#really catch at first but once you pick up on it you kind of cant stop noticing it. i also think theyd sometimes have similar facial expres+ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

suzdin · 1 year

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Two For One: Ch. 2

(Dave York x Max Phillips x f!reader)

Part One Here

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-vampire Max, pre-Equalizer 2 Dave, small age gap (unspecified), no use of y/n, some angst, mention of weapons, romance, some fluff, alcohol use, smut, graphic depictions of sex, rough sex, degradation, sadism, kinda dubcon, dom!Dave, spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, anal

Notes: This is a Dave heavy chapter and Max is kind of an afterthought, sorry if you’re here because of him. He’ll make a larger appearance in the next chapter, I promise! 🤪

——

“Careful, it’s a bit heavy—“ you say as you pass your bag to Dave. “—there’s glass,” you add for good measure, Dave’s fingers brushing yours as he grabs at the straps to hoist it over his shoulder. You watch as your bottle of Smirnoff lists to one side, breath catching in your throat until it eventually tips back.

Ignoring the almost-fiasco of it crashing to the sidewalk, Dave eyes you up and down once he settles everything, which causes your cheeks to heat. “What are you in the mood for?” he asks, his eyes large and brown, reminding you almost comically of a baby cow.

“Um,” you answer awkwardly, not sure what to say. You don’t want to pick something on the pricier side, your impoverished upbringing screaming at you in your head. “I don’t really have a lot of money, so…there’s a Burger King around the corner?” you suggest.

Dave shakes his head in disagreement, his lips tilting into a smirk, the skin around his eyes crinkling in a way that makes him look soft. Inviting. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m paying.”

And herein lies a new dilemma: you don’t want him to assume you’re gouging him for money. It isn’t like the restaurants in your neighborhood are high class, but they certainly aren’t cheap, either.

“Oh, um, well…” you begin. “What are you in the mood for?” you ask, deflecting the question back to him.

Dave knows what you’re doing; you don’t want to choose something that might leave a bad taste in his mouth, literally and figuratively. He can’t help to admit it strokes his ego a little that you want to make a good first impression; he thinks that bodes well for him. He tries not to let his gaze linger longer than necessary.

He cants his head forward, gesturing for you to follow him. Together, the two of you start down the street.

“Well,” he begins, raising his eyebrows in contemplation. “There’s Italian straight ahead. An Irish pub called Quinn’s that has decent enough food across from that. Greek and Indian on Broadway…” he trails off idly, hoping any of those sound appetizing.

“Greek is good. I like Greek. Hummus actually sounds killer right about now,” you admit, your stomach grumbling audibly at the mention of food. You clutch at yourself as if that will stop it. “Sorry.”

He re-adjusts the bag on his shoulder and smiles over at you, pointedly ignoring your wailing stomach. It isn’t heavy, not really. Not for a big guy like Dave. “Mythos it is.”

——

The restaurant isn’t far. You walk, shoulder to shoulder, mostly in silence. Dave can’t stop thinking about you or the sounds you’d made for Max; his dick fighting with his brain, trying to keep himself in check now that he’s this close to you.

He clocks right away how different you are from Carol, who would have vetoed every restaurant in the city and then complained about being hungry later. Carol, whom he’d met at his church—back when he gave a shit about such things—only a few months before being sent away to the Marine Corps, so that he hastily rushed into a marriage that neither of them ended up being happy in.

Carol liked to present herself as a godly, Christian woman, though from Dave’s experience, he knew that to be far from the truth.

You, on the other hand, did not give off such vibes, the way you often slept in until noon on Sundays (when you didn’t happen to be working, that was), the somewhat revealing cut of your clothes, or the fact that you didn’t care enough to keep your debauchery stowed away, if the constant slew of alcohol and cigarettes had anything to say about that.

Not to mention how you allowed yourself to be manhandled in a public space with little to no concern of being discovered.

Would you let him drink with you later? he wonders.

Would you let him touch you? Fuck you?

As if on cue, you pull a cigarette loose from your purse. “Is this okay?” you ask as you draw it up to your lips.

There’s something in his eyes you can’t quite read.

“By all means,” he responds, and you let go of a breath. His eyes track the way your lips curl around the filter as you bring the lighter up; the way you cup your other hand to block the wind as you walk. He’s never been more jealous of a cigarette in his entire life.

“Want one?” you offer, assuming that’s why he’s staring.

“No, thanks,” he replies with a small laugh. “Gave them up years ago when I left the Marines.”

Marines? This guy couldn’t possibly be anymore different from Jonathan, you think.

Jonathan, the tortured artist. Jonathan, who once tried to make his own beer and failed horribly, which landed you in the ER several months ago. Jonathan, who dragged you from your home state all the way to Massachusetts, depleting your life savings, and now you don’t have enough money to get home.

He was your type, once. Maybe Dave is what you need.

Maybe Max is what you need, you ponder, a particularly brisk step reminding you of the soreness blooming between your legs.

You don’t need a relationship, you think. What you need right now is no-strings-attached sex, which is exactly what Max seems to be able to offer you.

Dave is cute, though. And seems nice. You can’t deny there’s something reticent about him, however. Something tucked away.

It fascinates you.

You’re about half done with the cigarette by the time you reach the restaurant. You snuff it out on the ground and cram the remainder back into your purse.

It’s a small, hole in the wall sort of place with outdoor seating off to one side, somewhat hidden from view of the street. The inside is intimately lit, and seems a touch cramped for your taste.

“Inside or outside?” Dave asks.

“Out, if that’s okay,” you reply. It’s a cool September evening, which means it will be pleasant enough to sit outdoors, unlike back home this time of year. It’s a nice night and you’d like to enjoy it a bit longer.

“Yeah. Of course.” He tries to quell his nerves when he notices how empty the patio is; were you trying to hint at something? he wonders.

You realize at the same time Dave does that the patio is devoid of other patrons, and you hope you didn’t give off the wrong impression, but it’s too late to say anything by the time he tells the host to seat you there.

The patio is situated between two buildings, adorned with standard metal grid outdoor tables and chairs, a few planter boxes flanking the walls, and string lights strewn above your heads. The host seats you by one of the tables nearest a wall and tells you someone will be by to take your order shortly.

“This is nice,” Dave says, taking time to pull out your chair for you before you sit. It stokes something in you; none of the men you’ve dated ever took such a simple gesture into consideration.

It probably shouldn’t, though. You barely know him.

You shuffle uncomfortably under the table. It’s been a long time since you’ve been on a date, if that was in fact what this was, and you aren’t really sure how to feel about it; how to act and what to say.

“So, where are you from?” he asks, breaking the ice for you.

He is, of course, only making small talk out of formality; he already knows where you’re from. All the places you’ve lived, the jobs you’ve had, your relatives, your financial situation. Social media links. By simply finding out your name and knowing where you work, he was able to obtain more information about you in hours than he had in months of watching you.

It wasn’t enough. He needed to know more.

“Texas,” you answer. The waitress is here now, and she takes your drink orders. Dave orders a Diet Coke and you start to order a water—your go to because it’s free—but change your mind at the last second and order the same thing.

“Be right back with your drinks,” she speaks in what you assume is a Greek accent. You mumble a polite thank you out of habit.

“How about you?” Your turn to ask now.

“Baltimore. Parents were in the FBI, so we stayed close to D.C. for a reason,” he replies with a smile. You make a face of admiration because you don’t know how else to respond to that.

“Wow,” you say as a placeholder. “The FBI? Impressive.”

He preens and shakes his head with a small laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

And then you settle into another drawn out silence. It should feel jarring, but to you, it’s a reprieve. You were never good at carrying a conversation. You start looking over the menu to fill the time, even though you already know what you’re getting.

“So. You want hummus, right? I’ll order some when she comes back,” Dave says.

“I’m getting that as my meal,” you state and it’s true. You would normally get an entree if you were just eating alone and save it for later, but you’re being polite. Besides, you’re really jonesing for some hummus right now.

“You sure?” he asks. “You can get anything you want.”

“I know. Thank you. But I— the hummus sounds good,” you reiterate. He concedes, brushing a hand through his sweat damp hair.

“Dolmas, then,” he suggests, pointing it out on the menu. Your menu, in fact, so that his arm briefly comes into contact with yours.

“Yeah. That sounds nice,” you agree quietly.

He can’t stop himself from smiling at you. You’re so kind. So polite. So shy. Everything that Carol isn’t.

He almost couldn’t believe what you’d let Max do to you. The sinful noises you’d made as a result.

Your duality captivates him. Not unlike yourself, he has his own duality.

He’s already growing stiff under the table. He can’t help it. He wishes you would make the same noises for him.

The waitress comes back a few minutes later with the drinks and takes your orders. “It will be out shortly,” she says when she’s done, tapping her pen against the ticket book as she strides away.

Dave starts asking you about your family. He already knows, of course. But he wants to hear you say it, perhaps to elaborate the details, see how much you’re willing to open up. He nods along patiently as you talk about your sick grandmother and how your mom takes care of her full-time. That you send money to them every once in a while, which is just one other thing that keeps you from saving, although you omit that last part.

You briefly touch on the subject of your brother—your only sibling—and how he’s been in and out of jail and rehab for years, but you don’t expound on that more than necessary.

Dave knows everything so he only lets you tell him what you’re comfortable sharing. He knows about the armed robberies, and that when you say jail, what you really mean is prison.

He notices how disquieted talking about your brother makes you. He’s overcome with the urge to kiss you, again. Take away the hurt. He settles on gently squeezing your shoulder instead. You don’t cringe away this time. He lets his hand dally a touch too long, perhaps, but you don’t say anything.

The dolmas come out a few minutes later. You admit to Dave you’ve never had them before, but after trying the first one, you’re hooked. They’re earthy, lemony and savory; everything you would expect and more.

“Glad you’re enjoying them,” Dave says affectionately. “They’re my favorite.”

You start to relax, a little. But you’re still mostly a bundle of raw nerves and when staff is out of view, you bend over to dig in your grocery bag to retrieve the vodka. It’s been such a long—and bizarre—day. It cannot be helped how you’re feeling or that you need relief.

You don’t catch Dave’s eyes on the droop of your chest as you bend…or the way he licks his lips salaciously, imagining how your nipples would taste against his tongue.

“Would you like any?” you query as you unscrew the top and dump what looks about a shot’s worth into your soda, swirling it with your straw.

Dave should say no. Lord knows he can barely contain himself as it is, stone cold sober.

But like most things having to do with you, he can’t resist, so he doesn’t. You pour some of the clear liquid into his cup.

And it continues like that for a while; adding another shot after every refill, halfway to being drunk by the time your food arrives, your anxiety dissipating with every drop of alcohol in your bloodstream.

Dave’s little touches grow more frequent, as well. Your hands and arms, your nearest shoulder, your knees. A few times, he has to stop himself from gripping your knees to spread them apart for him. It’s been a while since he’s been drunk; you’re probably handling it better than he is.

“What about you, then? Tell me about your family,” you pry, adding another shot to each of your cups.

Dave tells you about his parents, his siblings—one brother and one sister, both older. One lives in Rhode Island and the other in Florida. He says he doesn’t see them as often as he’d like.

“What do you do for work?” you question.

“I’m retired from the CIA,” he answers honestly, pointedly leaving out the part where he still acts as a consultant from time to time. He does not elaborate more than that.

Your eyes go wide, your brows shooting up your forehead. Dave must be the most decorated person you know. “CIA? This isn’t a situation where you have to kill me now that you’ve told me, right?” you ask playfully, and Dave laughs, his fingers grazing your hand.

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t,” he says around a laugh. You melt into a soft smile and he almost grabs you. Almost drags your mouth to his.

His control is waning by the minute.

“What brought you to Boston, anyway?” he finally asks. He knows already, of course, but he wants your side of it.

You’d been avoiding the subject, but the words flow easier now that you’re inebriated. You tell him about Jonathan; how you’d met online, fell in love—or so you thought—moved halfway across the country for him, only for him to leave you for another woman. Your cheeks shade red with anger.

You clock how hard Dave’s face gets while you’re recounting everything. It’s sort of amazing how swiftly his visage shifts from light to dark in the span of mere seconds. It’s unsettling in its own right, really, so you wave your hand dismissively, in order to change the subject.

“What about you? What brought you to Boston?”

He shifts back in his chair, knee brushing yours and bumping it aside ever so slightly. But he isn’t listening, his bubbling thoughts like a dull roar between his ears; he’s thinking of all the ways he would torture Jonathan before killing him. He’d killed many men, both for the Marines and the CIA. He enjoyed it. Got off on it. So what’s a little more blood in his ledger, in the shape of two men named Max and Jonathan?

He would kill them both as soon as he got the chance. The first in years.

“Dave? You okay?” you ask, placing a tentative hand on top of his where it grips the edge of the table, your thumb skimming the hills and valleys of his knuckles. His gaze snaps to yours, and he recognizes the worry in your eyes. You’re worried about him. It’s been a long time since anyone has worried about him.

That small reciprocative touch from you is all it takes to provoke him, drunk as he is. His opposite hand moves suddenly to your throat, then to the nape of your neck, and he pulls you into him, mouth crashing against yours, needy and messy, all teeth and lips until you open your mouth to him and he’s laving at you with broad strokes of his tongue.

You taste like vodka and heaven.

