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hungermakesmonsters · 2 days ago

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(It Is) What It Is

Chapter One

Plot Summary : When Billy Russo realises that there is a certain class of wealthy clients who refuse to contract with Anvil because of his playboy reputation, he decides to alter their perception of him. You’re just a down on your luck PA, just trying to get by so when Billy offers to pay you to pretend to date him, you can’t refuse. But the last thing you expect is for Billy to pull you into his secret world of lust and debauchery.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Nothing noteworthy on this chapter. There will be smutty themes throughout the story. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : 5.7k

A/N : I'm so excited to finally be able to share this one! Hope you all enjoy it!

Master List

Chapter One

Just smile and, eventually, you’ll find your reason to smile.

It was something your mother had always told you as a child, sadness filling her eyes every time a frown dared to cross your little face. You grew up believing it was a sage piece of wisdom, but the older you got, the more it started to seem like nothing more than an unhealthy coping mechanism.

But, still, you smiled.

If nothing else, you’d come to learn that it was easier to force a smile to your lips and pretend that the whole world didn’t feel like it was going to hell around you. Especially between the hours of 8am and 5pm.

Every morning was the same; you got up, got ready, and took the subway to work. You went out of your way to be a polite and conscientious commuter, taking up as little space as possible and making sure no one but you could hear the music playing through your headphones. Sure, your polite behaviour did nothing to stop you being shoved and elbowed, nor did your example to be quiet convince any of the finance-bros to stop yelling into their phones right beside you, but at least it made you feel like you weren’t an asshole.

Even on the street, on your two block walk to the office, you were mindful; never walking too fast or cutting in front of anyone, and never slowing down and inconveniencing anyone walking behind you.

For all intents and purposes, you were just there. You existed but you were never an obstacle or cause for annoyance. A side-character, an NPC in someone else’s story, no delusions in your mind about being the main character.

God, what a sad and boring story it would be if you were the main character.

As per your usual morning routine, you stopped off at the little independent coffee shop across the street from Anvil. The Bean Grinder - a name that had earned some ridicule from your boss when you’d admitted to going there. (‘The Bean Grinder? It sounds more like a dating app’ he’d said, grinning that ridiculous grin.) But, after a few mornings of steaming hot Americanos and fresh pastries, he’d grudgingly had to admit that he was a fan.

So, it had become the norm every weekday, first thing in the morning and, again at lunch times, if you didn’t have time to pack a lunch for yourself. And, now, six months into your job with Anvil, the baristas knew you well enough to have your order ready to go - though, today, you had to inconvenience them by asking for an extra coffee.

Coffees and pastries precariously balanced in your hands, you crossed the street, shuddering at the ice cold wind and moving as fast as you dared towards the office. Once in the foyer, you began to awkwardly fumble for your keycard, when a hand appeared, relieving you of the tray of coffees.

“Thanks Carl,” you said as you rummaged through your pockets. “How are the kids? Did Lyra’s clarinet recital go well?”

The security guard beamed, his face lighting with a genuine warmth for you. You’d always tried to make an effort with the people you worked with, never knowing when you might need a favour - even if that favour was just someone to hold a tray of drinks while you found your keycard.

“She did amazing. I recorded the whole thing, I’ll have to show you when you’ve got a minute.”

Smiling, you told him how much you’d like that as you finally pulled out your keycard and tapped it against the reader. You stepped through the barrier and thanked Carl as he handed you the tray of drinks, and headed for the elevator.

As you stepped onto the lift, you took a breath and let your smile falter, enjoying the briefest moment of respite before you’d have to spend the rest of the day forcing your happy, professional demeanour.

And, as it turned out, your brief reprieve was even briefer than expected as a hand stopped the elevator doors from sliding shut and a man stepped on.

“Good morning, Mr Castle,” you said, bright and perky as always. Exactly what was expected of you.

He bristled slightly and looked about ready to remind you that he’d prefer to be called Frank but seemed to think better of it. After six months, you assumed that he’d finally started to understand that you were more comfortable referring to him as Mr Castle.

“Mornin’,” he grumbled in his usual, gruff tone.

The elevator doors slid shut and, for a few seconds, you were left thinking that the entire ride to the top floor would be spent in silence, but then you remembered the coffees in your hand.

“Oh, that one’s for you,” you said, indicating the large takeout cup at the front of the tray. “Large Americano with an extra shot, cream, but no sugar, right?”

He looked at you with a mixture of shock and confusion that had you wondering if you’d sprouted a second head for a few seconds. Unlike Mr Russo, he didn’t have a PA and he barely even bothered the secretary who was assigned to him, so he always seemed a little taken aback whenever you did anything for him.

“You got me a coffee?” He asked, taking the coffee from you and lifting it to his nose to sniff.

“I know you and Mr Russo have a meeting scheduled first thing,” you said, shrugging, “and he won’t want to start until he’s had his morning coffee and pastry, so...”

That got a laugh from him, a rare sound that always seemed like it had sharp edges, but a laugh nonetheless, so you decided to mark it down as a win.

“Yeah, he’s never been much of a morning person.”

That was something you could agree with. Billy Russo was a man of moods and, while it had initially taken you some time to learn his routines and figure out when he tended to be more approachable, you’d learned your way around him now.

That was something you could agree with, but you’d quickly learned your way around the man and his moods, knowing what times and which days he was more approachable, and doing your best to keep your head down the rest of the time. It wasn’t difficult, even if Billy Russo was considered difficult by a lot of people who knew him.

“He have you fetchin’ coffee for him every day?” Mr Castle asked, though you couldn’t tell if he was just trying to make conversation or if he was genuinely curious.

You offered up another shrug. “It’s part of the job. Besides, I stop off for coffee on my way in anyway, at least this way I get to put it on the corporate card.”

Fortunately, the stilted conversation was short lived and the elevator doors slid open. You gave him a look before glancing towards Mr Russo’s office door.

“I’ll go check if he’s ready for you,” you said, pausing only to put your bag down and to shrug out of your coat at your desk.

You took a second to smooth down your blouse and skirt, and to make sure your hair wasn’t in too much of a state from the wind, before grabbing his coffee and the bag of pastries. Your knock on his door was met with the usual grumbled ‘come in’ and, as you stepped into his office, you forced the smile back to his lips.

Not that he saw your smile.

His back was to you, his eyes fixed out of the window, looking at the city - or maybe it was the weather that had his attention. You didn’t ask, figuring that it was really none of your business.

“Good morning, Mr Russo,” you said, heading towards his desk. “I’ve got your morning coffee and a couple of bear claws, and Mr Castle is waiting outside for your morning meeting.”

“Thank you,” he said, lingering at the window a moment longer before finally turning towards you. “Can you send Frank in and grab the files I asked you to prepare yesterday?”

“Of course, sir.”

You did as you were asked, sending Mr Castle in while you got the files from your desk. By the time you made it back into Mr Russo’s office, both men were perched on his desk, drinking their coffees and eating bear claws.

“However much he’s payin’ you, it’s not enough,” Mr Castle grinned at you, and that had the forced smile on your lips becoming something far more genuine.

It wasn’t so much that Mr Russo didn’t appreciate what you did for him - you knew that he did - it was more that he wasn’t particularly vocal about it. But you’d heard the horror stories of the PAs who’d come before you, the ones who’d quit mere weeks into working for him. At first you’d feared that it was him, that he was impossible to work for, but you’d quickly figured out that he wasn’t impossible, just... difficult.

There was a lot of reading between the lines when it came to Billy Russo, and a lot of your time was spent trying to anticipate what he might want or need at any given time; when he was in a bad mood you’d found that food often helped, and frustration was usually mitigated by redirecting him towards smaller, easier to deal with tasks to distract him.

It wasn’t easy but you’d figured him out and, now, things ran pretty smoothly.

“Here you go,” you said, placing the files on his desk beside him. “I took the liberty of colour coding them; the green tabs are the ones most likely to want to engage Anvil’s services based on the research, orange means they could be convinced, and -”

“And what about red?” Mr Russo asked, pulling a file from the bottom of the stack.

The only file with a red tab.

“Red means it’s extremely unlikely that they would choose to offer Anvil a contract and that they’re probably not worth the money and resources that it might take to change their mind,” you explained, trying to sound as clinical as possible.

“And why do you think the Van Der Koy family wouldn’t be interested in contracting with Anvil?” He asked.

Immediately your cheeks started to heat as you tried to find the easiest (read: safest) way to explain it.

The Van Der Koy’s were old money, with dozens of high end resorts, hotels and casinos across North America. They were a literal goldmine for anyone who got to work with them. Landing a security contract with them would be worth millions of dollars, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that that was the file that Mr Russo wanted to concentrate on.

But how were you supposed to tell him that he was the reason the Van Der Koy’s would never work with Anvil?

“Well, the Van Der Koy’s have very old fashioned family values - it’s not about the money, it’s all about appearances and reputation...” you said.

“And what’s wrong with Anvil’s reputation?” Mr Russo prompted.

“It’s not Anvil...” you tried to explain, your voice turning quiet.

“Then what?” He asked, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone.

“Jesus, Bill,” Frank said through a mouthful of pastry. “She’s tryin’ to be polite.”

There was a silence for a few moments before Mr Russo finally seemed to realise what was being said.

“You’re saying that they won’t contract with Anvil because of my reputation?” He asked, and you gave the smallest of nods. “What’s wrong with my reputation?”

“Sir, I really don’t think -”

“You can’t expect her to answer that,” Frank said, speaking at the same time as you.

He looked from you to Mr Castle and back again, as if he really had no clue what you could possibly mean.

“I won’t get angry or blame you,” Mr Russo said. “I just want to know what you know.”

You didn’t want to answer, but you knew that you had to.

“Well, from what I was able to learn, it’s... it’s everything,” you said, unable to even look him in the eye as you explained. “The parties, the women - it sends a certain, uh... message...”

It felt like his gaze was burning into you as you fixed your eyes on his desk and the stack of files.

“What message?” He asked.

“She’s sayin’ the uptight, old money folks don’t like that you’re a fuck-boy who spends all his time with bimbos, Bill,” Mr Castle answered for you. “Now, could you stop makin’ her feel uncomfortable about it and let her do her damned job?”

Mr Russo’s gaze softened a fraction when he noticed your obvious discomfort, and he opted to remain silent instead of continuing with all of the questions you were certain he still had. Some part of you even dared to feel bad, almost wanting to tell him that it was okay, that he could continue to question you but that you didn’t have any answers that he might want to hear.

The truth was, while you had your opinions about his social life, when it came to his work and to his company, Billy Russo was nothing short of a consummate professional, and it felt like a shame that anyone might discount his work because of how he liked to spend his free time.

“Thank you for your input,” Billy said, finally dismissing you. “I’d like my lunch at one today, and could you forward any updates to my schedule to me?”

You gave the standard ‘yes, Mr Russo. Of course, Mr Russo’ and quickly made your exit, holding in a sigh of relief until his office door was shut behind you and you were safely back at your desk.

You opened your laptop to start your day, immediately disappointed to find that your own coffee had started to go cold while you’d been in Mr Russo’s office. It wasn’t the first time, and you were certain it wouldn’t be the last, but you’d always just found something so depressing about a lukewarm latte first thing in the morning.

At least you were fairly certain that the detailed notes you’d made on each of the files would be enough to keep him from needing to solicit your opinion again, so you should be able to get through your daily mountain of emails and adjustments to his schedule before having to think about his lunch.

And that was the best part of your job; that you could lose yourself in it. It was nice, easy for the most part, now that you’d settled into a rhythm - the only difficult part of the job was the man himself. In the past, you’d struggled with office jobs, always wanting to be everything to everyone and ending up taking on far more than you could handle.

Not that you were a pushover - no, you didn’t like to think of yourself in those exact terms - you just liked it when everyone around you was happy and content, because god only knew you had your own problems to deal with.

But, thankfully, things were different at Anvil. The management floor was Mr Russo’s private kingdom and, most days, it was just the two of you up there. And, on good days, it was just you. And, because of that, you were separate, able to work without interruption. Oh, sure, you still spoke to people, still got to know them, like Carl in security, but you were far enough removed that no one came to you asking for help or wanting to vent their issues.

In fact, being Mr Russo’s PA made a lot of people wary about asking you for anything because they knew just how important your time was.

All in all, the only thing you really had to contend with were Mr Russo’s moods and they didn’t stress you out nearly as much as they used to. You’d even go as far as saying that, for the first time in years, you were in a job that felt secure, safe. And that was something that mattered to you far more than you’d ever dare admit out loud.

After about an hour, Mr Castle left Mr Russo’s office but, instead of heading straight for the elevator, he approached your desk, causing you to automatically sit a little straighter.

“You okay?” He asked. “Know that probably wasn’t the most comfortable for you in there.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you quickly answered,” it’s all part of the job. I just -”

About to say something completely unadvised and unprofessional, you barely managed to stop yourself. But it was too late, he fixed you with a questioning look and it was clear he was trying to fight back a smile while he decided if you’d break under interrogation.

(And, yes, you absolutely would. There was no doubt in your mind that you’d crumple like a house of cards if you were placed under extreme questioning.)

“You what?” He prompted.

The only thing keeping you from panic was the fact that he didn’t sound angry or annoyed, just curious. He’d never heard you speak out of turn before and he seemed a little excited at the prospect.

Your cheeks started to heat and you bit your lip for a second.

“I just -” you glanced nervously towards the office door, making sure it was shut before continuing, “- well, I just always assumed that he knew how people saw him. Not that it’s my place, because I don’t -”

He cut off your attempt to - what? Apologise? Put a more professional spin on things?

“He does and he doesn’t,” he said, offering a shrug. “That’s the problem with Bill; he cares about appearances but he always forgets that sometimes he has a different idea of how a rich guy should be than people like the Van Der Koy’s.”

Cryptic.

Cryptic and entirely unhelpful.

Though it fit well with what you actually know about your boss. Sure, you could usually guess when he was in a bad mood and when he wanted to be left alone, but as a person he was as much of an enigma to you as anyone. Fortunately, knowing and understanding the inner workings of Billy Russo was not necessary for you to do your job.

“‘s fine, don’t worry ‘bout it,” he continued, “either he’ll try to go for the VDK contract and end up wastin’ everyone’s time, or he’ll take your advice and focus on contracts he can actually get.”

You nodded, knowing it wasn’t really your place to voice an opinion on the matter. As Mr Castle said, you’d already done your part.

He gave you a nod before turning and starting towards the elevator, only to pause after a couple of steps and glance back.

“Those bear claws -”

“From The Bean Grinder across the street,” you answered the unasked question through the laugh that had managed to bubble up from seemingly nowhere.

“Thanks. Don’t let him work you too hard.”

Once he was gone, you returned to your work and spent the rest of the morning scheduling and rescheduling meetings for the coming month. Then it was time to order lunch and, because Mr Russo hadn’t stated a preference, it was up to you to decide for him. You weren’t sure of his mood since you hadn’t seen him since leaving his office hours before, so you decided to go for something safe, something he’d enjoy and that would improve his mood if he was still feeling sore about the Van Der Koy’s.

Spaghetti carbonara and tiramisu for dessert. A tried and tested combination.

Less than twenty minutes later, you had his lunch in hand and were at his office door, knocking lightly and waiting to be called in.

He was at his desk, the files you’d prepared still in front of him, the VDK file with its prominent red tag right at the top of the pile.

“I’ve got your lunch,” you said brightly, quickly starting to unpack his lunch.

He watched you with a strange sort of curiosity he’d never shown you before, his lips pulling into a smile when he noticed the tiramisu.

“Trying to make up for something?” He asked.

Despite his playful tone and the way he was smiling at you, the question had a nervous sort of tension filling you. You shot him a questioning look but couldn’t quite form the words to respond.

“You always bring me dessert when you think I’m in a bad mood,” he continued.

There was no keeping the confused shock from your face, just like there was no taming the wild thumping of your heart. In all the time you’d been working for him, you’d never once stopped to consider that he knew exactly what you were doing.

“Did you think I didn’t notice?” He asked, sounding thoroughly amused.

You were speechless and, for reasons you didn’t entirely understand, all you could think about was how his spaghetti carbonara was starting to get cold. (And, from where you were standing it smelled far too delicious to waste.)

“I just -” you swallowed awkwardly, trying to get rid of the lump in your throat, “- well, it’s my job to make sure you’re happy isn’t it? Am - am I in trouble?”

Surely not. Surely he couldn’t punish you for going out of your way to try and make his life easier, right? Your forced happy facade almost dropped and gave way to the panic that was starting to claw beneath your ribs, but your face remained a hopefully unreadable mask.

“In trouble? God, no,” he shook his head. “I’m just - what I’m trying to say is that you’re clearly good at reading people. At reading me.”

“Oh.”

What else could you even say to any of that? Did he even want you to say anything? It wasn’t like you were doing anything manipulative or nefarious. All you were doing was keeping him happy so your job was easier.

You almost breathed a sigh of relief when his attention dropped to his food, and you started to hope you’d be able to go back to your desk to try and forget any of this weirdness had happened. But, as he lifted his fork, his eyes caught yours again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Mr Russo.”

“Do you agree with what Frank said earlier?” He asked before taking a bite of his spaghetti.”Do you think the women I date send the wrong sort of message?”

“Oh, uh -”

The shocked little noises slipped out before you could stop yourself. All you could do was stare at him for a few seconds, wondering what you’d done in a past life to deserve the uncomfortable day that you were having.

“Hmm?” He prompted through a mouthful of pasta.

“I thought -” you forced a breath, “- I just assumed that you were going to ask me something... something more related to my actual job?”

Something about your obvious discomfort seemed to tickle him.

“I’d argue that if you have insight into why Anvil might potentially lose out on a massive contract that it would fall within the scope of your job,” he countered. When you didn’t answer straight away, he continued; “so should I take your silence to mean you agree with Frank?”

“No, that’s not -” you hesitated, trying to find the most professional way to answer, “- I don’t agree with everything he said.”

“No? Care to elaborate?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s fair to call a woman a bimbo just because she likes to wear expensive clothes and go to parties,” you said flatly. “And it’s really not my job to have opinions on how you spend your evenings.”

“But you do think it gives the wrong impression to people like the Van Der Koy’s?”

“The Van Der Koy’s built the VDK chain on traditional values, they avoid controversy and anything that will tarnish the VDK name, it’s what they’re known for. It’s their professional reputation,” you explained, forcing an awkward shrug. “And you’re - well, you’re not subtle. You make a scene wherever you go, whether you want to or not. Half the society gossip blogs have stopped asking who you’re dating and only concern themselves with who you’re fucking.”

You could feel your cheeks burning hotter with every word. You didn’t want to have to say any of it and, honestly, it was making you feel awful, but you were starting to realise that he really didn’t understand how he was perceived. But, of course, he didn’t - he was rich and attractive, and while many people might want to write him off because of it, there were just as many who accepted and wanted that side of him.

It just seemed that this was the first time he was hearing a no that he couldn’t throw money at or change with his smart mouth.

“So, you’re saying I should settle down and clean up my act if I want to convince them to take me seriously and offer Anvil their security contract?”

You let slip an exhausted sigh, feeling like he was only hearing half of what you were saying to him. “I’m saying that it’s probably a waste of time to even try at this point. The other files I -”

“Thank you for your input, it’s been very informative,” he interrupted, not caring about the other files or potential clients now that he had VDK in his sights. “And, thank you for my lunch - I really do appreciate everything that you do for me.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Quickly, you started towards the door, desperate to get out of there before he could ask your opinion on anything else. You held your breath all the way back to your desk, the burning in your lungs giving you the dreadful confirmation that all of that had really just happened and you weren’t having some bizarre, anxiety induced dream.

Fortunately, for the rest of the day, you were left alone. He had a couple of brief meetings in the afternoon that had him out of the office and, when he returned, he seemed too lost in thought to cause you any more awkwardness.

Bu, as you started to pull your coat on, getting ready to leave for the day, he all but burst out of his office like a man possessed. There was a nervous sort of energy about him that you hadn’t witnessed before, and it was more than enough to set you on edge.

