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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 7 days ago

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Yandere Animal Town (2) | Only Human

Part 1

You awake from your midday nap to the sounds of shouts from a man and a woman. Sounding like the latter is in distress you immediately run for your bat opening up the door facing the road. To find a billy goat man pulling a cow woman towards your doorstep; similar to their animal counterparts the man is short and wide sporting a dirtied tank top sleek with sweat. The female cow being pulled by tiny horns on her head is bent awkwardly wearing a revealing top with underwear and a jockstrap. Before you need to say anything the billy goat man is gruffing in your direction.

“Oh, so this is where the rumored human is. Well, aren’t you pretty?”

You don’t bother answering that. “What are you doing to here and what are you doing to her?”

Your question has him looking at the crying girl and spitefully pulling her closer as her knees buckle to the ground. All the while she’s crying and pleading incoherently. None of that seems to bother the goat man though as he spits in disgust.

“I’m showing this heifer ain’t nobody gonna want her! Dry as the Sahara this cow is she ain’t give make me any money for the food she eats.”

For emphasis he throws her to the ground, waiting for her to crawl back to him. When she opens her mouth to continue pleading he kicks the sandy dirt in her face. It makes you sick.

“I’ll take her.”

They both look up at you in surprise. The billy goat man belts out in laughter as a disgusting smirk spreads on his face.

“Oh, I see! Looking for another kind of milk, huh? Good luck with that!” He kicks at her again as he turns back to his truck. “Enjoy it Heifer you might actually be of worth for once.”

As he speeds off in his rickety, rusted truck she cries out making a desperate attempt to follow. Tripping over the dirt, barely a couple steps in; scraping her knees in her unconventional wardrobe. She crumples into herself crying with her hoarse voice, you let her go on for awhile before lifting her up and into the house.

You don’t know the ethics or the inner workings of farming when it comes to hybrids. Only barely catching the surface of the unregulated and often cruel practices that ensue because it’s a market for hybrids to be typically successful. With this in mind your careful to be gentle to not take it personally when she refuses to speak to you. You can’t imagine what she’s gone through.

“Here’s a towel and some soap and a washcloth. I ran a bath for you.”

“.....”

“I’ll come check on you in a bit. Take your time.”

She only wordlessly follows your commands with a sullen look on her face. Even when Titan comes around poking and prodding at the new face, she hardly reacts.

“Hey, you! What’s your problem, huh? Why aren’t you smiling, huh? Why are you wearing (Y/n)’s clothes? It’s not fair!”

“Hey Titan give her space she’s having a rough day!”

“Well when I’m sad I just go to you. Why can’t she do that?”

“Sometimes I just don’t make everybody happy, Titan. And that’s okay.”

“That’s stupid.”

“.....Waaaaaaaaa”

“Titan!”

“Sorry!”

After canceling your dinners with the neighbors for the week much to their displeasure you settle her into a bedroom close to yours. Just in case. It isn’t until the next morning that you wake to tears on your face. Sitting above you her bust taking up most of your vision is the cow woman silently crying as she pulls at her teats only for nothing to come out.

“I’m useless. I can’t even do this for you!”

You spend the day comforting the cow woman who’s drenching herself in endless tears. With lots of assurance that you ask for nothing from her and talk to her about her ‘job’ she finally opens up.

“...It’s Eudora.”

“Eudora…that’s a beautiful name.”

“It was what they called my mother before…he…took over. She never officially bequeath it to me…because she never got to retire.”

Lots of hugs and praise are what fills your days with Eudora. Breaking the unhealthy practices regarding eating and what she did throughout the day. Instead of letting her lay in bed and stew in her dark thoughts, you invite her to your picnics and follow after Titan as he explores the groves of your property. Without the fear of not producing milk or verbal abuse she finally starts to smile and actually taking your advice.

“You are a queen Eudora, just like the others at that farm.”

“Hahaha me? A queen?”

“Yes!”

“Is this some city thing you guys call people?”

“Kind of but the point is, is that you barely realize how gorgeous and desirable you are just because. It’s a way to remind you of that.”

“....Wow…that’s really sweet, (Y/n)....”

“Just being honest–”

“That’s not fair if she’s your queen I wanna be your king!”

“Titan, she’s not mine. She’s nobody’s but her own.”

“💜”

“Gross. Can I still be your king (Y/n)!?”

She really starts to settle in as your roommate, helping you with your growing list of chores. Learning alongside to cook with you as you entertain the neighbors that continue to visit so eagerly. Despite letting herself get pushed to the side when they come around she’s really come into herself. Taking the clothes you’ve given her and styling it into something that works for her. Spending time and your money into her appearance. And if that wasn’t great enough she woke up to a curious surprise.

“AAAAAhhhh!”

“W-what’s wrong!?”

“Milk spots!”

“What?”

“I’ve got milk spots! I’m leaking!”

Turns out all her body needed was a little TLC and it felt the need to lactate better than she’s ever had before. Days in the past spent blissfully walking through your fields are spent milling herself into whatever glasses you have. As it continues it gets worse better enough so that she eventually has to call on you to help. It’s a tad awkward for her to fling the maternity breast pump you bought for her as she demands you do it for her.

“E-eudora c’mon I’ve never done anything like this I’m not going to—”

“NO!! I NEED YOU TO DO THIS! Otherwise it’s going to take all day!”

So there goes an hour in the morning to help her release the gallons of milk her happy body produces. Constantly hearing the wanton moans of the cow woman you’re doing such a big favor. When you're finished, you have Tank frantically sniffing you both for some odd reason as he comments about the suspicious noises he was hearing.....from miles away. Eudora doesn’t bother clearing up the misunderstanding you just aren’t picking up on.

“So I believe you too were awfully loud this morning”

“Oh, you heard us, did you? Lucky dog, I’m sure you wish you were in my position.”

“Uhm I don’t know why Tank would want to do what you were doing.”

Tank is whining. “It doesn’t smell like what I think it was.”

“Ha just because you can’t smell it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“Well if you’re smelling milk then that’s accurate. Eudora made way more than we can cook with so we’re going to take it to the market today.”

“oh…milk….The kind that comes from-?”

“Her? Yeah. What kind of milk could I be talking about?”

“Come on, (Y/n)! We’re going to lose daylight talking to him.”

“I–I–wanna come too!”

With all the publicity from the suddenly amazing milk from the odd human that’s recently moved in floats around. Of course, the sweaty gross billy goat is circling back to your place. Spitting and pointing when you finally come out to the enraged short man. The cow woman and the dog boys on your property at the time are all on guard.

“I want ‘em back! You cheated me you hairless skank!!!”

“You can’t have her if she doesn’t want to go!”

“Why you–”

“Grrrr!”

“Wait (Y/n)...I’ll handle this.”

She agrees to go with him. Kissing you on the cheek as she promises she’ll return by tonight. It feels like you’ve failed as she walks into the passenger seat with her now confident strut and proud smile in an outfit she feels comfortable in. It feels like you’ve lost that is until that rickety truck pulls up again in the dead of night. Tiffany staying up with you after attempting to put you to sleep and joining you as you run to see if your friend truly had returned.

“I’m back~!”

“Eudora!”

The hug is your victory and it’s also a little off center.

“Uh, heels?”

“A gift from the girls back home. Turns out the ownership of the farm was recently called into question and I’ve recently been included in a new business venture. An opening was recently made.”

“Does this mean you’ll be moving in back there?”

Eudora hates how eager Mama Tiffany sounds with her speeding tail.

Eudora delights in the wagging slowing down with her next words

“No, I just figure I’ll be contributing a bit more to the home. Is that alright (Y/n)?”

“Of course, I’m so proud of you Eudora!”

Mama Tiff is livid along with her sons as she watches the cow-woman move in with designer bags and start paying to reinforce the fence on your property starting with the flap Titan loves sneaking in through. From then on she too comes with you when you head into town, not afraid to pull down her designer pink glasses to verbally put down anyone still brave enough to talk down to you. But by now it isn’t all hateful talks, she’s still chasing off anyone with mildly too positive intentions.

“Look feline if you don’t back off now I might be convinced not to starve your family.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Ah, but I can. Would you like to see?”

She’s sure she doesn’t need the extra help from your puppy neighbors but she’ll take it. If only to keep her nails clean, she’ll stick to her own strengths. Happily pulling you behind your market stalls because she desperately needs to be milked. She only trusts you–her human to do such a thing. No one else in this town is worthy of squeezing the liquid magic she can create than you– her dear one and only human.

“Come (Y/n) I need you. You are my special human—the only human I trust to help me fuel my empire. You won’t refuse me, right?”

Part 3: Coming Soon

Taglist: @midnight-nightmares @xrenka @candlesworlds-blog @00hellohello00 @lem-hhn @kawaii-cakes

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pearlessance · 4 months ago

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Moral Modification

Summary: When you decide to pierce your nipples, Joel Miller breaks his moral code to lend a helping hand.

Pairing: JacksonEra!Joel Miller/reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, seduction, age gap(undefined), piercings and needles, nipple play, moral ambiguity, oral sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, size difference

NOTE: this one shot was written for my bff joelmillersgirlfriend and all of the bolded words are titles of her fics over on AO3!! if you haven't read any of her work i def recommend going over there to check it out she's incredible. we also have a 3-part co-write we did on AO3 called False Pretenses! thank you to everyone for reading, love u all <3

[cross posted on AO3]

[masterlist]

You find it on a scouting mission.

Maria had sent you and Joel out in search of books to fill the shelves of Jackson’s overused library. It was a leisurely mission, moving slowly from house to house, searching through broken shelves and dressers and nightstands.

The blistering summer heat has you feeling exhausted by midday, and so the sun hasn’t even set when you pick a still-standing apartment complex and settle in for the night.

You drop your pack and flop onto the moth-eaten couch while Joel triple-checks every exit and every entrance in the tiny apartment he’d picked on the very top floor. He’s going at it again, glancing out of the wide windows with his rifle in hand, when you say, “If there was a way in or out, I think you would’ve found it the third time.”

He doesn’t say anything. Not a man of many words, Joel Miller. But he was certainly fun to torture with lewd suggestions.

“It’s real hot today,” you say. And it’s the goddamn truth—your skin is warm and your shirt sticks to the small of your back, and even though you’re wearing jean shorts the fabric chafes at your thighs.

He does nothing but grunt in agreement as a reply. Few words.

Though you try, you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you tell him, “We’d be a lot cooler if we took off some of these clothes, you know.”

Joel Miller is a good man. A really good man. This is why he pretends you don’t get to him, why he pretends to shrug you off as just a naive little girl whenever you brazenly flirt with him.

But you see it.

The way his calloused hands tighten around his rifle, the flush that creeps up his neck, the way he turns his head just enough to keep that smirk from out of view. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. But he leaves his spot at the window and joins you on the couch instead.

You set your legs in his lap and when he rests his hand on your calf you half expect him to push you away. But he doesn’t—his fingers linger, pressing into the tender muscle. “How am I ridiculous? It’s only common sense, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes catch yours at the name. He’s never directly said it, but you have a hunch that it does something to him, speaking to him as an authority. A part of you wonders if he ever thinks of you in the way you think of him, wonders if his mind is often filled with sinful, raw images. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t.” You do. Of course, you do. But you’re out here all alone and he’s sitting beside you and you can feel the heat of his skin against yours and he’s so big and warm and masculine. You want him, need him in a way you’ll never even try to understand. “Explain it to me,” you urge.

Joel leans his rifle against the arm of the couch and reaches up to rub the tension from his jaw. He smiles, one of those all-knowing smiles that makes your heart flutter. It’s a secret sort of smile, meant for just you and him. “You got any idea how old I am, girl?”

You shrug and say, “It doesn’t matter.” Because it doesn’t. “I like that you’re older. Besides, I’m not talking about that.” You are. “I’m talking about the weather. The heat. I’m going to take my shorts off.”

Slowly, carefully, you trail your fingertips over the curve of your chest, down the center of your abdomen. His eyes follow your every movement, pupils blown wide and jaw set firmly. His hand flexes around your calf, squeezing softly.

When you slip the edge of your pinky beneath the denim waistband his lips part. You trace the seam, from one hip to the other and back again, real slow. Joel watches you and you watch him, transfixed, thighs pressed together to abate the ache that forms between them.

For a moment, a single moment, you think you have him. You can see the temptation on his face, clear as day. You think you’ve finally cracked the eternal goodness and strength of one Joel Miller…but his hand covers yours the moment you reach for the silver button.

Embarrassment flushes your cheeks and you feel a little like you’ve been caught red handed.

His fingers squeeze yours, but his touch is so sudden and electrifying that the faintest whimper erupts from your chest. You want him to touch you with those hands, to touch you everywhere. You want him to take all that you offer and more.

But he’s just so good. “Stop,” he says, breathless.

The hesitance is palpable. The strain in his voice. You know he wants you, can see the growing erection pushing at the metallic zipper of his jeans from the other end of the couch. You know it’ll only take a little more convincing, a little more of the delicious chase…but you want the final decision to be his. You want him to need it, too.

So you relent.

You stand to your feet and move towards the staircase in the abandoned apartment. But when you step between his thighs, you linger. “Did you check for any books upstairs?”

He shakes his head. “No. Don’t think whoever lived here before were much the readin’ type.”

“Yeah, well…didn’t think you were much the reading type, either. But here you are.”

Joel shrugs. “Not much to do at the end of the world. Helps pass the time.”

You knock your knee against his playfully. “You even know how to read, old man?” He chuckles softly and it feels like a victory. “Never seen you in the library.”

He spreads his legs further to give you more room, settling into the couch with his head tilted back. You know he doesn’t mean to look that fucking good doing it, but he does. Taking up all that space, commanding without even trying. It makes your mouth water, makes your skin prickle in every spot he allows himself to look. And then he says lowly, “I’ve seen you.”

It gives you pause. Because if he’s seen you in the library back in Jackson but you haven’t seen him, it means he notices you. Even when you’re not out here alone, even when you’re not urging him to touch you, even when you’re not trying. A seductive smirk finds your lips. “You gotta crush on me or something, Mr. Miller?”

Joel scoffs and shakes his head, turning away from you to hide the redness on his face that has nothing to do with the heat.

You giggle softly and decide to grant him a little reprieve. “I’ll be back,” you say, escaping the growing tension and focusing instead on the task at hand. “If they don’t have books, maybe they have something else that could be useful. Clothes or shoes or batteries or something.”

It only takes a few minutes before you realize what he meant when he said the past inhabitants of the apartment don’t seem much like the reading type. There’s not a single bookshelf to be found. Nothing on the walls, nothing standing in the spare room. There are three computers, though. Not that they’re worth anything now.

Still, you try your damndest to find something. Anything. You rifle through drawers and find nothing but a cracked and weathered bible, of which you have a thousand and one copies in Jackson.

The closest thing you find to a real book is a stack of magazines in the cluttered bathroom. All are covered in a thick layer of dust and most have images of sports cars on the front, but they’re worth grabbing, anyway. You’re sure Tommy or Greg or someone wouldn’t mind skimming through them, so you grab the whole stack and return downstairs to Joel.

You’re halfway down the stairs when the magazine on the bottom of the stack tumbles from your hands. And it’s not a sports car on the front page.

Instead, it’s a woman all dressed up in leather. She wears platform boots that reach her knees, adorned with heavy silver buckles down the front. Even though you were born not long after the outbreak, you’re not oblivious. You know what pornography is, but you’ve never seen anything quite like this.

You pick it up and put it on the top of the pile.

When Joel sees the small stack in your hand he asks, “Anything good?”

“Mm. Not sure yet.” You set the pile onto the floor beside your pack, nestle back into your spot in the opposite corner of the couch, and flip open the magazine with the leather-clad woman on the front, reading the title aloud. “Have you ever heard of a porno mag named Dreadnought?”

“What are you—is that—?”

“I’m just curious, Mr. Miller. Relax.” You lift your feet and put them back in his lap and discover he is anything but relaxed. You can feel the stiffness in his thighs even through the thick soles of your high-top sneakers.

“No, what? No, you shouldn’t—you should…”

You ignore his stuttering, flipping quickly through the pages. Most of them are filled with erotic images of women dressed similarly to the one on the front page. They each have a man in a curious, submissive position. But none of this interests you, none of it even surprises you, in truth.

Near the end of the magazine is where you find exactly what you’re looking for. The woman on the front page is in different outfits, one in leather, another in red lace. But it’s the third page of her feature where she’s completely naked. Her breasts are full and sit too high on her chest to be real, but they’re beautiful. Not for any reason other than those pretty silver barbells that are pierced through her nipples.

You lean up, tucking your legs beneath yourself, and show Joel the image. “Was this common? You know, like…before?”

His face is red and you think maybe he’s forgotten how to speak. Because no words come out, he just sputters. “Is…what…which part—are you…I don’t—”

“I’ve never seen anyone with pierced nipples,” you interrupt. “That’s what I’m talking about. Was it common?”

He seems to find himself. “Uhm…no. Not really, I guess. Why do you ask?”

You shrug and find yourself leaning into his side, flipping to the next page. There’s another image of the woman, and though she’s back in that red lace again, you can see the piercings pushing against the thin fabric. “It’s pretty,” you say. “I like it. Do you think you could do something like that still?”

“Well, back then they had people who’d do that sorta thing professionally,” he says. “But as long as you’re careful, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to.”

You let it go, and the two of you ration what food you have left, deciding to head back to the commune within the next day or two. You fall asleep leaning up against him, head resting on his shoulder. And you know Joel doesn’t rest much outside of Jackson’s walls, always too worried about being found or threatened in some way. But halfway through the night, you wake covered in a thin layer of sweat, scorched by the warmth of his head against your belly.

At some point in your sleep, you’d shifted, laying on the couch on your back, and Joel must have followed you. His arms are wrapped around your waist and his torso covers your legs, body heat warming you to uncomfortable temperatures.

But you don't dare move. Instead, you slide your fingers through the soft tendrils of his hair and scratch softly at his scalp, smiling in the dark as he moans in his sleep.

Your luck the following day is much better. You stumble upon an old strip mall, and inside there’s a small, indie bookstore. Joel picks through the science fiction section, stuffing his pack with everything he thinks might be interesting. He finds a few children’s books and pockets those, too, while you browse the romance section.

Half the books are crumbling dust in your hands and the others have so much water damage they’re hardly legible, but you pick up what you can. While you’re rifling through the horror books, stashing anything written by Stephen King or H.P. Lovecraft, Joel comes up behind you and says, “You really read that kinda thing?”

“What, scary stuff?”

He nods, takes the copy of Carrie from your hands, and flips it over. “Yeah. Ain’t we got enough horror out there already?”

You roll your eyes dramatically. “It’s not the same,” you explain. You flick the corner of the book in his hands and go back to browsing the shelves. “ This you can turn off,” you try to explain. “If you get too scared you can just close the book. Have you ever read anything scary before?”

Joel shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Try it one day,” you say. “The best time is in October, though. Under the sheets with a flashlight, scared out of your mind. It’s so good, Mr. Miller.”

His jaw feathers as if there’s something he wants to say. But the words never pass his lips. He simply slips the book into your pack and remains silent as he watches you.

It takes a while, but eventually, you’re satisfied with your haul. The day is still early, and so you say, “If we head back now we could save some time. Get home before dark tomorrow.”

To your surprise, he agrees with you. The extra weight of the books has you feeling sluggish an hour into your journey back home, but you persist. And even though it’s significantly less hot today than yesterday, at least once an hour Joel’s passing you his plastic bottle and urging you to drink water.

It’s a sweet gesture, in truth. Joel’s got this innate instinct to provide for others, you know. You’ve seen it a hundred times, the way he just silently takes care of the people he cares about. Ellie, Tommy, Maria, you. You’ve observed him for long enough to know that he’s a protector, a nurturer.

The only problem with Joel taking care of you is how much you like it. It makes you feel soft and gooey on the inside, producing sordid images in your brain of repaying the favor on your knees. You think about Joel’s big hands on you often—in your dreams, even.

But…today is different because you can feel the weight of the magazine at the bottom of your pack. You can’t shake the image of the woman on the cover and that metal through her breasts, can’t get over how elegant and edgy and bewitching she looked. You begin to wonder how it would feel to have Joel touch you if you had the same body modification—would his calloused hands feel more intense, sensations heightened with the sensitivity? Would he be gentle and slow-moving? How soft would his tongue feel against your skin over the adornment?

He seems to sense your distracted thoughts. “You okay? Seem quiet.”

“Fine,” you answer a little too quickly. “I’m just…just hot is all.”

Joel reaches behind him for his water bottle again but you shake your head.

“No, no. Not like…not like that.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat, and you can feel his eyes on the side of your face but you don’t have the energy to tease him about it. Not when you can’t stop thinking about his fucking hands. “Let's, uhm…let’s find someplace to rest for the night. Sun’s startin’ to set anyhow.”

“Yeah, that’ll be good.” As long as you stay six feet away from him. As long as you can keep your godforsaken hands to yourself. As long as he doesn’t look at you too long or ask too many questions or grunt an answer.

You find yourself praying, hoping to keep yourself from any further embarrassment, hoping to fight off that ache that seems to have made a home inside your belly. You cross your fingers at your sides and hope God’s got a private channel open for young girls with an insatiable desire for rugged, older men.

It feels like divine interference when you crest the hill of the street you're walking on to discover a run-down tattoo parlor. It still stands in perfect condition apart from the crumbling siding. Windows dirty but intact, door closed and stagnant.

A distraction will work.

And it looks sturdy enough to rest for the night. You know Joel will circle it a hundred times before he’s satisfied, but you think eventually he will be satisfied with it. “Didn’t people do piercings at tattoo shops, too?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, they did. At most of them, anyway.”

The thought seems to cross Joel’s mind the second you look at him. “Do you think I could…?”

“Maybe. Let’s see.”

You follow behind him as he approaches the building. He uses his knife to wedge the door open, and the two of you wait and listen for any approaching sound.

There’s nothing, though. Nothing but stale, empty air, and a whole lot of dust. You stick by his side for the first two rounds of inspection, as is your routine. But when he goes back in for a third, you decide to take a look around yourself.

