#slow down!! i need a good screenshot!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crystallinestars · 6 months

Text

Kissing Headcanons

Since this won the poll, here are the promised kissing headcanons for Jing Yuan, Argenti, and Aventurine!

Disclaimer: I haven't finished the 2.1 main story, so my interpretation of Aventurine may be a bit off. I'm going off of my interpretation of him from 2.0, as well as a few screenshots I saw around the internet.

WARNING: Contains a spoiler for Aventurine's real name!

Jing Yuan:

🦁 Jing Yuan likes kisses a lot, but he’s careful to reserve them for when you’re in private. He doesn’t want anyone to intrude on your romantic time together and is aware that he must look professional while at the Seat of Divine Foresight. That is why the majority of affection he shows you is done at home.

🦁 Jing Yuan enjoys receiving good morning kisses when he wakes up beside you, as well as good luck and farewell kisses when he parts from you to go to the Seat of Divine Foresight. If you don’t give him at least one kiss before he leaves in the morning, he’ll pout and try to weasel one out of you. He won’t leave until he at the very least got to kiss your cheek.

🦁 When he doesn’t feel like doing his paperwork, Jing Yuan will come to see you instead. At your insistence that he should finish his stack of documents, he’ll demand you give him kisses to motivate him to work. As childish as his requests may seem, your kisses do seem to give him the energy he needs to finish his paperwork. Only after holding you captive in his arms and indulging in your lips for longer than he should, of course.

🦁 If you feel down and in need of comfort, the Luofu General wraps you up in a gentle hug and tenderly presses his lips to your forehead. His words may not be the most comforting, but with that kiss, he shows you that he cares about your well-being, and hopes to give you the comfort you crave.

🦁 Jing Yuan’s kisses are slow, yet firm. He likes to place a hand on the back of your head and pull your face closer, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. It’s unhurried and firm, his soft lips melding against yours as his hand brushes through your hair, lightly combing through it. He only pulls away when you both run short of breath.

🦁 He gives you time to recover because he can tell that his kisses leave you a little dazed and awed at how loved they make you feel. During moments like these, he looks at you with fondness and amusement, as if he were looking at a small, cute animal. You are simply too adorable for him to resist, so don’t blame him when he pulls you into another long kiss before you’ve fully recovered from the first one.

Argenti:

🌹 Argenti’s kisses are full of his heartfelt feelings for you. He is a passionate man, and that passion transfers to romance, and subsequently kisses, as well. He feels touched when he receives kisses on the cheek as a thank you for saving someone, especially if they come from you, but he seldom gives kisses himself. The Knight of Beauty takes kissing very seriously, and will only kiss someone he truly loves.

🌹 His go-to places to kiss you are usually your hands. Like the gentleman he is, Argenti likes to take your hand and place his lips on the back of it in the lightest of kisses, his mouth just barely brushing against your skin. He tends to give you these types of kisses when you are going out for a romantic date or when he is courting you because they are a display of his reverence for you.

🌹 Argenti also adores kissing your palms. He takes your hand and places it on his cheek while looking at you with verdant eyes filled with adoration and devotion, as if he were so smitten with you, that you were the most important thing in the universe to him. With a heartfelt proclamation of his love for you, Argenti turns his head to place a tender kiss on your palm, much more firmly than how he kisses the back of your hand. With these types of kisses, Argenti wants you to know how much he cherishes your very existence, and how lucky he is to call you his lover.

🌹 Since Argenti is the epitome of a gentleman, he tries to avoid overwhelming you with his kisses. When kissing you on the mouth, he takes things slow. The way he cradles your face in his hands is gentle as if he were handling porcelain, and he makes sure to lean in slowly to give you time to pull away if you don’t want this. You never do, of course, but he won’t stop taking things slow and gentle until you make it clear to him that you are not only okay with but also want to receive more intense kisses from him. Only then does Argenti allow himself to kiss you with the passion that flows inside him, yet one he restrains for your comfort.

🌹 With your consent, Argenti will give you the most passionate and sensual kisses you’ve ever experienced. He leads the kiss with tenderness and fervor, supporting the back of your neck as he angles your head just right to deepen the kiss. He’s not afraid to use his tongue, skillfully slipping it into your mouth and caressing your own in an intimate dance that leaves you breathless and weak in the knees. For all his gentlemanly behavior, Argenti isn’t shy about expressing how much he desires you.

🌹 Even so, he is still loving and tender towards you. Argenti likes to hold your hands or face when kissing you, and once he pulls away, he gazes at you affectionately while brushing the back of his hand along your cheek or tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Every action is filled with care. He may not be the best at expressing his true feelings with words, but his actions speak louder than words ever will about how much he loves you.

Aventurine:

🦚 Aventurine had some prior experiences making out with people, so he knows exactly what he’s doing when kissing you. The gambler likes to catch you by surprise with a heated and sensual kiss, one that leaves you flushed and breathless by the end. Biting on your lower lip and tugging at it, slipping his tongue in your mouth, and even sucking on the tip of your tongue are all things he does to get a reaction out of you. The more flustered and weak in the knees you get, the more smug he looks when he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. Licking his lips while giving you a mischievous and pleased grin, he’ll look like a cat that got the cream as he observes your flushed state.

🦚 Aventurine is great at erotic and sensual kisses, he can give them as easily as he can receive them so you’ll never fluster him with one of those. However, he feels completely out of his element when you give him sweet and tender kisses. Aventurine is not used to receiving gentle affection, and at first, it scares him because it’s such an unfamiliar sensation that touches him deep in his heart.

🦚 He's used to heated make-outs that don’t mean anything other than lust in the end once the other person leaves, but your sweet kisses aren’t like that. The way you press your lips against his skin is soft and loving, the way a true lover would. Unlike those people he encountered in the past, you truly love him. Not the money he owns, not his powerful connections, not his material possessions—what you love is him. With time, Aventurine realizes that you’re not with him for a fun and exciting fling, but for something more long-term. You genuinely love him. Not his persona as Aventurine, but him as Kakavasha.

🦚 The way you cradle his face as you kiss the top of his head, your lips soft and warm against his cheeks, temples, and forehead all make his breath hitch and heart squeeze almost painfully. The gentle kisses make him want to cry, and he hugs you tightly for reassurance and comfort. When you sweetly kiss him on the mouth, Aventurine practically melts. He never knew how good such gentle affection could feel until you came into his life and gave him the affection he’d been subconsciously craving. As emotional as this makes him, Aventurine finds a sense of solace in your tender touches and he wants to feel more of your love even though he sometimes feels undeserving of it.

🦚 Aventurine also likes receiving kisses on other parts of his body, such as his neck and shoulders. He enjoys it when you hug him from behind and press your lips onto the skin of his shoulder or back. It’s such a small thing, but the gesture feels intimate and loving, proof that you love and want him. He tries to hide it, but such kisses make him shiver in a good way.

🦚 Despite enjoying having his neck kissed, Aventurine doesn’t like you touching his tattoo since it can bring up bad memories. However, if you kiss him there as an act of comfort when he feels depressed, it can give him a bit of solace. Though in times like these, he finds the most comfort being wrapped up in your arms and reassured with gentle words and soft kisses to his forehead. It might take a while for Aventurine to feel comfortable enough to be this open and vulnerable with you about his feelings, but please don’t give up on him. Don’t abandon him after you have shown him how amazing real love is.

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #jing yuan x reader #argenti x reader #hsr argenti x reader #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #take a shot every time you read the word 'kiss'

2K notes · View notes

netherfeildren · 1 year

Text

Pink : Part I : Humanist Seeking Person in Love

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Humanism: an outlook or system of thought attaching prime importance to human rather than divine or supernatural matters. Humanist beliefs stress the potential value and goodness of human beings, emphasize common human needs, and seek solely rational ways of solving human problems.

The story of a son who won’t love you, and his father, who will.

-OR-

the father-in-law AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Possessive behavior; Jealousy; Slow burn but like not really; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms

A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!

Word Count: 7.4K

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

1. Humanist Seeking Person in Love

The video you’d watched had said that the differences between a jamb nut and a coupling nut should have been obvious. A jamb nut, which was what you were currently looking for, was typically half as tall as a standard nut, or a coupling nut, and would be of a small, stouter shape compared to the other options. As you stare at the wall of overwhelming stock, the incomprehensible mess of steel, PVC, aluminum and plastic hardware you feel, a little bit, like you’d like to start screaming as loud as you possibly can, for as long as you possibly can. Just a rip roaring and rageful, top of your lungs, screech. Maybe it’d scare the leering men around you. Maybe they’d desist from the ogling of your ass in the tight confines of your ratty leggings, or the mildly pitying glances as your frustration and confusion becomes more and more obvious.

You try and take a deep breath, glancing down at your phone again and the screenshots you’d taken of the parts you need to fix your leaky kitchen sink. Zooming in, you hold the picture up next to the pipeware currently gripped in your sweaty hand and wonder again if what you’ve chosen is the right piece. You don’t understand why the hardware store, a local business, isn’t as neatly and efficiently organized as the larger chains, and why they make it so damn hard for someone without experience to come in and shop. You don’t want to buy the wrong thing and waste the money you already don’t have, you don’t want to have to make the trek back to this God awful fucking place. You hate the hardware store, you hate the way it smells, dusty and wooden, the cavernous hollow echo of it, the leering gazes of the men shopping, looking at you as if you’re some helpless child, something soft and easy to snap up and eat. You hate the memory of following your father around on many a Sunday morning after he’d forced you to come with him in some false attempt at bonding, at spending time together when really all it was, was another instance of you cowering behind him, trying to make yourself as silent and small as possible so as to avoid his anger and irritation.

You look back down at the piece of PVC in your clutch, at the picture of what you’re supposed to be buying again, back at the other option, a copper bolt you think might look right but can’t really tell the difference, and you feel the backs of your eyes pinch and go hot and achy. A sharp, throbbing pain starting up behind your left eye and spiraling out like a stain to cover your forehead. You want to go home. You want your kitchen sink to stop leaking. You want the past year to never have happened. For your marriage to not have so irrevocably unraveled that the husband you’d so desperately fought to keep had left you out in the cold, divorced, very nearly penniless in a new apartment that you couldn’t make feel like home no matter how many fall scented candles and throw pillows you stuffed into every nook and cranny. You want to not have to make decisions like these and take care of things like this. You want very, very badly for someone else to come and take care of you, help you, make the choices that seem very hard in the moment but that, in the grand scheme of things, aren’t really so difficult, but that still sometimes call for a second opinion, wiser, more experienced hands.

And in that next blink, in a soft, deep voice that should not be as easily recognizable in your mind as it is given the handful of times you’ve actually heard it, your name, being murmured from behind you. The lilt of a question, the gruff of shock coating the syllables as it pushes against your bare nape. Soft as a sledgehammer, like ice water down your naked back, your shoulders hitch up to your ears, going tense and frightened, a hot flush of shame spilling through you, the keenest desire to run away from that soft voice as fast as your stupidly October flip flopped feet’ll take you. You hiccup the half sound of his name, not turning around, lashes fluttering quickly to prevent the dry heat of your eyes from spilling over, nerveless fingers going listless around the plastic nut. You don’t want to turn around. This is a cursed place, this hardware store, and you should never have come, and you really do hate it here. Deep breath, deep breath. Be polite, be succinct. You don’t need to talk to him. You don’t need to think about the past. Fuck the sink, fuck the pipes. You’ll just move apartments. You let a long stream of air out of your mouth, and then turn on the ball of your foot to face him.

“Mr. Miller,” you breathe with a limp smile you know isn’t going to fool anyone.

He frowns, the line of his mouth wavering as he tries to contain his displeasure. “We really back to that?” You shake your head, looking away from him as the last shopper in the aisle you’re inhabiting walks away, leaving the two of you alone. The store suddenly seems to exist in a vacuum echo, all other patrons seeming to disappear, all sound going out. You even feel the imitation of a hollow pop in your ear drums. When you look back at him, he’s really scowling now. His strong brow pulled down over those too pretty, thickly lashed hazel eyes that you know so well on another man, a younger version of him.

It was the first thing you’d noticed about him, the first time Sam had introduced you to his father, they have the same eyes. The same but different. There was a coldness to Sam’s gaze that you hadn’t recognized until it was too late for you, but you recognized it now, with a painful sort of awareness, recognized the lack thereof in his father’s eyes, how different they were even in their similarity.

He raises his brows at you, a pressing gesture, “Joel.” His name feels like salt on an open sore in your mouth. “What are you doing here?” And he looks at you, just a little bit, like you’re an idiot, or maybe that’s only you, for his voice is gentle when he says, “Pickin’ up supplies with some of the boys on my crew. What’re you doin’ here, sweetheart? Sam with you?” Your heart beats like that of a small and hunted creature, pounding painfully against the confines of your ribs while a hot, humiliated flush washes through your entire body, heat suffusing your face so intensely there’s probably steam rising off the surface of your skin. You shake your head quickly, a barely there jerk. You’re suddenly trembling so hard your throat aches as if it’s been pierced by a lancet straight through. Another sharp jerk, and he steps forward a concerned look marring his face.

“You haven’t spoken to him.” It isn’t a question.

“He’s been feildin’ my calls for months. Assumed I’d done something– something else, last time to piss him off again. What’s wrong? Everything okay?” He pauses, head tilting, and you can’t look him in the face as you say it, gaze falling to your fingers twisted around the nut.

