#put shadow in a little box in his mind. to make himself do what he viewed as necessary | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

monster-disaster · 3 months ago

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Hi darling, i see you have some somnophilia works.. May i sprinkle my current hyperfixation in? You have a stalker vampire who lives in your attic and feeds at night, either on you or goes out in the neighborhood. You start to have a sneaking suspicion you're being watched until you catch him. He can turn into a bat and creep through the attic door to get inside easily... He falls in love with you when you're up late singing, drawing, and cooking/showering. Um... And maybe he can see you in the shower through a vent in the ceiling 🫣 thank you i love your writing mwah

vampire!stalker x human!Reader Good to know: stalking

And you know what the funny thing is? You were the one who put him in your attic one morning when you were just about to get into your car and leave. By sheer luck, you happened to notice him curled up under your car, right behind one of the front wheels.

"Oh," you gasped at the sight. "You poor thing." Without thinking, you knelt beside the car, your heart softening as you took in the little creature’s vulnerable form. He looked so fragile, so out of place in the daylight. You extended a cautious hand, murmuring soothing words as you gently scooped him up. His small body was colder than you expected, but for a moment, he seemed to settle into your palm, as if relieved to be found. “You don’t have much survival skill, do you?” The thought of what might have happened if you hadn’t noticed him made you shudder. “You’re lucky I didn’t drive over you. But don’t worry, I know just the place where you’ll be safe.” Cradling him close, you turned back toward the house. You moved through the familiar hallway, your footsteps soft on the wooden floor as you made your way to the attic. The space was rarely used, cluttered with old memories and forgotten things, but it was quiet and safe, perfect for a little bat in need of shelter. “You’ll be safe here until it gets dark,” you murmured as you set him down in a cozy corner, carefully lining it with the soft fabric from an old box that had seen better days. You could feel the cool air of the attic as you moved, and after a moment’s hesitation, you left the window slightly open, just enough to give him a way out whenever he felt ready. You watched him for a few seconds longer, making sure he was comfortable, before closing the attic door with a quiet click. Two days passed before he crossed your mind again, but when you pushed open the attic door, the corner where you’d left him was empty.

You hoped the small animal was fine, but you had no idea that your story with him was far from over. At first, he genuinely wanted to stay away, but you lingered so vividly in his memory that he couldn't keep himself from returning. At first, he stayed only in your attic, listening to the sounds of your life around the house.

Your house was old, with creaking floorboards and doors that groaned on their hinges. The attic was dim and dusty, cobwebs stretching across the corners. The only light came through the window, filtering the moon’s glow into pale patches and deep shadows on the ground. He had spent countless nights here over the past few weeks, silently observing as the house lived and breathed around him, while he remained still and unseen in the darkness. Below, a door closed softly, followed by the gentle padding of footsteps across the floor. He tilted his head slightly, listening to you move through the house. You were humming a tune you'd recently heard on the radio. A soft, quiet sound that carried through the otherwise still air. He heard your steps as you climbed the stairs, and moments later, music began to drift upward through the floorboards. It was upbeat, with a woman’s voice accompanied by a guitar keeping the rhythm. The vampire shifted slightly, careful not to disturb the thick layer of dust on the floor. You had no idea he was there, and he preferred it that way. He took pleasure in your unawareness. Next, the steady sound of water pattering against tile reached his ears as you stepped into the shower, still humming and singing softly to yourself. For a long second, the dark wall in front of him disappeared as he imagined you in the bathroom with your head slightly tilted back as you washed down the shampoo. The white suds of the soap gently slipped down on your bare body, following the lines of your curves. He had to force himself to stay still. Soon, the water stopped, and after a few moments, he heard the soft slap of your bare feet on the bathroom tiles, and then on the hallway floor. He could smell the fresh, clean scent of your shampoo and lotions drifting into his sensitive nose. Quickly, you returned to your bedroom, the music still playing softly in the background. There was a pause as you opened your wardrobe and pulled out a drawer, followed by the rustling of fabric as you dressed in something comfortable and warm. Now, he could hear your breathing and the steady beat of your heart, which seemed to align with the music. Your room was just below the attic. So close. You sighed softly, and he imagined you sinking into the bed. The old springs of the mattress groaned under your weight. He stayed all night, hidden in the shadows. After all, he had all the time in the world.

Of course, his need to get closer to you, to see you, grew over time. After a few months, hiding in your attic wasn't enough anymore, and he became bolder. At first, he came out only after you had fallen asleep.

The night was still as the vampire silently came down from the attic, making his way straight to your room. The old house seemed to hold its breath as he moved, careful not to disturb the quiet of your home. The faint, lingering scent of your recent shower still hung in the air, mingling with the cool night breeze that slipped through the cracks. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a faint, silvery glow over your sleeping form. Your breathing was slow and even. You were blissfully unaware of the danger that lurked so close. He could easily reach out and touch you if he wished, and the thought sent a thrill through him. He stood by your bedside for a long moment, his gaze tracing the soft lines of your face, the fluttering of your lashes as you dreamed, and the gentle rise and fall of your chest. His fingertips tingled with the urge to reach out, just for a second, just to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his touch. There was something calming about you, something that eased the centuries-old hunger that gnawed at him. The memory of you holding his bat form so carefully and softly was vivid in his memory. Your palms were warm around his small body as your chest vibrated with every word you said to keep him calm. Almost without thinking, his hand moved, brushing over the line of your jaw from your ear to your chin. His touch was feather-light, barely a whisper against your skin, but the sensation sent a shiver through him. You were so warm, so alive. You stirred slightly, your body shifting beneath the covers, but you did not wake. The vampire froze, his hand lingering for a moment longer, savoring the contact, before he slowly drew it back. His fingers curled into a tight fist as he kept himself from reaching out again. He remained there for a few minutes, motionless, watching as you settled back into your dreams, completely unaware of the dark figure standing guard over you. He wanted to stay, to linger by your side until the first light of dawn, but he knew he couldn’t risk it. Not yet. With a final, reluctant glance, he began to retreat, slipping back into the shadows where he belonged. But he would return. He was certain of that.

It didn't take long for him to crave more. Soon, seeing you asleep wasn't enough.

The door of your bathroom was ajar, just enough for him to peer inside without being noticed. Steam curled out from the small gap, warm and fragrant, carrying the scent of your soap and shampoo into the cool air. It filled his nostrils as he edged closer without a sound. You stood under the spray, your head tilted back, eyes closed as the water cascaded over your body. The droplets caught in your hair and ran down your skin, glistening like tiny diamonds in the dim light. He watched, transfixed, as you moved beneath the stream. Your hands glided through your hair and over your body. There was something almost hypnotic in the rhythm of your movements, in the way you seemed so completely at ease, so unaware of the eyes that lingered on you from the shadows. He knew he shouldn’t be here, knew this was a line he had never intended to cross. But the allure of your presence, the simple beauty of you, was too much to resist. He felt a strange mix of hunger and something softer, something like longing, as he watched the water trace the contours of your body. His fingertips tingled with the image of your warm skin underneath his touch. For a brief moment, your eyes flicked open, and he held his breath, though he knew you couldn’t see him. You looked toward the door, a vague sense of something stirring in your gaze, but then you blinked and turned back to the water, shaking off whatever fleeting thought had crossed your mind. The vampire exhaled silently with relief. The brief moment of contact, of almost being caught, sent a thrill through him. He took one last lingering look at you, committing every detail to memory; the curve of your neck, the straight line of your spine, and the softness of your thighs. And then, as quietly as he had come, he slipped back into the shadows. The image of you under the shower would stay with him, a vivid memory to savor during the long hours of daylight.

Soon, his visits began to feel like a dance. He moved in perfect sync with you through the house. When you entered a room, he slipped into the shadows, always just out of sight, careful to remain unseen. He knew the rhythm of your nights, the way you moved from room to room, the way you lingered by the window or paused to turn off a light. But as the nights went on, something stirred within you; a suspicion that someone was there, watching, staying just out of your way but never leaving.

The kitchen was warm, filled with the scent of onions sizzling in the pan. You moved methodically, chopping vegetables and stirring sauces, trying to focus on the simple task of making dinner. The rhythm of cooking usually soothed you, but tonight, something was off. The feeling had been creeping up on you all evening, a persistent, unsettling sense that you weren’t alone. It gnawed at the edge of your thoughts, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. The house was quiet, too quiet, and every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the wind outside, seemed loud in the stillness. You paused for a moment, the knife hovering above the cutting board, and glanced around the kitchen. The lights cast long shadows across the floor, stretching into the corners where the darkness lingered. You told yourself it was nothing, just your imagination running wild, but the hairs on the back of your neck refused to settle down. As you returned to your cooking, your movements became more hurried, more anxious. The feeling of being watched grew stronger. You tried to shake it off, focusing on the task at hand, but your mind kept drifting away from your dinner. Finally, you set the knife down with your heart beating faster than it should. You turned slowly, scanning the room, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of something, or someone, in the shadows, but there was nothing, just the empty kitchen and the low hum of the refrigerator. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the unease remained. The feeling of eyes on you, of someone lurking just out of sight, was too strong to ignore. Every movement you spent in the kitchen, or anywhere in the house was accompanied by the prickling sensation that you weren’t as alone as you thought.

As your suspicion grew and fear settled into your home, the vampire's feelings deepened. What had begun as a mere fascination had slowly morphed into something more serious, something he could no longer ignore.

The night was crisp and quiet, with only the distant hum of the city breaking the stillness. The vampire stood outside your window, hidden in the darkness. His eyes were fixed on the warm glow spilling from inside your home. The curtains were partially drawn, just enough to reveal you sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and engrossed in the flickering screen of the TV. He had watched you countless times, seen you in every possible light and shadow, but tonight was different. The sight of you curled up in your cozy living room, lost in the world of your favorite show, stirred something within him that he hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. The way you snuggled into the blanket with a sigh that escaped your lips as you laughed at something on the screen moved something in him. It was all so intimate, so utterly human. His gaze softened, and he felt a pang of longing so intense it almost hurt. He watched the way your eyes danced with amusement, how your expressions changed with the flow of the story, and how you seemed to be completely at ease in your own world. It was in these small, everyday moments that turned his feelings into something more than fascination or obsession. He was in love with you. His heart, dead for a long time, ached with a longing he hadn’t known was possible. As he stood there, his thoughts raced. He had been drawn to you from the beginning, but now he realized it was more than mere curiosity or obsession. He had come to adore you even from afar. The way you lived your life, so genuine and unfiltered, made him yearn for things he had long forgotten. He imagined what it would be like to sit beside you, to be part of these simple moments that meant so much to him. The love he felt was both exhilarating and painful, a reminder of how far he was from the life he desired. The thought of revealing himself, of breaking through the barrier he had maintained for so long, seemed both a terrifying and exhilarating possibility, but he knew there was no way back. There was no way he could just walk away from you.

Watching you through the window, observing your life from the shadows only deepened his longing. He couldn’t go on like this. Being so close, yet so far wasn’t enough anymore.

You turned the corner with an eagerness in your chest to get inside your home and unwind after a long day at work. Your keys jingled in your hand as you approached your front door but before you could reach the stairs leading up onto your small porch, you noticed a figure standing in front of your neighbor's house. He was tall and impeccably dressed in a dark suit that seemed to absorb the lights of the streetlamps towering at the edge of the sidewalk. He was engrossed in a conversation with the elderly couple who lived next door. Their faces were lit with curiosity and welcome as they nodded at something the stranger said. As you drew closer, without your notice or permission, he turned to face you, and an unexpected chill rippled down your spine. His smile was disarmingly charming, but there was something about it that made you pause. In the dim glow of the street lights, you noticed the glint of his fangs, sharp and white. They caught the light in a way that made your heart skip a beat. “Good evening,” he said, his voice smooth and inviting. “I’ve just moved into the house next door.” You blinked, momentarily speechless. “Oh, hello,” you managed to say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I didn’t realize the house was sold.” His smile widened, and he took a step closer, extending a hand. “Yes, it’s quite recent. I’m delighted to meet you. I’m afraid I didn’t get a chance to properly introduce myself to the neighbors before now.” You hesitated for a moment before shaking his hand. His grip was firm but gentle, and his touch was unexpectedly cold. “I’m Y/N,” you said, trying to smile. Your throat felt dry and tight as you forced the words to roll off your tongue. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” “Thank you,” he said, his gaze lingering a moment longer than necessary. “I’ve heard good things about this area.” You glanced at the house he had just mentioned mostly so you had a reason to tear your gaze away from him. “Are you settled in?” “Almost,” The man replied. “Just a few more things to arrange. But I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable here.” The way he spoke, with an almost eerie calm and certainty, sent another shiver down your spine. “Well, if you need any help or information about the area, feel free to ask." You regretted your polite offer the moment it left your lips. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, his smile never wavering. “Thank you, Y/N. I’ll be sure to drop by soon. Have a lovely evening.” As you watched him turn back to the elderly couple, your heart was still racing. The encounter had left you with a sense of unease that you couldn’t quite shake but were too afraid to stay and look into it. You hurried inside, and after locking the door behind you, twice, you tried to push the strange meeting from your mind. It's fine, you thought. You just have a few difficult weeks behind you. But as you settled into your evening routine, the man's smile and those glistening fangs lingered in your thoughts, leaving you with a growing sense of curiosity and uncertainty about the new neighbor next door.

#monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #sweet asks #vampire x reader #vampire x human #vampire boyfriend #monsterfucker

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lipglossanon · 1 month ago

Text

Day 22

Kink: Bondage

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x Las Plagas!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, bondage, Leon POV, coercion, noncon with hints of cnc, aphrodisiacs, dirty talk, degradation, unprotected sex, breeding kink AND breeding 👀, creampie

not proofread

Leon thinks it’s a lab he’s stumbled into; it would make sense with all the other crazy shit down here. Like who the hell needs killer laser grids as security?

But it’s different from the other ones he’s been in so far; there are full fledged humans floating in tanks in the middle of the room with a bank of computers off to the side. Walking over, he checks the screens to see if he can make heads or tails of anything.

That’s when you stumble into the room, wearing an ill fitting outfit, like a girl playing dress up as a scientist.

He turns, gun aiming at you but with his finger off the trigger.

“Who’re you?”

“Me?” You blink at him, one eye at a time like an owl.

Frowning at you, he quickly glances to make sure his safety is off before stepping closer.

“What’s your name?”

He tries a different approach; you look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet—in other words, fucked.

You look around in confusion, hand raising up to press against your temple.

“I-I don’t remember,” you whisper. “I don’t know where this is or, or how I got here.”

You stutter over your words, voice rising in panic. Wild eyes turn back to him.

“Did you bring me here?!”

Holstering his gun, Leon holds his hands out placatingly, “Hey.. hey, I can help you. The name’s Leon.”

Your brows furrow cutely and he gives you a little smile.

“Why don’t we take a look around and see if anything jogs your memory?”

He poses it as question although it’s more of a directive. Something to give you some focus. Leon takes point and covers the entire room with you as his shadow. Coming across a clipboard on the corner table, he pauses to look through the list of names. Each line holds a name with a description of the person, all next to a little box that lists what experiment they fall under as well as any outcomes.

The next to last name is smudged to hell and back, so Leon can’t make it out at all, but you fit the description to a T; alarm bells blaring in his brain, Leon steels himself to read the rest.

A handful of words jump out at him:

Infected. Test run: Queen Plaga. ACTIVE.

It takes a lot to make Leon feel caught off guard—especially since he’s already neck deep into this nightmare mission—but your presence at his back makes him feel vulnerable in an entirely different way.

Placing the clipboard back down, he tries to keep up his nonchalant, helpful persona.

“Is anything coming back to you at all?” He turns around to face you, but it’s only empty space.

His eyes catch on a door closing on the other side of the room; it blends in perfectly with the walls once it shuts, so he keeps his eye on it as he walks over. Gently easing it open, he raises his gun as he moves into the room. It’s an office, divided with partitions into three cubicles from what he can tell.

Leon can hear you moving around at the far end, muttering to yourself. Sneaking closer, he steps around the gray divider, pointing his gun at you.

“Let’s just take it easy,” he glances around to make sure the office is truly empty; in doing so, he misses the tail slowly descending from your lab coat.

Quicker than a flash, you wrap your new appendage around his chest, pinning his arms in place. A quick swipe of your hands at his own, makes him drop the gun and he listens to it hit the ground with a metal clatter.

You shove him down into a chair, tail tightening around him so he can’t move. His mind flashes to the fight he had earlier with Rámon’s right hand.

“I-I didn’t want this,” you tear up. “I was sick. They said they could help me, so I came here and now I.. I-I’m different.”

“Don’t panic,” Leon softens his voice. “Look, we can get you help. There’s a machine down here that can get rid of it.”

Hands shaking, you bring them up to squeeze your head.

“I want that, but—“

Doubling over, you gasp in pain, hands dropping down to your pelvis. Leon watches as you collapse onto your knees. He wiggles, but your tail doesn’t budge an inch. You convulse for half a minute as he watches on in sympathy. He struggles again, but it leads to nowhere. As fast as your symptoms came on, they stop.

Under his gaze, you push yourself back up onto your feet, body moving oddly, like a marionette.

“Are you okay? If you let me go, I can help—“

Your head snaps up and you give him a big toothpaste ad kinda smile.

“Oh, everything’s fine. Perfectly in sync.”

You frown at him and Leon’s heart rate picks up. Something’s off in a big way and he’s practically a sitting duck.

“But you, you got rid of my gift.”

It feels like ice water douses his veins.

You click your tongue, “And that just won’t do, will it, Leon?”

He tries harder to get out of your grip, but after a few minutes he slumps back into the chair, winded and defeated.

“Silly,” you shake your head, turning your attention to the desk.

He eyes the cables you begin to rip out of everything. Once you think you have enough, you walk right up to him. Your hands make quick work of tying his arms and legs to the chair. Once he’s secured, you remove your tail.

“There,” you step back with another smile. “We can have a civil transaction.”

He tugs at his arms uselessly, the power cables cutting into his wrists and making him bleed.

You straddle his lap, “Now, be a good boy and this will all be over soon.”

Dread weighs heavy on his chest as you quickly undo his pants and pull out his soft cock. He bucks underneath you, but it doesn’t do any good. You tease your fingers across his tip and he starts to chub up. Leon’s always been easy, but he’s never hated himself for it more than now.

“Don’t do this,” he pleads. “We can—“

“Uh uh,” you chastise playfully, pushing three of your fingers into his mouth. “Good boys are seen not heard.”

His cock leaks at your words. You feather your fingers up and down his growing length until he’s stiff and heavy in your hand. His tip blurts precum when you giggle at him.

“My, my, what an eager, little boy,” you whisper at him like it’s a secret.

His cock throbs in your hand at your mocking endearment.

“Now, Agent,” you sit up straighter in his lap, fingers tapping against his tongue. “Since you so cruelly removed my sweet plagas from your chest, you’ll gift me with your seed.”

Your other hand slowly jerks him off and he whimpers.

“Breed me and we’ll call it even,” you murmur, eyes half lidded; Leon can’t stop his cock from twitching.

“Oh?” You grin, tail coming up to wrap around his chest again. “You like breeding soft, hot cunts, don’t you?”

He wishes you’d just kill him, embarrassment and shame filling his chest as his cock stiffens and bobs in your grip.

“Don’t worry,” you let go of his dick to pat his cheek. “You’re going to creampie me for as long as I need.”

You slide your fingers from his mouth and kiss him, drooling so much saliva he has to swallow before he chokes. Pulling away, he coughs as you shove your fingers back into his mouth.

“A little aphrodisiac never hurt anyone,” you laugh, raising your hips to slide your slacks and panties completely off.

The blood rushing through his ears muffles anything you just said. You settle back down, sandwiching his cock between your thighs to grind your wet slit against him. Using your free hand, you grab the base of his dick and notch it at your drippy hole. Leon groans against your fingers as he feels you sink all the way down on him, balls pressing against your ass.

You raise up with a mewl and sink down on his cock again.

“Oh, this feels…” you trail off with a moan.

He can’t stop himself and starts sucking and laving his tongue against your fingers. His whole body feels like it’s on fire and wants nothing more than to cum deep in your fat pussy. He knows he shouldn’t like it, but Leon can’t think past the slow deep strokes of his cock fucking your cunt.

“Good boy, you’ve learned your place so quickly,” you croon and he groans, arousal making his thoughts syrupy.

“Your balls must be so full,” you simper next to his ear, walls fluttering and squeezing his cock like crazy. “It aches, doesn’t it? You just need to empty those fat, heavy balls deep into my pussy; it’ll feel so good.”

Leon can’t take it, your snug little pussy gripping his cock like you were made for it. Shuddering, his eyes roll back as he spills deep inside your cunt.

“Ooh, yess, that’s it Agent, breed me full,” you murmur against his ear and he shoots off a few more ropes of cum into your clenching hole.

“Doesn’t that feel nice? Breeding such a wet, needy pussy?”

His thighs twitch and he whines around the fingers in his mouth. It’s like you’ve dosed him with something, he thinks, as his cock thickens again, stretching your cum filled pussy once more.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” you promise.

#kinktober #kinktober 2024 #lipglossanon Kinktober 2024 #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #Leon s kennedy x las plagas!reader #las plagas!reader #fem!reader

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rapturously · 9 months ago

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can i please request paul from lost boys and stockings, this has been ingrained in my mind, anything else is up to you

➾ pairing ; paul (the lost boys) x fem!reader.

FORMAT: drabble — requested.

WORD COUNT: 3.7K.

WARNINGS: SMUT! (mdni), paul wears a choker in this fic, groping, making out, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cumplay, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), face-sitting, stocking/hosiery kink, scent kink, marking, biting, hair-pulling, paul is a boob guy for sure, dirty talk, fingering (f!receiving), tiddy sucking, body worship

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this request was ridiculously sexy and changed the trajectory of my life ngl :’) so thank you for this because I had a ton of fun writing it !!! as always, thank you all so much for your love and support! I’m still trucking on with requests!