In the front of the parlor, there’s a big, circular desk that sits atop the black and white tiles on the floor. The walls are painted maroon, and there’s a neon yellow leather couch near the door. You can only assume it’s where people would sit to wait, but the leather is smooth beneath your fingers even after all this time sitting unoccupied.

There are six smaller rooms behind the desk, each set up similarly with a blackout curtain and a medical-looking chair in the very center. In one of the rooms, there’s a binder flipped open, and as you begin to turn the pages you realize it’s an art portfolio.

For a moment, you wonder about the person who’d drawn all of these designs. How old were they when they drew them? Did they have tattoos themselves? Are they still alive, out there somewhere still creating art?

People in Jackson still get tattoos, you know. But not as often as you think it might have been before the outbreak. You trail your fingers lightly over the next page. It’s an image of a glass half-filled with amber liquid, some sloshing out of the side. Below it, the words Tennessee Whiskey are written in cursive.

“Should be good.” His voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin. When you turn to face him, Joel’s got his rifle slung over one shoulder and he’s leaning against the doorframe, curtain pushed to the side. “Help me barricade the door?”

The two of you spend the next ten minutes moving furniture around the parlor, setting it all in front of the entrance. It’ll be harder to leave in the morning, you know. But you know, too, that a barricade like this means that Joel’s feeling too exhausted to spend another night pacing and you’re happy to give him the assurance of safety he needs.

When you’re done, he spreads out on the leather couch and you put your pack beside his. “Joel?”

He turns just his head to look at you.

You sift through the books in your pack and reach towards the bottom, pulling out the magazine that’s plagued your every waking thought. “I’m going to pierce my nipples, I think.”

For several seconds, he doesn’t say a word in response. He just swallows hard and when his eyes leave yours, trailing down your neck, he squeezes them closed before they reach your chest. But you know, you know, even without any words, that he’s thinking about it. That he’s thinking about you, forgetting his morals for a single second.

It isn’t until you stand to your feet and start towards the closed-off rooms, magazine in hand, that he finally speaks up.

“Be careful,” he says. “I don’t want you hurt.”

You smirk at him over your shoulder. “Is that the Mr. Miller version of saying, I care about your tits?”

He snorts incredulously, but a chuckle follows shortly after, erasing all of your earlier embarrassment.

It doesn’t take you long to find the materials you need. In one of the cases you pry open with your knife, you choose two matching silver barbells with dainty, white diamonds on each end. You use a cloth to clean off a tall mirror in one of the rooms, and there’s a bottle of isopropyl alcohol that you use to disinfect both a steel surgical tray and your hands.

You discard your shirt and bra, laying them in the chair in the middle of the room, and flip the magazine open to further observe the woman in the image. Thankfully, you find a drawer full of individually packaged needles and take out several just in case.

Sterilizing your hands with the alcohol again, you align the jewelry over your nipple, inspecting the placement and maneuvering it until you’re satisfied. You rip open one of the packaged needles with your teeth and sterilize it too for good measure.

Carefully, you orient the needle just right, inhale until your lungs ache, and when you exhale—

“God fucking dammit!”

You can hear his footsteps before the sound of his rifle, and then comes his voice. “You alright? What happened?”

Your exhale is somehow shakier than your hands. “I’m okay, Joel,” you say quickly. You knew it was going to hurt, you’re literally piercing a needle through your flesh. But you didn’t expect it to be so excruciating. It stings even now with the needle pushed through, completely still.

He stands in the doorway, rifle lowered and pointed at the ground. Through the reflection of the mirror, you can see him glance around the room, looking at everything but you. “Are you sure? Maybe you shouldn’t. This could be dangerous, you can wait until we’re back home and—”

“And have someone else pierce my nipples? Yeah, Joel, I’m good on all that.” You pick the jewelry up, sterilize it again, and breathe slowly as you push it through. This part, while uncomfortable, is a world easier than the piercing itself.

You twist on the tiny diamond ball at the end of the barbell and admire your work. It’s perfectly straight, much to your surprise. And though it’s just a small change, it makes you feel as entrancing as the woman in the magazine.

There’s no blood, which you take as a good sign. And as the seconds tick by the pain subsides and is replaced with a dull throbbing instead. It hurts, but it’s bearable. The only problem is that as you try to line up the second needle, your hands tremble too much to keep it straight.

Even though you try to take deep breaths, try to shake the tremors from your hand, nothing works. And you can’t just have one, can’t just leave this task unfinished, and so you gather your courage and turn fully towards him. “Joel? I need your help.”

You’ve never seen him quite like this, you think. There’s no flush to his face, no chagrin or hesitance or resistance. All of his morality seems to be replaced with a dark desire, a need unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

Immediately you know this is the Joel Miller he’s tried so hard to hide from you. Only glimpses of this terrifying man have slipped through the facade, each one smothered quickly by restraint.

Yet here he stands, hungry eyes swallowing you up, tracing the outline of the jewelry without remorse.

“I can’t…my hands are shaky. I need you to do the other one.”

His hands twitch at his sides. And even though you now know he longs to touch you just as much as you want to touch him, his words tell an entirely different story. “I shouldn’t,” he says. “It’s not…it’s not right. Shouldn’t even be seein’ you like this. Too…too young. Too sweet.”

The southern accent in his voice is thicker now than you’ve ever heard it. Deep and husky, sending shivers down your spine. “Please, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes snap up to meet yours. He pins you with that intense stare of his and you suddenly can’t move, can’t breathe. Flickering flames gather low in your belly.

“I promise I won’t try anything. I’ll just stand here. I just need you to…to push the needle through. That’s all.”

It takes him a second, but he nods. “Alright…alright. I, uhm…okay. Yeah.” He nears you slowly and you feel crowded. You can smell the salt and sweat of his skin, can feel that warmth even though he doesn’t yet touch you.

You pour the alcohol over his hands and hand him another packaged needle. “Here,” you say. “Just do it as straight as you can, and once the needle’s in I can do the rest.”

Joel peels apart the packaging and takes the needle between his fingers. He discards the plastic and you can hear each of his ragged breaths echo in your ears. Slowly, experimentally, he reaches out and presses his fingertips just below your ribcage and it makes you moan.

He pulls away immediately as if he’d been burned by your skin. “You said you wouldn’t—”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. Hold on.” You try again to catch your breath to no avail. “Let me close my eyes. I’m sorry.”

Joel nods, jaw feathering as he clenches his teeth. But you do as you say, closing your eyes and trying to convince yourself it’s not Joel touching you. It’s someone else. The same person who drew everything in that portfolio.

But when he does touch you again, his hands are warm and calloused and big and familiar. You know it’s Joel. Your Joel. The brooding man of few words. The too-good man who cares about you, who lets you sleep even though he never does, who gives you his water to guarantee you stay hydrated.

His hand moves upwards, palm pressed flat against your ribcage. It stops just below your breast as if he’s feeling the weight of it in his hand and you wonder if he can feel the hammering of your heart behind your sternum, too.

You don’t have time to think about it for long, though. Because his thumb slides across your nipple, hardening it into a peak, and all you can think about is the fact that he’s touching you. He’s touching you and you want more, want to feel him on every inch of your skin.

This time you’re able to hold back your moan, but only barely. It’s more like a whimper that gets caught in your throat instead. But he doesn’t pull away, and soon his other hand joins in. “Should I…uhm,” he clears his throat. “Should I count, or…?”

You shake your head. “No, no. Just…just do it. Please.” The words are desperate for a whole new reason. Your hands tremble even more at your sides.

The biting cold of the steel reaches you before you feel the pain. You try to breathe through it but the second one is somehow even worse and obscenities fall from your lips at the agony. It hurts so badly that you don’t even register as Joel slides the jewelry through and screws the diamond onto the barbell.

Ultimately, it’s his voice that cuts through the fog.

“Hey, hey. Shh. Hey, c’mon. Finished. Look at me, pretty girl. Open your eyes.” You do because that thick, southern drawl is more enticing than anything you’ve ever heard. You’d follow it anywhere, you think. Do anything it asks. “There you go. Atta girl.”

His words make your mouth water. You want to taste them. Joel’s hands are still on you, holding your hips, pressing into the exposed flesh. It’s all you can think about until he turns you away from him, forcing you to look into the mirror on the wall. “Oh my God.”

It surprises you a little just how much you love them. It makes you look powerful, like you are the one who belongs in a magazine.

“They’re perfect, Joel.”

“Did it hurt too bad?”

The question is so insane that it makes you laugh. “Are you kidding? It was awful. I don’t even know what to compare it to to try and explain it.”

He laughs too, a deep, throaty chuckle that brings a smile to your face. “Well, you have my sincere apologies, little lady.”

When you turn back to face him, you ask, “What do you think? Do they look good?”

You know you said you wouldn’t torture him, but the look on his face is so sweet that you can’t resist. “They’re real pretty,” he says. “They, uh…they suit you.”

“Think so?” You look up at him through your lashes, trying your damndest to look as desperate for him as you are. “Hurts a little,” you tell him, pressing your thumb gently over the center of your nipple, the one you’d pierced on your own. “Right here.”

He sees right through your false pretenses. You watch him swallow, watch his eyes darken. “Careful, little girl,” he warns, voice low and gravelly.

The name makes you squirm beneath his catastrophic gaze, thighs pressing together. He catches the movement—and you realize you want to be anything but careful with this terrifying, powerful man. Of course, you don’t heed his warning. “Might help if you kiss it better, you know.”

“S’that right?” You nod and a sinful smirk pulls at the corners of his full lips. He leans down and you can feel the scruff of his beard brushing the side of your face. Against your ear, he whispers, “You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, sweetheart.”

You know you shouldn’t. You know it, and yet you can’t fucking resist. You’ve never been able to resist him. “Then show me.”

And just like that, his resolve withers. The cord snaps and the good Joel you know vanishes into thin air, leaving nothing but this hungry, desperate man behind. He grabs your waist and hauls you up against him, legs wrapping around his hips on instinct.

Your chest presses against his but the pressure is bliss, fighting off both the ache in your breasts and the one between your legs. He swipes everything off the metal table in the corner. Alcohol and needles and portfolio all crashing to the floor.

Joel sets you atop it and his mouth hovers an inch above yours, breath fanning across your cheeks. “Last chance, little girl,” he says.

He’s giving you an out, you realize. One last opportunity to escape him. You lean up and press your lips tenderly to his instead.

It’s answer enough for him.

Joel’s mouth moves greedily against yours. One hand rests against the small of your back, pressing you against him, and the other holds the nape of your neck. His tongue slips into your mouth. He tastes like honey and whiskey and sunlight. You could drown in it, you think. But Joel doesn’t linger for long.

He trails open mouthed kisses down your neck, your chest—-and when he flicks his soft tongue across your nipple, your back arches and you forget how to breathe.

“Joel,” you say, voice needy and desperate. “Touch me. Please touch me.”

His hands flex against your skin, still holding himself back. You don't understand—can’t he feel how much you want it? Can’t he see it on your face, in your eyes? “I want to,” he admits.

You grind your hips against his and the sensation of the bulge in his jeans against your center has you shaking. “What’s stopping you?”

A self-deprecating laugh bubbles out of his throat. He presses his forehead against yours, kisses the tip of your nose gently. “You make me crazy, pretty girl.” His hand comes around your throat, cradling your face. With the rough pad of his thumb, he traces the outline of your lips and says, “You make me feel like I’m eighteen again.” His hand travels lower, down your neck, knuckles dragging between your breasts. “Like I’m some little boy who gets a hard-on over a bra strap.” Lower, down your belly, between your ribs. “Or these fuckin’ shorts, baby.”

Everything aches for him. Every cell in your body has been lit aflame beneath his touch, longing to feel his hands, his tongue, to feel all of him. “Joel,” you say. “Please.”

He kisses a trail that follows the path of his hand, but this time he stalls at your breasts. “Sound so fuckin’ pretty when you beg,” he mutters against your skin. And then he’s kissing and sucking and biting marks into the softness of your breast, leaving proof that he was here, evidence of his affection. “If I touch you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“I want you to,” you say. “ I think about it all the time.” Your head falls back, hips rolling against his, seeking out any sort of friction you can find. “God—I dream about it. I want you inside me.”

His eyes darken as he looks up at you.

A man of few words. This time it’s him who reaches for the metallic button. He pops it open in one smooth movement, tongue lapping over the metal barbell through your nipple. You can feel each pass over the sensitive flesh down to your toes.

He wriggles his hand into your shorts, deft fingers finding your clit easily. You let out a lewd moan at the commanding way he just takes —as if he’s right where he’s always supposed to be. Right where you want him, right where you’ve needed him for all these years.

Joel kisses a path across your sternum, mouth giving the same tender care to the opposite breast. He slides his fingers through your wetness, gathering your slick and using it to circle your clit. “M’gonna take care of her, sweetheart,” he says. “Gonna make her feel real good, s’that alright with you?”

His words are filthy and obscene and you love it. You’re nodding quickly and saying, “Yes, Joel, yes.”

A cold shiver passes through you as he rises back to his full height, towering over you when he takes a step back. “Let’s get these off,” he says. Joel helps you shimmy both your shorts and your panties down your legs until you’re sitting there in front of him completely naked. He’s still completely dressed and it makes you feel small and minuscule beneath the weight of his predatory stare.

He places both hands on your thighs and pushes them apart, spreading you open. And then he drops to his knees and lazily strokes his fingers through your wet heat. You can feel the chill of his breath against your clit and your fingers find the outgrown tendrils of dark hair on instinct, trying to pull him closer, wiggling your hips to the very edge of the table.

“Needy girl, hm?” He laughs softly. It’s not malicious but rather adoring, and you wonder how it is that someone so strong and authoritative can make you feel powerful and cherished in the same breath. “S’okay. I’ve got ya.”

And then his tongue is on you and it feels like heaven. So much better than you’d ever imagined, ever dreamed. His scruff scratches at the inside of your thighs as he slides his tongue through your pussy. Joel groans against you like this is more for him, and the vibration of the sound pulls staccato moans from your mouth.

He slips two fingers into you easily, encountering no resistance. You’re too wet, too eager to have him inside you. You whimper his name as he sucks your clit into his mouth, hands pulling tight in his hair. It feels so good it’s almost too much—but he seems to know what you can take more than you do.

Joel looks up at you from between your thighs and you can see the palpable hunger on his face. You think maybe he’s wanted this for longer than you, maybe he’s somehow been even more starved for this than you once thought.

You can feel your orgasm creep down your spine, inferno building and building, settling low in your belly. You try to tell him, to warn him—but then he hooks his fingers inside of you, pressing against that sweet spot and—

“Oh, God—God, fuck—Joel, I—!”

“S’alright, baby, go’head. Cum for me, oh—yeah, that’s it. There you go, sweetheart.” His voice is so gentle, a stark contrast to the assertive way he moves his hands, pulling from you everything your body can give. The southern accent is thick as he talks you through it. “Feels so much better now, huh? Y’look so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby. So pretty when you’re all full’a me.”

Your thighs tremble even as you begin to come down, trying to catch your breath, holding onto his arms to ground yourself as he stands back to his feet, thick cords of muscle sturdy beneath your shaking hands. And he’s right—it does feel better now, but as he eases his fingers out of you and you watch him lick them clean, your pussy clenches at the sight. It’s better, it is… but when it comes to good and moral Joel Miller you are insatiable.

A deep, rumbling groan reverberates in his chest when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you. Your slick stains the bulge in his jeans, darkening the denim material. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, big hands running slowly up and down your smooth thighs. “Shouldn’t be doin’ this…shouldn’t be takin’ advantage of you. Such a little thing, don’t know what you want.”

The answer comes quickly. “You, Joel. I want you.”

You reach for his belt and he watches your nimble fingers undo it, pulling the leather through the metal fastening. He hisses when you reach into his jeans and pull him out.

He’s bigger than you thought, and wrapping your hand around him completely is a troubling task. You’re not sure he’ll even fit but it makes your mouth water, makes your swollen clit pulse with need. “Please.”

“I can’t, baby. Believe me, I want it, too, but I…you’re too good for me. Too—” He stops when you slide the head of his cock through your pussy, coating him in your slick. You watch the movement together and this time it’s Joel’s hands that shake. He curses under his breath, admiring the way he fits so perfectly.

“Just a little?” Your own voice is hardly recognizable in your own ears, needy and deprived. You slide his cock back up towards your clit and it catches at your entrance. You both gasp in tandem. You love Joel and all his goodness but right now you want the worst of him. You want all of him.

He nods and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Okay…okay,” he says to himself. “Just a little. You sure? You’re positive you want—?”

You line him up and shift your hips forward, words fading into nothingness. It’s just a little like you promised, but the stretch is so delicious you find yourself wanting more. More, always more—you think you could die without it.

Joel pushes in further, a little less than halfway, and then pulls out slowly. He groans and you feel like crying. His cock is covered in your wetness and when he pushes back in you think this just might be enough to make you cum a second time.

It’s filthy and obscene and you love it. You love him. He reaches down and circles your clit with his thumb, fucking you slowly, eyes locked on the place you’re joined. “You’re so big,” you whimper.

You can feel the tension in his shoulders and you do your damnedest to smooth it out with small, massaging motions. He touches you just right but you want it to feel good for him, too.

That heat of an orgasm begins to build again. A low, incessant thrum between your hips.

“I have to,” he mutters so softly you hardly hear him the first time. “I have to, baby. I’ve gotta feel you. I’ve gotta…” And then he eases his cock into you to the hilt without any warning, filling you so full it hurts. The invasion stings but your body adjusts quickly, making room for him in the same way your heart has. His head falls to the crook of your neck and you can feel him shudder as he breathes the word fuck into your skin.

“Oh my God—it’s too much, too much—!”

“You can take it, baby. C’mon, spread your legs wider. I know s’alot,” he praises, circling your clit a little faster now. Your slick drips down your thighs, into the dark hair between his hips. “You got it, sweetheart. See? There you go.”

He pulls out just to sink into you again. This time there’s less pain and more divinity and your nails dig into his shoulder through his flannel as you adjust to the size of him.

Joel uses his free hand to tilt your chin up, pressing his mouth to yours and kissing you deep. He sets an unrelenting pace, hips grinding against yours with each thrust. It’s so much and you’re so full of him in all the best ways. When you moan into his mouth you can feel his lips turn up at the corners, a predatory grin saved just for you.

The sounds are filthy and echo in the room, an obscene symphony of devotion. You’d let him do anything right now—anything.

He picks up the pace, hips snapping against yours. All you can think about is how right this feels, how you were made for him, how well he fits inside you.

A low grunt filters through his teeth and he says, “Fuck, baby. You look so pretty. How’s it feel? Tell me. Use your words.”

“S’good,” you whimper in response. Your brain is mush and your thighs become a vise around his waist, pulling him in impossibly deeper. “So good, Joel, don’t stop. Please don’t stop, I’m—I’m close.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum again already, hm?” He pushes his palm against your belly, thumb still gently stroking your clit. And the pressure of it feels so intense you let out a whine of bliss. “Yeah, you are,” he whispers. “Can feel her squeezin’ me. S’alright, baby. Wanna feel it.”

His words send you tumbling over the edge of bliss, and he fucks you through it. Stars blind your vision and your ears fill with static. But you can hear Joel though, can hear him and feel him deep inside you through it all.

“Ohh, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. Pretty little thing’s just fuckin’ dripping all over me, feels so good. You feel so good.”

Before you even realize what’s happening, his rhythm falters. You can feel his cock pulse inside of you as Joel falls off the precipice. His head rolls back and the muscles in his forearms flex around the prominent veins. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and you know you’ll never see anything as beautiful as this big, powerful man weak for you.

He’s panting when he slowly pulls out of you with a hiss. Sweat dots his hairline and that flush on his neck certainly seems like it’s staying for a little while longer. He’s beautiful, you think. Crafted by the hands of God himself, made with imperfect grace.

When he looks up at you he smiles in the way he always does, like the two of you share a secret. And maybe now you do. A sinful, dirty secret that’s all yours. You laugh softly and he mirrors the sound, helping you back to your feet.

You hold his shoulders for balance as he helps you back into your shorts. And when he hands you your bra and t-shirt, you’re starkly reminded of the dull throb in your breasts and think better of it before putting them on. “I think they might be too tight. I’ll look around and see if I can…”

Before you finish the sentence, he’s unbuttoning his red flannel and tossing it to you. He wears a light brown tshirt underneath, the arms just a little too tight on his biceps. He looks so good that you want to take him between your legs again even with the sweet ache that lingers. “Here,” he says. “Take this.”

You do. He helps you with the buttons and it’s too big but gives your new body modifications room to breathe and heal. You ask him how it looks.

“Better on you,” is his short response.

When you begin to fall asleep on the yellow leather couch later that night, all wrapped up in his arms, Joel presses his lips to your forehead and says, “When we get home, I wanna read that book of yours. Carrie, was it?”

You shift at his side, turning your head up to look at him. “You’re not gonna wait till October, like I said?”

Joel shakes his head. “You got any idea how old I am, girl? I’ve got no time for waitin’ till October.” He’s quiet for several seconds. And then his voice is nothing but a whisper as he says, “No time waitin’ on this to be right in the eyes of others, either.”

And you can feel the heat behind his words, can almost hear the unspoken meaning. No time for waiting until you’re older, no time for waiting until the perfect moment. Your mouth pulls into a wide grin. “Are you asking to go steady with me, Mr. Miller?”

With a scoff, he runs his hand playfully down your face and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he says.

When he kisses you, you make a promise against his lips. “I’m yours, Joel.”

He doesn’t say much in the way of a reply, your big man of few words. But he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

It’s more than enough.

#joel miller #ao3 fanfic #pearlessance #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #ao3 writer #joel tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #tlou #joel miller self insert #smut #fanfic #tlou fanfiction #fluff #jackson era joel

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peachesofteal · 3 months ago

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ghoap x reader / 18+ mdni / dark themes / masterlist

You wake to the sound of drapes swishing open.

Up on your elbows, you blink furtively. The room, your room, is plucked from the darkness, the long emerald colored tapestries pulled to the side to reveal sunlight.

There’s a woman in your room. Not much older than you, tying them back before turning to face you with a nervous smile. “Good morning.”

