzied nerves quelled, he mulled over your parting words. You weren’t phased’ that he was a vampire, instead placing emphasis on trust. You were full of surprises – especially when the entire world met him with repulse.

Something that had been fossilized inside him tremored, as if it began to thaw. ==

There was a thin chill in the evening air, in the way nature prepares for a new season. And he hated you. 

Well, he didn’t hate you – frankly, he couldn’t get enough of you; that was the issue. 

You plagued his thoughts like a helpless addiction, better yet like a mirror; one he had repeatedly peered into, struggling to find the right angle and when he did – he was left staring at you.

Those careful eyes – a mocking reminder of everything he could have been. So different, so resilient, so disgustingly kind.

Since the day he laid eyes on you, he was the first to glimpse at your secret hidden in plain sight. Your habit of hiding yourself from everyone you came across, retreating behind stone-bared walls and tailoring a facade just enough to avoid drawing attention. Reserved lips were a mere confirmation you sealed away a vault of grief that you didn’t want – or need – clumsy, temporary hands to pry open. 

That discreet resolve particularly made you the sour dagger twisting between his ribs. Grief had been your companion as well, but its mark never trickled from anywhere else – not a warbled voice or frustrated bout. It was only noticeable through a fleeting glint in your eyes. Meanwhile, he had made this medley of rage and anguish his armor. It had fused to skin, and he no longer knew how to scrape it off. Astarion dedicated decades to cursing the Gods. You ignored them.

He knew he should despise you and eagerly await the day he could shatter this mirror you were – but all bitterness dissolved in your presence. You had become his wonderfully terrible affliction; withdrawals could damn near kill him if they were to happen.

Ribbons unraveled from his chest with each conversation, whether it pertained to the graveness of the journey or a simple ‘good morning’ from your lips. Strange yet blissful, he could feel himself surrendering every bitter pang for the peculiar sensation of… comfort .

Once laced with such harshness, his mind eased with familiarity. An interesting chord of harmony, he thought, the two of you. From the start of the journey until now, you shared an enriching balance. He would encourage you to be more outspoken, while you stirred him to be authentic and soft – even if you weren’t aware. 

You were stable like bedrock; never once expecting to be selfless or pious, instead only demanded transparency – at least to the extent he was willing to concede. Aside from the occasional brow-raise or retort, judgment never twisted your face. Respect was a new sensation to him, as you gave him yours.

This dynamic, this balance ; it was irresistibly and invariably warm. 

==

The rendezvous sort of just fell into habit. 

Every night he would savor the ambrosia from your neck, and one evening tension gave way to carnal desire. Whether it was a simple cathartic release or not, he didn’t care; tender moments bathed in amber firelight or the hush of the night had always left him craving more.

“You’re such a tease .”

You’d whisper those words every so often those sacred nights, and a rakish grin would slide across his face without fail. Lust gripped him, but never once weaved with routine; the way your legs parted to invite him in left Astarion with an insatiable urge to indulge in everything you were willing to give him. He could spend the entire evening with his head between your thighs, cold hands steadying your quivering legs as his tongue lured you to new heights of pleasure – giving you exactly what you needed. 

When he was with you – skin pressed together, desperate hums like honey – he began to relish in taking things slow. 

He preferred the nights where your bare body writhed beneath him and melted against his, while he eagerly coaxed wispy whines from your lips. No matter how wet and ready you were, his girth always met resistance as he parted your warm, sensitive walls. Your skin buzzed at the sensation of his cock splitting you open, like every time was the first you’ve been touched.

Desire laced every word he whispered into the curve of your neck, each encouraging and soft. His pace was slow, pushing into the depth of your core, buried deep enough to kiss your cervix with each thrust. Low, guttural grunts left his throat as your body’s natural instinct clenched around his throbbing cock. 

Despite his centuries of experience, he found himself struggling to restrain from succumbing to the all-consuming euphoria of it all: your lashes wet from your tears, precious gasps warm against his skin, the desirous ache to fuck you the way that pretty face beckoned to be fucked. 

The unbridled intimacy – which felt so real and tender was enough to send him over the edge. His veins hummed with yearning as he drank in the vision beneath him; your skin flushed, shaky whines that sung his name as he pushed you to pleasure. And when you wrapped your legs to press him deeper – he surrendered to the white-hot bliss. 

Although Astarion would never tell a soul, his most treasured moments were spent after desperate breaths calmed and the entire world stilled.

It was never long before you lulled into sleep, and your weight slacked against his broad chest. He lingered over each detail with softer eyes; the gentle curl of your lashes, a freckle he had missed the last time. Peace graced such beautiful features, ones that were usually still with resolve. There had never been another face quite like yours in the two centuries he had lurked amongst the earth.

Your chest rose and fell slowly before you would eventually fidget, still deep in slumber, to slink an arm over his waist. His gentle hand grasped the one that rested against his chest, careful not to stir you, as he ran his fingers over your silk skin. Such delicate hands, he mused, that had to grapple their way through life.

He pressed a silent kiss against the back of your palm before laying it back on his chest. 

In the silence, something washed over him – that rousing feeling that he never knew quite what to make of. 

His eyes swept once more to watch the shuffle of your face, buried now against his side. Your hazy sighs warmed his bare skin. Astarion could almost laugh, imagining your face reddening if he ever shared how affectionate you were in your sleep.

Though he would never tell you – it was his little secret, one he hid away just for himself.

[arcanewhoosh]

Could you right a story where jinx’s S/O is scared of bombs or loud things in general and one of jinx bombs went off scaring S/O and jinx comforts them.

So I forgot that the inbox was a thing and found this two years after you asked for it. Sorry lmao.

I think I completely failed this cause I chose season 1 Jinx and hooboy Season 2 Jinx would've been a better choice.