“Oh, good, you’re still here,” he said. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Proposition? Your stomach automatically started to tie itself in knots at the word.

“What kind of proposition?” You asked cautiously, already sensing that nothing good was going to come from whatever he had to say.

“I want to take you out. On a date, just -”

“What? No - no, that’s not -” the words started to clumsily fall from your lips.

A weird panic quickly took hold of you and you couldn’t rightly say why. What had inspired it? What had suddenly changed?

You didn’t want to be one of the women he dated, you didn’t want to be on his arm one minute and then kicked to the curb the next. What had you done to make him believe that you were worth that sort of treatment?

Not to mention the fact that it was entirely unprofessional and it would make it impossible for you to keep your job. A job that you happened to like.

“No-no-no, not like that,” he said quickly, almost sounding as panicked as you felt (and that didn’t exactly help you feel better). “Not like - I don’t mean for real.”

Oh.

Suddenly, your reaction seemed very silly and your panic was quickly replaced by confusion and an odd sense of numbness.

Of course Billy Russo didn’t want to take you - plain, boring you - on a real date.

Your cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and shame at how easily you’d let yourself believe something so utterly ridiculous.

“Then -” you struggled to find your voice again, “- what are you suggesting?”

“To get the VDK contract I need to make the Van Der Koy’s see me differently -”

It was like being dropped into ice cold water. Though you doubted he was actively trying to insult you, you were insulted nonetheless. He wanted to use you to rehabilitate his image because, unlike the other women in his life, you wouldn’t turn heads or cause drama. You were just you, plain and safe, average and inoffensive.

Inconsequential.

“You mean you want to lie to them? Pretend that you’ve settled down?” You asked (emphasis on the word settled) and shook your head. “I don’t think I’m comfortable with that.”

“I’ll pay you,” he added, almost managing to sound desperate. “Five hundred thousand for six months if Anvil gets the contract.”

Your jaw almost dropped and your heart stopped beating for a few seconds.

It was a lot of money, money that you really needed. It was almost enough to make you agree. Almost.

“Okay, just - let’s go back a couple of steps,” you said, still not sure what you felt about any of it. “You want to pay me to pretend to date you for six months just so you can win a contract?”

“Well, yeah, but it sounds sleazy when you say it like that.”

“Is there a way to explain it that doesn’t sound sleazy?”

Billy paused for a moment, clearly thinking about it. “You’re my PA, just think of it as assisting me out of office hours for overtime pay?”

That did make it sound better - not by much, and not enough to soothe your bruised ego.

“So, what? We’d pretend to date and if Anvil gets the contract we just break-up and go back to normal?” You asked, as you struggled in vain to wrap your head around the absurd idea.

“I’ll admit, there are a few things I’ve not entirely thought out, but if you -”

“No,” you said suddenly, coming to your decision. “I’m sorry Mr Russo, I can’t do that. I really don’t want to have to lie to that many people.”

He looked ready to argue, to try and convince you but that look quickly faded and he shrugged.

“You’re probably right,” he conceded. “It probably wouldn’t be enough anyway.”

Again, ouch.

“Right, well, if that’s all...” you trailed off, glancing longingly towards the elevator.

“Of course, sorry for keeping you.”

He didn’t wait for a response before disappearing into his office, closing the door behind him, and you didn’t waste any time heading to the elevator and getting out of the building as quickly as possible.

The next hour passed in something of a daze, stopping off to grab some groceries on the way home and having to listen to more loud and obnoxious finance-bros on the subway before you finally made it back to your apartment building.

Given the sort of day you were having, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that your mailbox was full of bills, but there was one in particular that caused your stomach to drop; a notice from Saint Martin’s Care Facility, informing you that their prices were going up.

It was enough to have you reaching for a bottle of wine and pouring yourself a very large glass as you sat down and went over your finances, trying to find a way to afford your brother's care that didn’t involve having to leave your apartment for somewhere cheaper or move him to another care facility. It was the same thing year after year but, this year, the price hike seemed particularly egregious.

You spend hours going over bills, wondering if cancelling Netflix or downgrading your phone contract would help. But, of course, it wouldn’t.

Your brother’s care had been your responsibility since you turned eighteen and, little by little, you’d managed to scrape together enough to give him the life that he deserved in a place you knew that he would be well cared for. You wouldn’t let anything change that.

After your third glass of wine, you started to allow yourself to think about Mr Russo’s offer, wondering if it would really be so terrible - and, if it was terrible, would you be able to endure it long enough to get paid?

Could you really afford to turn him down when there was so much at stake?

The next day, you woke with a headache, but also with a resolute idea of what you needed to do (because it definitely was a need and not a want). Your day started the same as it always did; an uncomfortable subway ride, a stop off at The Bean Grinder, then up to Mr Russo’s office.

He was already sitting at his desk, the VDK file still on top of the stack. He barely even looked at you and you weren’t sure if it was because he was busy with something or because he felt the same level of awkwardness about yesterday as you did.

Placing his coffee down, you lingered, trying to find the words while your cheeks started to warm.

Finally, he seemed to notice you just standing there and turned his attention to you, frowning.

“Is there something you need?” He asked.

“I - I’ve reconsidered your offer,” you said, hating yourself for letting it come to this.

“Oh?”

You could tell that he wanted some sort of reason or explanation for your sudden change of heart, but you weren’t prepared to give it; your brother was none of his business. So, you simply nodded, telling him all he needed to know - that he didn’t need to know anything at all.

“That is, if the offer’s still on the table?” You added awkwardly.

“It is,” he said, his lips pulling into a wide grin. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Tonight? You want to start tonight?”

Fuck. What had you just gotten yourself into?

A/N : That doesn't count as a cliffhanger!!! 😅 I hope you all enjoy the slightly different starting dynamic between reader and Billy with this one, I wanted to have them on good professional terms to start with to make it a lot more fun later on. I've not got much else to say since all of this chapter is just set up for what's to come.

Also anyone that submitted a request for my 500 follower celebration, I'm still slowly working through them, I just had to take a couple of days to make sure this chapter was ready on time!

As always, thanks so much for reading! I should be updating this every fic every Friday around 730pm GMT.

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#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #the punisher #billy russo fanfic #billy russo imagine #(ii)wii ff

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 10 months ago

Note

please write a fic where dave mustaine fucks the little female reader on the wall, thank you!

A/n: I apologize in advance bc I don't like this very much but I needed to reply to an ask again and this was already partly written so it was the victim of writers block writing, I hope you enjoy it well enough anyway :'3

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, wall fucking?, Dave calls reader bunny, if you think I missed anything please let me know otherwise enjoy :3

Dave had been poking fun at you all night. He’d brought his band over for a dinner, which you made because Dave asked you with the intention of helping you, or so he said. All he ended up doing was teasing you.

“You’re so small!” This, and; “you’re so tiny!” That. Anyway he could manage to emphasise that you were shorter than him, he did. You did enjoy being shorter than him, being small made it easy for him to cuddle you, he was like a giant teddy bear and you took full advantage of that every chance you got. That didn’t mean you would just accept this name calling debauchery.

The second everyone was gone you jumped on him, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, your lips crashing against his.

Dave stumbled back but quickly caught up to what you were doing and kissed you back, his big hands going to your ass to hold you. Mostly just to squeeze your ass, but if it happened to serve another purpose then so be it.

He pushed you against the nearest surface, which happened to be a wall, and started tugging on your clothes. He got your shirt over your head and slipped your bottoms off before undoing your bra and letting it fall to the floor.

His lips sucked on your neck and he left small love bites in a trail down to your tits. “So fucking tiny.” He grunted as he kissed your nipple, he then stood up again and towered over you as he usually did. He brought his hand up to hold your face, tilting your chin up so you were looking him in the eye. “Tiny little thing just needs to be fucked right, huh?” You bit your lip and nodded as you turned around, looking back at him over your shoulder.

Dave took his own clothes off. He rested his hands on your shoulders and slowly trailed them down your sides, finally finding their perch on your hips. “Breedable fucking bunny.” He pulled your panties to the side and slid a finger through your folds. “All nice and ready for me, aren’t you?”

You smiled and wiggled your hips, standing on your toes and arching your back to press to your chest against the wall. Dave smacked your ass, you flinched at the hit but you couldn’t deny that you loved it. Dave pulled his boxers down just enough for his leaking cock to spring out and hit your ass. He pushed his cock between your thighs, gathering your juices on his member. “Fuck, so wet, just for me.” He groaned in your ear.

“Please~ Please, just put it in, Davey.” Your voice was already getting whiny as you pushed your ass back against him.

“So needy to be stuffed full, needy to be stretched.” He whispered in your ear. His hips moved back and he lined himself up with your cunt before slowly pushing in, groaning all the while as your gummy walls squeezed him just right. He waited a moment for you to get used to him before he started moving, bucking his hips up into you at a slow, harsh pace.

“Davey, go faster.” He muttered, already panting against the wall like a bitch in heat. Dave let out a low chuckle.

“Since when did you wear the pants here?” Nonetheless he did as you asked and went faster, every thrust of his hips bumping you up the wall.

He had a hand on your hip and one on your shoulder, keeping your back arched perfectly for him. The wall became damp with your breathing right against it, with Dave practically fucking you into the wall at this pace. You loved it, he was rutting deep inside of you, stuffing you full of his thick dick, making your vision blurry as your tongue lolled out in a lewd expression.

Dave’s hand, the one on your shoulder, wrapped around to rub your clit. He moved in circles, matching the rhythm of his hips and making you reach your high much faster. Even after you came his experienced fingers continued their work on your sensitive nub.

Dave was always one to think of your pleasure before his own so you were used to him making you cum a few times before he even got close, and tonight was no exception.

He had you creaming on him, your sweet, salty juices leaking from you and down your legs. The only thing keeping you standing was the fact that you were squished between Dave and the wall, Dave was partially holding you up though it was mostly so he could fuck you, moving your hips to his will as he slammed into you.

You could tell he was getting close with the way he kept losing pace with the steady rhythm he’d set with both his hips and hands, the way he pulsed inside you. “Hah~ Davey, need-ngh-need you...” You mumbled, thoughts too scrambled to form a coherent sentence between moans, whines and whimpers.

“What-what was that, bunny?” He grunted behind you, just wanting to get one more out of you before he finally came.

“Need you to fill me up.” You mumbled with a fucked out smile, drool dripping down your chin. Dave’s hips sputtered but he didn’t cum.

“Can’t say shit like that, gonna-gonna make me-” He couldn’t even finish his sentence when you started purposefully clenching around him, all just to see that look on his face. The one where his lips part so beautifully and his eyes cross for a moment before he screws them shut. “Fuck, cum with me then, bunny.” He didn’t have to tell you twice.

He gave up on steady and bucked into you all to chase his own high, though he tried to keep something on your clit, even bringing a hand to your chest to toy with your nipple. Honestly you were so out of it you’d cum just by sucking on his fingers, so when you felt his hot cum spurting into you you couldn’t hold back.

Your knees buckled and crumbled beneath you, leaving Dave to hold you up. He held you close, still helplessly bucking his hips up into you as an aftershock.

“Fuck- You’re so pretty.” He hummed. He turned your head to look at him and saw your expression, covered in spit and eyes glazed over. “Pretty little bunny slut.” He mumbled and kissed your temple.

#dave mustaine fanfiction #dave mustaine #dave mustaine x reader #dave mustaine smut #megadeth imagines #megadeth x reader #megadeth smut #megadeth fanfiction #megadeth

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zweetpea · 9 months ago

Text

Interlude: Between storm and forest

“I’m sorry what?” You ask but it’s muffled. Scaramouche ungags you. “I’m sorry what?”

He kisses you and you kiss him back. “Yes! Finally someone who wants to be with me! I’ve been waiting for someone to actually want me! I guess Baizhu and Dvalin do, but I was promised debauchery! Three people interested does not a harem make. I guess Ayaka may count. But I’ve never seen a harem anime with four people.”

“You’re not going to have a harem. I am going to be your husband and with your power I’m going to overthrow the Archons.”

“Yeah! Let’s go! Venti shot me! That bitch has this coming. Zhongli may be hot and he may or may not have two cocks but he still nearly let his people die so he could drink tea. And your mom may have giant tits… actually your mom’s coming around on me. Like she’s a bitch for abandoning you but she is trying to be a better leader.”

“Ugh, you’re loud.” He starts to leave.

“Wait! Don’t you want to ravish me as my husband to be?”

He looks back at you, face as red as a tomato. “What are you saying!?”

“Please?”

“No!”

“Are you self conscious? I can take top if it would be easier for you.”

“Just shut up!!” He screamed and left.

It was about a month since Scaramouche had taken you away from Inazuma. He’s barely touched you in that time. Gave you a few kisses but it never went farther than that and a few cuddles at night. Like sure you guys are traveling but still!

“Scara.” You say one night. Climbing on top of him. “Please.”

His face goes up in flames. “Stop.”

“I have been promised debauchery. I can feel that you want this. Your dick is sprung against my ass. So what is the problem?

…

we don’t have to do anything tonight but I’d like to know what is going on. A normal thing married couples do is this. Just tell me what’s wrong, I promise I won’t judge.”

“…I… I’ve never… done this before.”

“Do you want to wait?”

“No. It would be harder then because I’ve put it off so much. Doesn’t that bother you though?”

“Do you think that I came out of the womb a non virgin? I had my first time like everyone else. We’ll take it as slow as you want.”

“In that case.” He flips you both over on the bed. “I hope you’re ready to not be able to walk tomorrow. I may have never done this but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.” He kisses down your neck.

“Okay this is certainly something I didn’t expect. I never knew I needed Dom Virgin Scara in my life.”

“I won’t be a virgin for long darling.”

You squeak. Now it’s your turn to blush like a virgin.

The next morning you can’t feel your legs, your ass is sore, your throat hurts and your mouth tastes salty.

“Can you fuck me like your a virgin every night?” You say when he wakes up.

“I’m spent. Next time I’m binding these grabby hands of yours with my Obi.”

“What does a Star Wars character have to do with how hard you fucked me?”

“What’s Star Wars?”

“Nerd movies. The first three made were decent. The prequels and sequels suck!”

“What’s this?” A voice from the doorway called. You two looked back and saw dottore.

“What a pretty specimen.” He said walking closer to you.

“Stay away!” Scara warns wrapping his arms around you.

Dottore lunges and Scara quickly grabs the electro gnosis and uses it to blast you away.

You clung to the blanket for dear life. And when you awoke, you were surrounded by sand and tan buff men and women.

“Pansexual panic!”

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tangledmelody · 1 month ago

Text

The Beast of Asgard - Loki Laufeyson x Reader/Female Original Character

A canon non-compliant fic heavily inspired by Disney's beauty and the Beast. Featuring gothic vibes, sexual tension, and my personal favorite character from the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Read onward if you're looking for something with a slow burn, mutual pining, and eventual explicit themes. (Yes, this is shameless self promotion. I like seeing the little numbers on ao3 go up- sue me.)

Written in first person POV with a named female OC intended to be interpreted as a reader insert. There are references to her backstory and thoughts, so I wouldn't consider this a true reader insert.

This fic eventually delves into darker themes, including but not limited to: vivid depictions of mental anguish and anxiety, implied and referenced mental illness/anxiety, panic attacks, sexual harassment, general misogynistic themes, and eventually explicit and detailed sexual content. Said sexual themes will include dream sex (including scenes where one party is unaware that said dream has actual, real world consequences), dubious consent potentially interpreted as non-consent, and general debauchery.

Sorry for the clunky formatting. I haven't used Tumblr in many years.

CHAPTER ONE - Winter's Call

Word Count: 2,582

I once asked my father to define the difference between a house and a home.

“A home,” he had said, voice deep in that reverent tone he sometimes used when he was lost in thought, “is full of love.”

He had sighed then, gazing longingly at the portrait hanging above the fireplace. My mother was always the first to greet visitors and that hadn't changed after death. Her eyes had been painted as stoic pools of blue and her mouth was rendered as a thin straight line. It was a near perfect likeness of her, but it missed all the things that had made her so beautiful in life. There are so many details of a person's life that a portrait cannot capture, and so many stories that a eulogy cannot sum up.

My mother was a force of nature. She was stubborn and proud and most of all she was kind. She was kind when it mattered and she was kind when it didn't. She had told me once that kindness counted the most when it didn't matter. That when you choose to be kind, even when there are no consequences for choosing not to be, that those are the moments that define a person.

My mother was the glue that held our family together. Now that she is gone the pieces of our family portrait have started to fall out of the frame. My father is starting to fray at the edges. His corners have started to curl inwards- away from mine. We are two moons without a planet, and we have lost the one thing keeping us within the same orbit.

If mama was here… she would know what to say. She would have greeted me when I tumbled through the doorway. Her arms would have been open and warm and inviting. But most importantly, her eyebrows would have crinkled together in that peculiar way that they always had when she was concerned. She would have held me for as long as I needed her to, and somehow she would know, just as she always did, when I was ready to pull away. And then, just like she always did when I was upset, she would pour me a cup of steaming hot tea and we would sit in silence until I was ready to form words again.

Except she isn't here. And my father isn't here. And I am alone.

It's a rather unfortunate thing to be alone with one's thoughts in the dead of night. Particularly when one's thoughts are full of fear and anger and *panic*.

I rip my gaze away from my mother's portrait, still covered in the bolt of gauze-like, black fabric that I had draped atop it so many years ago. She cannot help me now. I have to get through this on my own.

. . . . . . . .

My thoughts are still too loud.

I stand - too suddenly, haphazardly and jerky. My feet have grown numb and I stumble forward on my leaden legs. My limbs carry me to the door, movements stilted, as if I am a marionette. I am a doll on strings, not fully aware of my movements, not really questioning them at all. Something inside me tells me to leave, and I listen- foolishly and recklessly. But I do listen.

My thoughts are full of everything and nothing. I am a rabbit, a deer, a prey animal- stumbling across the threshold, eyes wide, head swiftly turning left to right. My coat, brown and soft and downy, hides my body from the harsh winter. It is a camouflage I don't remember donning. Had I ever taken it off?

The wind whistles through the empty streets as I slip out of the dimly lit cottage I call home. It grazes against my cheeks- a bitter reminder of the sudden drop in temperature. I step onto the snow covered streets, grateful that the moon illuminates them from above. My footsteps form a staccato rhythm, boots crunching noisily over the freshly lain blanket of snow.

I watch my breath form icy clouds as I venture farther from home. My footsteps disappear quickly as I walk. The biting cold seeps through my coat and I pull it tighter against myself. I am a smudge of brown against a stark white canvas. I stick out against the landscape. I am as obvious against the snow as the colorful buildings of the village that surround me.

I walk past my home, past the little garden that had died out a month ago. I pass the stained white fence- paint chipped from all its years of use. My feet take me toward the library. It was my sanctuary once, not so long ago. But now- now I cannot stand to look at the pale blue building.

. . . . . . . .

My breath quickens to form short panicked gasps. My fingers, frozen and unyielding, clamber at my face. I touch my cheeks, my nose, my chin- looking for any and all evidence that proves that I am *here*. That I am *safe*. That I am *alive*.

My head turns back toward the village houses, unbidden. They have transformed into barely visible specks scattered across the winter horizon.

I am the only one brave enough to face the storm- or the only one stupid enough.

I turn away from the village, and in doing so I turn away from the memories. I have to shut them out- have to keep walking- to keep moving. I can no longer afford to stand still. Not when my thoughts are rattling against my skull, crashing violently from one moment to the next.

I can barely recognize the way the landscape shifts and changes as I continue blindly forward. I can focus only on putting one foot in front of the other. My thoughts are too loud to focus on anything else. I am pushed forward by instinct alone.

I keep walking.

When I’m far enough from the village that I lose sight of the lights shining through the windows of my neighbor’s houses I break off into a run.

My heart pounds in sync with the sound of my boots crunching over the field of twinkling snow. The wind throws fat white flakes of snow into my eyes. The world around me blurs. I am half blind in the dark.

I keep running.

. . . . . . .