“We’re not together anymore. He– he left me. We got divorced six months ago.”

Shocked into silence he takes another step towards you, the toe of his heavy boot coming into your eye line. The ends are thick and rounded, and you wonder if there’s a casing of steel within, how much a kick in the ribs would hurt delivered by a boot like that, and the violent thought startles you, your eyes going wide, shooting up to his face as if worried he could read your thoughts. Ashamed that something like that in reference to him would even cross your mind, for looking at him, the gentleness in his gaze, the utter concern, a man like this would never hurt a creature softer than him, you know that.

It’s funny, or strange, or a phenomena not easily understandable or explainable unless you’d had a certain type of experience with a certain type of man, but there was a sort of sixth sense instilled in a person who’d dealt with cruel men that made it easy to recognize when one had the capacity to hurt you and when he didn’t. There were, of course, those who were good at masking it, but there was always something, a way they held themselves or moved around others, the cadence of their voices, clues that spoke of the sort of man he was. And from the first moment you’d met him, you’d thought Joel had something that spoke only of gentleness. Despite his size and seemingly rough aspect, there was something about his voice, and the way he carried himself, the way he moved around those who were smaller or weaker or less, less alive, less potent than him, that was always careful and always aware.

“What?” He moves as if he’s going to reach for you, and you flinch back, the curve of your spine bumping into the framing of the shelves behind you, face turning away quickly. He goes tense, forcing himself into stillness, the white of his teeth flashing in a grimace, but he puts his palms up in a staying gesture, it’s alright, easy, he murmurs, I won’t touch you, hands lowering to fist in the pockets of his jeans into tight balls of false restraint. As if he’s afraid of what they might do of their own volition otherwise. “What do you mean he left you? What happened? He–”

“I don’t want to discuss this with you. Call him again or– or I don’t know. It’s not my business anymore. He was never happy with me,” you stupidly add, finally braving a look back at his eyes again, a bitter laugh scratching up your throat, “You know this. Call your son, Joel.”

You move to leave, to get away from him, but he shifts, blocking your escape, sending your heart up into your throat. “Honey, wait–” but you’re spinning on your heel the other way, stumbling in your flip flops, and you think he says something about the wrong way, but you’re rushing, blindly trying to get away from him down the aisle as fast as you can. You’re going to cry, you can feel it, any second now. You weren’t expecting to see him, the reminder of everything that had happened, your marriage and its failure and the part Joel had played in it. A painful and jarring shock to your nervous system that you’d not been prepared to receive. You blindly scramble through the aisles of the hardware store, losing yourself to the gloom of the dimly lit back rows where plywood and carpeting are stocked, that detested dusty hollow smell intensifying. You take another blind turn, another, until the sounds of the store have gone faint and then a frightening pressurized silence. Bracing your palms against one of the eye level shelves you let your head fall between your shoulders, your bag sliding down your arm to hang and sway at the bend of your elbow. You watch the slow back and forth pendulous movement, eyes wide and blurred. If you don’t blink, you won’t cry, and you’re so fucking tired of crying over this.

“If you were tryn’a get away from me, exit was in the opposite direction,” comes his voice again. Your eyes flutter shut, a single tear drips from the line of your lashes onto the dusty concrete floor.

“Please, go away,” you croak.

“Tell me what happened.”

“What do you think happened? Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“He– he’s a fuckin’ idiot, sweetheart–”

Your stomach lurches, “Don’t call me that.”

But he doesn’t listen, continues on unheeded. “There’s gotta be something we can do. I’ll– I’ll talk to him. I’ll make him see that–” You let your head fall back the opposite way now, looking up at the high, cavernous ceiling of the store, another bitter laugh. It’s the only kind left to you now.

“I don’t want him back, Joel. Be serious.”

“He needs you–” And oh, that makes you angry.

“Fuck you.” You spin around to spit the words at him, rushing forward to shove at his rock solid chest. He doesn’t budge even half an inch. You shove again, again, a humiliating sob making its way up your chest. You blink then, you can’t help it, the tears fall unrestrained. It’s a specific type of humiliating, facing the estranged father of the man who you’d been married to, who’d been unable to love you, who’d abandoned you.

Sam and Joel had been unaware of each other’s existence for almost twenty eight years, but two years ago, Sam’s mother had finally told him about his father, his name, where he lived, how they’d gotten together when they were too young, and how she’d split, scared and vulnerable, without telling him a thing. The two of you’d gone looking for the man, and you’d both been varying degrees of shocked at what you’d found. Sam, faced with a man so unlike himself he’d immediately resented him more than he already had for the fact of his absence his entire life. You, as well, faced with a man so unlike your husband that it had made you resent your marriage even more. Immediately welcoming, loving, patient, gracious and generous and forgiving of the fact that a son had been kept from him for almost three decades. Despite the severity of his character, his serious reservedness, he’d done everything in his power to open himself to this long lost son. Not once had the news been met with cruel anger or outrage. Joel had accepted his son immediately and without question, listening to his mother’s reasoning, accepting the fact that a mistake had been made, forgiving, willing to move on and embrace Sam in all the ways he’d been denied for so long. Sam hadn’t been able to fathom it. He’d been mistrustful, hostile, angry, all the things he always was but compounded and heightened to a terrible degree he eventually started taking out on you.

And it was funny because the fraught, or lack thereof, relationships with your fathers had been the thing that had initially bonded the two of you. Too young and alone and without direction, you’d met him in your last year of college. The relationship had immediately developed without boundaries or reason, you’d been obsessed, a little desperate, unquestioning, and then married a few short months later. Two too young, too lost people, burdened with daddy issues. A terribly sad cliche. You’d never had a chance. You never should have been. And there’s a part of you now, looking up at this man, your ex-husband’s father, that wants to feel angry at him, that wants to spit in his face and say this is all your fault, everything that happened to me, everything that was done to me was in your name, and I blame you for all of it, but you know it’s without reason or countenance. And worst of all, anger, blame, resentment, it’s not anything near to the things you feel when you look at him. The memory of a small, dark restroom flashes in your mind’s eye, his eyes gleaming above your face, the thick slope of his shoulder, the patterned wallpaper behind him, sickening comfort.

You go still and frozen, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt, jerking with a painful shiver from the top of your head, down the length of your vertebrae, to the tips of your toes that cramp and spasm. Looking up at his face, you can feel a pulse throbbing in the muscle beneath your right eye, and the way he looks down at you, as if he’s never felt as sorry for any other creature in his entire life as he does for you in this moment, so embarrassing. You let your head fall forward again, landing with a soft thump against his chest, an uncontrollable tremble moving like fire through your frame. “Fuck you,” you say again, whispered, soft and weak and without any sort of force behind it. “How dare you say that to me,” another tear. “He’s always needed you. It was never me he wanted, never me he needed. It was always you.” You watch as one hand withdraws from its pocket cage, lifting to push a soft tendril of hair back behind your ear. And there’s fire left in the wake of the brush of his skin at the hollow there. Another shiver of a worse kind, one of desire, one of lust, moves through you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it – I’m sorry, honey.” Stupid southern charm and their stupid pet names. You clutch at his shirtfront more tightly, press your forehead harder into his sternum, and he brings his hand to your shoulder, tucking you into himself more securely. He’s huge and warm and smells faintly of salt and sweat and laundry detergent. Something clean and fresh and masculine. He smells alive. His other hand comes up to the back of your head, moving through your hair. Fucking, Sam, he murmurs above you, and you’re sure he’s shaking his head in that disappointed fatherly way. “Tell me what you were looking for. What had you lookin’ so confused and irritated in the plumbing aisle?” You’d laugh if you could, a non bitter sort, but you don’t have the ability anymore, and that makes you so angry. Angry and irrational.

“My sink’s leaking, and I can’t afford a plumber because your son divorced me and left me with no money and no house and nothing for myself, and I hate this stupid place. I hate the way it smells, and I hate that nothing’s labeled clearly, and I hate the way you men,” you shove at his chest a little bit again, “look at me like I’m some dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right.” Even if that’s what you kind of feel like, a dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right anymore. Slightly out of breath, you go limp and exhausted against him. His palm flattens at the center of your spine, supporting you, and it’s so fucking inappropriate. You should move away. You don’t know him well enough for this, he’s your ex-father-in-law, you shouldn't let him touch you, but should and should not and right and wrong and inappropriate or not has never really mattered to you where Joel Miller is concerned. “This is the worst place in the whole world,” you mumble, voice muffled from where your face is squished against the annoyingly hard and delicious muscles of his chest. You feel, keenly, like you’re being a little bit ridiculous, a little bit embarrassing, but his big hand is slowly moving up and down the length of your spine, soothing and comforting, and you can’t bring yourself to care. He’d been kind from the first second you’d met him, and then, at the worst moment, he’d been understanding, and you’d never really stood a chance against him either.

You’d never had a chance with the son, you’d never stood a chance against the father, there had never really been much choice or possibility for you as a whole where either of them were concerned.

I was such a little person. Tiny in my insignificance, naivety, hope. Desperate to be as good as I could be, and pathetic in my failure to make myself into what I thought the world wanted of me.

“You can’t afford–” He breathes out roughly through his nose, stopping himself from continuing. “Do y’know what it is you’re looking for? What part?” And you nod your head, still buried against him, unable or unwilling to pull away. “Let me help you,” and he says it so, so gently that it makes you want to stomp your foot and cry and throw a fit at the unfairness of it all.

“Don’t want your help,” you can’t help the muffled whine it comes out as. All you want is for someone to help you.

“Of course you don’t, sweetheart,” he soothes. “But let me anyway. S’the least I can do for talkin’ out of my ass.” You finally pull back, looking up at him, and he brings his thumb up to catch the wetness at the fine skin beneath your eye. “Please, don’t cry,” he whispers like it hurts him.

And even though he’s currently catching the salt of your eyes with his fingers, you lie obstinately, “I’m not,” whispered back just as quiet.

After he helps you find the correct piece for your sink, finally, which ends up being neither of the options you’d been previously weighing, a fact that almost sends you over the deep end again, and paying for it at his aggravating and overbearing insistence, he walks you to your car.

“Is he still in Austin?” He asks as he holds your door open for you, your shopping bag still clutched in his hand. One of the guys on his crew had come to find him while you were checking out, but he’d sent him away with a shake of his head, said he had something to take care of.

“I don’t know, but he sold our house.”

“Fuck– Where’re you living?” The sound of his spit curse has a wet flutter moving through you, shame following bitterly in its wake.

“I got an apartment in the East Side.”

“And he just left you to fend for yourself? Took your fucking house?” He’s getting angry, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him get angry. Something foreign like excitement jumps within you.

“Well, that’s the point of divorce, Joel. You separate and are left to your own devices.” You reach for the little plastic bag, but he jerks it out of your reach.

“He has a responsibility to you. He–”

“Again… the point of divorce.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, that boy,” he mutters, shaking his head. And that’s the thing of it, you think, that’s always been the crux of the issue. Sam was always a boy, has always been just a boy… there had never been any chance. “Let me come help you with the sink. Let me fix it for you.” Something to take care of, that’s what he’d said, that’s what he’d called you, what he sees you as.

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish getting the words out, full of regret, and a wish that it could have all been different from the very start. “You know that isn’t a good idea,” and he goes silent because he does, he does know, he’d known since the first time probably. It had been obvious in the way that a secret thing can only be between the two people involved in the unsaid. “I can do it myself. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way.”

“You still got the same number?” He asks.

“Please, don’t call me. Call Sam. He’s the one that needs you. He’s the one that–”

“And who’s taking care of you? Who’s gonna take care of you, sweetheart? You need someone too, we all do.”

A flash of that earlier anger again, and you reach forward to rip the bag out of his clutch now, angry because he’s right. Because he’d always seemed to have a grossly misplaced ability to read you exactly as you are. He’d read you for what you were from the first second he’d laid eyes on you, naive and hopeful and falsely in love with a son who’d never loved either of you in return. “Maybe,” you tell him, “But that can’t be you.” He looks away from you, gruff sound of irritation passing through his clenched teeth, and he drags a heavy palm down his bearded mouth. Fuck, again that provoking spit curse. The wallpaper in that dark restroom had been covered in little blue motifs, butter yellow details sparsed throughout. It had surprised you, the pretty and delicate design in the home of a, for all intents and purposes, bachelor. It spoke of intention and attention to detail, to his space, to care of his home. That dim moment was, strangely, sickly, the brightest memory of the entire two years of your marriage.

“You still got my number?” He presses anyways. Unheeded or uncaring of you trying to push him away, and there’s something about that, that’s pleasurable, his inability to let a thing go where you’re concerned, his unwillingness to allow you to hold him at arms length. Like he doesnt care to be kept away from you, and so he won’t. You nod your head once, face burning, molars grinding to keep yourself still and in place. You’d felt, for two years, trapped, running in place, and now left limp and exhausted and colorless, and you hope that he can’t read that exhaustion in you. For some reason, that would be more embarrassing than everything else, for him to see just how defeated you’d been left. He gives you one of those looks, those direct, piercing, aggravating looks that you’ve seen from him before, aggravating in a way that is inciting, like a relentless tongue against a slick swollen cunt, God. Your hands are shaking, and he bends his head down to your level to look at your directly, “You promise me that if you need anything, anything at all, doesn’t matter what it is – that you’ll call me. No matter the hour, no matter what it is. Promise me.” Another sharp jerk of your chin, if you talk you’ll scream or make a sound not wholly belonging to the body of a girl, woman, whatever you are. Another nod, the mute shape of an okay passing through your lips. And his face is so concerned, his hand almost lifted in the imitation of what you have to tell yourself, as a form of self preservation, is an ill intentioned caress or hug, but that you know he’d mean as nothing more than genuine comfort. You deflate in relief when he doesn’t touch you, right here, out in the open for the whole world to bear witness to. Things like that, after all, are only meant for dark, wallpapered bathrooms. He’d already taught you this.