Also this went over 2k words I realize I may be a yapper.

The Monsters We Allow

2k words (Jesus this wasn't supposed to be this long)

Proofread? Y/N

TW: Descriptions of injuries

You're no stranger to the hazards of working for the Eye of Zaun. Even the more hardened residents of the Undercity oftentimes couldn't stomach some of the work the job entailed, more so the people involved in those jobs.

So now here you were, helping build an explosive device of some sort. Fishbones Jinx had called it. You guess that you should add assistant weapons maker to the long list of jobs you've held working for Silco over the years. It wasn't always like this, though.

You started out as cleanup crew, showing up after fights. You didn't want to at first, but if you crossed Silco, you'd most definitely cross his daughter, Jinx. If you crossed his daughter, then it was almost a certainty that you would end up in pieces and puddles on the walls and floors. You'd rather be the one cleaning than be the one being cleaned up. So you put your head down and went along with it.

It was messy work, but it turns out even with all the fucked up things tolerated in the Undercity, rotting body parts weren't one of them. It wasn't pretty, and your first few days you had to include your vomit in the list of things you had to clean up. Eventually, though, you got over it, got better. Well enough that Silco would only trust you to do cleanups of whichever unfortunate soul was on the receiving end of Jinx's chompers. You could figure out which weapon was used to do what, what the direction of the splatter on the wall or floor meant. You could look at a scene once and replay how the entire fight went.

The job wasn't pretty, not at all, but it put money in your pockets, good money. It put food on your table and clothes on your back. Most importantly, it gave you security. A blanket of protection that ensured people would think twice to cross you. Silco only kept a select few on constant contract. Sure, you didn't run around beating the shit out of people during collections, or blowing them up. You didn't have a robot arm or guns-choice of weapon was bucket and shovel-- but hey, you were deeper in his inner circle than most people.

Eventually, he started bringing you along to meetings. After those meetings, he'd ask you, What's the quickest, and cleanest way we can get rid of this person?

It was jarring at first, being asked how to kill someone. But whatever reservations you had about becoming a murder consultant was heavily outweighed by your fear of being the one consulted about. So you'd answer diligently, if a little hesitantly. The first time you answered, he had looked pleasantly surprised. As if getting recommendations on assassination was pleasant. You remembered thinking.

It didn't take long for people of the Undercity to associate your presence in these tag-alongs with the sudden death of whoever you and Silco were visiting. Whispers about how you wouldn't even talk during the meetings, how you'd sit and simply look around. If you were addressed by the person you were meeting with, Silco would politely redirect their attention back to him. Sometimes, sometimes, that person wouldn't die. Silco once credited it to you, that people suddenly became more pliable once he brought you along. Another blanket of security. People started treating you differently, more respect, fear maybe. It was a little funny, how typically aggressive brutes would become the politest people towards someone who had just barely reached the age of eighteen.

One day, Silco had asked you to his office. You thought it would just be regular stop before another meeting, standard procedure by then, really. But that day he had another guest in his office. The blue braids were already a dead giveaway, but you still politely introduced yourself.  She laughed, and identified you as The one who ruins my fun because she had to follow your instructions when Silco needed her to get rid of people.

You knew back then that she was dangerous. Quite frankly, she scared the shit out of you. You didn't have a problem with seeing dead bodies and parts, sure. But she was younger than you, and already had no qualms about taking lives. She was the one leaving behind entrails that you had to clean up. And apparently, she was now to be occasionally under your watch. Silco thought you'd be a good fit for a companion. Around the same age, he had said.

You kept a respectful distance from her, but she unfortunately grew fond of you and decided to keep you around more often than not. Silco didn't see anything wrong with it, if anything it made the both of you more notorious. His Loose Cannon and his Harbinger of Death. A deadly combination in theory, but in practice, it was mostly you having to accompany Jinx for her less dangerous - there were still casualties - pranks, and bailing her out of sticky situations.

And now here you were, two years later, making a launcher with her- making was a generous word, more handing her stuff - and getting ready to probably blow more people up.

You feel your stomach begin to unsettle again. You were used to seeing dead bodies, parts of bodies, what was left of bodies. But never in the stretch of time that you had worked for Silco, had you ever had to see dying. You always showed up after. It had only been two days since the explosion at the bridge, but somehow Jinx was walking around as if nothing had even happened to her. As if she didn't blow herself up the last time you had seen her. If you were making an educated guess based off of her eyes, you'd say she was hurt and got pumped full of shimmer; or maybe she was just living off of pure mania at this point.

You've cared for her, but now you also care about her. It seems that no matter how much respectful distance you put between yourself and her, propinquity eventually came into play, and affection followed. And the only sense you had was to go along with it.

It took you a while to get used to being around her. She was temperamental, to say the least. But you eventually learned not to ask any questions about her family, not to bring up the dolls she kept at her place, and avoid asking any questions at all about her past. If she wanted to, she'd tell you. The only time she wasn't unpredictable was when she was tinkering away at her little station, blasting her music.

She was calm, placated, almost normal. If you had never met her before and had seen her then, you would have thought she was beautiful. Not that she isn't, it's just that her reputation tended to precede all her other perceivable qualities. More than all of this, she was vulnerable. Her back turned to you, not a care in the world if you wandered around touching things. You realize now that it was in those moments probably that your affection for the girl grew. All of a sudden, getting her out of unideal predicaments included treating her wounds; then nursing her back to health if she was sick; staying over when she had nightmares. And yet you were still cautious, careful not to trip on some invisible wire that would trigger her temper.

"Whoops-"

A bang, a clattering of tools, and you're back at the bridge. Back at looking at screaming people, crawling on the ground because their legs had been blown clean off, some with limbs partially attached, some falling off, someone trying to feel where half of their face had gone. All moving, breathing, alive.