Moonlight flickers through the branches above me as I run deeper into the unknown. Branches snap underneath me as I go- harsh and loud against the silent night. I lurch forward, unsteady and unsure on this new terrain. I run with my arms held up over my head; branches slide and snap over my coat, some of them carving light scratches into my skin.

I don't even know what I'm running from, but everything in me screams to move, to run as fast as I can. So I do. I keep running.

I am exhausted. I keep running.

. . . . . . . .

I am brought back into myself with the harsh sting of a branch hitting tender flesh. I reach up with one hand, cupping my frozen cheek with numb fingers. The sticky sweet scent of blood wafts through the air as I bring my hand away.

My legs stutter, as I clumsily slow to a stop. The trees are so close together that I have lost sight of the moon. The forest here is dense- a tangled tapestry of trees and bushes and scattered foliage. Everything is messy and wild and so *unfamiliar*. It aches.

My muffled heartbeats roar in my ears as I struggle to catch my breath. I fold myself in half as I desperately try to force my lungs to work.

My mind returns to me slowly; my thoughts return to me all at once.

It occurs to me now, that I am standing in the middle of the woods, half frozen and utterly lost, that this was a bad idea. A terrible idea in fact. The realization that I have absolutely no idea where I am makes the air around me feel colder, or maybe I am only now realizing just *how* cold it is now that I have finally stopped moving.

But he is not here. He is not with me.

*I am safe*.

. . . . . . . .

I twist desperately trying to find a landmark, anything that I can follow to take me home, and am terrified to see that my footsteps have already disappeared underneath the falling snow. There is a field of nearly identical trees in every direction. I am cold and I am exhausted. I have nowhere to go. I don’t even know where I am.

I think of my father and how he is doing on his journey- wonder if he is on his way home yet. Will he make it back early only to find that I am not there? Will he even realize that something is wrong- or will he even care? I think about my neighbors and how most of them probably won't realize that I've gone missing. I think about the library with its cozy alcoves and the occasional potted plant peeking through the shelves- a place of refuge turned into a grim reminder.

My hands ball into fists as the memory twists. He has made so many things unbearable- turned so many cherished memories into something bitter and unpleasant.

I barely register the way my palms ache as I dig my nails into the tender flesh- can barely feel the icy cold as it rises up to greet me.

The icy shock of snow hitting my knees jolts me out of my thoughts, the bitter cold seeping through my skirts. I adjust myself, so that I can pull my knees to my chest.

It's quite possibly the stupidest thing I could be doing right now, but I don't care. I'm cold. I'm angry. And I'm frightened. I have nowhere to go, no refuge from the weather. I'm lost and hopeless and quite possibly going to freeze to death-

And I don’t care.

I cry until my lungs collapse underneath the weight of the sound. I don’t know how long I sit like that for- knees clenched tightly to my chest, curled up onto the frozen earth. My neck aches when I move to look at the night sky above me.

I flinch as the cold air hits my face. Twin trails of tears under my eyes carve icy rivers into my cheeks and they fall, one by one, onto the snow-capped forest below.

I watch as birds carve a frantic path through the air. I feel a surge of jealousy go through me when I realize that I’ll never be able to find my way through the forest as quickly as they have. I wonder if they can even see me from their vantage point in the trees or if the forest has swallowed me whole.

. . . . . . . .

Time has been moving in strange ways today. I can’t decide whether I’ve lost minutes or hours in the forest.

My chest aches. My lungs feel like they are coated in ash.

I can no longer feel my face. I’ve long since lost the feeling in my fingers and toes.

I am pulled out of my thoughts by a flash of green light. The vibrant light stands out against the muted, ink-stained landscape around it. I have to force myself to look away from the shining light. It shimmers before fading out- shifting hues too quickly for me to name any particular one.

It leaves a raven behind.

The bird tilts its head left and right. It gazes at me slowly, like it’s assessing me. Two beady eyes focus on me- an eerily human gaze staring at me in the dark. It evaluates me for a tense moment before it throws its head back and screams. The sound pierces through the still quiet of the snowy evening and I can’t shake the thought that it sounds almost human. Perhaps I am closer to death than I thought.

The raven focuses one beady eye on me and launches itself in my direction. My eyes widen instinctively and I feel my muscles clench as I throw my arms in front of my head to protect myself. The raven screams again, puncturing the air a second time. The sound is too close. It rattles me to my core.

The air is a cacophony of noise as the raven closes the distance between us. Its wings beat furiously against the air, and it pushes cool gusts of air towards me. Finally, it lands on the ground a few feet in front of me. Its head is tilted to one side and it’s watching me again.

I find myself leaning forward. I’m surprised to realize that its eyes are a deep, shadowy green. I push myself up onto my feet to look closer at the dark bird. Its feathers reflect the colors of the forest around it in the Moonlight. Green, and black, and brown colors shift on the surface of its feathery body.

I do my best to stand up slowly. This bird is the closest thing I have to company and I don’t want to risk scaring it away. To my surprise, the raven doesn’t fly away.

“You’re lucky.” I sigh and stretch the tension out of my arms and legs. I flex my fingers experimentally. I wish I had thought to grab gloves when I left the house earlier.

“You get to fly wherever you want. Just like your friends did.” I look at the raven again, and even though I feel a bit silly for complaining to a bird I keep talking.

I shift my weight into a crouch, being careful to keep my knees off the ground this time. The consequences of the cold feel more dangerous to me now that I realize just how vulnerable I am. I rest my elbows on my knees and lift my head to rest my chin in my hands. “I guess it doesn’t matter anyways.”

I am not a bird, and I cannot fly, and maybe I’m just a little bit delirious right now. What does it matter if a bird finds me a fool? A bird will not judge me by human standards, and even if it did- I will probably be dead soon anyway.

And if this isn’t a bird? If it’s some figment of my imagination- what then? That would explain its odd coloring, and its strange demeanor.

Perhaps I’m the one that’s truly strange- applying human emotions to a bird, but I swear it looks curious. The bird tilts its head in the other direction and I swear that it is about to speak before it launches itself into the air. Perhaps the cold is affecting me more than I thought because I push myself off the ground in a flurry of flying limbs and tangled fabric in order to follow behind the raven.

The bird flies at a slow enough pace that I can follow, even with my half frozen limbs. Its wings blend into the night air almost perfectly, and I have to squint to differentiate the raven from the trees around it. The muffled crunch of the snow underneath me is the only sound as we move onward.

The trees gradually thin until they disappear altogether. In their place, a castle looms.

The raven disappears into the night sky. The only hint that it was ever there in the first place is a muted flash of green light.

. . . . . . . .

Interested to read more? I recently posted the second chapter over on AO3. The Beast of Asgard - Loki Laufeyson x Reader Insert

#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #mcu loki #loki x female reader #Loki x original female character #ao3 writer #Beauty and the Beast vibes #Gothic atmosphere #slow burn #contract marriage #eventual smut #please I have so many ideas for this fic I would love feedback

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wisssp · 6 months ago

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Whistling in the Dark

this is a Weasley twins x oc piece & if you don't like it then don't read it(:

female reader; first person pov; slow burn; smut; minors-DNI

wc: 1,523

Chapter 3

The days slowly drifted by, as the first week normally does. It also doesn't help that everyone is looking forward to the "welcome back" party being held in the Gryffindor common room tonight. The winner of the quidditch cup tends to host the next year's introduction celebration. A small tradition I'm getting to experience for the second time. I need to see what Paige has to wear because I definitely don't have anything.

Soon enough Friday's classes come to a close and I meet Paige back at our dorm. I walk in to find her scrambling through my closet. I cross my arms and laugh at her attempt to find something.

"Best of luck to you, I already knew I wouldn't have anything to wear. Quick trip to Hogsmeade?" I grab my wand and my wallet, not even waiting on her response and rip her out of our room.

We didn't find much of anything at the first store.

Everything was way too expensive and all of the fabrics were slightly itchy. At the second store, Paige found this beautiful floor-length lilac slip dress which was practically a second skin. It complimented her so well, yet I was simultaneously losing hope because the party was in three hours.

We walk up to the third store and it was like a light beamed down on this tiny gorgeous black whimsical halter dress. I yanked it straight off the rack and bolted to a dressing room. To my complete surprise it fit me perfectly. I showed Paige and we both jumped around, thrilled that we found dresses at the last minute. I paid for the dress and we made it back to the dorm with an hour to get ready.

Paige got ready in the bathroom while I sat on the floor in front of our tall mirror. We both did a grand reveal once every last hair was in place. She decided on an elegant fishtail braid off to the side with tiny strands framing her face and some lavender eyeshadow. She accompanied the dress with a pair of strappy silver heels that showed off her white pedicure as well as a silver clutch and my god she was an angel.

I, on the other hand, straightened my hair and put it in a slicked-back ponytail, my bangs bouncy as ever. I decided on a pair of black stilettos and a small black wristlet. We fed each other a slew of compliments, fixed our lipstick and with that, we were off.

We arrive in front of the painting of the large woman and see that Neville is manning the door.

"Well hello ladies, welcome back to Hogwarts, you two look rather lovely this evening." He stated with a bow.

"Well thank you very much, Neville, you're lookin' pretty dapper yourself." I curtsey back at him and flash him a smile. He smiles back and opens the door to our night of debauchery and chaos.

We dance our way over to the refreshment table as Dirty Laundry by Don Henley rattles our bones. I mix myself a fire whiskey and coke, down a few swigs and turn to face the party, unaware of mister Oliver Wood standing directly behind me. His eyes raked my body and a beautiful smirk appeared on his face.

"Well you sure clean up nicely, Scamanders. Honestly, wow." He glanced between Paige and I, then grabbed my hand, kissing my knuckles while maintaining eye contact. I look over his shoulder to see Fred and George in the middle of a conversation, when Oliver brings my attention back to him.

"Wanna dance?" he raises his eyebrows awaiting my answer. Feeling the few sips of my drink, I give him a nod and a small smile as we make our way to the open area that was deemed the dance floor. We start bouncing and swaying about, really enjoying ourselves. Every once in a while he'd bust out some ridiculous dance move which didn't fail to make me laugh.

After the song ended, I stepped off to the side to take a few more sips of my drink when I glance up to find George's eyes dead on me. Just as I was about to wave, I feel a hand snake around my waist.

"Please don't do that again." I hear a rasp that made my cheeks heat.

"Frederick I'm not clear as to what you're referring to." I try to spin and face him, but his arm grips me tighter.

"You don't recall? Let me refresh your memory." He whispers in my ear and guides me to the dance floor, my back pressed to his abdomen. His hands are glued to my hips as he starts grinding mine against his. I soon realize what game he's playing and now I am determined to make him regret it. I started grinding into him harder and felt his grip tighten. I swayed to the beat of the music and threw my arm back around his neck which gained me a low moan in my right ear.

"You're too hot for your own good, Lady Bird. You've got no clue what you do to me." He ran his hands up and down my sides, making me gasp. He grabs my hand and spins me around to face him, then placed one leg between mine, fitting us together like puzzle pieces while we danced. He looks down into my eyes and something in me told me he was going to kiss me, but to my dismay the song ended. For a minute there I forgot we weren't alone in this room.

"My turn! My turn!" Angelina Johnson then runs over as Fred rolls his eyes."I want a piece of whatever you've got on that dance floor." She then proceeds to ogle Fred and boost his ego further.

"Have fun, Weasley. I'm going to top off my drink anyways." I leave him to deal with the crazy and meander over to the refreshments table once again.

"I've been looking everywhere for you! Where have you been? And what in the hell was that with Wood? No fraternizing with the enemy!" Paige grabs my arms and shakes me on that last note.

"Okay no more drinks for you. Wood asked me to dance so I said sure and it was fun. As for where i've been, someone got jealous and spent the last song dancing with me." I turn towards my new drink and take a sip.

"Oh which one was it this time?" She raises her eyebrows at me, practically making me choke on my drink.

"Oi, Lady Bird, thanks for leaving me with no defenses." Fred comes jogging over to us.

"Settle down, Frederick. You're a big boy." I say while pinching his cheek. Paige looks at me as her jaw drops once she connects the dots. I smile and nod at her while Fred rambles a bunch of nonsense about finding his brothers. He departs while Paige grabs my arm.

"And he's just going to act like nothing happened?" She looks after him rather puzzled.

"I guess so but honestly this is only the beginning of the party and I'm here to stop thinking, not to overthink." I send a cheers her way and down half of my drink when I see George beelining my way with a mildly annoyed look on his face. He clutches my bicep and pulls me over to the dance floor, despite my minor protests. He grabs my hand in his and places his other arm around my waist like we're about to slow dance. I hear a deep sigh escape his lips.

"Now, I've had a couple drinks but I just want you aware that you really ticked me and Fred off, yeah?" I furrow my eyebrows at his statement, a bit confused.

"You made Fred angry by being friendly with mister Wood. You pissed me off by showing off with my brother instead of me." He states matter-of-factly and then pushes me away for a spin.

"Lady bird, you're asking for trouble if you keep it up." He firmly says in my ear as I'm stunned by the feelings of desire and lust rushing through me. He spins me one last time and bows as if thanking me for the dance, then pivots on his heel and walks away.

I find Paige's eyes in the crowd, ensuring she saw everything. She stared at me with wide eyes and then I see Ron's red mop arrive next to her. She broke our eye contact and gave him all of her attention. It was in this moment that I decided to observe them. I was hoping he was going to ask her to dance but it seems like he just said a few words to her and then disappeared. She looked back at me with pink cheeks.

What is going on with them?

#weasleys #george weasley #fred weasley #weasley twins #george weasley x oc x fred weasley #weasley twins x oc #witd #gryffindor house party

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cwcthzl · 8 months ago

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debauchery anon here because i still haven’t slept and they live in my head rent free. i’m here to ask your thoughts on stozier and exhibitionism

bro pls get your sleep i beg of you. you need an actual working brain to come up w 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 stozier

nsfw // exhibition kink, slight free use mention

GOD. I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE. richie probably likes it more than stanley, and they like exhibitionism for very different reasons.

richie loves it because he loves having stan's full attention on himself. he enjoys the way stan's eyes trace every inch of his body, takes in every bit of his exposed skin, follows his every movement like he wants to cage richie within his gaze. it excites richie. he always liked attention, but when stan gave it to him it was almost like heaven was splayed out under his feet. he would be laying in their bed when stan was sitting on the chair he placed to face the bed, just to watch him. stan would tell him to take his clothes off, and richie would. stan would look at his eyes deeply every time he slowed or stopped and it would make richie swallow the lump in his throat, because stan eyes said, "go on," without even leaving room to refuse. he would love the gaze that pierced through his skin as he removed his clothes, and he would also love the way stan's pupils dilated every time he took one layer off of him. he would love when stan would tell him what to do. if he should jerk off with one hand, or finger himself, or fuck himself on some toy; if he should get on his knees, or all fours, or just lay on his back. he would do as he's told as stan just watched him with a stare that just could be described as starving. like he was starving for richie, for his skin, for his moans, for the his muscles get tense every time he hits an spot or find the perfect rhythm, anything. all while sitting in his chair, still fully clothed, not doing anything other than watching while richie comes apart under his observance. it was one of the hottest things richie has ever experienced.

(also he is very much into the idea of sleeping naked so stan gets home to see him ready for him under the blanket, or sending nudes, or wearing lingerie just to flash stan in public places where no one can see them)

(also touching himself when he is in the passenger seat at night when stan is right next to him)

(ugh)

stan would love it because he loved how desperate richie got from just watching him. stan loved teasing, sometimes he loved it so much that he took it so far that it actually became a punishment for richie (in the best, sexiest way possible). and stan knew even before they started dating, richie couldn't take his eyes off of stan the moment he showed skin more than usual, and it amused stan. he loved the control he had on richie, and he loved the warm feeling that pooled in his stomach when richie looked at him like he was gonna die if he didn't get to touch him. so he made sure richie couldn't touch him. stan would be fresh out of shower, in his robe, and he would sit on the couch opposite of richie with his legs crossed, busying himself with a newspaper/book while accidentally pushing the fabric just enough for richie to see his moist skin. he would feel richie looking at him, at the single drop of water running down stan's chest or down his legs, or the curve of his hips because it accidentally slipped up when he sat down.

OR stan would be on top of him, sitting on richie's groin. richie only being in his shorts when stan was fully dressed, since he didn't like feeling naked most of the time. stan would remove his clothes one by one while richie looked at him like he was sacred. richie's hands would be flying to touch stan's bare skin without a second thought, only for stan to grab them lightly and pin them on each side of richie's head, "no touching," richie would suck in his breath when stan got close to his face to whisper, "got it?" richie would just nod, letting his hands fall as stan got to undressing himself. unbuttoning his shirt with slow movement, sliding it off from his shoulders (stan watched the way richie's eyes followed the fabric like it was kissing stan's skin along the way), unbuckling his belts with lazy fingers, and then taking his pants and underwear off while richie watched him.

stan would enjoy how hard richie had gotten when he didn't even do anything remotely seductive, and he would enjoy how richie's fingers curled every time he ran his hand through his abdomen like he craved the feeling. stan would sit on richie's lap and fuck himself on top of him. fingering himself, jerking his cock with lazy movements while maintaining eye contact with richie and feeling his cock pulse under his hips. he would love the way richie would grab at the pillow to keep himself from touching stan, hearing his whiny words between his own noises as richie grew more and more hungry under him. "fuck, stan, let me touch you," richie would start with it, but after stan lifted up his hips and got rougher with his pace, he would fucking beg. "let me touch you, stanley, fuck, please, i swear i'll be so good, just let me touch you for fucks sake, i'm gonna go crazy, please" stan would tell him no over and over, but secretly he got dizzy at the way richie's hands tightened on the pillow so tight that he could see his knuckles turn white.

so yeh. it's been so long and i'm out of ideas

#stozier #stan uris #stanley uris #richie tozier #it 2017 #it 2019 #it #asks #@ debauchery anon #stozier except they are 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 #rasc.txt

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broadcastbabe · 8 months ago

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It’s a toy, a harmless squirt gun, but you consider it a sex toy when put to proper use. Our role-playing has always contained an element of danger in the story-lines. Abduction by a masked stranger (you), sexual ‘torture’, that is anything but that, to obtain classified secrets, hostage situations where escape to freedom depends on personal debauchery, have all been explored and rewarded with memorable orgasms on both sides of the improvisations. You like the dominance and control in these scenarios… and I’m along for the ride and a jolly good sport, especially when I am guaranteed an earth-shaking climax. You brought home this bespoke water pistol, and we both marveled at the authentic feel of its construction, cool metal materials and weight. Sleek and detailed to a fault, it looks like the real thing. I watch you load it with tap water and slip it into our nightstand and smile mischievously. I make a mental note that I really should take the upper hand in this particular situation.

Tonight as we ready ourselves for bed, I grab the toy, test its spurting range and position myself for the start of an adventure. When you come out of the shower in just a towel… I am waiting for you. Adorned in only a lacy bra and garter belt, dark stockings and thigh high leather boots, it is apparent who is calling the shots. I suggest I am recruiting for a mission and need to see your credentials. You take the cue and drop the towel to reveal your tumescence already showing signs of a larger promise. I motion you over with the faux pistol and stroke your girth with its cold metal. Your response is immediate and twitchy as I continue caressing its growing length. You assure me your reflexes are nimble, even with the threat of my weapon pointed at such a sensitive and useful appendage. Asking for a full view of your assets, you turn around to display your tight firm ass. I suggest a cavity search might be warranted… as I nestle the muzzle between your cheeks. This fuels more growth that you attempt to temper by taking yourself in hand. I forward my agenda by leaving my lipstick and teeth marks on your rump flesh. Eyeing your response of full-masted excitement, I report there is final test to be sure you are the proper fit for this assignment. Waving the look-alike with the authority it imbues, I order you to the bed to assume an opportune position on your back for me to straddle and mount the throbbing grandiosity.