The relationship had not been what either of them had expected, Sam and Joel, from the get go. There was a smallness to his son, a pettiness and a cruelty and a spoiled rotten vein through the core of him that was incongruous with who Joel was as a man, something that was glaringly obvious to all involved. And try as he might, in those early days, they could not overcome the disparity in their personalities. The attempts from Joel at closeness had been fraught with tension and unsaid resentments, and eventually Sam had given up, stopped answering his father’s calls, evading his attempts to connect. Your marriage had spiraled into dissolution shortly after that. As if the failure to find whatever it was he’d for so long hoped for in a relationship with his father had highlighted all of the things you yourself lacked, all the ways in which you were so specifically dissatisfying to him and always would be.

The marriage had not ended up being what either of you had hoped for, the honeymoon phase quashed and dead early on, no brightly lit halcyon. Reality had set in quickly when confronted with the disjointedness of your pairing, a bone out of place, your specific inability to please him in the ways he’d thought you would when he’d first met you. There was something about you that had always been a little bit lacking, something ascetic and cold natured about your personality at times. Since you were a child, trying to appease an unappeasable father, to emulate a singular mother. Always impossible, always falling just short of utter failure. Not so terrible that you were outwardly obvious in your mediocrity, but never everything you could be. Painfully, succinctly average. Sam had come to realize this quickly. Perhaps, unaware prior to tying himself to you because the only thing you’d ever been not average at, was being a little bit of a liar, of being placatingly complacent when the moment necessitated, manipulative in a way that you found protecting. But you see, that’s what happened when you had a cruel father who always needed appeasing, something Sam, in his abject fatherlessness, couldn't understand. Funny, you’d said that to him once, near the end, called him abjectly fatherless, his weakness a consequence of his lack of a paternal role model, and oh, how he’d hated that. Endings could bring out such cruelty in people, you’d found.

But the manipulation of a moment had become, in some ways, your only talent. The art of superficial gratification at a moment's notice as a way to keep the people around you falsely happy and calm. Like all small and frightened creatures, you’d learned your strengths well, but as all truths do, yours had eventually surfaced. The fact that you weren’t really so appeasing in the ways he desired, not so nice, not so perfect, not so subservient. That the persona was all just a way to keep him happy as a means of getting someone to love you, to stay because you didn’t know how else to be.

Your mother always said you could’ve been nicer to him. She was a kind, soft, patient thing. Quiet and easy and always, always, above everything else, understanding. It was the worst thing about her. A detriment, a weakness, and she resented you for your resentment, for seeing her as such, but you could never help it. Always asking you why you couldn’t just be a nice girl, a good girl.

You didn’t think you had not been nice, not been good. You had only been yourself.

Your father had always hated that about you, you being yourself. The man you’d chosen to marry didn’t seem to like it very much either. And she’d tried to instill her better qualities in you, your mother, so you weren’t all bad all the time. There could be a brightness and a lightness and a sweetness to you sometimes, it’s true. You weren’t always all bad. But there was – is still – also a bitterness and a resentment and an anger, a screaming that you could not quell no matter how hard you tried. And so you’d attepted to give him everything you could, your husband, everything you had at your disposal in all ways, to do and be all he could have ever asked of you during those two small years of marriage. Because truly, they had felt so very small, made you even smaller.

Everything except for sex. You’d never been able to give him that the way he’d wanted.

At first, it had been normal, sweet, soft missionary in the darkness, tepid insinuations of orgasms, always hushed, always exactly how he wanted it. But eventually, when the other parts of you began to fail, he got mean and callous and casually cruel. And as you pulled away physically, he called you frigid, a prude, boring, cold, bad in bed, didn't know how to make a man hard. And it had made you so agonizingly insecure, already a sensitive and anxious thing when it came to your physical form, he’d beaten you down, embarrassed you, belittled you.

With time, you’d realized the truth of it which had been nothing more than that you’d never really wanted him. He had never made you desperate, he had never made you wet. It was his character, his attitude, yes, but it was also him. He just wasn’t it for you, and it wasnt that you were a prude or frigid at all, only that you needed patience and understanding and care, gentleness. Things he possessed none of.

You just needed a little time to warm up and someone who wanted to give you that time.

The reality that your life had not been full of varied and foolish adventures, and that time had seemed to simply slip away like an echo in the brain from one moment to the next was duly painful. A handful of months of wan and false lust, two years of cold, bitter marriage, and now, six months of barren aloneness. Too many mistakes had been made, too many regrets, three big ones that could be held like stones scorched to burn by the sun in the palm of your hand so that even if you let them go eventually, their imprint would still be scarred into your flesh afterwards forever.

So, perhaps the divorce had been painful in the moment. Or not perhaps, there was nothing uncertain about it, you’d fought tooth and nail to make it work, to keep him with you. Prostrated and humiliated and debased yourself. But with time, it became obvious that it was a fantasy you decided you should finally cast aside, as all children do childish things at a certain age. And then, it had been the easiest thing in the world. After all, and let’s be honest now for a moment, the reckoning had come in the shape of his father. That is, at the end of it, the reason you’re really here.

Sat now, before the open cabinet below your kitchen sink, leaky pipe drip, drip, dripping monotonously in front of your glazed over eyes, you think of him. He’s a large man, intimidating and dark and stoic. Taller and broader than his son. Lush, mahogany curls streaked with silver that speak of age and experience like the smile lines around his eyes. Deeply grooved when he laughs that beautiful laugh of his. He looks exactly like the opposite of whatever his son is, like he’d have the ability to make the opposite of you, to pull out of you whatever the antithesis is of what his son was able to. It had been immediate, the nature of your thoughts towards him. The desire, the desire, the desire, you had wanted like you’d never wanted before — like an illness, like dying.

Your marriage had been circling the drain, and then you’d met him, and it should have been innocuous. He’d been kind and polite and welcoming, but also, aloof. Holding himself at a distance, something afraid that he carried within himself, like he didn't want to hope, like he was just a little bit scared of what it meant now to have a son, something to lose. You knew a little bit about that, the worst part of it all is never the cruelty, it’s the hopelessness. Everything had become so much worse after meeting him. An unbearable sort of awareness of something that your listless, frigid self recognized as man, man, man, something like hunger. Something slanted about the desire, wrong, sure, for he was your husband's father, and yet, you wanted him. You wanted to know what he smelled and tasted like, and what the weight of his cock on your tongue would feel like. If it was bigger than his sons, you were almost positive of that, if it would stretch the corners of your mouth to near splitting, the hinges of your jaw to aching.

You’d met your husband's father, and had realized, painfully, with uncompromising clarity, all that your husband could be, all that he was not, all that he would never be. There was no comparison between the boy and the man, and it made you hurt.

Your eyes flit back to the screen of your open laptop and the instructional video there, popping another fuzzy peach gummy onto the flat of your tongue, mouth full of sucking sugar. You’re going to fix this sink if it’s the last thing you do, and you’re not going to think about him again. But tomorrow, you’ll start not thinking about him tomorrow. The talent of a liar never really wanes.

The apartment is quiet, nothing but the cheerful crackling of your sweet pumpkin candle and the mocking splish splash of the drain pipe. You had, in recent weeks, come to think of your abandonment as something of an accomplishment. Perhaps, your loneliness is a good thing, you’ll tell yourself as a comfort, a sort of friend; you can’t be used against yourself again in this solitude, and oh, how you’d been used. That anemia in your character, the ascetic thread of your personality had been weaponized and wielded against you until you couldn’t tell up from down and left from right. You were certain there’d been cheating, even if you’d never had any proof to confirm it, merely grateful you’d never gotten sick as way of evidence. But you knew. And it could've been so much worse for you, of course, of course it could have. But he’d left your mind so off kilter, broken and confused and not yourself. Utterly damaged in a way that was humiliating and devastating when you thought of the way you’d been, such a little person. So often, not a woman, just a little girl.

And then his father. Joel. Seeing him today – you had never felt the way you should have felt towards him. Like your eyes were open, awake for the first time in your entire life. A man like that – he was changing. And you wanted, needed very much to be changed. Seeing him today, being presented with that reminder of what he was, how he made you feel, how he’d always made you feel. There’s something ghoulish about you concerning him – about this desire. That ascetic or anemic or under-grown, illformed thing about you, exterminated in the thrum of how alive he is. How unlike his son. You’d never known what it specifically was, never been able to categorize it, and then there had been that moment, brought so low, six feet beneath the ground sort of debased, and he’d been there and you had been – unburdened from the weight of his own son, by him, and you’re not even sure he knew the extent of it. The power he’d wielded over you in that moment in the dark. And you can’t say it out loud, what it is you’d want from him, you can’t even say out loud what it is about him that changes you as it does – not a woman, just a little girl – but you think that if you could just see him, then you’d know, or maybe you could be brave. You don’t know what it is, but you’d know it then, with him in front of you, you’d have the answer to this question that’s plagued you for so long – how to be yourself in a way that is good.

You’re pushing yourself to your feet, fueled by the thought, fingers gripped over the ledge of the counter to pull yourself up, sink forgotten, stumbling to your front door, shoving your feet into your shoes and fumbling for your keys. How to be yourself in a way that is good.

When you were seventeen, your father had been at his angriest. Angry in that way that all angry father’s are. Loud and brutish – an anger that is cowing, a sign of true weakness. Brute force in the shape of the man who gave you life. When you think of it now, even as a grown woman, you still feel that phantom limb of fear, and you know that it isn’t normal for a grown woman to be afraid of her father, and yet you are. And then to think that you’d gone from your parents home directly to the bed of the same sort of man, one even crueler, if possible. You’re forced to laugh your singular terrible, self deprecating laugh at the irony of it – even worse, if possible. For what’s worse than a person who constantly needs to be soothed into kindness and patience and calm?

Once, in that terrible seventeenth year, funny and strange and unknowingly perfect, you’d been gifted the Farmer’s Almanac by your elderly neighbor. She’d said that she’d read it since she was a girl, liked the peace in knowing that the year had been predicted by experts and put down on paper. It made life seem more secure, more in control in a small way. You’d needed that during that turbulent time, locked in your teenage bedroom, lulled to sleep by the sound of your father’s anger and the year’s long-range weather predictions before your blurry eyes. It was so comforting to be able to read the future in text, catastrophe or sunshine, at least it was there. You still read it to this day. And there’s no congruity to the thought now, as you crawl into your car, a ghoul in the night, banging your knee on the hastily opened car door, sprouting gooseflesh in the cold; this desire, desire, desire that is the worst thing you’ve ever felt in your whole life, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to stop because there is something about control in this moment also. Control like knowing what the future will be like on paper, control like a man who is entirely grown into himself, who knows who he is and who he is not and is not uncertain, who will not yell, who will not hurt you. He has this – your husband’s father – you know he does. There is something about control, there is something about knowing how a thing will be, there is something about being yourself in a way that is good.

You’d picked up the wrong wine on your way here. Rushing, trying to fix your makeup in the car, you’d gotten confused, chosen the one he didn’t want instead of the one he did. And it was nothing, or an accident, surely nothing to incite his ire, but he’s so fucking angry hovering in front of you. He looks at you, now sometimes, like he hates you, like you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. He said you’d humiliated him in front of his father. That he was going to think he didn’t have good taste, couldn’t afford a decent bottle of wine. And you don’t know Joel very well, but he doesn’t seem like the type of man to care about such things. Calling you an idiot in that poisoned shrill tone he takes on when he’s delivering a set down, and you’re trying to tell him to please, please keep your voice down, Sam, your father is going to hear you. You’d heard someone say once that a truly powerful man never feels the need to raise his voice, it simply isn’t necessary for him, and you’re reminded, terribly, of your father, with the sight of your shrill and seething husband in front of you. And then a low toned that’s enough, son from the mouth of the kitchen, and it’s so much worse, entirely catastrophic in a way, and you’re rushing away so humiliated, face on fire, tear caught over the trough of your lower lid, trying the doors in the hallway for the nearest restroom. You hear the murmur of voices, one struggling to maintain composure, the other, cool and steady, then the slam of the front door, and finally, the silent din of his house settling around the two of you as you find a restroom to hide in. Your heart beats so fast it makes you nauseous, knees strangely aching, listening to the heavy steps of Joel’s boots, as if he’s trying to warn you with those measured, weighted thuds that he’s coming, coming, coming for you. Turning to face the far corner of the restroom, you press your palm over your mouth, face slippery and burning and so stupid, the soft swoosh of the opening door, a paused breath as he takes in your form huddled into the wallpaper, and then the muted snick of the door closing behind him, shutting the two of you away together.

Part II

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

#pink fic #Joel Miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #Joel Miller smut #joel miller imagine #the last of us au

1K notes · View notes

comatosebunny09 · 9 months

Text

hurts so good | astarion a

summary: he’d gotten this devastating bright idea to ruin your life halfway through. stave off your pleasure for as long as he could, even if it meant you’d hate him in the morning. genre(s): erotica, romance warning(s): female anatomy, explicit language, bodily fluids, blood drinking, orgasm denial, brief anal play, cervix fcking, dirty talk, terms of endearment (love, darling), praise kink, drabble notes: heavily influence by this beautiful artwork by @looneylolita. screenshot credit

No time for pleasantries.