"Easy there, jelly legs." You look up to meet Jinx's eyes. Once a soft powder blue, now striking orbs of red violet. She's holding onto you. At some point you had lost your balance and was now kneeling on the floor, one hand on the side of Jinx's desk for support. "You sick or somethin'?" She asks.

"Sorry," You breathe out. "I think… I think I'm still reeling from what happened at the bridge."

She lets out a laugh. Loud, boisterous, manic.

"The bridge? The little ol' light show? You didn't like it?" Her smile falls, and she cocks her head to the side. Fuck.

Now you're on thin ice. "No, no. It was nice." You quickly say, shaking your head. "It's just, I'm not- I'm not used to seeing the before part, you know?"

She guffaws. "Wait, wait, wait." She stands, walking over to her desk littered with metal scraps and remnants of her previous projects, picking up one of the butterfly robots she had made. "You're telling me-" She plucks off a wing, the remaining one flapping aimlessly. "You" Points it at you. "Who's in charge of cleaning up exploded bodies, and telling Silco - who tells me - how to kill someone without a mess," Plucks off the other wing and throws the body away. "Gets queasy over a few blue bellies kicking the bucket?"

You take a breath to steady yourself. "I don't know. I never- I never thought about that part. I've never had to see it."  You unconsciously start clenching and unclenching you hand not holding onto the desk. A nervous habit, one that you tried to shake off. A habit that Jinx had taken note of the first few months of her dragging you along with her escapades.

"I'm sorry." You say after a few beats of silence.

In one quick flash - too quick, inhumanly quick - Jinx is kneeling again in front of you, cupping your face in her hands.  "Hey now, it's alright." Her tone is soft, caring, tragically comforting to you. "We all got our little quirks. I sure do."

She frees up one of her hands to brush your hair back. "Come to think of it, I think that was the first time you had to see something like that, huh?"

It always astounds you how quickly she can disarm the guard you put up for her. You know she's dangerous, you know you should be cautious. But a few sweet words from her and you're putty in her hands, completely at her mercy. You wonder if it's normal to love and fear someone at the same time.

"We'll be okay." She presses her forehead against yours. "I've got you, like you've got me." You nod.

"You can handle helping me with one more thing, right?" There it is. "We just need to do this one teeny thing, and then we can chill out."

You put in active effort to keep your breathing steady. Your stomach still in knots. "What thing?"

She grins. "A dinner party. You're my co-host." She pulls you up with her as she stands, leading you over to where she was working, where Fishbones was seemingly complete. "Wanna see something cool?"

You nod, and she fishes out the HexTech gemstone she had stolen during Progress Day. She opens up a slot near the handle and inserts the gemstone, Fishbones immediately lighting up, a blue hue illuminating her dark room. You contemplate asking her about her new weapon, weighing out the pros and cons. But the fact that her hand was still holding yours, her thumb idly grazing your knuckles was enough to encourage you.

"What are you gonna do with this?"

She runs her free hand above the clear panel where the gemstone is. "We're gonna go make a point."

The rational part of your brain is telling you to stay behind, that whatever this was, being in the vicinity of a HexTech-powered weapon was not a good idea. But this was Jinx, and she had already decided that you were coming with her. Incurring her wrath now, also in the vicinity of the HexTech-powered weapon, was not a good idea either.

So you do what you do best, and go along with it.

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

An Arranged Marriage, part 11

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

M!troll x f!reader

2k words, sweet domestic fluff

There are definitely more differences between humans and trolls than you really realized, but at least half the fun is finding those differences.

(Also, ask box is always open, I am literally always vibrating out of my skin to talk about this man)

--------

The sunlight still streamed through the windows when you awoke, but now cast long shadows along the walls. Your head rested on Zen’jan’s chest while he laid on his back still asleep, one of his his arms wrapped around you and one of your legs tossed over his. It felt good just to be entwined like that, not worrying about how long you had been gone, or a cover story, or anything else.

You could not help but drag your fingers down his chest, feeling the divots of both muscle and scars. There was something nice about being able to just observe him him like this, to be able to get a good look at him without feeling self conscious as he watched you back.

Looking up at his face like this you were able to really take him in. His skin was smooth, not a trace of facial hair. His chest was the same and no hair at all and you could not help but reach over to run your fingers down his forearm out of curiosity, just to check. Sure enough, smooth as could be.

“Are you having fun?” he did not open his eyes, but you looked up to see him smiling.

You buried your face into his chest, embarrassed over being caught.

“You did not have to stop, it felt quite nice. I cannot say the last time I have just been able to relax like this and enjoy someone’s company” he pulled you little closer.

“Zen?” you asked, “Did you want an arranged marriage? Like was this something you expected?”

“No. An arranged marriage is not a normal thing here, nor was it something I wanted”.

“Oh” you felt a bit bad, you had not actually talked to him about any of this at all in the last month.

You grew up knowing one day you would have your marriage arranged for you, and it really was not a big deal, just what was expected. Most people you knew were in an arranged marriage after all, and maybe they grew to love their spouse and maybe they did not, but that was not important. What was important was that it kept you in a good societal status and you got to keep living your life of luxury.

“Was there someone in your life then? Before all this?” you asked.

“No. Nothing serious. I never made that sort of time, certainly not during the war and then after there was always too much to do with rebuilding”.

“But there was someone then?” you did not know why, but the thought of that was vaguely upsetting.

“No. Just sometimes enjoying a night with someone. But no, to answer your question I did not have anyone I was close to like that”.

“Have you ever?” you pushed.

“No, like I said, there was been a war going on since I was pretty young, I have never had time for such things”.

“But the war was only for the last few years”.

“Maybe for you, but your kingdom has been attacking my village and tribe and all the others here long before it was officially a war”.

“I had no idea, I didn’t know it was that bad” it gave you pause to realize there was probably to did not know about the war.