Vibrant strands of ribbon held a sizable black box together as it sat directly in front of you, poised along the edge of your makeshift vanity. It was intended to be a surprise — if you could even call it that.

Paul made some offhand comment about wanting to see you in something sultry, dolled up in lace and frilly garters — you wanted to fulfill that for him. You couldn’t tell if it was serious or simply a colorful joke intended to make you flustered.

Out of sheer impulse and the desire to shock Paul, you’d bought lingerie at a shoddy boutique down at the boardwalk, complete with sheer, black stockings. You wondered if he’d care about it when he saw you — it was going to come off, anyway. What was the use?

Candlelight danced across the cavernous alcove of your nest, casting flickering shadows across the tapestry-covered walls. The box seemed to call to you like a siren’s song, tempting you — you hadn’t even tried it on yet, either.

A gilded mirror sat soundly amongst your belongings, as if coaxing you closer. Curiosity and the desire to see how you looked in such risqué garments got the better of you, prompting you to push yourself up from your mattress.

You had time — Paul was out hunting, and you could do a little twirl in the mirror and take it off.

You clamored toward your vanity, hastily plucking the box from its perch as you unraveled the spool of ribbon that held it all together. It fluttered toward the foot of your bed, preparing to be long forgotten as you unveiled the sheet lace and black fabric.

Satin and lace glided between your fingers as you caressed the material, holding up the set toward the glower of orange light. You promptly undressed, not that there was much to begin with aside from an oversized shirt. It smelled of stale hairspray — Paul, no doubt.

It felt strange, putting on a getup that you never envisioned yourself in to begin with. Admittedly, your confidence had blossomed since being with Paul — he was unapologetically himself, and that had some effect on you, too.

Once you shed your shirt and undergarments, you reached for the lingerie, tugging it on with a bit of brute force. It was tight — unnaturally snug, but you assumed that it was intentional. You sat down on the edge of your bed, tugging the stockings on until they perched around the middle of your thighs.

Your reflection was nothing short of stunning — a goddess incarnate. You stepped closer, twisting and turning every which way, occasionally plucking at the placement of the fabric. Some of it felt itchy and uncomfortable, as if it’d strangle you.

Smoothing your hands across your stocking-clad legs, you continued to twirl, catching glimpses of yourself in the glittering glass. You contemplated keeping it on, maybe throwing a robe over it, but it seemed a little too tacky for your taste.

“Woah,” You nearly jumped out of your own flesh at the sound of Paul’s voice. You couldn’t see his reflection — he ceased to exist in the mirror, standing at the entrance to your nest with a dumbfounded expression. “What’s all that you got on, babe?”

Heat crawled over your flesh, causing you to burn with embarrassment. You bit at your lower lip, deliberately swiveling around until you faced him. “It’s nothing.” You mumbled, reaching for the corner of your blanket in an attempt to cover yourself up.

Paul was swift, as fast as a bolt of lightning as he flicked the blanket aside, circling around you like a wolf would a lamb. He let out a whistle of approval, clearly reveling in the sight of you. “Nothing? C’mon, you’re not serious, are you? You look gorgeous.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” You confessed, twisting your hands together as you rocked up and down upon the balls of your feet. “I know you said something about wanting to see me in lingerie. I wasn’t sure how you’d like it.” With a soft exhale, you felt his hand brush against your waist.

His mouth curled into a lopsided grin, eyes bright with obsession and adoration. There was something mildly crazed about his expression, but he was beyond thrilled with the visual feast he was being treated to. “How I’d like it?” Paul inquired, seemingly bewildered.

There was a sudden softness to his tone, as if he cared little for what he thought. To Paul, you were nothing short of delectably gorgeous — it didn’t matter what you wore.

You nodded, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “I suppose so. I mean, it’s just lingerie. I figured you’d rip all of it off anyway.” You mused, watching with intrigue as his countenance contorted into a look of shock.

“Might rip some of it,” Paul smirked, digits hooking themselves into the front of your panties. “But these?” He gestured toward your stockings, which rose up to the middle of your thighs. “These are gonna stay on.”

With a sense of finality, Paul grabbed your hips, sitting down on the bed with you planted firmly in his lap. He ran his hands over the sheer material covering your thighs, feeling his cock twitch inside of his jeans. You were elated, draping your arms around the back of his neck.

Your fingers dove into his stiff, coarse mane of blonde tresses, raking through until you’d grabbed at the roots. Paul kissed you hard, open-mouthed and deliciously sloppy as he grabbed at the swell of your ass. Your breasts looked perfect in that brassiere, but he preferred to see them unclad.

“Shit, baby, you smell so good,” Paul groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck, littering every inch of flesh with sloppy kisses and bites. “You look so fuckin’ hot like this.” He murmured, and that made you shiver in delight, attempting to press your thighs together.

A swirling, molten heat sank into the pit of your stomach, causing your back to arch into his embrace. Your mouth clamored for his, your lips colliding with one another’s as he groped at your thighs. Paul thoroughly enjoyed the way you looked in stockings — mesmerizing, really.

The gesture was thoughtful — as much as Paul found some sentiment in it, he cared more for fucking you within an inch of your life in those stupid stockings. His mind veered off with lascivious thoughts, all of them purely unholy as he swept his tongue across your lower lip.

Those wandering hands of his immediately reached for the clasps of your brassiere, but instead of trying to properly remove it, he simply tore it apart. You gasped, watching as he discarded the material somewhere on the ground, absentmindedly licking at his lips.

“Paul,” You huffed, able to feel his erection grinding into your core. Goosebumps coalesced along your spine as his hand danced from your back to your hips, digits skirting underneath the waistband of your panties. A soft moan escaped you when he made contact with your aching cunt. “Please.”

A thin sheen of slick coated his eager digits, and Paul wasted no time in touching you. He was grinning, appraising you with a look of passion. “Wet for me already, babe?” He crooned, pressing his mouth against the column of your throat.

Your head bobbed up and down in a lackadaisical nod, lips agape as a simpering moan escaped you. “Feels so good,” Without missing a beat, his thumb grinded into your clit, dragging around the bundle of nerves in agonizingly-slow circles. “I need you so bad.”

“Yeah?” His voice emerged as a tantalizing purr, tongue sweeping across your jaw. Your flesh tasted velveteen, saccharine upon his tongue. There was nothing sweeter than you — his human, his mate. “Need you more.” Paul teased, nipping at your earlobe.

The ghoulish choker adorning his neck served as the perfect anchor as you hooked two fingers beneath it, dragging his mouth back to yours. The enthralled look within his eyes made your breath hitch, cunt clenching pathetically around nothing at all.

Heat and pure tension bled between the both of you, and Paul’s eyes became dilated with lust, glistening with a golden sheen. He kissed you hard, fingers burying themselves between your thighs as he pushed two digits inside of you.

A pleasured gasp escaped you as you rocked atop his hand, savoring the sensation of his fingers pumping in and out of you. The heady, honey-thick scent of your arousal was a delectable smell to him — and Paul wanted so much more.

His attention with kissing was notoriously short-lived as he kissed his way down to your chest — his favorite. Paul licked his lips as if he were preparing to have the most delicious meal, pursing his pouty mouth around one of your nipples.

A calloused palm encircled your other breast, groping and kneading into the soft, pliant flesh. He pinched and tugged at your nipple, mouth suckling at the other. His hand was gingerly rocking back and forth between your legs, pistoning in and out of your tight cunt.

“P—Paul!” A whine tore past your lips, hips jolting and surging into the rhythmic ministrations of his hand. Whatever had gotten into him, you loved it — you wanted him to destroy you. Your hands tugged on his mane of sandy-blonde tresses, head rolling backwards.

“You’ve got the prettiest tits, sweet thing,” Paul groaned against your flesh, mouth hotly returning to your chest. He sucked and nibbled until you were squirming, deciding to switch sides and shower the rest of you in attention. “Wish I could stay here forever.” He mumbled.

Another wave of heat rolled through you, your expression a concoction of pleasure and embarrassment. His compliments were delightful, but sometimes you didn’t believe them. One of your hands fell into his lap, palming at his jean-clad erection.

“Can if you want.” You uttered, feeling his lips curl into a devious grin around your breast. You kept one hand curled into a tight fist, grabbing at his hair as the other wrangled his belt off. It felt unfair that Paul was doing everything.

Paul thoroughly enjoyed listening to your thoughts whenever the two of you fucked — and he didn’t feel like he was doing everything. He wanted to, anyway. “Lookin’ so gorgeous in these,” He huffed, hand dropping to your thigh as he hooked it behind your knee. “Could you wear them all the time? Just for me?”

It was hard not to giggle at Paul’s subtle demand, though the noise quickly tapered off into a moan when his teeth grazed your nipple. His digits slowed, sluggishly rutting in and out of your cunt, thumb focused on playing with your clit. You whimpered, unable to keep from writhing atop his lap.

When he tore his mouth away from your breast, he continued his path of bites and hickeys, leaving behind a trail from your collarbone to sternum. Paul knew what he wanted, shedding his jacket as he tugged his hand away. You groaned, grabbing at his wrist in an attempt to redirect him.

“Please don’t stop,” You whined, feeling his body vibrate with soft chuckles. Paul wasn’t one to edge you like this, but he seemed to have something in-mind. You watched as he moved back on the bed, laying down all the way. “What are you doing?”

Paul grinned, wolfish as could be as he wrapped his fingers around the waistband of your panties, and pulled — the sound of fabric being torn asunder reverberated throughout the alcove. He bumped you up towards his chest, hands hooked behind your knees, digits caressing the material of your stockings.

“Lettin’ you sit,” He mused, and when you were close enough, he kissed your inner thighs. “Unless you don’t want to.” Paul’s nose wrinkled in amusement when you immediately shook your head, knowing exactly what he had intended for you.

“Please,” You bucked forward, desperate to sit on his face. “Paul, please!” You begged, shamelessly pleading with your boyfriend to let you ride his mouth. He hadn’t done something like this before — the opportunity was far too tantalizing.

Through thick lashes and a cheshire smirk, Paul deliberately moved you forward, handling you as if you weighed nothing at all. He bit and kissed at your thighs until he sat you down on his face, wasting no time in lapping at your aching cunt.

If it were up to him, he would’ve stayed here, glued to you for the rest of the night. He was notoriously sloppy and messy, tongue greedily lapping along your slit, hands caging you in behind your knees. You moaned, fingers twisting into his hair, hips rocking forward just slightly.

His cock throbbed within his jeans, feeling confined and uncomfortably snug. Paul was unabashedly passionate, lips sliding from your cunt to your clit, stubbled jaw grinding against your inner thighs. He could feel your nylon-clad knees squeeze toward his head.

Your stomach felt like mush, a pit of heat and swirling warmth as you nearly collapsed altogether. His lips pursed around your clit, suckling and teasing that sensitive clutch of nerves before he returned to lapping at your core, interchanging the two.

“Paul,” You moaned, knowing that you wouldn’t last in this state. Every fiber of your being burned with something incredible, a sense of ecstasy that made you shudder in delight. Paul urged you forward, mouth relentlessly assaulting your cunt until your legs quivered. “Paul!”

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, as if it were the only word you knew how to say. It was a chant, burned into the recesses of your mind as you rocked forward, feeling his hands relocate to the swell of your hips.

In one movement, he had you pinned down on your back, face buried between your thighs. Your legs involuntarily locked him in, threatening to suffocate him — not that he cared in the slightest. Paul’s palms clapped into the pliant flesh of your thighs, fingers slipping against your stockings.

He ate you out like a man starved, tongue raking hot embers across your aching core, hips haplessly rutting themselves against the mattress for a shred of friction. He was painfully hard, getting off on the feeling of nylon pressing into his face and the taste of your cunt.

Your back arched, hands clawing at his unruly tresses as he sucked at your clit again, a low groan stuck within the back of his throat. “M’close,” You slurred, dizzy and drunk with desire as you pushed your hips forward, feeling him drag you onto his tongue. “Fuck!”

Paul loved it when you had a mouth on you — the expletives meant that he was doing a good job. It was all the encouragement and spurring-on that he needed to help you finish, tongue dipping toward your entrance before returning to toy with your clit.

“That’s it, baby,” Paul crooned, licking his lips like a dog as he raked his nails over your leg, letting them snag on the nylon. He was enthralled by the way that you looked — naked save for those stockings of yours. “You taste so good.” He sighed, unbuckling his jeans with a sudden haste.

Between the white-hot explosion of your orgasm and Paul’s manic undressing, you composed yourself just enough to get your hands in his mesh shirt. You wanted it off, tugging at it with a sense of urgency as he stooped down to kiss you — it was hot and messy, accompanied by a barrage of tongue.

His cock was pretty, just like the rest of him.

“You really like these, don’t you?” You mumbled, hooking a leg around his hips. There was a visible spark within his eyes when you did that, chest rising and falling with a flurry of excitement.

Paul nodded, mouth tilting into a dazed, lopsided grin. “Yeah,” He confessed, shamelessly grabbing your other leg in order to hitch it up around his hips. “Fuck, you just look so good in them. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He murmured, hand falling to knead at your swollen breast.

The orange glow of candlelight bathed him in a series of softer hues, igniting his hair with a peculiar shade. You kept your legs locked around him, hands moving toward the column of his throat as he pushed his cock into you, being deliberately gentle, to start.

He looked perfect — that choker he wore around only made him prettier.

You coaxed him close for a kiss, open-mouthed and full of an unrestrained need as he began to fuck you at a steady pace. Paul could get rough and wild if he wanted to, but this time, he seemed fixated on slow and steady — that was more than enough for you.

Your nails raked across the nape of his neck, twining one fist into the roots of his coarse, stiff tresses, the other applying pressure against his neck. The groan he released into your kiss made your cunt clench around his cock, body simmering with another pleasant wave of heat.

Paul bit at your lower lip, sharp enough to withdraw a pearl of blood. He lapped at it before you could say anything, grinning like a wolf, eyes lascivious and stirring with lust as he moved forward. His pace increased into a steady rhythm, fucking you with an incendiary passion.

“Don’t stop.” You whispered, voice hoarse and strung-out with desire. Your chest blossomed with adoration, meeting his cerulean-eyed gaze as your hand trailed from his neck to his jaw. Paul appeared mesmerized and transfixed, hues glistening with a golden sheen.

With another roll of his hips, you lifted your body just slightly, colliding with him. A soft moan escaped you, heat crawling across your flesh, stomach turning to liquid. Your legs tightened around his hips, feeling his lips kiss their way down to your chest once more.

Paul shamelessly took one of your breasts into his mouth again, lips pursed around your nipple as he sucked and bit at the sensitive bud. The steady roll of his thrusts soon increased in pace, cock rutting into you as he reached every perfect spot imaginable.

You whimpered, back arching off of the wrinkled, tousled sheets and into his ministrations, eyes fluttering shut. He showered your swollen chest in constant attention, alternating between suckling and kissing as he hungrily bit at your collarbone. The crescent-shaped indents were merely extensions of his affection.

“So perfect for me, baby,” Paul mumbled against your silken flesh, fucking into you with a noticeable fervor as you squeezed his his hips again. The scratch of your nylon stockings against his skin made him shiver, bucking into you as he kissed at your tits. “Fuck, you’re all mine.” He groaned.

His noises were like music to your ears, breathy grunts and sighs, shameless praises that made your entire body tingle with bliss. You tugged on his tresses again, whimpering when he dragged his cock out nearly all the way before pounding right back into you.

Inch by perfect inch, he filled you up, littering your body in countless marks as if you were a canvas, made just for him. His hands grabbed at your thighs, kneading and groping at the pliant flesh there as he rocked forward, huffing and grunting as he picked up speed.

A dizzying sensation washed over you, ecstasy intermingled with love. He was all over you, consuming you like a fever that you couldn’t sweat out — and you didn’t want to.

Between the flurry, rushed clamor of lips, tongue, bodies, and heat, your scent was emblazoned within Paul’s mind, burned there for days to come. His senses swam with only you, something so overwhelmingly intoxicating for him. The excitable thrumming of your heart made him exhale, fucking into you again and again.

A moan tore past your parted lips, feeling Paul’s rutting slow to a crawl as he pushed into you one last time. A soft grunt escaped him as a few ropes of hot seed filled you, but he pulled out halfway through, painting your stomach and tits in a sticky sheen.

He was aiming for your chest — mostly.

You came in-tandem with him, cunt clenching around nothing at all as you dropped one leg from around his hips, regaining your composure. You caught your breath, letting out a soft huff as you watched him roll away from you.

“You should clean up your mess.” You giggled, grabbing at the corner of one of the blankets strewn across the ground. Before you could clean yourself up, Paul returned with a cloth — wherever he’d gotten it from, you had no idea. He perched himself in front of you, wiping away his cum from your body.

“M’not sorry, babe. You look pretty like that,” Paul smirked, hair a disheveled, crazed mane of flaxen-gold as he tossed the rag elsewhere. He unceremoniously fell onto the mattress in a heap. “You’re keepin’ these on — permanently.” He flicked a finger against your stockings to make his point.

An amused chuckle escaped you as you shrugged your shoulders, settling down beside him. Paul sluggishly crawled over to snuggle, resting his head atop your chest as he’d done several times before. “I don’t know, I like surprising you.” You mused.

Paul snickered, tracing idle, sweet patterns into your leg, other arm hitched around your hips. “Oh yeah? You got any other surprises?” It was an open-ended invoking of a challenge — and you had some ideas.

“A few. You’ll have to be patient.” A gasp left you when Paul playfully bit at your jaw, unable to keep his hands and his mouth off of you. The nest smelled like you — and the scent of sex. Those were his favorites.

“I don’t know about that, sweet thing,” He uttered, squeezing into your hips with a lascivious expression. “I’ve got a few surprises of my own.”

#slasher x reader #slasher x you #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys x you #paul tlb x reader #paul tlb x you #tlb paul x reader #the lost boys fanfiction #the lost boys #paul tlb #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfic #slasher fandom #slasher x y/n

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wynnyfryd · 7 months ago

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Trailer park Steve AU part 62

part 1 | part 61 | ao3

cw: violence, off-hand mentions of drug use

Light bleeds through the cracks in the boathouse walls. Max is the one who found it, spotted the glowing bulb over the door and called them down the slope behind the house to check it out, and now Steve leads the group inside and clings to his nail bat in a way he hopes is reassuring but is probably just putting everyone else on edge.

Can’t really be helped, though.

Place gives him the creeps.

It's dark and dank, overwhelmingly humid, with a smell like mildew and old food over a layer of fear sweat, and the wood groans beneath their feet while the walls sway with the breeze. Makes it feel like the room is breathing, like they're standing inside of a haunted lung.

Steve braces himself in the middle of the room, head on a swivel while the group fans out around the edges, dipping in and out of shadow. Dustin calls for Eddie. Max checks the latch on a window. Robin points her flashlight at a pile of food wrappers and says, "This looks new."

Steve flexes his fingers on the bat; picks up an oar, too, just to be safe.

"What?" Dustin snorts. "You gonna dual-wield against your boyfriend?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "He's not my—"

"—Ex-boyfriend, then, whatever. Still can't believe you never told me about that."

“Okay,” Steve huffs. Dustin’s grumpy muttering sounds more hurt than he’s letting on, but he’s letting on plenty, and Steve’s too keyed up to do this right now. “Can we just—” He gestures around the room with the oar to illustrate how completely not the time for this it is. “Can we not?"

"No,” Dustin protests, voice rising, “no, we can't not, Steve, because you—" He steps into Steve’s space, jabbing a finger against his sternum and backing him up to the edge of a tarp-covered boat. "—are a liar. You have been lying to me for months! And now it looks like you're gearing up to try and bludgeon my good friend with two blunt objects!"

"Shut up!” Steve snaps. He takes a deep breath; lifts the blunt objects in question, giving them a little shake. “First of all, it's not the boyfriend I'm worried about using these on, and secondly—"

He doesn't get to finish that sentence.

He doesn’t get to plant his feet.

With a noise like a war cry, something blue blurs at the edge of Steve’s periphery and launches him across the room, shoving him backward over tarps and tackle boxes until his back slams against the wall and knocks the wind out of him, and his skull smacks the wood and sets off a snow storm in his vision — muffled ringing in his ears, tornado warning wailing through a thick layer of cotton. Steve’s friends are all shouting, and there’s something sharp against his throat, and someone is barking questions at him; hot, stale breath over his chin; a fist balled up in the front of his shirt.

“Are you real?” the voice demands, hand twisting in Steve’s collar and tugging him against the sharp thing. “ARE YOU REAL?”

Steve blinks. Blinks and sways into the sharp sting beneath his jaw until the dizzy spell ends.

The scene before him comes into focus slowly.

Steve thinks, for the millionth time that day, that he must be losing his mind. That he must have lost it already.

The blurry, shouting thing is Eddie. Eddie, who is glassy-eyed and drooling like a wild animal, who is pinning Steve to a splintered wall with a shattered bottle to his throat; whose face floods Steve with such intensely euphoric relief that he thinks he finally gets why people do hard drugs.

Even now, even like this, the only thought in Steve’s head is how lovely Eddie's face is.

How grateful he is to see it again, even if it might be the last thing he ever sees.

Beside them, Dustin speaks in low, placating tones, holding out his hands and encouraging Eddie to back off. Promising that Steve’s not gonna hurt him, that they’re all just here to help as Eddie’s eyes slip over and past Steve and his body tenses for the kill.

“Not real, not real, not real,” Eddie mumbles, spit shining on his shaking lip.

The bottle knicks Steve’s skin.

“Eddie!” Dustin begs. Max and Robin's eyes are huge. And Steve—

Steve laughs. A soft, hysterical thing, barely voiced, because of course Eddie’s going to kill him. Of course he is.

He’s already been doing it for weeks.

"What happened to your knife?" he jokes wetly, tipping his head back to bare his throat.

The question snaps Eddie back to himself. Steve watches from under his damp lashes as Eddie's eyes sharpen on him, darting all over his face with sudden, painful awareness, with something dangerously close to hope.