He swallows your whimper as it works its way up from the depths of your throat; as much as you can’t believe you’re kissing a man you’ve only just officially met, you’re impervious to stop him. This is exactly what you were wanting, what you were needing earlier, with Max. That intimacy, that connection, that Max had denied you. That Dave is offering freely. It’s what you wanted so badly and you only stop when Dave does, pulling apart from you to catch his breath, panting against each other’s lips.

You swipe your tongue against his bottom lip after a few moments, enticing him to return, and he takes advantage of the invitation with a deep groan, prodding his tongue hungrily into your mouth. He palms himself over his shorts as he does so—he can’t help it. You drive him fucking crazy.

You’re letting him touch you. He cannot believe you’re letting him. He wonders how much farther he could go.

His hand moves to your chest, curling lightly against the rise of your upper breast, skirting, testing. When you don’t object, he moves lower, gently cupping you from underneath, cradling the weight in his hand. He grunts into your mouth, dragging his thumb up to circle the stem of your nipple. Might as well go for it as long as you seem receptive.

You pull apart, panting hard, lust-drunk and intoxicated. His hand doesn’t move from your breast, his thumb deftly doing laps around the circumference of your stiffened peak, and it feels better than you could have ever imagined, your head draping over the back of the chair.

You need to know how his thumb would feel circling the bundle of nerves between your legs. You know how fucked it is, how fast everything is moving between the two of you, but you find yourself unable to give a shit after the year you’ve had.

You take his hand and move it down to the cradle of your lap as your legs splay wide for him. He cups your heat with his hand, wrist cocked, completely swallowing you in its mass.

His eyes go impossibly dark. Almost unreadable. His lips pull tight, and you think you see the promise of a smirk there, but you can’t be too sure. His brow is furrowed into a heavy line, lending him a feral—almost dangerous—appearance. And he absolutely is, right now—he’d wanted you for so long and he finally has you. Target acquired. God help anyone who might try to take you from him.

His hand doesn’t move right away and you almost think you’ve offended him. You start to cant your hips, seeking friction, and he stills you with the other hand, wide palm holding you in place against the chair.

The thin bike shorts don’t leave much to the imagination; he can feel your soft folds against his fingers and the dampness that is already creeping through. He starts to stroke with his fore and middle fingers along your seam, his thumb firmly pressed to your clothed clit, rolling tight circles.

It’s all so much that you would buck into his hand if he wasn’t holding you down. You mewl pathetically in his wake, and you’re certain you do see his lips curving into a grin now.

You feel like a rabbit locked in the jaws of a wolf.

“Feels so pretty for me,” Dave murmurs against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours as he holds your gaze in his. “What else would you let me do to you, huh?”

You swallow. Your heart is slamming in your chest. The hero facade from earlier is gone and the real Dave is now bared right in front of you.

“Whatever you want,” you respond in a shaky breath. You’re scared of him, but you kind of like it. The fear consuming you is enrapturing.

“That’s a dangerous proposition,” Dave tuts, tongue clicking between his teeth. Thumb continuously circling your sensitive nub.

A moan slips free and you find it nearly impossible to stay in one spot, even in his clutches. He eventually resigns himself and lets go, hand coming up to squeeze just under your jaw.

“Would you let me put a finger in you? Right here?” he rumbles lowly, his voice deep, dark. It almost doesn’t sound like a question, coming from him.

You already know the answer to such a devious question. You’d let Max almost do the same, after all, and you don’t even like Max.

“Yes,” you admit. “Yes…please.”

“Fucking filthy.” His eyes shine and his lips curl into a wicked smile. Carol would have never agreed to something like that; as if he hadn’t asked on multiple occasions. But that never stopped her from fucking a neighbor at a Christmas party several years ago.

The ache in his cock is burgeoning on painful. His grip under your chin tightens; still very much controlled, but enough to get his point across. “Grab my cock.”

Your breath catches. He leans in to kiss you again, your fingers skating along the inner plane of his thigh, snaking into the opening of his shorts. You find his stiffened member readily, lacing your fingers around the ample girth and stroking it along the ridges of your palm, slowing down when you reach the head. Precum leaks down your wrist. He’s warm and hard as steel and feels amazing. He grunts into your mouth, hips rolling forward, chasing your touch.

“Fuck,” he whispers. He’s spent so long dreaming of this exact scenario that now that it’s happening, it’s too much. Too much and not enough all at once. He breathes headily into your mouth, sucking and biting at your lips. He wonders if you’d suck him off under the table; he knows from listening to you earlier that Max hadn’t claimed your mouth. He wanted to be the one to claim that before Max, spill himself down your throat and mark you from the inside out.

It’s so much that he won’t last long if you keep touching him like that, your soft warm hand doing slow, rounded strokes on his cock. He stills your hand and you exchange a glance.

“Lean back, sweetheart.” His words go straight to your core. Max had also called you that, but the cadence was different, more derivative. Dave’s movements are deliberate and controlled, unlike Max’s more chaotic approach. Cold and calculating; yet something in the low pitch of his voice makes you want to trust him.

You lean against the chair, hips sliding forward. Dave wets two fingers against his tongue and, resuming the onslaught of his mouth on yours, pulls back the band of your skin tight shorts to slip the other hand inside.

Your head lolls back against the chair and your eyes flutter shut. Your head swims; what is wrong with you? The waitress could come back to find Dave knuckles deep inside of you at any second.

But that’s part of the allure.

His hand dips lower, skimming the soft curls of your mound, tracing your shape. He’s only inches away from discovering your drenched and waiting hole when a new sound penetrates the fog of your mind. It takes a moment for understanding to settle over you, and then hits you abruptly: someone is clearing their throat.

Your eyes snap open and Dave yanks his hand back so hard he elbows the arm of the chair, a quiet hiss escaping from his lips as he tries to downplay the hurt. You look up to see the waitress peering down at you.

“I was going to ask if you wanted dessert, but seems you’ve already started,” she points out. She looks more amused than angry, but it doesn’t stop the shame that blooms hot in your cheeks at being so careless.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her softly.

“Just the check,” Dave says, doing his best to feign innocence. He bites the inside of his cheek. “Thanks.”

You both burst into laughter like a pair of teenagers as soon as she’s out of earshot. You look down at your half eaten plate of hummus and pitas. “Shit, I should have asked for a box too,” you say, acting as though you didn’t just have hands down the other’s pants. He chuckles, brushing a hand through short, dark hair.

“Yeah, guess so.” His mouth hooks into a crooked smirk.

The air of the moment is gone as you fall into a silence that is more comfortable than the one before, his hand lingering on your knee, thumb circling your kneecap as a gentle reminder.

The waitress returns and she is a saint. Not only has she brought the check, she’s also brought boxes for your leftovers and something in a smaller to-go box. “Baklava, for after,” she says, giving you a knowing wink. You blush. “On the house.”

Dave pays the check and leaves a generous tip as quickly as he is able to do so.

——

Dave’s hands are all over you the entire way home.

Not in a gratuitous way; he’s learned his lesson there. But that doesn’t stop him from sliding his fingers up and down your back as you walk together, or the way his hand curls taut around your hip and ass to pull you in close to nip at your neck. You giggle and playfully try to fend him off, but it does very little to dissuade him, of which you don’t mind.

He’s grateful he chose to wear loose fitting shorts to jog in today. Anything tighter and it would leave very little to the imagination. He’s sure he’s showing enough already, but he can’t be arsed enough to care, or help how deranged you make him feel. He would have taken you at the restaurant, if you had let him. If the two of you could have gotten away with it.

You arrive at the passage between your buildings after what seems like an eternity of walking. You feel his fingers dig a little harder into your backside as soon as you round the corner, and then he’s turning you, pressing your back flush against his building the same way Max had done to you earlier against yours. The similarities between both men is eerie.

His mouth finds your neck and he sucks a line of red marks down to your shoulder, leaving behind a trail of hickies that won’t be going anyway anytime soon, but you’re too fucked out already to mind.

“My place or yours?” Dave asks. His pelvis crowds into you, erection grinding at your center, the thin fabrics of your outfits a blessing as you feel every hard press of him into you.

“Yours,” you mutter without a second thought. You don’t know if you could handle two men in your space in a single day. You’d barely had time to gather your thoughts from earlier, much less clean up after yourself.

If only you knew what Dave knows. What he did.

Dave pulls away from you, one hand circling your wrist as he drags you with him, the other digging into his pocket to retrieve the keycard from his wallet. You need the same for your building, he thinks. Safer that way, less chance of being tampered with, and he would be able to rest easier.

He readjusts the grocery bag on his shoulder as he slides the keycard into the lock and pushes the door open. “After you,” he says, motioning ahead. You do as he asks, stepping over the threshold and into the building, Dave following at your heels.

His building is nicer than yours, a little more modern and kept up. A bank of mail boxes sits off to your right, a seating area to the left. There’s a staircase directly in front of you and an elevator beyond that. He gestures you up the stairs.

“I’m just on the second floor, last door on the left,” he instructs, and you dutifully begin your ascent, slowly, as you’re still more than just slightly tipsy.

Dave falls in line behind you. A moment later, you feel his hands spanning the width of your ass, kneading your flesh against his palms, landing a soft smack to your right cheek; just hard enough to let you know that he’s there and what he’s about to do to you.

“I’ve thought about this ass a lot,” Dave says in a low pitch, “Feels just as nice as I imagined it would.”

You reach the landing and make your way down the narrow corridor until you reach a door with 2A emblazoned on it, canting your eyes towards Dave for conformation. He nods and you step aside as he moves to unlock the door.

The interior of Dave’s apartment is larger than your own. It has an actual bedroom, for one. It’s also more tidy—there isn’t a lot of furniture, very few personal items, which means less clutter. No pictures hung on the walls. Just the bare necessities. A man’s apartment.

Dave puts your bag on the kitchen counter and he’s on you before you can even slide your purse off, removing the burdensome item for you, tossing it thoughtlessly behind him to join the other. His lips crash into yours, needy and desperate, tongue licking into your mouth as his hands roam over your chest to cup both breasts.

You feel better than he could have ever imagined. Like your body was made just for him, the way it slots perfectly against his own.

You make a chirp of surprise as he scoops you up with a low growl, one arm across your back and the other in the bend of your knees as he carries you to the bedroom down the hall. His mouth doesn’t relent, sucking and biting at your lips, your jaw.

“Going to ruin you tonight,” he moans against your mouth.

He puts you down on the edge of the bed when you make it to the bedroom. It’s just as sparse of the rest of the apartment, with plain black sheets and a plain black comforter. At least the bed isn’t made up; that makes you feel a little better about how you live.

He crouches in front of you, large brown eyes darkening a shade as he studies your face. Hands gripping your thighs.

“Just so you know, darling, I don’t play nice,” he forewarns, hands sliding down your legs to stroke your bare calves. Going off of what he heard earlier, he’s sure that won’t be a problem. “Before we start, is there anything off the table?”

You consider his question for a moment, thoughtfully biting your lip. “Yes. I’m not on birth control, so…” you trail off with a nervous giggle. Your condoms are of no use back at your apartment.

His jaw clenches. Of course he doesn’t have any condoms either, as he hasn’t had a need for them in quite some time. He supposes he understands. It isn’t like he needs more kids, anyway.

“Guess I have to cum in one of your other holes, then,” he muses, squeezing and kneading your calves. His hands are large and warm and they feel fucking amazing. “If at any point you want me to stop, you say ‘foxglove’. Otherwise, I assume anything goes. Clear?”

“Clear,” you confirm, inclining your head in a small nod, a tremor slithering its way through you as you consider the possibilities.

Dave’s expression hardens as a hand lifts to your face, landing a smack across your cheek just hard enough to sting but not hurt. Not yet.

“Tell me what you say if it’s too much. I need to hear you say it,” his voice dark and heavy.

“Foxglove. The safe word…is foxglove.”

One corner of his mouth slants upwards into a smirk, his eyes remaining dark. Glassy. “Atta girl,” he says with a wink.

He begins removing your clothing, yanking and manipulating the fabric free from your form until you’re completely nude, your skin pebbling as cool air rushes over you. His gaze traverses your curves, drinking you in with his eyes as he licks his lips hungrily. He can see bruises forming where Max’s fingers gripped you, where they dug in. He surprises himself when it only serves to further turn him on, the head of his dick beading with precum as he pictures how Max must have fucked you. Part of him wishes he had been able to see it for himself.

He slaps you again, harder this time, hand moving to your throat to shove you down until your back makes contact with the mattress, a small gasp rushing out of you. Moving from the floor to the bed, he seats himself at your side, grabbing one of your knees to spread you open.

He drags a finger along your soaked seam, revering how wet you already are for him, how easily the tip of his finger slips inside. “Fuck, is this just for me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. You nod in response. “Fuckin’ slut.”

He sinks his finger to the last knuckle, pumping a few times, adding a second a moment later. You mewl and writhe underneath him, craving more friction between your legs.

“Just fuck me, Dave, please. Want your cock in me.”

He chuckles, balls pulsing in response to your words as he removes his fingers from your dripping heat. “My cock, pretty girl?” he purrs. “Who’s calling the shots here?” he asks you, pinching and twisting one of your nipples as retribution. The pain makes you cry out, tears stinging your eyes, your back arching.

When you don’t answer, he repeats himself, tugging harder this time. “Who?” he snarls.