“There were attacks even before I was born, the larger raids started when I was 10 or so, and by the time I was 20 it was a full war for us even if it was not for you, then still nearly another 10 years to get peace. When I tell you that my whole life has been consumed by this war, I truly mean my whole life”.

“I’m… sorry” you did not know what else to say. The war had not really affected you. Nothing in your day to day life changed from it, the kingdom was never under attack as all the fighting took place here, even your father was never on the front lines.

“It is not your doing, but this is not something I really want to talk about. It had been my whole life, and now instead I would rather just enjoy laying here with you” he said and once more nuzzled the top of your head.

You felt bad bringing up the war, especially now knowing just how bad things had actually been. Desperate to change the topic you asked the first question that came to mind, “Do trolls not have body hair?” you blurted out

Zen’jan snorted, clearly caught off guard by the question, “If you mean ‘do I have hair besides on my head?’ no, that is it. I am not fuzzy all over like a human”.

“Fuzzy all over? I’m not covered in fur” you pouted.

“No, but humans are still fuzzy” for emphasis he rubbed your forearm.

“At least I don’t shed like you. Do you know how much of your hair I find everywhere? Sometimes I feel like you have fur instead of hair” you teased back.

“Those are the same thing” he insisted.

“No they aren’t! Hair doesn’t shed like how you do. Look at the pillow! It’s only been a few hours of napping and it’s already covered in your hair just from that!”

“Hair does that”.

“Not like that” you reached up to get a good handful of his hair, it was dense and you swore you felt an undercoat, and you gave a firm tug to prove your point and get a handful of shedding hair like you expected.

What you did not expect was Zen’jan’s reaction.

“Oh fuck” he moaned.

In the month you had lived together you had not heard him swear once, you were not even sure he knew any swears in common. That definitely settled it though.

You quickly released your grip on his hair, though at least he seemed equally embarrassed, his blushing turning his face a bit purple.

“I am… sorry about that. I suppose it has been a while for me” he let out an awkward laugh but would not look at you.

At this point you had somehow buried your face farther into his chest in an attempt to block out everything. Maybe if you did not acknowledge it then you could pretend that it did not happen or that the way he moaned got your heart racing with more than just embarrassment.

“I hope that since you feel comfortable pulling my hair that at least means you are not scared of me after everything” he broke the silence.

“I’m pretty sure you have fur” you mumbled into his chest.

“They are the same thing!”

“No they aren’t! Look at this!” you showed him the fistful of shedding strands that came out when you pulled his hair.

“Yes, hair does that”.

“No, it doesn’t! See?” you ran your fingers through your hair, only a loose strand or two came free.

“So? Some people shed more hair than others, that is normal. And hair and fur are words for the same thing”.

“They aren’t, and you’re shedding so badly anyways. You hair is absolutely everywhere”.

He sighed before speaking, “I know, it is hard to comb it all out by myself so it has been a while since I have really been able to get all the loose hair out”.

“I don’t mind helping, especially if it means not having your hair on ever surface in this house”.

“I was about to get up and get us some food, but maybe you could help me comb out the loose hair first?” he asked.

“Sure”.

He nuzzled the top of your head with his jaw before carefully rolling out from under you and retrieving a comb from the bathroom.

“So just comb it out?” you asked as he handed you the comb and sat down in front of the bed so you could reach his head.

“Yes, just keep combing until no more hair comes out”.

Shedding was an understatement. You started at his hairline and combed and combed out a seemingly endless amount of hair just in that one section.

“You absolutely have an undercoat in your hair, I’m just saying” you remarked.

“Many people have a second layer” his eyes were closed and he was leaning his head back on your lap, he looked so relaxed, you even heard his soft purring sound.

“Not humans, that’s not a thing for us”.

“Really? Weird”.

“How often are you supposed to this?”

“Once a week or so”.

“And when was the last time you did?”

He stayed silent.

“Zen, when was the last time you combed out all this hair?” you asked again.

“A few months” he admitted.

“A few months?!”

“It is hard to do on my own, and it is hard to see what I am doing”.

“Couldn’t you have asked Bira or Ba’tual for help?”

“I did sometimes, but they are both busy a lot and I did not want to be an inconvenience”.

“Well, just remind me, I don’t mind doing this for you” you scratched the top of his head where you had finished combing out all the shedding.

He leaned his head to the side and nuzzled against your leg, “Thank you”.

“The nuzzling” you began, “I thought that was just a rut thing”

“The jaw and cheek nuzzling mostly is, but it is all just affection anyway. Do humans not show affection?” he teased.

“We do! Just not like that”.

“Then what do humans do?”

You leaned forward and kissed his forehead and pulled away to see him smirking.

“You tricked me” you said.

“I did not trick you, you did that all on your own” he was still smirking.

“But you knew I’d probably kiss you”.

“I was hoping you would, but you still chose to do it”.

“Do trolls not kiss?” you asked.

“Tusks" and he tapped one of his for emphasis, "They do make being face to face difficult, so no, kissing is not a thing we really do. Some people picked up on it from the orcs and might kiss their spouse’s hand or top of their head, but otherwise no”.

“You press your forehead to mine, isn’t that hard if both people have tusks anyways?”

“It is, and since everyone’s tusks are different it means that with a new partner you have to really get used to what angle to hold you head at to do it, that is why it is very intimate. Exactly how it is done is different for every couple, you have to take the time to learn your partner”.

You blushed at the implications, you had been taking it as just a small gesture and had been returning it without a thought. It reality it was deeply intimate and something unique to everyone.

“Well, in that case, you’ve been awfully affectionate since we’ve gotten home” you remarked.