The hand holding the bottle trembles. "...Baby?" Eddie whispers, wet eyes searching still.

Steve holds his gaze. Nods against the jagged edge.

Glass shatters on the floor as Eddie collapses into him.

—

part 63

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson #max mayfield #my writing #my fic

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thetriumphantpanda · 1 year ago

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Come Away With Me | Joel & Tommy Miller (Friday)

Summary | Your last day alone with Joel should mean you spend it tangled up together, making the most of those last moments you have alone with him. But there are doubts creeping into his mind about what's best and things truly do come to a head.

Word Count | 5.9K

Chapter Warnings | I cannot stress this enough - ANGST. Joel is a little mean in this one but makes up for it I promise. Consumption of food, explicit smut, rough sex, possessive sex, unprotected PiV sex, oral sex (f) receiving, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, breeding kink, the briefest slice of daddy kink.

Authors Note | Well, this was hell of a rollercoaster, wasn't it? Sorry for the sheer spectrum of emotions I'm about to put you through, I can only apologise. I wanted to give a HUGE shoutout to @cupofjoel for letting me brainstorm the ideas for this chapter. Her love for these characters is inspirational and I am so grateful she helped me with these ideas. And thank you to each and every one of you that continues to support this story and who love Joel, Pretty Girl and Tommy as much as I do. If you enjoy this, please consider commenting, reblogging or coming into my ask box to scream with me. And, as always, If you want to support me, you can donate to my Ko-Fi.

A reminder that I no longer use taglists - to keep up with my writing, please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs and turn on notifications to keep up to date.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

The sun is only just starting to rise when Joel wakes the next morning. There’s very little light draining in through the curtains, but he can make your face out perfectly. He thinks if he were to ever go blind, he would have looked at you so much that your face would be permanently burnt onto his brain. He can make out the curve of your cheek, the way your lips are relaxed, and the way you inhale through your nose and blow out the air through your mouth. Not snoring, per se, just another one of your quirks that he loves. Loves just like the rest of you.

He's suspected for a while now that you felt the same as he did, that your feelings for him moved beyond the love you should have for him as your brother-in-law, that you loved him with just as much passion and ferocity that he loved you with, and that was dangerous. He tries to tell himself that it’ll be okay, that when Tommy turns up tomorrow with Joshua, he’ll slink back to the shadows, become Uncle Joel again, and only have you when he has to have you, when he buries himself inside you under the watchful eye of his brother and tries to give you another baby, but he knows it’s futile. He’s never going to be satisfied again.

He drags a frustrated hand over his face, pulse pounding behind his eyes. He wants to roll over, drag your warm body into his and never let you go, wants to keep you here forever, but he knows he can’t be that selfish, so instead, he gently pushes himself up from the bed, lower back screaming at him as he does. He’s behaved liked a horny teenager this whole week, pretending that this bubble of you and him is what real life is like, and not only is he going to pay for it with a broken heart, but he’s also paying for it with real aches and pains shooting through his aging body.

He drags on some clothes, leaves you sleeping soundly in bed, makes a pot of coffee and takes himself outside. He goes to sit down on the bench near the fire pit, but he’s reminded of his confession of a few nights ago. The one where he admitted he fucks another woman but can’t bear to fuck her on her back, because she’s not you. She doesn’t sound like you, but when he’s got her on all fours and he closes his eyes, he can just about convince himself that his cock is dragging in and out of your pussy instead. She’s a nice woman, he doesn’t deny it, and he knows he’s fucking her over by keeping her hanging. He makes a mental note to call her when he gets back and call things off.

His feet take him to the water’s edge, where he thinks back to yesterday, pressing you against that wood of the jetty, fucking into you, even though he knows you were sore, because you were just that desperate for him, that desperate for another child. He almost walks away to find somewhere else to sit, but then realises this entire fucking place is just full of the memories of him and you, he’s not going to find somewhere that you don’t permeate his thoughts.

He sits on the gravel of the shore, listening as the wind brings gentle waves of the lake crashing near him. The warmth of the coffee mug is burning into his skin, but he doesn’t move to set it down – the pain reminds him that he’s alive, that he can feel things. He just doesn’t know what to do with it.

He thinks about Tommy. About how he trusted him with this sacred thing, with holding and touching his wife to give them a family, to give them their dream, and how he took that trust in his hand and fucking crumbled it to dust, falling in love with her and letting her fall in love with him. He thinks it’s kind of poetic really, because ever since they were boys, growing up in Texas with their parents, they’ve shared mostly everything. Bedrooms, cars, the weight of their parent’s dying, looking after Sarah when she was younger and her mom had left, and they’d done it without falling out, without ruining their relationship. Now, the one thing they really shouldn’t have shared is going to change it all. He’s convinced when Tommy see’s the two of them he’s going to know something has changed, he’s going to be angry, he’s going to take you back for himself and that’ll be it, so he has to do it first. Joel cannot lose his brother, cannot lose this part of his family that means so much to him.

Despite you saying you could fix it, that you had a plan, that he would trust you, he just cannot see it, cannot see a way where someone doesn’t get hurt. He’s the big brother here, the one who should be sensible, so he knows this is it. He’ll give you this baby and that’ll be it, because if he continues to cash in this one night he gets to have with you a year, he’s only going to end up hurting you both, hanging on to this hope that maybe, one day, he’ll have more. He has to be the bigger man, so no matter how much it’s going to hurt, he’s got to give you up.

When you wake, much like yesterday morning, you’re alone. You reach over to the empty side of the bed, arms under the covers, but unlike yesterday, Joel’s side of the bed is cold, which means he’s been awake for much longer than he had been yesterday. You roll onto your back, listening out for any sign of him, the padding of his feet in the kitchen, the sound of the shower in the bathroom, but it’s silent, save for the rustling of the trees in the wind from outside.

You lie there, staring up at the ceiling, thinking back to last night. To the way you’d opened your heart to him, finally. God, you loved him something fierce. Loved him in a way that made you hurt. You finally said it out loud, spoke the love you felt to him into existence. Whenever you’ve said it before, you could almost convince yourself that it was the kind of love it should have been, familial and warm, but there was no denying it anymore. This love was like fire, burning inside you, threatening to burn out of control if you didn’t do something about it.

Joel had placed his heart in your hands, asked you not to break his heart, and by God you were going to try and keep it whole. Cradle it in your hands, nurture it, keep it safe. The plan was tenuous at best and you knew it, but Tommy needed to know. You had to tell him. You would, before this week was out, you were going to fix this.

You had one more day though, one more day of being wrapped up with Joel, and you’d be damned if you were going to waste it. You drag yourself out of bed, picking out some comfortable clothes – one of Joel’s t-shirts that smells like him, and your sweatpants. You head to the kitchen, there’s still no sign of Joel. You pour yourself a cup of coffee from the pot, tip some creamer into it, when you spot him.

He's stood at the edge of the water, skimming stones across the lake. His broad frame sticking out against the foliage and the water. Almost like he can sense you’re watching him, he turns around. You smile over the lip of your coffee mug, raising a hand to wave at him, but he doesn’t wave back, just turns back around and continues skimming stones across the water.

It hurts, the cold shoulder he gives you. After spilling your hearts to one another last night, the way he fucked you like you were the last person on earth and your time was running out, and now this? You suck in a deep breath, damping down the flare of anger that spreads through you. He doesn’t get to do this, you think, not now, not today. You finish your coffee, eyes still trained on the way his back pulls and flexes as he throws his stones. Maybe he just needs time, is what you think, some space, where you aren’t constantly crowding him, constantly in his presence.

You settle on the couch, TV playing low for background noise as you try and focus on the book you’re reading. You think you lie there for hours, watching the sun move across the sky, but he still doesn’t come to you.

Your stomach growls and you think if you’re hungry, he must be as well, so you make BLT sandwiches, his favourite, and you take them down to the shore where he’s just sitting, looking out onto the water. You sit down next to him, close enough that he could reach out and touch you, but with enough distance to not crowd his space. You hand the plate to him, and thankfully he takes it, setting it between his feet, picking up one half of the sandwich to start eating.

It's silent except for the sound of you both eating and for the first time ever, it’s a little awkward. Not the usual, comfortable silence where neither of you have anything to say but are content to just be in each other’s company. You both have plenty to say to each other and you both know it as well, but neither of you want to make the first move.

“You alright?” You ask softly, deciding it’s better to just get this over and done with.

His response is short, “I’m fine.”

You sigh, frustration bubbling under your skin, “You certainly don’t seem fine.”

“I’m just tryin’ to do the right thing.” He won’t look at you, eyes continuing to face to water.

“The right thing,” You scoff, shaking your head, “What happened to trusting me?”

He’s quiet for a moment and you’re sure if you listened hard enough you could hear his brain working to come up with his answer, “It just ain’t right,” He speaks quietly, “You ain’t mine to keep.”

“You’ve changed your tune,” You hiss, “I hate to break it to you Joel, but that isn’t just your decision to make, there’s two of us here.”

“I’m tryin’ to make it easier, make sure no-one gets hurt.”

“You’re hurting me right now,” You point out, because he is, this distance is cleaving you in two, “And you’re going to hurt yourself too,” You reach out and touch his arm with your hand, glad that he doesn’t flinch away from you, “The only person who doesn’t get hurt is Tommy if you keep going like this.”

“You’ll be okay though,” He mumbles, placing his big hand over your own on his arm, “He’s good to you, you’ve got your family, you don’t need me.”

“Stop it!” You wail, “Don’t say that about yourself,” Lifting yourself to your knees next to him, hand on his shoulder to try and get him to look at you, “I will always need you Joel, do you understand me?” You grab his chin in your hand, tugging him to look at you, his eyes just as glassy as your own, “Why are you doing this?”

“What’s your master plan, huh?” He asks, suddenly talking louder, more commanding, “You gonna ask him to share you? Let his brother have you whenever he wants? That how you’re gonna fix this?”

“Don’t fucking patronise me,” You accuse, pushing him with your hands, using the momentum so you can stand, “You promised to trust me Joel, promised me you’d let me fix this, what happened to that?”

“I just don’t see how we could ever fix this.”

“You’re unbelievable,” You spit, “For once in your life could you stand to make yourself happy?!”

“Not if it means hurtin’ Tommy,” He shakes his head, “Should never’a let ourselves get so caught up in this.”

“Joel, stop it,” You’re crying now, because it sounds like he’s telling you this is it, that he’s through, that it’s been a mistake, that he regrets it, and you can’t bear that, he’s standing up now too, towering over you, “I love you, doesn’t that mean anything?”

“Of course it does,” He murmurs, “I love you too, but it was never meant to happen like this, we were never meant to love each other this much.”

“So that’s it, we break our hearts because you’re scared to ask for what you want?” You sniffle, trying to dampen down your tears, keep things together, “Scared to let me fight for us?”

“There ain’t no way any good is going to come from this.” He motions his hand between the two of you.

It’s like a punch to the gut when the words leave his mouth, because it’s a total lie. Your beautiful son came from this. The happiest years of your life came from this, and you’re pretty sure Joel’s happiest years came from this too.

“So that’s it then?”

He doesn’t answer this time, just shakes his head and sighs, moving to turn away from you, so you swivel on your heel, rubbing your hands furiously over your cheeks to wipe away your tears. You make sure to slam the door to the lodge behind you, sure that Joel can hear your anger. You walk straight through the lodge and into the bedroom, throwing yourself down on the bed, face planted in his pillow.

You wrap your arms around it, taking in a single deep breath of his scent before you scream into the pillow, sobs soon following as you let out your frustration and anger and heartbreak. Why did life have to do this to you? Why did it have to throw you down this path, desperate to have a family with a man who simply couldn’t? In this moment you curse Tommy for suggesting this whole stupid fucking arrangement and for being so kind and understanding and only ever wanting to make you and his brother happy. Curse your own heart for being so easy to fall, eager to love, and you curse Joel Miller for taking that easy and eager heart and being reckless with it. He asked you not to break his heart, yet here he is breaking yours.

Joel knew almost immediately he’d fucked up. The way your bottom lip had wobbled as you turned to walk away from him, the way you slammed the door, and the way that two hours later, when the wind was too cold and he walked back to the lodge, he could still hear you crying in the bedroom. What a fucking mess he’s caused. Trying his best to not hurt anyone, and here you are, crying into a pillow because of him.

He’d wanted nothing more than to push that door open, get down on his hands and knees and beg for your forgiveness. Take your hands in his and pray for you to forgive him. He stays in the living room, thumbing through the book you’d been reading, watching some random sports game on the tv, until he couldn’t hear you crying anymore. He’s panicking, can feel that familiar tightness in his chest at the mess he’s made, not quite sure what to do. His brain is telling him to stay where he is, to stick to the plan – it hurts now, but maybe tomorrow when Tommy and Joshua arrive, and Sarah is here, it won’t seem so bad. On the other hand though, his heart is telling him to move, to go to you, scoop you into his arms and make it all better.

Joel Miller is a weak man where you’re concerned, and he cannot bear the hurt he’s caused, can’t stand that he’s the reason you’ve spent that last day you could have had together in tears, shut in the bedroom because he pushed you away. He stands, brain going into fix-it mode. He toasts some bread, spreads a thick layer of butter on it and covers it in jam, just like he knows you like it. He makes you a cup of tea with a splash of milk. Steeling himself outside the door, he taps his foot to it, mainly to let you know he’s coming in rather than looking for permission to enter.

The room is faintly lit by the bedside lamp on your side of the room. You’re led on the bed, curled into a tight ball on one side. He’d have thought you were sleeping if he didn’t know you better – if he didn’t know exactly how you slept – the exact cadence of your breathing and the way your body went lax when you finally nodded off. You’re facing away from him when as he walks over, places the steaming mug and the plate of food next to the lamp. He sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching over to grip your wrist, pulling you up like a ragdoll and into his arms. You’re a dead weight as he wraps your arms around his neck, his own resting around your back as he nuzzles his face into the warmth of your neck.

He can’t look at you right now, knows it’ll break his heart, but he revels in the way that you tighten your arms around him. That’s a good first step, he thinks. He lets his lips press softly to the delicate skin of your neck, not in a way that it usually does when he’s trying to turn you on though.

“I’m so sorry, pretty girl.” Is all he can really think to say in this moment, but it’s poor, and he knows it.

He pulls away from you slightly, glancing at your face as he does. He was right, it does break his heart. The skin of your face is blotchy from the tears you’ve cried, eyes red and bloodshot, you look exhausted, and the heaviness in your bones is testament to that. He reaches over and picks up the steaming mug, holding it out to you as a sort of peace offering. You take it in your hands, blowing the steam away lightly before taking a sip, hissing when the hot liquid burns down your throat.

In any other circumstance, he’d laugh, press a kiss to the tip of your nose and tell you to be patient, but he’s likely going to get slapped if he tries to lighten the mood like that right now, so instead, he takes one of the slices of toast, cut into a triangle and holds it to your mouth.

You shake your head, “Not hungry.” Your voice is hoarse.

“Just a bite,” Joel implores, “I made it just how you like it.”

You don’t look at him, your eyes trained directly on the cup in your hand, but you nod lightly. His hand moves the slice of toast close enough to your mouth that all you need to do is lean forward and take a bite, which you do. He watches as you chew and then swallow and is quietly relieved when you lean forward and take another bite. He doesn’t force the other slice on you, leaves it where it is so you can have it if you want it. Instead, he lets his hand drop to your knee, warm and comforting as you sip at the tea again.

You set it down on the nightstand, finally accepting it’s too hot right now, and Joel is surprised when you turn and throw your arms around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder, crying once again.

“Oh pretty girl,” He coos, one hand resting at the nape of your neck to keep you anchored to him, the other around your lower back, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He’s rocking you back and forth, gently, trying to soothe you as you cry into him, fighting back his own tears as well. He can hear you mumbling something into his shoulder, but he can’t make out what it is.

He gently pushes you forward, “What was that, baby?”

You shake your head, sniffle again, as a fresh wave of tears start falling, but you manage to get out what he had missed you saying earlier, before you’re falling back into the comfort of his shoulder, “I love you so much, Joel.”

His hand is resting on the back of your head as you hold onto him tight, “I know, pretty girl, I love you too,” He dips down, lips pressed to the top of your head, “I’m so sorry,” He speaks again, “Please forgive me.”

You pull back from him, moving to wipe your tears away, but Joel moves quicker, palms resting on your cheeks as his thumbs brush away the drops from your face. He’s looking at you now, his beautiful, sad eyes, trained on your own, “Do you regret it?” You ask quietly.

He shakes his head, “Of course not, baby,” He leans forward, kissing your cheek softly, “I could never.”

You try and shake your head, but his hands are keeping your face still, “Then w-why,” You falter a little, hiccupping over your words, “Why d-did you say n-nothing good could come of t-this?”

He swallows, because he was wrong. So fucking wrong to say that, to say anything that he said to you earlier. He was frustrated but most of all he was scared, and he hurt you and now he’s not sure he can actually salvage this.

“I was scared, pretty girl,” Joel admits, “I’m scared of how much I love you and what would happen if I can’t have you anymore, and I thought it would be easier, y’know? Easier if I just tried to pull away, get you back where you belong with Tommy, but I didn’t mean it, I promise I didn’t mean it.”

“We made a baby,” You sniffle, “He’s something good.”

“Oh, pretty girl, you’re breakin’ my heart,” Joel sighs, God he wants to make this better somehow, “Everythin’ about this is good, I’m just a mean old man sometimes.”

Your hands are circling his wrists now, anchoring yourself to him, your eyes looking straight into his own, like you’re searching his very soul for any ounce of regret. He’s hoping you’ll see the truth, that he doesn’t regret this relationship with you, only his words from earlier.

“Will you let me fix this?” You ask, “Will you let me speak to Tommy?”

“If you think it’ll help, pretty girl, I’ll let you do anythin’.”

You seem satisfied with his answer, because all of a sudden, you’re surging forward and kissing him. Lips soft and gentle against his as he presses his hands into your face a little harder, just to make sure you’re real, that this is what you want. You open your mouth against his, letting your tongue into his mouth, his working against your own as you let out a throaty moan, swallowing it down into his own mouth as he shifts you both, laying you down onto the sheets on your back.

“You gonna let me make it up to you, pretty girl?” He murmurs, pulling back just a touch from your mouth, “Gonna let me show you how sorry I am?”

You nod, but he doesn’t move, he’s waiting for your permission, “Please,” You whine, lifting your hips into his, feeling him already semi-hard in his pants, “Make me feel good Joel.”

So he does. He reaches his warm hands under his shirt that you're wearing, pulling it up and over your head. Your chest is bare underneath it, you didn’t bother with a bra today, mainly because you’d imagined you’d be spending most of it naked anyway. He trails his hot mouth down from your neck, kissing the skin between the valley of your tits, before he’s sucking one into his mouth. Your fingers tangle into his curls, keeping his head right there as he flicks your nipple with the tip of his tongue, pulling it into a stiff peak before he lavishes it with the attention of the flat of his tongue. He pulls his mouth from you, switching sides to your other breast – callused thumb working the nipple from before as he gives the same attention to this one, all whilst you’re grinding your hips up into him, friction causing a pool of wetness to gather between your thighs.

Once he feels like he’s worked you up enough here, he pulls away, wrapping his hands around your wrists to drag your hands to your tits. He settles your hands on them, looking up at you through hooded eyes as he drags his tongue over the skin of your tummy, “Play with them,” He demands, “Use your fingers on those perfect tits whilst I eat your pussy, pretty girl.”

You do as you’re told, rolling your nipples between your thumb and pointer finger as he drags your sweatpants off your legs. You spread your own legs for him as he settles between you, his mouth licking gently over your folds, before he’s using two fingers to spread the lips of your pussy, baring your aching cunt to his face.

“Dripping fuckin’ wet for me already, darlin’,” He growls, biting into the soft skin of your thigh, sucking to leave a mark, “Always so fuckin’ eager for my cock, ain’t ya?”

Fuck, you love it when he’s like this. When his need to fuck you, to mark you, takes over, when he’s possessive with you, when he’s rough with you. When he uses his mouth and teeth to mark you as his own, even if you’re not, not really, not fully.

You buck your hips into his face, silently begging for him to make you feel good. He splays a wide palm over your tummy, pressing you down into the mattress to keep you still, as his warm tongue slips inside your hole, licking the slick that’s been gathering there for him. You get off on this, the way he laps at you, tasting you, groaning into you like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. He drags that perfect tongue all the way up your pussy, giving one singular flick to your clit with the tip of his tongue before he’s plunging two of his fingers into your cunt. You arch your back off the bed, crying out as he fucks you with his fingers, tip of his tongue teasingly flicking against that bundle of nerves. He’s rough with it, the way his fingers pound into you, but you don’t care. Let it hurt, is what you think, let me carry this delicious pain and ache with me for days so I can remember him like this.

He's pushing you so fast towards that edge. That knot that is pulled so tight inside you threatening to push you over the edge as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks.

“Oh fuck!” You exclaim, hands squeezing at your tits, “Joel, I’m-” You let out a high-pitched squeal, muscles clenching around his fingers, “Gonna come.”

He doesn’t bother to respond to you, just carries on exactly as he is until you’re literally screaming his name into the room. You push down onto his fingers and finally feel that tight rope snap inside of you, pleasure bursting at the base of your spine, throttling through the rest of your body like wildfire. You’re half aware of the fact you’re soaking the sheets as you continue to writhe your hips against his mouth. He’s pulling away from you, slipping his fingers from you, chuckling in that way that he does when he’s proud of himself.

“Fuckin’ love when you squirt for me, pretty girl,” He growls against the skin of your tummy as he trails his mouth back up your body, he’s pushing the two fingers he had inside you past your lips when he’s level with your face, smirking as you clean yourself off him, “Gonna let me fuck you now?” He asks, you moan in response around his fingers, “Gonna fuck you so good, pretty girl, give you all the babies you want.”