“Good… morning?” Who is she? What is she doing here?

“I’m Ana. I’ve brought your breakfast.” There’s a tray on the table, across the room. You can see steam rising from where you’re sitting up, half swallowed in a sea of blankets and pillows.

“Ana…” you say her name slowly, rolling it around in your mouth and then glance at the door. “Thank you for the breakfast but… I actually need to get home.” Her brow puckers.

“I’m sorry but… I'm only here to bring you breakfast” What? “You’re to eat,” she hesitates, “and stay here.” Your muscles still hold the memory of running, tromping through the woods in a panic, shaky steps too clumsy to carry you far enough away. How long ago was that? A day? Days?

“Please. You have to help me.” You fold over the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, reaching for her, but she jerks away.

“I’m sorry.” She repeats again. You eye the door. “I wouldn’t. The door locks automatically from the outside, and requires a key code.” Panic grips your throat. You’re trapped, you’re really trapped, they’re kidnapping you, it’s real, this-

“I have to get out of here.”

“You should eat,” she whispers, eyes wide and sweet like a puppy’s.

“I can’t. I’m too preoccupied with the fact I’ve been kidnapped.” You snark, and her mouth tightens.

“From what I understand, which is not much admittedly, is you’re being kept here for your own protection.” She backs away, carefully, watching where you sit on the edge of the bed, stricken. Your heart is sinking in your chest, down through your stomach and to the floor, squeezing in on itself so tight it may turn to pulp.

“Please, you can help me. You got in here, right? So you know the key code, you can-“ The door swings open. An unfamiliar man stands on the threshold, gun on his hip, charcoal black henley accentuating his arms.

“Ana.” He rumbles, and without another word or a look back, she scurries towards the door.

“Sorry Mr. Keller.” She squeaks, and he smiles at her, kindly. It confuses you.

“It’s alright. Go see if Mags needs anything.” He glances your direction, and then before you can protest, swings the door closed. The handle whirs until there’s a satisfying click of a lock.

All is silent.

Another tray is delivered midday, and then as the sun starts to set, a third.

You leave them untouched.

It’s not really a hunger strike, more so lack of appetite. A week ago, you would have murdered someone for this kind of food, quality, hot, heaping portions. Overstuffed sandwich with chips, roasted chicken pie with gravy and perfectly cooked vegetables. It should make your mouth water, but it only succeeds in turning your stomach.

Your face stays buried in a pillow for hours. Hiding under the blankets like a child, you cry until there’s nothing left, agony shredding your soul, lowering you down into a dark well filled with hopelessness.

Kidnapped. You’ve been kidnapped.

Or, well. Woman-napped. You guess.

Ana arrives an hour after the dinner tray is dropped off, and you hear her huff as she takes into the full plate.

You ignore her.

“Miss, I really think Mr. Riley and MacTavish would be happier if you tried to eat something.” Happier? They'd be happier? You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth to keep yourself from snapping at her. It's not her fault, you think.

“‘m not hungry, thanks though.” You’re curled up in the fetal position, faced away from her, and she sighs.

The door clicks closed. You’re alone with dusk, and it drags you down with the horizon, eyes slipping closed as the last orange light flickers over the trees.

The light at your bedside clicks on in the middle of the night. You wake slowly to it, forgetting again where you are, what's happened, flanked by two shadows, full conscious coming with the reminder that you're trapped in this room.

When you finally get your bearings, you realize the two shadows are your captors, barely illuminated by the pale orange lamp.

"Ye didnae eat anything all day." Johnny murmurs from his spot on the bed, by your hip.

“I want to go home.” Your pillow is tucked to your chest, a stuffed barrier between you and them, the only line you can draw however flimsy.

“Ye cannae doe, we’ve discussed this.”

“Please.” Your voice cracks on the tears trailing down your cheeks, and you sniffle. “Please. I won’t tell anyone.” He shakes his head.

“How about we get you something to eat?” Simon’s voice is more gentle in the dark it seems, cotton corners wrapping the beginning and end of each word, lilting upward with his question.

Reality slowly webs at the corners of your vision. You’re not getting out of here. You’re their prisoner until they say otherwise.

You’re fucked.

The despondency swells into a lump in the back of your throat. “I’m… I’m scared of you, I’m scared period. I want to GO HOME.”

“We know.”

“There’s ice cream in the kitchen.” You can hear Simon’s smirk in the dark, and he sighs. “You’re not going home, doe. At least not right now. So you can sit here and suffer, and be hungry, or you can have a little snack before we put you back in bed.” Johnny’s- you think, hand pats your thigh.

Your resolve crumbles, falls apart long enough that you allow yourself to consider something to eat, something sweet, even. “Fine.” You huff. “But this isn’t over. You can’t just keep me here. I will fight, I will run.” Simon laughs.

“Run all you want, but you’ll still end up back here.”

#Ghoap x reader #peaches writes #simon riley #john soap mactavish #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #mafia au

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darilarostarg · 1 month ago

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day two, creampie + breeding kink

Day Two - Thursday 3rd October - Creampie + Breeding Kink

Pairing: Cregan Stark x female!reader

Words: 2.2K

Warnings: SMUT, this got a very slow burn vibe for my smut?, dirty talk, rough-ish sex, implied size difference, breeding kink, creampie, nervous reader, spit, sex w/ a condom

Summary: Day Two of Kinktober - you can view the masterlist here.

This is all odd. Very, very odd.

If she had to describe their marriage in one word it would be uneventful. Cregan was quiet, a solitary man that didn’t speak much if there was no cause for it. They spend most of the days apart, him carrying out his duties and her doing the same, briefly meeting for lunch at midday, before going their separate ways again.

He would call her to his rooms two, sometimes three nights a week, quickly get his duty over him before returning to his role as the young, stern Lord of Winterfell. Not that she minded, she was treated better than most of her sisters were by their husbands. He ensured she didn’t want for anything, he was polite when they did speak and he was not aggressive in the marriage bed. Never once had she felt uneasy or frightened in his presence. Until now.

He had never called on her this late, nor after a feast. He had asserted that after a long night of eating, drinking and entertaining his vassals, bedding would be the last thing she would desire. That was his plan for this evening, once the winter feast was over, he would walk her back to her chamber, kiss her hand and leave. Like they had done, time and time before… but then she picked up the babe.

Lady Umbers’ latest boy. A squealing, happy little thing that caused her arms to tremble slightly under his weight as she picked him up onto her hip. Cregan hadn’t noticed at first, too engrossed in political talk with Lord Umber himself. But once Lord Umber excused himself to briefly speak with his wife, Cregan’s eyes following him to where she sat beside the Lady, gently holding his little arms in her soft hands as she blew into his stomach, smiling brightly as the boy wiggles and giggles hysterically in her arms. And for a moment he imagined it was her babe. Their babe. He imagined her sitting at the next feast, proudly showing off her own chubby babe to any Lady that would give their ear to her. He imagined her wrapping them gently in the countless blankets she spent her evenings embroidering. He imagines her swollen belly poking out from under all her pretty dresses and her waddling around the Great Keep. Then his cock twitches violently in his breaches, and he is gripping the table until his knuckles turn white.

So here she was, standing in just her thin, lacey lilac nightgown, all shy eyed and confused, his grey eyes staring intensely as he sits on the end of the bed, naked chest heaving gently as he tries to maintain his composure. Men have urges, my mother said. Maybe the ale has gotten to him tonight. She shuffles slightly, bare feet cold on the slate floor, jumping slightly, head turning towards the door when the guard that was sent to get her closes it behind him.

“Take it off.” Her head whips back towards him at a low sound of his voice. He is still sitting at the end of the bed, eyes not moving from her. Her mouth opens a little, as if to speak, before closing again, thinking better of it. She shuffles her weight again, slowly raising her hand to the tie at the front of her dressing down. Her fingers tug on the soft silk of the tie loosening it, the fabric dropping slightly. Just do what he wants, he has been nothing but kind to you. Just do what he wants. Cregan’s eyes are still locked on her, face unmoving and emotionless. Her cheeks flush softly as her hand moves to the strap of her left shoulder, pushing it down her arm, before doing the same to her right, allowing the soft silk that was covering her frame to fall to the floor, puddling at her feet. Cregan’s already painfully hard cock twitches again against his clothing as his eyes fall to her breasts, nipples peeking instantly under the cool air of his chamber.

“Come here,” He hums, voice rough. She pads gently towards him, slotting herself in between his spread thighs. She looks down, unable to look to his face, swallowing harshly when her eyes spot the straining bulge in his breeches. Gods…

Cregan hands reach out to hold her waist, coarse hands running down to her hips, before ghosting over her flat stomach. He grunts softly as his thumbs run along the smooth skin, hips jutting off the bed a little as he feels her stomach move up and down softly with her nervous breaths. He leans in slowly, softly placing wet kisses where his thumbs just left. He closes his eyes as he thinks about it, her stomach swelling with his seed, getting large and heavy, before letting out a huff and moving away from her, standing up.

“On the bed,” He says, not unkindly. Her eyes flick up to his face for a moment trying to get a read on what he wants, but she gets nothing. His blank face staring down at her. She looks down again, face flushed and uneasy, soft body brushing past his as she moves towards the head of the bed, to lie her back down, head against the plush pillows, “No. Not like that.”

She’s not even made it to the end of the bottom of the bed when his voice stops in her tracks. Her head remains in the direction she was walking in, not daring to look back around. The removal of routine has thrown her off. She does not know what to do. She jumps softly when his warm hand incases her elbow, gently pulling her back to the end of the bed, positioning her so close her thighs are pressed up against the mattress. His hand removes itself from her arm, quickly finding its way to her lower back, knuckles running up her spine gently before his hand splays out in the middle of her back and pushes her forward. She moves with his hand, stomach flattening against the cotton sheets, arms flat at her sides, heat rising to her cheeks at the new position. Oh…

Cregan huffs softly as she flattens herself against the bed, using both his hands to direct her to lean on her forearms, propping herself up a little. Once situated, he moves one hand to her hip, forcing her to stand straight on her feet as the other hand pushes softly down on the centre of her back, causing her back to arch for him. Once his puppeteering was complete, he stood back slightly, admiring his work. Admiring her. Her long smooth legs, the round of her ass, sweet like cunt that he can see has a small, wet sticky spot that is forming. Ready to take him. Take his seed. Desperate to be filled up and swell with his child. His hands move to his breeches, thick fingers clumsily fumbling with the laces, so needing to be in her after hours of picturing it in his head.

She wiggles her ass softly, not so much out of desire but more out of nervous tension, as she waits for him to do what he has planned. She closes her eyes, expecting the usual. A gentle prod of his fingers on her cunt, testing if it’s warm and ready for him. If it isn’t, he will spend some time playing with her pearl until he unlocks the sweet honey, fingers diving in once produced, gently prepping her for his cock that soon followed. It was the same every time, performed quickly, dutifully and without much fuss. A kiss was placed on her forehead and she was sent back to her chambers, her handmaids cleaned her up and she went to bed.

She thinks about the routine of it, comforting herself that tonight will be no different. He just wants you in a different position, that's all. The other way has gotten stale. Boring. She is snapped out of her thoughts when something wet hits the top of her cunt. Did he just? Her eyes open wide as she feels his spit drip down between her cunt slowly. Her breath hitches when the head of his cock follows in the opposite direction, catching on her pearl as he runs it along to reach the wetness both provided by both of them.

“Want to put a babe in you tonight,” His voice murmurs behind her, free hand resting on her hip as he runs his thick cock up and down her cunt. She lets out a breath at his words, pushing her flushed face into the bed as he pushes his head into her hole, a soft squeak leaving her as he pulls it back out again and runs his length along her cunt once again. The hand on her hip slides around to her stomach, pressing his hand against it, whispering as he pushes his length into her completely. “Want to make it swell here with my seed.”

Cregan’s hips start to roll, with each thrust his cock nearly leaving her before plunging back in, pounding harder and harder, bottoming out each time. After a few moments, once the shock had worn off, a constant string of moans and softly little grunt began to leave her mouth, wide and pressed to the bed leaving a little wet patch of drool beneath her. Both his hands move to grip her hips, gripping so tight the skin under his fingers begins to lighten.

“Perfect girl, will let me fill her up with my seed, won’t she?” She immediately clenches tightly around him at his words, never herding such filth leaving him. Her tightening cunt earning her a harsh grunt from his chest, one of his hands moving to her ass cheek, engulfing it as he grips it softly, pulling at the flesh so he can get a better look at himself splitting her open. “You want that too, don’t you, hm? Want to be full of my seed? Carry my pup?”

“I–,” She cuts herself off with a low moan as his other free hand reaches under her to pinch at once one of her nipples. She can’t form a coherent sentence, only moans and gasps leaving her mouth, too overwhelmed by all the new simulation and pleasures. His moments slow slightly as he bends over her, head coming down to rest on her shoulder, grunting as he places a wet kiss on her shoulder.

“Would you like that?” He whispers against her skin, slowly dragging himself in and out of her, as his heavy body pushes down on hers, one hand still playing with her nipple, the other now sliding to her stomach. He holds it flat over the soft skin, imagining how soon it will start to swell and get harder under his touch. He groans lowly. “Would you like me to fuck a babe in you?” Yes, yes, yes, yes….

It was a hypothetical question, they both knew she would be taking his seed either way. Not waiting for a response, he rises from her, his thick fingers shift down from her nipple to rub quick circles on her swollen pearl, the other gripping her hip. Silky wet walls clamping tightly down on him, tears beginning to fall down her redden cheeks, soft squeaks and moans leaving her dry mouth as his pace picks back up, driving his cock into her with no restraint.

Then her cunt begins to clamp in quick succession, loud gasps and moans leaving her, pushing herself pack against his cock as her orgasm rips through her entire body, back arching up and her toes curling, fisting the cotton sheets below her so tightly she may rip them. Cregan continues to thrust into her squelching cunt, fucking her through her orgasm, loud groan leaving him as her cunt tries to milk him.

Once she is done, he slows a little, removing his hand from her pearl, sure he can last a little longer, planning to let her recover a little before taking what he needs. But then he hears her small little voice, desperate and broken, mumbling softly into her sheets below them.

“Please… please… give me a babe,”

Before he can even think, Cregan’s balls tighten, a loud string of grunts leaving deep within his chest as he spills his seed inside of her. He continues to thrust softly as he rides out his own high, once hand to soothing stroke her lower back. Finally he stills within her, sighing softly as he pulls his softening cock from her. With their disconnection she goes to crawl forward, in need of the water jug by and bed and rest, but he tightly grips her hip, keeping her in place.

“Wait.”

Cregan’s eyes are glued to her sweet little cunt, all swollen and glimmering with her juices, watching as his seed slowly makes its way out, slowly dripping down towards her pearl. He reaches a finger towards her, connecting with the glop of seed before it can drip onto the bed, causing her to jump slightly at the simulation. He collects it on his fingers running it back up her cunt, gently pushing it back into the hole, pumping his fingers in and out slowly.

“Can’t let it go to waste, can we?”

Authors Note:

Day two! They will not all be this long, I was hoping to keep most to under 1K, but I simply just got lost with this one and i'm not even sure i like it that much lol.

Coming up next on Saturday; face sitting with the Realms Delight 😈

Taglist: @ilikechocolatemilkh @velathaheigeros @anthonys-viscountess @multiversemayhemme @bobaprint @madalos24 @ohhdearmargot @vastseamind @halloweenmyst @themoonwithprophets @nebulamorada @gojosgoddess @rainydazesublime @supaheroes @piper570 @yn-jackson

My masterlist can be found by click here!

Add yourself to me kinktober only taglist here.

You can add yourself to my general taglist here or ask in the notes!

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 4 months ago

Text

Bound by Desire

If they call it sin how come she loves me like a saint? (2)

Dom!Natasha x switch!Wanda x subby!brat!fem!reader

Word Count: 1.2K

Summary: Natasha and Wanda have been in a happy and healthy BDSM relationship for years, but have been looking for a third for Wanda's sake. When they meet you, they might have gotten more than they bargained for.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Nat=39, Wanda=35, Reader=22, BDSM relationship, dom!nat, switch!Wanda, sub!reader, Daddy!nat, Mommy!Wanda, strap use(r receiving), bondage (more will be added as things occur)

Authors Note: My first smut bit in a long time. Felt good to write it again, but I think a lot of this is gonna be more fluffy/hurt/comfort....maybe some angst from here for a bit.

You stared down at all the papers, books, and figures sitting on the counter. The longer you looked the more everything felt like it wasn't making sense anymore. You'd been in the kitchen all morning studying for midterms. Your eyes were starting to hurt as you pushed your palms into your eye sockets.

You barely heard Natasha until she was almost to the kitchen. Turning slightly to look at her. It was Saturday so the redhead was in sweatpants and a tank top yet somehow she still managed to make your core throb as your eyes rake over her biceps.

“Still studying Pchelka?” Her husky voice tickles your ears.

“I don't know if you could call this studying anymore. The more I look the less sense everything is making right now.” As you sink against the chair you hear her saunter over.

Her arms wrap around your shoulders, her chin resting on top of your head. Your cheeks flush as you feel her tits press against your back.

She looks over your work. Pointing out little things, her slender fingers captivating your attention. Her words become distant and yet somehow wrapping you up, putting you in that fuzzy headspace you've started becoming accustomed to.

She moves; her face coming in your peripheral. You feel a little too hazy right now to focus on anything except her fingers.

“Oh puppy, was that all it took today?” Natasha's voice drops making you fall ever so further.

Your hands are already reaching for hers. No resistance is met as you pick her hand up and bring her finger to your mouth. “Please Daddy? Need you…” You mumble around her fingers.

You weren't sure how she did it, but she was carrying you down to the bedroom, you could feel the bulge of Natasha's strap through her sweats and you instinctively rolled your hips.

She sets you onto the floor when you get to the bedroom. The simple command, “Strip.” Being all you needed. Your clothes came off into neat piles. It was a rule of Natasha's that if she ever asked for you to strip it was to be done quickly, but neatly.

When you looked up she was standing in just her boxer briefs, her bulge on display and tits perfectly staring you down.

She reached out, taking your little pile and set them on the dresser. “On the bed puppy.”

You eagerly got up, sitting pretty for her. It hadn't been too long, only a few months you'd been doing this, though it was long enough to know how Natasha wanted you.

She smiled at your eagerness as she made her way to you. Slowly making her way in front of you. Once she's in front of you, you can't help but smile. Eyes still blown like a deer in headlights and you might as well be with Nat.

She cups your cheeks gently, a soft smile on her face as she pulls you in and kisses you. Your hands find her chest as you melt against her.

She pulls back, moving you onto your back as she gets between your legs. You can feel her hot breath on your clit before her warm tongue moves through your folds. Her lips closing around your clit to tease at it.

Your center is completely soaked and glistening in the light of the midday sun coming through the skylights and showing off the slick that's made its way to your thighs. Soft moans and whimpers are falling from your lips. One of your hands tangling in her hair and the other fitting at the silk sheets beneath you.

Natasha moans into you, sending a shiver through you. Your breathing picked up as she wrapped an arm around your waist. She was holding you there as she started to bring you to that edge you wanted to fall over.

You were too focused on her tongue when you felt her push two fingers into you and now you knew the real reason she was holding you there. Her fingers and tongue moved in tandum.

“Fuck…ah…Daddy! Daddy can I cum? Please?” You pleaded with her. Eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“Go on puppy. Cum.” Her husky voice is truly what sent you over the edge. The waves of pleasure wash over you.

Before you could even recover from the first Natasha is pushing her strap past your folds and stretching you out. A loud moan coming out of you as you grip onto her biceps as she puts you in a mating press.

She looks down at you, your eyes completely black from how blown they are. “You needed this so badly didn't you? Just a bitch in heat who needed to be fucked brainless by Daddy?” Her voice was deeper and more husky than even a few moments ago.

“Yes! Yes Daddy! can I cum? M'please Daddy!”

“That's it pup. Go ahead, mmm fuck…go ahead.” You feel apart beneath her. Tightening around her as you gushed over her cock and stomach.

Natasha groans as you feel her release into you, her cum filled strap filling you up. A long satisfied moan coming from you as your back arched. Your eyes closing as she slowly pulls out. She bites her lip admiring her work as she watches you drip for a moment before going to grab a towel to clean you up along with some other aftercare items.

°○°○°○°○°

When Wanda came home the house was quiet. She had called out for both of you, but got no response. She furrowed her brow as she slipped her heels off from the day. Taking notice that all shoes were accounted for.

As she walked further into the house she took notice of all your notes spread across the kitchen island. A small smile spreads across her face at how hard you always work. Though still no sign of you or her wife.

She headed up the stairs after not finding you two anywhere downstairs. Checking both offices first and then heading to the bedroom. That's where she found you two.

You were half on top of Natasha. Leg and arm thrown over her. Your legs tangled together. She had managed to get you both in tank tops. Her back in her boxer briefs and you in your panties.

Wanda smiles down at the two of you, sinking down onto the bed. Natasha being a light sleeper, opened her eyes. Looking over to see her wife made her smile.

“Привет, любовь всей моей жизни.” (Hello love of my life) she whispered as Wanda leaned in for a kiss.

“Вам обоим было весело?” (Did you two have fun?) Wanda whispered against her wife's lips before pulling back, looking down at your sleeping form and pushing some hair out of your face. Making you sturdy slightly, but settle back in.

“She needed a break from studying.” Natasha smiled down at you. “Needed Daddy's help emptying that pretty head of hers.”

Wanda gently ran her fingers through your hair, scratching just behind your ear as a content smile spread across your face in your sleep.

“She's so special Tasha…I don't think she realizes the extent that we actually feel for her.” Wanda's voice was soft as Natasha rubbed her wife's back.

“She will soon, moya lyubov.” The two women smiled at each other before Nat pulled Wanda against her to join in the cuddles.

Slowly the sun fell towards the horizon and sure there was more studying to do, dinner to be made, and documents to look over, but for right now none of you wanted this perfect moment to end.