“Can you blame me? I spent a month on edge around you and sleeping on the floor assuming you either were scared of me or hated me and did not want to be here. But now when given the option to leave you still chose to stay. You let me carry you home, you asked me to be close to you so you could sleep and then cuddled up to me, I woke up with you on my chest, and you offered to comb out my hair. I have never had someone in my life in this way, and it feels good and I do not know how else to show that I am happy about it”.

He was looking up at you, head nearly upside down from how far he was leaning back in your lap, vivid green eyes darting across you face and gauging your reaction.

“I know what you mean” it was a new feeling, and weird, but good. You were allowed to be affectionate for once, allowed to get attached for the first time, not just a quick fling for fun with no feelings involved. “and it’s all pretty new for me too”.

You leaned down somewhat awkwardly and pressed your forehead to his. There was quite a bit you were still concerned about, but at least you knew your husband was a good man.

Part 12

[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 2

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut (still not in this chapter lmao), No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon what canon

Word Count: 2k

A/N: So... this was posted prematurely a couple hours ago. This is the actual finished longer version. If you don't know what I'm talking about, thank god. Sorry this took so long, lmao

Just letting you guys know that my knowledge of the lore is purely based off of the movies and the Dune wiki rabbit hole I fell into right after watching part two. I also took a few liberties with the canon here.

I'm super open to constructive criticism, or any criticism at all (feel free to absolutely roast me). Like I mentioned, I've never written fanfic before so I'd love to hear your thoughts!

The evening of your first day in Giedi Prime was celebrated with a banquet where you were introduced to the most important people on the planet. You've heard many stories of the ruthlessness and brutality of the Harkonnens, hence surprised by the courtly welcome during the dinner. Although you did your best to politely ignore the Baron who floated at the head of the table being fed by servants.

You were sat beside his nephew who, despite your mother's education, has evaded your insight. You couldn't quite get a read on him.

Feyd-Rautha whispers to you amid the buzzing conversations of the banquet hall, "are you enjoying the food, little hawk?"

You shoot him a questioning look.

"I like your hairpin," he sneers.

You resist from reaching to touch the Atreides symbol affixed in your hair.

"We don't see such ornaments often here." He quietly laughs in his devilish way, only too amused with himself.

Ah, you realize. He means to torment you.

"Seems early for pet names," you say, picking at your plate, "we've only just met."

"Oh, and yet we are to be wed in less than a week's time," his raspy voice rings in your ear, "I should like to be familiar with my future wife, Lady Atreides."

The marriage pact had been signed when you were only a little girl. Inheriting your father's inclinations, you swore you would uphold your duty, undeterred by the gruesome and abhorrent stories about the Harkonnens—because you knew that centuries of conflict could end within a generation with this union. You were a willing bride.

And yet.

You give him a smile that, to those not privy to your conversation, would seem genuine, "You know nothing of me, na-Baron."

"I should like to learn," you doubt his sincerity but care not enough to discern it. He takes a smug bite of a forkful of meat, "perhaps tomorrow, you shall learn something of me."

The following morning Iassa helps you into another black gown, this time with a veil in anticipation of the black sun.

"Is it not dangerous for Feyd-Rautha to wager his life for a show?" you question.

"The na-Baron is a skilled fighter, my lady. He will emerge victorious," Iassa is straight-faced as she drapes the veil over you.

"Yes, I do not doubt it, but given he is the Baron's heir. Does it not seem a touch irresponsible to even risk it at all."

Not that you actually cared for his life, you just expected that the Harkonnens would be concerned with the preservation of their house regardless of their brutality. You recall your grandfather who got himself killed fighting bulls for sport.

"The na-Baron will be fighting war prisoners. They will be drugged beforehand. It is perfectly safe, my lady."

"Oh." You couldn't decide if you were disappointed or not, "I see."

Iassa seemed intent on dropping the subject, so you do.

You stand before a mirror and take a look at yourself. It is impossible not to be reminded of your mother. She was never one for vanity, but you like to think there was a part of her that always enjoyed the elegant dresses she and you 'had' to wear. You allow yourself a somber smile behind your veil.

"You look beautiful, my lady," Iassa curtsies.

"Thank you," you look at her bowed figure, gray robes made more dull by the stark black choker on her neck. You were sure she was at least 2 standard years younger than you are and it had only been a few months since you came of age. You wondered if she liked pretty dresses too.

Before you can ask her, there is a knock at your door.

The house steward, Jaromir, clears his throat when Iassa opens it for you, "The na-Baron requests your presence before he enters the arena."

Heavy doors open for you in one of the chambers beneath the arena. You are greeted by the sight of a half-dressed Feyd-Rautha being helped into his armor by a servant.

"Lady Atreides," he looks you up and down, "I hope you slept well."

You bow your head in acknowledgment.

"Your knives, master," a large man whom you assume to be the bladesmith presents Feyd-Rautha with two daggers.

The young Harkonnen takes one and caresses the blade with his fingers.

"I've come to wish the brave na-Baron well before his fight in the arena," you say in false earnestness.

He smiles at your inflation of his ego.

"Though I must say, I am relieved it is all for show. I would not like to see my groom wounded before we are wed."

"For show?" Feyd-Rautha tilts his head and you see his arrogant facade show the slightest crack.

"Yes, I've heard your opponents will be drugged will they not?" your voice dripping with innocence, "to ensure your safety, of course."

His grip on the dagger tightens, "and where did you hear this exactly?"

You sense the awkwardness and tension in the servants. The one who had helped don Feyd-Rautha's armor has quietly retreated to the far side of the chamber. There is a subtle tremble in the hands of one holding a plate of towels. You finally notice the three women piled upon a raised platform glaring at you.

"Just voices around the fortress," you shrug.

A deep breath recovers Feyd-Rautha's smug expression. "Call for the warden," he orders one of the guards by the door, "tell him to prepare new prisoners. Sober ones."