I should have known this bottom/submissive stature was not in your nature. You turn on me to turn the tables and wrestle the squirt gun into your own possession. I pretend to be frightened as I am guided to bend over in front of a mirrored wall we favor. You intimate that you want to test my bravery and resolve, if we are going to be working together… if I’ll have your back, the same way you have mine in the moment. Your tone is threatening to create an atmosphere of danger to heighten the stakes. I can feel your member rubbing the cleave of my derrière as you grind your pelvis into my backside. I try to stay in the moment, even though I am dripping with desire, and challenge your assumption I am unprepared for whatever you are planning. You kiss me, half-apologizing, for the unholy insertion of your new toy probe into my soggy swollen depths. Cold and slow, I can feel myself opening up to receive its hard barrel into my tingling sex. Filled with the unexpected surprise, my mind tries to untangle the fantasy we are playing and the reality of the shape and utility of this implement. Your words are in character with the threat you are imposing, elevating the danger in my dizzy brain. Our eyes meet in the reflection, and although yours are caring in a sex-crazed way, I am ping-ponging between abject fear and a strange desire for this borderline treatment. I can hear you cock the gun, feeling the thrust of the bolt action deep in my loins to engage the trigger. I want to scream for so many reasons, until a rush of warm water floods me as you begin firing away maniacally. This unique flush is more than pleasant, and I am cumming almost immediately as you pump me full of its wet ammunition. I witness my own O-face and your triumphant grin as you add punctuating discharges that fuel my wanton abandon. When I am coherent, you straighten my posture to observe the toy’s withdrawal and gush of excesses from within. The sight makes me quiver and your intention of cementing it into my visual memory is successful. Invigorated by my imagined near-annihilation into the hereafter, I snatch the gun you are licking from your grip and press it against your unattended orgasm-in-waiting. Still impressively full-masted, I resume my authority as I stroke its length and order you to finally prove yourself worthy of our partnership by making me cum again while under surveillance. Pointing to the mirror, I refer to an imaginary battalion of recruits watching what they believe to be a training session on psychological torture techniques. We smile in solidarity as I hold the empty gun to your heart, as you slide in and out of me with a new-found appreciation for devilish edgy mind games.

#lingerie #den #water pistol

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vixstarria · 5 months ago

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Bloodbang Chronicles - Chapter 11 - On the road again

Chapter summary: The chapter title is a tad misleading - they are most certainly deliberately staying off the road as long as they can.

Psst, check out this map of the Sword Coast, if you want to have an idea of where they are.

Chapter word count: 3.5k

Previous chapter | Series masterlist | AO3 | Overall masterlist

Series summary:

Five years have passed since the confrontation with the Netherbrain. Astarion and his warlock lover, Asmodea, are living it up in Baldur’s Gate, running a cabaret. Their life of decadence and debauchery seems idyllic, until Asmodea’s patron disrupts it with a proposal. One that seems too good to be true. One they cannot refuse.

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character

Genre: Humor / adventure / smut

Rating: Explicit

“Do you require a piggyback ride? It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.”

Asmodea smiled smugly at Astarion from across a stream. Astarion ignored her and her shit-eating grin as he studied the brook with apprehension. Though it was shallow, it took her a running start to make the jump across without getting her boots wet.

“Or shall I throw my cloak in, so you can stomp across like a dame unwilling to get her slippers dirty?”

“I’m glad you find this so funny,” Astarion retorted, curtly. “I’ll be sure to remember it next time you need me to kill a spider for you.”

“So… Is it like an invisible wall, the way it is with dwellings..? Or is it painful to stand close to it..?” she asked, her tone softening.

“Oh, no, not at all. There is no invisible boundary, and I would have to come in contact with the running water for it to cause pain or harm,” Astarion said, extending and holding an arm out over the stream, as though to test whether what he just said was true. “It’s the knowledge that if I were to be submerged - I would turn into mist and be washed away into nothingness. Can’t help but find that notion a touch disconcerting,” he said with a weak laugh.

“Would that happen instantaneously? Like an explosion of mist and vapour?” Asmodea asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“No, no… It would take a few minutes of screaming and thrashing… And I would need to have most of my body submerged throughout, or it would regenerate faster than it evaporated.”

Asmodea sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Astarion, just jump across the damned stream.”

“It’s not that easy!”

“Yes, it is! Here, I’ll show you a trick.” Asmodea took a few steps back, and easily leapt across the water. “I’ll even do it again!” Another step back for some momentum, and she jumped back. “Did you see that?! Now you do it.”

Astarion stood back with an impassive look painted on his face, giving her a round of slow and exaggerated applause, before flipping her off with both hands.

“Just JUMP!”

“I CAN’T!” He sighed and looked away, scowling to hide what was likely embarrassment, before continuing. “Look, these things aren’t always logical and rational. Some people are scared of heights. Some panic at the sight of dogs. And others-”

“Are terrified of ankle-deep water, yes, I’ve gathered.”

Astarion scoffed, but, seeming to have gathered his resolve at last, tossed his bulkier belongings across onto the other bank.

“You can do it, sweetheart, I believe in you!”

“Fuck. Off.” He growled, readying himself. He measured his steps, then took a stance, rocking in place on bent legs, taking deep breaths. Finally, he squeezed his eyes shut and took a running leap.

Southeast, to the Wood of Sharp Teeth, on to Berdusk and up the Chionthar as far as it would take them, then on to Elversult via the Trader’s Road, through Easting and Priapurl.

That was the plan.

Why the dense and mostly uninhabited woods rather than the open plains? Well, Astarion would now need to hunt, for one. And frankly he would be more fearsome and dangerous than anything they might encounter there, anyway. The absence of company and the additional natural protection from the sun couldn’t hurt either.

Where to after Elversult? Time and, presumably, Asmodea’s patron would tell.

Astarion lay awake, studying the roof of their tent. Just a thin layer of canvas between him and a terrible, painful death. …Well, that, and some additional measures that may or may not make it possible for him to survive until nightfall. Cloaks and scrolls of darkness, not to mention the trees above them, could shield him to some extent as he crawled or dug himself into a hole, like some kind of vermin, if worst came to worst. He had no idea how long he might last out in the open sun, though he knew at his age he would not burn up instantaneously the way a newly turned spawn would. He was not willing to experiment to find out the limits of his tolerance, however.

He could feel the sun. Not on his skin, but he was aware of its presence anyway - he was always aware when it was out, even when he was underground. The very knowledge of it itched somewhere in the back of his mind. When its rays were near, it suffocated him, drained him and dampened his powers. No wonder vampire lords preferred to reside in stone castles with cavernous underground spaces. This journey was not pleasant.

He sighed and turned his mind to other matters, like Oddie, who was snoozing on his chest.

Immortality… He would believe it once he saw it. Until then, he would think of their excursion as nought but a change of scenery, something to humour her. Even if her patron could truly provide what it suggested, it would want something from her in return, and thus far it hadn’t yet disclosed the price she would have to pay. And there would be a price, he was sure. He didn’t trust it one bit, no matter the absurd way it allowed Oddie to communicate with and address it. ‘Fuckface’… Gods… His sweet, reckless fool, playing with forces that could ruin her without a second thought, should she ever step too far. Perhaps her master wasn’t a cruel one, but it was possessive and obstinate in its attachment, else it wouldn’t have remained with her through all these years. Would it ever willingly agree to sever the strings attaching them..? Even if it held true to their agreement, and provided the promised boon?

How would the boon work, anyway? Would she be frozen in time, like him?

Oddie’s body had changed somewhat since their journey five years ago, he realised now that he held her again in the same surroundings as back then. She had been gaunt then, from living on the road for years on end. Pleasant curves now softened her silhouette where bones once jutted. Her hair had grown longer, though still dyed a burgundy red and shaped into locs, adorned with beads and charms.

As for Astarion, short of mutilating his own body with silver, the permanence which had settled over him would not shift. Wounds closed in a matter of minutes, or even faster if he could take fresh blood. Broken bones set themselves. Cut or torn out hair would grow back within a day. The only part of him that he had any control over was his fingernails, which insisted on slowly shaping themselves into claws, unless he regularly filed them, though not so quickly that he couldn’t keep them short.

He felt the sun rising higher, a lethargy covering his consciousness like a cloak. He held Oddie tighter and drifted away, his mind wandering to other times passed together in a tent, years ago, so similar yet so different.

Five years ago, somewhere along the Risen Road

He awoke to find her missing. She must have gone back to her tent in the night. Of course she did. He had given her the only thing he could offer, and she took it and left - there would have been no point in staying. He couldn’t even provide her with warmth - his lukewarm flesh could only steal her own body heat.

She stayed, sometimes. If he exhausted her sufficiently, to the point she didn’t want to go through the effort of getting dressed and making her way back to her own tent. He supposed she had still snuck away at first opportunity, that night.

He tried to quell the mounting feeling of disappointment. He had wanted to hold her longer, in the early morning hours, while she slept. Bury his face in her neck or hair, under the guise of sleep.

No matter.

Astarion was about to get up - might as well start this wretched day - when the tent flap opened, dawn light illuminating her at the entrance. She was wearing nought but his shirt, which sat on her almost like a very short dress. The threadbare thing was nearly translucent, the light coming in from behind her outlining her body through it.

She crouched down to lift the edge of a blanket and crawl under it, and only then noticed that he was watching her.

“Oh… You’re awake,” she said, sounding almost embarrassed.

“I am…” On a sudden whim, he reached out to grab her and tugged her down onto the bedroll, wrapping her in a bear hug beneath the covers. She let out a little squeal, laughing, and allowed herself to be pulled against him. “And I caught a thief,” he added, making his voice sound more groggy that he was really feeling. He couldn’t be fully accountable for his actions if he was barely conscious, could he? “I do believe that’s my shirt you tried to make off with, darling. And you know what happens to thieves..?”

“No, what happens to them?” she asked, batting her lashes at him in faux-innocence.

“Oh, they get stripped and spanked,” he answered in a drowsy voice. Gods, but he didn’t actually want to do any of that right now, don’t make him do it... “But for now they just get held in custody,” he added, drawing her closer.

She hugged him back, never quite growing completely still - instead tangling her legs with his, nuzzling into his neck, her fingers drawing faint, light lines and circles on his skin where they could reach while her arms were wrapped around him, her hold tightening. A silence held, which seemed to be full of a meaning that he couldn’t quite bring himself to put words to. He mirrored her movements, slowly. It was a hair short of being sensual, her hips tight against his, but not grinding against him, at least not yet. He savoured the moment.

He decided he would fuck her then if she wanted him to, but he would insist she kept his shirt on - continue the little pretend game, tell her she couldn’t get rid of incriminating evidence so easily or some other bullshit - it didn’t matter, he just wanted her scent to linger on it after. To carry it with him, against his own skin, throughout the day. That thought kindled a low heat at the bottom of his stomach, making him stir ever so slightly. He tucked the thought away for later - to return to, to prod and stroke at another time, should the need arise. But not yet. He didn’t want to encourage her in the wrong direction by having an erection now.

She ceased her movements, hugging him tightly and growing still, and let out a breathy chuckle against his neck.

Was she laughing at him?

If she insinuated anything, ridiculed him for uncharacteristic sentimentality and tenderness, he would tell her he just enjoyed the feeling of her body against his, he decided. He couldn’t produce his own body heat, and she was a source of warmth. Just a warm, willing bloodbag. He grit his teeth. Yes, he would-

“I really like this,” she murmured.

…Oh.

He could still turn her earnestness against her, perhaps say something about her enjoying the smell of corpses, or make some quip about necrophilia. So many opportunities to jest at her expense for letting her guard down…

“So do I,” he whispered instead.

Present day

The sun was well on its descent towards the horizon when Astarion stirred awake.

“Still sleeping, not trancing?” asked Asmodea.

Astarion hummed in confirmation, still drowsy.

“I’ve only had five good years against 200 years of shit, darling, I wouldn’t risk a trance even after another 200.”

He rolled over to look at her. She was lying on her stomach and scribbling something in her journal.

“Have you tried to reverie?” he asked, studying her.

“I don’t know how, and you haven’t been much help in explaining it,” she said without looking up.

“I don’t know how to describe it… How would you explain falling asleep to someone who doesn’t? You just close your eyes and wait for it to happen. An elven reverie works more or less the same way, only you intend for something else to happen instead.”

“We don’t even know that I can.” She looked up at him and smiled. “Are you still so certain that I’m an elf in disguise?”

“Absolutely positive,” he murmured, stretching out and resting his head on his hand to admire her.

“Would I even know for sure that it was a reverie, if I slipped into one?” she asked. “Don’t elves my age only see glimpses of their past lives? I dream plenty of nonsense, some of it could be from another life entirely.”

“I don’t know,” said Astarion. “It could be that having the body of a half-elf has had an impact… Or it may be that we need to wait until you’ve lived a century to find out.”

“Or, it could be that it’s all just wishful thinking,” she said softly, with a sad smile.

Their conversations had grown more personal again since they got back on the road. The last few years had been of flurry of rehearsals, stock orders, artist invitations, guest lists, gossip and schmoozing and all the bureaucratic minutiae that came with operating a venue and managing other people. Astarion had to admit that it was nice to be able to ignore all that for a time and concentrate on one another.

“About your reluctance to trance… This might be a very stupid question, but were there no good moments during your years as a spawn? No genuine laughter? Only straight up misery all day every day? Surely that would eventually grow blasé even for Cazador.”

“There were, every now and again,” Astarion mused. “Why, one time, a pigeon flew into Cazador’s ballroom, and couldn’t figure out how to get back out. Cazador told us that whoever caught the damn thing could eat it. And I’ll have you know, yours truly feasted on a living, flying rat that day.” Astarion said this with an odd mixture of scorn and amusement.

“Was that truly the best thing that ever happened?” she asked.

“No,” he sighed. “Some moments stand out, ones where we weren’t all at each other’s throats, but they never lasted.”

“Was it always a competition? Did you ever… work together? How did you do it anyway, did you split up, or go to the same haunts?”

Astarion let out a laugh.

“Oh no, gods no… Can you imagine? Petras would only have ruined my chances with any mark. Most of them would have.” He paused, ruminating. “Gods it’s been so long I’d nearly forgotten,” he added quietly.

“What?”

“You’re right… When Dalyria was turned, she was… Well, she was useless for what Cazador wanted her to do. She had been a doctor in her mortal life. Proper. Dignified. Convinced that she was higher, better than everyone else. I had probably been the same, at the start,” he added with a scornful chuckle. “And then, suddenly, she found herself in the dirt with the rest of us… Violet only tormented her. She deemed Petras and Yousen beneath her, even in her sorry state back then. And Aurelia… she was only a shell of a being even then. And so Dal turned to me.”

Astarion held a pause, rifling through his memories.

“She was the closest thing I had to a friend, until Cazador poisoned it. I… I took her under my wing, so to speak. We put on a little ‘swinging elven couple’ act, for a while. It worked like a charm. Cazador put an end to it the moment he got wind of it, though.” Astarion grimaced. “Because of course we were meant to be family and family don’t do that.” He snarled. “Never mind that it was more efficient and we could look out for one another that way. But it was never about safety or even efficiency. He wanted to savour playing us off one another even more than he wanted his seven thousand souls.”

A silence held between them, until Asmodea broke it.

“Wonder how Dalyria is doing now,” she said. “She seemed like one of the saner ones.”

Astarion let out another laugh and raised an eyebrow at her.

“She’s trying to get with child, apparently,” he said. “Ivar told me she’s been gorging on blood, bathing in it, if you would believe him. Her coven worships her, they think she will lead them to salvation or a cure. Take whatever he said with a grain of salt - he’s one of hers, so there’s plenty of resentment, but if even half of it is true, she’s gone stark raving mad.”

Asmodea turned to lie on her back, looking up at the roof of the tent.

“I suppose that leaves Leon, as far as sanity is concerned. And maybe Yousen. …Why has Leon always been so hell bent on allying with you, anyway?”

“It’s simple,” Astarion scoffed. “He’s the weakest.”

“Oh? How so?”

“He’s been a vampire for less than two decades. He’s just a fledgling. His only saving grace is that he’s a sorcerer. But for that, any one of us could tear him apart one on one.”

“What about the others?” Asmodea turned to look at him. “How long have they been around? You’ve never told me.”

“Aurelia was the first. I suspect she knew Cazador back when he was a spawn himself.”

“Really?” Asmodea widened her eyes. “Only suspect? How can you not know?”

“Quite simply, Cazador likely forbade her from talking about it. All she ever said was that she could neither confirm nor deny anything I asked or suggested. But it was always… different, between the two of them. She had other duties, different expectations, and anytime he deemed she had erred, his choice of punishment for her was making her watch someone else be tortured. And I think you can guess who was his favourite whipping boy.”

Asmodea winced at his words.

"Why you?" she whispered.

"Oh, that I do have a hunch about - there was one thing that Aurelia was able to tell me," Astarion said with a grimace. "Apparently I was blessed to be the spitting image of Vellioth, Cazador's own late master."

“Some blessing... So Aurelia’s the strongest then?”

Astarion lifted his hand in a small, wavering motion.

“In a sense, she is. Or rather, she is, yes, but she is so far gone after her time under Cazador that there is barely anything left of her to even think of grasping power. She just wants to be left alone.”

“And then? Who did Cazador turn after her?”

“Me.”

A silence hung in the air. Asmodea thought back to the fragments of conversations she had heard between Astarion and his siblings prior to Cazador’s defeat. How they called him weak. The runt of the litter. And how their tune changed immediately after Cazador’s death…

“I see…” was all she said.

Astarion sighed.

“I suppose you’re going to keep asking, so I’ll just tell you. Violet came after. For a long time, it was me, her and Aurelia.”

“Violet’s the only one who’s never written to you,” Asmodea noted.

“Why of course, she hates me with a passion,” Astarion said nonchalantly. “I’m the one who brought her to Cazador.”

“You?!”

“He wanted a bard of his own. I accompanied him to Reithwin for her. This was before the curse, naturally. A business trip, if you will,” he laughed bitterly. “You know how much my targets despise me. She’s their leader. Most of them have been flocking to her coven, or so Dal tells me. I wouldn’t want to cross her path.”

“You have the highest count of victims, don’t you?”

Astarion nodded.

“I had more than a century on most of the others. But no matter, many of my older and mustier catches have gone insane and killed themselves, or been killed. I imagine my remaining count has about evened out with that of Violet and Petras. He came after Violet, about a century after me. Then Yousen and Dalyria, more or less around the same time, give or take a few decades. And then finally Leon. He was Cazador’s spawn for merely a decade. That he’s even considered one of us is merely a technicality.”

It was just after sunset, and they were about to break camp. Asmodea was finishing a quick meal with a mug of coffee, with Astarion at her side by the fire, when Astarion stiffened.

“We have a visitor,” he murmured, just as a half-elven woman holding a drawn longbow that she had no business being able to use, given her diminutive build, appeared from beyond the trees around them. How in the hells had she gotten so close without Astarion sensing her sooner..?

She was covered in piercings and scars. Her hair, worn in an intricate mohawk, was the colour of a blazing sunset - a shade almost as ludicrous as Asmodea’s.

Asmodea gave pause, mug halfway to her mouth, as she gave the woman an incredulous stare.

“Cousin of yours?” Astarion asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Not another word out of you,” the woman said, drawing the bowstring tighter, aiming the arrow at Astarion’s chest. “And not a single move. The arrowheads are tipped in silver.”