He pulls back enough to drag his shirt over his head, throwing it somewhere behind him, pushing his own sweatpants down his legs, kicking them off to the bottom of the bed, letting his throbbing cock free. He’s settling between your thighs, your own hand reaching down to grip him, guiding him to your aching cunt. He swats your hand away, hands gripping the headboard above you as he pushes into you.

You let out a gasp as he buries himself inside you to the hilt. He never fails to take your breath away when he’s inside you, slotting into you perfectly, stretching you just right. You’re so full of him, his body crowding over you from above as he starts dragging himself in and out of you. It’s rough, and it’s fast, he’s desperately trying to tell you that he’s sorry, that he’s built just for this, put on this earth to give you everything you wanted whilst making you feel good.

“I can’t,” Joel chokes out, “I can’t be gentle with you, pretty girl.”

You know, because he’s splitting you right open down the middle, both hands gripping the headboard as his hips slam into yours. He’s so fucking deep, his cock punching right into the depths of you. Your hands, settled on his sides, grind into his skin, nails digging in so hard you’re sure you’re going to puncture his skin, draw blood.

“D-don’t care Joel,” You manage to speak, before a particularly loud wail leaves your mouth, “Just… don’t fucking stop.”

And he doesn’t. Looking up at him, he’s like a man possessed. He’s fucking you so hard, so good, that you’re crying, tears of mixed pleasure and pain rolling down your cheeks as he tries to prove how sorry he really is, how much he regrets what he did, what he’s said. He was a fool to think he could get away with his attitude, and he will stay here, cock buried inside you for as long as he must to prove his remorse to you.

His low, rough grunts are mixing with your needy moans. He drops down, body pressed right to yours. He finds your hands at his sides, brings them up above your head, his fingers tangled in your own as his mouth bites and sucks at the skin of your neck, along your collarbone, leaving marks across your perfect skin, marking you as his own.

“You my good girl?” He rasps into your ear, breath hot against you as he uses his tongue to literally lick the salty tears from your face, “Cryin’ on my cock like a good girl, huh?”

“A-always Joel,” You mewl as he shifts your bodies slightly, his cock brushing against that spot inside you, making you cry out, “Always your good girl.”

“I know you are, pretty girl,” He grunts into your ear, “Mine, aren’t you?”

And you agree, because fuck it, you are. You are his. You’ve been his since the first time he knelt between your legs and asked Tommy how you liked it. You might be Tommy’s girl first, but you’re just as much Joel’s as you are Tommy’s. They both lay claim to you, both own you in some way, and you’re perfectly okay with that.

“Fuck, Joel,” You hiss quietly, turning your head so your cheek is pressed against his where he’s settled his face in the crook of his neck, “Please,” You beg, “Please come inside me.”

“You want me to fill you up, mama?” He asks, hips still bruising against yours, the slap of his skin on yours, the wet squelch of your pussy around him filling the room.

“Give me my baby, daddy,” You almost whisper to him, hands squeezing his where they’re still entwined above your head, “Let go for me, Joel.”

He pulls out of you abruptly, manhandling you with a roughness you’re not used to so you’re on your front. His hands pull at your hips, angling your ass up for him as he’s pounding straight back into you. He’s gathered your hands at the small of your back, your face pressed into the mattress. This new angle mean’s he’s driving into you in a completely different way as before, and you have to push your face further into the sheets, so your screams are muffled. Joel doesn’t like that though, his drags his fingers through your hair, fisting it tightly, pulling you up, so your screams of pleasure are echoing around the room.

“Don’t you dare,” He growls, “Don’t you dare hide these sounds from me, pretty girl.”

This angle is new. Your hands are gathered in one of his at your back, his other hand tangled in your hair means you’re arched off the bed for him, and you think if you could reach a hand down, you’d be able to feel him in your stomach he’s so fucking deep inside you.

It happens all of a sudden, he’s so fucking still, but you can feel him pouring himself into you, you can hear him spitting your name and a string of profanities as he lets go of the tight grip he has on your hair. He’s buried so deep inside you, his front draped over your back, the entire weight of him on your body, but he’s trying to push himself deeper into you, trying to get what he’s just planted inside of you to take. He’s just as desperate as you are for this, to see you swell with his baby again.

Once his brain is working again, he slips from inside of you, collapsing onto the bed on his back, dragging you with him. He pulls you so close, his thighs spread wide so your body fits between them, your front pressed against his as you drape you entire self on him. He grabs your hands, bringing the wrists he was just gripping to his lips, kissing softly at the skin to soothe you.

“Too much?” He mumbles into the top of your head, his chest heaving against yours as you both try and catch your breath.

“Just enough.” You mumble back into the sweat-soaked skin of his chest.

It’s silent for a moment, both of you drifting in a haze of pleasure and exhaustion, but he speaks again as he wraps those arms around you, anchoring you right where you are, “I will spend the rest of my life proving how sorry I am to you.”

“I believe you,” You muse, “I will always believe you.”

And that’s how you both fall asleep, his arms cradling you to his body. He wishes that he could freeze time, enjoy this for longer than the few seconds he has before you fall asleep. He’s sick of your time always running out, of that ticking clock counting down to the unknown. He has no idea what’s going to happen once this weekend is over. Has no idea what you’re going to say to Tommy, what you’re going to propose to him. He’s never been good at relinquishing control, especially when he can’t for the life of him tell what’s going to happen. But, if there’s one thing he does know, it’s that what he said to you last night is true. That he trusts you with his life, and he will follow you blindly into whatever abyss you’re going to drag him into.

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nanabrainrot · 1 year ago

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Leg Lock [Pervert!Miguel]

Miguel isn’t convinced you’re as adept in as many martial arts as you say; he says you can only prove it with a spar.

Warning! NSFW content ahead. DUBIOUS CONSENT - reader is oblivious the way he’s wrestling is to cop a feel and that he cums on himself :/ what a freak

Pervert!Miguel x F!Oblivious!Reader

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You were none the wiser. Your spidey senses just didn’t pick up on the ways of men - you were no mind reader. The definition of book smart but not street smart. It’s unbelievable you accepted his personal “challenge” to spar and no less showed up in this ensemble: the smallest compression shorts that was barely even the size of boyshorts and a form fitting tank with a v that dipped dangerously low to the stretch of skin between your tits.

The fact he turned up the air conditioner and had the fan looming above on full blast only served to sweeten the sight by making your nipples pebble against the polyester mix. If he put enough friction across your chest, if you were sensitive you’d surely moan or at least give him a choked gasp; something to jack off to later.

“You ready to eat your words, Miguel?” you huffed seriously. The comical difference between you two was shown in the shadow cast by the fluorescent overhead light in the spinning fan: he was standing hands on his hips and stone-faced at one end of the personal training room and you at the other, bouncing on the balls of your feet with hands already stiff in front like a boxer. It didn’t help it looked like a yippy chihuahua hounding a rottweiler for a fight.

“Just try to at least land a hit -“

You lunged forward, shin flying up to try and meet his neck only to be blocked by his forearm. His eyes widen at your fast pace, but narrow as he meets your onslaught of moves with defenses. The little wraps around your fists do graze his skin as you batter at him with a flurry of fists like a boxer, though your kicks definitely reminded him of capoeira. The speed of it had to be from mixed martial arts and speedboxing while your grace and precision was karate inspired. And he could tell you did jiu jitsu by the way you tried to get him in a leg lock, jumping up to wrap your legs around his waist and use your arms to push at his neck hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

You had to have known that move would have put you in this position: back pressed hard to the mat with no way out. You were incredibly skilled, surprising him with the flurry of fists and kicks fast enough to put him in a position where he could only really use defense but definitely underestimated what he was willing to do to best you.

Miguel had a black belt in jiu jitsu, teaching classes at the dojo Gabby went to back in Nueva York, hard pressed to raise a girl who could handle her own. If you hadn’t overestimated yourself and started off using so much energy, you wouldn’t be panting like this.

Your brows knit, face tense with focus as you gauged your next move but his mind was anywhere but this spar: his cock was against your groin. The sorry excuse of shorts left nothing to the imagination only confirmed that under it was nothing but your bare puffy cunt as his knees drove into the mat to set you in place under him, your wrists pinned under his. “You didn’t land a hit. Too big of an ego can get you -“

A hard impact of your feet hitting his pecs and sending him back from the surprise as you rolled back in a tuck and jumped to your feet back in a boxing stance. Flyaways stuck out from your messy hair from being pinned to the mat as your chest heaved, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“Can get me what?” you snorted in between short breaths.

“Get you -“ Miguel lunged forward, his legs long and strong enough to dart behind you to grab you by the waist and drag you to the floor, “-killed.”

Whines and grunts of struggle left you as you tried to get out of the compromising position: Miguel had you in a nelson on the floor, big hot palms of his hands on your neck and arm pinning back your biceps as you tried to grab at his wrists to apply enough force to get him to have a looser grip.

Too focused is a bad thing, sometimes. The fabric of your volleyball compression shorts that were more like panties rode up as your ass grinded against his groin - cock hard and twitching in his sweatpants as your feet struggled to get enough friction with the mat to be able to do a backbend or tuck and roll to use your flexibility. Dozens of possible routes flit in your mind and zero of them acknowledged you were basically being dry humped by Miguel: his grunts from the friction mistakes for grunts of effort. In reality, you were easy to restrain but the issue was your agility and speed compared to his strength - a given granted his strength based workout regimen versus yours, which focused on flexibility.

“If powers were allowed, I’d have had you pinned in the first minute,” you panted, lip twitching in focus as you continued to roll your hips against his as you struggled to find footing to be able to utilize your flexibility and roll over him. He must be smart, you think (stupidly), as his legs suddenly push against the mat and have him standing: yet you hang there in a full nelson. “That’s not funny, Miguel!” you hissed, as his forearms settled under your thighs during the shift and the palms secured at your neck still. The size difference suddenly made you realize why spars had size and weight classes; but there were no weight classes with the villains and anomalies you regularly encountered, he chastisted as he offered a spar with you.

If you had your powers allowed, you would’ve had him against the ceiling by now. But you shook on it. God, you wish you had a weaker sense of integrity and just said fuck it and blasted him with your power to get out of this humiliating debacle. The only thing left in reach was his fingers.

Your hands fly to the fingers locked behind your neck keeping you mid air as you resorted to a dirty trick: scratching with nails. A low hiss emits as he drops you and loses footing, landing on top of you: groin to ass. The dirty trick leaves him huffing with anger as he suddenly has you in a head lock, your hands batting at him pathetically. You just wanted to tap out, he could tell, but he just needed one thing: to have his way.

His hips roll into your pussy, feigning it as trying to keep you pinned by shifting weight from knee to knee in a side-to-side motion and lurched forward sometimes. The fact you kept bucking your hips to get out of the pin only helped him along; the warmth of your pussy would have been nicer, but next spar. Knowing your competitive nature, you would go along with a naked wrestling competition if it meant coming out on top.

But he’s on top right now, his hot breath fanning your ear as you mewl and bat at the thick forearnms around your neck pinning you. “F-fine…!” you whine out, borderline pornographic in your pleading, “you win!”

His hips roll again, with you still bucking your hips back into him. “Say it again.” He knew your whiny nature, the way when you wanted your way you would do anything: most missions consisted of you pleading and begging to see the sights on other dimensions or stop by food stalls like you were on vacation. He fucking spoiled you but even bratty bitches need discipline.

“You win!”

“Louder!”

“You win, Miguel!”

A hot pant. Fuck, the way you were whining and bucking in this position was getting him close. A few more words and he’d surely cum, wearing the dark sweatpants and a long baggy tee that loomed over where the wet spot would be specifically with this in mind. No powers put you in a disadvantage, the height and mass difference would never let you win. A spar was just a reason to hump you as you stupidly wriggled and cried out. One more sentence, then he’ll cum, cum and stop. The urge will leave and he can go back to being sated and content without distraction; he was too busy to keep entertaining this disgusting fantasy of fucking you every day and night. Just one more sentence to freedom.

A hot puff of air in your ear before a deep raspy voice hisses, “Now tell me I’m big and strong and I’ll let you go.” Your eyes widen as you look in confusion at the mat, his face behind you as you chest was still glued to the mat thanks to his weight.

“T-tell you what?”

“Say ‘you’re too big and strong for me, Miguel.’” A roll of the hips.

“No! I can still win!” you buck back harder, hips shifting hard between his groin and the mat to try and get out. Your nails sink into his forearms but he doesn’t move. You can’t get out until you say it. It’s a shameful dawn of emotion that wounds your pride. But you can get stronger, spar with him more, until you can beat him - powers or no powers.

“Say it and you can go.” The wriggling winds down as time stretches, you finally going limp and panting on the mat with his weight still crushing you.

A gulp.

Softer than a whisper, “You’re so big and strong, Miguel…”

The cum spurts into his briefs, inevitably ruining them and leaving a wet spot in the pants. You’re too tired, limp, to feel his clothed dick twitch against your pussy through the shorts.

You don’t even feel happy when he clumbers off you; in your universe you were a master of the arts and your powers only enhanced this great feat. Yet, you still lost to your boss. You want a rematch.

No.

You need a rematch.

He clumbers away, slow heavy footfalls and low panting breaths as he strides to the exit of the personal training room. Sitting back on your heels still panting but back to him as he walked away you find enough energy to ask: “Same time next week, Miguel?”

You’ll win. You’ll run a million miles, do a thousand crunches, and eat your weight - no, Miguel’s weight in protein and come out victorious next week as you always do. Just because he’s a man it didn’t mean you had no chance: it only meant you had to work harder.

Quiet. He’s panting though, you hear it, but the strain in his voice isn’t just from the spar: “Same time next week.”

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hope yall likedd feel free to leave requests or anything in my inbox! its p empty rn - I have a hobie fic coming next <3

#nana writes spiderverse #nana writes #miguel x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader smut #miguel o’hara x you smut #miguel o’hara x y/n smut

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wingedblooms · 6 months ago

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How do you interpret "A thing of secret, lovely beauty" in the bonus chapter? The first time azriel used it to describe the necklace. But the second time it was used to describe gwyn's happy smile.

Hello there! I feel like this is a trap. But as I’ve discussed before, readers interpret this differently and that’s wonderful. Interpretations can also evolve over time after rereads and new information. Mine has mostly remained the same (except for some specifics surrounding the second usage 😆). Part of my interpretation drifts into theory. As a reminder, theories are predictions of what might happen based on patterns of evidence in the text. No theory is guaranteed and it’s important to read any new books in the series with that in mind.

That said, Sarah is a fairly predictable and repetitive writer, so I try to pay close attention to her patterns. Many of my theories are based upon those patterns. For example, one of the most apparent patterns is that fate comes in threes. There are three faces of the Mother. Three sacred sister peaks that are barren and thrumming with power. Three stars that shine above Ramiel, the heart of the Night Court, each spring. Three blessed sisters who have been marked by fate and Made fae. Three winged males who found each other and are drawn to the three blessed sisters. There’s more evidence, but I think you get the idea. It can be helpful to use patterns to interpret and predict what Sarah has planned (e.g., the first and second sister have had their stories told, so it would follow that the third is next; there is also strong evidence that what she contributes to the narrative is needed next).

You’re probably wondering how this relates to my interpretation of the phrase secret, lovely beauty. Before I connect it to another clear pattern, I want to put it in proper context. When we first see the phrase, it is used to describe the necklace Azriel gifts to Elain. The setting in which this occurs is romantic: faelights dimming to cast little pools of gold amid the deep shadow of the longest night of the year. Put plainly, this is Sarah setting the mood. 😂 Azriel, who feels lonely despite the company of his shadows, finds himself suddenly moving into the foyer and there she is:

The Faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn.

On the longest night of the year, Elain glows golden like the sun at dawn. Like a pool of gold amid the deep shadow. This description follows a pattern in their imagery together, and it is lovely.

Their interaction is also raw and vulnerable, and therefore distinct in this bonus. When they come together, Azriel allows himself to feel and those feelings run deep enough to question his people’s traditions later on. Unlike every other interaction in this bonus, he doesn’t feel the need to put on a show for Elain (i.e., a cold mask, fake smile, or lying repeatedly to avoid emotional topics). In other words, he is himself with Elain. They share a quiet understanding and powerful attraction.

Now that we have this context in mind, we can move onto the the necklace and its chaos-inducing phrase:

The golden necklace seemed ordinary—its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of colors would become visible.

A thing of secret, lovely beauty.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, “Put it on me?”

Notice something interesting here? Both Elain and the necklace glow with their true depth of color—golden and rosy, like the dawn—when faelight shines upon them. Dawn is when first light appears (pun definitely intended) and the world reawakens. Elain is linked to the rose amulet, and that follows a pattern of imagery she has already established in the text. This is the pattern I mean:

“I painted flowers for Elain on her drawer,” I said, sawing and sawing. “Little roses and begonias and irises.” (acomaf)

She was a rose bloom in a mud field. Filled with galloping horses. (acowar)

Even in the middle of winter, she was a bloom of color and sunshine. (acofas)

She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.” (acosf)

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer. (acosf)

This gift not only reinforces the pattern, but it also holds a secret message that has become central to Elain’s arc: the rose (like Elain) has hidden depths. The Feysand bonus echoes this theme. Elain’s outburst stunned her family and Rhys suggests there is more to her than they’ve seen thus far.

“I think she’s kind, and I’ll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also think we haven’t yet seen all she has to offer.” A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” (Feysand)

Feysand then agree to help Elain after Nesta, which is Sarah’s way of reinforcing the other pattern she put in place (fate comes in threes—first Feyre, then Nesta, and now Elain).

With Elain’s character arc in mind (and the fact that she herself has suggested she doesn’t feel seen), Azriel’s gift is actually incredibly insightful. He gave her something that says, I do see you, and he knew she’d be able to appreciate its meaning. Even the words that describe her gift—secret, lovely beauty—refer to specific things we learn about Elain in the text.

Secret: Feyre compares Elain’s ability to learn and keep secrets to Azriel’s own secrecy (one of many parallels). She is a seer, after all. What other secrets might she know and keep hidden from others?

Before Feyre could reply, Azriel said, “What about Mor?”

Feyre smiled. “Elain was the only one who guessed. She caught me vomiting two mornings in a row.” She nodded toward Azriel. “I think she’s got you beat for secret-keeping.” (acosf)

Lovely beauty: We learn from Nesta that their mother predicted Elain would marry for love and beauty, which I think @juusworld5728 observed sounds a lot like lovely beauty:

My Nesta. Elain shall wed for love and beauty, but you, my cunning little queen…You shall wed for conquest. (acosf)

This last phrase, love and beauty, is connected to the rose Papa Archeron carved for Elain. It is a symbol of love and beauty and goodness in the world, and for such a simple carving, it has unexpected weight just like the rose amulet has unexpected depth (Sarah hit this theme hard).

Her father had died for her, with love in his heart, and Nesta held love in her own heart as she pulled the small, carved rose from her pocket and set it upon the gravestone. A permanent marker of the beauty and good he’d tried to bring into the world. (acosf)

Why does this little rose matter? It is also linked to Wyrd. In acosf, Nesta felt the need to place Elain’s rose next to a figurine of what we now know is farseeing and benevolent Wyrd. Wyrd, the higher force of the universe, found Elain so lovely that she gifted her such powers and purrs like a kitten in her presence. They even share the same blooming imagery. Over time, Wyrd became known as a goddess (probably because she uses female forms as vessels, if I had to guess based on the evidence), but she is in fact a force, a mother to all, a cauldron brimming with creation. Now, where have we heard those terms before?

Gwyn huffed a soft laugh. “In part. We honor the Mother, and the Cauldron, and the Forces That Be. We have a service at dawn and at dusk, and on every holy day.” (acosf)

Gwyn’s words nearly echo the Under-King’s in hosab and hofas. The priestesses worship Wyrd. Let’s look at the description of their worship:

The music was pure, ancient, by turns whispering and bold, one moment like a tendril of mist, the next like a gilded ray of light. It finished, and Merrill spoke about the Mother and the Cauldron and the land and sun and water. She spoke of blessings and dreams and hope. Of mercy and love and growth. (acosf)

Elain’s strength lies in finding beauty even in dark chapters. She is a rose bloom in a mud field—the embodiment of blessings and dreams and hope and mercy and love and growth. The priestesses, including Gwyn, honor that benevolent force and seek to bring it into the world with their services. They are the voice of the Cauldron. And in this world, we know like calls to like. Now that we’ve read hofas, it’s highly likely that the ancient, spell-like music the priestesses perform is ancient summoning magic, which is magnified by the properties of the cavern (ahem, witch glass) in which they sing. So, is it a surprise that Azriel had every intention to return Elain’s rose amulet, a symbol of love and beauty, and found himself at the library during their worship of such things instead? No, it actually makes a lot of sense.

Azriel expressed no forethought in giving the necklace to Clotho for Gwyn. He did not select it for her and did not intend it to be a romantic gesture, which is why he tells Clotho to give it to Gwyn or any other priestess who might appreciate it. The setting and interactions in this part of the bonus are not described romantically because they are not intended to be romantic.

Clotho, who is observant like Elain, can see the shadowsinger’s sadness despite his deflection and offers him comfort in a dark moment:

Clotho’s pen moved once more. She deserves something as beautiful as this. I thank you for the joy it shall bring to her.

Her words spark hope in him and for whatever reason, he is able to picture Gwyn’s eyes lighting upon the rose amulet in his mind. The vision is a thing of secret, lovely beauty.

Some interpret this moment, a vision of Gwyn described as a thing of secret, lovely beauty, as an indication of Sarah shifting romantic pairings. I think this interpretation falls short of the full context, especially since days (in acosf) and months later (in hofas), Azriel is still upset and refuses to even discuss the topic of mates.