“Y-you! You!” you whine, moving your hand over your breast to soothe the hurt, but Dave knocks it back, pinning it to the bed.

“Don’t move your hands. I mean it.”

Your body trembles. This isn’t the mild mannered Dave from earlier; the juxtaposition absolutely terrifies you and it’s fucked how much you like it.

“You,” you repeat for good measure. “You do.”

Dave beams down at you, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.”

His fingers move to curve inside of you, adding a third this time, splitting you open for him. You keen at the sting of being stretched around his knuckles, hips instinctively bucking against him. You whimper when his palm bumps your clit.

He stills you with his opposite hand and you flinch, anticipating more retaliation.

“Easy,” he soothes, flattening his palm against your hip as he strokes. “I got you.”

His fingers pump lazily through your slick, sinking to the hilt, allowing himself to feel every ridge and ripple of your tunnel. Memorizing it. You’re so wet for him; he still can’t believe that you’re letting him do this. How did he get so lucky?

He fishes his phone from his pocket in a moment of insight; he doesn’t want to take any chances in case you never let him do this again. His eyes move to your face as he does so, awaiting any kind of objection, only to continue when he finds there is none. You watch with curiosity from your perspective as he flicks open the camera app and begins to film, training the lens where his fingers are currently disappearing inside of you.

It goes on for several minutes like that, Dave filming as he fucks you with his fingers, the wet squelch of his digits driving into you paired with the accompanying sounds of your gradually building pleasure more than a little gratuitous, as if it was straight from a porno.

He can tell by the way your inner walls are tightening that you’re getting close. He wants to get you off before he does, prepare you for the inevitable stretch of him so he can properly ruin you on his cock.

He passes the phone to you now, scooting higher up on the bed. You watch him through the phone screen and realize he’s still completely clothed, the lewd bulge of his erection more than obvious even through the phone. As if on cue, he palms himself before settling in next to you.

He nibbles down the rise of your shoulder, trailing to your breast, leaving small suckling bites until his mouth reaches the hard peak of your nipple. His tongue laves over it, circling it, sucking it into his mouth and taking it between his teeth. It sends a shockwave of pain through you, your cunt clenching down on Dave’s fingers, momentarily blinded by your pleasure.

You do as best you can to capture everything on camera, but there’s so much going on, your brain so swimmy you can barely see straight.

“Mmf,” he groans against the stiffened bud. “Doing so well already,” he praises.

His teeth move to the pillowy flesh of your outer breast, biting down harder than you would have imagined he would—to the point of nearly drawing blood—another lance of pain shooting through you with a strangled cry. It’s at that moment an orgasm unexpectedly washes over you, taking you by complete surprise as you scream Dave’s name loud enough for the entire building to hear.

His cock pulses with the need to be buried in your dark, wet heat as he rides out the ebbs and flows of your ecstasy, hand still fucking into you, harder and faster than before, and before you even realize what’s happening, a second orgasm surges through you like an arc of lightning on the tail end of the first, your vision pulling white for what seems like a lifetime.

“Fuck,” you mewl, your voice almost a sob. “Fuck, Dave.”

He keeps pumping until the aftershocks of your back to back orgasms starts to be too much, burgeoning on painful, and you plead for him to stop, grabbing at his wrist without giving it much thought.

“You know what to say if you want me to stop.” His face contorts into a wicked sneer. “I like when you tell me no.”

You let out a sigh of relief when you get a brief reprieve from the overstimulation as he pulls his fingers out of you, leaning forward to force your mouth open with his fingers. “Clean them off. Taste yourself. Taste what I did to you.”

You do your best to turn the camera to your face as you suck obediently, tasting a mixture of yourself and the salt of his skin, murmuring low in your throat as your eyes move to examine his face. He’s drunk on lust and on you, slack-jawed, dark eyes shimmering with dubiousness. Somehow, if it’s possible, it makes you even wetter than before.

When he removes his hand, a string of saliva connects your mouth to the tip of his middle finger, which you most definitely capture on the camera.

“My turn,” he says, sliding into a stand, removing his shirt and letting it join yours on the floor. The first thing you notice are his shoulders, endlessly broad and well defined, flexing with every movement. You’re unable to pull your attention away from the vastness of them until he’s kneeling again, grabbing you by the hips and pulling your ass to hang over the edge of the bed.

His face is buried between the juncture of your thighs a moment later, arched Roman nose nudging your overly sensitive bundle of nerves. His tongue dips to penetrate you, lips forming a tight seal around your entrance as his tongue scrubs at your inner walls, groaning deep in his throat as he tastes you for the first time.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he moans against your folds. “Best I’ve ever tasted.”

“No, Dave, stop,” you beg, weakly pushing at one of his shoulders with your free hand, so overstimulated it hurts. Between him and Max, they’ve already done a number on you today, and Dave hasn’t even properly fucked you yet. Your words don’t make Dave stall, however; if anything, he speeds up.

You know what to say if you want me to stop. His words echo in your mind as a single teardrop clings to your waterline. You could just say it, foxglove—a type of poisonous flower, aptly fitting—and you’re certain he would stop. But you’re willing to see how far you’re able to go, how much you can take, the word fading away behind your lips along with your considerations.

“Stop,” you whimper to spur him on, intentionally antagonizing him now, and he growls, animalistic, heady, unrelenting as he grazes his teeth over your sensitive nub, making you cry out before returning to his previous task of eating you out like a man starved.

It isn’t long before he drags a third orgasm out of you, your hips bucking completely off the bed to chase the fleeting stimulation, his name a chant on your tongue. Your fingers curl into the sheets to anchor yourself.

Dave falls back on his calves, chest heaving as he takes a moment to collect his breath, likewise allowing you to catch yours.

He runs a hand over his face, wiping away the sweat that wants to fall. He often stopped using his air conditioning after summer, and he’s feeling the effects now as perspiration beads up and rolls down his back.

“Are you ready for my cock?” he asks, his face cast in shadow, lending him an insidious appearance. It makes you shiver.

“Yes. Need your cock in me,” you whine, knowing how sore you’ll be after this, how sore you are now. You can’t find yourself able to care.

Dave rises, one hand on his hip, cock pulsing and leaking with arousal at the chance to fully bury himself in you. He goes over to the side of the bed, hauling you up the rest of the way by your arm, which makes you yelp.

He takes the phone from you and places it on the nightstand, angling it so that it faces the bed. You aren’t sure how much you were able to capture with his head between your legs, so you’re happy to be relieved of film maker duty.

He’s on top of you an instant later, shorts somehow shed in a frenzy of movement, lining himself up at your entrance and then pushing inside in one smooth, devastating go. His head rocking back to slump against his shoulders at how amazing you feel, how tight you are for him despite being with Max, how subservient you’ve been and how well you’re taking him. It takes every fiber of his being not to offload into you on the first thrust.

His hands lace around your throat as he begins to pump, squeezing into the meat of your neck. “Look at me,” he snarls.

You look up at him, brown eyes shifted to black, a dark band of shadow covering his visage, making him seem that much more sinister. He isn’t fully railing into you yet, but he isn’t exactly going easy on you, either, every thrust into you more tender than the previous.

“Open your mouth for me like the whore you are,” Dave commands, tightening his grip until the edges of the room start to blot away. “And stick out your tongue.”

Your lips part and you curl your tongue outward, thinking you know what’s coming, but still being taken aback when you feel a thick glob of saliva land directly onto your waiting tongue. You don’t give him a chance to tell you to swallow; you do it on your own, opening wider for more.

“Does my little slut want seconds?” Dave asks, and you nod. He smirks, spitting directly into your mouth again, watching intently as you swallow. “Filthy. Should make you eat my cum, too.”

You nod in wanton agreement, but you’re unable to speak with his massive hands digging into your windpipe as they are. The flash in his gaze tells you his understanding, though, and he starts fucking you harder, instructing you to lift your legs so he can slam into you as deep as he possibly can, the head of his dick knocking at the delicate spongy area at the back of your tunnel.

And then a fourth orgasm rolls over you, vision fading away momentarily as your head rocks back against the pillow, choked cry clawing its way out of your throat.

You aren’t sure how much more you can take, which Dave must admit is more than he expected you to. Your body is numb and your head is pounding; you hope for your sake he cums soon.

He loosens his hold on your neck, and you’re able to breathe again, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath him as you catch up. He taps the side of your face, softly, almost affectionate in comparison to how hard he slapped you before. Then he pulls out of you, wrapping his hand around his thick cock, slowly pumping himself with your slick and cum.

“Maybe I won’t spill into that pretty little whore mouth of yours,” he muses. “Maybe I should take your tight little asshole instead.”

Your heart palpitates faster, eyes going wide. You’ve never done anal more than just a finger or two and Dave is so girthy—the idea gives you pause, admittedly.

Dave expects you to say no. Like, actually say no, this time. The veins running the length of his shaft pulsing as he imagines how your ass would feel sheathed on his cock, but he isn’t pressing the issue, so he’s more than pleasantly shocked when you don’t abstain.

“Okay,” you mumble, hardly above a whisper. “Need you to fuck my ass, Dave.” You look up at him through your lashes and it stirs something primal in him, hearing those words come from your sweet mouth.

He wastes no time in flipping you over, pulling you up to your knees as he notches himself at your star of muscle.

“Have you ever done it before?”

“N-never, no. Just fingers,” you admit, biting back your trepidation.

“I’ll start off slow, then. Get you nice and stretched out. But I won’t be able to control myself for long, knowing I’m the first one who gets to claim your ass. I won’t go easy on you after that point.”

You swallow and nod. The alcohol will definitely help to loosen things up, but you aren’t sure how much.

Dave tilts your hips up, spreading your cheeks to spit directly onto the ring of muscle. He slips a thumb inside, pumping it easily a few times, groaning at how you squeeze him.

“So tight,” he growls. “Going to feel so fucking good.”

He slides his thumb out and spits again, first at your entrance and then into his palm, smearing the cocktail of saliva, slick and precum over himself. He grips your cheeks and spreads you open as wide as possible, positioning his head between them.

He starts to push slowly inward, the initial stretch painful, your vision temporarily reduced to nothing, tears stinging your eyes. It’s so much. He’s so much.

In spite of yourself, you do your best to relax, regulating your breathing and slackening your muscles. It seems to help as he claims another inch of you with a throaty reverberation. “Doing great, baby.”

You moan, an amalgamation of pleasure and pain when he pushes in about halfway, filling you in ways you never could have imagined. He pumps his hips languidly as he continues to gain ground, parting you slowly around his length, molding you into a desired shape for him, until he eventually bottoms out with a visceral groan.

“Fuck,” he pants. “So fucking perfect.”

He holds there a moment, relishing how fucking amazing you feel strangling his cock, knowing it won’t take much from this point to send him hurtling over the edge; he’ll have to make sure it counts.

He ruts into you a few times, gingerly, opening you further to ensure you have ample time to mentally prepare for the impending onslaught.

“How does it feel?” he asks, kneading your hips under his hands.

“G-good, so f-far,” you reply. “Okay.”

“That’s too bad,” Dave tuts. “We’ll have to fix that, won’t we, darling?”

He plants a hard smack to your ass, causing you to arch involuntarily with a high keening yelp, rocking you back into him as a dagger of pain courses through you. Dave grunts, snapping his hips into you, and you yelp again.

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it.”

He flattens his palm over where he made contact to soothe the hurt, but before you can settle he strikes you again, harder than before, gripping your hips with enough force to bruise as he begins riding you rough and frenzied, bucking his hips against yours.

His hand snakes around to your front and finds your swollen and overworked clit, administering quick tight circles to the delicate bud. Your initial instinct is to push him away, tell him to stop, and you do. You cry out for him to stop, because it’s so much, he’s so much, forgetting in your haste that it only spurs him on, makes him want you more. And it’s so much that he’s literally fucking you senseless, unable to breathe or even think.

Despite everything, that familiar tickle begins to build low in your abdomen again, the noises you make with every thrust inhuman and supplicant. You want him to stop but you don’t. You don’t know how much more you can withstand but at the same time want him to use you all night.

Dave rumbles from the depths of his chest, completely feral as he ruts into your ass, the noises you’re making driving him to the brink of insanity, the same ones you’d made earlier for Max. And he can feel his climax building, listening to your salacious inhuman noises, envisioning Max fucking you in your apartment and how much you’d fallen apart for him. And subsequently four times so far with himself.

“Whose ass is this?” Dave snarls, spanking you again, leaving an imprint of his hand behind.

“Yours, Dave, yours!” you cry.

“That’s right. No one else’s. Just mine. All mine,” he grunts. “Cum for me, baby. Need you to cum as I rail your ass.”

“I can’t, Dave, it’s so much…” you whine. Everything is disorientating. You’re glad you have tomorrow off because you aren’t certain you’ll be able to walk after this.

“Yes you can. Cum for me. Last one.”

He flicks the pads of his middle and index fingers over your clit, and when you think it isn’t going to be possible, another orgasm burns through you like a powder keg, your walls clamping down around nothing as Dave spears himself repeatedly into you. You see stars, crying out his name as your arms give out beneath you, the upper half of your body slumping into the bed.

Dave snaps his hips once, twice, three times more and then he’s cumming hard with a deep, animalistic snarl, pumping himself deep as he uses you to milk every last drop of himself.