Next chapter

~~~~~

Thank you for reading! Who is the mystery intruder? If you know you know. If you don't know, you will know in the next chapter.

Find the fic on AO3 as well.

Tags:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tragedybunny @spunky-89

@lariatbunny@whiskeyskin @asterordinary @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @spacebarbarianweird

@brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @ayselluna

@mj-bites @bardic-inspo

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion x oc #astarion x f!oc #astarion x female tav #astarion x asmodea #bloodbang chronicles

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thedonkeyofyourdreams · 2 years ago

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the bastard son and the devil himself rewatch

Ep. 5

You know what they say. It does not matter how slow you go, as long as you do not stop. And that is how I see my rewatching adventure.

Episode 5 is a good one. Maybe I like it because we don’t spend much time with Jessica and Soul, but rather get to see the trio bond. As they are walking through the forest, Gabriel is leading the way and Annalise (and sometimes Nathan) keep asking typical childlike question - “Are we there yet?” - but not only is Gabriel not a GPS, he is also not all that mature himself, and so responds in an equally childish way. I just appreciate that since it is in this episode they grow closer and Gabriel starts teasing them about sexuality.

Annalise is faced with fairborns not necessarily being the good ones after finding burned up corpses. “They wouldn’t do this” - um, yeah they would sweetie, your daddy wouldn’t even break a sweat over it. They reach the farm, Nathan uses his papi to get the good will of the scary blood witches, which is smart if no one mentions the prophecy. Hostility turns into hospitality.

I quite like their days at the farm. How Gabriel teases Nathan with sex. “Shagging sounds like something you’d do to a carpet” STRONG AGREE! Also, the way Gabriel looks at Nathan in this scene. He might be oogling the strong dude at the farm, but judging by him being with Clark before this, his type might not be body builders after all.

The bloods teach us more about their kind - how there are a few lucky ones with the ability to take other’s powers. How it is a cultural thing, something beautiful, to eat the hearts of your family and loved ones to keep their gifts in the family. How the fairborns killed Marcus’ mother, meaning that he couldn’t get all of the powers she had gained through her time, and that he now ate the hearts of those he killed to make up for it. Sure, he looks a little less barbaric now, but not enough to convince us he’s necessarily ‘gooder’ than the fairborns. Just as bad maybe.

Bed scene. Of course there is only one bed. Nathan in the middle, Annalise has no wish to be sandwiched, strangely. Gabriel does not seem too bothered, he has spooned people in small beds before I’m guessing. It feels like Annalise is trying to show Nathan that she is ready to bone at the next opportunity. They have a little moment together in the bed. Then boom, morning and we get this gem

This is when I for real started shipping the trio first time around. I love how unbothered Annalise is also. Just two snuggly boys. Soon after, Gabriel invites Nathan to visit him when everything is done, so that he can learn to let his hair down. Can we just take a moment to imagine this? What if they got to Mercury, no prob, here’s your blood, Soul falls off a boat and drowns, and Nathan visits Gabriel in Paris for a weekend of “debauchery” (G’s word, not mine). If no one has written that fic yet, please do.

There is such a nice vibe to the farmhouse scenes. The light, the plants, Odette singing. It feels cozy - except for when they mention stuff like killing people. Nathan and Annalise go to catch chickens, and it looks like they just gave the same task to the actors and filmed whatever would happen. I could not have done it any better at least. Then they lie in the grass and Annalise goes for it, after telling Nathan that she knows that him being a heart-eater does not mean he wants to eat her heart. I think the sexy session is pretty cute, realistic for the most part. Then the chicken house blows up. I’d think it’s a big turnoff to imagine your lover becoming a blood puddle mid-action.

They go back with the dead chickens, and Gabriel can tell they have had sex. Of course he can. I guess he knew already when Annalise didn’t want him to join their chicken hunt. Was it Gabriel who inspired her to go for it? Or was it Odette’s flirting with Nathan that made her so keen? Who knows.

Then comes the hunters and with them a fairborn captive who is to be killed. It is quite beautiful for an execution. Red blood becomes red flowers. Gabriel takes Annalise’s hand, and I would say it is the first time he does something just for her, no sarcastic comment, just empathy. The first of many future supportive hand holdings.

In the evening, the whole family is gathered when Nathan collapses because of the witche’s bottle spell. The little girl was sent for ingredients and and comes back - as Jessica presumably, but still speaks french. I assume taking the shape of someone doesn’t mean you speak their language, but I guess Jessica is just that good?

The blood witches, Odette, understand that Annalise is a fairborn, but she has just told Ceelia she never wants to see Soul again, which I guess shows the blood witches that she rejects her own. She gets to live. In the chaos that follows, shots firing back and forth, Jessica has stabbed a man and then comes for Nathan’s finger. She also gets to see Annalise’s power, and I can imagine she would have loved to have something like that. But since she doesn’t, she has to run for it. Gotta get that pinkie to Soul.

Odette sees her whole family being shot down, but still manages to get the trio to a boat. Ceelia finds them, helps getting a helpless Nathan on the boat, before Odette knocks her out with a shovel. I like Ceelia, but good for you Odette.

We end the episode on Soul drooling at the sight of the old woman with all the powers. He has truly become the very thing he is hunting.

#tbsatdh spoilers #rewatching tbsatdh #half bad #the bastard son & the devil himself #this is very long again im sorry #nabrielise #rewatch #nathan byrne #tbsatdh #on to the next episode

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colossal-fallout · 4 years ago

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@cursedranger121 asks; Mikasa x Male Bodied Reader modern setting. MBR Mikasa at a party. I'll let you pick kinks used, but any possessive elements from Mikasa in it would just be *chefs kiss* perfection.

Male Reader X Mikasa Ackerman - Modern AU

AN: Sorry if this seems a little rushed. I was half way through earlier and Tumblr decided not to save the draft. It’s not the first time it’s happened either... sigh.

Warnings: NSFW. 18+ Orgasm denial. Smut. Alcohol consumption. Slight possessiveness.

Your stomach flutters and churns with eagerness and excitement as you pull up to the booming house, the siren call of a night of fun and debauchery calling your name.

As you step out of the cab, your name is already called over the music from the people spilled out onto the lawn. You turn your head to see Eren and Jean standing with a beer in hand, raising them at you in a greeting. You begin to walk towards your friends as the cab makes its way back down the long, isolated country lane. Historia’s house is ideal for parties. It’s nestled within the middle of nowhere. No one is to be disturbed and the chance of someone calling the cops for a noise complaint is minimal.

“What took you so long?” Jean asks before putting the glass bottle to his lips.

“Work.” You sigh, gladly taking a fresh bottle Eren hands you.

The hiss of the suds is like music to your ears as you finally get to have fun with your friends after a long week. You relish the bubbles and foam that dance on your tongue with a bitter tang, the sound of laughter from within the house already lifting your spirits to a higher place.

Your attention is pulled when Historia calls your name in a greeting and a wave from the porch as she keeps her farmhand boyfriend company as he sparks up a cigarette.

The three of you slink over and exchange greetings - Sasha's booming laugh ringing from somewhere inside the house.

"Mikasa's been looking for you." Historia mutters as Jean and Eren head inside.

Your cock twitches in a hopeful flutter at those words. Your eyebrow arcs as you shrug it off casually.

You and Mikasa had been chatting over the months. You'd even went on a date which had to be cut short because work had called you in. You were sure she'd lost interest until Historia lets out a small giggle.

"She's been looking forward to you coming."

Maybe you still do have a chance?

Tampering down your eagerness you nod in thanks for that titbit of information as you follow your best friends into the interior of the Hallway.

Your memories decided to remind you of the moments your eyes had accidentally rested upon her beautiful chest during a conversation or her peachy ass as you headed up the stairs on your date. Her soft skin, her scent... It drove you wild. Those sweet lips and October sky blues along with that adorable little blush she hued whenever you stared a little too long... you were more than happy to see her again.

An hour went by in the blink of an eye as you caught up with your friends and let loose. Mikasa was indeed happy to see you, greeting you with a warm hug and her smile was evident from across the room. You tried to ignore the sly nudging's from Eren’s elbow and the envious pout from Jean as you chatted with the raven-haired beauty.

At one point, you were about to take a swig of your drink when Annie purposefully knocked herself into you, your suds soaking the front of your shirt.

“Ah, shit.” You sigh. “What was that for?”

“Oh, lighten up.” She beams.

The pink hue across her cheeks showed she was either drunk or just blushing at your presence; which you seriously doubted.

“How have you been?” She then asks casually, as if you weren’t now patting your chest dry with your hand fruitlessly.

“Good thanks. Yourself?”

Before she can even reply you flinch at the surprisingly soft touch of someone snaking their arm around your waist, followed by a familiar scent.

“Hey.” Mikasa smiles, giving you a little squeeze.

Annie’s eyes roll. “Do you mind? We’re kinda in the middle of a conversation.”

All your mind can focus on in your touch starved state is the feeling of Mikasa’s chest pressing against your arm.

“Yeah, I do mind.” Mikasa smiles in reply. “He’s with me tonight. Okay?”

Annie shakes her head and walks away, muttering. “Whatever. Not worth my time anyway.”

The raven-haired beauty pushes her nose against yours, her eyes crossing as they focus on your orbs. “You’re all wet. Come on, let’s get you more comfortable.” She laces her fingers within yours before leading you up the stairs, the building still vibrating under your feet from the thumping music.

You were expecting her to take you to the bathroom to get dried up. But she’s taken you to one of the spare bedrooms, locking the door behind you and guiding you to sit on the bed. A cool and welcomed breeze rolls over you from the open window, the light drapes floating in the updraft. You weren’t sure why you were focusing on that. Maybe you were nervous, as Mikasa begins to unbutton your wet shirt.

“We’ll hang it to dry…” she whispers, her eyes enlarging as more of your skin becomes revealed to her. You couldn’t identify why just yet, but as her face came close to yours, all you could think about was that beautiful draft from the damn window. Your head snaps away from hers as she pushes the material down your arms.

Your mouth becomes dry as her now heavy lidded ocean blues close the gap between you.

“Mikasa… how much have you had to drink?” you mutter, realizing it was your conscience preventing you to enjoy the moment.

An etch of crimson sketches across her nose as she shyly glances away. “You’re so sweet. Don’t worry. I’ve only had two drinks all night.”

Her hands then slide up your chest to your shoulders, her slender fingers brushing up and circling your back. “Don’t you want me?”

Of course, you do.

You gaze down into her eyes, hopeful with a bittersweet undertone of a fear of rejection. As if you would.

“YEE YEE!”

Your heads snap to the window as the sounds of Connie and Sasha heading out into the back yard for air carries up on the breeze above the muffled booms of the bass.

You both let out a small laugh. You adored your crazy friends.

Knowing she wasn’t intoxicated; your confidence returns - your hands running through her hair as you firmly pull her gaze to yours.

“I want you too. You’re so beautiful…”

Her blush deepens as you press your lips against hers, a small moan already emitting from her throat. By the sounds of it, she’d wanted you for a while now.

You’re not sure how long you’d made out with her for. You’d pulled her down to lie next to you, your hands palming her breasts, her hair and shape. But however long you had been, she was a flustered mess – her hair dishevelled and face deep red as your lips trail down her neck, leaving sucks and nips, her skin darkening as you mark her. You could tell she was becoming desperate for more as her hips begin to absent mindedly grind on your thigh, her sex desperate for some friction from you. Your own throbbing cock was an indication of your own yearning as you sit up slightly, pushing her onto her back. Your hands fumble her shirt, quickly removing it - her breasts spilling out pulling out an unintentional groan from your depths of perversion.

“Fuck...” You gasp at the sight of her squirming under you.

Your cock is pulsing, begging to be inside of her as you pull down her pants and sighing as the scent of her arousal rolls down with the material. Her pussy is small and pink, neat and gleaming as if weeping for you to touch it.

Your hands harshly

Grab the underside of her thighs, pushing her knees to her chest as you begin to sensually kiss her fluttering slit.

“Ah~!” She gasps, her chest pushing up and her grip tightening on the sheets beneath her.

Her taste is like copper with a nice, sweet aftertaste, your finger stroking and teasing her entrance as your tongue harshly bats against her clit. Her eyes clamp close as her entire body tenses and trembles, the ignition of your act lighting up the kerosene of her yearning for you.

You push your finger inside of her, followed by a second before you curl them and beckon at her g-spot as she melts into the palm of your hand in gasps and moans. You can’t actually believe you finally have Mikasa like this, the most vulnerable a person could be as you massage her insides with the pads of your fingers, building her orgasm from the very foundation, each wiggle, each stroke making her more and more hysteric, your name now leaving her parted lips.

“Do my fingers feel good inside you? Huh?” You breathe onto her slit, her head bobbing in confirmation.

You return to her nub; flicking and licking, your pace quickening as her wetness starts to splash around onto your wrist, her insides beginning to spasm erratically.

“Ah, I'm... going to...” She whines, almost shy and embarrassed you were about to see her come undone.

You slow your pace to a painfully gentle rhythm. “Hold back for me baby... wait for me.”

Her hands run through her hair as you pull out your cock that’s been begging to be freed for some time now. You grab the base of the shaft, prodding your swollen head at her hole.

“You ready for me?” You pant.

“Yes!” She sobs.

With a long push, you groan loudly as her warm insides embrace your entirety. Each bump and ridge rub you in the exact right way as you slide inside, her walls assisting your movement and pulling you in as she sighs deeply, her nails digging into your arms as you hover over her.

“Shi~~t...” You hiss. “God, you feel so good.”

Once you’re at the hilt, you lower yourself to her neck hiding your head into the crook while you begin to slowly dip your hips in and out of her, your moans muffled as you bite and kiss her neck and earlobe whispering all sorts of things. Anything your mind musters up about her.

“You’re so tight...”

“Oh baby... fuck... it’s too good...”

Each slow drag of you, her volume and desperation increase slightly, the wet sounds of her cunt sucking you and pushing you are turning you onto another level while her nails sink into your back, your name leaving her over and over.

“Please, don’t stop...” She begs, her eyes watering from the intensity of pleasure.

You rut a little faster, caressing her hair as your cock begins to throb with more violence, the deep feeling in your stomach telling you that your time is almost there.

“Cum for me...” You whisper. “Let me hear that pretty moan as you cum around me...”

“y/n... oh my god...” Her walls tighten and clamp you in place as you push her over the edge, her silent scream beyond human perception as your rhythm falters, your thick cream spilling out inside of her as you both unravel into the ether.

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lightofthemoonglow · 4 years ago

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those hands

summary: billy adds a new dimension to his relationship. third person reader

contains: smut, mommy kink, voyeurism, billy gets the strap

Sometimes, Billy let her have the upper hand. He acted like it was some huge favor, but both of them knew that he wanted it as badly as she did, maybe even more. And it was beautiful every time he was the one who was at someone else’s mercy.

“Fuck, babe…” Billy is trying to stay still, even though her hand had just left his cock, denying him orgasm for the fourth time. His cock practically spasms, a bead of precum oozing from the tip. Smirking, she collects it on the tip of her index finger and licks it off. “C’mon…” His jaw is clenched, his face is starting to flush red and sweat is beading along his brow.

When her hand goes back around him, Billy just groans and bucks his hips, trying to get her to stroke him faster. But she keeps a slow and steady pace, a wolfish grin on her face. This is one of her favorite things, seeing Billy like this.

And then it gets better.

Her hand has finally sped up, she can tell that he’s getting close again. Billy is starting to drop that cool guy façade, she can tell by the look on his face, by the downright filthy noises he can’t stop himself from making. How he’s trying to grip the sheets, but he can’t manage to hold on. There is precum leaking at a semi-regular pace, getting all over her hand. He’s starting to thrust upwards again when she pulls her hand away, not even bothering with slowing down.

Billy outright whines and practically pants as he looks at her, looking downright wounded. “Please,” he begs, nearly humping the air for a moment. “I need it.”

“What do you need, baby?” she asks, stroking his thigh, even reaching down to fondle his sac for a few moments.

“Please let me come.” Billy is whimpering, unable to stop himself from thrusting his hips upwards, his cock bobbing in the air as he seeks some sort of friction. “Please, Mommy.”

It takes only a second for him to realize what he said. Billy stops, staring at her with uncertain eyes. But before he can begin to truly worry, she closes the gap between them and takes him back in hand.

“Mommy is gonna take good care of you, baby.”

From there, things just evolve. It’s as if Billy needed this one thing to be out in the open for things to truly get interesting. Pandora’s box is open, but no one has even thought about closing it.

Which is how they had wound up in their current positions. Billy on his hands and knees on the bed, only wearing a cock ring. Stu in a chair in the corner, fully clothed. And her kneeling behind Billy, a strap-on secured to the harness she’s wearing.

“Please…” Billy croaks out, barely raising his head, unable to look at either of the other people in the room.

“Baby, you’ve been bad lately. And bad boys need to be punished,” she says, rubbing one of his reddened ass cheeks. He had taken his spanking so well, earning plenty of praise afterwards. By the end of the ten strikes with the paddle, he had been breathing heavily, his dick hard and practically slapping his stomach whenever he moved. “You told Stu that you’re the one in charge, that I’m your little toy, just like he is. But that’s not true, is it?”

Billy shakes his head, unable to look at Stu, whose eyes are lighting up with delight at the sight of his best friend, who never let him top, on his hands and knees, ready to take his girlfriend’s strap-on. He had seen everything, from the spanking to the prep for what’s about to come. “No,” Billy grunts and the squeeze to his sore ass is a silent order for him to address her correctly. “No, Mommy.”

“And that’s why Mommy has to punish you for lying.” She leans forward and kisses his shoulder. “I’m only doing this because I love you, baby boy.”

Of course, she pushes the strap-on in slowly, taking her time with it. Stu starts to frantically undo his pants, unable to hold back any longer. Billy looks like the perfect picture of debauchery: sweaty, his face flushed, his cock an angry deep red. And then his mouth drops open when she bottoms out and Stu wants take advantage of that, getting lost in the fantasy of fucking Billy’s mouth for a moment before her voice snaps him back to reality.

“Use your words, sweetie,” she says, gripping Billy’s hips rather hard. “I can’t do anything until you do.”

“I’m ready, Mommy.”

“Good boy.”

It actually takes a while, until after she’s picked up the pace to the point where she’s nearly slamming into him with every thrust and Stu is still stroking himself, but eventually Billy breaks. She hits the right spot over and over and it makes him moan loudly, unable to hold back any longer. He’s panting, moaning, even thrusting back, clutching the sheets tightly.

His mind is blank. The world has narrowed down to just the toy in him, the feeling of her hands on his hips, the sound of her grunts of effort. It's almost too much and he can't stop himself from asking her to let him come, asking Mommy to let him feel good, making promises to be good.

When she takes the cock ring off him, Billy doesn’t last much longer. Just two strokes of her hand and then he's spilling all over her fingers. He closes his eyes afterwards, taking a deep breath. When she climbs onto the bed, the strap now off, he lets her hold him close. She strokes his hair and when she says "Mommy is so proud of you." he knows that she means it.

#billy loomis x reader #slasher x reader

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sassycassie-s-writing · 3 years ago

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Diplomatic Daemati Part 2

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Rhysand

Rating: PG/K+

Original Idea: @itscheybaby recommended doing more parts for this series and I had more ideas so we’re going for it. Part 1 Here

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) At 2,310 words this isn’t quite as long as the first one, but given I wrote 1,200 words per one shot for years, I’m apparently doing better lol

^^^^^

The week between the High Lords’ meeting and my first visit to the Night Court passed quickly. My soldier training was temporarily halted in lieu of diplomatic training. As well as Thesan giving me the rundown of what was known about the reclusive Night Court.

The day arrived for my departure, and I realized I didn’t know how I was supposed to get there. I could fly—but that would involve crossing the Day Court territory and would take more than all day. Hours longer than I could afford without angering Rhysand. Rhys, I guess. I didn’t have enough power to winnow, either, but I doubted Thesan would know where to drop me off; if he could even take me at all.