Taglist:

@godhatesgoodgirls

@itsalwaysskorpioszn

@boredandneedfanfics

@siljuskaz

@noturlondonboy

@tobiaslut

@alexawynters

#ley writes #ley writes series #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #dom!natasha romanoff #switch!wanda maximoff #sub!fem!reader #bratty!fem!reader #rich couple!wandanat #wandanat x fem!reader #wandanat x you #wandanat x reader #wandanat x y/n #wandanat #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader

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demonicbaby666 · 1 month ago

Text

The Boiling Point

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, angst and a dash of smut

Words: 3.9k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, light smut, one bed trope, a butt loads of sexual tension, fingering (r!recieving), a slight bit of miscommunication/lack of communcation

Summary: Months of friendship, endless banter and sexual tension all lead to one boiling point.

A/n: @prentisssgf this ones for you <3 I hope it'll put a smile on that gorgeous face of yours and lives up to your expectations. Have an amazing birthday doll! Love and kisses xxx

As far as cases went, this one wasn’t so bad. Sure, the team was stretched a little thin, paperwork was piled high, new cases were flooding in, and bureaucracy kept tensions mounted amongst the higher-ups, but every cloud had a silver lining. You found yours on a Wednesday, around midday, walking into Hotch’s office with Emily at your side, having both been summoned.

“I’m sending you two. I need the rest of the team here.”

A two-person unit would leave you with a load of groundwork: liaising with local authorities, checking out the crime scene, heading to the coroners and ordinarily, that would have overwhelmed you had it not been for the fact you’d have Emily by your side the entire time. Emily, who was now shifting her weight from foot to foot, fidgeting with the loose skin around her nails as she bit the inside of her cheek.

You nudged her, ascertaining from Hotch’s stare he was scrutinising her every move. She straightened her spine and puffed her chest, giving your boss a solid nod as she awaited further instructions.

“You can take the jet. No detours, though,” he said with a smirk, giving the pair of you a once over before bringing his attention back to the paperwork littering the oak desk. “Now get moving. Garcia will fill you in on the details.”

“Damn. I was hoping for a pit stop in Vegas, a quick game of poker, maybe even a couple goes on the slot machines.” You received a blank stare from Hotch and honestly, given the state of affairs running a muck through the BAU, you couldn’t blame him for not entertaining your fruitless attempts at comedy. “Jet. No detours. Garcia will fill us in. Got it.”

And with that, you made to leave the room, trying to tame the rosy tinge of embarrassment burning over your cheeks. For the sake of propriety, you waited till you were out of sight in the elevator, on the way down to the car park, to elbow Emily right in the ribs.

“What was that for?!” She cried, holding her side.

“Don’t think I didn’t see your smug ass smirk on the way out,” You groaned. “I made a tit out of myself, and you thought it appropriate to bask in my misery.”

“For a profiler, I thought you’d read a room better,” Emily laughed, walking out of the steel death trap and into the parking lot, pulling out car keys.

“Says the woman who was smiling like an idiot at the prospect of having me all to yourself for a couple of days.”

She stopped in her tracks, “Got a problem with that?”

Did you have a problem with an attractive co-worker turned friend relishing your one-on-one company? No. Did you beam at the opportunity of having her alone, knowing you’d be able to let your affections run free to a certain extent? Yes. But did Emily’s ego need to know that? Hell no.

It took a couple more steps to realise Emily wasn’t following. Though you were eager to get going, you deeply regretted turning to usher her towards the car. It was her stance that knocked you off kilter. Her folded arms, hip slung to the side, and arched brow made it an outward struggle to remain upright. Had her legs always been that long?

“As smooth as cases go with you and I working together, I can’t say I’m not feeling the slightest bit put out by the thought of having to do a majority of the heavy lifting.” Emily didn’t seem convinced, her eyes squinting as she picked apart truth from lie. Her glare stretched out for too long, and you were beginning to wither under it; the spark of curiosity that drove her to excel at her job was bright and unyielding, threatening never to let go of this subject matter until she got the answers she wanted. You couldn't have that.

You walked towards her, hiding your fear behind a mask of false confidence. The scales were unbalanced, Emily reigning supreme with her brazen approach to the underlying sexual tension that plagued your friendship and you drowning in it—that required change.

With each step forward, Emily took one back till her eyes were wide and her back pressed against the car park wall, and she had nowhere to go. You took victory in the shiver that racked through the brunette, relishing the delicious taste of her withheld breaths skating across your skin. The look of disbelief she wore grew louder when your hands bracketed her shoulders, palms flat against textured concrete.

“What are you doing?” She asked, breathy and fidgety. You couldn't help but let your eyes drop to the rise and fall of her chest, to her bobbing throat.

Dropping one hand to her cheek, you drew her lips open with your thumb, “Taking what’s mine.”

After a few hurried blinks, Emily’s eyes closed, her breath stilled, and you struck. You used the hand, keeping you steadily leaning over Emily to push yourself away. At the exact same moment, you reached down and plucked the forgotten keys from between her fingers.

“I want to drive,” you said, turning and walking towards the car with the biggest shit-eating grin plastered across your face.

Emily’s steps were laden with the force of a thousand stampedes as she stormed after you. Unsurprisingly, she caught up with you quickly, but not quickly enough. By the time she reached the car, you had already clambered behind the wheel and had the engine started. From the corner of your eyes, you observed the difference in Emily’s demeanour. Outrage had burned her cheeks red. Her breathing was steady, but you could see how focused she was on maintaining it as she flicked invisible dust particles off her blazer.

“You’re a little shit,” she muttered.

“Like calls like and all that.”

When you reached the runway, Emily was back to her old self–shooting off teasing remarks about your driving and keeping close to your side as you made your way to the jet.

“Do you know how many road violations I counted?” she asked, sitting beside you and setting up her laptop. Garcia was due to call any minute. “There's nothing wrong with being a passenger princess. Honesty, I think it’d suit you.”

“You sure know how to compliment a girl.” You rolled your eyes and pulled out two case files from your bag, dumping them on the table and flipping one open.

“You should see what I can do in bed.”

Judging by how fast you snapped your neck, you wouldn’t be surprised to wake up the following day to discover a muscle tear. There was a reprimand on the tip of your tongue, ready to rip a hole right through Emily’s self-satisfied smirk. However, before you could reinstate yourself as the reigning champion of inappropriate workplace flirting, a shrill chime tore through the weighted silence.

Emily looked so pleased with herself. It killed you to have missed the opportunity to knock her down a few pegs.

“Saved by the bell,” she hummed, accepting Garcia’s call.

It wasn’t a long debrief by any means. Garcia divvied information on the victims and their histories between a rundown of each crime scene and any other bits of digital data she’d acquired that would aid the case. It went on for ten minutes, maybe fifteen. Work began at the drop of the call, you and Emily scribbling down notes, batting theories to and from each other till you’d weaned down the profile from anyone to the standard white male between the ages of thirty and forty—surprise. Miles high from where the bulk of your work would take place, you and Emily had exhausted every avenue you could. After half an hour of back and forths and meticulous reviews of each victim, of which there were thankfully only two, you gave into idle chatter and then comfortable quiet.

The jet looked different without all its occupants. It still held its comfort, forever the resting place after a long couple of days, but the barren landscape remained off-putting enough for you to seek solace on the lonely couch. A trusty book in hand to pry your racing mind away from the stress of your job.

“Mind if I join you?”

Emily hovered over you, one hand empty and gesturing to the unoccupied space beside you and the other holding her current read. She had her finger wedged within the pages, keeping her place as she waited patiently for your answer.

“Sure,” you smiled softly, scooching to the side.

Paragraph by paragraph, the space between you and Emily was eaten up. By the closing of your chapter, your thighs were side by side, and the older woman had somehow managed to sling an arm over the back of the sofa without your notice, mindlessly twirling with the ends of your hair around her fingers.

“Sorry.” Emily began to pull her arm away, but you held her still.

“Don’t be.” You brought her arm back down, looping it over your shoulder as you rested your book on your lap. “I could do with resting my eyes, and the pillows aren’t nearly as comfortable as you.”

“Well then,” Emily began, a sure smile lining her lips, “I’m all yours.”

Once you’d shuffled around a bit, tucking your legs underneath you and leaning further into Emily, you settled your head down on her shoulder, snuggling into the familiar scent of her herbal shampoo. Emily’s hand slowly migrated down to your waist, where she pulled you closer and held you tighter.

“Emily?”

“Mmm?” she replied, her eyes still on the book she’d impressively managed to keep open with just one hand.

“Could you read out loud?” Your request was met with the turn of Emily’s head and the soft crease of her brows as she gazed down at you nestled in the space between her neck and shoulder. You’d seen her angry, you’d seen her sad, you’d seen her happy, but whatever this was, you’d never seen. The afternoon sun had chosen her milky skin as its subject, a canvas to paint its balmy glow over. Her eyes were lighter under its yellow and orange hue, making it oh so easy to get lost in the space where her chocolate irises met the blacks of her pupils.

She looked beautiful like this. She looked at ease.

“Of course.”

—

You roused to quiet, Emily’s lilt no longer warming your ears with its eloquence and clarity. She didn’t even seem to be reading anymore. Her book closed and placed on the armrest as she watched clouds fly by. She did not jump, freeze or move at all when you spoke.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked, rubbing your eyes and quietly beaming at how sleep had shifted your knees to rest over Emily’s lap. The position felt remarkably close to cuddling.

“I’m trying to figure something out,” she started, eyes filled with mirth as she turned to look at you. There was movement along your waist–Emily’s hand gliding up and down, intermittently pausing to trace circles into the intercostal space between your ribs. She’d have had to be blind to miss your throat bobbing as you swallowed a shiver.

“Go on…” you prompted.

“I don't understand how something so cute and tiny, especially when sleeping, can cause such a ruckus.” She bit her lip at the mix of horror and mortification donning your face, waiting to deliver the punchline. “You snore.” Oh, she looked so fucking proud of herself.

“I do not!”

“At first, I thought something was up with the jet, but then I realised you were practically vibrating next to me. Seriously, you should get your sinuses checked.”

“Now I know you're taking the piss.”

A great bark of laughter tore from her chest, and you hadn’t a clue what to do with yourself. On the one hand, you wanted to punch her, and on the other, you were enthralled with the sweet melody of her joy, desperate to hear it for whatever duration was left of your flight.

“If I weren't so comfy, I’d slap you,” you groaned, relaxing your muscles against the warmth of Emily’s side. “How long till we land?”

“Not long, twenty minutes maybe.” She brought her free hand to your face, brushing past your cheek and reaching for the strands of hair that had fallen loose in your slumber. “We’ll head straight to the latest crime scene. The media have already caught wind of the murders, so we’ll have to keep them at bay with a statement.” She listed off your itinerary, tucking your hair back in place behind your ear. “I’ll ask JJ to handle that remotely once we know more. Then, we can head to the precinct and talk to the victims’ families. You take one, I'll take the other.”

“Sounds good,” you nodded wistfully, taking Emily’s hand into your lap, trailing your finger over the lines marking her palm.

Emily’s plan was carried out—first, the sweeping of the crime scene and the reiteration of JJ’s statement to the cluster of rowdy journalists and news correspondents. Then, at the station, you spoke briefly with the police chief, gathering characteristic information about the families you were due to meet. It always helped to have a measure of knowledge regarding the personalities you would encounter.

When the sun drew its last breath over the skyline, you and Emily agreed it was time to call it a day. Hotch sent the address to a nearby hotel, letting you know everything had been handled, and all you had to do was give your name to whoever was working the front desk. So, for the life of you, you couldn't understand how you’d found yourself in heated discussion, or rather argument with the hotel receptionist.

“There must be some mix-up,” you moaned. Emily was standing by you, uncharacteristically quiet and of no help. Her focus appeared to be on her phone as her fingers clattered over the digital keyboard with scary determination.

“I’ll sort this out,” Emily said frostily. Bringing her phone to her ear, she walked away.

As you stood in the hotel lobby, left a little out of sorts by the unresolved problem of your nightly stay, you could see Emily pacing the length of the room, back and forth and back and forth, nose flared, jaw clenched, and words sharp. You tried not to overthink her anger, how the thought of sharing a room with you brought about so much outrage. Was it that abhorrent to share the same space as you for a single night?

By the time Emily returned, she looked defeated. She barely acknowledged you before setting her wrath upon the guilty-looking clerk.

“Surely not every room is booked for tonight,” she sighed, impatiently drumming her fingers on the marbled desk surface.

The click and clack of a keyboard filled the awkward silence.

“Unless you’re willing to take the honeymoon suite, we unfortunately have no other rooms free tonight.” The undeniable proof of the woman’s statement came with the turn of the computer screen. Everything was red except one column. Emily’s eyes bulged at the collection of numbers gathered at its side.

Enough was enough. You weren’t about to let her pay an obscene amount of money just because she couldn’t stomach the thought of sleeping with you. She’d have to suck it up.

“It’s fine,” you whispered, struggling to find conviction in your statement under the sudden attention of Emily and the receptionist. “We’ll be fine sharing.”

—

The hotel, for all its expensive charm, was quaint. The floor was carpeted and looked freshly cleaned, the bedding was crisp and neat over the queen-sized bed, and adjacent was an open door leading to what you assumed would be the bathroom. Once you’d set your bag down, you ignored Emily, too caught up in your disdain for the woman’s callousness to even look at her. She likely had disgust written all over her face, surveying the bed.

You took out your sleepwear, plucked a neatly folded towel off the foot of the bed, and stormed into the bathroom.

When the first spray of water hit, you wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. How had you been so stupid? The flirting, the underlying sexual tension–had it all been a wicked trick played by your mind? Did the months spent waiting for the right moment all lead down to this? The boiling point where everything fizzled into nothing but humiliating recognition.

A single tear fell down the drain, followed shortly by another and another. Soon, it was hard to pick apart the onslaught of tears from the water soaking your hair and rolling down your face. Behind your closed eyes, a movie montage of scattered memories began to roll. You and Emily nestled close together on your couch in the thralls of heated banter. You and Emily patching each other up, reprimanding foolish decisions with teasing remarks and antiseptic solution. You and Emily nestled in your own corner of the jet, dozing off to the drone of Spencer’s ramblings.

When you stepped out of the shower, the mirror painted a sore sight. Reflected in front of you were your puffy eyes, blotchy skin and one glum frown. You could chalk the redness to your face and the swell around your eyes to the sweltering shower. Your sorrowful expression, however, you’d have to fix.

Sighing, you brushed your teeth and splashed some icy water over your face, taking a deep inhale and deeper exhale before exiting the safe haven of the bathroom.

Emily stood outside, waiting.

“Somethings wrong.”

“With the case?” you asked, brushing past her to shove your clothes through the open zipper of your bag.

She followed you to the edge of the bed, hovering at your side with a pointed stare. “No.”

“There’s a lot of things wrong,” you huffed, dumping your black duffel on the floor with a thud. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Something’s wrong with you.”

You stood motionless for a brief second, letting the words register. “Excuse me?” you gaped, swivelling your body to glare at Emily.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it’s not.”

“No, no,” you seethed. “Please, go on. Tell me what’s so wrong with me. Spare no detail. I want specifics.”

“You know what?” Emily shook her head, her humourless smile striking a skittish nerve in you. “I’m going to freshen up. By the time I finish, maybe you’ll have matured and learned to use your big girl words.” And with that, she grabbed her bag and towel, shooting you a disappointed scowl as she slammed and locked the bathroom door.

When she did return, you were in the midst of trying to get comfortable. Sensing by your lack of eye contact, you were no more ready to hash things out than you were before Emily drew in a long breath, flicked the lights off and circled the bed, settling in beside you.

Rest didn’t come easy, or at all. It was impossible to stay in one spot. The smell of Emily’s shampoo and body wash made it impossible to ignore her presence, and on top of that, every time you shut your eyes, an echo of your argument haunted you.

“Are you going to toss and turn all night?” Emily groaned.

In a flurry of movement, the brunette flipped over, facing you head-on as her hands gripped your hips to hold you still.

“I can’t sleep,” you bit out, trying to wriggle out of her hold. When that didn’t work, you brought your hands to her chest and applied light pressure. Emily’s grip tightened.

“I gathered that much.” As if holding you hostage wasn’t enough, Emily tugged your body closer, intent on turning this nightmare into a living hell. “What would help is talking to me about what’s got you so pent up instead of sulking and flailing about like a toddler mid-tantrum.”

“You suck.”

“So you’re taking the toddler thing to heart then.” Amusement danced in her eyes, and a flicker of a smile ghosted across her lips.

“Why did sharing a room with me bother you so much?” you mumbled.

Emily almost looked shocked. Disbelief cut a crease in the space between her brows. “It didn’t.”

You rolled your eyes and attempted to wriggle out of Emily’s grasp, again failing.

“I thought it bothered you, and I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. That’s why I was trying to sort out another room,” Emily explained, her smile never faltering as she brought her fingers up to your chin, thumb brushing the underside of your lip.

“Oh.”

“Sweetheart,” she drawled, her timbre low and husky, “all I’ve wanted these last few months was a chance to have you alone in bed.”

Oh.

The room was engulfed in silence. Slowly, everything became a blurred backdrop as your sole focus remained on Emily. Behind her, the moon shone through the window, bathing her hair in a soft silvery glow. It was loosely tied into a low ponytail and a shade darker than usual, the dampness of the shower still clinging to the thickest locks. Despite her face being skulked in shadows, offering you only the slightest glimpse of chestnut eyes and ivory skin, you could see her clear as day, the contours of her face forever ingrained in your mind's eye.

Months of pent-up tension crackled low in the suspended space between your bodies. You tried to move your tense muscles, coaxing them into seeing this was the time for action. They remained frozen.

In the end, it was Emily who made the first move.

You felt her draw closer, holding your breath for fear that one more pull of oxygen might break you out of this dreamlike scenario.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” she whispered before the press of her lips engulfed all your senses.

As it turned out, Emily’s shameless brags regarding her bedside manner were not untrue. In the small pocket of time it took her to undress you both, she’d managed to turn you into a wry mess of ardent need. She teased and teased till you forced your pride aside and begged her to slot her fingers inside you. To which she did without question.

Moving her fingers in and out, Emily brushed her thumb against the thousands of nerve endings, all condensed into one tiny button hidden at the apex of your sex. She worked your clit between her fingers, each drag up and down, sending a delicious thrill down your spine. Every thrust of her digits marked the spot of rough flesh burrowed within your pussy; expert precision ensuring it never remained untouched for too long.

Pleasure coursed hot through your veins, unyielding in its mission to draw you to your impending release. Mammoth waves of satisfaction rolled up and down your body, contorting limbs till your back arched and your chest pressed against Emily’s bare breasts. She didn’t stop when you moaned through the duration of your peak, pummeling her fingers into the convulsing grasp of your cunt till you were crying out and shaking from overstimulation.

“Fuck,” you sighed dreamily, the last sparks of your orgasm still very present in the tingling of your legs.

Emily settled on her back beside you, squeezing an arm under your waist and pulling you close. “Bet you’re glad I didn’t break the bank on that honeymoon suite now,” she smirked.

“You have no idea,” you chuckled.

Resting your head over her breastbone and listening to the steady drum of her heart, you let sleep lull your eyes shut.

Tags: @ssa-sapphic @babygirlscout @red1culous @7thavenger @sapphicprentiss @five-bi-five-mind @kenyakimble34 @12fluffybunny12 @asensitivecookie @maxinehufflepuffprincess @whosprentiss @asolitaryrose3 @imlike-so-gaydude @maybe-a-humanbean @taylorswiftsboyfriend @bossofcriminalminds @asphodelvamp @jareguiromanoff @lilfartbox1 @lovelyy-moonlight @patronagrona @storiesofsvu @mrs-prentiss @romanoffsho @paulilvsremus @waitaminutebaby @jarexuslover @lesbodietcoke @homo-oddity @milfsincrime @noahrex @pnsteblnme @girloversstuff @ratsnestinmyhair @propertyofemilyprentiss @chloeelou02x @gayestswiftie @waitaminuteashh @chestnutninny @evelinearmani @luv-unknwn @lesbodietcoke @schemmentisbaby @xenafan25 @frickinsleepdeprived @greyslover3004 @snowdrop1026 | click here to be added to my taglist

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfiction #criminal minds #emily prentiss x y/n #lgbt #Emily Prentiss x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfic #cm

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mintsturniolo · 5 months ago

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overheated (m.s)

bf!matt x f!reader x bsf!chris x bsf!nick

a/n: actively working on requests. also this is unedited. i wrote this while waiting for my car to be washed lol. might edit later tho idk

summary: when hiking with the triplets, sofia passes out from the heat

No one was sure why they had chosen to hike in the middle of a heatwave. Getting up the mountain was fine since they’d started early in the morning, but now it had reached midday and the heat was as bad as ever. They were currently sitting in a circle eating some snacks that Matt’s girlfriend Sofia had packed. Chris got to his feet and glanced at the group. “I kind of want to go explore a little bit. Anyone care to join me?”

Nick finished the last of his Dr Pepper and stood up. “I’ll go. Matt? Sofia?”

“I think I’ll stay here,” Sofia replied from where she was sitting and Matt agreed with her.

Nick and Chris left, leaving Matt and Sofia to chat for a while. Matt smiled as his girlfriend rested her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him. “Hi. Are you feeling okay?” he asked.

Sofia wasn’t usually as clingy as she had been for the past couple of hours, not that Matt minded. “Just a little tired,” Sofia replied.

Matt was quiet as he let Sofia rest in his arms. He loved spending time in nature, and they’d been so busy he hadn’t gotten to do this for a long time. Matt gently ran his fingers over Sofia’s arm as he looked at the view in front of him. “You know what we need to do?” Sofia asked suddenly and Matt glanced down at her.

“Tell me.”

Sofia adjusted herself so that she was looking up at Matt. “A q&a on our relationship. My subscribers requested it a couple videos ago and I wrote it down. I just never got around to telling you.”

A smile crossed Matt’s face as he nodded. “Yeah. We could do it for your next video. It could be our little car video.”

“We haven’t done that in a while,” Sofia said excitedly.