He eventually slows to a halt, both of you panting hard, covered in a thin sheen of perspiration, your bodies like jello as you sink in tandem to the mattress below. Dave pulls out of you, rolling onto his back as he pants up at the ceiling.

He takes a moment to catch his breath and bearings before he scoots off the bed, checking to make sure you’re okay as he turns off the camera on his phone and then heads to the small en suite bathroom, the only one in the apartment. He starts the warm tap and retrieves a wash rag from the basket he keeps by the sink, running it under the water until it’s pleasantly warm.

He returns to you a moment later to find you already halfway to dozing, looking at him through sleepy, half-lidded eyes. It stokes something in the cold cockles of his heart seeing you like this, running an affectionate hand up the back of your thigh as he approaches you. “Here, open up.”

You hardly have any cognition left, yet you somehow manage to comprehend, spreading to allow him to clean you. The warmth of the rag is relieving against your sore and tender parts, and when he feels you’ve been sufficiently looked over, he seats himself next to you, brushing your hair from your eyes.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mmhm,” you manage weakly, unable to keep your eyes open now. “Jus’ tired.”

“Rest,” Dave says, stroking along the edge of your jaw with his thumb. “You’ve earned it.”

He watches you a moment longer as you drift off, leaving your side only when he’s sufficiently sated on the image of you in his bed to go clean himself up in the bathroom. While he’s in there, he can’t help but think that being able to fuck you should have scratched that itch, scratched it enough that he could move past you, but now that he’s had you—he feels it growing even more restless than before, contorting into some kind of twisted, dangerous animal. He fears the things he would do for you. To you.

He needs to remember you like this. All fucked out and beautiful in your post-coitus glow, one hand rested under your cheek. He goes back to you, grabbing his phone to snap a picture of you. And then several more.

He has to see his daughters this weekend so his time with you is fleeting. And he won’t be around immediately after either, since he’s decided to make a little impromptu trip up to New York to pay a friendly visit to your ex.

He rejoins you in the bedroom, flipping on the wall unit air conditioning before sliding into bed next to you, wrapping you in his arms as he places kisses where he left marks on your neck. You utter a small, chirping sound, settling into his arms as the rest of your mind slips away to sleep.

——

You aren’t sure how long you were out.

Your mouth is parched and you’re simultaneously freezing and burning up, a layer of sweat between your bodies where your skin makes contact. He’s got you tangled up in his arms and he’s like a massive furnace, smothering you with his impressive body heat.

But the A/C is also going and everywhere the air touches is freezing, your skin bubbling with goosepimples.

You shift, hoping it will rouse him. You need to get home. When it doesn’t work, you move your limbs more, stretching and quietly murmuring his name. He eventually stirs, looking down at you with sleepy baby cow eyes, somehow soft in their regard of you, despite every debauched and depraved thing he did.

“Dave, I need to go.”

He frowns. He has to leave tomorrow morning for Virginia, but he was hoping you’d stay, wanting your face to be the last he sees before then.

“Spend the night. I make a mean bowl of cereal,” he jokes, the edge of his lip quirking up. “Or we can order in.”

You deliberate on it. Dave absolutely wrecked you, brought you the brink of losing yourself several times, frightened you and hurt you. You let him. You wanted it—you liked it. And you like him.

But your ex ruined you in the worst of ways. Things had moved quickly with him, you being absolutely starstruck in love from the start, and look where it got you. As much as you like Dave, you fear history repeating itself. You barely know him. You can’t risk going down the same road again.

“Next time,” you offer as compromise. He doesn’t do anything to hide his disappointment, but he nods in confirmation anyway. As much as he needs you to stay, he doesn’t want to push you away with his neediness.

“Next time,” he repeats with a nod. “Sure.”

You get up to use the rest room, slipping back into your clothes, checking yourself out in the mirror as you do so and notice how you’re absolutely riddled with marks. You can hide out in your apartment tomorrow, sure, but you aren’t sure what you’ll do for work. Wear a scarf, maybe.

“Let me walk you home,” Dave says as you gather your things, taking the grocery bag from you, even though it really isn’t that heavy. You lift heavier boxes of coffee at work, after all. “Please.”

“Dave,” you say with a laugh, “I live, like, a hundred feet from you.”

He offers a weak, nervous laugh of his own in response. He really is a man split right down the middle, personality wise. A study of duality. “I know. It’s just proper.”

You don’t fight it. You’re already turning down his request to stay; may as well give him this one. “Sure. Come on.”

He walks you down with his hand planted in the small of your back, gingerly stroking as you make your way outside. The air is stagnant and quiet, the faint sounds of traffic somewhere in the distance.

You reach the door of your building and turn to face Dave with a shy smile, your cheeks heating. You aren’t sure why, after what you let him do to you. “Well, this is me.”

“Yeah,” he says with a breathy laugh, placing his hands on his hips and looking you over. “I can walk you inside, if you want.”

“I think I can manage,” you reply with a smile. “Thanks, though. And thank you…for everything.”

As he passes you the bag, something else unspoken passes between the two of you, Dave rushing into you to plunge his tongue past your teeth, licking broad strokes into your mouth. You moan and sink your fingers into his hair without even thinking about it.

Fuck, he’s going to miss you.

He was hard again the moment you woke up naked in his arms, and he’s even harder now as he presses into you, cock twitching to feel you again.

“I have to go,” you plead against his lips. “I’ll see you this weekend. Promise.”

He frowns. He never told you about his daughters. Or his divorce. Now probably isn’t the most opportune time to bring it up, either.

“I’ll be out of town until next week,” he says. “But after. Yeah.”

It tugs at something in you, hearing his voice drop like that. You decide to compromise once again by offering your phone number up as penance.

“So, we’ll still be able to talk,” you say.

“Yeah. Sounds good.” He smiles, even though he doesn’t exactly feel up to it, the corners of his eyes wrinkling into crow’s feet.

“And bring me back a souvenir from wherever you’re going,” you say in jest. “I’m kidding, by the way. Don’t.”

He chuckles. “I’ll bring you back a “‘Virginia is For Lovers’ shirt,” he responds.

“Virginia? Nice.” You nod. “But seriously, don’t. And have a nice trip.”

“I’ll try,” he admits. And then he kisses you again, less aggressively this time, hand trailing down to the curve of your buttock, resting there, but not squeezing. It’s taking everything in him not to pull your shorts down and fuck you within an inch of your life, again, in the open like this. But he refrains.

“Talk to you soon, Dave,” you say as you take a step away from him, punching in the door code on the keypad. Dave watches your fingers move, tucking the number away for later use. 6435#. Easy enough.

“Soon,” he agrees. “Have a good night,” he says, his voice dropping to an affectionate octave when he says your name.

He watches you go. Watches you leave him. He swallows back his pride, knowing he hasn’t driven you away fully yet, but more than a little concerned he doesn’t have you exactly where he wants you.

He returns to his apartment alone, which already feels empty without you.

He knows it will be impossible to sleep right now. He brews himself a cup of Earl Grey and takes it over to his computer, the screen shining a bright white in his irises as he sits down to do some digging on Jonathan. He has enough information to go on; now it’s just a matter of filling in the gaps.

He can’t wait to pay your ex a visit.

——

Max surprises himself when his heart drops at not seeing you at the shop the next day.

Maurizio is there, whom he greets unenthusiastically, his ex-schoolmate little more than an acquaintance at this point, but the interaction is amiable enough. And some kid with a face full of piercings manning the counter who’s maybe all of eighteen at best, as far as Max can tell.

At least that pink haired bitch isn’t working today, Max thinks.

He orders a large Americano and a cookie to go, his usual order. He asks if you’re working today. The metal-faced kid—whose name tag says Vincent, and whom he recognizes from yesterday—tells him you’re off today.

“Thanks.” Figures you wouldn’t be here. For whatever reason he can’t seem to fathom, he hasn’t been able to get you off his mind since yesterday. Even wore the same tie as a reminder, which is something that meticulous, obsessed-with-his-own-appearance Max does not do. Ever.

He takes his Americano and cookie and leaves, thinking about you on his way to work as he takes small sips of the subpar coffee. He wonders what you do in your free time. What you’re doing now.

He thinks, perhaps, he’ll drop in after work. He knows where you live now, after all.

He can’t wait to see your face when he shows up unannounced at your door.

@ohheypedrito @kateispunk @survivingandenduring @oberynslady @chronically-ghosted @onmysluttyknees @kellybelly1978 @annieispunk @sarap-77

Enjoy! 😘

#pedro pascal #writing #romance #smut #author #fanfic #pedro fanfic #dave york #max phillips #equalizer 2 #bloodsucking bastards

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prettyboyrry · 1 year

Text

hi!! this is my first little piece of writing for TLOU (in abby’s perspective) i’m putting on here kind of nervous but here it is :) hope you enjoy and feel free to message me if you have request or things you didn’t particularly like about it i’m always up for suggestions!

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"i- well, never"

“what?”

her face goes bright red at her confession.

me and my girlfriend, of only 2 weeks were going back and forth asking questions about each other when we ventured off into the more personal side of things. i had asked her how many times she gets off a day when she answered this.

"um, i don't know i just never really learned how to," her face is downcast while she fiddles with her fingers.

"let me get this straight" i can't help my teasing tone of voice, "you've never touched yourself?"

she clears her throat before speaking, still not making eye contact.

“n-no"

"sweetheart why are you so nervous?" i laugh, "this is not a bad thing at all"

"i know," she finally musters up the courage to look at me "but like i've never done anything to myself, much less anyone else so this is all really new, and you're so experienced and have been with other girls who are more experienced than me. and i wanna be able to make you feel good but i'm not sure how, i'm sorry i'm rambling"

my god she is cute.

"which is why we're gonna explore this together." i reassure her, "yes, i've been with a few girls but every girl is different and not everyone likes the same things so we're both going to be learning each other's bodies and that's okay.

she yelps when i pull her small body to sit on my lap.

i plant slobbery kisses up her neck before whispering in her ear.

"did you wanna try?"

she immediately turns her head to me with a shocked look on my face.

"wha- like, um, now?" she stammers nervously.

"yeah lovie, do you wanna cum?"

she goes impossibly redder, hiding her face in my neck.

"yeah" she whispers shyly into my ear.

"alright hop up" i tell her.

once she's sitting beside me, i grab a pillow, folding it over my thigh.

"you're gonna come sit on my thigh" i state "you can either keep your underwear on or take it off, whatever makes you comfortable."

she ponders her options and then straddles my thigh, wrapping her arms around my neck.

"i'm going to keep them on today" she murmurs.

"okay my love" i reply, "now i want you to move your hips back and forth on the pillow"

she looks at me hesitantly, before her hips start to move slowly. i can't tell when her clit gets good friction when her hips stutter for a second while she tries to catch her breath.

"you're doing so good sweet girl, go faster if you need to" i speak softly.

"sorry, i um, this is a lot" she stammers.

"none of that, you're doing nothing wrong." i assure her.

she starts to go faster and her breath picks up.

"oh god abby" she moans involuntarily.

she lays her head onto neck and begins digging her hips harder and faster into my thigh, scratching down my back in the best way possible.

"i need more" she whines into my ear.

i take the initiative and let my hands rest on her hips while i guide her hips to go faster.

"yes yes yes, please" i can tell she's close.

"i think, oh fuck, i think im cumming" she warns.

"cum baby" i demand.

"fuck fuck fuck, i cant, oh god to much" she cries out, biting my shoulder to keep herself quiet.

"nu uh" i tut, pulling her by the ponytail so she's looking at me. "let me hear you"

"i'm cumming baby" she says softly, tears streaming down her face.

all it takes, is my thigh to move and she's spilling onto my leg. her body is twitching sporadically and i can only see the whites of her eyes. i keep moving her waist so she can ride out her high but let go when she pushes them off for being too much.

after a few minutes of her leaning onto my shoulder i finally speak.

"c'mon sweet girl, let's get you cleaned up" i say sweetly not wanting to startle her.

she pulls her face out of my shoulder, her legs still lightly shaking.

"um, i think i made a mess" she says shyly with a red face.

i give her a confused look before following her gaze to see her arousal puddle she left on the pillow.

"oh baby" i say through my teeth, holding myself back from fucking the shit out of her.

"im sorry" she says quietly i barley hear her.

"baby that's the hottest shit ive ever seen"

#wlw concepts #wlw and nblw only #wlw smut #wlw #wlw post #lesbian smut #abby the last of us #the last of us #tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #abby x you #abby x reader #tlou fanfiction #abby anderson #fem reader

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stevieharringtonwifeguy · 1 year

Text

queen of the underworld: transfem stevie gets bred by kas!eddie while theyre both stuck in the upside down.

tags: monsterfucking, oviposition, breeding, implausible resilience of the human body

warning for slight dubcon bc stevie has no idea whats going on in the beginning and monster!eddie cant speak or be normal, but once she catches up she is. Ready And Willing.

also on ao3 here

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Stevie hoists Dustin above her head, pulling on the last of her adrenaline to propel him through the gate in the ceiling of the trailer. The gate is closing rapidly now, the link between the dimensions decaying quickly following Vecna’s death. Stevie took her role as babysitter seriously, making sure everyone else was through the gate first, but now, with everyone else on the right side up, she’s now realising that without anyone’s help and the rope cut, she’s going to really struggle getting through herself.