I mused over breakfast how I was supposed to get there when a crack of thunder almost made me drop my toast.

High Lord Rhysand stood in the mess hall otherwise empty of any legion soldiers besides officers, posture relaxed, hands in his pockets, tendrils of night wafting off of him. “Good morning, emissary,” he greeted casually. My fellow officers stared. “Ready to go?”

“Allow me to grab my bag,” I said, rising from my bench. He waved me off. Dismissive, casually aloof. I went to my officer’s quarters, grabbed my bag, and went back to the mess hall. Rhys held a hand out for me. “I’ve never winnowed before.” My trepidation made him smirk as I reached out and took his hand.

His grin was feline. “I’ll be gentle then.”

I doubted that, but didn’t dare say so out loud.

Winnowing was darkness and wind buffeting me from all sides. Pulling me apart and slamming me back together simultaneously. I clenched Rhys’ hand so tight my knuckles blanched.

Then it stopped. “Welcome to the Night Court,” Rhys remarked.

We were standing in a beautiful palace of moonstone. It reminded me of the sunstone of Thesan’s palace, but different—grand in a simple but elegant way. I found I liked the aesthetics of it better.

Rhys let go of my hand.

“Being daemati,” he began without preamble as I stared at the palace perched atop a mountain peak, “is about more than just reading the current thoughts of those around you. It’s not just speaking mind-to-mind or taking control of someone entirely.” He strode down the open-air hall to a glass table and sat. I took the seat opposite him at his indication and set down my bag.

“Being daemati,” he continued, “is having everything they are laid bare before you. Every memory, every secret, every muscle, under your control. You can alter their memories, stop their blood from flowing, shatter their minds to turn them into a living ghost. It’s a gift not to be taken lightly.” He lounged on his chair without a care in the world, but his eyes burned as he stared at me. “You understand?”

I nodded. “I understand.”

The High Lord seemed satisfied by my response. “Good. Then let’s get you settled in and then we can properly begin your training. Daemati lessons in the morning, diplomacy in the afternoon. You’ll be here for a week, and then you will return home for the time being. High Lord Thesan will be in touch discussing when you will return. When you’re alone in the Dawn Court, I suggest you practice what we work on here.”

I nodded again.

Rhys stood, I followed. He strode back the way we came down the hall.

“You’re allowed to fly, too, by the way, while you’re here. But please do not go farther than this peak and the ones adjacent. All the mountains in this range look the same and I do not have time to find you or send out a search party if you get lost.”

Reasonable. “Of course.”

“Thank you. Shall we get started?”

We made it to the back of the hall, where a large wall of marble with doors inset in it was waiting. I followed Rhys through one, down a flight of stairs, and into a beautiful guest bedroom. I stared around at the room, jaw gaping. “This… is not what I expected. No offense,” I said.

An amused smile appeared on his face. “No screaming, no torture chambers, no blatant debauchery?” he asked.

My ears and neck burned in shame. “Well… the Night Court has a… harsh reputation,” I admitted.

“It’s not an unwarranted one. But the wicked members of my court reside elsewhere. Deep beneath this mountain, actually. They’re not allowed up here. And you will not be interacting with them. Your business with me has nothing to do with them. So, you won’t be subjected to the worst the Night Court has to offer.”

“Thank the Mother,” I breathed. My wings drooped a bit with relief. Rhys smirked, crossing his arms across his ribs and leaning against the doorframe.

“Go ahead and unpack, if you wish. Then meet me upstairs in the hall.”

“Okay,” I said. Rhys slipped out of the guest room. I set my small leather rucksack next to the armoire. I hadn’t brought much in the way of clothing. A few semi-formal outfits, my ceremonial uniform, some sleep clothes, and that was pretty much it. There wasn’t much to unpack, so I didn’t bother. Just stared around the incredible room—including the pool-sized bathtub that allowed water to flow into thin air off the side of the mountain.

When I’d stared my fill, I went back upstairs to the open-air hall. Rhys was lounging in that chair at the table again. He must have known I was there, but he didn’t turn to acknowledge me.

I hadn’t made it halfway when claws slammed into my shields. Dark ones. Powerful ones. My shield held strong, but I felt it strain. I grunted.

“Huh,” Rhys mused. “For a self-taught daemati, you’ve got a pretty good shield.”

“Thank you,” I said, walking forward to retake my seat across from him.

His power slammed into my shields again, before I could reach him. Much stronger this time. My shield shattered before I could reinforce it.

Those claws dug into my mind. I wondered if they hurt non-daemati. They made me stagger, landing on one knee and definitely bruising my kneecap. Push me out, Rhys’ voice said in my head, so loud and so overwhelming that I put my hands over my ears in a futile attempt to block it out. Shove me out!

“How?” I demanded. Tears welled up in my eyes. The claws twisted—and the tears drained. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Everything was under Rhysand’s control.

He stood from the table and strode over to me. I couldn’t move my eyes to track his progress. His boots appeared in my line of sight and he crouched in front of me. A claw twisted and my eyes looked up to meet his. Out of my control.

“Shove me out of your head,” he said. Calm. Collected. Controlled.

How?! I pleaded internally. Everything was so dark—overshadowed by such immense power… it must have dwarfed even the other High Lords’ reserves…

Shove. Me. Out.

Darkness. His power was darkness.

I was a Peregryn soldier of the Dawn Court.

In my head, I clamped down my surging panic and released my own power. The streaks of dawn broke over his shroud. I sent each shaft of light to his claws. Pushing them out of my head, building my shield behind them. More rays of the rising sun pierced the clouds of night. With a final push, I hurled those claws away from me, slamming my shield back into place and reinforcing it. Once. Twice.

Control of my own body flooded back to me. I slumped, face-first, to the moonstone floor. Panting. Sweaty.

I heard a soft thud. Rhysand sat on the ground. “Not bad,” he remarked. “The light. Not a choice I would have thought of from you. I’m impressed—and, bear in mind, that’s not a compliment I give easily.”

Chest heaving, I pushed up to meet his eyes. He was sitting with his ankles crossed, long legs stretched out before him, arms braced on the floor behind him in an easy-going posture. “You don’t believe in starting slow, do you?” The demand came out as more of an exhausted plea—which I hated. I wasn’t weak. I was a soldier—an officer—not some downy fledgling. I was just new to this level of skill.

He shrugged. “I wasn’t taught slowly. Besides, I had no intention of doing you any harm. There was no real danger. But teaching you the most important skills right off the bat will give you greater advantages if you ever come across another daemati.”

My breathing finally slowed. I wiped my sweat off on my sleeve. My wings were still trembling. I flapped them half-heartedly to ease out the tension. Rhys’ eyes followed them.

“What… what did you see?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You said—” I cleared my throat. “You said every memory is laid bare before you, when you’re in someone else’s mind. What did you see?”

“I didn’t. This is a training exercise. Despite what the other courts are led to believe, I’m not heartless. I understand that as an officer in Thesan’s aerial legion, you probably know a few secrets of the court.”

I scoffed. “Bold of you to assume High Lord Thesan trusts me that much. Did you see me at the meeting last week? At the far end of his left-hand side? The lowest rank?”

“He trusts you enough to defend his life in a room full of the most powerful men in Prythian,” Rhysand pointed out.

My expression dropped. I’d never thought about it like that.

Rhysand laughed. “Did that just occur to you?”

I didn’t reply. Just pushed myself to my feet. I fluffed my feathers with a shake of my shoulders and shook my hands through my hair in an attempt to fix it up a little. Rhys stood in one smooth motion.

“Can we sit for the next part? That trip hurt my knee.” I gestured to the bruise forming on the bottom of my kneecap, exposed under the hem of my trousers.

“Sure.”

I preceded him to the table and sat down. The chair—I hadn’t paid it any mind before, due to being used to it in a Peregryn legion—but the chair was built to accommodate wings. I looked back at it, and then faced the front again. Rhysand sat opposite me. I pointed to the chair. “This is made for wings,” I said.

He nodded. “I have Illyrians in my lands, remember? Two of them are my closest counsel,” he said.

“I remember. I guess I just never considered… that you’d have chairs made for them here. Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Making assumptions. About this place. About your court in general. It’s rude.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. Assumptions and expectations are how we survive and prepare for the worst to do so.” He shrugged.

“You really didn’t look at any of my memories?”

“No. I will respect the terms of our business.”

“Thank you.”

“I will ask, too, that you do the same. When we get to that point in your training.”

“Of course,” I said. I definitely didn’t want to see what was inside his head. The wickedness of the Night Court’s reputation… any atrocities he’d caused or committed… I didn’t want details.

He inclined his head to me. “Thank you.” He looked out to the mountains surrounding us. “We may not get to that this week, though. We’ll see.”

I nodded.

“The next bit of your training we can discuss before demonstrating. They’re the two biggest rules of being daemati. The first is: if you delve into someone’s mind, keep your exit open so a fellow daemati doesn’t leave their shields down and slam them shut behind you, trapping you in their mind. You become their slave. No control over anything. Unable to get out.”

My wings shuddered as a chill went down my spine. Rhysand smirked slightly.

“Second rule: be prepared to see things you might not like and definitely don’t want to see. Unpleasant memories. Evidence of your father having an affair. Lives are messy and complicated. It’s part of being daemati.”

I nodded. “I know that part already,” I said.

The smile turned from amused to an understanding purse of the lips. “I know you do. Based on what you said at the meeting.”

His claws lashed at my shields again. They glinted harmlessly off. My reinforcements held. Rhysand nodded in approval. “Not bad.”

“The third rule, I’m guessing, is always be prepared for your mind to be attacked at any moment.”

“That’s optional, but yes.”

“So, if I may ask, my lord, what was with the droning at the meeting?”

“I sensed another daemati in the room. Magic brushing my shield, passing through the room against everyone else’s. I just couldn’t pinpoint who. So I sent out a wave to test who it was. You resisted for a long time, actually. Longer than I would have imagined. Then you screamed. Which startled me, actually. I didn’t know it was you, at first. But during the mingling afterward, I saw you alone. Everyone else was talking, but you were shaking. Your wings were trembling. I took a guess. Figured I’d wipe the encounter from your mind if I turned out to be wrong.” He smirked. “But I wasn’t.” There was the arrogance I recognized. I rolled my eyes. He chuckled. “Sorry. That was probably unpleasant.”

“Understatement,” I muttered.

Another laugh. Then he went quiet. “Shall we move on to the next demonstration? About leaving the way out open?”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “Yes. Let’s move on.”

#Diplomatic Daemati #Part 2 #Diplomatic Daemati Part 2 #Rhysand #Rhysand Imagine #Rhysand FanFiction #ACOTAR #ACOTAR Imagine #ACOTAR FanFiction

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farfromparker · 5 years ago

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♛ Sovereign | t.h.

♛ Summary: Tom offers you something you never knew you wanted, himself. ♛ Pairing: Tom Holland x Female Reader ♛ Warnings: explicit smut featuring sub!Tom ♛ Word Count: 6.8k ♛ Notes: It’s been three months but our lovely sub!Tom is back! I’m really excited to share this one with you guys, feels good to be writing again! As always, feedback is appreciated and encouraged!!

Special thanks to @worldoftom 💖

“I love you two, ya know that?” Harrison calls from your couch.

You smile at your reflection in the mirror, applying a good cover of mascara. Putting on the finishing touches in preparation for a night of debauchery or an acting audition. It all depends on how Harrison’s meet up with an online match plays out.

“Shouldn’t one of us stay back in case you need an emergency call to get out of it?” Tom asks, sprawled out on your bed.

“Nuh uh,” you interject, popping out of your bathroom to look at Tom directly. “You are not leaving me alone with this. If he’s into this guy I am not going to be left alone at the bar while they hook up in the bathroom.”

“Hey!” Harrison calls out.

“Am I wrong?” you call back.

“Well — no, but if you could not be so blunt about it I’d appreciate that.”

Tom laughs. “Alright,” he sits up, “but know I’m only doing this for you, love.”

You blow him a kiss before turning back into your bathroom to finish up the last little stitch of makeup.

Another minute or two and one last adjustment of your top and you flick off the bathroom light. You walk back out into your bedroom and grab your purse off the bed.

Tom stands up and smiles at you, “You look stunning.”

There’s a bit of heat that settles on your cheeks, “Thanks Tommy.”

He goes to move past you, brushing his hand along the small of your back. “You’re welcome, Miss,” he whispers, and your body goes stock still. You turn to look at him and he’s smirking, a devilish glint playing in his eyes. And your drunken conversation, nay confession, to him last week plays over in your mind.

You groaned, falling back onto Tom’s sofa.

“What’s up, love?” Tom asked, offering you another drink, your fifth of the night, as he settled down next to you.

“I miss sex Tommy,” you said, taking a long sip of your drink.

Tom coughed quietly from his spot opposite you. “Oh? What about that lad last month? Uh Nick? Brad?”

You shook your head, dismissing the name of a recent, random hookup, “That was just sex. I miss… sex my way.”

Tom licked his lips, shifting on the couch to turn towards you more, “Your way?”

You copied him, wetting your own lips. “I like to be in control.” And the alcohol coursing through your veins was enough force to keep you talking. “I like to dominate. I want a pretty boy on his knees for me, I want him begging and whining and whimpering for me. I wanna call him baby boy and puppy and pet and I want him to call me Miss. I want him to be mine.”

Tom watched you talk, hanging off every word, absolutely mesmerized.

“I wanna tease him, I wanna edge him and play with him. I wanna choke him. I want him to beg for me to let him cum. And before I let him cum maybe I’ll ride his face first, or sit on his cock and then after I’ve cum I’ll finally let him cum, watch him make himself all messy for me. Cum all over his stomach, cock wet from me. and then maybe I’ll — maybe I’ll lick it up and push my tongue into his mouth. Make him taste his own mess.”

He licked his lips and adjusted himself, an action lost on you. You took another drink before glancing at him. His face was flushed. He swallowed harshly, grabbing his own drink to wet his dry mouth.

“Wow,” he paused, trying to find the words.

“Sorry,” you laughed, “that might have been more than you bargained for.”

He chuckled, clearing his throat, “Nope. We just got that much closer is all. It’s fine, good. All good.”

You’re left reeling a bit because he most definitely just called you Miss and most definitely remembers the situation in which you said you want to be called that. But he’s out in your living room now, leaving you to your own thoughts.

Harrison calls out your name, “You ready?”

You shake your head, one big deep breath in and push Tom’s comment out of your mind. “Coming!”

♛*♛*♛

The bar is loud, there are people all around you. Bodies ebbing and flowing to the beat like the ocean against the sand. It’s hot but not uncomfortably so. You’re enjoying the liveliness, the noise, the commotion. You can’t hear yourself think in here and somehow through it all, it’s the quietest you’ve felt in a long time.

Tom is close. You can feel his hand hovering along the small of your back to keep you near him. You take turns shouting into the other’s ear, trying as best you can to carry on a conversation over the music.

Harrison is still within your sights, grinding and kissing and it’s safe to say your acting skills won’t be needed tonight. You smirk as you glance in their direction. Happy for him.

And so that left you and Tom. Your best friend, your partner in crime, your confidant, your shoulder to lean on. Sweet Tom. Lovely Tom. Gorgeous Tom. Sexy Tom.

You shake your head as your brain catches up with the thoughts the contents of your glass are riling up inside your mind. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to focus again. Best friend Tom. Smart and silly with a heart as big as an ocean, just as deep as well. Beautiful Tom, his warm chocolate brown eyes, his broken nose, his messy eyebrow, his pink lips...

His strong shoulders, firm stomach, gentle hands…

The same gorgeous man who called you Miss mere hours ago...

Stop.

He’s pressed into you, breath in your ear, hand firmly placed on your hip now. Your skin feels hot.

“Might need to catch a ride back to yours, love,” he says and there’s an uncontrollable shiver that runs up your spin. He pulls back to look you in your eyes, smirking and he tilts his head towards Harrison. Your eyes linger on his lips for a second, the alcohol making the delay longer than socially acceptable. He notices. You pull your eyes away and find Harrison again, lips locked, hands roaming and he’s definitely getting lucky tonight.

Your free hand finds Tom’s stomach, hand sliding gently until it comes to rest in the dip of his waist. He turns into you easily.

“Course Tommy, there’s always room at my place for you.”

There’s a flirty tone to your response. Maybe it’s a result of the alcohol, maybe it’s a result of the song playing over the speakers, a deep, rhythmic tone. Or maybe it’s a result of the way Tom had reacted when you touched him. His stomach muscles flexing, body turning towards you, fingers squeezing at the band of your jeans to pull you just that much closer.

And that’s when you realize his hand is under your shirt, when did that happen?

His thumb bumps against the skin of your lower back, gently, rubbing soft circles and your vision is starting to blur, but it’s got nothing to do with the drink in your hand.

You set that same drink down on the bar behind you, it’s not even the slightest bit important anymore. You look at him, staring into his eyes and asking a silent question. His gaze drops to your lips and that’s enough of an answer to take this forward. You reach for his hand and take his drink, placing it down next to yours. You reach your hand up for him and trace his jaw, ghosting along his smooth skin. He’s looking back into your eyes now. You hook your pointer finger under his jaw and let your thumb rub against his bottom lip. You glance down, watching as his mouth pops open slightly for you, the way his lip moves under your touch. You drag your thumb a little more roughly, pulling at his lip some and getting it wet from his spit. Then you bring your forefinger up to trace his top lip before letting it fall gently into the open space his lips have created. He opens wider as an invitation and you push your finger inside. You glance back up at him and his eyelids flutter, lips locking around your digit and as your thumb traces his cheek, he starts sucking. He uses his tongue tentatively, swirling around your finger and does his best to keep his teeth out of the way.

You smirk, eyes hooding as you focus on the feeling of his mouth. Your own tongue pokes out to lick along your bottom lip.

Good boy.

Someone knocks back against you suddenly, pushing you off balance. You pull your hand back to steady yourself against his chest and he automatically grabs at you as well, bringing you impossibly closer.

He looks at you, “You alright?” he shouts over the music.

Nodding, you simply respond, “Let’s go.” You reach down and grab his wrist, guiding him through the mess of people. He twists his hand so that his fingers lock with yours and you can feel his presence along your back as you wade through the crowd.

You push the door open and the cool air hits you as you step out onto the street. The cold only spurs you on, reigniting that desire you had back inside. You pull your phone out quickly, desperate to get home. You find a ride relatively quickly and request it.

There’s a small group of people outside the pub, smoking and bantering. They don’t pay you any mind. You stuff your phone into your back pocket and turn to Tom.

“What about Harrison?”

Tom shakes his head, “He’s a big boy, he’ll be fine.” The answer is firm.

Your lips curl up into a smile and you step into his space. You can still feel the ghost of his mouth around your forefinger, his lips, his tongue, his teeth, the look in his eyes as you watched. You can still feel the tacky remnants of his saliva on your skin.

You bring your hand up to cup his jaw. “I’d like to keep pushing, Tommy.”

His face goes a little slack, mouth parting slowly, eyes turning dark and stormy. He nods, seemingly a bit lost for words.

You however, say exactly what comes to mind. “Good boy.”

And he whimpers at the praise. The sound sends an electric spark down your spine, igniting a fire deep in your belly. You drag your hand down around his throat, taking it slow so he has enough time to register your intent and tell you no. He doesn’t. You press your pointer finger and thumb along the column of his throat, high under his jaw and squeeze at his pulse points. You can feel the hammering inside his veins, a frantic drumming beat. He moans your name.

Someone calls out to you and you startle, shaken out the haze of lust once more. Your hand falls away from Tom. Turning, you find your driver with an awkward expression on his face.

You smile, a faint feeling of heat settling on your cheeks from being caught. You link your fingers with Tom’s and pull him into the back of the car, helping to navigate the driver back to your place. Tom fidgets next to you and it isn’t until your hand comes to rest high on the inside of his thigh that he finally settles.

He clears his throat, leaning in closer to you so you can hear him clearly over the dull thrum of music playing through the car speakers. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

You pull back so you can find his eyes in the dim neon glow from the front counsel of the car. He looks back at you, gaze as confident as the statement was. You study him, this beautiful man, your best friend, a man you absolutely love, willing to submit to you. Willing to give into you, to trust you with himself so fully.

He licks his lips, a movement that brings your attention back to him, here, now. He chews on gently before adding the ending affirmation to his confession of submission, the words you needed to hear. “Whatever you want, Miss. I’m yours.”

Arousal surges through your veins as you stare into his eyes, consuming every inch of your body. Your hand on his thigh moves up to cup him through his jeans, you can feel the bulge, feel how hard he is already. His eyelids flutter closed as you touch him and you grin.