"My lord, you need not endanger yourself," you feign worry.

"Nonsense." The na-Baron walks closer to tower over you, "My lady bride deserves to see my true prowess."

He sees through your challenge, but you don't care. Seeing his self-satisfied smirk wiped from his face for even just a second was worth it.

"Besides," he turns away from you to inspect the second knife, "my darlings enjoy meat that's fought for its life."

The three women sneer at this and you see their sharp teeth as they hiss amongst themselves.

You've heard of Feyd-Rautha's concubines long before you arrived on Giedi Prime. Tales of their taste for human flesh were one of the things that tested your resolve in fulfilling the marriage pact. You didn't mind that the na-Baron would keep other women. It would result in less of his attentions on yourself, you figured. It was their perverse appetite that nauseated you.

A look of revulsion hides behind your veil which you sense they would be all too happy to rip to shreds.

"I will see you in the stands, little hawk," Feyd-Rautha whispers to you as he waves for a guard to escort you out.

You do your best to drown out the noise of what seemed to be a countless audience that came to see the na-Baron fight. You could understand now why they uphold such brutal traditions. The people are so excited for it.

On the other side of the arena, you sense Vladimir Harkonnen watching you from the Baron's Box that towered over the whole arena. The blazing sun only helps you avoid looking in his direction. You were sat at a viewing box, still for nobility and separated from the masses, but much lower and closer to the sands of the arena. Jaromir had told you that you were to 'give the na-Baron your favor'.

Before long, the master of ceremonies announces Feyd-Rautha's entrance in Giedi Prime Speech. They are celebrating his betrothal to you and the union of Harkonnen and Atreides, you translate in your head. You wonder if the people care for the politics of the Great Houses. They seemed no less excited to cheer at your name despite the centuries-old blood feud.

Massive doors open as the na-Baron walks into the arena. His arms outstretched holding his knives like an extension of his limbs. He riles up the crowd as he walks towards the Baron's Box and kneels to his uncle. He then rises and walks toward you, smirking under the stark light of the black sun.

You may not fear earning the Harkonnens' contempt, but you were the Duke of Caladan's daughter and you knew that the favor of the people was invaluable.

You stand and walk to the edge of the viewing box. The glowing smile you reveal as you lift your veil draws cheers from the crowd that rival what Feyd-Rautha received. You produce a pure white handkerchief from your dress pocket and make a show of kissing it and waving the cloth at the buzzing crowd. You throw it off the edge and it floats toward the na-Baron who had moved both daggers to one hand to catch it. He looks up at you with what you think could be the seeds of respect and tucks the cloth into the tight armband around his right bicep.

He turns back to the audience and raises his knives in a war cry. The crowd explodes in guttural cheers and applause. Feyd-Rautha takes his position in the middle of the arena as his first opponent is released into the white sands.

You've heard of the Harkonnen heir's aptitude in single combat. It's time to see if the stories were true or if it was just another part of their menacing facade.

You were handed a pair of spyglasses to observe with. The two fighters approach each other, the prisoner wielding a knife of his own. Feyd-Rautha holds a taunting stance. The prisoner was sober, you were sure, but even without the spyglasses, you could see he was weak. You surmised the Harkonnen cells weren't very hospitable. He attempts a swipe but the na-Baron parries with ease. Another and the na-Baron dodges. Zooming in, you could see Feyd-Rautha's twisted amusement. He was toying with the poor man—and the people loved it.

The crowds cheered at the clashing of metal, thundering when the na-Baron drew first blood by slashig his opponent's arm. It wasn't long before Feyd-Rautha's dagger had impaled the prisoner's heart. There was no pause before a second prisoner was brought out to meet a similar fate.

Feyd-Rautha stood unwounded, seething with exhilaration. He enjoyed this; the thrill of killing. He basked in the roar of the crowd. You had never ended a life before, but some deep part of you could almost understand how he felt in that moment.

A third prisoner enters the arena. He looked older than the first two, bearded and taller. He reminded you of Gurney Halleck, the Atreides Warmaster. This man certainly wasn't at his prime but you could tell he would not go down as easily as the first two.

The warrior holds his blade out in a firm fighting stance, refusing to make the first move. You notice picadors in black suits have entered the arena, circling the na-Baron and his opponent. Feyd-Rautha lunges at the prisoner and a quick series of parries from both sides occur. You see the finesse in the na-Baron's movement. He recognizes his opponent's skill and he is taking this one seriously. You were not sure what you expected of the Harkonnen's fighting style but Feyd-Rautha was vicious but precise. The crowd gasps when the prisoner disarms one of the na-Baron's knives. The warrior manages to get a grip on Feyd-Rautha's armed hand and aims to pierce the na-Baron's neck with his blade. The na-Baron struggled against his hold and the arid air was thick with anticipation.

You were unsure what outcome you desired as you stared through your spyglass. Perhaps this warrior kills your betrothed. What then? Would you really be able to go back to Caladan's windy cliffs again? Return to the arms of your mother as if it were all a bad dream? You wonder if when Feyd-Rautha becomes baron, and you his baroness, could you convince him to let you see your family.

The warrior's blade was dangerously close to your future husband's throat when one of the picadors lashes at the warrior. The na-Baron growls at the offending picador as the warrior is weakened. Feyd-Rautha pushes him off and allows him a moment to recover, taunting him to try again. Blades clash once more and after a sequence of quick ferocious movements, Feyd-Rautha's blade slashes the warrior's throat. Blood made black by the infrared of the sun splatters onto the na-Baron. He licks the darkness that landed on his lips. Heaving, he takes your bloodied handkerchief off his armband and raises it to you and the roaring crowd.