She frantically looks around the trailer, looking for something to stand on for the extra boost as her friends desperately call her name through the portal. The demobats had done a number on the room, wrecking tables and chairs and anything else Stevie could have used to reach the gate. Her eyes fall on the couch, turned over against the wall on the opposite side of the trailer. It's heavy, and after a moment of pushing she's only moved it about a foot closer to the hole in the ceiling.

She looks back at her friends through the gate, which has now shrunk to the width of her shoulders. She's not gonna make it.

“Stay there, guys!” She yells. Nancy’s already trying to climb on a coffee table, and Robin is holding Dustin back with tears in her eyes. “Don't come back for me, okay? Keep it closed.”

“What??? No, we're not leaving you-”

“Dustin!” Stevie shouts, interrupting the sobbing boy. The gate is about the size of her head now. “It's okay. I love you, kid.”

The strange sucking sound of the closing portal cuts off Dustin's scream of anguish. And then it's quiet, except for the sound of rolling thunder in the distance.

Stevie sits on the floor and sobs.

She's not sure how long she stays there, curled up crying on the floor of the Munsons’ trailer as she comes to terms with being stuck in the Upside Down, but eventually she straightens herself out. Picks up her bat and braves the outdoors.

Eddie’s body is still on the ground outside.

They'd tried to carry him back, at first, before they realised the gates were closing and they were out of time. He's lying there, eyes closed, guitar tucked under his arm where Dustin had placed it like you would a bouquet of flowers at a funeral. Whoever said people look peaceful in death was full of shit. Eddie looks like he was eaten by bats and died in pain, his features still kind of scrunched up like being dead hurts just as much as dying did.

Stevie should bury him, she thinks. He deserves that much.

She looks around, but can't find a shovel. The ground is weird and hard, anyway, and with her injuries she probably couldn't dig much of a grave without tearing something. Instead, she finds a bunch of rocks, and piles them on top of his body, like a very shoddily made tomb. She places his guitar gently on top, and works a stick into the ground as a headstone. She'd considered tying two together to make a cross, but figured it didn't really fit his aesthetic. If nothing else, she knew Eddie loved his aesthetic.

She sits with him for a moment. Doesn't say a prayer, knows even if there was a god to hear it he wouldn't be listening to prayers from this place. But she sits, and she thinks about Eddie, about a boy who by all rights should have been terrifying, and instead was one of the warmest people she'd ever met. She hopes he gets some peace now.

And then she wanders off into the Upside Down.

She manages to last two weeks before it all goes to shit.

At least, Stevie thinks it's been two weeks. It's hard to measure time here, where there's no sun or moon and none of the clocks in the empty houses actually work. She doesn't seem to need to eat or drink, although she does still sleep, seemingly more out of habit than anything else. Sleep comes fitfully, her ears constantly straining to hear if the chitters of this dimension's creatures are coming closer, but it seems as good a way to measure the time as any.

She's surprised by how… calm the Upside Down feels now. She remembers Nancy saying something about how Vecna came from their dimension and used the hive mind for his own purposes. Now, with him dead, the place seems to be settling back into some kind of natural order. The demobats don't attack if they're on their own- they recognise that she's bigger than them, and wouldn't be worth the effort it would take to eat her. Possibly they remember how she ripped one of their siblings in half with her bare hands. She's still pretty proud of that one. The demodogs aren't a threat either. While they do travel in packs and are more likely to attack, they can't deal with doors very well. All she has to do to avoid them is get indoors. It's almost funny to hear them whining and scrabbling at the door like a dog put in time out. And by funny, she means terrifying.

The real problem is the demogorgons. She hasn't seen many, but they're big, strong, and smart, a dangerous combination. They are weak to fire, but the lighter in her pocket is running dangerously low on fuel, and the wood from the twisted trees that grow here doesn't burn well. Her best bet with the demogorgons is running. Running like hell.

Which is what she's doing now.

She'd cut her hand boarding up a broken window in the house she's staying in (not hers, she's not opening that can of worms), and not five seconds later, the demogorgon had appeared, drawn to the scent of her blood like a shark.

She races through the woods, not chancing a look behind her because she's seen too many horror movies to risk a cliché trip. There are less vines now that Vecna’s dead, but she avoids stepping on them anyway, unsure if the creatures are still connected to them and unwilling to risk drawing more attention if they are. She can hear the demogorgon closing in on her. Its shrieks are getting closer, and after one particularly close growl she thinks she can feel the barest hint of claws brushing against her back.

And then, the flap of wings, another shriek, followed by the unmistakable sound of flesh tearing.

Almost against her will, she turns, desperate to know what happened to her pursuer even as her mind screams at her to keep running. Something is crouched over the now motionless corpse of the demogorgon, tearing at it with claws and teeth. It seems humanoid, but huge, over seven feet tall with giant bat-like wings that obscure most of its ashy grey body. Multiple tails wrap around the demogorgon’s body, holding it in place as the creature uses its hands to rip it apart.

Stevie whimpers, backing up on instinct. And then, like all the girls in horror movies Stevie swore she'd never be, she trips and falls on her ass.

The new creature whips its head towards her instantly. Its face is humanoid, too, head covered in a riot of black curls, and with big, round eyes that literally glow red, like two stoplights sitting in its head. And beyond that, when she really looks, it's… familiar.

“Eddie?” she squeaks, a little breathlessly.

The creature- Eddie- looks at her for a moment, head tilting with some emotion Stevie can't place- and then it pounces, scooping her into its arms and flying off into the stormy sky.

Eddie brings Stevie into some kind of cave system. As soon as they're no longer so high in the sky she'd die if he dropped her, she starts fighting, pushing at his arms and wriggling desperately. He merely tightens his grip, growls a warning that has Stevie going limp in his arms.

He carries her deeper into the caves, taking so many turns so quickly she knows she doesn't have a hope of finding her way out of here on her own. And that's if he doesn't, like, eat her. This seems like a lot of effort to go through if he was just going to eat her though, and there had been something like recognition in his eyes when she'd said his name, so Stevie just closes her eyes and hopes for the best.

She opens them again when she's placed gently onto something soft. She's in a cavern now, the room lit by the gentle yellow glow of strange flowers blooming from the cave walls, and she sits in a strange collection of various fabrics. It looks like… a nest? She recognises a few of the items it's made of- the curtains from her room in the Harrington house, a few pieces of clothing that seem to belong to both her and Eddie, all pilfered from the Upside Down versions of their homes and arranged carefully in a circle, pillows padding the walls of the nest. It's… strangely cosy, as much as it is confusing.

“Wh- Eddie?” she asks, eyes lifting once more to the strange being in front of her. It's definitely Eddie, still has his tattoos, although they've warped and stretched from his massive growth spurt. There are patches of lighter skin on his face, chest, and stomach, and she recognises them as scars left over from his death. It's oddly comforting to see something that links him so clearly to the body Stevie had buried weeks ago, even though so much has changed. His wings, the black tipped fingers that taper into claws, the long fangs, all pale in significance to the intense stare he gives her, so like the one he'd had when he told her she was ‘metal’ for having the strength to transition in small town Indiana.

Eddie rumbles a growl at her, low but still somehow nonthreatening, like distant thunder on a warm summer night. When he advances toward her, however, she instinctively rears back. Eddie whines plaintively, and she forces herself to remain still as he… scents her? He rubs his cheeks against hers, buries his nose in her hair and neck as he purrs like a seven-foot tall housecat.

“Eddie,” she chuckles breathlessly, burying her hands in his mane of hair and sort of petting his head. He seems to enjoy it, though, if the way he keens and purrs even harder is any indication. “What are you d- oh!��

Stevie’s words are cut off with a gasp as Eddie licks her, starting at the base of her throat and dragging all the way up her cheek to her temple. She jumps, trying to lean away, but Eddie merely circles a long arm around her waist and pulls her in even closer with a growl, continuing to lick up and down her neck. His tongue doesn’t feel normal, thicker, pointed, and strangely slimy in a way that seems to leave a light film against her skin. It’s long too, able to reach from her collarbone to her temple all at once.

Stevie shudders, pushing gently at Eddie’s shoulders and opening her mouth to say… something. She’s not sure if it would be a complaint or a request for more, but she’s sure she would have figured it out if Eddie hadn’t taken her parted lips as an invitation. He slides his massive tongue into her mouth, curling it deliciously around her own. She practically melts as it fills her mouth, and she can feel Eddie's rumble in return, travelling from her tongue down her throat and settling low in her stomach.

Eddie’s hands travel to Stevie’s neckline, claws slicing her shirt to shreds as Stevie gasps as best she can around the thick tongue in her mouth.

“Mmph-” Stevie fights a bit against Eddie’s hands, only succeeding in scratching herself up as he disassembles her bra. His claws travel lightly down her torso, teasing with a light, rumbling growl, before tearing into her jeans. He cuts through the thicker fabric like butter, taking her underwear with it, and Stevie can’t help but whimper in a combination of fear and lust.

Eddie’s tongue withdraws from her mouth, leaving her panting from the loss. He quickly slides down her body, leaving little kitten licks over each scratch his claws had left, before he reaches her dick and just. Stares for a moment. His head tilts and he voices a little trill that reads as something like confusion.

Eddie had known about her before, obviously, but it’s possible there’s not enough left of him in there to really understand. He seems to take it in stride though, lifting and parting her legs, inspecting everything she has to offer, before rumbling another purr and swiftly wrapping his beautiful tongue around her dick.

Stevie melts as Eddie tongues at her cock. It’s nothing a human could do, tongue wrapping around her like a tentacle and milking. She’s never experienced anything like it, and it’s making her lose her mind. Eddie’s hands find her hips, holding her still as she helplessly tries to thrust into his warm mouth. His claws dig in, leaving little pinpricks of blood blooming along her hip bones, and she keens at the sensation.

Eddie moves his head down further, wrapping his lips around just the head of her cock, his tongue sliding even further down her shaft, circling one of her balls before teasing at her hole.

All it takes to make her cum is a second of light suction around her head and the feeling of the tip of Eddie’s tongue entering her ass. Eddie sucks it all down, retracting his tongue and collecting her release in his mouth. He pulls back, and- oh god.

He spits her cum into his hand and then brings it down between his own legs, massaging it into a slit Stevie hadn't noticed before. Soon, with a rumbling growl, something begins to emerge from the slit. It's a dark red, pointed at the top, and it seems to just keep going. Stevie is both excited and terrified to have that in her. It looks like it would go up to her bellybutton. Fuck, there are ridges down the underside, that thing's going to tear her up.

Eddie grabs her around the waist (and yeah, the fact that one of his hands fits almost the entire circumference of her waist is definitely doing it for her) and himself around the dick, lining himself up with her hole and attempting to push in. He’s not getting far, and Stevie whimpers, hands desperately batting at his shoulders in an attempt to get his attention.

“Wait! Wait Eddie please you're too big- I need prep, you'll hurt me-” she begs, tears forming in her eyes as the head of Eddie’s cock catches threateningly against her rim.

Thankfully, Eddie pauses, head tilting with something like confusion as he seems to consider her words. Stevie almost sobs in relief as he releases her waist, pulls his giant cock away from her hole. And then she sobs with pleasure as he kneels between her spread legs once again and begins to circle her hole with his slimy tongue.

The pointed tip of it goes in easily, its path eased by the strange, slick spit his mouth produces. And then it burrows deeper, getting thicker and thicker with each centimeter that enters her. It’s still definitely a stretch, but it burns so good as he fucks her with his monster tongue, the wet squelching noises echoing off of the cavern walls along with her debauched moans and pants. Stevie goes limp in ecstasy every time it brushes against her prostate, slick but delightfully rough in both texture and movement. She comes again when he curls it inside of her, doubling back on himself in a way that has her screaming with both pleasure and delightful, delirious pain.

She loses track of how long he fucks her like that, limbs loose and mind hazy, until he finally deems her ready for his cock and retreats, letting out a soothing chitter when she mewls at the gaping loss.

And then he’s grabbing her waist again, lifting up her limp body like a ragdoll and lining himself up.

She still screams when he enters her.

He’s as gentle as he probably can be, and she’s probably looser and slicker than she’s ever managed herself, but that huge, strangely shaped cock still seems to split her wide open. He only has the flared head in, but he just keeps going, each ridge catching delightfully on her stretched and abused hole. Stevie’s beyond words now, babbling broken sounds and breathy moans as Eddie continues to slide inside, panting roughly with what must be the extreme restraint he’s showing in not just using her like a fleshlight.

It takes forever for him to bottom out, and when he does, Stevie swears she can feel him in her throat. He chitters again, and when he purrs it vibrates up his cock and into her core in a way that seems to shake more overstimulated tears from her eyes. He brings a clawed hand up to her stomach, presses on the bottom of her ribcage, and when Stevie finds the strength to move her head from where it’s lolled back against the bottom of the nest, she sees that he’s pressing on himself, on the tip of the giant bulge straining out from her stomach. Her poor, tired cock gives another valiant twitch at the sight.

Eddie seems to take her surprised moan as permission to move.

He starts slow at first, but soon seems to be too caught up in his own pleasure to worry about her comfort as he begins to fuck her hard and fast, growling animalistically as he does. He doesn’t even bother moving his hips much, just wraps two hands tight around her waist until they overlap and moves her up and down his cock. She’s never felt so weak, so used in her life, powerless to do anything other than hang limply off his dick while tears stream down her face and high, breathy moans tear themselves from her throat. Anything recognisable as Eddie in him seems gone now, replaced by something animal, something monster as he snarls down at her, red lamplight eyes fixed on the point where their bodies meet.