Rather, I think that—like the sister caverns, which are linked in song and dreaming—Elain and the priestesses (especially Gwyn) are also connected. They are part of the solution to the problem that was introduced in the first half of this bonus as well as the overarching plot. Like @silverdreamscapes, @silverlinedeyes, @offtorivendell, @willowmeres, and others I’m sure, I believe Elain—a seer chosen by Wyrd—will work with the priestesses that worship her (the most logical partnership in the series, when you think about their respective powers). It wouldn’t surprise me if a dawn service, especially if it involves groundings, helps Elain push the limitations of her powers like the dusk service did for Nesta.

I also agree with many (notably @silverlinedeyes and @merymoonbeam) who think Gwyn’s voice holds magic and, depending on what we learn, relates to being a lightsinger. That is likely the hidden depth (a thing of secret, lovely beauty) that was hinted at in the image since her eyes light upon Elain’s rose amulet. I believe @silverdreamscapes and @silverlinedeyes have suggested her voice, which summons and pierces during the dusk service, could clear mist and shadow in a vision if needed. I also think it is interesting that Gwyn is the first to sever the Valkyrie ribbon, a string tied not to a rib, but a post. Perhaps she and the priestesses could help Elain sever an unwanted bond and weave a different fate for herself, one that binds her to someone she loves? That would be the most epic end to the near-constant arguments over ships.

#wingedblooms answers #elriel #a thing of secret lovely beauty #a call and a response #but not the one you expect #Elain 🤝 Wyrd 🤝 priestesses #in other words Elain 🤝 Gwyn #hofas spoilers in this one

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fleet-of-fiction · 11 months ago

Text

Josh Kiszka x Female Reader POV

Summary: You've had enough and want to go home. He's been gone for weeks, and you're desperate to enjoy your new house with your long-term love. You just want Josh all to yourself.

Warnings: Drugs. Alcohol. Dirty talk. Fingering. Oral sex female receiving. Edging. Oral sex male receiving. Rough penetration. Degradation. Choking. Throat play.

(Original post here)

"You wanna go home, get high and fuck?"

Josh slammed his glass down onto the table and scanned the bar for anyone who might have heard you.

"Are you fucking serious?" He asked, raking a hand through his facial hair.

You begin to pout. "You know tequila makes me horny."

He nods in agreeance, almost pleased with himself for insisting on slammers instead of sensible 'welcome home' drinks.

"I fucking love it when you're all tequila horny." He whispered, grabbing his jacket off the back of his bar stool.

It wasn't just the tequila, though. Josh had been gone for weeks, serving his time as everybody else's object of desire. You'd been willing yourself to wait until he returned before giving in to your own desires, not even touching yourself in the shower until he was back where he belonged. In the fixer upper you were still working on, despite moving in months ago.

There were still boxes waiting to be unpacked in the open spaces, pictures leaning against walls you hadn't nailed them to yet. Plants sat waiting to be watered on the stairs, and a kitchen that needed bringing into the current century.

As you opened the front door, greeted by your slow progress, Josh peeled off his jacket and threw it down on the unpacked boxes. Neither if you seemed to care that there was so much to do, not when you could meander through the chaos and do what you wanted instead of what you needed.

He slinked out of his emerald green jumpsuit as he made his way towards the back of the house, you following him with equal desire to be rid of your clothes. Dropping your white skirt and halter neck on the floor. On tip toes you grabbed two beers from the fridge, Josh padding around the cupboards with his bad posture and flat feet.

You couldn't stand it when he moved around like that. In his tight little boxer shorts, waving his arms around as he tried to remember where he'd put his stash. Almost like a little old man, so endearing and yet the shape of his body made you quiver. The way his stomach planed out at the waist, every breath straining against the elastic of his underwear. His chest soft and toned, casting shadows down his torso as he switched the kitchen lamp on. Those curved arms lifting behind his head as he stopped to think. His teeth gripping his lower lip, you could feel yourself lilting towards fucking him before getting high.

His eyes came to rest on your naked breasts and the tiny pair of lace panties that sat snugly against your thighs. He recalled buying them for you and a shit eating smirk began to curl on his upper lip.

"You wanna skip to the fuck part?" You asked, feeling the chill of the beer bottles against your skin.

He shook his head, errant curls falling around his face.

"I wanna get you in that frame of mind, first." He replied, opening the cupboard nearest and peering inside. "That one where you don't give a shit about anything and just let go."

You watched him click his fingers as he reached into the back of the cupboard, pulling out a bag of weed you hadn't even known was there. Benny and the Jets coming through the speaker on shuffle.

"Don't I always welcome you home like this?" You said rhetorically, rolling your eyes before tip-toeing over to the sun room, taking Benny and the Bluetooth speaker with you.

It was the only room you'd completed. Lined with glass panes from floor to ceiling, it had been the thing which made you beg Josh to buy the house. Pleading with him. Baby, I need this... knowing he would eventually see things from your perspective. And he had, when you'd introduced the slipper chairs and day bed. The low, warm lighting and church candles. The little mosaic table where you kept all your grinders and papers. And the fact that all the windows reflected the way you fucked him in the dark.

You popped open the beers and leaned back into one of the chairs, your knees up and toes gripping the edge of the green velvet. Josh sat opposite, deftly working to build a joint as you sipped on your beer, spectating.

"Every fucking night, I had to roll a joint just to sleep in that fucking bunk." He complained, easing himself back into home life. "Listening to Jake on the phone all night, all because he refuses to sleep until dawn."

You rested the head of the beer bottle on your lip and extended your foot out, caressing your pointed toes through his hair. He looked up at you as he rolled, his line of vision coming to rest on the material covering your pussy lips. As he licked the papers and twisted them shut, you nudged his cheek with the side of your foot playfully.

"You're home now, baby." You said softly, in the sort of voice you reserved for placating his worries.

He was so sweet to you, especially when he was fresh from the road. Desperate for his comforts and your body. You never grew tired of it, that feeling of longing for him coming to an end. Like an orgasm after being choked. He lit the joint and pursed his lips around it, exhaling upwards as you watched his throat flex.

"You wanna know a secret?" You asked, taking a long swig from your bottle.

"Always." He responded, passing you the joint so that he could take care of his own beer.

"I haven't even masturbated while you were gone." You said casually, pressing the joint to your lips and pulling hard.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair to appraise you. Mouth rounded at the hilt of his beer bottle, trying to think of a worthy response to something he knew you had done to make his homecoming fuck all the sweeter.

"Was that all for me?" He asked, edging the possibility that it wasn't.

You passed the joint back to him. "Just like every fuckin' thing else."

He laughed as he took the smoke back, a white cloud billowing out of his mouth as he tempered your humour with his own. He loved it when you teased him, when you played him as your king and you were at his service.

"You could have slipped a few fingers in while we were on the phone." He chuckled, "I really wouldn't have minded."

You could feel yourself begin to vibrate. That tingle on your skin and your vision beginning to flow like a painting as you moved your head. Your pussy was already throbbing, a tangible sensation of your body responding to the weed and to your beautiful boyfriend watching you closely.

"And miss seeing the way you're looking at me right now, I don't think so." You replied, locking his gaze with yours. "What you thinkin' about?"

"Putting my fingers inside you." He replied, taking a deep breath as he dashed the joint in the ashtray and sunk his beer.

He was hard underneath his boxers. He adjusted himself with the palm of his free hand as it sat against his thigh, thick and pulsating with the thoughts running through his head.

"Whatever you want." You sighed, feeling the heat of knowing how it felt inside you as you watched the tip peek out from the edge of the material.

His eyes were half closed, his mouth open to a pout. Everything felt slow when you were like this, even the words that slipped out his mouth sounded slow. When he was stoned it was like a part of his brain awoke from slumber, and you loved how he eloquently spoke of things he wouldn't dare say when he made love to you. He was still your sweet boy, but that demon which was yours whenever he came home took it's moment to shine.

"I want your pussy juice on my fingers." He said without hesitation, shoving the table aside in one swift movement.

He cleared the space between you, on his knees by the foot of your chair. He wasted no time in pushing your legs wide apart, revealing the wet crutch between the woven lace. He slipped it aside and his eyes widened. He moaned softly at the sight of it, your glistening lips freshly waxed and smooth.

"Sweet fucking jesus." He said breathlessly, cocking his head to the side as he took in the view. "You've been neglecting her."

You looked down at him between your legs, dizzy and aching for him to touch you.

"Pay her some attention, baby. Go on..." You urged, your voice a needy whimper.

The tip of his index finger flew down your wet slit, eliciting from your lips a primal moan that was all relief. You kept your eyes on him as he slipped his finger inside, the wetness of your cunt making a beautiful sloppy sound that made him hold his breath.

"I fucking love that sound." He told you, his voice almost breaking as he slipped a second finger inside and watched your entire body shake. "Yeah, you like that?"

Your bottom lip was planted firmly beneath your teeth, your resolve hanging there as you nodded and felt your toes curl over the edge of the velvet seat. You were dripping onto it, ruining the material but you couldn't stop yourself.

"I fucking love it, baby. Don't stop." You were begging now, feeling your arousal drag you into the pits of depravity. "You like how my pussy feels?"

He smirks at the way you check in with him, leaning up to kiss you while his fingers continue to pound into you. You feel his tongue glide into your mouth, his soft lips open against yours. You allow him to venture deep, your own tongue brushing back. He only kissed you like this when he was lost to his arousal. When he was so deeply turned on, all inhibitions were smoked away.

"So tight and warm." He replied, dragging his mouth away for a moment before returning to you with more force. "And so fucking wet..."

You were grinding into his hand now. "Put your tongue on it baby, please...do that thing I like..."

You could feel yourself wilt beneath his touch. As he pulled away from your mouth, his eyes watching your tongue rest against your lip he wore the face you loved the most. The serious one where his jaw was clenched.

"You want me to sing on your pussy?" He asked, drawing a gasp from you as he pulled out his fingers.

"Josh..." You breathed his name, tasting yourself as he inched his fingertips into your mouth. "Sing on it, please..."

He knew what you meant. Your hands flew to his curls as he buried his face between your open legs. Pushing your lips apart with juiced fingers, he pressed the flat of his tongue against your clit and began humming softly. Using the vocal techniques he had learned to keep his high notes belting out for longer, you felt his tongue begin to shudder against you.

He understood what you needed. Padding his vibrating tongue against your swollen clit, his voice rich and low as he moaned against your sweet cunt. Ever since he'd been taught how to carry his voice, he'd known it would translate well when his mouth was on you. It never failed to reduce you into a quivering wreck, your knees shaking wildly as his head moved back and forth. Your mouth breathing silent pleas you couldn't speak. The sound of him swallowing your wetness making you audibly whine.

"Talk to me, baby." He grunted between swills of his tongue probing inside your entrance.

You snapped your head back and felt his soft, warm flickering increase. "Damn it, Josh! You fucking know what you're doing to me..."

Rivulets of sweat trickled down your chest into your heaving cleavage. Your skin becoming sleek with it as you moved your hips against his working mouth. The swells of orgasm threatening to end you, sweeping up from your clit into your stomach.

Instinctively, you push him back with a careful foot. His body reeling, his face covered in your juice. His breathing is laboured, a look of devilish satisfaction painted across his face as he swallowed hard.

"You were gonna make me cum in your mouth, weren't you?" You surmised, catching the way he looked down at the mess he had made.

"I'm thirsty." He replied solemnly, raking his thumb over your clit to keep you edged. "But I can see you're in the mood for something a little darker."

"I missed you." You purred, "I want to make it last..."

He nodded sweetly, in that way he had about him. Josh moved so fluidly, his mannerisms almost like a dance. Even if he was being subtle, moving from one position to the next. As he began to rise, you were greeted with his bulge as he reached in and pulled his cock out of his boxer shorts. You leaned forward, helping him to pull them down as the tip of his penis brushed against your cheek.

He tapped it against your lips. "Why don't you open that pretty little mouth of yours and show me how much you missed me?"

You shuffled to the edge of the chair, your incessantly wet cunt drenching the velvet now. You hissed at the sensation of your clit against the soft upholstery. Gripping the base of Josh's cock as you rocked your hips against the edge of the seat.

Opening wide, you looked up at him. Through the valley of the trail of hair that reached up towards his navel, finding the way he looked back down at you almost more than you could take. He was wearing that clenched jaw again.

"I missed you too." He said, almost as an afterthought, tapping his head against the flat of your tongue. "Now, let me in...be my dirty girl for just a little longer."

Josh was deceivingly big. A secret only you carried. The way he carried himself belied the truth of his girth. You often watched him when he didn't know you were looking, imagining the size of his cock when it was hard as he carried out mundane tasks.

You stared down the length of it, marvelling at the blood coursing through the veins. The pinkness of his head as you sucked on it gently. Easing him into your mouth slowly, so that you could prepare your throat for the pounding you knew would come. Because that's the way Josh liked it when he was high. When he was overstimulated. When the filthy, intrusive thoughts spilled out.

He leaned down as you nibbled at his tip, grazing your teeth against the edge. it sent a shiver down his spine as he picked up the joint and lighter, reigniting it as you began working his base with your hand and sucking down on the end of his cock with your mouth.

Tilting his head back, he exhaled a plume of smoke as you rocked your head back and forth. He almost coughed on it as your nails brushed up against his balls. You knew his weakness, and he knew you were heading towards it as you lifted up his erection and pressed it against his stomach. Your tongue bearing down between his balls, slipping beneath to run up his taint.

"Oh, you little fucker...." He growled, taking a knot of your hair in his fist. "Dirty little bitch."

Bitch was reserved for moments like these. When he wasn't quite himself. When he was a version that was so far removed from who he was in the cold light of day sometimes it felt like you were fucking his alter-ego. The one he used to grace the stage. The one who manifested himself in rage fucks when something had pissed him off. And when he came home to you and got high, he was still the man you loved. But with an edge to him that excited you so completely still, to this day.

You're well versed in the girth and ridges of his cock that feel like home to you. All the versions of Josh that spill out of his mouth don't matter when you can feel the familiarity of him sliding down your throat. You hear a familiar sigh, a low and gutteral sound that lets you know he's lost for words.

A string of saliva connects your mouth to his cock as you pull away, rubbing your spit up and down his shaft.

"Say it again." You venture, jerking him so hard his entire body shakes.

There was something about him speaking to you like that which planted a seed in your psyche. You were safe with Josh. He took another drag of the joint, raising his head to blow out the smoke as he realised what you meant.

"Oh, you are in the mood for something a little darker tonight, aren't you?" He said, that same shit eating smirk from earlier returning to his mouth. "Get your mouth back on my cock right now, you filthy little whore."

You did as you were told, a high pitched moan escaping your lips before he rutted into your open mouth. He dropped the joint back in the ashtray, completely consumed by your request. His hands pushing your head into his crotch, determined to choke you until you begged for air.

You could feel him leaking down your throat. His salty, smooth pre-cum dripping down the back of your tongue. Your eyes were watering and your pussy throbbing so hard at the name he had called you. Whore... It made you feel as if you could ruin him.

"Take it down." He ordered, keeping your head locked with his entire cock buried inside your mouth. "That's my filthy little bitch whore, right there..."

When he released you, the air rushed to your lungs and you gasped for it. He stood back and watched your hands fly to your chest. He knelt down, wiping the tears that fell down your cheeks. Palpable panic in the place of arousal.

"Shit, baby..." He fussed, "I took it too far, didn't I?"

It took a moment to regain your composure, but when you did there was a reluctance to give up the darkness. His worry dissipated as you smiled, mouth covered in saliva and pre-cum. He ran his thumb across it, sealing a kiss as he pulled you off the chair completely.

Both of you languished on your knees, the rug pressed hard into your bony flesh. You picked up the joint from the ashtray and took the last few drags of it, blowing the smoke into Josh's waiting mouth. Sharing it, savouring it. Sinking into a kiss that was soft and pleasing.

"Fuck me nasty, Daddy..." You said with a wink, knowing it was the first time you'd ever called him that.

He clamoured at what to say. Almost stammering. "Fuck... you are something else tonight."

"Maybe I should abstain while you're gone more often." You suggested, trailing a finger tip down his chest.

There was no teasing in the way he needed you now. He rounded the back of your neck with his palm, pulling you in to another soft, romantic kiss. Feather light fingers guiding your waist to rest against his, his erection pressed into your stomach.

"I know you love me baby, I want this..." You reassured him. "You can fuck me as hard as you've ever wanted to."

"Yeah?" He gauged, running his hand down the side of your face.

"Haven't you ever imagined it? Holding me down until I beg? Has the thought never crossed that cavernous mind of yours?" You asked, parting the curls which fell about his forehead.

"I've imagined a great many things." He confessed, "Mostly while I'm jerking off in hotel rooms."

"If you were ever going to tell me, tonight is the night." You said, brushing his lips with the tip of your tongue, slowly edging it into his mouth and covering his lips with yours.

You gripped his cock tightly and he shuddered. Moving your hand up and down, forcing him to speak.

"Sometimes I think about fucking you in the ass from behind." He said, almost in whisper until your pace quickened at the idea of it. "And when I think about it, you cry out and beg me to fuck you harder and it always makes me cum so quick."

"Mmm'hmmm..." You continued, "Give me details."

His throat flexed as he swallowed. "Well, I just think about parting your ass cheeks and what my cock looks like all wet from being inside your pussy when I push it into your asshole. Oh god..."

You felt the warm trickle of him leaking down your curled fist.

"When I think about you, I always imagine what we're doing right now." You confessed right back. "Calling me your dirty little fuck whore, making me choke on your big fat cock."

He stifled a giggle as you described him. "The fuck did I do to deserve you, huh?"

"No, baby..."You murmured, leading him over to the day bed. "I'm the lucky one."

He placed slow, gentle kisses from your chin, down to your neck, stopping in the front of your throat to nibble gently. You may have stopped breathing, because you could no longer feel anything but his sweet caresses. A fever burned, starting in your stomach then spreading down to your core. A heat that threatened to start a fire if he didn't fuck you soon.

There was a glint of greed in his eyes as he lapped over your hard nipples with his tongue. As if he knew what he was doing, but he would have this first. Laid side by side, surrounded by soft woollen throws and embroidered cushions, he pulled your leg up to his hip and his hand flew to your throat.

"You want me to fuck you nasty?" He clarified, moving his hips so that the tip of his cock languished at your entrance.

"Just fuck me Josh, I need it..." You begged.

His hand gripped harder, fingers digging into your neck. His cock slipped inside you, stretching you after the weeks he had been parted from you. He filled you up whole, his pubic hair rubbing against your pussy lips as he thrust.

"Is this what you want is it? To be fucked like the little dirty bitch that you are?" He asked, keeping his grip on your neck as he pummelled into you.

Your entire body was jerking against him. The heat in your belly reaching out for the rest of your body, muscle and sinew, aching at what he was doing to you.

"Yes..." You cried, "Fuck me so good, Daddy please..."

Oh, he liked that. It pleased him greatly to be the one in control. You could see it in the way he couldn't stop himself from that half-smile. That cocky side-eye.

"Filthy little fuck whore..." He breathed, his pace so quick all you could hear was your own panting against the wetness and sloppy sound of him hitting your wet pussy so hard.

He countered it with a few mutterings of beautiful and love, which spurred you on just as hard as the degradation. More than that though, was his desperation. The way he thrust into you, never breaking eye contact, never releasing your throat. He moaned so melodically you could only imagine how it must have felt for him.

You told him when you were close. Your walls clenching hard against his thrusting shaft. Every inch being taken rough and hard. You could feel when he was nearing the end, too. He loosened his grip and his thrust became more deliberate. Holding his cock inside you a little longer after each one. As if baiting his own cum to spill out.

"I love you, Josh..." You whispered between his primal grunting.

He released as he said back. "Fuck....I love you, too..."

He was still pumping his cum into you as you felt yourself let go. Both of you chiming in unison as you came down. He'd never looked more fucked out and beautiful as he did then.

"So..." You said, still catching your breath. "You wanna go back to the bar?"

The End.

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon @vikingisthenewsexy @char289

#greta van fleet #josh kiszka #fanfic #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf #fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #josh kiszka x reader

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bleedingichorhearts · 5 months ago

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𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Apologies, a remake of chapter III. Did not like the direction it was going.

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: The mini marines are wanting out of this… Slaanesh house, but worry about you.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

TW // Sex Themes(Moaning), Sleep Deprivation.

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {Chapter II} • {Chapter IV}

To work and take care of the Space Marines entrusted in your care is a lot more work than one might realize. There is a lot to it than just trusting everything will be done, fine and dandy, no. You had to make sure the little Space Marine were fed their healthy amount of being smaller than usual. You had to make sure they were on always in high places, just in case they get stepped on as some people just don’t know how to look down where they step, and their… rather high entertainment level is different with each one of them.

Saveth, the little Night Lord (Who gets adorably upset at you for calling him that. Trying to sever your fingers off as you would pin him to a surface with your hand and shake him, a yowl escaping him.) Needs a good fair share of tricks to pull and things to keep his talon-like gauntlets sharp and… ready. He really isn’t the type to sit still for others or himself, he gets rather impatient at times. Something you conclude that he is just a young Scout. Always hungry for a fraction of adrenaline unlike the more experienced ones you have seen around, lurking slowly in the shadows, ready to strike anything that opposes their bond.

Yet, Saveths’ main thing? To annoy Sarvak, his prime victim in many, many of his games, but you know better than to blame a World Eater for a Night Lords actions. Even from the start, it is quite obvious on who is doing what and who should be getting the timeout box. Which Saveth has the highest record so far in the box. Something you feel like he takes a challenge to each time he gets put in the dastardly box. Screeching the loudest in his temporary confinement until your constricting heart can’t take it any more and you pluck him out of the box; letting him rest on top of your head to redeem yourself to him.

Scarab, the tiny and blue Thousand Son needs to have many books in front of him or he gets antsy; restless. He needs to have something to occupy his mind while you are gone without him snuggling into your pockets, seeing the world from a different height and view. He’ll get more and more… worried and fidgety the more hours, minutes and seconds he thinks about you and where you might have gone and done, but he trusts that you return safely to them like you always have.