You did not even realize you were already standing, breathless at the sight.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part three

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Three - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2k

My legs feel numb, something cold and metallic digging into my back—chains, pinching at my skin. I try to shift, but the restraints hold me tight. There’s a warmth surrounding me, and I glance up to see Johnny's face, our noses inches apart. “Welcome back, Pumpkin!” Deadpool’s voice calls out from behind, dripping with that annoying cheerfulness that makes me groan and drop my head.

Johnny twists us around, the chains binding the two of us together keeping us suspended above the ground. Now, I’m facing Logan and Deadpool. Deadpool’s staring at me, and while it’s hard to tell through the mask, the tilt of his head makes me think he’s smiling.

He turns to Logan and asks, “How long was I asleep?”

Logan’s response is gruff, “Not all of you was asleep.”

I cringe. “That’s so—"

“Hot?” Deadpool interrupts, his tone mockingly hopeful.

“I was going to say disgusting.”

Deadpool pouts, his voice taking on a playful edge. “I sense a little closeted anger there.”

I squint at him, feeling the absurd need to defend myself. “I’m pretty comfortable with my sexuality, thank you very much.”

“Don’t clench those cheeks of yours too tight, Pumpkin. I see the way you look at Wolvie here.” He tilts his head towards Logan, who finally meets my gaze.

I quickly look away, shame creeping in. He must hate me for what I did. Or for what I couldn’t do.

Deadpool starts rummaging around, searching for something. “Don’t bother. They’re very thorough,” Johnny tells him, a slight edge to his voice.

Logan cuts in, his tone demanding, “You know where we are, start talking.”

Johnny’s voice is calm but serious. “You’re in The Void. Think of it as purgatory. Reed called it a metaphysical junkyard where anything useless goes before it gets annihilated forever, and where the TVA sends people that don’t play nice with the rest of the multiverse.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Like you?”

Johnny nods. “And you. Or her.”

Logan’s voice hardens. “What does the annihilating?”

“Alioth,” Johnny answers, his voice low.

Deadpool’s eyes widen behind his mask. “Alioth is in this thing? From Loki, season 1, episode 5? You know she wrote a fanfic about Loki. I’m talking to you, reader.” He suddenly turns to face the empty space, as if he’s breaking the fourth wall again. 

I squint at him, my voice dripping with annoyance. “What are you doing?”

Deadpool gives me that familiar little head tilt, and I can almost see the grin beneath his mask. “Just keeping things meta, Pumpkin.”

Johnny continues, “Everyone here is on the run from Alioth. Most don’t make it. But there’s a resistance. Other people like us that manage to survive. We’re hiding out in the borderlands, trying to find a way to fuck outta here.”

Logan nods, his voice resolute. “Then that’s where we go.”

Deadpool's eyes light up with excitement. “We? Us? A team? The answer is yes. Shake on it.”

Logan unsheathes his claws, the metal gleaming menacingly.

“Fuck! You nicked it,” Deadpool yelps, pulling his hand back quickly. “Just got the tip with your little steak knife.”

Logan ignores him, turning back to Johnny. “These others can help us get back to the TVA. They can fix things.”

Johnny lets out a dark laugh, and I nudge him, trying to keep him focused.

Logan’s eyes narrow. “Something funny, Bub?”

Johnny’s expression grows serious. “She might have something to say about that.”

Logan’s brow furrows in confusion. “Who’s she?”

Johnny's voice lowers ominously. “In The Void, you’re either food for Alioth, or you work for her.”

The words hang heavy in the air as we approach the gates—or rather, the colossal, decaying corpse of Ant-Man. His gigantic hands, now reduced to skeletal remains, are locked together to form the entrance. As they creak open, a cold shiver runs down my spine, a foreboding sense of doom settling over me. Johnny’s body flares with heat, a stark contrast to the icy dread filling my veins, betraying his own spike of anxiety.

We’re unceremoniously dumped out of the cage, rolling onto the hard, unforgiving ground of the courtyard. The atmosphere here is bleak, desolate—a wasteland filled with the lost and the damned. Variants and mutants alike mill about, their eyes hollow, their spirits crushed by the relentless despair of this place.

From behind, I feel Pyro’s glare burn into my back. I turn slightly, catching sight of Toad, still nursing his wound. With a spiteful smirk, I stick my tongue out at him, my eyes glinting with a momentary spark of defiance.

The air around us shimmers, rippling with unseen energy as Cassandra’s presence draws near. In my sleep, I had only glimpses of her, vague and haunting. But now, as her silhouette emerges, a pang of grief stabs at my heart—she reminds me too much of Charles.

Deadpool breaks the tension with his usual irreverence. “Oh, you must be this year’s Juggernaut.”

“Please be quiet,” I mutter, but my voice lacks conviction.

“Keep your voices down,” Juggernaut rumbles. “She don’t like the chatter.”

Logan casts a sidelong glance at Deadpool. “She’s gonna love you.”

Deadpool, never one to heed warnings, continues, “Is it Charles? Hey, hey, Chuck, it’s us!”

Logan and I exchange a grim look. “That’s not Charles,” we say in unison.

Cassandra steps from her wheelchair, moving with a graceful menace as the sunlight catches her bald head. The air around her seems to crackle with latent power.

“Ah, shit. Oh, ableism great. That’s not gonna go over well with the woke mob,” Deadpool quips, earning a scowl from Logan.

Cassandra’s eyes settle on Logan first, cold and calculating. “A Wolverine. I wondered when I’d get one of you.” Then she turns to me, her gaze piercing through my defenses. “You’re one of Xavier’s.”

Deadpool, ever the disruptor, cuts in. “You know him, you know Chuck?”

Cassandra’s smile is thin, almost serpentine. “Oh, I knew him. We shared a womb. Tried to strangle the sly little fellow with my umbilical cord.”

“Amen,” Deadpool responds, almost gleeful. “I’ve never loved roommates. Mine’s blind, except she could see cocaine for some reason.” He turns to Logan, searching for an ally. “You wanna chime in, Your Majesty? I’m dying here.”