It’s a few minutes of being torn apart by his size and the terrible, amazing ridges on his dick when something changes. He presses her into the nest, folding her in half and laying his entire giant body against hers as his thrusts change from hard and brutal slams of hip against hip to something slower, more grinding, but so much deeper. And then something else changes too. Stevie’s weak body still jumps in surprise as Eddie’s cock swells enormously, first at the base by her entrance, and then seemingly travelling up the length of his cock until it settles deep in her abdomen. And then it happens again.

Eggs. Eddie’s laying eggs in her.

At this point, Stevie’s too tired and cockdrunk to really question it at this point. She simply lies there, letting herself be torn open over and over as the eggs pass through Eddie’s cock and implant themselves inside of her. Each one is accompanied by a rush of sticky, viscous fluid that fills her so completely it spills out even with Eddie’s monster cock plugging her up. Her stomach is definitely distended now, and she whines to see the bulge peeking out beneath the small swell of her breasts. She looks pregnant. Well, she guesses she is now.

With quadruplets. Eddie gets four eggs in her before he finishes with a keen, panting and looking down at her with such pride and affection on his face that Stevie would definitely start crying if she wasn’t already.

Eddie gently shifts them onto their sides, still fully seated within her but turning so they’re both lying down facing each other. He purrs contentedly as he pushes her hair back from her sweaty forehead, licks the tears from her face until she’s giggling, and then just rests his forehead against hers as he gazes lovingly down at her stomach, stroking gently.

“Baby,” he says. It comes out croaky and a little garbled, like his throat isn’t made for speech, but despite this he still sounds so much like Eddie, like the sweet and kind of weird guy that Stevie had started to fall for all those weeks ago, that it brings another tear to her eye.

She smiles, places her hand gently over his, over the bulge in her stomach where their eggs are resting. “Yeah,” she says, a little breathlessly, because she truly can’t believe that she has somehow ended up trapped in a hell dimension carrying a monster’s eggs, and even more than that, she can’t believe how happy she is about it. “We’re gonna have babies.”

And as Eddie’s face lights up, radiating a kind of warmth and happiness that Stevie can’t remember ever seeing on a person back in the Right Side Up, she realises: This is home. Right here, curled up with Eddie in their nest.

“Mine,” he murmurs, placing a gentle kiss on Stevie’s forehead. And Stevie can’t think of anyone else’s she’d rather be.

#chapter 2 with pregnancy and monster babies potentially in the works. gotta see what the spoon situation is #steddie #transfem steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #vampire eddie munson #my fics

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jacesbeloved · 2 years

Text

fucking flower

summary: a simple snooping around in your hut may have resulted in a flower making you two do something both of you have been longing for.

pairing: neteyam sully x fem!reader

warnings: smut, MDNI, sex pollen, aged up!neteyam, kind of public sex, cunt slapping, spanking (just 1 i think), established relationship/friendship, subtle mutual pining, rough sex basically, both of them basically liking each other but they cant risk their childhood friendship but thats not mentioned anywhere lol

"Yeah... what's this one?"

"Will you do me the pleasure of leaving me alone? Just this once, please," You groaned at the eldest Sully boy, your words falling on deaf ears as he continued picking at the flasks and jars you had on your shelves.

It's been two hours since you two got back from the hunt party earlier, you weren't necessarily hunting animals, you were hunting for plants and herbs. While Neteyam and the other hunters flew on their ikrans with their bows and arrows, you and your group of healers were picking herbs from the trees.

Once they finished, they'd fly by your area and bring you back. Most often than not give all of the healers their time alone in organizing and mixing herbs and plants for those who were injured. That was usually how it went, of course, with the exception of the might olo'eyktan's son.

Being too busy with grinding in the herbs, you didn't notice him grab one of the clay jars, throwing it in the air and catching it as he walked toward you. Neteyam inspected the odd shaped jar, not seeing any label on it compared to the others.

Easily pulling off the lid, a strong hits him like a tree crashing into him face first. It was a foul one, a small he usually caught on whenever he came across an animal that has been dead for a while.

That was what it smelt like, his nose crunching in disgust. As he placed the lid back on, right before it could small the teeny tiny gap, the whole scent changed.

He smelled you.

Neteyam peeked inside of the jar, a flower of green and violet with peculiar petals stored inside. Feeling his mind make fun of him, he pushed his nose close to the opening of the jar as he took in a breath but there was no difference. It was your scent. Your indescribable scent that he had never forgotten ever since you two met at four years old.

It smelled everything about you. The flowers you put in your hair, the small tinge of blood that he used to smell on your whenever their hunt parties got a bit bloody, the smell of the trees on your hair— next thing he knew, he was longing for another smell, another something.

Closing off the lid with every bit of restraint he had, he places the jar on top of your table. His mouth hanging agape as heat started consuming his body, feeling himself grow sweatier all of a sudden.

"Hey baby- Y/N?" he stammered, clearing his throat when you turned sharply to glare at him, the pet name catching your attention. You brushed it off, going back to grinding the herbs on your mortar with the butt of your knife.

"D'you really have to stay here? I can finish way faster if you leave-" Fingertips ghosted your bare skin, a familiar, warm presence making itself known from behind you. Your head snapped behind you, seeing the familiar blue na'vi that you have grown accustomed to seeing in your hut all the time, inches away from pressing himself behind you.

"You sure?" He whispered breathless, a weird feeling coming onto your body. What was happening?

Neteyam inhaled deeply, dangerously close to your neck as you notice his hands trap you, gripping the table tightly.

"You smell— fuck... heavenly," the eldest Sully boy had his eyes closed, deep groans sounding through his throat before he snaps back into himself. He swiftly retracted his hands, blinking rapidly as the heat in him started to engulf him again.

You looked at him in deep concern— longing. It was the first time you saw and heard him like that. The deep timbre of his voice that always made your knees weak but you never admitted that, even to yourself.

He turned you around gently, head falling down to your shoulders, still inhaling your scent as it relieved him.

"What the hell was in that jar?" He laughed, trying to shake off the feeling, murmuring quiet apologies as he does. "I told you to not touch my stuff didn't I? Which did you open?" You demanded, touching his shoulder. His warm skin making your ears perk up.

Neteyam pulls back, scratching the back of his neck. The two of you lock eyes for the first time this night, you gulp when you notice his pupils dilated, his chest heaving up and down.

"Which did you open?!" You asked even louder as you push past him.

The male pulls you back to his grasp, his strong hand wrapping around your wrist while the other places an open jar right by your nose. Your face scrunches, the foul smell hitting you now, your throat started retching right as the smell changed all of a sudden.

"What do you smell?" He asks lowly, eyes staring at you with desire, your ears fanning up and down in an excited motion.

You felt your pupils dilate as the smell made you feel tingles all over your body. The scent that you've been longing for now, a familiar one that you always smell every fucking time;

It smelt of Neteyam.

When your mouth hang agape, a silent gasp, looking doe-eyed at the male towering over you, Neteyam swung the jar to the side without any care in the world. You smacked him on the chest because of it but he couldn't care less, pulling you close to him as he started to inhale your scent again. His smell also invading yours as heat coursed through your body.

The male groaned deeply, your pelvis hitting his, finally getting some friction in his growing hard-on. "Can I touch- Oh, shit, you, please," he pleaded.

You unknowingly nodded, mind starting to become hazy, not really knowing what was happening. Neteyam's hands were quick to move on your skin, cupping your face to pull your lips on his.

"What the fuck is in that vase?" He slipped in between kisses, panting heavily as he started humping your thighs with need. You whined at him, pouting as you kissed him this time. Your tongue intertwining with his, hands reaching back to pull at his braids making him groan.

You pulled away for some air, Neteyam kissing down your neck with wet and sloppy kisses as his hands go busy in taking off your top. One swift tug from the string behind you and the woven top falls down. His eyes narrowing, lips smirking, mouth watering as he latches onto one of your nipples.

A high-pitched whine left your lips as you arched your back, giving him more room while he smothered your breasts in lustful kisses. Sucking ever so harshly at the soft skin, mewls pouring out of your lips. Your hands moved behind you, pulling fast to untie your own loincloth and ask for some relief from the male.

Neteyam continued his assault on your chest, looking up at you who had your head back and eyes closed. His hand wandered down with no hesitation, fingers coming in contact with your sensitive slit, his lips stretching to the side in a smirk when he felt your wetness coating his fingers.

He plunged deep inside of you, your head shooting forward, forehead scrunched as you moaned at the sudden penetration. Your walls immediately burned at the stretch, so long since your last time having something inside of you that wasn't just your fingers.

"Is this— Is this really us or is it- Oh fuck, you're sucking me in so good, baby," you clenched even more at his comment, his fingers scissoring you open as your hands rested on his shoulders. Your breath got caught on your throat when you tried to response, moans and mewls spilling out as his pace quickened.

"It's- 'Teyam!" He pulled his fingers out making you whine, frantically looking for an open space. Once his eyes caught on a vacant table with just random leaves on it, he grabs you by your waist, slapping your ass making you jump. Your legs instinctively wrapping around his thin waist.

He places you back down with a loud thump, undoing his own loincloth before he gave your whole abdomen quick kisses leading down to your aching center.

"It's our bodies-" Neteyam held both of your knees, spreading your legs wide. Your head fell back on the wooden table, clutching your chest as you felt his breath right near your pussy. "It's our bodies?" He breathed out. You gulped, trying to complete your train of thought.

"It's our bodies being influenced by the damn flower," you said in one quick breath. Neteyam's head moved to the side, comprehending what you just said making him halt his movements. "So this isn't... actually us? Our ownselves"

You sighed, "Why is that a big deal- Oh, great mother, you're right on my cunt, 'Teyam."

He blew some air onto your leaking cunt, watching your reaction closely with his hooded eyes. "Do you want it?" Your legs twitched at the cold air, threatening to close but his hands were holding you wide open. His head still right by your cunt, one small push and he'd be face deep in it.

"Do I want it?" You repeated with a tone of disbelief. You held your body up, grabbing his face up and giving him a wet kiss. "If you do not make me come right now, I'll fuck myself in front of you."

His eyes darkened when you whispered in his ear, swearing to yourself that you heard a growl escape his lips before he goes down on you. His lips immediately latched itself on your slit, licking up a long stripe from your hole to your clit, toying with the small bud with his tongue.

"Tastes better than I imagined," he mumbled, face still deep into your cunt, the vibrations making your body squirm. He reached up, fondling with your breasts with one hand as the other pushed into your hole. A loud gasp escaped your lips, Neteyam putting in a second, a third, all in a span of seconds all the while he circled your clit with his warm tongue.

Neteyam kept his eyes stuck on your face, watching the way your face contorted in pleasure, mouth hanging open with your tongue laid flat outside like an animal waiting for some water. You felt his fingers enter your mouth, your tongue sucking on his digits without a second thought. He groaned again, the warmness of your mouth fueling his imagination once more on what it would feel like with his-

"'Teyam!" You screamed, the said male spitting on your cunt loudly. He grinned, not even caring about the volume of your sounds. It spurred him on even more thinking of the fact that the male na'vis outside could be hearing you scream his name, moaning it out.

"Give me one before I fuck you, baby," he says, fingers curling expertly inside of you. Your stomach tightened in its familiar knot, the older na'vi hitting all of your right spots as if he has it memorized. His fingers combined with the way his mouth was eating you out so good-- in a way you thought it was made for this and this only --it wouldn't be long before you release.

Your hands left his forearm, his fingers falling from your mouth to your chin, drool dribbling down your chin. Pulling at his braids with need, grinding your heat on his face, the sounds of his fingers fucking you into oblivion was way too erotic. "It's- 'so good, 'Teyam. It feels so good!"

You heard him chuckle, lips detaching from your clit. "Come on baby, give it to me, give it to your warrior."

One, two, three more times he hit the sweet spot deep inside of you before you came with a loud scream of his name. Your legs shaking as it dangerously closed around his head. Neteyam held your thighs with his strong arms, spreading you apart once more, battling the way your body was shaking to clean you up-- taste you again.

And damn, Neteyam had never tasted anything sweeter.

"There's my good girl, atta baby." He placed a chaste kiss on top of your cunt, moving up to kiss you on your lips as well. You look at him tiredly, eyes hazy as he caressed your face, lips moving lazily at the praise. "You can give me another one, right?" he whispers in your ear, licking your ear lobe as he does.

"Neteyam..." you sighed when he pulls away. Propping yourself up by your elbows as you watch him carefully pump his length, the long and thick blue cock making your mouth water. This was the first time you ever saw him like this; way better than you have ever fantasized each night in your hut.

He rubbed the head, spreading his pre-cum all over, head lolling back when he finally gets some relief after neglecting his own cock. You bit your lip, eyes glued on his cock.

"Oh- Oh shit, fuck, just like that, baby— umfh, oh.." Neteyam got caught off-guard; your hand jerking him slowly, running your hand up and down his rock hard cock. His eyes rolling back when he watches you rub yourself with your fingers, gathering your slick and using it as lubrication on his cock.