“So hard already, baby boy?”

“Fuck,” he breathes, hips flexing up into your palm. “So fucking hard.” He opens his eyes, staring back, “All for you.”

“Darling, we’ve barely begun,” you purr, leaning in to press your lips to his neck. You kiss along his throat gently, teasing little kitten licks and the soft press of your lips.

He brings a hand up to rub at his eyes, head falling back into the headrest. “You’re gonna kill me,” he chuckles, “you know that? I could cum right now, honestly. And if you want to do to me — like what you said last weekend? I’m fucked.”

Your mind runs wild with possibilities but you do your best to mask your excitement, biting your lip as the car comes to stop outside your place. A quick thanks to the driver and you’re pushing Tom out the door and up to your flat.

You secure the lock behind you once inside and push him up against the door. The lighting in your apartment is a stark contrast from the neon hues of the club and the darkness of the car. There’s no hiding here.

“You sure?” You ask, hands on his chest, you can feel his heartbeat.

He looks at you, unblinking, not even a hint of hesitation on his features. “I want this. I want you.”

There’s a heavier meaning behind his last statement, something that’s been there between the two of you for a while. It makes your heart sing.

You beam, letting the reality of this start to consume you, “Good. Me too… so much. But if there’s anything I do that you don’t like — that you don’t want to do, just tell me. I’ll stop, no questions.”

“Yeah, got it. I’m not worried though, I trust you.”

Your cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling so much so you kiss him instead, deeply. His lips are warm and soft and they glide against yours easily. His tongue moving and rubbing against yours. He still tastes like the beer he was drinking at the bar. It all feels like the start of something, so perfectly the beginning of a chapter that you’ve both been waiting for.

When you pull back he’s blushing, shy and unable to meet your gaze. He clears his throat, moving forward from the door just an inch or two. You move with him, your hands falling from his chest to hang at your sides as you watch him. He looks up at you quickly before staring back at the floor and slowly he sinks down to his knees. He bows his head, and you take another step back, one that allows you to see him better. His hands fidget in his lap for a moment before he links them behind his back.

He licks his lips, “Miss?”

Fuck.

You go forward towards him one more, threading your fingers into his hair so you can pull his head back and he’ll have no choice but to look at you. “So pretty,” you coo. “My pretty boy.”

He whines, “Yeah, fuck. Yes I am. I’m yours.”

You lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, enjoying how he leans into your lips. “C’mon pretty boy, let's take this to the bedroom.”

He stumbles over himself trying to get up fast enough. You chuckle as you walk down your hallway, letting your hips sway in a bit more of an exaggerated fashion.

You flick on the lamps by your bed and turn to find his eyes trained on you, waiting with bated breath for your guidance. Your hands miss the heat of his body so you beckon him over to you, letting your fingers find their way underneath his shirt to feel his skin, feel the goosebumps erupt across his stomach. You push his shirt up and off and he moves willingly, discarding it on the floor. His own fingers quickly join yours as you work on getting him out of his jeans as well. You push them down his legs and as he kicks out of them, your lips find his. While the first kiss was tender and sweet and everything a first kiss should be, this one is the direct opposite. It’s needy and hungry and possessive. His mouth opens to you, tongue pressing against yours frantically as you push him back against the wall. Hands finding purchase along his hips, shoulders, neck, hair, arms, anywhere… everywhere.

He’s groaning against you, a low rumble that makes your clit throb. His hand is on your jaw while the other is digging into your hip. You pull back unexpectedly with a loud smack of your lips against his. He tries to follow, a soft plea of no leaving his lips that you're sure wasn’t a noise he meant to make out loud.

“Oh puppy,” you purr, a sneer cracking across your face as he whines. You study him, his normally warm eyes are blown wide, thin lips red and swollen, hair messy from your hands raking through it. You trail one finger along his stomach, below his navel, tilting it so it’s more of a drag of the nail than the fingertip, until you reach the band of his underwear. Teasingly slowly, you dip in under the elastic. “Why don’t you take these off and settle down against the headboard, yeah?”

He swallows, “Yeah.”

You step back so you can watch, eyes traveling every inch of his body as he pushes the elastic down slowly, watching your reaction to him.

You glance up at his face, “Go ahead Tommy, let me see you.”

He rolls them down his thighs gingerly, until his cock springs free. One final quick tug and they’re down around his ankles. He steps out of them, fingers rubbing at the skin on the outside of his thighs as he stands there in front of you, completely exposed. You bite your lip and take your time admiring him, it is your cock now after all. And it’s as pretty as the rest of him, perfectly thick, a good length, veiny, and he’s hard enough that his foreskin has rolled back. His tip is pink and wet and you can feel your own wetness begin to pool in your underwear.

He’s nervous, standing there under the weight of your gaze, looking for your approval. “Just as fucking perfect as the rest of you.” And he blushes a deep red from his chest up his neck to the apple of his cheeks, a shy smile playing on his lips. “Now, on the bed, darling.”

“Yes, Miss.”

He settles down in the middle of the mattress, resting against the metal headboard and watches as you dig out soft bondage rope from the bottom drawer of your dresser. His eyes go a little comically wide and you come to sit next to him on the bed. Grabbing one of his wrists softly, you place the rope in his hand so he can feel it.

“We don’t have to. I got a little eager, but we can wait.”

His fingers curl around the rope curiously. “What — uh what did you want to do with it?”

“Tie each wrist individually toward the two corner posts of the headboard.”

He looks down at the rope again, fingers still rubbing along it before he glances to each corner post. He sets the rope down and spreads his arms, looking at you he asks, “Like this?”

You nod, “Exactly like that.”

He considers it for another moment, a small blush creeping up on his cheeks again, “I — I like that idea.”

“And,” you continue, deft fingers unraveling the rope and tying it around his left wrist as an example, “I use quick release knots.” You finish the knot and let him examine it for a moment. “That way, if you need me to stop, all I have to do is pull.” And you do, one quick tug on the end and the whole knot comes undone. “And you’re out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he agrees, all hesitancy gone, “tie me up. Tie me up Miss, please.”

You chuckle, “My eager little puppy.”

And so you do. Keeping his wrists secure but making sure the knots aren’t too tight and that he’s comfortable. When you lean back and take him all in, the situation floors you. This is your best friend Tom, someone you’ve loved for years but now might actually be awakening the feeling of being in love with. And he’s tied to your bed, naked and hard and absolutely fucking stunning. Tan skin flushed with a red tint that deepens depending on what you do to him. His curly hair is messy from your hands. His lips are red and swollen from your lips. He’s hard and leaking against his stomach because of you.

“Fuck.” It’s the only word your mind can coherently string together in that moment because this is everything you never knew you wanted and now it’s all laid out in front of you for your own taking.

He shivers under your stare, arms flexing as he pulls at his restraints just slightly and the fact that you aren’t on him yet is criminal. So you lean in, pressing your lips to his quickly first, a soft, sweet kiss of reassurance before you tilt his head to the side and drag your teeth down his neck. He moans as you start to suck on the skin at the junction of his neck, hands rubbing along his chest. You find his nipples, pebbled hard and as you bite down on his neck you pinch them, eating up the way he whimpers, the way his hips jolt off the bed. One last bite and you pull your mouth from his skin, resting in the crook of his neck, listening to his heavy breathing. His cologne is faint but you can still smell it. He’s completely enveloping all five of your senses. You slide your hand down his stomach and watch as his muscles move, his cock twitches as you get closer to it. And you can’t tease him, as much as you want to, you want to feel his cock as badly as he wants you to.

You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly and his head falls back. He swears, long and low, drawing the word out as you play with him.

“Make such pretty noises, Tommy,” you praise. Enjoying the weight of him in your hand, how hard he is balancing out the velvety softness of the skin of his shaft. How hot he is, memorizing every ridge and vein along his length. Watching his foreskin roll back with the movement of your hand, as you continue to slowly milk pre cum from him.

He gasps, “I’ve been thinking about this all week — well, fuck. A lot longer than that actually but like, ugh, what you said last weekend.” You pull your head out of the crock of his neck so you can look at his face as he continues. “I’ve been horny all fucking week. I’ve jerked off every night and it’s not enou— ”

He whines high in his throat as you twist your grip along his tip.”Fuck! Fuck it’s not enough. And I've been… I’ve been doing research. About what you said. And I —” his heavy breathing interrupts his thought process. “I want to be good for you. I — I wanna be yours.”

He looks at you then, locks and holds your gaze. “Can I? Can I please be yours?”

Your heart and pussy clench simultaneously. “Fuck. Tommy. Yes, I want you to be mine. All mine.”

His eyes go wide, face softening as you give him the answer he needed to hear. “Thank you, oh fuck, thank you Miss. Shit. I’m gonna — gonna cum.”

You stop your movement immediately, grip loosening and you feel him twitch, hear the rattle of the headboard as he pulls on the ropes.

“Fuck!” He squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body going taut as you deny him.

“Baby boy, if you think you’re cumming before I get that gorgeous cock inside me, you’ve got another thing coming.”

His eyes snap open, “Oh fuck. I wanna be inside you, I wanna feel you, I wanna —” his arms flex against the rope once more, “Are you wet Miss? I wanna feel it, I wanna know I’ve been a good boy and made you wet. I wanna taste you. I want —”

You hush him gently, pushing back the hair that’s fallen across his forehead, “I know baby boy. And you have been so good for me already.” You emphasize this with a quick squeeze of his cock. He gasps, eyes never leaving you. You place a quick kiss to his lips before getting up off the bed. You strip, a little slower than normal, keenly aware of his eyes on you. Sliding your jeans down your legs before pulling your top off slowly. A quick pinch of your fingers and your bra loosens, straps slipping off your shoulders and you let it fall to the ground.

“Fuck me,” he whispers, fingers curling into his palm as his eyes sweep over your body for the first time.

You toy with the band of your underwear, pulling downward slowly from each hip before you turn around, bending over as you slide them past your ass and down your legs. The movement of your hands accompanies another jarring shake of the headboard and he’s swearing as he stares at you, bent over and showing him everything.

“Miss. Fuck, I can see how wet you are. Shit… god I wanna taste you, I wanna feel you. Please Miss. Please.”

You stand back up and turn towards him, crawling onto the bed over to him. “So vocal, baby boy. I love it,” you murmur, moving to straddle his hips. You hold yourself above him, smirking when he tries to tilt his hips up to you only for you to move further away from his cock.

“I’ve got the implant in,” you start, waiting for him to look at you. When he does, he nods, understanding what you’re saying. “Are you clean, Tom?”

“Yeah,” he rushes out, “I haven’t been with anyone in a while and I always got tested afterwards.”

“Good. Me too.” And with that you drop your hips slowly, settling his cock between your wet folds. He moans and it’s impossible for you to hold one in as well. His cock fits along your center perfectly. You slide along him, getting him wet and focusing on the tip of his cock nudging against your clit.

“Fucking hell, you’re so wet,” he whines, biceps bulging as his hips start to move with yours.

You smirk, leaning in to rub your lips against his, “So are you.”

And you glance down, watching as his cock continues to leak onto his stomach, as he gets wet from you, foreskin rolling back with each movement from your hips as you rock against him. You lean in, capturing his lips with yours properly. He leans up and into you, moaning when you bite roughly along his bottom lip. You lift your hips off him, reaching down to get a hand around the base of his dick. He’s lost in the kiss, arching up into you, mewling but as soon as you start to sink down on his cock, he freezes.

He pleads your name, breathing heavily against your lips, “Holy shit. I — you… fuck! You feel so good.”

“Baby boy, you sound like a virgin,” you tease, enjoying the stretch of his cock as he bottoms out inside you. You sigh, clenching purposefully around his cock as you reach down to start rubbing your clit.

He whines, head falling back against the headboard, “I fucking feel like one.”

You chuckle, finding a rhythm with your hips, angling your movements slightly until his cock is rubbing exactly where you want him. You clench involuntarily and his name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper. He looks back at you then, watching you use him, ride him, finger slipping easily against your clit.

He pulls at his restraints and you look at him, cocking an eyebrow to push him to voice what’s on his mind. He takes in a deep breath through his nose. “Miss, I wanna make you cum. I wanna be good for you. I want to — can I show you how good I can be? Please?”

You slow your hips to a stop, watching his body jolt as the friction on his cock ceases but stays buried deep inside you. You trail your fingers up his stomach, circling one nipple, then the other, “Yeah? And how are you going to do that, Tommy? How are you going to be good for me and make me cum?”

“My fingers, my cock. I want you to cum using your boy. But I should be doing the work. Please. I’ll be so good for you. So fucking good.”

You snicker, his eagerness and willingness to please is palpable. You consider him for a second longer and then give one single nod. You reach for his wrists and give a good tug, the quick release knots loosen and his hands are free.

He goes to touch you but stops himself, “Can I, Miss?”

Your clit throbs, so much so that you clench around his cock to try and ease some of the ache. He shudders as a result, muscles in his stomach and chest tightening. “Yeah, baby boy, you can.”

He wraps an arm around your waist, moving to have you settle down on your back but doing delicate work to keep his cock inside you. He grabs at your hips and tilts them up a bit, the movement allows his cockhead to rub directly against your sweet spot. You moan quietly, a noise not lost on him and he starts thrusting, keeping them pointed and determined. He reaches for your hand, bringing it up to his throat and as you squeeze gently, he sucks his thumb into his mouth. He presses it to your clit expertly, letting it slide against you quickly while he fucks his hips into you. Every movement of his body is perfectly pinpointed on your pleasure.

“Fuck, Tommy.” Your fingers squeeze gently against his pulse points. You reach your other hand up and thread it into his hair. You pull, bringing his mouth down onto yours. He steadies himself with a hand next to your head but doesn’t stop the movement on your clit, doesn’t slow the perfect drag of his cock inside you. He opens his mouth to you, lets you take what’s yours.

You start tightening around his cock, can feel the heat building in your core and your mouth goes slack as your release approaches.

“Yeah, please Miss, please cum, please let me make you cum,” he urges, his breath mixing with yours, lips so close they bump against yours as he talks.

It swells like a wave, building momentum until finally it reaches its peak and breaks. Your body shudders, fingers tightening in his hair and Tom is close, thumb still against your clit, feeling you clench and flutter and it registers after a moment that you’re clenching around nothing. You gasp, fingers loosening some. You suck in a deep breath, doing your best to fill your lungs.

Your go limp into the mattress and you open your eyes to see him staring in awe at you. You lick your lips as you rub his hair and let your fingers trail down his neck.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been picturing what you would look like when you cum, and my imagination wasn’t even close. Fuck, you’re amazing. Thank you for letting me be good for you.”

You press your lips to his, “You were so good for me, puppy. Made me cum so fucking hard.” You take a deep breath in, body feeling more and more like jelly. You trail your fingers down his arms, feeling the smoothness of his skin, “You pulled out though…?”

And he blushes, eyes dropping, unable to hold your gaze. “I was gonna cum, you felt so fucking good but you — well, you didn’t give me permission to...” he trails off.

There’s no fighting the devilish smirk this time. “Oh baby boy, such a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

He smiles sweetly. “I try to be, Miss.”

“You are,” you affirm, pushing at his chest and moving with him as he settles back against the headboard once more. “So good for me. And good boys get their rewards.”

You settle down between his thighs, a wave of possessiveness washing over you as his legs spread automatically to fit you comfortably. You press your lips to his chest, lazily trailing kisses down his stomach, taking your time to nip and suck on his skin. His stomach muscles tremble under your touch and he’s making sweet little mewling noises as you move lower and lower down his body.

You trace your tongue along the jut of his hip, raking your fingernails gently up along the inside of his thighs. He chokes back your name as you reach up and cup his balls. They’re heavy and full in your hand. You move to his opposite hip, marking his skin in a rougher way, determined to leave a bruise that he’ll see for days to come.

His fingers are curled into your comforter, tendons prominent on the back of his hands as he squeezes and releases his grip. He’s babbling above you, a mantra of please leaving his lips.

One lewd sucking noise and you pull away from his hip. Letting your hand fall away from his balls, you lean up and look at him. “Please what, puppy? What do you want?”

“Touch me, please. Please, Miss.”

You splay your hands deliberately across his thighs, rubbing at his legs. “I am touching you, baby boy.”

He sobs, hips flexing up off the bed as you run your hands up his body, purposely staying away from his cock. “Use you words, puppy.”

“F-fuck! My cock, please. P-please touch my cock.”

“There,” you coo, “all you had to do was ask, Tommy.”

And finally you do, leaning back down to lick along the underside of his cock, flattening your tongue and dragging it up his length. He chokes at the first contact, chest heaving as he falls back against the headboard. His tip is dark red and leaking steadily. You envelop your lips around him, wrapping your hand around his base as you start sucking. You swirl your tongue, tasting the saltiness of your wetness and his pre cum on your tongue.

He starts twitching underneath your touches, cock jerking in your mouth as you hollow out your checks. You start bobbing up and down, spit starting to coat his cock and make him sloppy. You pull off with a pop, letting your hand pick up where your mouth left off.

“Love that your cock tastes like me, baby boy.” You growl, the slick noises of your hand around his dick echoing in your ears. “How it always should be, yeah? Your cock should always be wet from my pussy.”

He whimpers your name, panting as he looks at you. His body is taut, like the string of a bow. He’s practically vibrating, doing his best to stave off his orgasm for just a little bit longer. You watch him, his jaw clenches, sucking a deep breath in through his nose before he opens his mouth again. He sounds breathless. His eyebrows crease and eyelids flutter as you thumb his slit, collecting even more of his pre cum.

“Wanna cum, Tommy?” you taunt, twisting your grip and watching as he shutters.

“P-please,” he gasps, grip twisting even harder into your bedsheets.

You stop the movement of your hand, moving in closer, feeling predatory as you glare at him, “Beg for it.” you demand, voice harsh and authoritative

“F-fuck, Miss, please can I cum? I want to so badly. Please, please Miss. Please… please make cum,” he whines, voice high pitched and broken.

“Good boy,” you purr. You start to move your hand again but not at the speed he needs. “Go on, puppy, fuck my fist and make yourself cum.”

He cries out, doing as he’s told, hips flexing and thrusting up into your grip. His muscles are defined and quivering as he moves. Moans getting shorter, choppier, whinier. He sounds wrecked and desperate and needy and bloody fucking beautiful.

“There ya go, baby boy, cum for me.”

And he does. He freezes, body going rigid and you feel his cock pulse in your hand. He curls forward towards you as he cums, spilling across your hand and up his chest and stomach.You stroke him through it, listening as your name is a litany on his lips. He twitches as you milk every last drop of cum from his cock.

With one long moan, he sags backwards, exhausted but completely sated. He’s still breathing hard, chest heaving and he looks up at you, “Fuck me.”

You chuckle, leaning in to press your lips to his and kiss him lazily. You pull back, going to move off the bed but he grabs your wrist, “Where are you going?” suddenly sounding a bit lost.

You smile softly, leaning in to kiss his check. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. And get you something to clean up with,” you say with a wink, motioning to his cum covered stomach.

He goes a bit sheepish, grip loosening. “Oh, yeah — right.”

You come back soon after, washcloth in hand, and he cleans himself up quickly as you crawl back into bed with him. He tosses the now dirty cloth onto the floor and you giggle as he cuddles into your side, arms wrapping around your waist and pressing himself along your body.

You scrape your fingers up into his hair, listening as he hums contently. “You mentioned something about research…” you trail off, leaving the statement open ended. His fingers squeeze at your skin.

He fidgets against you for a moment or two, “Yeah I — well, what you told me last weekend definitely piqued my interest.” You move so that his face isn’t buried in your neck anymore and you can see him properly. His cheeks are red, a color that’s barely left his features all night, and you reach up to cup his jaw, rubbing your thumb along his cheek to encourage him to keep talking. He swallows, “And I’d been thinking about talking to you about how I felt about you. But then when you said that — I realized I didn’t really know what that all entailed. So I did some reading,” his gaze is dropped, focused on your collar bones instead of your eyes. “Articles and podcasts and forums. There’s also a whole mess of videos on Tik Tok? I just… I wanted it to be really good for you. I wanted to be really good for you.”