The two became so caught up in future ideas for their channels that they didn’t notice that Nick and Chris had come back. The group chatted for a while before they decided that it was too hot and it would be better to head to a nearby restaurant. By the time they got back into town it would be dinner time, and Chris had a restaurant that he wanted to treat everyone to. Matt reached his hand out and pulled Sofia to her feet. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked, still a little concerned.

Sofia nodded, feeling better now that they’d eaten and relaxed for a bit. “Guess I just needed a break.”

As the group headed back down the trail, Sofia was beginning to feel lightheaded again. She knew it was just the heat. It was a known fact that she didn’t handle high temperatures well, but usually staying hydrated worked. The group was chatting excitedly about future youtube videos as they continued their way back to the car. Sofia squeezed her eyes shut as everything seemed to start spinning. They were a little over halfway done before she really needed to stop.

“Can we stop for a second,” Sofia slurred as she doubled over, resting her hands on her knees. “I need a minute.”

“Are you okay?” Chris asked worriedly.

“Here. Have my water,” Nick followed up, handing Sofia his water bottle.

Matt hurried over to Sofia and rubbed her back. “What’s going on my love?” he asked worriedly.

Sofia ran a hand through her hair as she tried held onto Matt’s arm for support. She could hear the brothers trying to talk to her, but everything felt like it was underwater. Everything was spinning and black spots began dancing before her eyes. “Matty, I really don’t feel good,” she murmured, causing Matt to quickly wrap an arm around her waist to hold her steady.

“Okay, let’s get you to that bench over there,” Matt said, pointing a little further down the trail.

When he got no response he looked at his girlfriend to see her eyes start to roll up in her head. “Oh shit!” Chris gasped, as Sofia went limp.

Matt knelt down, gently lowering Sofia onto the ground, relieved that he was able to catch her. Thinking fast, he pulled off his shirt and poured some cold water from his bottle. Nick and Chris did their best to help their brother as he tried to wake Sofia up. It didn’t take long before Sofia let out a soft groan. “Hey. You’re okay,” Matt said softly as his girlfriend’s eyes fluttered open. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Head hurts,” Sofia mumbled, still out of it.

“I know,” Matt said gently. “We’re going to get you home.”

Matt lifted Sofia into his arms, making sure to keep his damp shirt across her neck. When they finally made it to the car, Chris kept an arm around Sofia so Matt could get the car keys out of his bag. “I’ll stay in the back with her,” Chris said.

Matt nodded and planted a kiss on Sofia’s cheek. “Let me know if you need anything okay.”

“Hmmmm,” Sofia hummed as Chris helped her into the car.

As they pulled into the driveway several minutes later, Matt glanced in the rearview mirror to see Sofia half asleep. Matt parked in the driveway letting Nick and Chris leave before he went over to Sofia’s side. “Hey my love. We’re home.”

Sofia hummed slightly as she opened her eyes. “M’sorry Matt,” she muttered.

“Why?” Matt asked, helping her out of the car. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I thought I could handle the hike,” Sofia replied.

Matt shook his head as he hugged his girlfriend. “It was super hot today. I’m surprised any of us made it through that hike. Don’t even worry about it," he reassured her. Matt kissed Sofia's cheek as he led her inside. "Let's just take a nap before dinner. Chris might have a fit if we don't go to the place he picked," Matt said jokingly, earning a laugh from Sofia.

Taglist

@adirtylittleheart @sturniolo04 @yourenogoodforme @sturnioloveniamh

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #fluff #sturniolo triplets #imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagine

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sweetiecutie · 1 year ago

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🖤Fuck or Die part 2🖤

Part 1

Pairing: slasher! König x fem! Reader

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, mdni, smut, non con so rape, violence, obsession, drugging, face-slapping and nose bleeding, choking, kidnapping, mention of murder. If you feel triggered by any of these warnings - just scroll past!

A/n: this took me way longer than I expected but yay, I finally wrote the second part!!! Also absolutely not me incorporating a quote from the movie bc I think it’s impossibly hot🤭

Reading part 1 is recommended for understanding the plot

Your life will never be the same. That damned evening changed you, everything around you, splitting your life into before and after.

Your memories of next few days after the murder were a sheer blur of events and conversations - numerous interrogations with police officers and detectives, psychologists trying to soothe you out of your stupor still, your mother crying her eyes out at the sight of you right after police arrived at the place of Paul’s death. And, of course, nasty journalists trailing behind you, watching your every move, invading your personal space unapologetically.

Of course, you were quite a catch - the first and only one who ever survived a meeting with König. Everyone wanted to know what he looked like - any particular details, scars or tattoos, a fucking skin colour - anything you could remember would be of huge use, giving at least any clues to a dead unmoving case. But there was very little you could help with - König took great care of covering every centimetre of his skin in black clothing, his voice changed, he smelled of nothing but earth and sickening metal of your boyfriend’s blood. Bastard was even smart enough to not cum inside nor anywhere actually, so that police couldn’t get his DNA samples.

A few months had passed since that horrific attack and there were still no traces of König.

It was midday when your parents had to leave to attend your grandma’s birthday - your mother was reluctant, not wanting to leave you all alone. You were never alone actually - a few police cars always patrolled right outside of your house, not allowing even postmen to get too close to your family’s property. It took a lot of reassuring and encouragement from your side to get your mother off your back, convincing her that you’ll be just fine by yourself and that you want your parents to have some fun. She then gave up with a deep sight, promising to be back in only a few hour’s matter.

You heaved a heavy sigh, closing and locking the front door after waving your parents goodbye, heading to the kitchen to grab yourself a drink. A pile of dirty dishes stacked in a sink caught your eye, the sight of its ugly mess on otherwise clean and tidy kitchen caused an itch somewhere deep in your brain. Without second thought you rolled up your sleeves, pouring dish soap onto the sponge and foaming it up.

As you were halfway through the dishes loud trilling of your landline phone calling startled you, causing you to jump on your spot. Your head whipped around, looking into direction from which the sound came. Wiping your wet hands on the kitchen towel you grabbed the phone, tucking it in between your ear and shoulder after accepting the incoming call.

- Hello? - you said, coming back to the sink, swiping foamy sponge over another plate, cleaning it of any grease and leftover bits of food.

- Hello! Um, can I speak to Paul? - your movements halted abruptly. You stood there silently for a long while, muscles stiff and unmoving, eyes staring blankly at some invisible point in the space before you.

- Excuse me, are you still here? Do I have the wrong number? - the man on the other end of the line said, his voice sounding concerned. It seemed to bring you out of your stupor as you drew in a long breath, exhaling noisily.

- Um, can I ask you how you got this number? - you said, already sensing something weird about this whole situation. But cops were all around your place, there was nothing to be worried about, right?

- Paul gave it to me himself. Said to call here if I needed to reach out to him, - man explained. That was strange but not unexplainable - Paul often hang out at your house, you wouldn’t be surprised if he knew your home phone number better than his own. - So am I calling right?

- Oh, yeah, sorry it’s just… Paul’s dead, - you said, teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek, sweet metallic taste coating your buds, but you couldn’t care less, nibbling deeper into small wound, feeling of slight pain grounding you successfully.

- Oh god, what happened? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. But who am I speaking to then? - the man said, his voice now sounding genuine and apologetic. Everyone around Y/n suddenly sounded genuinely and apologetic. She heaved another sigh, resuming her scrubbing on the plates.

- He was murdered. And I’m his girlfriend, - you said in a calm tone, free of any emotion or feeling. Paul’s death was pretty much the only thing you talked about with others - police, detectives, police again, his parents and friends, your parents and friends. It seemed like such a sensitive topic turned into a rough callous way too quickly. - Well, I was his girlfriend, - Y/n mumbled after a short pause, faint clatter of porcelain audible in the background.

- Sorry about your boyfriend, - man on the line said. There was a brief moment before he added: - all those muscles didn’t help much, did they?

You froze. Silence settled in, interrupted only by occasional electric noise humming through the speaker. You heard your own pulse humping rapidly in your ears, your breathing fast and shallow, all muscles in your body tensing in alarm, straightening your back. Your eyes shoot up, looking out of the window above the sink. There were a few trees growing shallowly - barely an orchard - separating your house from your neighbours. No one was there.

- What’s that, sweet girl? You can’t see me? - a voice taunted, erupting herds of goosebumps running down your spine. - What a shame, I can see you clear as day.

- Neighbourhood is packed full with cops, you sick son of a bitch. If you only fucking dare coming anywhere close to my ho-

- Now-now, Y/n, - slasher interrupted you unapologetically, his voice hard and cold, causing thin hairs on your arms to rise. - Control your fucking language when you speak to me.

Your eyes dropped down onto the sink, fluffy dish soap foam was sparkling, playing with all the rainbow colors under the sun rays pouring in through the window. You clasped the phone in your non dominant hand, your dominant one reaching out and grabbing a kitchen knife from the drying rack, handle still wet and a bit slippery in your grasp.

- My, my, a dangerous thing that you’re holding. Be careful and don’t cut yourself, dearie, - König taunted, making your teeth clench. All blood drained out of your face, making you as pale as paper. Your eyes were fixated upon your window, peering into the orchard, desperately trying to spot any movement.

- What are you planning on doing? Everyone will hear if I scream. And cops will get your ass into prison, right where it belongs, - you spat out, pushing off the counter; your eyes ran all around the kitchen, looking for your cell phone with detective’s number saved, trying to keep the current call going so it’ll be possible to track it down.

- Oh will they? Then you better not scream, silly, - König snorted, making your blood boil. You were frightened still, terrified even; but the remorse of what he did to you, to Paul, was fuelling into your spite, making you a tad bit braver.

Failing to find your phone you entered the living room, rummaging through cushions and blankets piled on the couch, failing to find the stupid thing.

- Looks like you lost something. What’s up sweetheart? - you threw soft cushion back on the couch violently, huffing in annoyance upon not finding what you were looking for. You straightened and turned around to head to your bedroom, stoping in the middle of your tracks, freezing to the spot.

In the doorway leading to the hall stood König - dressed in all black, with heavy leather boots and his huge dagger strapped firmly to his thigh with a sheath, white scream mask staring right back at you. One large hand was pressing the phone to his ear, the other one was holding up your cellphone - the exact one you were looking for.

- You looking for this? - he asked, his own voice reverberating on the line because of your proximity.

You threw the phone to the side clutching onto the knife tightly. You dashed to the kitchen - there was a back door you could slip through - and outside was filled with neighbours and cops. Just pathetic six or so meters. Just a bit…

A scream tearing through your throat was muffled by a huge hand clamping against your mouth, the other one squeezing your wrist so tightly that for a fleeting moment you thought your bones were snapped, causing your grip on the knife to loosen, it falling down on the floor with loud clatter. König kicked the knife away across the kitchen, folding your arm back which caused your back to arch in pain - it felt as if he wanted to tear your limb from the rest of your body.

- Where do you think you’re going, Y/n? - König growled next to your ear, picking you up effortlessly and dragging your kicking form back to the living room.

Hauling you onto the floor König hooked one meaty thigh over your squirming body, putting bigger part on his weight down onto you, momentarily halting all of your struggle. One huge hand took ahold of both your wrists, pinning them to the floor above your head with frightening ease, his other hand was clasping your mouth still. He crouched down, scream mask was mere fifteen centimetres afar from your face as he seethed:

- Now you shut the fuck up and listen closely to what I have to say, and no one will get hurt, you get that? - he said, waiting until you gave him any sing of agreement. But you offered none. - You get that?! - König growled impatiently, bumping your head against the hardwood floor, causing black spots dance in the corners of your eyes for a long minute. You gave a weak nod, feeling hot tears running down your temples, getting lost among your hair.

- I’ve been thinking about you. A lot, - König sighed, hand that was on your face squished your cheeks together painfully, making your lips pucker out. - About this gorgeous mouth and pretty lips…

König crouched down, barely leaving a few centimetres between your faces.

- A this tight little cunt of yours. Remember how you clenched around me? How good my cock was filling you up?

- What do you want from me? - you weeped quietly, voice barely audible, broken by faint sobs and hiccups.

- Very little, dove. Just be an obedient girl and do as you’re told and no one will get hurt, - König tutted, taking in the sight of your crying face. Gosh, he was a sick fuck - his cock was already getting painfully hard, straining against his pants.

Letting go of your face König reached behind his back, withdrawing something from the rear pocket of his jeans. Just as you opened your mouth to cry out for help he shoved that thing inside of your cavity, slapping a hand over your lips so you won’t spit it out. The thing momentarily dissolved on your tongue, leaving a bitter aftertaste; you tried to struggle against killer’s strong hold, thrashing violently, but it led you nowhere.

Suddenly you felt hot - as if you had a really bad fever. Your mind clouding up rapidly, thoughts muddling, muscles becoming weaker by the second. You huffed out in frustration; moving your limbs a few centimetres seemed like impossible labour. World was spinning around you, blurring sharp and distinguishable features of König’s mask into a white haze.

König let go of your face once again, his now free hand slid down your body, cupping your sex through numerous layers of clothing separating you two. Sudden pleasure surged through your weakened body upon the contact; a loud moan that rolled off your tongue startled you - and suddenly you realised just how aroused you felt.

- Jeez, that dude didn’t lie about this shit, - König laughed out excitedly, watching your eyes widen in terror. You could barely move by now, not speaking of trying to fight off a man twice your size. His size. In a blur of all events, words and pain you never came back to just how fucking huge he was. You never mentioned that in any of your interrogations. How fucking stupid, huh?

Killer let go of your wrists cautiously, watching you closely - you rose your hands, resting your palms on his chest and pushing with all the might you had left, but it wasn’t enough to even push a cat off the chair - so that was the limit of your strength in this state?

König barked out another laugh - he was going to have so much fun with you! His hand never stopped massaging your crotch, noting a small wet patch forming on your shorts - you were soaked through your panties and now soaking your shorts? Gosh, he better buy a few dozens of these aids. Psycho’s eyes shot up to your face upon hearing a sob - tears ran down your eyes like small diamonds, turning your eyelids a pretty shade of red. König shifted forth so that his mask was almost touching your nose:

- Oh baby, I’ll be much gentler with you this time, I promise, - König cooed, pressing cold plastic of his mask against your flushed wet cheek, as if giving you a comforting peck.

Slasher shifted a bit, changing his position from sitting on your thighs to being in between them, yanking you towards him by your knees. He did quick job of taking your shorts and underwear off in few fluid moves, impatiently discarding them somewhere to the side. König felt his heavy cock twitch inside his jeans at the sight of your puffy cunny, all shiny from slick that practically oozed out of your fluttering hole. He swallowed hard, saliva was practically pooling in his mouth, having to restrain himself from tearing his mask off and devouring your cunt, exposing his face too early. You whined out something unintelligible, still trying to pry his fingers off one of your knees.

Your skin felt hot even through thick fabric of his gloves, so when König took one off and plunged two of his thick fingers inside of your tight hole he was surprised at how hot it was inside of you - one of the drug’s effects, he guessed. You couldn’t help but mewl at the pleasant feeling, your brain barely functioning, controlling yourself was beyond hard.

- That’s it, sweetness. Lemme hear all the pretty sounds you make, - König encouraged, plunging his fingers in and out of you, increasing the pace. Rough thumb coming to circle your slicked clit, causing your whole body to jolt softly. Scent of your pooling arousal was strong and prominent, seeping even through König’s mask, making him throb in his pants.

He couldn’t wait any longer. König was dreaming about your pussy being spread around his cock since that first night, he needed to be inside or else he’ll lose the remnants of his mind. Slasher slipped his fingers out of you, quickly undoing his pants, sliding them down as much as knife holster on his thigh would allow. Your breathing increased as you tried to close your legs, man’s bulky form making it impossible for you to do so.

- No, no please.. not again, - you begged, tears rushing down your temples, your voice meek and barely audible, so König just ignored it.

Pulling his girthy cock out König pumped it a few times with gloved hand, aligning pink swollen tip with your leaking entrance. It one smooth movement he bottomed out half of his impressive length, your body - flushed and pliant - taking him inside without any resistance. Low groan rumbled through his broad chest; König’s head fell backwards, hands gripping soft fat of your thighs, leaving pale marks of his fingertips on your skin.

You hated every second of it. Hated how his hips collided with yours with every thrust, how you felt him throb and twitch inside of you; hated how his hands wandered up and down your sides, rubbing your waist and palming your tits. And you hated how fucking good it felt. Hated how your body, despite all your attempts to resist, to fight off the effects of the drug, gave into the pleasure.

- That’s it baby. Just take what I give you, - König breathed out, his words slurred with pleasure. - See? See how good it can feel when you shut the fuck up and do what I tell you to? Just be a obedient little girl and feel good, I’ll take care of everything else yeah?

It felt as if a ball of bile got stuck in your throat; your face scrunched up in disgust as much as your jelly muscles allowed it:

- Fuck you, - you barely managed to choke out, your tongue struggling to form right sounds.

For a few moments you were sure König didn’t hear you, given the lack of any reaction nor acknowledgement of your words. But the next thing you knew was searing pain in your left cheek, the impact of man’s wide palm with your face jolted your head to the side, sudden change of its position made you felt dizzy. Now world was spinning around you even more so, you felt something warm trickling down your cheek - blood from your nose, you figured. Killer’s fingers roughly gripped your chin, yanking it back so that you were facing him once again.

- You wanna say that again bitch? Come on, I fucking dare you, - he spat out, movements of his hips halting completely, leaving his cock buried deep inside of your rippling warmth.

Your head shifting so harshly once again made you nauseous; you could barely see anything, dark purple circles were dancing all around, changing their shapes and giving way to greens and yellows to flood your vision.

- That’s what I fucking thought, - König gritted out. His hand let go of your chin, coming lower to wrap strong fingers around your neck. His hips started working with even more vigour, forcing his dick in and out of your drugged cunt on the pace that was almost inhuman.

Firm clasp of maniac’s hand around your neck made it nearly impossible to breathe. Both your hands wrapped around his mighty wrist, too weak to actually get him off you. Your vision started to darken rapidly, white noise trilling in your ears, barely allowing any other sounds to filter through.

- From the very moment I laid my eyes on you I fucking owned you. And I own you right now, and forever will. This is my fucking cunt, and I’ll use it whenever I want to. And I need you to fucking. learn. it. - König growled out, emphasising each of his last words with hard deep thrusts of his hips against yours, his cock making your stomach bulge, surely bruising your cervix.

- Oh but I’ll train you. Mould you into my personal cocksleeve, ready to be used whenever I feel like it, - his pace was quickening, thick cotton of his denim pants muffled filthy sounds of his mighty hips snapping against your ass. The grip of strong fingers never eased; König shifted part of his weight onto his hands which were wrapped around your neck, white mask hovering right in front of your face - milky white of it was a harsh contrast to blackness pooling in the corners of your eyes.

With that your conscience started to slip away. You felt your body jolt with every ferocious thrust of man’s hips, his cock buried deep inside of you, bruising your insides with its persistent bullying. Acute lack of oxygen burnt your lungs, and you prayed to all gods that König held your neck a tad bit too long - just enough for you to not wake up the next time. And just before you slipped into heavy delirium, your mushed up brain picked up König’s growl, penetrating through thick noise humming in your ears:

- You’re mine. Forever and ever.

Street was filled with all kinds of noise - sirens from police cars were going off triggering dogs from nearby houses, neighbours were crowding a bit afar, frowning and shaking their heads, everyone having their own theory of what happened. Loud cries of Y/n’s mother shook the air, putting everyone further on the edge. She is such a sweet girl, she’s never done anything bad! Oh god, why is this happening to her of all people?!

Some people were saying that the girl simply snapped, breaking under the pressure of events and finally fleeting the country without telling anyone to not give any clues about her whereabouts to the killer. Some said she just went out to unwind from being constantly watched by police and have some alone time - she’ll show up anytime soon. But everyone knew that it was one of murderer’s deeds - he did something to her. And everyone knew, deep down, that they’ll never see Y/n again - alive, at least.

A young lanky policemen, obviously green and not experienced in his job, was babbling out his report to the superior, all the other cops that were patrolling with him as well stood around silently, too scared to pipe in.

- Sir, I swear we were patrolling the area all this time, there was literally no one but the neighbours, but they were staying at their pro-

- Then you were not doing it well enough! - city commissioner barked out, his mighty vice silencing everyone around for a short moment. His face was red, fuming with rage; nostrils flaring with intensity of his heavy breathing, angry vein popped up on his temple, pulsating in tandem with his rapid heartbeat. His heavy gaze shifted between all the poor officers, their faces pale as chalk.

- You had one fucking job. ONE fucking job - to keep the girl in the sightline - and where is she now, huh? I’m asking you motherfuckers - where is Y/n?! - Mr. Lindner barked out, his heavy voice making everyone jolt. Younger officers stared down on their shoes blankly, not daring to meet eyes with their boss.

- You may consider yourselves lucky if you’ll still have your licences by the end of the week, - commissioner Lindner tsked, spitting onto the ground in remorse. Turning around, he headed to his police issued car, shouldering all those nosy ones who were brave enough to approach him in this state. Getting inside Mr. Lindner closed the door with a loud bang, starting the engine and pulling out of the driveway onto the main road.

Commissioner Lindner drove in full silence, blue eyes fixated on the road ahead; it was barely past midnight, but the darkness hung thick all around, being slit by two yellow rays of his car’s headlights. He gripped steering wheel tighter, one hand coming to comb back his grown out hair out of his eyes, a small smile played in the corners of his scarred lips.

Soon he’ll be home - maybe the effects of drugs will wear off by that time and he’ll watch Y/n wake up slowly, those pretty doe eyes of hers gazing up at him drowsily. He will cook her dinner - all of her favourites - and maybe even spoon feed her, if she’ll allow it. Then he’ll bathe her and tuck her in her new bed, locking up the door for the night and watching her sleep through the cameras.

Everything was going as smoothly as ever. No one has accidentally seen him dragging unconscious Y/n out of her house and hauling her into the backseat of his car. No signs of struggle or fight were found - kitchen sink was still half-filled with soapy water and dirty dishes, clean ones drying off on the countertop, a knife with all the fingerprints being drowned among other dirty utensils. Y/n’s parents approved that everything was on its original place - as if the girl just disappeared, dissolved into thin air.