Before you could even think of giving him a handjob, his hand firmly grips both of yours, moving forward as he positions his cock by your entrance. The both of your staring down as he slowly pushes in. A long moan erupting from both of you when he inches himself inside. Your tight, velvety walls taking him in so well despite the burn in your pussy bordering the line between hurt and pleasure.

You had your arms clasped behind his neck, your foreheads touching as he moans deeply when he fully bottoms out inside of your. His hands holding your thighs firmly, thrusting slowly as he lets you adjust first.

"Don't do that, baby please," Neteyam whispers, closing his eyes harshly when your walls tightened around him before he could even start fucking you.

"Just fuck me, please," you plead, locking eyes with him.

That and the innocent look you had on was all it took for him to snap his hips forward. The once slow and careful thrusts now replaced with quick and hard ones as he thrusted into you with much vigor, the table started shaking. "'Teyam, oh- ngh, oh my," you panted, breathing erratically as he impossibly quickened his pace.

"Keep those legs open for me- good girl," he let go of your thighs, letting them fall on either side as he grabs your waist, your breasts that were jiggling up and down with the force of his thrusts getting all of his attention. Your hands scratched at his hands, sometimes pulling at your own hair.

Neteyam was hitting all of your right spots. The blunt mushroom head of his kissing your cervix numerous times now. Each time making you moan wantonly, not even caring about how loud you were being or even if someone was entering your hut.

He brought his hand down to slap your clit, your loud yelp and sudden clench on his length making him smirk. You liked that. He did it once more, this time the sound that came out of your mouth much more whinier than before, his cock hardening even more.

"Like it when I hit your pretty little cunt? Does my baby love it?" You nod your head eagerly. Your stomach tightening with the need for release.

He slapped your clit a few more times, rubbing it to soothe the stings. When he catches that split second silent gasp from you and your velvety walls clamping down on him like a vice, he flips you. Your chest faced down on the table, legs supporting your body as you were now bent over the table.

This time, Neteyam didn't waste any time in letting you adjust. Pushing into you with a hard thrust, gripping your hips as he pulled you back on his cock whenever he thrusted forward. His cock hitting way deeper spots. "'Oh, Eywa! 'Teyam," the male's name seemed like a prayer coming from you, repeating his name over and over again as your legs shook. His arm that was now holding your waist being the only thing that was keeping you up on that damn table.

"You close, baby? Me too- fuck... You gonna give it to me again, huh? Gonna give it to me, only to me?" He cooed, landing a sweet slap to your ass before he bends down to your ear, whispering filthy things as you felt his balls smacking your clit with each thrust.

"Don't stop, please, 'Teyam," you begged, looking up at him with teary eyes. It felt so good. So fucking good.

You could almost taste your release, the overstimulation slowly coming over you as his hips fucked into you in a rougher but slower pace. Calculated thrusts making you clench down on his cock.

With one particular thrust, your whole vision blurred. Nothing but Neteyam's deep groans echoing in your ears as he rode out his high, feeling you cream on his cock before he pulls out. Spurting ropes of cum all over your ass, mouth hanging agape at the beautiful artwork in front of him.

He kept his arm wrapped around you, supporting your whole body as it continued shaking, the wave of pleasure still coursing through each nerve in your body. Your body jolted forward, squealing when he slaps your cunt once more. "That fucking flower..."

"That fucking flower had me fucking you, baby."

thank you sooo much for reading! hearts, reactions, replies, and reblogs are very appreciated if you liked the story! <3 ^w^

#neteyam smut #neteyam sully #avatar: the way of water #atwow fics #neteyam x reader smut #jake sully #avatar #avatar smut

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kisaraslover · 8 months

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Do you think Kisara has any hobbies besides sitting in Kaiba's lap?

Well i like to look at established Kisara to draw out more traits so first things first is the dragonic nature. I think Kisara deeply enjoys nature and solitude and sitting in the sun. I dont mean this like camping either, from ancient Egypt we see Kisara already has unusual resistance to exposure to elements, with something godly in her veins so i think she might be really zen watching birds to flowers to the sky and basking her place in all this. We all have a passing moments of "everything IS everywhere all at once, all is one, one is all" but i think it would be a constant presence in her. she swings between "oblivious to life weird ass woman" and "enlightened higher being" VIOLENTLY. Meditating would be grounding to her, in the opposite way to all other people meditating.

and then music. dragons are a kind of bird <3 dont look that up. i think Kisara has an uncanny aptness when it comes to music. one of those people who can pick up any instrument and play a simple tune on it. i dont think she has a remarkable singing voice at all though. embodies "people sing because they want to not because they are good at it" hums gently music she likes. if she tries to seriously sing along to a difficult song her voice cracks loserly. she laughs and continues yknow? its still Seto's favorite and if he catches sound of her humming before entering a room, he waits outside to listen for a couple secs. its his secret no one needs to know shhhh. ALSO the fic Paper Roses has piano player Kisara and the romance is served so well by Kisara giggling while placing Seto's hands on the right keys so.

making things with your hand is a very grounding practice for anyone struggling to stay in the moment and stay present and i just cant move past these very artistic but expensive looking hobbies from youtube shorts -tries not to cry about capitalism locking the public out of arts- so after getting that Kaiba Money she'd just go "i always wanted to try glass art btw" and seto goes "?????. thats. alright ok. go for it"

im really conflicted on many "hobbies" and what makes them hobbies but if we work with the basis "how you spend your day is how you spend your life" i think she'd really be the least online person. the activies above WOULD be very frequent but i think Kisara spends her most days, ironically enough, socializing. she'd be talking to employees (important business) or talking to employees (just chatting lol) out with friends of all kinds and trades, Mokuba and his friends or Seto and HIS friends, or most surreal one, Seto and HER friends. shes the kind of awkward person who listens more than they speak, with her own charms and difficulties, thankfully when you try enough you can find people you can get along with. very endearing on the line of strange, bringing out peoples protective sides which is why she would gather Mom Friends and Bossy Bitches and Protective Eldest Siblings faster than you can say her name. while i characterize both Kisara and Seto as kind of introverted, i think Kisara would be charged with a thirst to know and understand humanity (both result of godly roots and alienated youth) so if her luck turned around after meeting Seto i think she'd build quite the social circle, not even realizing how many people shes getting close to at first. Seto's socializing would be more acknowledging part of healing means creating support systems, opening up to people -to whatever extent he can- surrounding himself with people who he cares about and who care about him in return, and definitely less easier than her collecting friends.

SO YEAH! sorry for the LONG ASS reply, i think Kisara is adopted by many Extroverts and on the time off she goes into her workshop does fuck all (DEF made a wooden dildo to see Seto's reaction. mokuba laughed his ass off thinking it would perplex him. he took one look at it and said its a pathetic cock and he could nude model for her. no ones laughing now.....)

#is this ask so lowkey shady? lmao i was tripping over myself answering like NOOOO MY QUEEN HAS MANY HOBBIES SHES FUN SHES INTERESTING #LISTEN TO ME DOCTOR HAN SHES INTERESTING #lmaooo #yugioh #ygo #kisara #not art #ask tag #her lowkey gift with instruments is quietly ignored by all of them. kisara plays an instrument shes seeing for the first time #all of them go 😑 i do not see anything strange. great job kisara youre so talented and its soo normal you can play everything.#so normal. you just got a strong ear. and strong understanding of what sounds come out with what movements on instruments #its normal its normal. no hocus pocus magic tricks here no sirrrrr

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1tsjusty0u · 6 months

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hm. horse names. does link do much with horses + what did he name any horses he has + any personalities? also what is zelda's horse named

hrose…

hm!! id say he travels a bit with horses, its how he got to kakariko hateno and such. as time goes on he uses them less because they cant climb mountains well and he doesnt want to leave them in case monsters get to them/they wander off (despawn). also as time goes on he has fast travel so he doesnt have to use horses anymore which is kind of sad. he never uses the big horse even when he catches them

for names i like to think hes bad at naming things (shaking his hand) so you end up with names like twig or signpost. for his actual horses though id say he has all 5 slots; his first and main horse is Bug, shes probably gentle temperament because thats the type of horses that dont buck you off if you dont press L fast enough. he got zeldas ancestral horse and the big horse, zeldas horse having Saff as a placeholder name (safula reference), once zelda is freed though she names them Saffron + theyre now her horse. she keeps them. for the big horse, on one hand din is a fitting name, however thats kind of like naming your cat after a god that you believe in (like jesus.) it sort of works for greek gods and such but i dont think link would actually do that so. yeag. speaking of which while looking up where eponas name comes from possibly epona is actually the name of a celtic patron goddess for foals and horses so. snorts. ANYWAYS i think a kid would name the horse instead of link, and as such their name is Dinners. both in reference to din but also “how hungry” horse. for the other two horses, one would be once he finds out wild temperament horses have better stats (though how he finds this out is questionable, considering i dont think the horse facts guy mentions it + how i found out was from a croton video </3. pre calamity he probably found out by testing and researching/reading, so post cal is either a remnant from that or the horse facts guy Does tell him and we can ignore its not actually said in the base game 👍), and one is from just. not having a horse somewhere and temporarily taming it, however they follow him when hes not riding them and they go so far he just kind of. registers them. wild horse is named Clover and the following horse is named Jerry

personality wise Saffron is a bit what youd expect (stubborn and EXTREMELY UNHAPPY to be ridden as a horse.) he warms up eventually but sometimes he still just veers off the road/turns around at max bond just to be petty/prank them. that one horse post about horses adjusting to the people riding them and making their Own decisions when driving (biting off saddles i think? something about weight…), saff would do something like that. otherwise though number 1 rated grass eater and plant stomper, would be a pain for the stable owners and will pick fights with dogs. while he accepts being a transportation animal eventually he Will Not move cargo. that is his one rule, you will Not put on a wagon attached to his saddle he will make so many horse noises about it. Dinners is less stubborn and more blood thirsty. she Will run over herons without input from link. running over bokoblins is her favorite past time. however she also is a huge horse fan in general, especially with the little horses she can be found with. she doesnt really pick fights but she does bite sometimes. not out of malice but curiosity. or sometimes just because she can. get bit nerd. she actually likes having cargo it becomes a challenge to go as fast as possible without dropping it (which leads to stress inducing situations sometimes). otherwise she just chills mostly. would probably sleep in a weird position. she would run over donkeys if she could. Bug is just friendly. a chronic wander, but friendly! because she wanders if link isnt really telling them to go anywhere they just move on their own like minecraft horses. and because of this link cant leave them anywhere because theyll be on a completely different part of the map then where he left them. huge fan of flowers for food and also apples. to be fair all horses are but she gets the most apples out of all of links horses (favoritism). would probably eat a bee hive/wasp nest (fun fact!! beehives in botw are actually really similar to wasp nests rather than actual beehives!!). theyre indifferent to cargo. Clover is Fast. a bit less spurs but they are So Fast. constantly picking things up no matter what they are/the cons of quences. they are The cargo horse. like the name implies they like to eat clovers, and they also have like. grass in their mouth constantly like a cowperson. they would absolutely herd animals. big fan of ruins honestly they just smell weird. every time theres a split in the road they always go the opposite direction of what link needs and he has to steer them the other way around. would crash into trees quite a bit. also energetic constantly they Need to be doing something always. also yes this horse is a reference to clover undertale yellow. and finally Jerry. just a horse, no thoughts head empty. completely chill. stands there as link gets mauled by a moblin

pre calamity zeldas horse was named Selig (and named for her rather than by her considering the compendium entry states that the royal family rode them to display their “divine right”, so its less likely itd be named for fun and more named to be Official and OoOo Goddess Powers, so i like to think a priest named them), but in secret she named them Lilium Woodriff Orientalis (the scientific name for stargazer lillies, Woodriff being the last name of the person who bred them. this is a reference to silent princesses and Blue Heart Lillies- blue heart lillies often being cited as a real world counterpart to silent princesses, however those lillies actually dont exist. theyre always a scam and are actually photoshop recolored stargazer lilly. in universe explanation is that its just a scientific flower name she liked a lot and she wanted to seem cool for knowing it. post calamity she’d call them stargazer even though the horse is long gone. maybe she’d name another horse that in memory?) and uses their full name always instead of a nickname. and because of this she eventually forgets selig as a name and everyone either thinks its a new horse or is cool with it. the priest is kind of exasperated but cant do anything about it. links pre calamity horse is named Epona because im a sucker for that sort of stuff, however is not The Epona (like from the amiibo or oot or tp etc). its more of a name he liked a lot especially because of the epona legends (and also in the memories his horse has a different mane/coat color from epona herself so. yeag). he too wanted to be seen as cool. he’d use her like how merchants use donkeys . light storage system

also fun fact!! the stable has a corporation of sorts!! 50 years before the calamity the Epona Co. was established (creating a champion page with stable info), and it has a logo and everything. said logo is on the hats of stable workers and also on the blankets covering crates. the stable association is under that corporation but seemingly a different thing, and also on the sanidin park ruins you can actually see the logo on the base of the statue, so they had a part in that as well!! i dunno i just think its so neat and im so sad we dont know anything about the park ruins besides being a spot to view the castle. i like to think its a memorial to a horse (whether it be someones pet horse, or a horse who did something historical (like laika or balto, though laika and balto are dogs not horses), and also im not making this an epona statue i. it feels weird to clarify that however with all the epona talk . yeah. also off topic but epona and ganons horse being plushes in majoras mask is so cool and i really want ganondorfs horse to have a name now. like why dont they have one…). alsoalso you probably know this but the top of stables (horse heads) have malanyas face, implying its an effigy of sorts. alsoalsoalso theres an unused compendium photo for epona.

theres also more horse variants (knight horses and festival horses) but. another time.