“Fuck, Tommy, you were. So fucking good. But you’ve really never submitted to someone before?”

He presses his lips together, finally glancing back up into your eyes, “No.”

You raise your eyebrows, impressed, “Well you could have fooled me, puppy. You were a natural.”

He shivers at the praise, “Shit, I really like it when you call me that.”

You bite your lip, “I’ll remember that, puppy.”

And there’s that unspoken conversation about your feelings for one another. Something you’ll need to discuss at some point, but in the moment, it doesn’t hold the need to be explained, to be articulated because you can see the emotions swimming in his eyes, the intent behind his hands on your body. It’s the same intent your body language is telling him. And yes, one day you’ll discover just how deep those feelings go, but right now, there’s nothing more that needs to be said. Nothing that you both don’t already know.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #sub!tom #my writing

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eddieeatsass · 3 years ago

Note

If you’re accepting prompts can I get a small smutty Bichie one shot? Preferably including a lollipop and Bill with an oral fixation

I clearly don't know the definition of "small"... so here's 4k words instead uhhhhhhI'msosorry please enjoy this debauchery

Read over on AO3 or under the cut ♡

A lollipop is simply a lollipop until you give it to Bill Denbrough; when in his clutches it becomes a weapon of arousal. It would be fundamentally impossible to see Bill sucking on a lollipop and not pop a boner. Well, maybe it would be possible if you didn't have a dick, and oh what Richie would give to be in that category right now.

The thing is, Bill always seemed to have something in his mouth. He was a chronic nail biter, went through two packs of gum a day, was known to bum a cigarette off Bev every once in a while, and Richie's pretty sure he even caught him sucking his thumb one time at a sleepover.

But lollipops were by far the worst.

"My mom is gonna kill me."

Richie was snapped out of his hyper fixation, his attention pulled back into the conversation as Eddie voiced his newest worry.

"You can borrow one of my shirts if we stop by my place on the way back." Stanley offered, eyeing the big brown stain that now interrupted the pink of Eddie's sweater.

"She'll notice if I'm wearing a different shirt." Eddie objected, scrubbing at the spot with a napkin.

"We can throw yours in the wash and you'll be wearing it again by the time you go home." Beverly suggested, trying to defuse Eddie’s heightening anxiety.

"Yeah, my parents won't mind." Stan added encouragingly.

"This is the last time I ever order a chocolate shake. From now on, vanilla only." Eddie grumbled, crossing his arms stubbornly.

"Awe come on Eds, we all know you’re anything but vanilla.” Richie joked, jumping at the opportunity to think about someone else’s sex life instead of his own.

“Fuck off, Rich.” Eddie snapped back with little bite.

“It’s not a secret, we all know you’re a little freaky-”

“You’re the freak! Quit talking about my personal business!” Eddie was getting red in the face, but around him the rest of the Losers were doing little to hide their snickers. Even Bill, whose mouth pulled into a grin around that fucking lollipop.

And Richie was back to square one.

“My parents are gonna be home in a couple hours so if we want the house to ourselves, we should go now.” Stan mentioned, standing up from his spot at the corner of their booth, allowing Bill, Beverly, and Eddie to file out after him.

“So, we’re not going to the Quarry anymore?” Ben asked, sliding out of the other side of the booth and throwing an extra ten dollars on the table as a tip. He grabbed one of the complimentary lollipops that had been left with their receipt and began unwrapping it.

“We won’t have time if we want to keep Eddie alive.” Mike mentioned.

“Then perish.” Richie said, straight faced.

“We don’t all h-have to go to S-S-Stanley’s.” Bill said, drawing Richie’s attention back, once again, to his sinful mouth.

This was becoming a problem.

They ended up splitting three ways; Eddie, Stanley, and Mike went off on their attempt to save Eddie’s shirt, Ben and Beverly decided to go on to the quarry, and Richie ended up sticking with Bill after they’d both agreed that it was too hot to stick to their original plans.

Though, Richie would probably have agreed with Bill no matter what he’d decided.

They arrived at Bill’s place twenty minutes later, heaving hot breaths from their trek in the summer sun.

"You want s-s-something t-to drink?" Bill panted, toeing off his shoes at the doorway but not bothering to chastise Richie when he kept his on.

"Depends whacha got, Denbrough." Richie followed him into the kitchen, hopping up on the countertop as Bill opened the fridge.

"Coke, orange j-juice, and m-milk." Bill announced, his head hidden behind the big metal door.

"Toss me a coke." Richie decided easily, never one to pass up the opportunity for more sugar.

Bill resurfaced with two cans in hand, passing one to Richie and carrying the other across the room where he reached into the cabinet that held the straws.

"Why do you drink everything through a straw?" Richie asked, his cock giving an annoying twitch as Bill brought the straw to his lips and took a sip before answering.

"It just tastes b-better that way." Bill shrugged.

Richie could feel the joke forming in his throat before he could think better than to speak it.

"I know something else that tastes better cumming straight from the straw."

Damn his quick wit.

Bill froze, straw caught between those pretty pink lips as he stared at Richie with an unreadable expression.

"It's your penis, isn't it." Bill deadpanned.

"Yep." Richie responded, popping the 'p' at the end of his statement in sync with him hopping off the counter.

"N-not some of your best work, Rich-ch-ie." Bill teased, biting down around his straw with a flirty grin.

Richie's face flushed a violent shade of red, having to do a double take just to check that his mind hadn't hallucinated the way Bill had smiled at him. But before he could dwell on it too much, Bill retreated to the other room.

The next few hours were torture on Richie’s dick. Bill seemed to find something new to stick in his mouth every two god damn minutes. He was like a badly trained dog.

After the straw, Bill produced a box of pocky which he spent the next hour idling chewing and sucking on. When they finished off the box, he chewed on his fingernails as they watched TV. His pencil was the next victim when they decided to try and do some homework. And finally, as they abandoned their homework for video games, Bill found a toothpick, rolling it around in his mouth like he was fucking Tom Hardy.

But at least things were contained until Richie lost the game of Mario Cart and flopped back on the bed dramatically, resulting in his lollipop from earlier tumbling out of his pocket.

“You n-never ate y-y-your lollipop?” Bill noted, picking up the small, wrapped item and twirling it in his fingers.

Richie’s not sure why his throat immediately went dry.

“I sort of forgot I had it.”

Bill eyed it with interest, which interested Richie far more than it should. He cocked an eyebrow and proceeded cautiously.

“Do you want it?”

Bill’s eyes darted back to Richie’s, quickly schooling his expression as if he’d been caught.

“Only if you d-don’t.” Bill said, trying for nonchalance, but the catch in his voice betrayed him.

A long pause stretched between them, their eyes locked in an unspoken challenge.

“I’m starting to think I do, actually.” Richie responded with much more fervor than the topic demanded.

Bill watched as Richie took the lollipop from him and began unwrapping the small red sucker. The sound from their video game’s pause screen faded into the background as blood rushed past Richie’s eardrums.

Richie was vulgar, all the Losers knew that; he’d been making jokes about his dick since he first learned he had one. But this was something different. Richie wasn’t trying to be vulgar, he was trying to be… something new.

He popped the lollipop into his mouth, keeping hold of the stick so he could hollow out his cheeks and pull it back out, allowing the round candy to stretch his lips as they parted for it.

Richie continued his ministrations for another minute, keeping his eyes locked on Bill’s, whose own were locked on Richie’s mouth.

Richie, self admittedly, had no idea what he was doing. He tried to channel the pornstars he'd watched, to summon some of their sex appeal to guide him along this unfamiliar experiment. But after a moment, he realized the best person to model himself after was already sitting right in front of him.

Richie thought back to how Bill had been devouring his lollipop back at the diner, how his eyes had gone hazy, his attention far away as he moved his tongue around the sucker like it was second nature. His lips had been shiny with saliva, tinted redder than usual by the cherry flavoring.

Richie took the lollipop out of his mouth and dragged it across his lips lightly, as if he were applying lipstick. It glided easily, sticky with spit, and did the job as it left Richie with a tinted smirk.

He loosened his jaw and let it fall open, allowing his tongue to loll out to lick a stripe up the lollipop in what he hoped was a good imitation of what one would do with a cock. To be fair, Richie had never sucked a cock before, so he was blindly guessing. But it seemed to do the trick, because Bill's eyes suddenly broke from their trance, squeezing shut.

"Not f-f-fair, R-Rich..." Bill's voice was broken, mimicking something between a whine and a whisper.

"You want something to suck on, Billy?" Richie asked, surprising himself with his sure-fire tone.

Bill was still for a moment, but when he opened his eyes again, there was something new behind his blown-out black pupils. He nodded meekly, as if scared to admit anything aloud just yet.

"Well jeez, Bill. I've only got the one." Richie gestured with his lollipop, as if to prove his point. “I may have something else for you to suck on though.”

It was a poor attempt at a joke, absent of the usual air of humor that accompanied Richie’s jests. But maybe that’s because it wasn’t much of a joke at all; even though neither of them were quite ready to admit it, they could both feel the change in the air between them.

“Anything.” Bill’s voice was still quiet, but it had steadied out as if the prospect of Richie’s suggestion had sated something in him. Richie had to suppress a shiver.

Richie twisted his body to spring off the mattress, and the sudden action caused Bill to follow, moving himself to sit up on his knees and face where Richie stood at the end of the bed.

Neither of them knew how to proceed, cautious to cross the other’s boundary but excited by the new thrum in the air. Richie was the first to move.

He removed the lollipop from his mouth and place it on Bill’s nightstand before reaching forward and cupping Bill's chin, tipping his head up to lock their eyes. Moving slowly, allowing Bill time to move away if he wanted, he let the pad of his thumb gently trace the outline of rosy red lips, and Bill obediently opened under the touch. He darted his tongue out to lick at Richie's finger, wrapping around it and leading him back into his open gape. Once Richie's thumb was resting inside the warm entrance, Bill closed his lips around his knuckle, and with the most confidence Richie had ever seen on Bill, he began to suck.

It was the filthiest thing Richie had ever fucking witnessed in person, and for a moment he was sure he'd been transported to some alternate porn dimension. Bill moved like he knew exactly what he was doing. Richie wondered absently if Bill had done this before, not sucking the life out of someone's thumb, but sucking the life out of something else.

Bill's tongue licked up the sides of his finger like he was trying to catch the drips from a popsicle, and then he was biting down gently into the pad of his thumb, making Richie shiver delightfully.

He pulled off with a heave of breath before uttering four words that were enough to leave Richie speechless.

"Let me taste you." Bill begged.

Richie could have cum on the spot at the mere fact that Bill was so lust-drunk just from sucking on his finger that he didn't even stutter. But if he did, he'd miss out on probably the best blowjob of his life (the only blowjob of his life, thus far), so he had to keep it together.

Now, let it be known that Richie isn't proud of how quickly he whipped out his dick. There was no grace, no sensual teasing or tantalizing movements; it was all fumbling fingers and uncoordinated shimmies as he struggled to get his dick to hit the air before Bill somehow decided to change his mind.

"Uh... Taa-daaaaa." Richie pointed in the direction of his erection with two unsure hands, an awkward moment passing until Richie glanced upwards.

Bill wore an amused smirk when Richie reverted his attention back to him. It was endearing, but Richie already missed the blissed out, desperate expression he'd had not mere seconds ago.

So, Richie decided he would just have to do better. If he wanted to wipe that smirk off Bill’s face, he’d have to step up. No more awkwardness or unsure movements, Richie needed to take control.

Besides, his life moto was "fake it 'till you make it", why couldn't it apply here as well?

Richie willed his hand to stop shaking before he reached out and carded his fingers through familiar auburn locks, pushing them off Bill's forehead and holding them back with a firm grip. That same grip allowed him to pull Bill's head forward, leading him until he was right in front of Richie's cock.

That look that Richie was chasing slowly began to filter back in. Bill's eyes glazed over as he gazed down at the leaking head being offered to him, his jaw going slack as he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, and finally his whole body followed as it slumped forward with the first lick to Richie's head.

Richie felt drunk, his own head swimming with arousal and a lack of blood flow. Bill looked so good like this; Richie wasn't sure he would ever recover from the image.

But if looks alone were enough to kill, the feeling of Bill's mouth must have summoned him back from the afterlife just to murder him a second time.

When this was all over and Richie had had his brains blown out of him, literally, he was gonna have a lot of questions for Bill. Mainly, had he done this before, and if not, then where the hell had he learned to do that thing with his tongue.

It wasn't long before Bill ceased his lapping and moved to take Richie into his mouth in full. Richie wasn't one to brag (a lie he told himself) but he could physically see the strain on Bill's jaw as it struggled to open wide enough to take his whole cock. Though, if Richie were being honest with himself, it probably had more to do with the size of Bill's mouth than the size of Richie's appendage. But for the moment he allowed himself the ego-boost.

"Bill, jesus fuck, that feels good..." Richie's own voice came out unfamiliar to him, wavering far more than he'd have liked. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"You've always looked good with something between your lips, but fuck, it's like you were made for this."

Bill disconnected from Richie's cock with a wet slurp and Richie had to swallow down the noise his body tried to make in response.

"S-s-so you w-were staring at the d-diner earlier." Bill's gaze was mischievous, as if he'd caught Richie in a lie and now he'd earned himself a prize.

"I'm pretty sure everyone was staring, Billy. You were basically fellatio-ing the damn lollipop."

"F-fellatio-ing isn't a word R-Richie."

"I'm the one getting fellatio'd right now, I think I'd know."

"Well, you won't be for m-m-much longer i-if you keep making up w-w-words."

"How do I shut you up? Where's your off button."

Bill glanced down at the cock still held in his hand, and then slowly raked his eyes back up Richie's form. The implication was clear, and Richie was more than happy to oblige.

Richie replaced Bill's hand with his own, his other flying back into Bill's hair to pull him closer. He led Bill back to the head of his cock, taking a moment to paint his lips with the pre-cum that had pearled at the slit. Bill's lips felt like velvet as he rubbed himself against them, but it wasn't nearly enough.

“Open.” Richie commanded, honestly surprised when he was met with obedience instead of a snarky remark. It made his cock twitch as it entered Bill’s mouth.

No more accurate definition of euphoria came to mind as Richie sunk into the heat of Bill’s mouth, shuddering as every inch of his cock was enveloped. Bill kept his eyes squeezed shut as he willed his jaw to take everything Richie was giving him.

When Richie felt the head of his cock reach resistance, he still had about half of his shaft exposed. There was nowhere else to go unless Richie was going to start feeding it down Bill’s throat, and while that thought did make a new rush of arousal flood his body, he didn’t think now would be the best time to try it.

At the pause in movement, Bill opened his eyes, blinking away tears that had gathered along his eyelashes. Richie could see the cogs turning in Bill’s head as he assessed the situation in front of him in the same way Bill problem solved every roadblock he encountered: with reckless determination.

Bill tried to move himself forward, quickly realizing his mistake as his gag reflex kicked in. The resulting noise was so much hotter than it had any right to be, and Richie had to physically hold himself back from trying to trigger it again.

In stubborn acceptance, Bill brought his hand up to circle around the rest of the shaft he couldn’t fit inside his mouth. Richie loosened his grip on Bill’s hair to allow him to move however he needed, and instantly Bill’s head began bobbing in tandem with small twists of his wrist.

“Holy shit, ahhhhh- what the fuck D-Denbrough.” Richie’s words spilled out in a rush, tripping over themselves with a quiver.

Bill pulled back until only the crown of Richie’s cock laid between his lips, setting his tongue to work at the slit as if he could coax out more of Richie’s pre-cum just like that. When Richie’s thighs began to quake, Bill tilted his head and moved ever so slightly so his tongue could lap at the soft tissue that connected Richie’s head to the rest of his cock.

Richie released a sound that would have been embarrassing in any other circumstance, high-pitched and needy in tone. It only seemed to make Bill move faster.

Bill moved back down the shaft, running his tongue along what he could reach, his hand working the rest. He began picking up pace, flitting his eyes open and gazing up at Richie with pure lust-blown pupils.

Richie had a flashback to earlier that day, watching Bill suck on his lollipop with poorly feigned innocence, juxtaposed with the debauched expression he wore now. There was no fooling anyone, Bill wanted this. He needed this. He’d probably needed it for a long time, and that thought spurred Richie on.

“You wanna taste me, huh?” Richie began thrusting in time with Bill, punching a pleasured moan out of him. He chanced a glance down at Bill’s lap for the first time since they’d begun fooling around and noticed the bulge straining to escape his jeans. It gave Richie even more satisfaction to know Bill was deriving just as much pleasure from this as he was.

“Bet I taste better than that fucking lollipop, ahhh, fuck-” Richie’s thrusts were getting unsteady. He could see drool escaping the corners of Bill’s mouth as he struggled to keep up with Richie’s pace.

Richie was getting close, the warmth in his belly coming to a boil as the heat around him become too much to bear. Richie pulled his shirt up, holding it bunched to his chest so he would have a better view of Bill’s face as he swallowed Richie’s cum.

That thought is what finally pushed Richie over the edge, screaming out a delayed warning that did neither of them much good as Richie’s cock was already emptying into Bill’s mouth.

Thankfully, Bill didn’t seem to mind the lack of a warning, doubling his efforts to suck Richie through his orgasm, taking more of him in than he had been able to before.

Reckless determination.

Richie was squeezing his eyes so tight that stars began to illuminate the black sky behind his lids. A fuzzy feeling accompanied them, starting in his head and spreading through his limbs. It mixed with the overwhelming pleasure in each of his nerve endings, dizzying him with overwhelming sensations, and then there was nothing.

Richie thinks he must have blacked out for a second because suddenly he’s splayed across Bill's bed, staring up at the ceiling. His fingertips were still tingling, and his throat was dry and hoarse, but those were the only indications that what just happened hadn't just been a dream.

Richie propped himself up on his elbows, looking around the room in an attempt to piece things together. Bill was nowhere to be found, which made Richie entertain the dream idea even more. He could have fallen asleep on Bill’s bed, had a wet dream inspired by Bill's casual affair with lollipops… he probably moaned in his sleep and scared Bill off, even.

“Drink.”

Richie nearly jumped out of his skin as Bill suddenly appeared beside him.

“Holy fuck, Casper! Warn a guy!”

A cup of water was thrust into Richie’s hands, and without having to think much about it he brought it to his lips and downed a generous amount. His throat thanked him immediately.

“What were you m-m-mutt-ttering about?” Bill asked, hopping on to the bed beside Richie and causing the mattress to wobble them both slightly.

“I was just… trying to figure something out…” Richie raked his eyes up and down Bill’s form, trying to find any sign that he’d actually had Richie’s cock down his throat not even five minutes ago, but the boy looked as kempt as usual.

“Okay, w-well once you figure it out, can y-y-you put your dick b-back in your pants? Georgie is gonna b-be home soon.”

Richie blanched, moving comically slow as he looked down at his lap, revealing that his dick was, as stated, very much not in its confines.

Bill shifted beside him, and it was enough to shake Richie out of his ‘holy shit that actually happened it wasn’t just a dream bill denbrough is a fucking dick sucking god’ epiphany.

Once he was all tucked back in and had finished the glass of water Bill had generously (and forcefully) provided, he finally allowed himself to look at his friend again.

Bill was already watching him, a gentle smile playing on his features as he rolled the lollipop from earlier around in his mouth.

“You’re fucking insatiable, you know that?” Richie’s heart was thrumming in his chest, unanswered questions clawing to get out. But before he had a chance to ask them, Bill removed the candy from his mouth just long enough to lean forward and capture Richie’s lips in a kiss.

It was a little shy, a little tender; the complete opposite from the way Bill’s mouth worked itself along his cock. Richie decided that he liked it that way.

When Bill pulled back, they were both red enough to rival the lollipop in Bill’s hand, which he wasted no time in replacing between his lips.

“By th-the w-way,” Bill began, settling into Richie’s side and reaching for his controller to unpause their game. “You d-don’t taste better th-th-than a lollipop.” That playful smile was back on Bill’s lips.

“I guess I can’t compete with artificial cherry flavor.” Richie conceded, following Bill’s lead and retrieving his own controller.

“I still like you b-better.” Bill stated with so much certainty that Richie felt his whole world solidify.

#bichie #bill denbrough #richie tozier #bichie fanfic #bichie fanfiction #bichie smut #bichie lemon #my writing

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