Just Astarion notching his hips to yours. Holding you so tight, the fat of your ass craters beneath his fingers as he fucks into you from below.

“Take your pleasure,” he rasps. “Take what you want from me, my love. Use me.”

The depth of his voice is enough to make you clench.

Like you haven’t been doing plenty of that already.

Each roll of his hips is languid. Deep. Purposeful. As if he’s on a mission to unravel every tangle of nerves in you with the slippery scrape of his cock. The head of it intermittently batters against your cervix, punching the air from your lungs.

You tremble so good for him, making his cock twitch and his body shudder.

You’re both saturated with sweat—or perhaps it’s slick? You gave up distinguishing the two after hours of this. This excruciatingly slow dance where you’re fucked within an inch of your life. He stops when your stomach pulls, and your mind floods with endorphins, and fuck.

It’s always with that wicked smile and the mischievous glint in his eyes that he tells you, “Not yet, darling. Gods, not yet. I need you to hold out for me a little longer. You can do that for me, can’t you, my love?”

As if it’s that easy a feat with his thumb running meticulous circles ‘round your clit, and his tongue flittering across your nipples.

The sultry gravel of his voice doesn’t help matters, mingling with the perfect amount of desperation. And the way he looks at you. Strips you down and exalts you like an idol to be worshipped despite the maddening thrust of his hips—

Gods.

You’re too drunk from the pleasure to argue—maybe it’s blood loss? It’s all so very frustrating. Confusing because hours ago, he was telling you to fuck him like he were your toy. And at first, you did, with hands pressed to his sternum for leverage as you bore down on him.

But he’d gotten this devastating bright idea to ruin your life halfway through. Stave off your pleasure for as long as he could, even if it meant you’d hate him in the morning.

Judging by the ethereal, orange glow seeping through your curtains, morning has already begun its sluggish creep across the horizon.

Astarion bucks his hips, bringing you back to the present.

You careen forward, catching yourself on your hands. You’re a panting mess, pupils blown wide, lips parting with the effort to breathe. You sift through the haze of your lust to glare at him.

His eyes crease with mirth in response.

“Astarion, what…what the fuck, man?”

He chuckles, something hoarse and abrasive that gnarls in your stomach. One of his hands smooths up your back to clasp around the nape of your neck. He brings you down to tempt you into a kiss, and he licks into your mouth, evoking a keening sound from your throat as his thumb tenderly skates along your cheek, betraying the devilish snap of his pelvis.

“Focus, darling,” he croaks into the space between your mouths. “Wouldn’t want you giving up on me after coming so far.”

It takes every bit of you not to smack him for being such an insufferable piece of shit.

You settle for growling something half-hearted, coming down onto your elbows, your hands bracing themselves on the crown of his head. You bury your face into the crook of his shoulder, pelvis rolling like waves dragging along the shoreline.

His hand pinches and pulls at your rear as you ride him, occasionally dipping between your ass cheeks to tease your puckering anus and fuck it all if he doesn’t know what it takes to push you to the outskirts of chaos.

He affectionately roots his nose against your neck, a groan rolling like thunder in his rib cage as he traps you in the circle of his arms.

“That’s it, love. Fuck me. Mmm, just like that.”

Behind shuttered lids, you feel the cold prickle of his fangs in your neck. You relinquish a sigh to the balmy air, your nipples sore and pebbled as they rub raw against the rigid pane of his chest whilst your hips rut against him at their own discretion.

Your senses are crowded with only him. The slow pull of your blood into his mouth makes your pussy quake, and you share dual moans from the feel of it. His hands glide down to your rear to steady you. To temper the pace as that sparkling feeling builds between your legs. You whimper with exasperation, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

“Astarion,” you gasp, fighting against his grip around your body.

You wince when he retracts his fangs, and he breathes something sweltering and erratic as he drags his flattened tongue up your throat, fingers reaching through the riot of your hair and pulling.

“I know, darling. I know. But you’re performing so wonderfully for me. Stay with me. Just a bit longer.”

You sigh, the sound wet and painful as if forced from your lungs. Maybe if you’re good and continue to play at Astarion’s game, he’ll grant you the luxury of your release.

Until then, you settle for rocking against him, praying to the Gods above for a most handsome reward.

masterlist

#astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion smut #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #smut sunday #astarion bg3 #astarion fanfic #astarion

769 notes · View notes

theorphicangel · 1 month

Text

𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬. | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

tags: enemies to lovers, college au, smut, 18+, slow burn,

synopsis: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single, brooding man in possession of a good future in genetics, must be in want of a girlfriend.Or at least a fake one to get his family off his back. (college au & fake dating trope ft my favourite grumpy man who doesn't fall first but ends up falling harder. ouch.)

previous chapter | next chapter

taglist: @oharasfilipinawife @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @amelialysm @crimin4llyins4ne @strawberryjuice9 @beezusvreeland @faretheeoscar @lunablackcosplay @t4naiis @peachey-pie @mcmiracles @hardlystrictlystarwars @migueloharastruelove @fruityfucker @kingtwhiddleston n @nappingmoon

chapter seven: an interesting observation of your stupidity and insensibility.

series

Pissed would be an understatement if you were to describe Miguel's reaction when he found out.

“Whoa, whoa –” Peter’s expression changes to concern as Miguel emerges from his bedroom with a look of pure irritation on his face. Peter leans against the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal in one hand. “Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning.”

“Did you know someone put my car up on craigslist?”

“What?”

“My car.” Miguel emphasizes, his tone growing thick with impatience. “Why the fuck is it up for sale?”

Peter frowns. “I don’t– I don’t understand, what are you talking about?”

Miguel sighs, unlocking his phone to show Peter a screenshot that Gabriel had sent. “Look.”

“And that wasn’t you?”

Miguel curses. “Of course it wasn’t me! Why would I sell my car for 69 bucks?”

It takes everything in Peter not to let out a laugh. “Well, it wasn’t me.” He attempts to defend himself with a mouthful of cereal. “ Miguel , I swear I had nothing to do with it–”

“I know.” He cuts off, waving a hand to dismiss him. “You’re too idiotic to do something like this.” Miguel squints, inspecting the ad; there’s even a fake email with his name attached to it. “I just– I don’t know anyone who would do something like this.”

“Anyone you can think of? Maybe anyone you pissed off lately?”

Miguel shakes his head, glancing down at the ad again. Other than Peter there’s no other person who comes to mind. Just when Miguel was about to suggest reporting it to authorities, Peter speaks up.

“ Oh , maybe it was your friend.”

“What friend?”

“The one who works at the cafe.”

Miguel holds back a scoff at the thought. You , his friend? He barely even considers you an acquaintance.

“She’s definitely not my friend. Never was and never will be.”

Miguel gives Peter a clear look implying that he should elaborate nonetheless. Peter swallows, taking another bite of his breakfast before speaking. His words are muffled by his chewing – a pet peeve of Miguel’s – but he can just about make them out.

“She told me that she was friends with you but she needed a favor from me. And then, she told me that you were picking her up somewhere but she didn’t know what your car looked like and she didn’t have your number so, moi,” he pointed at himself with his spoon, “being a very good friend gave her your number and got a picture of your car for her on your behalf. I think she’s in your genetics class or something, right? But I did that because she said she wouldn’t be able to see you for the rest of the week and then she saw me at work and found out that I was your roommate which is why she asked me in the first place. Anyways, because I helped her out I finally got MJ’s number which was what I was meant to tell you yesterday but you were in a mood and—”

What?

At this point Miguel blocks out Peter as he rambles on, trying to comprehend his side of the story.

It was you. Of course it fucking was. He should hardly be surprised.

Miguel storms away without another word, his face struck with anger.

“Hey, where are you–”

The door slams before Peter can even finish his sentence.

“And I didn’t even get to tell you the best part.”

Okay…so maybe he wasn’t too serious about reporting you to the police. But could you really blame him?

His week was already heading for the shits when deadlines after deadlines began to be set. Not to mention the stress of lab work with two incompetent idiots who refuse to do anything, resulting in Miguel doing it all himself. Then the incessant texts from Gabriel begging him to talk to mamá, which only dug up memories of Miguel’s last unforgettable conversation with her which therefore reminded him of the upcoming anniversary .

And then there was you .

You were the sickeningly sweet cherry on top of the dog pile of shit; causing an inconvenience to his life which only seemed to be full of inconveniences.

At this point Miguel’s beginning to think that going to college was more of a curse than it was a blessing; perhaps bad karma for his behavior before he left home.

Either way, you were his last straw.

For the remainder of the day, a sullen expression was glued to Miguel’s face. Those around him actively avoided him, walking around him as if he were some sort of minefield; tiptoeing to avoid accidentally setting him off.

It wouldn’t be the first time. From a child through to his early adolescence he was used to being alone. Sitting in a corner by himself with nothing but a ‘simple introduction to all things science for teens’ textbook to keep him company . Throughout his childhood, his withdrawn demeanor caused him to stand out from the others, constantly being told by teachers to ‘smile more.’

But back then there was nothing to smile about.

It wasn’t until Jess approached him that afternoon that he actually considered letting off steam. He was surprised at first that she was coming to him, only noticing her a few times in his cells and molecular seminars.

“Wanna come out for drinks with us tonight?”

He hesitates at her question, his mouth slightly ajar; dumbfounded that she was addressing him directly.

“You look like you need it.” She adds on.

He’s caught in a moment of insecurity, almost surprised that his social life is taking off. In that same moment he remembers the words of his seventh grade teacher echoing in his mind: ‘How are you going to make friends, Miguel, if you keep pushing them away? Give it a chance.’

And so he did. Ending up in a club a few blocks away from campus with shitty music and too many college students. The stench of sweat causes his nose to scrunch up as he squeezes past a sea of bodies just to make it to the bar.

Did he regret coming here tonight? Maybe. But it was better than staying cooped up in his room all night doing a piece of lab work that his classmates should have done.

Miguel waits his turn at the bar, eyes scanning the club as he does so. Strobe disco lights bounce across the walls, changing color in beat with the pounding music. If he stares for too long his eyes begin to hurt so instead he squints, still studying the room as he tries to remember the orders he was given. His lips move a little, mumbling to himself. “One gin and tonic, margarita and—

His sentence cuts short, body freezing at the recognition of you. He didn’t notice you at first, the lighting of the club being too dim to make out anyone’s face. It was only as you turned towards the bar, standing directly across from him, that he noticed you.

He watches you from afar as you wave the bartender down but then you pause for a split second, sensing a pair of eyes on you and glance back at Miguel.

He feels your sense of panic as you look at him. He too silently curses himself for meeting your eyes. You look away as quickly as you can, the bartender now approaching you.

As much as he hates to admit, he can’t tear his eyes off you as you lean over the bar– drunkenly he notices– to shout your order to the bartender.

Just at the sight of you, anger grew from the pit of his stomach. After your conversation earlier he had sworn that he wanted nothing to do with you. By now, you’ve probably already removed the ad but that still doesn’t excuse your actions.

Despite his rage, Miguel just can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you; he watches as you pull back from the bar, stumbling a little. He can sense you actively avoiding his eye contact; just one look at him and your face cringes with embarrassment.

He can’t remember what sparked his body to move closer to you. Maybe it was some left over resentment or pure concern at the sight of watching you drunkenly attempt to look as sober as possible. Even reflecting back, he’s still not sure what made him gravitate towards you. Maybe curiosity? Maybe boredom?

or maybe he just wanted one last petty dig at his nemesis.

For a guy of his stature, it’s easy enough to push past the sea of people in his way who immediately make room. Just a few meters away from you, he sees the bartender pass over the two shots you had ordered.

Miguel frowns. “Don’t you think you should slow down a little?”

You’re clearly caught off guard, nearly spilling shots in surprise as you turn your head to see him.

Miguel’s brown eyes take you in, pouring over your outfit; a tight dress that suits your skin tone; it’s a little short but he can tell you’re playful with it, accentuating your curves and tits but his eyes move away quickly. For a second, he’s grateful about the club’s dark lightning as you miss the way that his face heats up.

“And don’t you think you should mind your business?” Your pronunciation sounds heavy, no doubt due to the alcohol, yet Miguel can’t miss the lethal tone as you speak. “How long have you been watching me?”

He’s caught off guard, stammering quietly but you don’t notice due to the music in the background.

“I wasn’t watching.” Is all that he could come out with.

You scoff a little. “Right.” You say sarcastically before taking the shots; one right after the other. Miguel raises a brow as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, wincing a little at the taste. “And I’m totally not trying to get black-out drunk.”

“Any reason why you’re doing so?”

You snort after his question, holding back a laugh. “Why are you even talking to me? Shouldn’t you be busy calling the police on me?”

You fiddle with the empty shot glasses in your hands and Miguel senses your ever-growing frustration as you glare. He hesitates, unsure of his reasons for both questions. You turn around once you sense he has nothing more to say.

“I’m going to get another shot so if you don’t mind please leave me alone.”

“Don’t you have a shift tomorrow?”

The words leave his mouth before he can even think. No , he doesn’t have your schedule memorized. He’s just noticed that whenever he has a genetics lecture at 9am, you’re usually on shift that day too. Miguel notices your face fall at the realization, your confidence soon draining out of you.