No one suspected a thing. And, of course, no one suspected a respectable city commissioner Lindner with years upon years of experience, a veteran with impeccable reputation, a person no one could speak badly of.

This was the beginning of your new life, life in which everything revolved around König, causing you to cling onto him as if he was some kind of goddess. Life in which you no longer belonged to yourself, but to your abductor. Life in which you finally understood that you don’t need anyone or anything else because you had König, understood that König was your life itself <3

Slasher! König Masterlist

A/n: I apologise for giving König a half assed name, but I thought it’d be really cool for the plot😌

Once again, feedback is highly appreciated! I’m making this a series so feel free to send in your suggestions for more slasher! König content<3

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soo0hee · 1 month ago

Text

Flu & Fluff

Pairing — Yoon Jeonghan x Reader

Summary — Arriving home to pick something up, Jeonghan finds a good reson to just stay home with his angel.

Genre — fluff, established relationship, idol!au

Warnings — none

Word Count — 0.7k

Rating — sfw

Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©soo0hee on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.

When Jeonghan set foot into the apartment he shared with you, he was startled quite a bit. It was around midday and he only came home already because he had forgotten something on the kitchen table he was not coming to get from home.

It wasn't the cup still half filled with your favorite tea that was still placed on the counter or the plate next to it. It wasn't even the throw blanket that was bundled together from your movie night yesterday. No, it was your jacket being thrown carelessly over the back of the couch together with the bag you use to go do work with.

Were you home already? If so, then why?

It was barely even 1pm and he knew that it was far from the time you usually got home so to say he was confused wouldn't be a lie.

"Angel? Are you home?" he called out into the silent apartment but was only greeted by the disgruntled meow of your cat Loki who was not at all impressed at the prospect of having his sleep disturbed.

Loki stretched thoroughly before winding himself around Jeonghans legs; the man frowning at the fur left behind on fabric of his pants. "Where's your momma, hm? Is she here?"

He received another meow, this time softer while enjoying the pets he got before sauntering away with his tail held high as he vanished in the gap the door to the bedroom was left open. He followed the cat and flinched almost when the sound of coughing cut through the silence of the apartment.

Jeonghan threw his hand over his chest where his heart felt like it had stopped beating in shock. Letting out a curse he continued into the bedroom where he stopped in his tracks as he processed the sight that greeted him.

Sniffling and buried underneath the blankets was you, trying to get some air into your lungs between coughing and a stuffed nose while also getting some shut eye. If that and the cup with chamomile tea wasn't a dead give away to what was wrong, then

"Aigoo-ya," he coed at you. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick, pabo?"

You grumbled, not having realized you were being talked to. The idol smiled and came closer. Shrugging his shoes off he crawled onto the bed and underneath the blanket. Unconsciously you clung to your boyfriends body, searching for the comfort he brought you every time without fail.

"Hannie?" you mumbled out deliriously.

Jeonghan had immediately noticed the immense head coming from your body, indicating the fever you seemed to have.

"Yes angel, I'm home. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a bus." You grimaced slightly at the tension behind your forehead before Iooking up at the man beside you. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you by at the company?"

"I forgot something in the kitchen,"

"The lyric sheets?"

"Exactly those. Now," he started with a pout and his hand pressed to your forehead do check your temperature. Definitly a fever. "Care do tell my why you didn't call me and told me you weren't feeling well?"

You shrugged and answered while coughing. "The boys need you!"

"Right now, I think you need me more, don't you think?"

Jeonghan reached into his jeans pocket for his phone, typing in a message for the group chat.

Knowing what he was doing you too, reached weakly for the device only to have him hold it out of your reach.

"No, you can't just stay home! They-"

"-can record my vocals in a few days too! We have enough time until the comeback so don't worry, just let me take care of you for a while.”

You gave up, knowing very well that there was no way to win against the older of the famous evil twins. "Fine, but-“

"No buts." A soft kiss was pressed to your head. "Just let me love you."

Falling back asleep you hummed a quiet,"love ya too..."

#k labels #k vanity #k-library #seventeen #yoon jeonghan #yoon jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan x you #yoon jeonghan x y/n #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x you #jeonghan x y/n #yoon jeonghan imagines #jeonghan imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen x y/n #seventeen imagines #divider by saradika

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jarofstyles · 1 year ago

Text

Sea View

Hello my lovely babies. Here is a sugar baby!H one shot.

I hope you enjoy them.

Check out our Patreon for early access and 100+ exclusive writings!

WC- 3.7k

Warnings- public sex/exhibitionism, unprotected sex, slight degrading but also praise kink, soft!dom H

---

The Italian sun was turning his skin golden. He knew that it was definitely time for a sunscreen application again, but the beams of warmth felt too damn good on his body to be assed to get up.

Besides- he had Y/N’s leg hitched over his as she napped in the familiar sunbeams he was soaking in.

After a particularly stressful week, Y/N had had enough. She chartered a yacht, called her assistant to defer her calls and woke Harry up from his meditation nap to pack his bags. They were on the private plane before he even properly woke up, but he couldn’t complain.

The water was impossibly blue, the weather was perfect and their boat was heavenly. He’d never been on a vacation quite like this. He’s actually been to Italy for a bit when he did an exchange program, but he hadn’t been able to just relax. He’d spent his time exploring and studying when he was here, picking up the language, learning the people, his surroundings. There wasn’t time to just… be

A week back in Italy with the best food, a private boat and villa and the most beautiful woman he had ever met, all expenses paid? He would be a fool to turn that down. All he needed to do was help her unwind. That meant hiding her work phone from her, massaging her shoulders, letting her sleep on him like she was now, and giving her every bit of affection and sex that she could possibly want.

‘You work so hard, darling. Deserve a break. I’ll take care of you.’ Was what he had told her when they boarded the boat, kissing her lips as he felt her hands grip his shorts. They had been particularly slutty this trip, something he really liked. His new brand of shorts were cut closer on the thigh, in a variety of colors. Y/N had appreciated them greatly.

It was after the first round of sex that day that Y/N requested they spend some time up on the deck. The warmth was welcome to her, he could tell. It was his job to relax her, to keep her sane, and he liked to think he did a pretty good job of it- both with his words and his cock. This time, though, he could tell she had been particularly drained from work and he made it his mission to keep her as relaxed as possible. Their drinks sat on the ledge behind them, condensation sweating the glasses. Y/N’s book was abandoned with a bookmark haphazardly placed in it, her cheek pressed against his bicep.

The concept of a midday nap for her was unheard of. Harry had been with her for a while now, and in his time knowing her he had never experienced it. That’s how he knew she was really exhausted. Fingers stroked the hair from her face with his opposite hand, simply observing her as she slept. A soft vulnerability was painted on her features as her guard was completely down. In her sleep, Harry could see just how sweet she could look. In everyday life, she was a very powerful and merciless businesswoman. She was wealthy beyond his comprehension and she had gotten to that point because she took no prisoners. She had to, in order to get what she wanted. He’d seen firsthand her cold demeanor and her stoic, practiced words when she was at work and they’d be interrupted.

No one besides Harry had ever seen the woman beg for anything. No one had seen tears drip down her face when she was overstimulated, no one had seen how mushy she got after an entire night of hot sex where he took care of her. Despite the fact that they switched around who was in charge and he very much loved being a good boy for her, Harry liked seeing her soften up for him. Being exposed to a side of one of the country’s most powerful people that no one else had gotten the chance to see? It made him feel powerful all in himself.

When their arrangement had started, she had taken the reigns for the most part. She’d needed to get comfortable with him, which had taken some time. The first night he had taken over control had been a bit of a power struggle, but she took to it well after getting a real taste of what Harry could do.

Being able to comfort her, even in moments like this, made him smile.

“I can feel you staring.” Y/N voice slurred against the skin of his arm, rubbing her nose against it as she shifted to tuck her face into his neck. “Rude.”

Harry’s heart warmed with the rays of the sun, turning slightly so he was facing her before gathering up her sleepy form in his arms. “How could I not stare? When the lioness is asleep, it’s the best time to observe the beauty.” Lips pressed against her warm forehead, letting her leg tighten around his waist. Looking down, he could see some of the bruises he had left on her silky skin. Fingerprints on her thighs, a few on her hips. A sense of satisfaction went through him as he felt her lips give a chaste peck to his throat, exhaling heavily. He had done this. He got to experience this woman fully.

“Lioness? I’d say Tigress, if anything.” Her sleepy laugh made him smile. “How long was I out?” Stretching her body out, she shook for a second before curling back up against his side. It did things to his heart that he didn’t want to talk about.

“An hour.” His fingers returned to her waist, rhythmically dragging up and down the curve of it. “Passed right out. You’re exhausted, love.” It was a bit concerning. Y/N handled pressure very well, stress even better since Harry had entered her life- but he could see some cracks forming before they’d left. “M’glad you took us here. You needed a break. I worry about you.” He spoke against her hair, knowing she didn’t like it when he worried.

“I’m okay.” Her voice was soft. “I… I remembered what you’d said about feeling a breaking point coming and doing something about it before you reach it. I was there.” Opening up wasn’t easy for her in the slightest, but Harry had been her confidant for a bit now. He never judged her, always stressed the importance of mental health along with her physical. “I just wanted to go somewhere we could just relax. It’s still hard for me.”

That much, Harry knew all too fucking well. Y/N was always wound up tight. She was coiled like a snake for most of her day. Being a woman in her position, unfortunately she had to be. She had to work twice as hard and be twice as defensive because men were awful and believed they deserved her position, her success more simply because they were men. It was sick and wrong but Harry understood why she had to feel on the guard all the time.

“I know it is.” The reply was soft. “But m’teaching you, aren’t I?” He was a very relaxed person now that he didn’t have to work at the bar. He was able to work on his music, do his yoga, bake his treats, and focus on this fucking gorgeous woman’s pleasure. For some, it wouldn’t be fulfilling. For Harry? It was a dream come true. He loved teaching her how to relax.

“You’re doing a good job.” Y/N chuckled, pulling her face from the refuge of his neck. “Got a pretty boy with equally as pretty words to help me with that.” Her own fingers came up to stroke the facial hair sprouting on his face. She was a very big fan of it, he was finding out. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and she seemed mesmerized.

“Just pretty?” He smiled, feeling her finger pop into his dimple. “I’d prefer… beautiful. Gorgeous. Ruggedly handsome, even. Sexy is acceptable too.” The quips were met with a laugh from the woman, face tilting up and catching his lips.

Harry was pleasantly surprised. Y/N was shy with her kissing at times. It wasn’t that she didn’t like it- she reacted with her whole body when he kissed her- but she didn’t initiate it too much. The opportunity was not going to be wasted. His mouth responded immediately, a happy hum leaving his throat. Fingers gripped her thigh and pulled her tighter against him as she shyly brushed his tongue against hers. Impressive. She was making a lot of the first moves, and he was ecstatic about it.

She tasted like orange juice, the mimosa’s from breakfast back on her tongue. Harry was taking in every bit of it, one hand curled around the back of her neck while the other kept her thigh against his hip, languid greed encompassing the kiss as he took a bit of the control away from her. There was that buzzing in his stomach, cock thickened as her body heat outshined the sun. In the middle of the boat, he didn’t have a care in the world other than keeping her satisfied.

“Mmm.. S’sweet.” He mumbled against her lips, going back in for more. “Open that pretty mouth f’me. Don’t be shy. I want everything from you.” He was going to milk this for everything he could. Her fingers slid into his hair, the manicured nails gently grazing his scalp and making him groan loudly. Chills flushed on his skin as he pulled her closer, cock pulsing in the shorts as he felt her arch into him. She knew what that did to him, the minx.

His tongue found hers before he sucked on it lightly, fingers diggling into her thigh as he pulled back just a bit. He felt her fingers tug on his hair again, trying to pull his mouth back to her own. It was refreshing to feel her need for him. “You’re starting something, darling.” He warned slowly. “M’not going to stop it if you continue.”

“Don’t.” Was her reply, pushing herself further against him. “We can do anything.”

Harry was surprised by her response. They definitely weren’t fully alone, but no one would come out on to the deck if they weren’t requested. Y/N had asked for privacy beforehand. The crew of the large boat stayed below deck… And honestly? Harry didn’t give a fuck if someone from another boat saw them. He was going to take this opportunity to pleasure his woman.

Rolling them over, he heard her squeak as he hovered on top of her. Eyes opened, the lusty haze making her grin as his body was backlit from the sun. He looked like her own personal angel. Swollen pink mouth and scruffy face, he was sent directly from wherever wet dreams originated from to be the one that took care of her.

“Filthy girl.” He whispered. “S’that what you want? Do you want me to do whatever I want to you?” He leaned his nose against her nose, brushing the skin as she nodded.

“Yes.” The word was breathy, unlike her normal cadence.

Harry grinned that filthy grin that made Y/N’s cunt clench around nothing, the promise of more in his eyes making her blink up at him. She had worked so hard, kept it together so well.. All she wanted to do was fall apart under him. Be dirty, take a risk for once in her controlled life. They’d fucked around many places, but she could see other boats not too far away. She knew it was risky.

“Oh, sweet fucking girl. You’ll let me tug this top off?” He questioned, tugging the cups of her bathing suit down slowly to give her a chance to say no. She didn’t. He pulled the fabric over her pebbled nipples, grunting in his throat as he took a look at her beautiful tits on display for him. “Hm.. Beautiful girl. That’s what you are.” Dipping down her body, he showed no hesitation taking one of her nipples into his mouth.

Sucking on the bud, he heard her gasp and fingers grip his hair as he methodically pulled the sensitive nipple into his mouth, brushing his tongue against it. So warm, her skin smelled like her body wash and salt from the ocean as he lathed his tongue over it again. Teeth brushed it ever so slightly as he pulled back, eliciting a gasp from her before he switched breasts with a satisfied groan.

Yes. This is what his girl needed. His sweet, overworked, filthy minded girl. His cock was dripping into his shorts, the risk of the situation and her need for him arousing him more than he had been in a long time.

“More.” She whimpered. The one word was enough to get him to pause, looking at her with his blown out eyes. Mournfully releasing her nipple again, his wet lips opened to speak to her.

“More? Are you asking for me to fuck you, pretty baby?” His low tone made her clit throb, nodding frantically as she felt him press his fingers against her covered cunt. The bathing suit did little to hide her arousal. He could feel her heat, feel the slickness of her, and he knew he needed to take her. Now. “Yeah? Y’want me to tug this to the side and slip right in?” He spoke against her lips, pressing a kiss there before moving to her jaw. “Want my cock tucked up inside you, nice n’snug?”

Fingers tugged the fabric to the side, leaving her slick cunt exposed to the ocean air. To him. She shuddered under him as she peeled her eyes open, watching in anticipation as his hand went for his shorts between them. Slipping them down just enough to expose himself, he grit his teeth. “Hm?” His voice prodded her. He was covering her body, sure, but it would be obvious what they’d be doing.

Her body jolted when he tapped the ruddy tip of his leaking cock against her cunt, nestling it between her slit while he got himself wet.

“Yes.” She had been reduced to a beg. Y/N was usually much more talkative, much more of a tease, but she couldn’t be right now. This was exactly what the woman wanted. She wanted Harry to take over and make her forget all of her troubles. “Please. Just do it.”

Harry didn’t need much convincing.

She was still a bit sensitive from their sex when they’d woken up, a broken whimper leaving her throat as she felt the tip press into her. It was embarrassing how wet she was just from this. The man had made it near impossible to not be affected by his presence and she was too tired to pretend she wasn’t.

Harry’s cock was thick and long and the perfect size to fuck her dumb. To make her mind shut up about anything other than how good it felt. After long days in the office, it’s exactly what she’s needed. It was no different now, eyes falling shut as her head rolled back, legs closifn around his hips to urge him deeper. There was no need to fake that she wasn’t greedy.

“Fuck.” Harry grunted, feeling himself bury into her. “You needed it again. My poor girl. Needed me to take care of you.” He pressed his mouth against hers again before slowly moving, grinding inside of her as her fingers tugged the hair at the nape of his neck. It was a tight, wet paradise being locked inside of her. Shallow thrusts, feeling her clench up around him, he slipped a hand under her head to hold the back of her neck.

“Needed me so bad that you’re taking my cock right in front of everyone. What a filthy, nasty girl you are. So desperate for my prick to be buried in that sweet little pussy all over again that… you don’t even care if you’re caught.” He was working her up. Dirty talk got to her. Stimulated her in a way that he knew she wouldn’t admit to loving when she wasn’t hanging off his cock, but when she was?

She ate it up. Every crumb.

Legs stayed tight around him as he moved slowly, so fucking deep that she could cry. This was what she needed. Harry was right. She was desperate and dirty and she didn’t care if people were even right next to them, she had wanted him to be inside of her more than anything. This was her escape.

“No, my dirty girl just wants to soak me again. You want people to see how wet you get around me? How filthy and sticky you leave my cock every time I pull out? It goes right down to my thighs, you know.” His velvety voice was wrapped around her head. “You’re not happy unless m’balls deep inside of you. Greedy thing.” He crooned, feeling a bit more of her slick coating his cock. Fuck, he was obsessed. “ But this is a newer development. You’ve always like the idea of someone seeing but… they definitely can right now.”

It got to him, too. His dick was swallowed in her sweet relief, but he knew he wouldn’t last too long. Despite the slow thrusts, they were deep and a bit rough, moving her slightly when he bottomed out. Each thrust was rewarded with a squeak, a moan, a whimper. He was addicted to hear what noise he got next.

“They can see it, baby. If they turn their heads, if they look over, they can see you being fucked. Clinging to me, keeping me close. There’s no way they will be able to mistake it.” Despite the fact he eas covering her and his shorts weren’t fully down, the movements made it obvious. Harry’s always been into adventurous sex, always been into exhibitionism, but it was different here. It sent a heady zing right to his cock. Being a show off, an attention whore, he was in his prime.

“Harry…” she whispered, head tilting back as he bit down on the lobe of her ear. “I can’t. M’gonna cum if you t-talk like that.” She was going to regardless. The sweet press into her spot, his spot really, was perfect. There had been worry that maybe he wouldn’t be able to get her off at the beginning of when they met- no man had properly done it before- but he had exceeded all expectations. He was hers. She was keeping this man as long as she possibly could. He was perfection. Indulging in her like this was just one of the many reasons.

“You’d cum if I was silent. Your cunt loves my cock. Doesn’t she? Loves to be fucked in any way. On your knees, your stomach, riding me… but especially when people can see it.” He licked over her neck, the filth of it making her nails dig into the back of his neck. The stab of pain made him moan, moving a bit harder. It wasn’t fast, wasn’t hurried in the slightest. It was lazy and hot and so goddamn good.

“Yes. I love it. I-I want them to see.” She admitted in a slightly slurred voice, the pleasure already building up with his thrusts. Like sparks over her body. “Want them to watch. I’m gonna-“ she couldn’t finish the word, one of the thrusts stealing her breath.

“I know you want that, my filthy slut. Such a little whore for me.” He laughed, breathy and hot as he covered her lips back with his own. He was about to cum. He could feel her begin to quiver around him. “Going to soak my cock and let them see? So fucking dirty. Letting me fuck you out on this deck, not a care about anything other than getting filled. S’gonna make me cum too.” He looked at her with hazy eyes. The sweat on her forehead, the stickiness of their skin under the hot Italian sun.

All of this was erotic.

“Let go for me, angel.” He decided to pull out the language he knew she loved, nestled against her lips. “Voglio sentirti Bella ragazza. sempre così perfetto. Lascia che mi prenda cura di te, sempre.”

Y/N couldn’t stop it. The rasp of his voice, the Italian falling off his tongue, she came with an intensity she didn’t expect. Mouth falling open as he stole her breath, she finally expelled a moan as she came all over him. Slicked up, creamy and hot, she pulled him in and tried to push him away as the orgasm was worked through.

Harry wasn’t far behind, gritting his teeth as he cursed. His balls tight, he released the heavy load into her cunt, stuttered movement of his hips making him grunt with each finishing stroke. He painted her walls white, pushing it in deep as he groaned against her mouth. Breathing each other in, the movement stopped.

Y/N was full in every sense of the word, legs loosening but staying wrapped around him as her body loosened all its limbs. It was exactly the thing she had needed.

“You okay?” He asked softly, nudging his nose back against hers before pressing chaste kisses to the corners of her lips and the heated cheeks. “Did so good. Fucking perfect, as usual.” His praises made her lips quirk in a smile, returning a chaste peck before falling back to her blissed out features.

“Mhm. Perfect, actually.” Her response was a giggle, the relaxation back on her face. “But I’d like you to stay inside me for a bit.”

Harry rose a brow, trying to keep his softening erection at bay. “Will you behave? I need the nap now.” He needed a bit of time before going again- though keeping himself warm on her cock was a very nice addition to the day.

“Probably not. But I’ll let you sleep for a bit on my chest before I bother you for some more.” She replied, carding her fingers through his slightly sweat damp hair. His forehead fell against her shoulder, shaking in a laugh as he kissed the skin.

“Anything for you.”

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #sugar baby!harry #sugar baby h #sugar baby harry styles #Harry smut #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fic #Harry styles fluff #Harry styles angst #Harry fluff

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bless-my-demons · 7 months ago

Text

Redamancy: Chapter Twenty-Nine

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: does a handsy Jasper need a warning?

Notes: oh my god it’s been so long, I’ve been eating myself up over not posting. I’ve been working myself to death, but I’ve finally got a long weekend off and so I used it to get back to what makes me happy - this story! Omg I hope you guys love it🥹 I also have to go through and update my taglist later tonight, so bear with me on that until I add it!

Word Count: 1500

Series Masterlist

• April 3rd, 2006 • Forks HS •

Reader

Tingly.

That’s the state of my body this morning, the state of my mind.

Not only am I riding an emotional high from our conversation this weekend, but my dream last night… Good lord, that dream.

I can feel the echoes of his fingers on my skin, the coolness of his lips, the wet trail they would’ve left behind… the solid weight of what surely his body would feel like, pressed against mine. I can imagine all of what it would be like vividly, to be under him, to get carried away, to just explore-

“You alright, darlin’?”