The little blue always grows agitated however: clawing up the pages his books subconsciously, staring “mindlessly” into a some walls and becomes quite the loner after sometime left alone, (which you think this little blue maybe a Liberian or an Apothecary depending on his head shakes of disappointment.) Just like Sarvak, but he isn’t as bad as the poor raging ball of red. He keeps his emotions really well maintained compared to the rest of them with him just coming behind Atheloca who comes in first for being the most calm out of all of them. A rarity for a Death Guard to be calmer than him: a Thousand Son of calculated thoughts.

Atheloca, the stink beetle likes to… wander too close to the garbages of your home, maybe, sometimes rummaging in it. Though, it’s nothing too erratic like Saveth or Sarvak, but he just can be a really stinky little dude when he’s getting into areas one would not like to be, and he absolutely avoids hygiene the best he can: slowly dogging your hands the best he can with a low, pleading warble coming out of him.

He doesn’t want a… a bath! It feels weird on his armor! Makes him all sparkly, like he’s preparing to get to an high end event like a loyal Ultramarine! Yet his attempts to try and highly persuade you and his band-mates are futile, and he always ends up smelling like a fresh field of flowers after a rather relaxing intoxicating hot bath. He won’t admit it that he’s starting to like your baths you give him, but you do notice the… obedient changes each time you give him one. Which makes you think his position might be one of a battle-brother or of a scout too.

Finally Sarvak, the blurred ball of raging red needs something to keep his rage in check, and is the most… disruptive one out of the bunch, but he doesn’t mean to! You know he doesn’t mean to absolutely destroy the underside of your couch or scratch at the bottom of your bed and cabinets, it just how the Butchers Nails affect him, and he usually apologizes after his brief run down of his session of aggravation: purring and nuzzling into your neck or the palm of your hand with a small, almost whine-like coo coming out of him as you try and reassure him that it’s not anything unfixable nor important.

However, there are two things that trigger him the most wherever he may go, and one is an already known band-mate: Saveth. Poor Sarvak gets targeted the most by the tiny Night Lord, being picked on by the insufferable creature of the shadows. Always getting teased, and poked by his band-mate, testing his will, and he swears upon Khorne he will show the lower ranking Night Lord “what’s up” (a saying he has learned from Sharons’ whore of her male mates.) once he has grown back into the prime of his body. He is not in his full potential in this sickly, smaller form of himself, and that puts him on the edge. He can’t protect himself as easily as he wants to.

The second thing that triggers him the most is of course: The Butchers Nails, and it doesn’t help that it’s also influenced with his conflicting emotions. It’s doesn’t help that he thinks so much, but at the same time he feels like he thinks so little, it’s frustrating and infuriating. Why can’t he just think clearly for once? Without the pain of the nails digging into his head, obstructing some of the vital thoughts he has? That he needs to think on. Though, with the more logical thinking he does it enrages him even more than what he already was or has been. The only days (or hours) when he was able to think is when he was with you, his… caretaker? Protector? Serf? His is unsure of what you are to him, but he knows he wouldn’t mind you being his serf. Your presence is more… welcoming and calming of that of the brat of a Night Lord.

Speaking of your presence, he can smell your scent before you have even reached the front door of the house. The keys to the house juggling the dead-bolt lock on the door, making Saveth crawl out from his spot from hiding underneath a decorative pillow on the long sofa and up on the back of it with him. Curious and eager for your return, and the rest of them cannot lie they also have been absolutely praying and swearing for your return like a Word Bearer or a Black Templar for a damn morning prayer. They all had enough of this… unnatural screeching and thumping coming from Sharons’ selection of the nest.

Don’t get them wrong, they know what she is doing up in there. That part is pretty obvious, but they haven’t expected her to be so loud about it and sound like a high-pitched Tyranid being fucked itself. It’s definitely a haunting noise they would hear for long period of time, and they really wished they hadn’t. It was so foul, they have even thought about destroying their eardrums just enough so they could regenerate, but they didn’t want you to get in trouble for their insolence. You’re the only one that has their trust the most and could save them from this… house of Slaanesh.

A sigh escapes you as you finally open the front door and close it behind you. Your hand throwing your keys on top of a small, end table near the door as you prepare yourself to take off your shoes. Your hand stabilizing yourself on the corridor wall as you grunt to untie your shoes first, Scarab and Atheloca climbing up the back of the sofa to join him as well to look at you through the dark.

You seem more… shakier than usual. Your hand vibrating as you pull of your first shoe before switching your balance to get your other one. Which you also had trouble trying to stabilize yourself on just your own two feet, and this worries the group about your own health. They cannot have someone whom they trust to be so… vulnerable just like them, especially in this house of ungodly horrors. It just doesn’t feel right.

Saveth attempts to call for your attention. All of them watching as you pause for a second, slowly processing who was calling for you over the sound of pleasured? screeching. The silhouette of your head tilting, questioning what that sound was before you even recognized the little Night Lords call.

“Saveth?” You call back, the form of your body straightening back up, standing on your two feet as you make your way into the living room. Another call leaving Saveth, trying to direct you more through the dark with just his voice and chips before you… apologize to them? Mumbling your words before you just snatch them up in your arms, and take them away to your room?

Your sudden actions definitely have them confused, but they are not complaining about it, just more curious, worried and surprisingly calm about being unwilling grabbed and being smacked together in your arms. Your presence brings them a certain relaxation to them, but they still can’t help but to be worried about you. You usually never mumble your words or just boldly pick them up. You were mostly kind to them and asked for their consent before hand, only needing to be more daring to put them in a “timeout box” when they become more… aggressive.

They shift in your arms when you just plot yourself down onto your bed and lean to your side with a bounce as you don’t even bother to change into anything else. Your nose nuzzling into your pillow while you curl around them with your body the best you could. Your fingers subconsciously petting at their armor as they make cute, little confusing sounds up at you. Trying to gain your attention, but it seems you just don’t have enough energy to move besides slowly stroking at them with a finger.

They definitely didn’t take this sudden… depletion in your energy lightly. It has them worried and a bit angry at whatever is taking your energy away from you. They want you to be aware of what’s happening around you, not to be a mindless zombie, and to be taken advantage of. That doesn’t sit right with them, and they want to talk to you about it, but you can’t understand them in this… miniature form. They only sound they make are like little chicks or baby bats squeaking up at you (or so they are informed.) So they will have to painstakingly come up with a different solution to help you in some way, but for now, they shall take comfort in your aura, and rest closely to you. The sound of your beating heart gratefully overthrowing the horrible screeching of the fighting Slaanesh-Tyranid humanoid from the room above as they can finally get some trusty sleep themselves.

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secretpostsposts · 9 months ago

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What if for every year the brothers were gone for Branch made birthday gifts for every year on each of his brothers birthday and put them in special cabinets with their names above them and he even made gifts for them for whenever he was the giver he did this in case his brothers ever came back ok now he leaves his brothers in his bunker while he is with Poppy and they find their gifts what would happen next?

(I can always try and reword this if you need me to)

well I have this idea now, I think that Branch at some point due to his loneliness clung to the idea that Floyd would return, and with him his other brothers, so in an innocent idea he gave gifts and gifts, to the point that there were too many ( Branch was about 10 or 14 years old, and he didn't know what to do with them, many of the gifts didn't seem right to his brothers, Branch remembered little of their tastes so he separated a few that he hoped his brothers would like and placed them in his own room in the depths of his closet to keep them hidden, and during a quick trip to town he saw how the other gifts could help, so at night he left them at the other trolls' houses, that made him feel less lonely.

which soon became a tradition, as did every birthday of his; Branch and Grandma made a cupcake for each brother on their birthday, Branch memorized them every day and the recipes for the cupcakes, because they were his brothers' favorite, 4 different recipes that Branch wrote down and prepared once on each birthday. , and the gifts that began to accumulate in his closet, which was now more of a storage room in his room than a closet; Even though Branch lost hope that his brothers would come back for him, he continued making gifts for them, just as a way to torture himself for being so naive.

Now we return to the present.

So on one of the miraculous days when Branch can go out without a shadow (better known as his older brothers), the boys had decided to check Branch's room, look for something that would help them keep Branch with them, they had heard him. mention a newspaper (they find it, but that's not the point), they see the closet door and a wooden closet, which confuses them, so they check the door and find sets of decorated boxes, the same color as their hair, and yellow that were clearly for Clay.

So they check the gifts, the oldest ones were cards with drawings made by a child and the 'newer' ones were more complicated or personalized; It wasn't difficult for them to realize what they meant, Branch had been waiting for them, for them to come back for him, and they didn't do it until now.

the fact that they found those gifts (and if this is becoming canon, CONGRATULATIONS FRIEND, THIS WILL APPEAR IN A FUTURE CHAPTER OF THE FIC); The fact that the idea of Branch waiting for his older brothers to come back for him, to take care of him, to be a family again, only makes the idea of keeping Branch bury itself in their heads, that their little one little brother would do all this for them, only afterward, at least in their twisted minds, that they are the only ones who deserve Branch, that they are the only ones who can love him, protect him and take care of him.

#trolls #trolls band together #brozone #trolls brozone #trolls branch #trolls john dory #trolls bruce #trolls clay #trolls floyd #beloved little brother #possessive #possessive brozone

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eri-pl · 1 month ago

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Silm reread 24A (the long-expected continuation): The Gift

Or: the Fall of Númenor

TW: well, it is Númenor. I will not give more details than the book does.

It is said among the Eldar (because where else :þ) that Men fear and worship the Darkness (which is a word the Eldar use as a synonym for "evil" which is a bit inconceivable but let's move on).

We get a recap od what we know of Men, also in the War of Wrath Morgoth was "ultimately defeated" ok I know you can't make your mind, (both Jirt and Pengolodh probably), I like this better than "he's going to fight Túrin and Fefe in a van".

Men in the East are in a bad situation, the Valar abandoned them for a time (until they send the Blue Wizards I guess) because they obeyed bad people. Generally the East is wild and bad and … :/

OK, so now we are told Manwë imprisoned Morgoth and the language strongly suggests "but he will eventually break out and do Ragnarok stuff". Huh. I did say something about not being able to make your mind, right?

Now there's the weird part about "the will of Morgoth" which sounds like a somewhat separate entity?… I get the general idea, it's hard to have him booted out and explain why there's still evil in the world. Still it all feels odd.

OK, quote (emphasis mine):

But Manwe put forth Morgoth and shut him beyond the World in the Void that is without; and he cannot himself return again into the World, present and visible, while the Lords of the West are still enthroned. Yet the seeds that he had planted still grew and sprouted, bearing evil fruit, if any would tend them. For his will remained and guided his servants[…]

Huh. Any thoughts?

Eonwë personally taught the leaders of the Edain. What did he teach them? I don't know. We are not told. But it suggests that Eonwë may have better social skills with Men than I have assumed.

It was Ossë who raised the island of Númenor (at least he does something nice and non-violent ;) ) + the Valar upgraded it and only then did the Númenoreans sail. It is almost as the history of Arda in miniature. Just make it better (Morgoth is not there, Men live longer etc), what could possibly go wrong with this?

[Yes, I read the situation as "the Valar are trying to jump higher than their heads here".]

The Númenoreans don't get sick. I forgot that part. Well, they don't until they get under the Shadow. They are taller than normal people and their eyes shine like stars. TLDR: they're like offbrand Elves and Tolkien likes shining eyes.

And they don't have many children. Why? It makes sense for Elves, but why the Númenoreans, even early?

No temples, only the open mountain. OK. and we get the mention of the graves of kings at the mountain's base even now. Does it mean that even the first kings had big decorative graves?

It was the Valar who chose Elros to be the king. I wonder why, but "he could be an Elf but preferred to be a Man" seems like a --- yes, this is a good reason.

We get a recap of the peredhil. Again.

The Númenoreans learned Quenya during the alliance with Elves, so again: they speak Vanyarin Quenya, or maybe non-Exilic Noldorin Quenya. So either they do read "ty" as "ch" or they read the "th" as "s". I don't remember which one it was. Anyway later they spoke a lot with the Elves so they probably settled with some kind of pronounciation based on whom they spoke with the most.

Nobody later reached the sailing awesomeness of the Númenoreans. The book is written in, what, late TA? Early FA? Makes sense that they sail less.

We get an explanation of why the ban. It makes sense, but also I get that it seems very arbitrary (especially with Númenor existing).

Also, a quote:

For in those days Valinor still remained in the world visible, and there Ilúvatar permitted the Valar to maintain upon Earth an abiding place, a memorial of that which might have been if Morgoth had not cast his shadow on the world.

OK, maybe it's just me adding to my little box of arguments, but this sounds to me as "Ilúvatar permitted them because they asked intensly but it wasn't a great idea". Also, a memorial. Of what might have been. This does not sound good. This sounds like the vibe of the Elven Rings.

Also, again we have mixed messages about whether Valinor was moved to the orbit or into the unseen world (made purely spiritual somehow)?

Sigh. the Númenoreans civilize the people of ME because they need it. *sigh* at least they're goodwilled about it.

Aaaaand, who could guess, with time they grow more and more focused on the bright thing that is nearby (Valinor). Just like it was with the Silmarils and almost everyone who saw them.

Also, they don't like that they die, and they murmur. And they are upset that the Elves don't die, even the ones who disobeyed the Valar and it's so unfair, the Noldor went to ME and did all kinds of bs and still they don't die and we never even get— I mean, and we die. How unfair.

Seriously, almost everyone in this book is so predictably stupid and the worst part is that knowing that all does not make us less stupid. anywa, let's continue with the reread:

"Aren't we the greatest?" Huh. :/

Manwë is sad. Relateable. I want to hug him, and it's not even from a fic. My guy [affectionate], my poor birb.

He sends emissaries to the king. Oh, he's learning from his mistakes around Feanor! <3 You'll eventually learn how to deal with the Children. <3

The Earendil argument (and as was discussed, no tuor arguement, at least not quoted in the book). And a recap of how Men and Elves work. <3 some vague Athrabeth-ish tones. <3

Thirteenth king and we're already deep in trouble. :(

OK, now we get the big graves. And colonialism. The good guys visit Gil-galad and figth Sauron together. The bad guys colonize the South.

We get a recap of Sauron. Who wants to be an overking and worshipped by Men and hates the Númenor for pretty much everything including "their ancestors fought against Melkor and me in the War". And he is afraid of them.

More kings. Some of you remember their names… 23rd king hates the Faithful the most… huh, he is not the one to burn them so I would argue with the narration here. The Elves from Tol Eressea still visit, but in secret. This has a lot of fic potential. (Also, don't tell me that nobody ever at any point of Númenorean history tried to sneak into an Elven ship and go to Aman with them. not at this point, probably. But earlier you could have someone who both doesn't like the Ban, and has contact with the Elves)

Then the Elves stop visiting, because the Valar get angry. i'm not sure why now, what exactly was the tipping point.

A recap of Andúnie, the, ugh, situation of Inzilbêth, we get a good older brother and bad younger brother— wait, maybe the Men have this scheme inverted in general? I'll need to investigate this.

Tar-Palantir. Whose remorse is too late because the Valar are already angry— excuse me, Pengolodh, my guy, what? I'd get it if you told me that the problem is that the whole nation has already been gone so far and the king could not convince them, but I really don't like what you said about the Valar here. But yes, ok, it;s probably because the nation is still full of bs. Pengolodh. Please, be so kind and spare us your opinions. Especially on questions like forgiveness. go handle your exilic trauma somewhere else. I can't find a quote for this, sadly.

So, Tar-Palantir gets a healthy dose of the typical Silm "sad about my brother" especailly that he (the brother) dies early. Aaand we get Pharazôn. Yay… :/ People love him, because he's a great general and gives out riches.

The 25th king. As I have already speculated in one post, the number 5 is not a good number.

Sauron provokes him to war. When the Númenorean fleet arrives, everyone is so scared that they run away and the army marches through an empty land, which gives me echoes of Earendil, but this makes no sense, I think tolkien just likes the image of someone (or an army) walking through a deserted land/city. I agree, it has a lot of atmosphere. they march for seven days, with trumpets, and in red and in gold.

So Sauron does his thing, but Ar-Pharazôn is not a fool—well, not this kind of fool—and doesn't trust him. which plays very well into Sauron's ringed hand.

Sauron sees the capital of Númenor and again we have someone reacting to a beuiful city with envy and hatered. (First: Melkor to Valinor in general; second: Maeglin to Gondolin; third: here.)

He tells the king a lot of secrets, and "he knew many of the things not yet revealed to Men". Like… what things? I wonder. Many of the Elf-Friends get confused and scared and switch sides. I wish I knew why exactly. It is before the violence started.

Something something Darkness and Sauron's peak bs.

Amandil and Pharazôn have been friends in their youth (yes, Pharazon liked him too!) → Fic. Potential. So much fic potential. Amandil gets higher on my "I like him because he has a lot of things to be sad about" list. So, Amandil—

We've had many, many instances of characters cursing things/characters/themselves/whatever. Now we get the only instance in the Silm of an Incarnate blessing something. (Amandil blesses the seeds of the White Tree.) which is very interesting.

OK, warning: it gets dark from here.

Sauron. The language. I know the style of description of the thing is not Sauron's fault… I suppose the style is, again, illustrative of his general vibe (which is a very smart writing btw), so, ugh. Seriously, Professor, you never give the dimensions, so we all know why you gave the dimensions here, and … yes I do get your stylistic choices, they make me want to punch him which i assume is exactly what you were aiming at.

I'm sorry, I should probably elaborate more.

So, to elaborate more: the temple which sauron built is described in a language that is vaguely reminescent of the Temple of Salomon (ie giving the exact measurements, and yes, this is very noticeable because tolkien is always very poetic, about sizes too) and the juxtaposition makes me feel offended, and this helps, because this is how we should feel at this point in the book. So, this is brilliant.

They didn't burn only the Faithful, I would assume also some criminals and maybe random people. Also, there were some anti-king conspirations, the book almost says that.

People die more, everything is awful, and of course the people of Númenor are "it's fine" (as you do). In addition to Sauron's main temple of Melkor, people have private temples. Where they burn people stolen from ME.

madness and sickness availed them; and yet so they were afraid to die and go out into the dark, the realm of the lord that they had taken; and they cursed themselves in their agony.

I really wish we had an idea how this came to the chronicler. anyway, an Elf repeating things he hard from some escaped Númenoreans about what their friends/lords/whomever were thinking. And still it sounds very much like what they would be thinking.

No, wait, there could be a better source. Imagine a noble and depraved lady (or nobleman) who left Númenor for the colonies, thinking it'd be just for a short time, and in the meantime— the whole thing happenned. Great fic potential for survivor's guilt leading to remorse and later this person as an old woman telling this stuff to an Elvish chronicler, or maybe not even so old, maybe telling the story in the times of the Last Alliance and fighting against Sauron to do at least that, and I'm not a fan of the "redemption equals death" trope, so living into old age, but without a leg or something. Maybe ending up in rivendell. that would be fitting. The guilt of it all. And yet you chose to live and to do what you can.

Anyway back to the story. Amandil. Nobody even speculates about what happenned to him. (Well, I do, but)

The Faithful prepare to sail and the seven Seeing Stones (all but one of them) given by the Eldar— by whom? I hope it was Nerdanel. Or someone wlse who actually had the right to give them away. Yes, I will assume it was Nerdanel.

Lightning strikes kill people on random hills… I would prefer to assume it's either Sauron or gossip. especially that just a bit later we learn that Sauron is immune to those lightnings. So yes, i think some elements of the "wrath of the Valar" is just Sauron trying to make people even more desperate.

I can't imagine Manwë killing people just like that, even in this context. Especially with how later he doesn't do anything to Pharazôn's army until given a very explicit leave to do so.

Logically, it is sauron killing those people.

The armada… they sail for 39 days (where did I find that information?) which I'm sure means something, but what. 40-1? 3*13? Both?

40 is a number of transformation, so 39 would be a failed or false transformation maybe?

Also, black and gold coloring. Beautiful but in the Silm, vaguely evil-coded.

Just as they break the ban(? but I think it is this moment) they get a strong wind. I guess it's Manwë saying "ok, if we have to, let's make it quick".

They pass Eressea, I think mostly ignoring it? Pharazôn sees Taniquetil and gets one good idea (to cancel his idiotic thing), but nope, he's too proud. Seriously. That's… "my guy" is not enough of a wording.

The Eldar have escaped from Tition… this makes me smile a little, because assuming the ex-exiles did move back to tirion, they do deserve a little fright. For Alqualonde. I know I know. But. It's not like any harm happenned to them. they were just terrified. Of an army of Men. Which is encamped around their island.

So yea. The world is round now. And again it sounds like Aman is moved to the unseen world. Huh. Mixed canon.

Oh, here is the 39. 39 days from the fleet leaving Númenor to the destruction. Including also a volcano and earthquake.

And speaking of numbers, 9 ships of Elendil, Isildur and Anárion.

Also, all the sea shorelines are changed.

So, back to Sauron. Idiot. He is terrified by what happenned, because he expected Pharazôn and everyone to die, but not something like this. So, he is sitting on his black (of course) throne and laughing. What had I said about Sauron being somewhere high up and laughing? So he laughs three times and just as he does the third time his throne falls down into the watery abbyss. "Not noticing a divine tsunami" level: pro. I am not surprised. I mean, I read the book before, so of course I am nor surprised, but anyway, that is nor surprising.

Loses his beauty. Just. The amount of mercy. "I convinced Men to sacrifice other Men to Morgoth, and put the Valar into a trolley dilemma and all I got was this ugly face so that I maybe finally learn" — he needs a t-shirt with this. I need to draw him in a frigging t-shirt.

I want to punch him in the face again.

Yes, i know, i know. It's not my fault he gets more infuriating descriptions.

Oh and the peak of Meneltarma is maybe an island, and people want to find it and have visions of Númenor's past glory… *sigh* Call me old and grumpy but focusing on that doesn't seem like— ok oh. they don't have anything better to focus. This is also true. Huh. I just realized that this makes the whole "focusing on unreachable shadows" things so much more tragic. anyway…

Oh, they do not find it. Good for them. I am sorry, I know it's sad, but it is good for them.