“Who are you?” Logan growls, his patience wearing thin.

“Charles Xavier’s twin,” Cassandra says, her voice dripping with venom. “Cassandra Nova.”

Deadpool’s eyes widen in mock horror. “Oh, shit. Is it anal birth?”

Cassandra’s expression remains unreadable as she assesses us, her tone almost playful. “You two are cute. I have a good feeling about this.”

Her gaze sharpens as she shifts back to Johnny, a predatory gleam in her eye. “And I’ve been trying to catch this little firefly for years, haven’t I, Johnny? You picked the wrong time to make new friends.” She spares me a brief, dismissive glance. “I’ll get to you later,” she adds, her voice like ice. “—pumpkin.”

A shiver runs through me at the nickname, the way it slithers off her tongue far more menacingly than it ever did from Deadpool.

Deadpool, undeterred, presses on. “Oh, Johnny told us all about you.”

Logan’s warning is low and dangerous. “Maybe shut up now.”

“Yeah, maybe don’t,” I echo, my nerves fraying.

But Deadpool barrels ahead. “We were just talking here. Yeah, Johnny told us you’re a psychotic, megalomaniacal asshole. His words, not mine. Hell-bent on domination and pain.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow. “You said all that about me?”

Johnny stammers, panic clear in his voice. “No, no! How do you— I didn’t say anything!”

“Sticks and stones, Johnny!” Deadpool laughs, his tone mocking. “Don’t let her intimidate you. Like you said in the convoy. This finger-licking, dead inside, pixie slab of third-rate dime store nut milk can eat your delicious cinnamon ring and kick rocks all the way to bald-hell.”

Johnny looks horrified. “I have never said any of those words in my entire life!”

My muscles tense, knowing Deadpool is pushing too far. “That’s enough, Deadpool,” I warn, preparing to act if necessary.

But Deadpool continues, seemingly oblivious. “Ah! The modesty! People think I’m a shit-talker, but this guy, next level.”

“What? This- I- wait- I don’t even know what half of that means!” Johnny protests, his confusion growing.

In a flash, I manage to blip Johnny back a few hours, replacing him with a decoy just as Cassandra’s wrath descends. She tears into the decoy with brutal efficiency, ripping its skin clean off. I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing Johnny is safe, even if the others are none the wiser.

Deadpool gasps in mock horror. “Not my favorite Chris.”

Logan’s fury is palpable. “You stupid piece of shit, you just got him fucking killed!”

I feign distress, staring at the decoy’s lifeless form, playing my part.

“Hey, we’re all grieving!” Deadpool adds, his tone too flippant. “PS, do you know what he was doing to the budget?”

Cassandra’s voice cuts through the tension. “Alioth is hungry.”

“There’s been some kind of mistake,” Deadpool protests, his bravado faltering. “Big Yellow is a backup Anchor Being, and I’m Marvel Jesus, MJ if you’re nasty. This may be hard to hear, but there’s another British villain. He’s gonna destroy my universe, and I’m gonna stop him.”

Cassandra’s smile is chilling. “Oh, honey, you don’t really strike me as a world-saving type.” Deadpool flinches. “Did I hit a nerve?”

He tries to regain his footing. “I didn’t want it to come to this. Either you help us, or my friend here is gonna sing the entire second act of Music Man, with zero warm-up.”

Logan tries to change the subject. “Where’d you get the chair?” 

“Once in a while, I do get a Charles through here,” Cassandra muses, her voice distant, almost nostalgic. “Never mind, though. No. He didn’t care to find me.”

Deadpool rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Ah, Gen-Z and their trauma-bragging! Can’t you just stuff it down, turn it into accomplishment or cancer like the rest of us?”

Cassandra’s eyes gleam with dark amusement. “But I’m not like the rest of you. Except maybe the Wolverine. Now, we could be truly terrifying together.”

Logan sneers, his claws itching for a fight. “You’re that scary, huh?”

“The TVA certainly thought so,” Cassandra replies, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “They sent me here before I could walk. And you know, it’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I love it here.”

“You live in a garbage dump,” Deadpool retorts, unimpressed.

Cassandra’s smile widens, a cold, cruel thing. “I think we both know who lives in the garbage dump. The Void is a paradise. I can wield my power here without shame. Unfortunately, I had no Charles Xavier to teach me temperance.”

Her eyes lock onto mine, sharp and predatory. I’m still coated in the thick, warm blood of Johnny’s decoy, and the sight only seems to excite her. “I told you I would get to you. I’ve been waiting to crack into that mind of yours.” She steps forward, her finger outstretched, and I stumble back, my heart pounding in my chest.

But she’s too fast, closing the distance in an instant. Her long, cold fingers seize my face, digging into my temples with a vice-like grip. The pain is excruciating, a white-hot lance that stabs through my skull as she roots around in my mind. Flashes of my past flood my vision—my dead friends, my failures, my desperate search for Logan. And then, the happier memories, from a time long gone, when Charles and Erik were younger, when hope still felt within reach.

With a sudden, brutal yank, Cassandra rips her fingers free, leaving me crumpled on the ground, gasping for breath.

I hear Logan shout something, but the words are muffled, lost in the haze of agony clouding my thoughts.

“Interesting,” Cassandra murmurs, almost to herself. “But boring. Your Charles, he protected you, made you feel safe?”

Logan’s growl is low, feral. “We’re done talking.”

“No,” Cassandra whispers, her voice a silken thread of menace. “We’re just getting started.”

Next Part

A/N: Guys, I’m on a roll and I was originally going to write this chapter as a recap but with Logan’s POV, instead, those will be added later as bonus chapters! I’ll try get a masterlist up and running.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw

comment if you want to be added!