You shrug halfheartedly. “So what?”

“You need to go home.”

“And you need to leave me alone.”

Miguel stops himself from scoffing. You look like you can barely stand, trying to lean back on the bar for support. He repeats his words again, his voice a little more stern as a crease appears between his brows. “And you need to go home.”

“I said—”

The rest of your sentence was interrupted by your phone buzzing, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess what you were going to say. Closely, he watches your expression turn from frustration to a sense of dismay, eyes glued to your phone. You begin to chew on your lower lip with Miguel silently observing your dejection, managing to lip read the words that slip quietly from your tongue.

Someone’s not coming back?

At this he takes his chance.

“I’ll take you home.”

Miguel’s words abruptly bring you back to reality and you snap your head back up at him in surprise as if he’s just grown two heads. You let a small pause pass through before coming up with an answer.

“Uhmmmm, no.”

“Why–”

“Because.”

“That’s not a reason, nena , you can barely stand.”

“Because I hate you and I want nothing to do with you.”

The second your venomous words leave your mouth, he’s taken aback, eyes widening a little. It takes him a second to reconcile his thoughts. The words leave Miguel’s dry throat in an empty tone.

“You’re drunk.”

“Drunk enough to know that I still fucking hate you.”

The second time that that word leaves your tongue, a chill runs through his spine; and as if you’ve set off a trigger, faded and blurry memories suddenly begin to resurface through his mind.

There’s a voice in his mind from his distant childhood, where the words “I hate you” were constantly thrown at him in another language. That same voice conditioning him to think that all he caused was screaming and shouting throughout the house.

You don’t hear Miguel repeat his words a little quieter. “You’re drunk.”

You don’t mean it, he thinks. Internally, he tells himself a little more sharply. You don’t mean it. Of course you don’t. You don’t even know his past. It’s not the same. You’re just drunk.

“I should be the one hating you. You tried to sell my car.” As soon as that reminder slips from his lips, Miguel knows he’s accidentally set off a trigger.

Your expression turns to rage, pointing at his chest furiously. “Because you were a fucking asshole to me and wrote a fucking mean ass review about me!”

Miguel quickly notices multiple eyes suddenly looking in his direction. Fuck , he does not want to be attracting too much attention right now.

He lowers his tone a little, drawing in closer to you so that you’re the only person who can hear his words. “You did all this because I was rude to you?” Por favor, dame fuerza. ” He lets the ‘r’ roll off his tongue, fingers grabbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

He needed to get out here. He can’t do this. He can’t fucking stand you and your nonsensical behavior. Miguel’s chest begins to rise and fall a little more heavily; he was beginning to get overwhelmed. Your loss of temper, your words and the resurfacing memories were all getting a bit too much for him. A migraine was beginning to catch on with the pounding music only seeming to grow louder with every song.

“So when your boss criticizes your work, you’re just gonna go out and break the law for some petty revenge?”

“You’re not my boss, that’s the difference.”

“And if I was, I’d fire you in a heartbeat.” He snaps, locking eyes with you. For a moment, it seems like everything stops. The noises, the people, the flashing lights all fade into one hazy background as the two of you stare at each other with mutual hate and anger. A whole ten seconds seem to pass by before you succumb to his gaze and glance away.

You don’t understand him and he doesn’t understand you. He doubts he ever will.

“I hate you.” You mutter.

“Ditto here, nena .”

The little nickname has caught onto him. It’s become a habit that he can’t shake off. He says it more out of spite rather than a term of endearment. Miguel remembers when he called you ‘nena’ for the very first time. He noticed how your nose scrunched up and how you tried to ignore it, unsure of the exact meaning of the word yet you didn’t miss the sense of ridicule in his voice each and every time he said it.

“I’m going.” you announce, turning away from him and camouflaging into the crowd. Miguel grits his teeth out of frustration as you disappear. Although, with his height he can just about make out your figure. It’s not until he sees you snap back at a stranger and spill his drink that he rolls his eyes.

Here you go again. You can barely go two minutes without causing a problem.

From just a few meters away, Miguel can see your expression change from annoyance to fear as the stranger begins to shout in your face, edging closer to you. Squinting, Miguel notices your wrist being held by the man and without thinking, he steps in.

“Maybe you should keep your hands to yourself then, compa .”

He scans the man up and down. The figure sways back and forth, an ugly drunk expression written all over his face. Ah, he’s one of those guys. The ones who get riled up over jack shit and want their egos validated by taking it out on others.

Miguel turns his back on the figure, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Quick, before he gets angry. I think this asshole’s drunk.”

A mumble leaves your mouth as you turn to leave.

“I’m taking you back to your dorm room. No ifs or buts.” The two of you easily weave in and out of the crowd, thanks to Miguel’s height.

Soon spotting Jess, he leads you over to her table.

Jess opens her mouth to scold Miguel for taking so long with the drinks before realizing that he hasn’t got any in his hands. Instead, a hand is latched to your arm as you stumble drunkenly next to him.

“Jess, I’m going to take her home.”

“Whoa, whoa.”

“Ay, por dios– not my home. I’m taking her back to her dorm room, she’s someone I know and her drunk ass is going to pass out at any second.” Miguel scrunches up his nose in disgust.

God , no . It would never be like that. You’d have to be the last person on earth to even think about that. No, not even the last person. He’s confident in his decision to let humanity go extinct rather than…that. Despite his dislike for you as a person right now, there was a part of him that was enough of a decent human being to make sure that you got home safe.

Of course, that was the least he could do.

“I hate you Miguel O’hara.”

“Uh-huh, you keep telling me that.”

He’s learned to face your words a little more assertively than before but they still dig into his skin a little, despite him telling himself that you’re not in the right state of mind.

You’re mostly using Miguel for balance as the two of you walk across campus to get to your dorm. Your heels echo off the walls of closed campus buildings, the late October chill running through Miguel’s body. But despite this, he’s still rather warm. Whether it comes from his pent up anger from earlier or because his body hasn’t adjusted to the chill of the night just yet, he’s unsure.

“Just making sure that you won’t forget.” you say, a cloud of warm air leaving your mouth and dissipating into the late night.

“I sure won’t.”

“You ruined my life.”

“You did it to yourself, nena .”

His words are harsh but true; Miguel doesn’t fully realize the extent of his words after a long pause between the two of you.

“I did, didn't I?”

“Oh, please don’t start crying again–”

It had taken Miguel a full fifteen minutes to get you to stop crying earlier after your near clash with the stranger.

“Who’s gonna buy him a drink? Oh my god, he’s gonna find out where I live and–.”

“He doesn’t even know who you are, you’ll live.”

Unfortunately Miguel’s words die on deaf ears as you begin to break down. He sighs, letting go of your hand as you cry for the second time tonight.

“I’m such a bad person, I-I-I ruined my life by trying to sell your car and I nearly got fired at my first ever job and I lied to my mom…” You pause, reflecting on your words. “I lied to my mom.”

Miguel shrugs. It’s not the worst thing in the world, compared to his relationship with his own mother, it seems pretty insignificant.

“We all have, haven’t we?” His words have a slight tone of regret, the memory of his harsh conversation with his mother arising again.

“I lied to my mom about having a boyfriend!” you exclaim. “And-and-and I’m a terrible daughter and I deserve death! and– and—”

Miguel’s eyes widen at your words, he doesn’t hesitate in scolding you for your language. “ Hey , hey , don’t say that about yourself.”

He’s not really sure about what you’re talking about and he’s not going to ask, but the last thing he wants to deal with tonight is a drunk and self-destructive college student.

Maybe he should’ve stayed at home and done the lab work.

“But I lied and now she– she’s expecting me to bring someone over for thanksgiving and I don’t have anyone because I’m a liar and a criminal and I’m going to prison!” You kneel down against the pavement, an endless stream of tears running down your face.

Awkwardly, Miguel watches you break down. For a second, he panics, scanning around for any person nearby to help him. He’s not really the right person to be helping you with…this. A street light flickers nearby, the only sound on campus is you sobbing and the faint sound of a siren across the city.

Miguel doesn’t even know why you’re being so dramatic but he blames it on the alcohol. So you lied about having a boyfriend? So what? If anything, he’s done much worse. But he’s not even going to ask. He doesn’t want to be involved with your shit. Whatever problems you have, he does not want to be a part of it.

But he does want to get you out of here as soon as possible before anyone comes across him standing awkwardly next to a girl sobbing in the streets.

He crouches down, trying to meet your eyes. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed and you can sleep and forget that this never happened.”

You lift up your head, tears dripping from your chin. “No. I- I won’t forget, I’ll just remember it all over again and– and –”

“Hey, look at me.” Your eyes meet his and he makes sure that his tone is more mellow than before. “I promise you’ll go to sleep and forget all about this okay? I promise.”

“Do you pinky promise?” You hold out your pinky in front of him.

“I pinky-promise.” He sighs.

You shake your head, pouting. “No, you have to link with me.”

Internally, he curses; rolling his eyes before finally joining your pinky with his.

Slowly but surely he manages to get you to stand up again, leading you to your accommodation block. You’ve now gone silent, only letting out a few hiccups here and there. Miguel asks if you’re alright and you let out a nod. Soon enough, you make it to your apartment building and he carefully helps you up the flight of stairs; a hand gripping onto his large bicep for support. He says nothing about it, now letting you lead the way to your dorm room.

The two of you stand awkwardly outside your door, silence infiltrating the entire corridor as neither of you know what to say. Miguel soon decides to break the silence.

“You think you’ll be okay?” His voice is still soft.

A small part of him wants to ask more about your…dilemma . But he soon reminds himself that it’s none of his business, that he shouldn’t even care. He just wants to get you home and leave you alone. Hopefully, never having to speak to you again after tonight.

You don’t let out a reply and instead ignore him, heading inside without so much as a last glance back to him. The door slams shut in his face, echoing loudly down the soulless corridor. A faint thump of music and muffled conversation are heard from the dorm rooms on the floor above.

Miguel’s mouth is slightly agape, his chance to recommend water or aspirin is now lost.His mouth closes slowly and he exhales through his nostrils. Letting out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding, shoulders dropping.

Pulling out his phone, eyes search for the name ‘Lyla’ . He sends a text to make sure that you get the support that you need tomorrow morning. Sure, you’re not his favorite person in the world right now, but he knows what regret feels like in the form of a pounding headache.

Miguel moves to lean next to the wall beside your door, tilting his head back as he closes his eyes. He’s beginning to feel a migraine come on. Ever so softly he can hear little shuffles behind your door, no doubt you trying to drunkenly make it to your room.

This night had to be one of his worst nights in college so far and it’s not even the end of October yet.

He hates you, he thinks. You irritate him with the way that you talk and the way that you somehow attempted to sell his fucking car. You irritate him in a way that he can’t stand, making him swear that he wants nothing more to do with you. In fact that’s what he told himself today, after your conversation at the cafe. Tonight was just an anomaly. A situation of him doing the bare minimum so that you’d end up without regret tomorrow morning.

Only now, does he finally get a chance to respond to the multiple remarks you’ve spat at him the entire night.

“I fucking hate you, too.” he mumbles, the words barely audible from his lips.

reblogs are much appreciated, thank you for reading!! lmk if you would like to join the taglist!

#angel writes #under no circumstances fic #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o hara #miguel 2099 #miguel ohara #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader fluff #spiderman 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse fanart #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara

161 notes · View notes

yanderestarangel · 9 months

Text

♡‧₊˚✧˖°💌 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲 | 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐭𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

TW: ftm reader, v!sex, oral (f!re), dirty talk, afab anatomy, reader is a femboy, wearing skirts, sex without a condom, praise, rough sex, dom!homelander, dark concept, degradation, dom!homelander, male x male, porn plot, smut, use of aphrodisiac, creampie.

A/N : finally a request from homelander! yey! For some reason Tumblr doesn't let me answer my asks anymore, but hey- I took a screenshot of all the ones I'm going to make >< so sorry if your order isn't notified!

⸺ It was a miracle that you caught the attention of the most feared man in all of America, the most powerful man in the entire world, Homelander.

You were just a normal kid who worked at Vougth's main headquarters, taking care of the schedules of some secondary supers; however, you soon felt the pair of oceanic blue eyes burn you - the infamous hero staring at you from afar, practically fucking you with just one look, he drank in all your curves - from the stockings that squeezed your thighs, to the short skirt that you wore, in addition to the breasts shyly hidden through the blouse you wore.

You had awakened something in him, something he didn't know how to put into words, he was always a more submissive man in bed but you made all his sexual fantasies create another type of direction, he wanted to fuck you like a beast - like a hungry animal, beautifully destroy every piece of your delicate body and make you his boy.

So, you were lovingly notified with a mild threat from the company board, either you had a meeting with the hero of the seven, or you lost your job.

And you didn't hesitate to choose the first option. The meeting was at a luxurious restaurant in the city, closed to just the two of you, the hero seemed more polished, more... Different? An improved version of the man you saw fighting with everything and everyone in the buildings every day - the smell of fresh cologne coming off him also made you try to close your thighs, feeling your core get wet every time you saw his muscles flex under the fabric tight blue uniform, you had never paid due attention to him, so it surprised you to see him so... Attractive, as if a new light was placed in your eyes and mind, as if with each touch you wanted more and more - perhaps the aphrodisiac he put in his perfume would have helped, but you would never know it.