The Dúnedain seeking this island is peak amdir. (This is neither a compliment nor a accusation, or maybe both).

But explaining this would need a long tangent of "amdir" meaning etymologically "looking up" and of the gneral idea of looking in the wrong place. I know I shouldn't be quoting motivational posters when talking Tolkien, because they are much less profound but generally "Stop Looking for Happiness in the Same Place You Lost It"

So anyway, The Land of the star is lost, and the Straight Road is no more and Tolkien is sad and pretty much everyone is sad and we are growing up.

Still, there is a shortcut for Elves who want to use it.

Huh. this reread felt more profound than the others. Not so many facts I've been missing, but the vibe. I think I understood some vibes I didn't understand before. But this may be just the autumn.

#silm #silmarillion #tolkien legendarium #the silm #the silmarillion #silm reread #numenor #the fall of numenor #sauron #ar pharazon #so many feelings

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cassiefromhell · 1 year ago

Text

Unexpected (pt. 5)

Part One Part Four Part Six

Fanbase: acotar

Eris x Reader x Azriel

Summary: You've healed nicely from your nasty encounter with your least favorite bitchy creature, but what now? You've missed your own mating ceremony... where do you go from here?

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: smut! fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (and mention of a lot of it!) dirty talk

A/N: Requests are OPEN! Check my pinned message for details on what I'll write <3. Thank you so, so much for the notes on this lil series! I read all comments and reblogs. The poll I had last week ended up juuuust barely going in favor of longer chapters on Unexpected, so that's what further updates will mainly be.

It only took three more days for me to gain the strength to go back to our room, and I took that opportunity immediately.

Azriel was in and out of the medical room, visiting as much as he could.

I won’t lie and say it wasn’t awkward at times, when Eris was there. But Azriel was good at finding the fleeting moments when Eris was in a meeting, or (heaven forbid!) on a short trip to another court. My first mate was never gone for more than an hour or two, but Azriel seemed to slide in each moment that the High Lord was gone.

I liked having company. Eris focused more on making sure I was comfortable, having me walk around — with his arm for balance, of course — and keeping my pillows properly fluffed, blankets perfectly tucked. He brought me books and town newspapers, and told me jokes and funny things about his day.

Azriel was far more reserved, but still he came. He brought me more things than I could think possible in three short days. More books, which made me wonder if his shadows had seen Eris bring me those and he followed after (he also mentioned some odd thing about a house recommending books?) He brought me food, and asked what I liked, and then brought me croissants and macarons every day forward. He gifted me a few boxes of Night Court attire — flowing dresses and jumpsuits of deep violet and navy blue.

But the thing I loved most?

He brought me a blueprint. Of a knife.

A blacksmith’s plan for a knife that Azriel had commissioned for me, the matching sister of Truth Teller.

I had nearly cried when I saw the beauty of just the sketch.

But now, I’m sitting in bed, curled up with a book. This is my second day back in the room, and I’ve finally convinced Eris to resume his normal daily schedule.

Which leaves me here alone. But I don’t particularly mind. I’m happy to have some time with just me and a romance novel.

At least, alone for a few hours.

Because footsteps are coming down the hall, and with a glance at the clock, I discover that it’s Eris’s lunch hour.

Of course he’s coming to eat with me.

I grin, putting my book to the side. I adjust the pillows around me, making room for my mate. I do sometimes find myself missing him, his red hair and sarcasm and the little nicknames he has for me.

The door swings open by force of magic, and my lover is quickly in the doorway. I’m taken aback by what he has in his hands: a massive tray filled to the brim with food. Sandwiches, salads, pastries and soups and desserts.

I squeal, opening my arms for him. Eris places the tray on my lap and crawls into bed beside me, showering my neck and face with kisses.

“See? I knew you’d love this. The way to your heart is food.”

I laugh, catching his face in my hands and giving him a long kiss. “You know me better than anyone, High Lord.”

“Ohh, don’t go High Lord-ing me, missy,” he shoves a finger sandwich in my mouth. “You have me in the palm of your hand and you know it.”

Giggling, I chew and swallow my sandwich, leaning against him. He wraps an arm around me, half of the time feeding himself and the other hand feeding me with both food and kisses and little sweet whisperings against my ear.

And I’m happy here.

I eat my macaron — which, of course he brought me those — with a smile, until my eyes catch on a certain sandwich that I know is Eris’s favorite.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs, eyes trained on my suddenly downcast expression.

“I’m thinking,” I whisper, taking that sandwich and holding it between my fingers.

He tenses. “…Shit. You hate it. What did I do wrong? Here, let me—” he moves to take away the tray, but I stop him with a hand on his wrist.

“Hold on. Let me consider.”

I stare at that little finger sandwich intently. It’s Eris’s very favorite, and I’m sitting next to this man who I love so much and who is my mate and I still have not officially accepted as such.

So I turn to face him, pulling my legs in and getting up on my knees. Once I do that, he’s at eye level, and I can really see the concern glimmering in his gaze.

I stroke his cheek, and then begin to murmur the Autumn Court vows. “Eris Vanserra, prince of fire and High Lord of the leaves…”

Eris’s eyes widen, and he looks down to the sandwich in my hands. His jaw falls, and his lips are parted, leaving him with an utterly flabbergasted expression. “But— but you wanted the whole—”

I cover his mouth gently. “Yes, I wanted the whole disgustingly lavish ceremony. But I think the gods have said that’s a bad idea. Now let me do the whole vows thing,” I command, and he nods eagerly. “Eris Vanserra, prince of fire and High Lord of the leaves, you have taken my heart in your grasp and I trust you with it. You are the other half of my soul, and I am prepared to give you all of mine. I accept you as my mate.”

I hold out the sandwich, lowering my hand from his mouth. Eris takes the food with a shaking hand. He chews his bottom lip, tilting his hair forward, and little strands of red hair fall across his forehead.

“…Are you sure…?” he asks, his voice hardly a whisper. “I don’t… want you to regret this.”

I offer a soft smile, sinking back to sit on my heels. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

His eyes glisten, and he nods, flipping the sandwich in his fingers. “I don’t remember my part of the vows, as embarrassing as it is..”

Laughing, I nudge his hand. “That’s alright. The eating is the important part.”

He takes a bite, and then another, and then he’s scarfing it down.

“Slow down. You’ll choke.”

“You can’t blame me for being speedy, I want to be choking on your cunt.”

I flush, but lean forward anyway, kissing his throat as he eats.

The bond begins to solidify, shifting from a fraying thread into a sturdy rope, golden and shimmering and lovely.

Eris finishes his sandwich, and with a snap of his fingers, the tray is teleported across the room. He sweeps me into his arms, laying me down onto the blankets and pillows.

“How are you feeling today, love?” he murmurs, pausing before doing anything serious.

“Oh, fuck me already, Eris.”

He just gives a low chuckle in response, kissing me. Our tongues and teeth clash, dancing around each other. His hands make quick work of my dress, sliding it up and off of me.

Okay, he’s a little needy.

“Aw, poor Eris had to go a week and a half without me?” I tease, reaching up to run my hands through his hair.

He growls as a reply, mouth dipping down… and then down some more. He kisses down my throat, unclasping my bra with deft fingers and sliding it off. His tongue makes circles over my breasts, and then again, never quite hitting the nipple.

“Eris,” I whine, and that’s all it takes.

Eris kisses each of my nipples, gently biting the raised buds. My whimpers seem to egg him on, and he’s quickly sliding a hand down my body, pulling off my panties.

“Eri—”

His full name doesn’t even get the chance to escape my mouth, because it’s cut off by a long moan. His thumb has found my clit, and is gently, teasingly, circling it.

A moment later, and his head is down there too, his tongue licking a stripe along my folds.

I nearly cry.

Eris has never been one for long teasery — well, he tries, but he always gives in with a glance at my face. He’s certainly too eager for even trying to hold out on me now, having been abstinent for longer than either of our likings.

His tongue laps at me, hands pushing my knees apart. I throw the covers off of us so that I can see him, see his red hair tied back at the base of his neck, see his mouth feasting on me like a man starved, and— his eyes. He’s looking up at me, relentlessly, and he doesn’t break his gaze as a finger enters me.

I whimper softly at the sensation, my back arching up, off of the mattress. The waves of pleasure creeping up my spine are intense, amplified by the amount of time it’s been since I’ve climaxed, found that incredible cliff that I am now approaching.

“You’re sensitive today,” he murmurs, voice rumbling against me. “I can feel it.”

He adds a second finger, and I nearly come just from his soft growl.

But just as I find myself on the edge, whining and gripping his hair, biting the pillow, he completely stops, sliding up my body.

“Shit,” I moan softly, having a terrible feeling that he’s going to edge me. For a long time.

But instead, he gives me a long kiss, letting me taste myself on his tongue. And in the middle of it all, his fingers start to move again, his thumb circling my clit once more.

He pulls away, just enough to speak against my mouth. “Fuck, sweetheart. Look at how well you’re doing, all pent up like this.”

Then his thumb centers on my clit, rubbing it with soft strokes, and it sends me plummeting over the edge. Stars form behind my eyelids, unintelligible whimpers spilling from my lips, and Eris coaxes me through it all, stimulating my oversensitive nerves and giving me praise.

When I’m calmed from my high, gazing up at him with a lazy smile, I whisper. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

“And you are gorgeous. I could not ask the Mother for a better mate,” he purred, shifting to kiss me once more.

He presses his clothed hips to my bare ones, showing me exactly how much he wants me.

I laugh against his mouth, my hands trailing down. “Why is it,” I murmur into his lips, “that I’m naked and you’re still fully clothed.”

“It’s because you never undressed me.”

“Aye, don’t point fingers.”

We both laugh, and I have my hand on the first button of his shirt when a sharp, piercing tug comes on the mating bond.

I flinch.

Eris frowns, tilting his head and brushing a kiss to my cheek. “What’s wrong?”

Sighing heavily, I zero in on the mating bond connecting me to Azriel. “Give me just a second. Shadow Boy is tugging.”

Are you alright? I ask the thread.

Physically, yes. Why wouldn’t I be. His response is flat, and is more of a statement where a question should be instead.

You tugged. Hard. It kind of hurt.

You know I can feel all of your emotions, right? You have no mental shields up.

Okay, so? But my response is a little distracted, because Eris has sat up, straddling my thighs. He unbuttons his shirt, slowly, teasingly.

My breath catches in my throat when he flexed his hips upward, showing off the bulge in his pants. I palm it gently as Azriel’s response comes.

I’d rather not know what you’re feeling.

It takes me a moment, and then I remember the arousal and pleasure that has been flooding my mind for the last few minutes, and it clicks.

I laugh, running a finger down the seam of Eris’s pants. “He can sense my emotions and feelings. He’s asking for me to stop subjecting him to my sex life.”

Jealous? I ask down the bond, grinning as Eris hurries his undressing. Unfortunately, he was in a council meeting earlier, so he’s sporting a uniform with a bajillion clasps and buttons and buckles.

No reply comes.

Are you a little, tiny bit envious of Eris right now? Because he gets to fuck the shit out of me.

And preparing to fuck the shit out of me he is, as Eris is hovering over me now, mostly undressed. He frees himself, pulling out his long, thick cock. I like the little curve it has, and I trace the vein on the underside with my index finger.

Maybe you should stop teasing me, or I’ll show up and put your fun to an end.

Alright, alright. Shutting up. I’ll try to keep my emotions to myself.

The bond goes silent.

“He’s gone,” I whisper.

Immediately, Eris is positioning himself between my legs, capturing me in a kiss once more. His thumb grazes my clit, and I feel the telltale pressure against my entrance.

Instinctually, I spread my legs. I whimper as he pushes in, just slightly, stretching me wide. It hurts, just a bit — I thought I would be used to him by now, but I guess not after a week without this, without him.

“Fuck,” he whispers, trailing kisses down my neck. “You’re so fucking tight.”

He sinks in further, and I find my hands rooted in his hair, holding his head close. I leave breathy kisses against his ear and throat, murmuring strings of praises. “Gods, you feel good… mother save me… start moving, I need you.”

He pulls his hips back slowly, hissing as my body grips him. Then, he snaps back in, just barely managing to brush that one spot deep in me.

My back arcs, and a whimper escapes me as his free hand grabs both of mine, pinning them above my head — his other still teasing my clit.

He begins a steady pace, until the lingering pain at my core subsides, and is replaced with more slick, and need, and burning pleasure.

“Fuck,” I whisper, lifting my hips to add to the friction. “Harder— harder, please…”

A grin spreads across my High Lord’s face, and he kisses my shoulder, picking up into a brutal pace, the sounds of skin on skin filling the room.

The pleasure is immense. Each time his thumb brushes my clit, or his cock hits that one spot, I see stars. My abdomen begins to tense, and my noises become more frequent.

Eris shifts to have his head directly above me, watching my expression closely. The eye contact alone pushes me that much closer to the edge, and fast.

“Coming already?” He croons, putting our foreheads together. “Needy, needy little creature, aren’t you?”

I nod against him, our noses brushing. “Please.”

And he silently obliges me (as silent as he gets during sex, still panting and making little pleased noises) by pressing the heel of his hand against my clit.

The result is instant. Stars bloom and explode behind my eyelids, and I chant his name like a prayer, whimpering and moaning and whining as his pace stays relentless, coaxing me through my crashing orgasm.

His pace does not grow sloppier; he’s never gotten sloppy before he cums, if anything he just gets more rigid, pace growing faster and harder but never sloppy. He tilts his head down to rest on my shoulder, groaning as his cock twitches inside me. “Such a good girl for me, hmm?”

I squeeze his hand with one of mine, grinning when his words come out breathless. “Give it to me. Fill me.”

And he does, nearly immediately. He gives one last snapping thrust into me, burying himself deep inside. I can tell he’s cumming by the moans and unintelligible mumbles leaking from his throat, combined with the slight increase in warmth at my pelvis.

“What a good mate you are,” I purr, working one hand out of his grip to stroke his hair. “Filling me up with your seed. Such a good boy—”

Eris shuts me up with a long kiss, and he remains buried in me, carefully pulling me onto his lap as he sits up.

Pulling away slowly, he speaks softly. “I need to cancel my meetings for the next few days — at least. You know what they say about the whole newly-mated male thing, so the council hopefully won’t fight too much. I’m sure they’d rather have my absence than a volatile male.”

“Youuu can do that later,” I grumble, catching his bottom lip between my teeth. That fiery need is building between my legs once more, creeping up my spine and peaking my nipples. “Fuck now. Lord business later.”

He has no qualms — at least, he speaks none — about my decision, and he captures my mouth in his. His hands slide up, one to my jaw, the other to my hair, locking me into the kiss. As he does, I catch the slight scent of magic in my nose, and I crack an eye open to see a letter writing itself on the desk. I can’t read it from here, but it’s short, and slid under the door in a blur.

He pulls back, smirking as he takes me in. “I’ve hardly touched you and you’re all flushed and messy.”

“Hardly— hardly touched?” I ask, incredulous. “You’re buried in me, to the hilt.”

His smirk breaks into a toothy grin, flashing me his canines. “Yes, and I’ve done much worse. Now, tell me, where would you next like to be made a mess?”

I’ve decided to both thank and curse the mother for the mating frenzy.

For the last three days, Eris and I have been relentless. It’s pathetic, really, the way we can’t even manage a good night’s sleep. By the time we’re able to fuck eachother senseless enough to slip into sleep, one of us wakes up with that fiery need again after no more than an hour.

Mercifully, the staff in the palace understands. They bring us food and leave it outside the door, and other than that they leave us alone.

Even now, as I sit in the bath with Eris, the soreness in all of my limbs lingers. I sigh softly, nestling myself safely in Eris’s arms as the warm water seeps into my tired bones.

“We should probably get some actual cleaning done, before it comes back,” he murmurs, running his fingers through my damp hair. “We made a deal to get in the bath and cleanse ourselves, and instead we’ve just fucked. Twice.”

I giggle, pressing my face to the center of his chest. “Yeah, well… it was fun.”

“That it was,” he hums, removing one arm from me. He starts to run soap over my body, and I’m content to let him do that while I lay here limp. “You’re so beautiful, love.”

I bite his shoulder gently, to which he replies with a smack to my ass under the water. Laughing, I pull his face down, peppering it with kisses.

“You are not helpful,” he growls, taking my shoulders and turning me around. “Hold still and let me do your hair.”

I shift myself to turn and face him once more, but go still when his fingers start working shampoo into my hair. I practically purr at the massage, melting into his touch.

This,

This is bliss.

It takes two more days for the frenzy to slow, and Eris and I come to the decision that we can go without each other for a few hours.

So, I sit in the center of the music hall, which is completely empty each day until two, when the musicians come to practice. It’s nearly noon now, and I’m just out of the room to get away from the overwhelming scent of sex, and to get a little practice in.

The harp that leans on my shoulder is playing a song that I wrote on my own. I hum along with it as my fingers pluck the long strings, leaning into the deep vibrations.

I’ve played the harp since I was young. I was allowed to learn one instrument as a child, and little, tiny, adolescent me chose the harp. Looking back on it, perhaps a piano or guitar would have been more practical, but the time for choosing an instrument to learn has long since passed.

The music glides from my hands like an ice skater on a frozen lake, making graceful circles and figure eights, going fast and then so, so very slow.

My alone time is broken around an hour into my practice. The shadows contort in the room, and then there’s an undeniable presence behind me. I don’t even need to look to know who he is.

“Congratulations,” Azriel says, followed by the soft shuffle of wings being adjusted. “On your mating.”

“Thank you,” I reply, finally halting my music to glance over at him. “I hope you aren’t too bothered by it.”

He gives a noncommittal shrug, walking over and standing beside me. His arms cross over his chest as he speaks, “It was expected. You’ve known Eris for far longer than me. I didn’t know you played the harp.”

Smooth topic change.

“I can’t remember a time when I didn’t.”

“You would love the musician’s quarter, in Velaris. It’s always filled with the most magnificent sound. I could show you, if you come to visit.”

I turn back to the strings in front of me, running my thumb along the golden shoulder of the instrument. “I’ve already told you that I would visit at some point. Have you come here to remind me?”

Azriel shifts on his feet slightly — and something tells me that he isn’t typically one for nervous habits, so maybe I make him exceptionally anxious. “Not really.”

“Then why, exactly, are you here?”

“Do I need a reason?”

I raise a brow, plucking a few strings absentmindedly. “When Eris is in full mated-male protective mode?” Azriel tenses. “Perhaps you should have an excuse for being in his palace.”

“Then I’m here because I was bringing you this,” he replies, holding out a velvet box.

Turning to face him, I take the box gingerly. Pulling the cover up reveals something exquisite, and I snap it shut.

“I… I cannot accept this,” I stumble over my words, blinking as he opens the box again. “It’s too— holy mother.”

He chuckles, shaking his head and carefully picking up the necklace. It’s a double layered chain; the shorter, closer to my neck layer is thin and a shimmering silver unlike anything I’ve laid eyes on before, and topped off with a delicate dagger pendant, encrusted in a blue stone like his siphons; the longer layer is a sharp gold, glittering in the sunlight and almost giving the appearance of being on fire, and hanging from it is a leaf with — well, I don’t know if my eyes are playing tricks on me, but it seems to have a little orb inside holding actual fire.

“I’ve had it custom made for you. It would be horrible manners to not accept it.”

I feel blood brush the skin on the back of my neck, and then dance across my ears. “Then, uhm, I suppose I’ll have to take it, hm?” I take it from his grasp, holding it to my neck. “Help me clasp it, since you’re intent on me having it.”

Azriel steps behind me, his calloused fingers brushing my nape as he clips the chains together. His hand linger possibly a little longer than is necessary, but I didn’t complain.

To think of it, I’ve never actually gotten a particularly good view of his hands. They were often hidden in the fabric of his clothing, or gloved, or moving too fast to be seen. I’ve always liked hands — are they scarred, or smooth? Long or short nails? Wrinkled, or baby-skinned?

But as I reach for his hands to bring them forward, they suddenly retract. In fact, turning around reveals that Azriel has taken three steps back.

“What’s wrong?” I frown, eyes flicking to his arms, which have expertly, subtly, hidden his wrists behind his back.

“Nothing,” he replies in a smooth, reassuring tone, “you look stunning. I had a feeling that the necklace would glow on you.”

“It disappoints me that you think you can evade my questioning. I’m your mate, you don’t need to hide anything from me.”

A ghost of a smile crosses his lips.

“What?” I scowl, standing and striding over to him.

He continues to retreat backwards, until I know for certain that this has somehow become some sort of a game for him by the growing amusement on his features.

And I have the feeling that he’s competitive.

I feign a stop, and then lunge at him, angling myself to send him sprawling to the ground. I’ve slipped into my assassin skill set.

But Azriel has tricks up his own sleeve, because the sidesteps and twists his leg, aiming to knock me over. His maneuver fails, and before I know it, we’ve essentially engaged in combat.

Except he refuses to use his hands.

We twist and spin, dancing across the music hall. None of my attempts to grab him work, but he’s also unsuccessful in taking me down without his hands. I’m sure his shadows could help, but he’s not using them — and I have the feeling that he’s trying to be gentle with me.

“Are you going easy on me?” I accuse, my hand snapping out and finally making contact, managing to grab his bicep… but his hand stays firmly behind his back.

“Perhaps. But I have a distinct advantage — height, wings, and shadows.”

“Yeah, well, I have fire and I’d just rather not burn you.”

And there it is — he flinches.

But he recovers quickly, and I’m too busy processing his flinch to dodge when his wing comes at me. The muscle under its velvet skin swivels me around with ease, and suddenly my hands are pinned behind my shoulder blades, by Azriel’s own hand.

I find myself unable to turn around. Why? Because my back is pressed completely up against Azriel’s chest, his head dipped down to be on the same level as my own. My hands and his are trapped between us, guaranteeing that I won’t be able to catch a glimpse.