#HELLO!!#wreath of the bild #sorry if this seems. off? the hauntings have been going on you see #anyways honestly thanks for this i. needed a name for links horse #i couldnt keep calling them [horse] when writing to edit later

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gravessyard · 2 years

Text

Forgotten

Notes from the crypt: Happy birthday Sucrose! And happy birthday to me as well! I love Sucrose so much, she's adorable and I'm pleased to share a birthday with her, so as a gift to both her and all of you, a piece! I'm slowly switching from team Childe to team Ayato but listen, Childe will always be my first triple crown, I'm just slowly collecting pretty boys like pokemon lmao I hope you enjoy!

Tags: GN!Reader, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, headcanons

• You loved Childe, you really did, but there comes a point where the weight of carrying a relationship by yourself becomes exhausting. Its exactly whats been going on with you and the Harbinger in the recent months of your dwindling love.

• In the beginning he was very attentive, taking time out of his day to see you or would even send letters when he was away from Liyue, but he still made you feel loved, he made you feel complete. It was a strong relationship, as strong as his passion for being out on the battlefield, until that passion began to far surpass your expectations and the letters along with his presence began to grow scarce.

• The moment you saw him after he disappeared for 8 months — you were thrown into an argument. You tried speaking with him amicably, express how much you had missed him, how worried you had grown when he didn't respond to your letters or even give you a sign that he was still alive, still breathing, yet he was quick to bare his fangs. "My mission comes first, [name], you know that", he'd say, annoyance laced in his tone that only drives the blade deeper into your already aching heart. "But 8 months, Ajax? You could have at least sent a letter!", you were exasperated, tired beyond belief and he still chose to brush you aside. "Well, I'm here now, can we please drop it".

• Childe developed a habit of ignoring these kinds of issues, he'd instead give you gifts or leave you with too much mora in hopes that you'd just get over it, but the material goods weren't enough to fill the growing void in your heart, they weren't warm enough to hold you through the cold nights you spent without him. Like clockwork, he presents you with tickets to the next boat to Inazuma, with a smile far too bright to be genuine and plans of sightseeing and souvenir shopping for you and his family. While you knew he was trying to sweep the argument under the rug, you were desperate for even a few minutes with him so you agreed and packed your bags.

• The boat ride to the nation of eternity was like a dream, you never left Childe's arms as he detailed you stories of his journey, catching you up on how his family is doing and even telling you the places he wanted to show you when you arrive in Inazuma. For those few hours you truly felt happy, so the tears were justified when the boat arrived in Ritou and your boyfriend was promptly whisked away by a group of Fatuus that were waiting for his arrival; details of a very last minute mission barely leaving their lips while you're left by yourself. Feeling your heart shatter with every step he took away from you, you shed your grief on the pier before deciding no longer will you lament for a man who cant even find time for you anymore.

• Once your documents were approved you made the journey to Inazuma City by yourself, head held high despite your red waterline from crying. You were able to at least enjoy the scenery, the setting sun made the falling sakura petals look ethereal, and the city made you even more awestruck with its atmosphere and lighting. Finding the hotel quickly, you paid for a room and got settled in before heading back out for some food, the scents that surrounded you when you arrived were mouth watering, so after washing your face to calm your skin you rushed back out to look around the selections of food stalls and restaurants. It all looked and smell good but with your lack of knowledge of what was what, you decided to just pick a stall and hope whatever they sold was good (you'd later find out everything was good, like really good).

• Tomoki was the gentleman manning the stall and you learned that he only sold one thing: dango milk. You also learned that its not exactly a common treat in the nation, but he's working on trying to gain more attention to it, he's pleased when you place an order for a bottle, rummaging through your pockets for your mora pouch before you freeze. Did you leave your pouch in your hotel room? Patting yourself a second time, you confirm that you definitely forgot to bring money with you in your rush and stammer over your words. Sensing your distress, Tomoki was prepared to just give you the milk free of charge before a gloved hand extends his way, the way the vendor freezes up in shock has you following his line of sight to take in the looming figure beside you. You don't recognize the man, but he must be a figure of authority with how the vendor is stuttering over his words, bowing sharply and holding both hands out to accept the few coins of mora that was dropped into his palms. "L-Lord Kamisato! It's rare to see you out so late my lord, wh-what an honor that you've decided to visit my humble shop!", the vendor practically beams as he straightens up and offers two bottles of dango milk to the man.

• "Think nothing of it, Tomoki. I was simply out on a stroll and had a craving, looks like I got here just in time", the man takes the two bottles before he turns to you, offering you one with a stunning smile. You stare dumbly at him, mesmerized by his lilac eyes and the cute mole beside his lower lip. You notice a few seconds too late that he was offering you dango milk, your finger pointing at the item in question and then back at yourself in a silent ponder that he chuckles deeply at and nods. Oh, that's a dangerous chuckle, it takes everything in you to fight against the blush that's threatening to bloom across your cheeks as you take the bottle from him. You definitely feel the tips of your ears grow hot at how he brushed his fingers against yours, even with gloves on you could feel his warmth in the chilly night. "Thank you... My lord", you clear your throat, awkwardly bowing before him and missing the way his eyes darken in amusement. His expression is welcoming when you straighten, and he coaxes you to walk with him. Its silent at first, he's sipping from his drink and you take the chance to take an experimental sip of yours, intrigued by the sweetness and the texture. "Kamisato Ayato, pleasure to make your acquaintance. Judging from your attire, you must not be from Inazuma, is this your first time visiting the nation?", Ayato asks softly while he leads you away from the bustling night life.

• His question makes your heart hurt, remembering that you're supposed to be enjoying this moment with a certain redhead, but instead he's who knows where. "Oh, I'm [name], and yeah... I'm supposed to be on vacation with my boyfriend but uh, as you can see he's not with me", you sigh, swallowing the lump thats forming in your throat while you follow Ayato to what appears to be a teahouse. He's silent, leading you to a table that was outside and ushering you to sit while turning to the woman who was stationed outside and asked her to prepare some tea, "for my guest and I". She bows, turning sharply and entering the teahouse while Ayato takes a seat across from you, the aura of power he was just exuding morphing into one of friendliness. The smile he gives you is soft, there's a glint of understanding in his gaze that makes you wanna just pour out all your sorrows to this man, but you refrain from saying anymore to someone you just met. Hell, you don't even know if you should have followed him, but with the way the vendor reacted you had a hunch that he was someone important, so you're probably in safe hands.

• "My sincerest apologies for your unfortunate situation, no one deserves to be treated as an afterthought", you feel tears well up in your eyes, you never got an apology from Childe, so to hear one from the man sitting across from you was almost hard to hear. He said it so casually, so easily and yet Childe struggled so hard to even form an "im sorry". Shock flashes through Ayato's handsome features when you hiccup a sob, and then a flurry of apologies as you try to compose yourself, fanning your face with your hands and blinking away the tears that are streaming down your face. "Fuck, im sorry — hold on give me a minute", you're chuckling along with your whimpers but the dam continues to break when Ayato moves to your side and rubs a gloved hand along your back. "Would you like a hug?", he whispers to you, waiting until he got your consent before he's bringing you into his arms, his embrace is warm, its comforting and its enough to bring you to a sobbing mess, crying into his shoulder and clinging onto him as if he were a lifeline, and in that moment he was one. He's rubbing your back with one hand and holding your head with the other, rocking you back and forth until your sobs turn into sniffles and then into silence that are broken by the occasional deep sigh. You're the one that pulls away, apologizing profusely for leaving a wet spot on his shoulder that he brushes off and reaching towards the table to pick up a cup of tea that you didnt even notice was there — oh god that meant the woman from before witnessed your breakdown.

• You take the tea he offers you — lukewarm green tea, and he guides you into a conversation about yourselves. Nothing says bonding like crying on a stranger's shoulder and then asking about their favorite food. You're secretly horrified to learn that you cried on the shoulder of the Yashiro Commissioner, and briefly wonder if you'll be jailed for soiling his pristine suit, but he reassures you that its not a crime to feel human emotion and his retainer will make sure not a stain is left behind. Time seems to flow quickly with Ayato, conversation comes easy with him, it barely felt like an hour before the table is being approached by a panting blonde claiming that its past midnight and the Kamisato Estate is growing worried of Ayato's lack of presence. "Oh? That time already?", even Ayato is surprised by how late you two conversed, yet he still insisted on walking you back to your hotel. Thoma is the name of the man who ran to fetch his master, and he's pleased to know that Ayato made a new friend with you, he reminds you of a puppy if you had to be honest. He stands a few feet away while Ayato walks you to the entrance of the hotel. "I enjoyed this time with you, [name]. If you're free tomorrow, I'd love to give you a proper tour of Inazuma", he brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles that sets your cheeks ablaze, and you agree a second later. Sleep doesnt come easy to you, your mind alight with previous conversation and the kiss you can still feel on your skin.

• Your heart was fluttering in your chest when you hear knocks at your door the next morning. Assuming it was Ayato you double check yourself in the mirror before hurrying to open the door, your bright smile falling when you see Childe on the other side, a bouquet of flowers in his hand and bandages adorning his face. He looks sheepish, guilty almost and you would have fallen for his kicked puppy look if you weren't left behind at the pier the day prior. "Hey! I see you got a hotel, thats good, I picked these up on the way —" "I'm breaking up with you, Childe". You're just as surprised as he was at your outburst, you weren't even thinking, you just said it, yet the sentence felt liberating. "Wh... What? Baby, thats not funny —" "you made your intentions clear when you continue to choose your missions over me. You left me behind too many times and now... Now I'm the one leaving you", you're trembling, tears lining your waterline, staring down Childe as he tries to stammer through explanations — excuses — before you're both interrupted by Ayato clearing his throat. "I believe they have made themselves clear, Harbinger. I suggest making yourself and your agents scarce before I send in a tip to the Raiden Shogun", his tone is laced with clear malice, you can practically feel the condensation in the air from the tension rolling off the two hydro allogenes. Childe looks between the commissioner and you, dots connecting in his head and his face begins to contort into anger, your vision is swiftly blocked by a broad back as Ayato takes your place in looking down at Childe in a silent contest of dominance. You press closer against his back, heart pounding against your chest so hard you were sure he could feel it and then you hear the retreating sounds of Childe's boots. Looking over, you see him toss the bouquet into a trash bin before going through the door, hopefully for the last time.

• "Are you hurt?", Ayato's whisper reaches your ears and you look to see he had turned around and was holding your hands in his, concern etched all over his features. He'll get wrinkles if he keeps that up. "I-I'm better now that you're here", you smile at him, unaware the power your smile holds over him. He had fallen for you the moment he laid eyes on you yesterday, and now that he has you in his life, he's sure to never let you go. As promised, he gave you a grand tour of Inazuma, showing you sights that many were often prohibited of witnessing and filling you to the brim with samples of the food, he'd commit your expressions to memory, even the ones that didnt seem to enjoy a dish, he'd laugh at the way your nose scrunches up if something was too sour or not what you expected it to taste like. The day was better than you imagined, your grieving heart slowly being mended by Ayato's delicate touch, he kept you entertained well into the night, where he took you to a special location to witness some fireworks. Sure, Yoimiya was testing out some new products but she was all for giving a private viewing to the commissioner and his special friend, hands tightly encased and your head leaning against his shoulder as you watched the dazzling colors and fun images some of the inazuman children wanted to bring to life.

• Similar to the circle of life, all good things must come to an end. Your vacation was meant to be for a few days, and Ayato doesn't know what to do with the tight feeling in his chest, in just a few hours he'd have to let you go, even when he offered you a permanent residence with him, you were adamant that you needed to return to Liyue, you needed time for yourself. He was glued to your side the entire time, buying anything you gandered at for a second too long and insisting you take it, "as a souvenir of course", your poor bag was barely able to close with how much he bought you. "You'll get wrinkles if you frown like that, my lord", you snicker in front of him on the pier, one of your hands pulling from his grip to gently massage the muscle between his brows, yet he only pouts further, pulling you into his arms to press his face against the crook of your neck. "Don't call me that, I only want you addressing me as Ayato", he mumbles against your skin, the vibrations tickling you and making you giggle. His heart drops at the sound of the boat's horn, a signal for final boarding for all passengers and he contemplates how upset you'd be if he just held onto you and never let you board. A gentle call of his name has him pulling away, bringing your hands up so he can pepper kisses against them. "How about I leave you with something, hm? That way, I can return for it", you smile at his questioning expression, hands cupping his face before you lean forward to press your lips against his, the kiss gentle and fleeting. He's chasing after your lips when you pull away, you both falling into a giggling fit with cheeks tinted. "Oh? Ill keep it safe for your return, my dear", he smirks, heart full of love as he presses a final kiss to your cheek and lets you go, watching you board the boat and staying in the same spot until it was long out of his view.

• He's pleased to see a letter sitting on top of his pile of paperwork a month after your departure, your name neatly written across the envelope. His hands tremble slightly as he opens it, heart pounding in his chest as he reads the words carefully, face splitting into a cheek-aching grin when he reads that you'll be returning to Inazuma in a month's time, this time permanently.

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