He was a gentleman, treating you like a prince, like his prince - carrying you in his strong arms to his apartment, you were adorable, and you were as he expected you to be: shy and wet. Your sweet scent of excitement and desire filled every atom around him, so it wasn't difficult for Homelander to convince you to let him into your house... It was too easy, even, and as soon as the door closed, a predatory smile covered his features. of the blonde man, as he towered over you like a mountain.

"-Are you nervous baby? there's no need.. I'm going to make you feel good pretty boy... lift that skirt for me... now." You couldn't help but feel weak in the knees as you did as he told you without protest, exposing your wet, needy flesh for him and for him. Homelander smiled, his piercing blue eyes fixed on your exposed, glistening pussy. He moved closer, his presence looming over you, radiating power and dominance- His hand reached out, his fingers brushing the lace of your panties.

"-Good boys are rewarded... Now, let's see how wet you really are." he whispered hoarsely, his voice sending shivers down your spine. His touch was electrifying as he slowly pushed your panties to the side, exposing your throbbing clit and your slick folds to his hungry gaze. "-Such a receptive little slut for me" His fingers dug into your flesh with more force than they should have, leaving bruises that would later turn into sickly beautiful property marks - his tongue tracing slow circles around your entrance before dipping deep inside you. The sensation was unlike anything you've ever experienced before—his warm, wet tongue probing and teasing your sensitive folds, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your entire body.

You arched your back involuntarily against the cool concrete wall, moaning softly as he devoured every inch of your tight cunt. The lust was overwhelming, the sensations intensified by the knowledge that this sadistic hero could have anything and anyone he wanted, but he chose you - Moans fell freely from your lips as he continued to pleasure you, his tongue and lips working in perfect harmony to take your to the limit. Each stroke, each movement of his tongue, sent waves of ecstasy through your body, elevating your arousal to new heights.

You couldn't help but grip his hair, encouraging him, your breathing becoming ragged as you neared the peak of pleasure. Homelander sensed your imminent release and intensified his efforts, his tongue working faster, his fingers slipping inside you to increase the stimulation.

"-You like that don't you? Having me worship you?" he said with a roguish smile, eating you from the outside with even more intensity - however, when you were about to cum, the blonde took his tongue out of your pussy, making you feel a practically painful burning, begging on your knees like a puppy for him to fuck you soon, like the good boy you were.

Homelander's dominance over you intensified as he pinned you face down on the bed, his strong grip holding your head gently against the mattress - the pressure against your face felt a thrill of submission through your body, fueling your desire and excitement, you could feel his hard cock pressing against your ass, teasingly grazing your entrance with each movement. "-You like it rough, don't you, pretty boy..." he growled, his voice dripping with unmistakable horny.

"-You want me to fuck you until you can't walk straight, don't you?" Homelander's thrusts grew more intense and you could feel the pain building inside you - the pain sent waves of ecstasy through your body.

Your screams and moans filled the room, music to Homelander's sadistic desires. He leaned close to your ear, his voice dripping with a dark intensity. "-Do you think it hurts now, doll boy? Wait until I'm done with you," he whispered, his words fueling the fire of submission in your veins.

"-I'll take care of you, every inch of you, after I'm satisfied." Homelander's thrusts became more erratic, his breathing irregular, his balls hit your clit messily, making you breathless, with each slap on your ass or even the rough and sloppy way he squeezed your soft breasts, using the fabric of your skirt to further leverage each wild rhythm of your hips.

"-Fuck boy-! You take me so good... Good boy- good boy, just cum for me with that slutty pussy." When Homelander's thrusts reached a feverish level, he squeezed your head once again, his fingers digging into your hair. He growled deeply, a primal sound of pleasure as he reached his climax -- with one final, powerful thrust, he released himself inside you, filling you with his cum. You felt the heat of his release, mixing with your own wetness, as he continued to reach his orgasm. A feeling of satisfaction washed over him, and he slowly withdrew from you, his grip on his head finally loosening -- Homelander kissed your body tenderly, his lips tracing your skin, marking you as his.

"-You were a good slut, baby prince", he murmured, his voice filled with a possessiveness, giving you chaste kisses on the back and loving pats on your red ass from his own slaps. "-And I always take care of what's mine... Good boy..."

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

980 notes · View notes

astarionfreak · 8 months

Text

At least you purr for me

// Astarion (Spawn) / Reader (Fem!Tav)

You've been faking orgasms your entire life. And yes, you even faked during that night in the forest with Astarion. After a couple bottles of wine, the truth comes out and Astarion wants to rectify the situation.

18+ • NSFW • 6.3K words (1/1) | Read on AO3 (a teaser is available below)

Tags: Smut, first orgasm, masturbation, inappropriate use of tadpole, vaginal fingering, penis in vagina sex, oral sex, vampire bites

Astarion’s body language is relaxed, but you can tell that something has changed. Your little confession earned you his full attention. He’s going to try to fuck you again, isn’t he?

Then you feel it, that familiar tug inside your mind. Your breath catches in your throat.

Is it true, what you said?

You nod.

I’d like to discuss this further with you if you’re interested?

You shrug.

Not the resounding ‘yes’ I was hoping for, darling.

Astarion leans back on one hand and takes a slow sip of wine from the goblet in his other hand.

It’s also not a ‘no.’

Astarion responds to something Karlach said. It earns him another laugh from the group. You’re still not focusing on the actual words being exchanged, you’re just watching Astarion.

Yes, well, now that I have all the information on your little . . . predicament. I’d like to try again.

There it is. Another man treating you like you’re a poor, broken thing that desperately needs him to be cured.

I don’t need you to fix me, Astarion.

You’re staring at him now, but he seems to be hardly paying you any attention. Even though he’s actively inside your mind.

Did I say I wanted to fix you? I only meant that I want to fuck you, dear.

You sigh.

I don’t know if that’s a good idea.

You shiver as phantom fingertips begin to trail, feather-light, up your inner thigh. Your mouth drops open and you inhale sharply. After only one night together, he knows exactly how to touch you.

Astarion is still in the middle of a conversation with the group while he teases you. How is he able to do this?

I only have good ideas. Just say the word and we can share another private moment.

His fingertips aren’t there, not really, and yet you feel them slide up and down your thigh. Every time his fingers move, they go farther and farther up — inching closer to where you really want them to be.

Maybe, Astarion. But when?

You shift in your seat, squirming as the invisible fingers slide to your other thigh — continuing to tease you with slow and gentle movements. You struggle to control your breathing, trying to focus now only on keeping your breath steady and slow so as to not raise any suspicions.

Now is as good a time as any.

Then he adds another hand. This time delicate fingers move down your neck, caress your shoulder, beneath your clothes and slowly brush over the swell of your breast. The fingers trace your curves, over and under.

You’re sitting rather stiffly now. The hair on the back of your neck stands at attention and goosebumps are scattered along your arms. If anyone were to look at you, they would surely know something is going on.

Read entire fic on AO3.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #Baldur's Gate 3 #astarion smut #bg3 smut #af.op #af.op.fic

251 notes · View notes

christinarowie332 · 11 months

Text

i win.

part 2 of : “i’d be an idiot if i said no to that”

matt sturniolo x reader

warnings : vv suggestive ! drugs , swearing .

—-

matt and y/n spend some quality time with his brothers . who would break first ?

(this is kinda slow so hear me out)

green text : imessage

————-

my phone lights up vibrating from underneath my pillow . i peel my eyes away from “the vampire diaries” playing from my tv and notice the time displayed on my phone. 12:36am . jesus christ .

my eyes scan my notifications as my face id opens my phone . instagram, my group chat “whores.” (56). oops . snapchat , pinterest… oh ?

matt🤭: u up ?

(AHSHHSHDWHHENEHHEHSH)

my body shoots up from where i was lay . i frantically tuck my hair behind my ears with my free hand not holding my phone . i open the message , thumbs hovering over the keyboard ready to type before i hesitate. realising i have no idea what to say .

me: yeah i’m up ! what’s up ?

i type . then delete it .

me: hiyaaaa , yeah i’m up wanna do something??? x

nope

me: yeah i’m up . whyyy wanna hang??

good enough idc

i press send with shaking fingers , allmost immediately he replies back .

matt 🤭: you know me so well , i’ll come pick u up .

me: no bother , i’ll come over . send me ur loc

matt 🤭: i’m at mine with chris and nick , we can all hang if u want?

*matt 🤭 shared his location with you*

me: oki! shall i bring anything??

matt 🤭: just yourself and whatever u need in the morning

me: i’m staying ??😏😏😏😏

matt 🤭: 😏😏😏😏

me: OMW!!!!!

matt 🤭: LMAO OK

i smile at the message and take a screenshot immediately sending it to my groupchat giggling , throwing to the middle of my bed and getting up .

after a few touch ups to my makeup i’ve left to marinate on my face a little bit too long .i change outfit into a pair of baggy light blue jeans , that fall on my hips , uggs and a tight fitted white baby tee . i throw on a hoodie that matches my uggs before realizing it’s literally boiling and ripping it off .i grab my phone and my bag , filling it with the essentials and start to exit my house .

in what feels like 30 seconds i’m pulling into what should be matt’s house . i turn my car off and look at my self in the mirror , obsessing over every little detail until deciding i look good enough .

me: i’m here !!

me: hello ??

me: matt are u home ??

after five minutes of waiting outside the door i decide to just knock it . my heart literally racing enough to hear it in my ears . after a few seconds of waiting i hear the door unlock and the handle go down .

his face drops at the sight of me and turns his head away but not taking his eyes off me , his blonde hair falling against his eyes before he swipes it away .

“MATT ??CHRIS???”

he smiles kindly and i return it . awkward .

after a few excruciatingly painful seconds i see a familiar face poke around the corner, his long and messy hair tucked into a backwards hat . it takes him a second to realize it’s me and his face lights up as he walks towards the door .

“y/n ? yo what are u doing here ? nick bro what are u doing??” he furrows his eyebrows at his brother before opening his arms towards me .

“nice to see you too chris” i roll my eyes and meet his hug .

“OH SHIT MB YOUR y/n ?!?! COME IN FUCK SORRY!!” nick rambles out grabbing me around my back and pulling me in the house .

i take the sight on his house in , the shoes shoved thrown into the corner near the stairs. it smells like autumn, a warm candle burning somewhere. i can hear music coming from what must be the room above . smiling at the familiar beat of mac miller .

“where’s matt? SORRY !!nice to meet you nick!!” i say while smiling , and turning to nick realising i haven’t even greeted the first brother

he laughs and goes to speak before we all turn around and the sight of matt speeding around the corner and skidding to a stop .

“SORRY IVE ONLY JUST SAW YOUR TEXTS” he defends himself before i can even mention it . i smile kindly and relax my shoulders at the sight of him . his hair has been cut , brunette falling onto his forehead in loose curls. the phone he had in his hand tucked in his oversized sweats .lifting his top slightly to find the pocket , showing the band of his boxers for a split second .

“you’re fine , don’t worry” i say , before letting out a breath i didn’t even know i was holding .

matt keeps the eye contact smiling slightly before turning his head towards his brothers and looking at them . “do y’all wanna smoke up?”

“allways” chris replies for both of them before leading us all to their small balcony .

——-

it’s 2 am now , we all shared a joint around their table . chris let matt play his playlist (for once apparently) and we’re now all sat talking .

i’m sat on a bench with matt shoulder to shoulder , a blanket covering us both as the temperature dropped and we were all shivering by the time the joint was smoked .

“i don’t get it nick !! women are just confusing man…..” chris whines out , he has been talking about his girlfriend mia all night and and to be honest i stopped listening ten minutes ago . “no offense y/n/n” he says now looking at me .

i peel my eyes away from matt’s hand on my knee and meet his eyes “all good man i get it…” i don’t get it . i was completely zoned into matt’s hands , and how close he was to me that i wasn’t listening to a word chris was saying .

matt notices and puts his hands under the blanket , pulling it up to his shoulders .

“u wanna go inside matt???” i ask in concern , thinking he was cold .

“no i just got a chill , i’m fine” he says looking at me now with a tight lipped smile .

i mirror his smile and look away at chris who was waiting for us to shut up so he could carry on his rambling. he starts speaking and i keep eye contact with him , now fully listening to his words.

“as i was saying …. i just don’t get it ? taylor swift is mid as fuck , i tell mia that and she literally looks at me like i just murdered a litter of puppies , SHE HATES MY MUSIC TASTE??? i literally tried-“

and just like that i am now no longer listening to chris , as i feel matt’s hand on my knee again underneath the blanket . he strokes it slightly with his thumb and runs it up my thigh , covering it with goosebumps following his touch .

my breath hitches as he takes his hand higher , to rest on my upper thigh. leaving it there and warming it with his touch.

i glance up at him in warning but all i see is him looking straight forward at chris , smirking. little shit .

he must see my face flush in the corner of his eye because he moves his hand ever so slightly higher , his index and middle finger hovering over the seam of my jeans .

my hips move forward slightly and the touch and i gulp loudly , nodding my head at nick who’s now started speaking to me .

“what music do you listen to y/n . if u say some goofy shit like the imagine dragons i may have to throw you off this balcony” he asks me while laughing at himself .

matt apparently thinks it would be absolutely hilarious to start teasing me underneath the blanket , moving his fingers up and down the seam .