“I win,” he murmurs, his lips against my ear.

“That you did. But you flinched,” I murmur back, turning my head just enough to be able to see his face. It’s completely neutral again, if not a little amused. No hint of the flinching boy that had flashed in front of me.

“You mentioned having fire, and I realized that if I let our little match go on for much longer, you might get a little too hot for comfort,” he replies, maybe too slowly.

His tone is so believable that I nearly let it go. But as he speaks, the darkness pooled at our feet recoils from him, tendrils of it wrapping up my ankles and stroking my skin.

“Your shadows don’t like it when you lie to me,” I tilt my head to the void building on my legs.

Azriel narrows his eyes but says nothing; the shadows scatter.

Softening my tone, I tilt my head back against his shoulder and try again. “Why can’t I see your hands, Azriel?”

He sighs the heaviest sigh imaginable, nearly breaking my heart in the process. But he releases my hands, and waits.

I don’t step away, gazing up at him expectantly.

We end up just staring at each other for a few moments. His eyes tell a story that I know will hurt to hear when it is vocalized. But I want to know his tales. I find myself a bit infatuated with this other mate — who is Azriel Shadowsinger?

But nevertheless, there’s a shifting behind me as his hands move, and he brings them to be in front of me.

I have to stifle a gasp at the sight.

Azriel’s hands are covered in burn scars. Not an inch of the skin spanning his fingertips to his forearm is untouched. The skin is raised and rigid, and parts of it are a darkened brown or red.

Biting my lip, I carefully run a fingertip over one of the ridges. The skin is surprisingly smooth itself, just with raised bumps and dips along the surface. His abdomen tenses against my lower back as I touch his hand, but he doesn’t object.

“I don’t think they’re ugly, if that’s what you were afraid of,” I murmur, taking one of his hands in mine and continuing to trace along the other. “I’ve always liked hands. They’re the most useful parts of the body, for the most part — capable of so many things. And the marks just tell stories.” I flip my own hand over, showing the scars littering my palms. “My hands weave the tale of an assassin, an expert at her craft. Yours tell the story of a warrior with a backstory worth sharing to loved ones. And that history needn’t be retold today.”

Then, completely unexpectedly, he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of my neck.

“Thank you,” he whispered with lips brushing my skin.

We stand there for a few seconds or moments or minutes, I cannot tell. But I’ve grown to like the feeling of his mouth on my neck, his hands almost feeling familiar under my touch.

“While we’re asking questions,” I start, shifting myself forward slightly. “You smiled earlier, just before this whole spontaneous sparring spree began. Why?”

Suddenly, he grips both of my wrists, pinning them between us like he had before. He grins, picking up that competitive gleam in his gaze once more. “Just because.”

“Because why,” I scowl, now trying to shimmy out of his grip.

“You’re a moody one, you know.”

“Me, moody? You look like you’ve just stepped out of a portal to a gothic land of spiders and shadows — Cauldron, you have shadows that follow you,” I feign outrage, which makes him chuckle darkly.

“I smiled because you called me your mate. Out loud and to my face.”

I pause, and then try to whirl, grinning now. “Let me go, and maybe I’ll do it again.”

“You’ll have to win your way out of my grasp. And may I mention, you pack some solid muscle for how small you are—“

“Small?” I shout, trying to elbow him — but he keeps his hold on me. I struggle, while he laughs, and I find a part of myself quite amused as well — and the other part of me, well, I too am competitive.

There’s a creak from the other side of the room that I barely register, but Azriel’s shadows spin like crazy, swirling at our feet like a warning bell.

But Azriel just holds me tighter, ignoring the shadows. I land a kick to his shin that makes him lose his balance — but he drags me when we stumble, growling as I try to break free, and—

And, of course, that is when the door swings open—

Eris Vanserra stares at us, with eyes that start with shock.

And then shift to indescribable rage.

Part Six

Tags: @cleverzonkwombatsludge @5moremin @azriels-mate123 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @nightless @the-sweet-psycho @mali22 @bubybubsters @hannzoaks @menagerofmischief

To be added to the tag list, comment and ask! And if you saw this without the tag list before I took it down and reposted after a good panic of realizing I didn't do tags, then no, you didn't see anything... *distant sobbing*

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redxwater · 8 months ago

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Waiting Room (Chapter 2)

Leon Kennedy x F!Reader

(Content warning : this chapter contains bad eating habits, depression.)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

° - ° - ° - ° - ° - ° - ° - ° - ° - ° - ° - ° - ° - ° - ° - ° - ° - °

Leon doesn’t really like to make dinner himself. You on the other hand? Love this kitchen.

It’s small but practical.

You also study music, just like Leon does. but your cooking skills definitely come in handy.

After finishing off the last few boxes you had to unpack the next morning you decide to make some breakfast.

You’re not a morning person, but you were exited for the first week at college.

You decide to be nice and make your roommate some breakfast too. You knock on his door and he groans “what?” He says with a very annoyed tone. “I have breakfast left over for you” you say and open the door a bit.

“I don’t eat breakfast” he mumbles. “Oh, okay. Well classes start in 10 minutes you should get up.” You smile trying to help a bit. The blonde guy stands up from his bed all of a sudden. “Don’t involve yourself in my way of living, and don’t bother me” he says while walking over to the door in a harsh tone. After his scold he slams his door shut just hard enough to make you flinch slightly. You stand there in slight awe before just walking out the door.

Leon put on his clothes for the day and went to lay in bed for a few minutes more. He was gonna have a bad day and he knew it. He was tired, and overall just meh. He eventually got out the bed and went to his class.

“Okay so, who here sings or likes theatre or musical songs?” The professor asks curiously. Leon was unaware of the fact you were in that same class as him now. He didn’t think you studied music, but it’s not like he really thought about it.

Leon zoned out fully during the question, so when the professor snapped his fingers in front of him and calls out his name he flinches. “Mr Kennedy, are you paying attention?” He asks. “What? Yeah I’m sorry..” he shakes his head and sits up again. “If you think this is boring, i suggest you pick another major.” The professor says with a harsh tone. “No, no i’m just tired. Should have gone to bed earlier sorry” you see Leon in a vulnerable light right now. Which was completely different from this morning.

Leon isn’t really intimidated by anyone except professors. But somehow he always manages to get out of all his classes with just a warning. “Yes, you should have” the professor answers again and goes on with the history of theatre and musicals.

“Uhm, yeah but do you want me to stay thanksgiving and Christmas?” Leon asks his best friend over the phone. “We don’t mind, maybe Christmas is better cause you got more time?” Claire’s voice sounds on speaker “Yeah Christmas is better, but i don’t like spending thanksgiving alone” he talks softly while cleaning the kitchen up a bit. “We can do thanksgiving then, maybe Christmas too” she speaks loudly as she walks in another room quickly. A second later she’s back. “Yeah sure, i’ll see you soon. Miss you!” Leon speaks up before hanging up. He goes into his room and starts on his homework, completely ignoring the fact he has a roommate who’s playing guitar on her room with the door open.

The blonde guy puts his headphones on and starts some studying after that, he takes a little nap on his bed with his door open. Your guitar strings ringing in a rhythm from a small distance helped him a bit, though he doesn’t know that himself.

Around 1 am he wakes up by your feet shuffling around the floor and some coughs. He slowly rubs his eyes and sits up to look at the light out of his door your shadow moves around to grab a glass of water, he hears silent shaky breaths and gets out of bed to grab some water and see what’s going on. He’s just a curious guy, he doesn’t know you. And you’re pretty sure he doesn’t wanna.

“Hey” he says in a tired voice. Raspy and soft. “You okay?” Leon speaks and grabs a glass and fills it with water. “What?” You try to compose yourself. Trying to not let your breaths get to erratic “I heard you- i mean i wasn’t listening i just picked up the shaky breaths and coughs..” he takes a sip of water. He doesn’t want people to end up like him, feeling shitty every day, all day. “Why do you care…?” You ask with a confused look on your face. “Don’t know..” he says and turns around. “I’ll be fine, but thanks for asking” i smile softly and take a big sip of my water before filling it again. “Right, of course” he says and shuts his bedroom door.

In his head, every time he tried to care it ends up wasted. It’s not true, you just don’t get why he’s nice now. Maybe he’s just not a morning person?

The next day you decide to skip breakfast, feeling shitty about what happened last night, you just pictured college a lot different. Especially your roommate.

Today you barely pay attention to the classes, and even guitar isn’t going well. You sit in your room after classes are done, the day seemed so long. Usually you’d play guitar to kill time, but it was like everything sounds out of tune. Fingers don’t know on which fret or which string they have to go, and your right hand doesn’t know what strumming pattern to follow.

Eventually Leon barges in, holding some new groceries. “You making dinner?” You speak up. “Oh, no. I can’t cook very well. Only pasta and stuff.” He replies loud enough for you to hear from the small kitchen. “Alright” you nod and continue trying to figure out your guitar block.

Eventually you put the guitar away and put your shoes on. “I’m gonna get some dinner, you need anything?” I ask opening the door, looking at Leon putting the groceries he got away. “Uhm, no thanks” he says, a but surprised by the question. You leave and decide to get some microwave burittos.

When you’re back you open the door and see Leon making some homework in his room with the door open and his headphones on like the other few days. “I got you a buritto if you want” you say, he doesn’t hear you so you put the burittos in the microwave and warm both up. After a few minutes you take them out and bring one to Leons room. You put it down on his desk next to his notes. He looks at the food and turns around. “What’s this?” He takes his headphones off. “Dinner” you say and turn back to face him. “Why?” Leon asks again with a confused look. “Because you need to eat?” You furrow your brows. Leon looks at you a bit strange. “Thanks” he says a bit hesitant. He doesn’t really get this treatment from anyone except Claire. You give him a tight smile and walk off to eat your own dinner.

After you finish you start a bit of homework and put on a movie on the tv in your room, before Leon approaches the doorframe looking tired. “Hey, thanks for the dinner…” he practically mumbles. “Oh, yeah no problem. Everything okay?” You ask him trying to be nice. He blinks slowly from exhaustion. “Yeah, just can’t sleep.” He leans against the doorway. “Oh, i’m sorry” you say and put your notes away a bit. “Can i do anything to help?” You add and sit at the edge of your bed facing Leon. “No, i just tend to feel guilty about things after i do them. So i just wanted to say sorry for being so worked up about the breakfast thing yesterday. I’m not used to people making or giving me things, so i just snap easily.” He tries to explain while picking at his nails. “No worries, if i can do something just let me know” you smile softly, hoping to help him. “I will, thanks for being so nice” Leon smiles for the first time since he’s been in college. “I try, now try to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow?” You crawl into bed slowly and turn off the lights. “Yeah, see you.” He waves and shuts the door.

Well that was nice of him.. maybe he’s not that bad you let your thoughts run your mind.

The next morning you make 2 sandwiches and leave one on the counter. You don’t wanna bother Leon because of last time, but you hear him on the phone. You knock on his door twice and wait. “Yeah?” He says a bit annoyed. “Sorry, i have breakfast in the kitchen if you want some.” you say softly. “Is that your roommate?” A girl speaks through the phone on speaker. “Oh, yeah it is.” Leon speaks with a bit of hesitation again. “Can she hear me?” The girl over the phone speaks again. “Yeah i can” you say a bit louder. “Cool, i’m Claire. Leons friend” the girl, Claire says a bit louder. “Hi!” You introduce yourself with your name and smile a bit. “Yeah i know, thanks for making breakfast for him!” She says sincerely. “Yeah it’s not a big deal, anyway i gotta go now i’ll see you. Bye Claire, nice to meet you” you smile and wave to Leon before walking out the door.

Maybe it’s not that bad.

#leon #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy smut #re4 #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you

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betweenthejawsoffate · 5 months ago

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I Will Shelter You All the Same (Sleep Token IV/Band)

IV hasn't been in the band long, only a few months, but a few things he knew for sure.

Sleep was real

He was replaceable

There was something most definitely going on between his bandmates

Read on AO3 here or below

He was well aware there were many before him, and even more aware that he wouldn't be the last. Though in the back of his mind he had always hoped that he would be. They had assured him many times that he was “their Ivy” the last. But isn't that what they said about the previous fours?

The position seemed to be cursed with a revolving door of guitarists, while the core main three had always remained strong and steadfast. Not only bonded by their position in the band, or their servanthood towards Sleep, but also a deep personal connection. When IV had first moved into the manor they had hid most of it from him; but he was not dumb. Years of observing in the shadows had made him quiet and meek but not unobserving. Soft touches that lasted a little too long, quiet feet padding to the others rooms late at night. That and the fact that III was not a quiet man in any sense of the word, and it seems in many regards.

IV was sitting on his bed reviewing some tabs when he first heard THAT, muffled through the manor walls but distinct nevertheless. At first he wasn't sure what the gentle knocking at the wall was, a constant and on time. He had almost confused it for II practicing keeping time, as if he would need practice of such a basic skill. Putting the tabs down he leaned into the wall to listen a bit closer. A high pitched whine soon followed the steady beat. IV launched himself away from the wall, his hand meeting his mouth to cover the sound of surprise. He knew the others were close, sure. He even suspected some sort of romantic entanglement between Vessel and II. But the whine was so clearly III and that wall was the one he shared with II. The steady beat began to change in tempo, the sound more clearly heard through the shared wall. The sound increasing, IV frantically began to search through the boxes that still littered his room for his head phones. Putting them tightly over his head, turning the volume as much higher then was probably safe for his ears; IV laid back down onto his bed tabs long forgotten.

The next morning was quieter than normal. II typically was up making tea in the kitchen but clearly he had been occupied the night before and had not surfaced. So instead IV set to work warming the kettle, pulling out each of their respective mugs before scanning the fridge for something to make for breakfast. It was fairly empty, a few eggs left over from III’s attempt of baking last week and some thick cut bacon Ves & him had picked up at the local markets; it was enough to make a meal for this morning at least. He got to quick work whisking up the eggs falling deep into thought at the repetitive behavior.

IV didn't want the others to feel like they had to hide whatever was going on from him. It was clear that their affections went further than long term bandmates, but whatever that was he wasn't sure. If you had asked him yesterday morning he would have bet money on II & Ves being a thing, but this thing with III? He wasn't sure how that played out. IV had been in many bands before Sleep Token and none of them had… slept together the way this one seems to do. Not that he saw anything wrong with that, IV had a gay cousin or two back in his old life. He didn't see anything wrong with that aspect of his band mates relationship, was that what it was? He wasn't sure. IV let out a soft sign at the thought of that, no need to dwell on the past now, especially when his future still felt so up in the air.

“Morning IV” came out a quiet hum from behind him.

IV had never been so thankful for the cloth masks that Vessel had insisted they wore then he was right now. A dark red blush slashed his face, ran down to his chest, running so warm he swore if II was just a little closer he would have felt it through the fabric.

Of course he knew it was II that had kept III company the previous night, with his room having the shared wall and the normally early riser absent from his normal morning breakfast duties, it made sense. But logistically knowing this and facing the cause of the sounds he had heard last tonight were too different things entirely. The thump of the bed hitting IV’s wall, the repetitive high pitched whines that quickly became too loud for even headphones to muffle out, and oh god the memory of words shared between the two- IV had to stop he should not be thinking about his band mates like that.

II moved to the collection of mugs IV had set on the counter earlier that morning, quietly inspecting the content of each.

“Ves likes one sugar not two” II offhandedly corrected quickly, fishing out the extra cube, throwing it into III’s mug before moving to pour the boiling kettle.

“Oh” IV simply answered, of course he knew that he was the one that often made their afternoon teas. But it seemed that all common sense had flown out the window this morning; all IV could think about was avoiding the gaze of II just a mere feet away from him.

Get yourself together. Whatever happened last night was no different then the times in Uni when he had walked in on his roommate or the times on tour with his previous band; when the long weeks away from home would finally catch up on them. It was more common than you would think, to accidentally hear a fellow bandmate late at night going for a covert wank. He had never been this awkward about it then so why was this bothering him so much now?

II eyed IV carefully, “You alright IV?” This time II’s voice was much clearer and closer.

Pulled from his thoughts IV yanked his head up and back looking straight at his band mate now standing just behind him.

“Of course II” he added a little laugh at the end

“Not much of a morning person thats all” It wasn't necessarily a lie, but II had a way of seeing past his band mates bullshit better then anyone else.

II watched him closely, taking in the details on what very little of his face was visible behind their masks. Squinting his eyes slightly, before giving a small sign and gesturing to the spatula in IV hand.

“Hand it over, your burning the eggs”

IV didn't argue quickly, giving up the job to the admittedly, much better cook.

Pouring his and II teas in the meantime before settling down at the table. A calm silence filled the kitchen.

The smell of food brought the others down. Vessel first, entering the kitchen pulling the arms of his hoodie over his hands, making a beeline straight for the mugs still resting on the kitchen counter before joining IV at the table without a single word. It was best to let him decide when to be perceived in the mornings, he was often up late composing or on rather tough evenings kept awake by dreams from Sleep. They all sat in a comfortable silence as II finished cooking up their meager breakfast, plating portions for each of them. They didn't wait for III as they began their meal together, he was usually the last of them to get up but typically the smell of food and the light morning chatter would drag him out of bed. They had barely begun when the distinct steps of III bouncing down the hallway stairs could be heard from the kitchen. III bursting into the kitchen, hand reaching for the grab the back of II then Vessel chairs leaning down to kiss their respective checks.

This type of affection wasn't uncommon from III, he was a touchy guy often including IV both on and off stage. But with the memory still fresh in IV’s brain, it began to feel different. If it was just a platonic peak, why hadn't III also kissed his cheek? A strange feeling began to tangle itself in his chest, sneaking up his throat. It was a stupid thought in the first place, why would III want too? He was IV, not Vessel or II. He was there to play guitar and help around the house until he had run his usefulness dry and adventally when he had, they would replace him with another. Just like his previous bands had, just how his ex had, and just as Sleep Token had done before with the other IV’s. He didn't want to think why he wanted III to include him in these moments of intimacy like he did with the others but the thought had been creeping up on him for weeks. All coming to a head with the stupid sounds he heard the night prior. Fuck he couldnt stop thinking about them.

II watched IV carefully from the other side of the table, while IV had been known to be quiet he was unusually so. Two hands gripping his mug taking slow sips of his tea, meal left untouched with a far away look in his eyes. II knew something was up, and he feared he knew exactly what was on the other man's mind. Turning his attention to III and Vessel he saw the two in a heated discussion about III recent outfit choices during the rituals. III always wanted to express himself more on stage while Vessel wanted little to distract the audience from their worship. An argument that they had had nearly once a week for months. Neither seem to be picking up on the shifting energy coming from their newest guitarist.

They had been less and less discrete with their relationship as of recently. Testing the waters to see how IV would handle it. Maybe that had been a mistake? He had been respectful so far, not making comments about their flirty comments to each other or how sometimes their actions would push a little past plutonic. But it had been so long since II had been able to be open with his affection to his partners, he had begun to feel pent up. That and the constant teasing from III the previous night had come to a head, and while he relished being with one of his partners again. He also knew they had been careless. IV had clearly heard them; what else would explain the sudden change of personality. Gods, IV wouldn't even look at him. II turned back towards IV when he heard the scratch of their old kitchen chair sliding back. He watched the small man dump the remainder of his tea in the sink, pushing his untouched meal onto III’s plate before silently disappearing through the kitchen door. Vessel stared after him in confusion, half rising out of the chair before II had ushered him back down into his seat.

“Give him some time, Ves.” A deep look of confusion covered Vessel’s face at II’s words.

“III spent the night with me last night, things..”

he paused a second trying to find the right words to explain to the first without making him feel left out.

“...got a bit carried away. We share a wall…” ending the sentence with a little twist of his wrist hoping he understood what he was getting at.

“Oh. I see.” Vessel simply said.

It was III who quickly butt in next. Hugging Vessel from behind and nuzzling his check into his neck. “I’m sorry baby, it wasn't like that. I know we said we would step back from those sort of things while IV got more acquainted with us, but it just kinda happened.”

Lifting his hand up to III’s check gently rubbing it Vessel shook his head slightly.

“I’m not mad or upset at you guys. I’m glad you had some time together, it's been too long. I’m just worried it's too soon. Fore was so upset with us when he left and IV has just finished learning the songs. We don't have time to find another replacement before tour.”

Surprisingly it was III that took a scolding tone, “Don’t talk like that Ves. We don't know what he heard and he didn't say anything this morning, right?” Vessel hummed uncommitted in his response, turning slightly to catch III lips with his own seeking physical comfort from his partner.

Pulling away after a few moments III continued, “Plus it’s IV, our Ivy. This is not like the others and you know it. Sleep is pleased with this addition Vessel, She wants him here as much as we all do. I can feel it; he belongs here, he belongs with us.”

Vessel was not used to III chastising him in this manner, he was right of course this IV was different then the rest. It was an immediate connection they all had felt. It was the same feeling as when III had joined him and II. It was that connection that scared Vessel, they could not lose this IV like the others. They had to play it slow and safe.

Leaving the kitchen IV went straight to his room, kicking aside dirty clothes and half filled boxes in search of his gym trainers. A walk he had decided was what he needed to clear his mind. Get out of the house away from the boys, the stale air of the manor, and the never ending confusion he had been drowning in the past 12 hours. It didn't take long to find them, sitting on top of a box in a far corner of his room. Slipping them on he began quietly down the stairs towards the kitchen; with the intention of letting them know he was going for a run.

It was Vessel’s voice he heard first- “... IV has just finished learning the songs”

Were they talking about him? IV paused at the door listening for a moment longer.

“We don’t have time to find another replacement before tour”.

The breath caught in IV’s throat, he knew it. He fucking knew it. Stuffing his headphone into his ears, he shuffled out the door. He wasn't going to stand there and listen to what he knew was already true. He was replaceable. He had to try harder. No wonder they hid their soft touches from him, He was not worthy.

Turning down their street IV begun to run.

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