His voice jolts me from the day dreaming stare I had on the locker before me, caught red handed. To make matters worse, that deep southern tenor questioned me inches from my ear, causing a blush to heat my cheeks to an almost uncomfortable degree.

“Perfectly fine, why?” I immediately busy myself within my locker so that I don’t have to face him right away.

“You do remember that I can feel you, right?” His voice is low and his hands find my hips tenderly, but the air changes around us.

My heart rate skyrockets, this is dangerous. His fingers flex against me and the death grip I have on this book in my hands turns my knuckles white.

“Jasper-” his name is a whispered warning, but also a plea.

“I know.” Instantly a cooling, soothing balm blankets our tension and I release the tightness in my chest. Leaning backwards into him I just feel tired all of a sudden, like I had run a marathon. “Let’s get out of here.”

His request sounds more like a demand and I twist in his arms, “Is that a good idea?”

“Darlin’, I don’t have many of those these days.” His mouth quirks up in a lopsided grin as he shoves all of my school supplies back in my locker, shutting it and tugging me along behind him towards the student parking lot.

Jasper

Something is on her mind, something dangerous. Something I absolutely want to know, something I’m not sure I have the strength for, but I can’t help it - it’s her.

I’ve never been more thankful for an overcast day with no rain: perfect motorcycle weather. Come to think of it, my sister had a knowing look in her eyes as my siblings all piled into their respective vehicles as I straddled my bike this morning. A decision that currently led me to now: Y/n and I leaving school before midday.

Those thoughts I interrupted earlier have her quiet, but her emotions are raging and it is driving me insane. Curiosity, need, nervousness - a dangerous concoction begging to overtake my rational mind. Separating myself from her feelings is almost impossible at this point, she is so well ingrained in me.

Finally arriving at my thankfully empty home, I shut my motorcycle off and offer a steady hand to help her dismount. Swinging my own leg over, I turn towards her and lean against it, observing her for a moment with crossed arms.

“What?” She makes eye contact as she struggles with the chin strap of my helmet.

Grabbing the helmet by the chin piece, I gently tug her forward between my legs, “Tell me.” I lace the command with neediness to encourage her to be pliant.

And judging by the way her lips part behind the dark visor, the immediate dilation of her eyes, and the weight of her hands settling on my thighs gently, I might’ve laid it on a little too thick.

Chuckling, I free her from my helmet and riding jacket. By the time I finish, she seems to snap from the daze and her hands clench on top of my legs.

“Not fair, Hale.” Feisty this morning.

I lean forward towards her ear with a grin as I stand from my bike to put away the gear, “All’s fair in love and war, sweetheart.”

Reaching to swat my chest, I grab her hand gently before she could injure herself.

Pausing as I hang my jacket up, her teasing response sends excitement through me, “Two can play at that game, baby.”

Stepping into my room, I realize too late what has her curiosity: my desk. Well, the art that occupies every inch, my art.

“What is all this?” Leafing through pencil sketches of my favorite hunting spots and pen etchings of my family at random moments, she gets to the important ones hidden below. Her breathing hitches and I know she’s found them, the ones of her.

Some are in pencil, some are in random felt-tip pens, but my favorites? Those are charcoal. A decently basic medium, but I feel like it captures so much more than anything else ever could. Maybe it’s because I use my fingers to smudge and shape her perfect curves and lines, but it radiates emotion in sweeping gestures and subtle shading - something that’s hard to capture with anything else.

“There’s-” awe, shock, surprise, they all shuffle through her and I’m on edge, waiting to hear her thoughts. “There’s so many…”

I watch her carefully examine each one and I smile when she chuckles at a few - some of her at school, some of her here in my home, moments I not only committed to memory, but to paper.

“Now you know what I do with my free time.” I smile through the minuscule anxiety that bubbles up at her seeing my secret hobby. Everyone in my family knows I draw, but they haven’t seen my drawings.

“Jasper…” I can tell she’s getting emotional, but a part of me is excited for her to see my innermost thoughts on paper, to see herself through my eyes - the unaltered beauty she contains.

“You haven’t even seen the ones I cherish the most.” Opening a familiar sketchbook buried under many other drawings, I reveal my favorites. “The very first ones.”

Her breath hitches, running a reverent finger down the first page. It’s the very first moment I saw her, crouched, scooping up papers on her first day of high school in Forks - absolutely radiant.

“You were a vision that day. A beautiful tornado that wrecked my world, I tried to capture every detail from memory because I never want to forget-”

Her hand finding my cheek breaks me from my explanation and my eyes find her watery ones, mouth open, searching for words clearly hard to get out, “Jasper…”

“I love you.” My confession steals her breath completely this time, the first time I’ve uttered these words aloud and it feels absolutely right. “I’ve loved you since the moment you hit me with that door. I knew I was absolutely ruined for anyone else and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Tilting her chin up with the tip of my finger as it wobbles at my confession, I smile, “Say something, darlin’.”

“I love you, too.” Now it’s my turn to go wholly still. “I knew from the moment I saw you I’d never be the same, I was yours-”

I couldn’t wait another second, I closed the minuscule gap between our mouths to seal these confessions. I love her and she loves me. Me.

Tilting her head back slightly as I cradle her, I take my cue to deepen the kiss, to pull her closer carefully. Groaning into her mouth, fuck I can’t get enough of her. Trailing kisses down her jawline as she tips her head to the side for much needed air, her gasps drive me to lift her onto my desk.

“Jaz…” her breathy plea of my nickname freezes me, panic seizing my actions.

“I am a gentleman, but only just barely.” My voice is gravel in my own ears, breathed down the slender column of her throat.

A shiver from her causes me to clench my jaw and attempt to gather myself.

“Maybe I don’t want a gentleman right now.” Her whisper damns me, it fucking sets me on fire.

A slamming door downstairs straightens my spine and my hands abandon the exploration of her. Fuck, my family’s timing couldn’t be better, but also worse.

“Honey, we’re home!” Emmett’s booming voice echoes up the stairs and immediately I know he knows, he can probably smell it.

Huffing, I help her regain her footing and straighten her clothes from the rumpled mess my hands made of it. I also take half a thought to smooth her arousal, a damn shame-but a necessity if we’re to face my siblings for the rest of the evening.

“Fucking Emmett.” Her frustration draws a chuckle from me as we make our way downstairs.

“I heard that!” My brother’s response causes her to roll her eyes at me playfully and I shake my head, my heart weighing much fuller in my chest as she plucks its invisible strings with her shit-eating grin.

Taglist part 1:

@aoi-targaryen @Min-jianhyung @pbbsl @timelordhunterandmysterysolver @sheerangermany @clearwater-hoe @Blackbluerose666 @ivy-plays @random-human02 @delightfulbluebirdstarlight @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @gaymazinglula @l3ejm @angelfuzzy2 @losa12308 @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @flyawayprincess @ropickle @catbusloki @deviat3dsn0wf0x @lovesanimals0000 @unrevived @h-naec @cutesnakemum @zudooms @itsmytimetoodream @stinkii-boii @acoolnight @anothercoffeeblogx @irishblend10 @from-now-on-im-switzerland @kyraslife2 @naolvshan @kiiwiigii @rosedpetal @kiaraandrea @foolsgoldxo @heartfilia01 @azuredgalaxies @geekysimmerthings @graciereads @ramen-girl-2424 @0hmydekiru @creeqvealley @Cherriebat @whichwitchisthebitch @dragon-rider-with-a-book @secretfairytailpetscookie @psychobitchsthings

#jasper hale x reader #jasper hale fanfiction #redamancy series #jasper hale x female!reader #twilight fanfiction #jasper whitlock hale #twilight #bless-my-demons #jasper hale #female reader insert

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theminecraftbee · 3 months ago

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the summer before THE END...

(this fic contains @hotguycomiczine spoilers! go read it first! i'll wait!)

It’s midday. The sun is heavy and hot, bearing down against the asphalt and visibly making the air shimmer over the road. Summer in Hermitopia can be miserable, and frankly Cuteguy thinks it’s far more miserable than the bruises. The humidity makes his feathers stick together and itch in awkward ways, he’s sweaty twice over because he hadn’t had time to actually wash his costume between the last major villain attack, his recent part-time line cook job, and then this fight.

He’s in his early thirties and he’s becoming an old man, he thinks. His knees should not hurt this much, and yet here they are. Vigilantism is going to give him early arthritis.

They’ve driven off the villain. Didn’t manage to catch him, though. He wasn’t even from Hermitopia. That’s been happening more lately; people who see Hermitopia as some lawless wasteland where they can come visit, avoid drinking any water, and live out their dreams of being a comic book character, damn the consequences or collateral damage. It’s frustrating. Sometimes, deep in Cuteguy’s soul, he sort of thinks the Soup Group has a point in calling out all this bullshit.

Of course, they do all that murder about it. So. Not much better, really.

He leans against a building and tries to breathe. Normally he has a water bottle with his costume, but this guy had homemade napalm. Luckily, not real napalm! The water did work for putting out the fire! Unfortunately, it’s ninety-seven degrees and humid and Cuteguy has just done enough cardio that he’s honestly worried about the odds he passes out.

Out on the street, Hotguy is chatting with every civilian he comes across. He’s grandstanding. He’s giving blow-by-blows. He’s acting like his sweat doesn’t stink like a mere mortal’s. He has a water bottle, and he’s taking sips of it between chats with reporters and posing for cameras. There are enough cars and civilians that Cuteguy isn’t all that worried about the TCG yet. Hotguy’s still pretty damn wanted, what with the whole possession thing that they don’t exactly have the means to prove to the public, so Cuteguy’s got to keep an eye out for them, but with this many cameras on him? The TCG isn’t about to arrest him on camera. Despite everything, he's still too charismatic; he'd still make them look too bad.

Cuteguy wipes his forehead again. He does notice when someone starts approaching him; he might be exhausted, but he’s acting as Hotguy’s situational awareness while he’s busy playing up crowds. He can’t afford to be that exhausted, so he isn’t. That, and the woman approaching him is hardly as stealthy as the Bleeding Hart. Another thing he might have to give to the Soup Group were he willing to give them credit for anything: he’s never been able to fully stop noticing where everyone is around him. Hotguy had winced and called it “hypervigilance”. Cuteguy had said that he wasn’t any better, he just calls it a superpower. Hotguy had said it is hardly his fault his superpower promotes vigilance. Cuteguy had—

“Uh, good fight. Thanks,” says the woman.

“Oh, uh. You’re welcome,” Cuteguy says.

She’s tall and blonde. Also, she has four arms. Cuteguy should have probably noticed that first, but he didn’t, and that’s on him.

“Bit of a mess, especially in this weather. Hotter and they’d issue a heat advisory, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cuteguy says.

He is not good at post-battle smalltalk. That’s why it’s Hotguy’s job. He’s good at causing chaos if needed, but chaos is the opening the TCG would need to get to Hotguy. Cuteguy glances in his direction. He’s posing and signing autographs still. He can’t help but sigh. They’re going to be here all day.

The four-armed lady follows his gaze.

“You know, I’d always wondered why you stick to him,” she says.

“Sorry?” Cuteguy says.

“I just mean—I watched the fight. Yeah, he’s good, but you’re decent at range too. You can get enough height to really not need perfect accuracy because you’ll be hard to hit. Wings are, uh, a pretty overpowered combat tool, really, especially when most of your enemies are on the ground. But you’re good at close range, so, uh, inside isn’t awful for you either, really.”

“I mean, you’re right, I am pretty good,” Cuteguy says, interrupting her. “I don’t really get—”

“Look at him,” the woman says. “You ran around more than him and he took the water bottle.”

Cuteguy wants to defend Hotguy for that one; it’s hardly his fault that Cuteguy dumped his water bottle on napalm like it would do anything. It did, which is convenient, but still. Not Hotguy’s call. He doesn’t quite get the chance.

“Even after everything last month, he’s still grandstanding too. Sure, he’s stopped shooting people for not being grateful enough, or holding rescues hostage for cash, but look at him. Hardly any better, is he. Sure, he says he was possessed—”

“He was,” Cuteguy snaps.

“—but like, is the guy he is now actually all that different? Just saying.”

Cuteguy stares at the man trying to get extra photo ops out of a group of passing runners. They’re topless to account for the heat, which is probably why Hotguy wants photos with them. Cuteguy can just barely hear the man asking to trade phone numbers. Is it worse or better, Cuteguy wonders, that the phone number Hotguy gives out just goes straight to Cub’s inbox? Is that catfishing or just good sense?

“He’s trying to help,” Cuteguy says.

“He’s desperate for attention,” the four-armed woman says. “You know, you’d probably be better without him. After everything that happened, your reputation would be better too. A little more in the shadows, a little less associated with his crimes.”

“He’s…”

“I just want the real reason, really,” the woman says.

“What do you…”

“Why would you stick with him when you’re so much better?”

Hotguy waves goodbye to the runners. He takes another sip of the water bottle. Really, there’s so much that Cuteguy can say here, watching that. He could say something about how, in the terrible days when the Soup Group had first come onto the scene, Hotguy had barely left Cuteguy’s side until Cuteguy started pushing him away. He could say that Hotguy is earnest, that he really does want to save people, despite the fact he also wants attention. He could say that he knows the man behind the mask now, and he’s seen his films, and frankly getting a little recognition as Hotguy kind of makes up for not getting recognition for his decent acting talent. He could say something about playing Mario Kart on the couch, or learning to aim a bow, or fights with Doc, or secrets shared that Cuteguy wants to make sure Hotguy never has an incentive to spread. He could say something about how dangerous fighting alone is. That’s probably the more sensible thing to say, actually; Cuteguy knows exactly how dangerous fighting alone is.

What Cuteguy says is this:

“He makes me happy.”

There is a long not-quite silence as sirens and cicadas fill the summer air.

“Huh,” the woman says.

Cuteguy doesn’t say anything else.

“Well. I mean. I don’t really know how to save you from that, so I guess I’ll just leave you to it,” the woman says. “Consider if he’s really worth it.”

She leaves. Cuteguy stares after her a moment before shaking his head and going back to scanning the crowd for any known TCG elements.

“Birdie!” Hotguy crows, running over from the reporters. “We’re on the 5 PM news!”

“Really? An out-of-towner with questionable pyrotechnics made it?”

“I got it worked out,” Hotguy says confidently. “But, uh, with that said, you look like you need some AC and a drink. I have so much Gatorade in my fridge that it isn’t even funny. All the labels are pulled off because it’s for that one football movie I did, right? And for some reason they didn’t want to give Gatorade the product placement, so they made all these sports drinks without—”

“Not in-costume, Hotguy,” Cuteguy says, but he doesn’t put any heat into it.

“—oh, you know no one’s listening, lighten up! Anyway, so the movie ended up somehow ordering far too many bottles, and you know what they say about underpaid actors and free food—or, I’m not sure it’s actually an expression, but let me tell you, I have never turned it down. And with the number of ele… electo-mites? I think? You know, all the sweat we’re sweaty about—come on Cuteguy, I don’t want you passing out on the pavement, I really didn’t mean to get caught out that long!” Hotguy says, grabbing Cuteguy’s hand to take him back to his apartment.

Miserable heat or not, Cuteguy can’t help but smile slightly.

“I don’t want to pass out either, that’s why I’m not running, Hotguy,” he says, and he lets himself be tugged along in that man’s wake once more.

#hgcz #hgcz spoilers #hotguy comic zine #hermitfic #hermitcraft #goodtimeswithscar #grian #a bee fic #man this one needs a lot of tags.#i have a MUCH LONGER side story that i'm still working about that's about My Favorite Characters but for now.#sometimes i think about Them.

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bucksangel · 3 months ago

Note

Okay but imagine bunny has just been feeling so ill :((( and she’s so so sorry Bucky has to take care of her like this :( but she still tries to make him meals and keep up with her chores and be good for him :( even though he’s adamant that she not lift a finger until she’s better

Maybe he comes home one day and she’s crying and she’s apologizing because she knows he’s so stressed already with work and she’s just so so sorry for adding to that :(

And he’s just like “what are you talking about? why are you sorry”

And then she just hands him a positive pregnancy test and keeps apologizing for giving him one more thing to worry about

But he’s just immediately thrilled and is already thinking about how to decorate the nursery and he can’t wait to fuck the tears away while calling her his little mama

Anyway… I’ll see myself out… splendid writing as always my dear!!! <3

I’m literally laying on my stomach with my legs in the air and i’m kicking them and giggling, you’re so kind. And i looooove this idea so here’s a lil drabble :) (also you are always welcome to come back😭😭)

Title: An Odd Flu

pairing: sofdark!ceo!bucky x naive!assistant!reader

word count: 3k

warnings: 18+ so minors dni, mentions of vomiting and being sick, so much fluff, minor angst, hints of abortion though it’s not said outright (only 2-3 sentences), soft love-making, sir kink, petnames (bunny, mama (but not in a mommy kink way)), fingering, dom!bucky, sub!reader, aftercare

main masterlist | run little bunny masterlist

Originally, you thought it was an odd case of the flu. You weren’t running a fever and you weren’t feeling overheated or freezing cold, but you were so tired all the time that you’d have to take a midday nap in order to stay awake long enough to have dinner with James. Then it was the vomiting, you’d wake up around seven in the morning and rush to the bathroom to empty the contents of your stomach.

What made things better was that James had been there for you, waiting on you hand and foot whenever he was home. He’d draw you baths and massage your back to relieve your sore muscles. He’d make you soup and tea, going so far as to feed you by hand. He would even cancel meetings if you were feeling especially awful.

But that’s where the problem lies. Leading up to your flu James had been stressed. There was meeting after meeting, paperwork the height of the Empire State Building, and calls coming in after the previous one ended. You already felt physically bad, but the fact that he’s become stretched even thinner has you feeling bad emotionally.

This morning in particular has been the worst of the last three weeks. You gagged when you went downstairs and smelt the eggs James was cooking and had to rush to the bathroom. Your headache felt more like a migraine and all you really want to do is curl up next to James in bed and have him rub your back.

But that’s not possible today. James had a meeting that he had been trying to organize for the past month and it was with people outside of the U.S., so there was no way he could miss it. He still offered to stay home anyway and let his right-hand man, Steve, take over, but you nearly cried when he suggested it. You didn’t want to mess anything up just because you were sick. So, at your insistence, he left with a kiss on your forehead and made you promise to call him if anything got worse.

The only stipulation was that you had to see a doctor while he was gone. His personal doctor, because of course he’s rich enough to have a personal doctor, agreed to come over and check you out.

It was when she got there that things started to feel… off. She noted your symptoms with a glint in her eye that told you she immediately knew what was going on. When she put away her tools, she reached into a different pocket in her bag, giving it to you with a small, knowing smile.

It was a pregnancy test. And suddenly you’re questioning everything. The morning sickness, the aversion to foods you once craved, the crying spells.

Then, you remember your period was supposed to start two days ago. When it didn’t come you just assumed it was because you were ill. Now, though, things are making sense.

That doesn’t stop the insecurities from creeping in. James has been so busy with work lately and this is just one more stressor to add to that. And on top of that, you haven’t been able to do as much cleaning or cooking as you normally do, as much as you want to do. James has been insistent that you not overexert yourself by doing your daily tasks, but you feel so bad that he has to come home from a long day of work to the house being a mess.

When you go to the bathroom, your hands are shaking as you hold the test in the proper position. You’ve always wanted kids, and you can’t imagine having babies with anyone else except James. He always takes care of you, is always lovely and patient even when he’s exhausted and snapping at everyone else, he’s the perfect man and would make a perfect father.

Your hands continue to shake as you wash them, and your whole body vibrates with nerves as you walk back out into the living room to see Doctor Romanoff packing the rest of her things. Her eyes are sympathetic when she senses your anxiety, and she carefully takes the test from you.

The five-minute wait is agonizing, you’re unable to sit still so you’ve been pacing back and forth around the living room awaiting the results. And when the timer goes off, your whole body goes rigid. Your back is to Doctor Romanoff when you hear her hum thoughtfully.

You know what that sound means.

It takes all your effort to turn around, but when you do you find her arm outstretched, offering you the test.

“I’m not sure if it’s the answer you want, but I’m here for whatever you need.”

Hesitantly, you reach out to take the test from her. And, with a big breath, you look down to see the little pink plus sign staring back at you, and tears immediately fill your eyes. You know that James wants kids, he’s very bad at dropping hints when you go to the store and pass by the baby aisle. But, he’s overworked right now, constantly answering calls and responding to emails, and you’re doubting if now is the right time to have a baby.

“Um, th-thank you,” You say weakly, looking up at her with a wavering smile. She nods, and you lead her to the front door and wave her goodbye.

The tears start falling when the door closes behind her, and you quickly rush to your room. You’re staring at the test through your clouded vision, worrying yourself over how to tell him. You know you need to, you want to. So, once you’ve calmed down you pull out your laptop and search for different ideas.

“Bunny, I’m home!” James sounds tired, exhausted really, though you hope the smell of chicken and vegetables will help him wake up a little.

“I’m in the kitchen!” Your hands are shaking so badly when you take the pan out of the oven, and you have to hurry to place it on the counter before you drop it. Suddenly, James’ arms wrap around your waist, pressing his chest to your back and tucking his face into your neck to breathe in your perfume.

“What did I say about overexerting yourself?” His voice is soft, even though he’s clearly tired you know he’s about to march you upstairs and tuck you into bed. “You need your rest.”

“Well, I feel bad for not cleaning as much as I used to, and you’ve been so tired lately.” You pause, taking a large breath and turning in his arms so you can loop your arms around his neck. Your eyes start to water when you see his eyebrows furrow with concern. “Besides, it’s not going to go away any time soon. Google says that morning sickness can last up to 20 weeks and your doctor says I’m only five weeks along.”

James opens his mouth to say something, then promptly closes it when he registers your words. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his hold on you slightly loosening as he flounders for a minute. You can see in his eyes that he’s trying to piece together all of your symptoms from the last few weeks, and he’s a smart man, so it’s not a surprise that he figures it out pretty quickly.

“Are… Are you…?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Time seems to stand still, James seems to have frozen in place trying to sink in your words. And the longer the silence goes on the more worried you become, and a few tears slide down your cheeks.