“i-um” i clear my throat trying to stay collected “i like all music really …. mac miller …” matt stops moving .

i turn my head towards him to see him smiling at me and nodding for me to carry on .

“ugh let me think” i drag my words as i move my hand on his inner thigh now i feel him flinch at the touch and go to move his hand off my thigh to stop me but i flash my head towards him and raise my eyebrow in warning .

my turn .

i mirror his actions before and take my hand higher . “i like anything really ….. mac ..torylanez…” i move my hand . he shifts .

“skies ….travis….hotel ugly….” i move my hand again over his sweats . he shifts and let’s put a huff of air .

“brent faiyaz…..dominic fike”

i move my hand again and he lets out a soft allmost silent noise . a whimper , only i hear it and i smirk .

“i like anything” i look at matt now , giving him an innocent look and shrugging my shoulders.

i remove my hand as i could feel him slowly becoming harder . and place my hand on his lower thigh , griping hard . saying exactly what i needed to.

“that’s fire as fuck…what’s ur fave skies song?” i hear chris say and i turn my head towards him .

i smirk knowing i won before continuing my conversation with chris , feeling matt sink into his seat more and putting his arm around me . manspreading and putting his palm over his crotch.

i win .

——————-

i am a vile and wretched woman .

LOVE YA !!!!

@mangosrar @sturnphilia @littlebookworm803 @lividnity @def-livv @daddyslilchickenfingers @sssturniolofart @soursturniolo @deatthmatch @biimpanicking @bluesturniolo333 @urmyslxt

^^^^

i love u all 🤍🤍🤍

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #milkie is down bad #matt sturniolo edit #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagines #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo x you

337 notes · View notes

kalims · 9 months

Note

Oh my goddess, orders are open! Ahem, ANYWAYS— I wonder if I could have an Idia with a fem or gn s/o who is introverted and generally closed-faced, being a sweetheart and even shy with him, pretty please?

• Remember to drink water and take care of yourself correctly, kisses <3

– Mel 🌙🩵✨

dress,

premise.

idia forever thought his cause of death would be the permanent termination of his end game account—which in theory, is now proven wrong at the existence of a brand new thing that just might obliterate his heart.

note. thank you mel <3 you too. i, for one will gladly accept kisses from u and idia (he's downbad here LOL)

idia is having a strangely, familiar sensation.

for example—the fact that his heart is palpitating so fast is making him afraid that he'll get the same sense of doom he frequently gets whenever this happens. like when he's the one that the professor chooses to answer a question up front. just his luck cause it absolutely sucks in real life just as much as his chances of winning that rare character.

but no, there isn't an impending sense of doom that sends him to the edge. no cold sweat forming on the skin of his neck, nor does it protrude from his clammy hands. it's weird, he feels warm rather than the cold it usually accompanies.

he needs to visit a doctor.

he gulps thickly. sending a lightning fast glance at your direction then averting it even faster. oh my god, your hand just brushed against his.. was it intentional? no, no—it mustn't be. you wouldn't waste your time doing that.

but you might even look more tenser than he is.

despite the attempt at flushing down the tightness in his throat, his words still break off into a croaky stammer that just sends his face into a grimace because, did he sound like that? "I'm.. I'm really sorry, you didn't have to do this," he says, looking away with those eyes that just screams a mixture of 'I hate it all.' and 'I'm so scared.'

his eyes in comparison to yours, dull significantly in terms of greatness. cause as rare as it is for your eyes to meet, he'll always marvel at the lush hue your eyes are colored with—and god, your lashes. so pretty, so, so pretty.

he sulks. he doesn't deserve this.

"it's alright," you answer in response, voice quiet but it's the only thing he ever hears despite the myriad of people quite nearly squishing the both of you. the crowd is large, and noisy. so he isn't sure why he's suddenly the greatest listener when you speak. "I'm glad you thought of... inviting me along, I know you're quite passionate about it."

passionate is not a strong enough word, it could be an incorrect word to use even. he supposes it's just a nice feeling to excel—be good at something.

but with how hot his heart is probably burning, maybe passionate really is the right word.

for you that is.

most likely idia's ideal type of player two <3 someone he can keep up with, not too fast and certainly not too slow. but either way, he’s probably having a heart attack at whatever you do. literally just sleeping? his heart… playing with him? please match avatars at once or he will combust. (and yes, he is hinting even though you already match everywhere else. had a house in a game, got married in a game.)

don’t even pull out the fact he buys you the currency to match and you feel bad cause he thinks it’s too cute. you need to stop or else he will buy you more.

speaking of more in game terms, he surprisingly garners a lot of attention online maybe because he’s endgame in every single account he’s made and many people like money so… there are many attempts at ‘rizzing’ him up but in the end he’s provoking them to screenshot it and report them as online daters.

^ says THE online dater.

still reports people if they flirt with you, but compared to his. not only is it a file for online dating he somehow dug up the dirt, the monstrous things they did like… 3 years ago and now they’re gonna get suspended. It’s concerning since he was talking with you animatedly during it and he somehow also exposed them all in 10 minutes.

did the see you again trend in secrecy cause he would rather leap down a hole to hell than let people see it. In any case… if it isn’t obvious he’s the lala, you the okok.

deluded himself, is convinced that he’s actually the nonchalant, ‘cool’ one but all he is, is a literal puddle. is still solid when standing but will be putty in your hands in SECONDS.

idia is secretly really proud of himself whilst being like: how did i even pull them. cause when he looks at your face when you’re talking to other people. he’s actually kind of scared cause it’s a really wondrous thing you never once looked at him like that… (please save his mind too. he’s trying to convince himself that you must be like this, soft person he knows to other people too and not just him because that’s just crazy right haha.. hahahaha…)

the type to tell you to stand back during raids, challenges, boss fights, etc… that all you need to do is be there, and that he’ll solo it for you and you can claim your rewards even though he gave you the rarest, strongest equipment in respective games which won’t be much use at this point cause he insists he do it for you, and sulks all day if you don’t let him.

stay at home couple >>>

will order every single thing you crave during those times he’s too shy to consider date nights, and you too so it’s like an unspoken thing. he honestly plays better when you’re inside his room, even if it’s just laying on his messy bed scrolling on your phone or munching on something.

it’s just complete, comfortable silence.

except for the time one of you accidentally makes an indirect flirty comment and now the room could be considered a sauna from the literal steam only two people emitted.

really, really, really, REALLY, likes it when your head is on his shoulder.

“─ean.. no one really asked for it, the nerf was completely unnecessary and─” the words poured out of his mouth, something uncontrollable that he couldn’t stop. there is something about you that just kicks down the layer of anxiety on him. comfortable might be the right word, even if you don’t talk that much (which is surprising cause he ends up being the talkative one and you always assure him that you like to listen.) somehow the thought: am i too annoying? doesn’t really pop up like usual.

in fact, he’s excited to ramble all about it. excited to hear your thoughtful hums, excited to see your attentive eyes on him since the first word he’s said─but it isn’t. because he looks up and you’re blinking haphazardly, thrice in a second and before he panics to shut his mouth he feels the soft slump of your head against the curve of his shoulder.

oh my god, oh my god, oh my g─

if idia had half of his mind he would scream instinctively at the weight he isn’t really accustomed to feel. actually, even if he did have his entire brain connected, and his thoughts coherent he still would. but he bites the inside of his cheek cause despite the chaos that just erupted in his mind which is somehow simultaneously blank, and swirling.

and he remembers midst his confusion that you are,

asleep.

you’re asleep on his shoulder

you’re asleep.

asleep on his shoulder.

on. his. shoulder.

he resorts to the screech in his head.

his shoulder─is so terribly stiff right now to the point where he thinks that sleeping on a hard, wooden surface would be surely more comfortable rather than where your head lays. he makes an effort to relax his muscles, tell himself that it’s only you and that there’s nothing wrong but there is something wrong because it’s you! idia dares to sneak a peek at you and your closed lids only confirm your unconscious state.

and careful with each nudge his movement makes sends to your head. idia can’t resist the hands that creep up his face and bury it, to hope all the embarrassment and whatever he’s feeling right now absorbs it right out of his face because god. he knows he looks like he just ate 10 bowls of lilia’s cooking.

he would scream, he really would. a second thought but you’re on his shoulder!

you, who rarely touches him too much.

on him.

him, who gets too flustered to be touched by you.

so he feels pretty obligated to just suck it up cause he’s enjoying the moment even if you aren’t conscious right now and he sure as hell is going to, for as long as he can.

idia releases a deep sigh, long and wistful because he’s gonna die before you even wake up.

#ㅤ◜◡◝ . . signed !#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twst fluff #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #idia x reader #x gn reader

267 notes · View notes

explodingstar · 5 months

Text

I miss you Simon.

Warnings: NSFW 18+

Pairings: Simon Riley x f!reader

It was a slow day for you back home all the household chores were done and dinner was already made for later tonight. Just some leftovers from the night before, reheated. Simon had only left a couple weeks ago to go back on deployment to another mission. You miss him already and damn do you miss him. You grab a book and lay down in bed with only the bedside lamp illuminating the darkness of the bedroom.

Buzz buzz

A text? From Simon? You pick up your phone hoping to see his name in your notifications instead its just another alert from facebook. You roll your eyes and put down your phone again but you REALLY needed him to text you especially with the mood you were in at the moment. All of a sudden an idea comes to your mind and you put the book you were reading down on the bedside table alongside your glass of wine. Was this a drunken idea? Possibly. Did it still seem like a good idea?

Definitely.

You get up and walk over to your closet and grab Simons favorite article of clothing that he LOVES to see you in. A black lacy one piece that is just sheer enough to see everything, in the right lighting. You grab your tripod and set it up at the edge of the bed and change into the lingerie that Simon had essentially tried to rip off of you before. You set up your phone on the tripod and turn it on video mode to take screenshots of it later. At first you pose a couple different ways. One on your knees with your arms pushing your tits together and your hands on the bed in front of you. Another one with the top of the one piece down so your tits are fully out and your hands running through your long gorgeous hair. You get to thinking…‘What would Simon enjoy most?’ An idea hits you. You turn your back to the camera and seductively bend over to where your ass is in the air and your soaking wet pussy can be seen through the sheer lingerie that you decided to put on. You get up and grab your phone looking through the video to make sure everything is perfect. A couple screenshots here, a couple there and you make a little folder called “For Simon”.

“This should get him to text me…” ‘attachment delivered’ you read.

Simon’s POV

DING “Simon! You got a message!” “Thanks Johnny I’m pretty sure I can hear” Simon says annoyingly. He picks up his phone and opens your message. He smirks to himself and stands up from his seat. “I’ll be right back mates” He goes into the bathroom off of the barracks just for a bit more privacy.

Your POV

RING RING RING You look down at your phone blushing when you see Simon’s name and photo come across your screen. You slide over to answer “Hiiii Simon” You hear the sound of metal clinking together and you know exactly what it is, his belt coming undone with one hand. “Im going to assume you got my pictures love”

“Ughh Fuck. I did..ya miss me don’t ‘cha?” He says through grunts. “I always do” you say rubbing yourself just to the sound of his voice. A small moan escaping your lips as you do so. “Wait till I get back…you wont be able to walk for teasing me like this…oh fuck” he says softly. He continues stroking his cock still looking at the pictures you sent. “I cant wait for you to come home.” You say with your middle finger slowly pumping in and out of you. “Fuck..well lucky for you I get home tomorrow…”

A/N: I plan on making this a part 1! Part 2 would be Simon coming home. 😈 (Sorry for any errors its almost 2AM.)

#cod #cod fanfic #cod modern warfare #cod mw3 #cod x reader #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

100 notes · View notes

trapastrology · 2 months

Text

Mercury Retrograde w/ Aris!

Mercury Rx Starts Aug 4th - Aug 27th...

All you need to know

Over the years, I see that way too many individuals are terrified by rx's esp mercury. Why? Well, this is what you were taught to believe, it's what you were taught to fear. Fear is a powerful emotion that can make you do anything. What if you weren't scared anymore? What if you knew the benefits of mercury rx and took advantage of it? You shouldn't fear transits or planets, you should learn how to work with them, good or bad. Mercury rx isn't a means to avoid life. You can't live life if you're always avoiding it 3-4 times out of the year for weeks at a time...

Think of Mercury rx as the prefix Re-. Meaning to go back and do it again...but better than the first time! It's sort of like a second chance in a way. You can't change the past, but you can change what you do in the same situations going forward. This is the time we take to go through our metamorphosis.

This is how you'll come out of the retrograde doing better than how you were going in.

Avoiding life during retrogrades is what makes you seem ahead in the beginning yet ending up behind.

Let me walk you thru what Mercury retrograde entails and what you should be doing to take advantage of these energies. As well as some of what I'll be doing during this retrograde!

********************************************************************************

Remove. -Yourself from certain ppl and situations that don't serve you. Know that it's time to let go. Stop letting yourself get back into the same cycles just to complain about the results. This would be a good time to withdraw and be a little secluded if you've been feeling the need to do so. when you take yourself out of situations it's easier to...

Reflect. -Slow down. Pay attention to the recurring patterns in behavior of others as well as urself. Take the time to slow down and really think about the past and get clarity. Properly analyze current situations to know what to let go of and what to...

Reassess. -Pay attention to the different/new factors of ur current/past situations. Take time out to reconsider everything (ur whole life even). Work thru recurring issues with a different approach to stop the cycle and give you peace. This is not the time to sign contracts but to read the fine print. Think before acting (even if it's taking a day or 2 to respond to a text). This is the perfect time to read old books with a fresh perspective. Easiest time to absorb new information.