“I-I know this isn’t the ideal time, and you’re extremely busy with work, but it just happened. I’m so sorry, I know this is just going to make you even more stressed, and I-I don’t know what you want to do, but –” You’re cut off by James pressing his lips to yours, his arms tightening around your body and pulling you into his chest.

The kiss is frantic, desperate, excited. And when James pulls back you can’t help but follow his lips with yours, trying to keep the kiss going. But James doesn’t give in, instead, he leans back enough to be able to look into your eyes. And his are glassy, filled with unshed tears as he brings up one hand to brush away yours with his thumb.

“Fuck, bunny. Don’t be sorry, never be sorry for this. Bunny, you’re – you’re giving me everything I’ve wanted since I first saw you.”

Loosening his arms around your waist, he drops to his knees, placing one hand on your hip and covering your stomach with the other. He stares at your belly with amazement, then pushes up your shirt so he can kiss your belly. Your hands immediately find their way into his hair, rubbing his scalp and running your fingers through it. After a couple of minutes, he finally moves back to look up at you.

“You’re really pregnant?” He smiles wide when you nod, more tears involuntarily sliding down your cheeks.

“I’m really pregnant.” Your voice wavers, but you’re finally at ease, no longer worried about how James would react.

“Fuck, bunny,” He whispers, slowly rising to his feet and grabbing your hips. He leans down, brushing his lips over yours and smiling a little when you whine. “You’re going to be such a pretty mama.”

James is unable to stop himself from lifting you up, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist. You bury your face in his neck, kissing and nibbling on his skin until he gets to your room and lays you gently on the bed.

He doesn’t immediately climb onto the bed, he just stands at the end of the bed and stares at you with a mixture of love and lust. A few moments of silence goes by before you finally whine, wiggling your hips to hopefully entice him.

It works. James shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt, smirking at you the whole time because your eyes are roaming over his bare chest, and you’re practically drooling when he gets to his pants.

“See something you like?” He chuckles when you glare at him.

“You know I do, so please hurry up. I want you inside me.” While you were teasing, you know you’ve made a mistake when his smile drops and one of his eyebrows raises.

“Where are those manners, bunny? Just because I knocked you up doesn’t mean I’m not still your Sir.”

“I’m sorry, sir! I-I didn’t mean to - I just -“ You stumble over your words, not worried about him punishing you physically, but you know he’s not above edging you for hours on end, and you’re sure you’ll actually cry if that happens.

“I know, bunny,” James coos, finally stepping out of his pants and boxers and kicking them to the side. Before you can say anything he grabs you by your ankles, then tugs you down the bed until your legs are dangling off the edge. “It’s okay, you’re still my good little bunny.”

You moan at his words, a pleasant fuzziness clouding your head. And then James helps you sit up a little so he can unzip your dress — his favorite floral one — and slide the straps down your arms. When he lays you back down he pulls the dress down and off your body, groaning when he sees your bare body, just as he likes it. One of his rules about living with him is that you’re not to wear panties or a bra, you have to always be ready for him.

You and James have never been more grateful for it.

“Fuck, bunny,” James groans and takes hold of his achingly hard cock, squeezing the base. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Going to make such a beautiful mama.”

“Sir, please.” Your eyes water, this time from frustration. You need him inside you immediately.

“Okay, bunny, okay, don’t worry your pretty little head.” James climbs onto the bed and arranges your bodies so he’s sitting against the headboard and you’re sitting on his lap, your back to his chest and your pussy resting over his throbbing dick.

It takes everything in you not to roll your hips against his, the only reason you don’t is because you want to be good for him. He seems to recognize this and lovingly kisses your cheek, humming softly.

“My good girl, my perfect girl,” James mumbles into your ear, placing his hands on the inside of your thighs and spreading them wide open, hooking your ankles around his calves. He drags one hand up to rest lightly on your stomach, his other stroking your thigh, climbing higher and higher until you’re practically vibrating with need.

“Sir.” You’re already sounding pathetic, but, to be fair, James has that effect on you. With only a few touches he can render you dumb, but you love it.

“What do you need, bunny?” James asks as though he doesn’t already know what you need. What you crave.

“You, sir. Always you.” Tears spring to your eyes, damn your hormones.

James sighs behind you, trailing his lips to your cheek, down to your jaw, and then your neck.

“You have me, pretty mama. You always have me. I’m yours as much as you are mine.” His words make you sniffle, a few tears sliding down your cheeks.

You’re so lucky.

“Come here, bunny.” James urges you off his lap, maneuvering your bodies so you’re laying down and he’s hovering over you. He leans on one elbow and reaches up with his other hand to wipe away a few tears, smiling softly when you nuzzle his palm.

“Are you going to let me love on you, pretty mama?”

“Y-Yes, please. Please!” You’re slipping even further into that soft space where nothing else matters except for James, except for Sir.

James leans down, brushing his lips against yours and chuckling when you whine. The moment he finally kisses you he slides his hand down your neck to your breasts, lighting tugging at one of your nipples before sliding down further until he can spread your legs. He only pulls back when his hand makes it to the inside of one of your thighs, cooing when you whimper.

“It’s okay, bunny. I’m going to give you everything you need.” He’s slow and careful when he inches closer to your soaking pussy, running his thumb along your lips and dipping in to gently rub your clit.

He teases you for a long while, staring into your eyes when he dips two fingers in your hole easily due to how wet you are. He’s slow and methodical as he slips in another finger, kissing your cheeks every so often to catch stray tears. When he finally decides you’ve had enough teasing he starts thrusting his fingers faster, crooking them upwards to hit your special spot.

It doesn’t take long at all for you to cum, both because of James’ expert fingering and because of his husky voice whispering praises in your ear. And it’s an intense orgasm, your body going so far as to squirt liquid all over his hand.

It does take a bit for you to come down from your high, your mind is too clouded and fuzzy from pleasure. But when you do come to your senses you’re in the bathtub, your back to his chest as you soak in the warm water. James’ hands are on your stomach, rubbing over it as though it holds a priceless gem.

And, to be fair, there is. The little baby growing inside you is going to be the most loved child in the world.

“James?” Your voice is soft, not wanting to disturb the peace.

“Yes, bunny?” He kisses your neck, and you lean against him further.

“What, um—“ You wiggle a little, feeling his now only semi-hard cock against your lower back. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” James hums, suckling at your skin. “Tonight is about you, pretty mama.”

You’ll never understand how it’s possible to love someone as much as you love James, let alone be loved by such a perfect man, but you won’t question it.

tagging: @hisredheadedgoddess28

#let me know what yall think!#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #dark!bucky barnes #softdark!bucky #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #ceo!bucky barnes #ceo!bucky #dark!bucky #my writing #my stuff

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lilghostiequinni · 6 months ago

Text

Remember When

Main Masterlist Lando Masterlist

Pairing: Piastri!female oc (Eliza;Lizi;Liz) x Lando Norris

Warnings: Fluffy, little Angst, Pregnancy talk, Indications of smut

Summary: She's older than her brother. She doesn't drive for the sport, but she does follow the sport, and has been even before her brother's appearance with McLaren, who she's been supporting before her brother joined. She has friends on the grid, but one thing she does that isn't conventional or has anything to do with her everyday life is... collecting scale-model racing helmets from her favorite teams and drivers. She also designs helmets and redesigns already-worn helmets. Even though this has nothing to do with her job and lifestyle. But what happens when she predicts a maiden win in Maimi after her brother invites her to the 2024 Maimi Grand Prix?

Requested: NO / yes

"Liz, I know you are hours away, but can you come to Maimi?" Oscar asks his older sister over the phone after he lands in Maimi for the 2024 Maimi Grand Prix.

"I wouldn't be able to get there until late Friday, early Saturday. Maybe even midday on Saturday," Eliza told her brother as she walked around her classroom on the other side of the phone.

Oscar wanted his sister to come because the first time he got a pole position, she called, and the first time Max won a Grand Prix and the first world championship, she called before the second race even happened.

He's hoping her coming will bring luck to McLaren.

Also, he knows that his sister is a fan of Lando's and has never met him, even though she's been to several Grand Prix since 2019, Lando's rookie year.

Though most of the time she was either there with Red Bull or on her own in the stands, which has been the case for the two races she had attended so far, Saudi Arabia and Australia.

"Please, I'll see if Max will let you use his plane. Please, Lizi, I want you here," Oscar begged as he ran his fingers through his hair; he had talked to Zak, and everything was ready; her birthday was on Quali day, Saturday, and he had worked months on what he wanted to get her and a surprise, which involved her hobby of designing and collecting helmets and her first meeting with Lando Norris.

Granted, the driver had no idea that he was a part of the surprise, yet anyway, at least.

Oscar just needed his sister to agree to come to Maimi from New York to get her to travel almost the 1,300 miles between the two distances.

"Please, I want you here. That way, I can give you your present from everyone on time and not on Monday when I would've come," Oscar pulled the 'It's your birthday card.' He knew it was one way to get his sister to fold, but he played it with the 'I want you here' card in his, 'but I'm your little brother voice.' All of these are strategies that he has learned will make his sister fold and agree.

So, maybe his hope to not use a little persuasion didn't go as planned, but he had seen no other way.

"You'll get full VIP Paddock passes," Oscar finishes off; yeah, there was no way his sister would say no.

"Fine, I'll talk to my boss. I was going to come to Italy and Monaco, you know that, right?" Liz says to her brother as she finally caves.

"Yeah, but do they fall on your birthday or even close to your birthday?" Oscar questions his sister.

"No," there's a moment of pause on the line. "Hey, Osc, I have to go. duty calls. I'll see you Saturday."

"See you then," then the phone is hung up.

Oscar does a little dance and pumps his fists as he turns to the door and sees an amused Lando.

"What are you doing?"

"Celebrating."

"Why?" Lando looks at his teammate in confusion.

"My older sister is coming, and the last time she was actually in the Paddock was last year," Oscar says.

Oscar did ask Max to get his sister from the entrance and give her her pass to get in as he was called over by Zak just ten minutes before she was set to arrive at the race.

Max was happy to do it because the older Piastri was one of his best friends, probably his best friend outside the grid entirely.

Max stood near the entrance as he texted the woman, who quickly told him she was waiting at the entrance when he looked over and saw her.

He walked over to her and swiped the pass, allowing her through before giving her the pass, "So, I know we usually say no presents for the other's birthday, but you got me one last year, so I'm giving you won this year."

Liz looked at the Dutchman and shook her head as she followed him to Red Bull after quickly texting her brother, letting him know that she was there, and making a quick stop in Red Bull to get the present from Max.

"Here," Max handed her a box, which she took and set on the table. "Happy Birthday."

Eliza looked at the taller man with a bored look as she went to pull the top of the box off, and Sergio came over.

"Hello," Checo said as Liz waved and continued to open the box.

Eliza looked in and saw it was the scale model of a helmet she had designed and had only given the sketch of the helmet to Max, she looked to her friend with wide eyes, and he motioned for her to keep going.

She did, finding not one but three more scale model helmets she designed and gave Max, and also two of his scale model helmets she didn't have.

She again looked to Max and threw her arms around him with tears in her eyes.

Sergio smiled at the scene, "When you're done, I also have something for you."

Liz let go of Max and looked to Sergio, a little skeptical, "You didn't have to get me anything. I hardly let Max get me anything."

It wasn't that she didn't like the Mexican, Sergio was one of her favorites, just that she rarely liked getting presents, usually only from her close family, as they wouldn't let her say no.

She doesn't like presents because they're surprises, and in the last 10 years of her life, she has developed a dislike for surprises after the Year 9 incident, which resulted in her move to America.

"I know, but I heard you talking to Max about books you wanted a few weeks ago in Australia, then I heard Max say it was your birthday today, so I got you some," Sergio, ever the sweetest at least when not competing.

Eliza smiled at the man as he as well turned and grabbed a box, he put it next to the one Max gave, and she opened it to see the books she had only been raving about for the last three months, at least.

She hugged Sergio and told him thank you before Max once again drew her attention back to him.

"I may have also gotten you another present, but I gave it to your brother to give to you because he asked to see it, and then before he gave it back, I was told to come get you from the gates," Max says as Sergio is beckoned away.

Liz nodded at the statement that was made and saw someone trying to get Max's attention from behind him, "You are wanted. I'll see you later, and I'll talk to Osc about that other present you wanted to give me."

It's Max's turn to look behind him then nod, giving his best friend one final hug before turning and going to the man that was beckoning him over as Eliza walked out of Red Bull with her two boxes.

She made her way through the paddocks and to McLaren, where she saw her brother waiting for her just outside of the paddock.

Oscar grabbed the boxes from his sister as he led her through the paddock to his driver's room to set her boxes down, then led her to another room in the back of the paddock where she saw Zak Brown and Lando Norris.

Liz looked at her brother, highly confused as to why she was there because, to her, what was being discussed might be important, and she didn't want to interrupt.

"It's okay, Zak was helping me and..." Oscar was interrupted by the McLaren principal, "I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday."

"Thank you, then," Liz says with a small smile to the man.

"Lando is here because I needed a few things from him for your present and because I noticed that you have never met him, despite having been to many races since his rookie year and never met him," Oscar says, walking over to the table in the room.

Liz waves at Lando and follows her brother.

"This is from Mom and Dad, just Mom, just Dad, our sisters, Grandma, and me," Oscar says, pointing to each of the boxes as he says so.

Liz nods, "Okay, Max said he had another present, but you stole it before I got here and didn't get it back before you sent him to get me."

"Yes, that's true, but I wanted to show it to Zak and Lando." Oscar goes over to the other side of the table and grabs the smaller box that he hadn't pointed to, well, one of them.

Oscar hands it to his sister, and she opens it, finding another scale model helmet, one she designed for the current race, the Maimi Grand Prix 2024.

"But I only gave the design to him a few days ago," Liz looked at her brother, puzzled.

"Yeah, but I had access to your tablet weeks ago when you told me it was finished," Oscar points out.

Oscar took the box from her and shoved another into her hands. He did this until she got to the present from him.

Opened it to find books she wanted, this pair of sneakers she had told her brother about ONCE but wanted for several weeks, and, of course, scale model helmets she had been missing from his helmets and just one from Lando's, but also a few she designed for her brother.

Lando had stood to the side, and did nothing until Oscar pointed to the box next to him, which Lando picked up and gave to Liz as Oscar took his gift from in front of her.

Liz smiled in thanks to Lando as she took it from him.

"I told Lando you collected helmets and that he was one of the few drivers you collected all of them from. I told him which ones you didn't and..." Oscar said as his sister opened the box to see the few she was missing.

"Thank you," Liz said, looking to Brit, who nodded at her thanks. "My students just love looking at them, and I love using them as scale models."

Zak then stepped forward and pushed the last two boxes across the table, "This is from McLaren with the help of your brother."

She opened the boxes to find they were also helmets she had designed for the Maimi Grand Prix, just for Lando and Oscar.

"Your brother had seen them, finished when he saw Max's, and said he wanted the scale models made and the normal helmets, not for a race, just to have," Zak told her.

There was a knock on the door, and both Zak and Lando were beckoned out. Oscar was told he would be soon, too, but he told them to give him a couple minutes, and he would be out.

"I also got a few of the Lando helmets you design made, but I may have shipped them to your apartment," Oscar told her as he pulled Liz into a hug.

"Thank you," She whispered into his ear as he held her close.

"You're welcome."

The two pulled away before Oscar started to talk again, "So, who's going to win, you think?"

Liz laughs and rolls her eyes, knowing it was coming since he called her, "Not you and not Max. Max is going to get second."

Liz hands over a piece of paper to her brother with her predictions. Oscar looks at it and shakes his head, "Of course, you think it's going to be his maiden win."

Liz chuckles again at her brother as the two make their way out of the room.

Liz watched as her brother fell through the rows of cars after the safety car was pulled out onto the track. She also watched as Lando Norris took the lead over Max Verstappen and was gaining a substantial gap between the two.

She watched as Lando won his first Grand Prix and took place in the 1st place spot, with Max in 2nd and Charles in 3rd.

She watched as he ran to his team and jumped into the crowd of orange papaya with the biggest smile on his face.

She watched as he got blasted in the face with champagne from the other two drivers and his engineer.

She watched as her predictions about the race came true.

She watched as Max came over to her and asked her to join the partying tonight.

She watched as Lando got plastered as she herself got drunk to.

She watched the flashbacks of the night before coming back as she woke to the pressure of an arm across her middle.

She looked in the direction it came, and she saw Lando Norris next to her in the same state of dress, nothing but the blanket on the bed.

Not knowing how to respond to whatever happened that she only knows bits and pieces too, she carefully got up from the bed, careful not to wake the new race winner.

Only to try and stand and fall to the ground, effectively startling the Brit awake.

"Are you okay?" Lando asks as he looks over the side of the bed to her.

".... No. I need help. Please," There were a few moments of silence before her response.

"Were you trying to leave?" Lando asks as he gets up and then goes to pick her up.

"No, I was trying to go to the bathroom, then leave," Liz tells him as she's picked up, and Lando brings her to the bathroom.

Lando sets her down and then leaves the bathroom to give her privacy. No, he doesn't go far, but he does leave the room.

After she was done and mostly regained her balance, Liz left the bathroom and went searching for her clothes, which were still scattered, as Lando walked back into the bedroom area of his suite.

"Here, you can use this, as your dress is here and partially ripped. Sorry," The sorry was clearly an afterthought as Lando handed her both a shirt and her dress from the night before.

Liz nodded in thanks, "I should go before my brother starts looking for me, and I have to be on a flight in... 4 hours."

Lando just nodded at what she said, "Can I get your number from what I can remember of last night, you're pretty cool."

Liz blushes as she nods and grabs her phone from the bedside table, giving it to the McLaren driver, who texted himself to get her number on his phone.

It had been months since Maimi, and she had talked to Lando plenty of times over those months, often meeting when he flew over to New York in secret.

But now school was out, and there was no need for her to stay in New York all the time. She stayed with her parents for a few weeks before going to Monaco during one of the breaks between races, staying with Lando.

Lando was currently out of his apartment, having left earlier to do some errands or something, but Liz was still in the apartment, having woken up after Lando left.

She was currently on the phone with one of her friends in America, and she was telling her how she hadn't been feeling the greatest and everything hurt.

"You sound pregnant," was the blunt reply from her friend.

"No, that's not possible. I haven't slept with anyone in months," Liz denies.

"You're telling me that you are staying with a Formula One driver, one you have previously slept with, and you are not sleeping with him now," Her friend, Clara, deadpans on the other end.

"Well, he's kind of my boyfriend, and we agreed that we should take things at a relatively normal pace, so no, I am not," Liz responds.

"Well, how long ago was Maimi?"

"Five, almost six months ago."

"Well, I can't tell you what to do, but you should at least check," Her friend says before continuing, " How long ago was your last period?"

Liz looks down before answering, "Right before Maimi. I thought it was stress, you know with the end of the year for both the college and high school I teach at, then the moving around the globe a lot in the last few weeks."

"It's okay, I can stay on the line as you get through this, I helped you pack. Remember, what do I always do?"

"The usually unnecessary pregnancy test."

"Yes, now go grab it, take it, and keep talking to me."

Liz did just that. She waited for what felt like forever, an eternity that wasn't going to stop. Just kept going and going. Time slowed for her as she waited for this little stick to determine the rest of her life.

When the timer finally rang, she turned both tests over and showed the camera, which had Clara's face, as they turned to FaceTime when the timer started.

"Babes...."

Liz heard the tone of voice and started to cry as she turned them over to see they were both positive.

"I don't know if I'm ready for this; I don't know if this is what he wants. Clara, I don't know what to do," Liz says as she fully starts to cry.

"You should call your mom, but I will always be here for you. I'll move in with you if I have to; I'll move all the way over to Monaco. I don't care. I will be there for you," Clara states as she looks on at her crying best friend nothing she can do with actions as she watches from the screen of her phone across an ocean in America.

Liz nods and quickly says goodbye before calling her mom, who answers relatively fast for the time difference.

Liz is just bawling when her mom answers the phone, making her mother worry for her eldest child.

"Mommy, I don't know what to do."

Then Liz explains and comes clean about everything that's happened since Maimi and her mom just listened.

"Tell him, honey, tell him, then go from there. That's the only thing that can solve this," Her mom says.

She's on the phone with her mom until Liz hears the door of the apartment.

They say goodbye, and Liz stands and wipes the tears that were barely remaining on her face, having stopped crying midway through her rant.

She wipes her tears and grabs the two sticks, going to Lando, who is smiling as she walks out of the bathroom to him in the living room.

Lando turns at the noise of the door opening and smiles even wider before it falls as he sees the remnants of tears on her face.

"What's wrong?" Lando walks over to his girlfriend as she's once again reduced to tears.

Lando brings her into a hug as she buries her face in Lando's shirt.

"Hey, you have to tell me what's wrong I can't make it better until you tell me what's wrong," Lando says as he kisses her forehead before he pulls her away to look at her face.

She calms a little and asks, "Remember Maimi and what happened after your win?"

Lando nods, rather confused as to why she's bringing up that night, almost six months later.

Liz pulls the tests from her back pocket and hands them to Lando, who looks at them and takes a moment to realize what they mean.

"I am nowhere near ready for children..."

Liz tries to hold back tears as Lando says that, and she starts nodding, thinking he's going to reject her.

"... But if this is what you want, if you want the baby, I will be there, be here, right by your side, every step of the way. I'm not going to leave."

Liz almost doesn't hear what he says but takes a moment and almost breaks down again.

"I'm not ready either, but I want them. I can't get rid of them, not when they didn't do anything wrong," Liz says. Lando nods and brings her back into his arms, holding her tighter than before and whispering sweet nothings into Liz's ear and occasionally kissing her temple.

A/N: A few hours later than I wanted, but it's also longer than I expected. I could do a part 2 if you guys wanted. I actually really liked the way this one went.

Tags: @poppyflower-22 @samantha-chicago @hellothere9597

If you want to be removed from a tag list, let me know, so I don't keep tagging you. If you are striker through, I don't know if you want to be tagged, but just let me know if you want me to continue or stop

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