Realign. -Reorganize your mind, emotions and life. Plan the life you really want for yourself, then act it out. Make it practical. The person you want to be wakes up, does yoga and reads a book every morning, so do that! This is the best time to build new habits and drop old ones. Getting rid of unnecessary clothes, items, contacts, screenshots, everything. Best time to purge! Let go and get right back on track. Write everything down that you want to be or do so you can...

Restart. -Start fresh. apply the new knowledge, mindset and habits to your new beginning. make and fulfill new goals for yourself as simple as *walk around the block twice daily*. Make new plans, your old plans may not align with who you are anymore. Have a daily routine that aligns with the person you want to be now! Apply all the knowledge from the previous stages.

Reconnect. -How where you when you were at your happiest and most content? Reconnect with that person. Pick up that old skill/hobby/interest. Rewatch those old movies/shows that brought you the most joy. Get back in touch with the sweetheart in you. Whatever you miss and it was good for you, get back into it.

Rebuild. -Start back from the ground up. Fulfill the missed opportunities. That business you were going to launch but didn't (or it failed the 1st time), take this time to plan it thoroughly and better and execute it after the rx (which is why I'll be launching my Patreon Sep 1st!!!). Pick up a new hobby/skill and perfect it. Any unfinished business must be handled, tie all loose ends. If you've been feeling the need to apologize or make amends, do it. This is also a good time to redecorate/rearrange things at home. Upcycling clothes and getting repairs on things that's been needing it for a while.

Regenerate. -Now you feel refreshed. You feel like a weight has been lifted off of you. All (or most) of your baggage is gone. You feel like you again, you feel like you can breathe. You have reclaimed your power. You love the way you've been living and the work you've done. However, after the rx ends it'll be easy to fall off the wagon so take precautions.

Reappear. -Now you can come back out of hiding (for those who stayed mostly recluse to work on themselves)! Enjoy all of the things you worked so hard for. Take the time to enjoy your self improved self.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you want to know what YOU should do during this retrograde get your $10 RETROGRADE READING! I'll look at how it's aspected, where it falls in your chart and give you tips on how to utilize the energy. Receive a 15% OFF COUPON after you get a Mercury Rx Reading...

53 notes · View notes

residenthughes · 1 year

Text

starting afresh

pairing: leon kennedy x gender neutral reader

word count: 1.3K

tags/warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, re4r leon with re2r haircut/hairstyle

summary: it's been six years since the raccoon city incident. some things change, and some things stay the same (where re4r leon cuts his hair as short as it was in re2r for the first time)

notes: whoever made the mod(s) for leon to have his re2r hairstyle in re4r, no words. just take my money. I'm begging. but if y'all have seen those screenshots/played with the mod yourself, you just know how good he looks with his hair short :((( makes me so soft! hehe

feel like i kind of stepped up my dialogue here, thanks to all the fics I've been reading as of lately 😈 couldn't be more thankful, haha! hope y'all enjoy this and please feel free to let me know your thoughts on this!

“What do you think?”

You’re at a loss for words. Jaw slack and eyes wide. You’re overreacting, you know you are but this quite literally came out of nowhere. It was an uneventful, slow Sunday. As per yours and Leon’s routine, the leisurely day was spent draped in a citrus scented duvet and immersing yourselves in cosy cuddles to recharge for the long week ahead. It was only when your lips ghosted over the rosewood marks of love peppered across the expanse of Leon’s clavicle, hands feverish and wandering that your actions ceased upon the growl of your stomach.

Leon can only laugh, kissing away the flush of your cheeks as he mumbles against your forehead. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s make some food.”

You pout, wanting to beg for five more minutes (like you hadn’t before), bones aching for the pamper the cloudlike bed provides, but Leon’s already leaving you, arms extending up to the ceiling as he stretches. The sliver of afternoon light peeking through the curtains basks his toned body in all kinds of flattering light, muscles expanding and contracting.

Leon turns to look at you, lips plump with love as the duvet drapes your body like some fine ballroom gown. He swears his heart beats out of his chest. There really is no one as beautiful as you.

“Race you to the kitchen?” A teasing eyebrow is raised and even though Leon sets himself in motion to sprint, you don’t budge. Not even an inch.

He deflates, eyes rolling as he pads over to your side of the bed.

“Don’t wanna,” you mumble as you attempt to bury yourself into the bed, cocooning yourself with the dark shadow grey duvet. “Too lazy.”

Leon sighs. “I’ll give you a piggyback ride?”

Your attention is grabbed. You remove the duvet from your face, sly smirk positioning itself amongst your features.

“I’m listening.”

You cupping behind your ear is what does it for Leon. Dramatic as always.

A huff of amusement sounds from him. Considering the extent as to which the man spoils you rotten, you should be babbling for him to recant his offer, carrying yourself to the kitchen before you two move in a synchronised dance practised all the years you’ve been together as you make food. But Leon’s already perched up on your side of the bed, back towards you with his hands behind him.

“Of course you are,” he beckons for you with the flutter of his fingers, an easy smile sent your way over his shoulder. “Now, hop on before your stomach eats itself.”

You follow his lead, as you always do. Hooking your legs around his waist and circling your arms loosely around his neck. You don’t forget to show your appreciation, peppering his nape with kisses that have laughter pouring out of Leon like honey. Once you’re in the kitchen of your shared apartment, Leon sets you down on the cold countertop with the squeeze of your thighs and opens the fridge.

“Shit,” you crane your neck to look into the fridge too. Much like your stomach, it’s pretty empty. “Need to head to the store if we want something edible for dinner.”

“Is there anything for now at least?” You really can’t be arsed to wait to go get some groceries, make a meal and then eat.

“Kind of, but we definitely need to go shopping after this.” Leon states as he brings out the remnants of the fridge. You go to grab the spices from the cabinet and the last of the eggs and stare at your ingredients.

“Let’s get this party started.”

You groan.

Leon can be so lame sometimes. Yet so lovable all the time.

Once the appetising brunch made with nothing but the utmost of love settles in your stomach, you reluctantly begin to egg yourself on to completing the rest of your weekend’s work and preparing for your Monday back at the office. Blue light glasses perched against the bridge of your nose, you gnaw at the end of your pencil, legs crossed in the way Leon always jokes in the shape of a pretzel. You’ve left quite a bit of work for yourself to complete tonight, so you don’t see yourself leaving your workspace anytime soon.

Leon understands, he always does. Kisses your forehead delicately and murmurs something about getting some stuff from the grocery store for dinner. He’s out the door before you can get a word in. You now understand why he left in such a hurry, understand why he took longer than usual.

Before you, your longtime partner, with long dirt blond locks that framed the angles of his cheekbones, sports a new hairstyle. Or should you say old. You haven’t seen him like this since you first started dating - bashful young adults about to embark on their journey into adulthood, sweaty palms linked and heart beats in sync. Ever since the ruinous events of Raccoon City, you noticed that with all the scars and burdens Leon carries with him that he never once looked the same. Face gaunt and eyes sunken in. It took a long while before life returned to his eyes. And though you were beyond ecstatic that Leon was seemingly getting better, you couldn’t help but take note of his hair. He never cut it like before. Never.

Opting for longer strands of his gorgeous hair, Leon always gave a chuckle and said, “thought you always wanted me to grow my hair out,” whenever you asked. It was sweet of him to do so, sweet of him to say, but you and him both knew that wasn’t entirely true. However, you never pried - that was not in your nature, and certainly not evident in all the years you’ve been with Leon. So, you didn’t ask again and when the time came that Leon’s huffs of annoyance filled your ears as he struggled with keeping the strands out of his face, he departed with a smile and cut a mere two inches off his almost shoulder length hair. It remained that way for the next six years.

Now, having grown into his rugged features, the short hair length from all those years ago conjures something else in you. It feels nostalgic but new - feels right and looks that way too. But more than anything, you feel proud. Proud of Leon and all that he is, all that he’s become despite everything.

“Barber went a bit crazy, didn’t he?”

Oh, bless him. He’s so awkward, so endearing it hurts. Pools of blue avert your gaze, the floor apparently more interesting, fingertip scratching the surface of his cheeks that burn with ruby red. This is a big moment for Leon, you think, but you know better than anyone that he doesn’t want it to be. Just wants your reassurance and all the calmness that comes with it.

Your hands against Leon’s cheeks shift his eyes to yours, getting an eyeful of the absolute fondness that swims in your eyes. He simply drowns in it - knows the glimmer in your eyes signifies the pride that swells in your chest, the tenderness of your touch loving and reassuring. He did well, has always done so well. Deserves his flowers and the whole damn garden.

“Maybe,” you giggle and your joy is contagious. Smiling with you, Leon feels you twiddle the strands of his hair between your fingers. Slow and gentle - like your love is. It’s so sweet. “But, I’m not mad at it. Not one bit.”

In all the time you’ve been with Leon, there hasn’t been any more than a handful of times you can recall where he willingly leaned on you for support. Not because you lacked the capacity to do so, but because the solitary nature and secrecy of his job kept him from doing so. Facing his nightmares as much as he could by himself, meeting his new nightmares on missions by himself - everything by himself. But in moments like these, where the significance of his trauma can be lost in translation, he surrenders himself to you. Altogether. Unabashed and brave. He couldn’t be more dashing than he is right now, all versions of himself served to you on a silver platter.

You fall in love all over again.

#resident evil 4 #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil 4 fanfic #resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy imagine #re4r #re4r leon #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil fluff #leon s kennedy imagine #my fics

546 notes · View notes

charmandabear · 8 months

Text

Good Pain

Summary:

“Another nightmare?” He speaks softly into her hair as she curls further into his chest, relishing in the cool relief his skin brings. She nods wordlessly and his arms tighten around her. “What do you need, my love?” Zalaria can feel the rise and fall of his chest, the smell of his perfume mingling with his natural musk and her heart quickens. What she wouldn't give to lose herself in him right now.

Pairing: Astarion/Tiefling!Tav

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.5k

Tags/Warnings: praise kink, rough oral sex, rough sex in general, hair pulling, breath play, analingus, soft dom!Astarion, sub!Tav, vampire bites, blood drinking, aftercare, plus size Tav, using Tiefling horns as handlebars

Link on AO3.

A friend was looking for "good fics that involve using horns as handlebars," and then shortly after that I got an anon requesting Astarion x Tiefling!Tav, which honestly felt like kismet. Hence Good Pain was born.

Once again, @zipzoomzaria is out here doing the lord's work in providing the perfect screenshot for my banner.

Thank you @nellyofthevalley for being an AMAZING beta.

@comatosebunny09 I believe you said something about being called "good girl"? 😈

A rumble. A sudden fall. Darkness.

Then mind shattering pain. Zalaria thought she had known pain, but nothing like that. Blades sliced through her skull, a bed of nails dug into her back. It felt like her fingernails were being wrenched out one by one. This is the end, she thought, I'll never know anything but pain ever again.

“Zalaria!”

A cool hand touches her face and her eyes shoot open. She’s panting, a thin layer of sweat coating her brow and spine. A face slowly comes into focus. His face.

Astarion leans over her, tangled silver locks falling into his eyes. Those stunning red eyes, so often guarded, hardened to maintain his carefully constructed facade, now brimming with concern. Zalaria presses her cheek into his palm, inhaling his comforting scent as she tries to regulate her breathing.

Zalaria can feel the rise and fall of his chest, the smell of his perfume mingling with his natural musk and her heart quickens. What she wouldn't give to lose herself in him right now.

She tilts her head up, pressing against him as she envelopes his lips into a heated kiss. She can feel the surprise startle his body, but it doesn't take him more than a second to reciprocate. He presses his hand into her lower back and her mouth opens to let his tongue slip between her lips.

“Fuck me until I can't remember my own name,” she murmurs into the kiss, and he lets out a high pitched giggle that’s usually reserved for when he’s particularly pleased with himself, but occasionally Zalaria manages to get it when she catches him off guard.

“You're certain?” He’s smiling as he drags his lips along her jaw.

“Remind me what good pain feels like,” she breathes, her tail wrapping around his leg. She can feel the sharp intake of breath deep in his chest.

“And you'll let me know if you need me to slow down?” His voice drops and Zalaria has lost the ability to form words, so she just whines and nods.

“Good,” he growls and forcefully flips her on her back. His slender fingers wrap around her throat and apply just a touch of pressure, just enough for him to feel the pulse of each breath she takes. He pushes his knee up between her legs, eliciting a light moan that vibrates in his hand. He pulls her face towards his and she arches her back in response, always so obedient. He kisses her roughly and she melts beneath his touch, letting herself be led wherever he wants to go.

“Such a good girl, letting me use you like this,” he hisses, and she chokes out a gasp that gets cut off by his hand. “I can do whatever I want with you, to you, and you’d thank me for it.”

Zalaria writhes on top of his leg, looking for relief but trying to patiently wait for permission.

“So eager,” he continues to coo, and he moves his hand from her throat to ghosting over her sleep shirt, her rapidly hardening nipples poking through the thin cotton. He slips his hand underneath her shirt and digs into the soft flesh of her belly, his nails leaving little crescent-shaped marks behind in her dimpled skin. She twists her fingers into her hair tightly to keep them from roaming.

He peels off her shirt and nips into her breasts, breaking the skin just enough to open two tiny puncture wounds. He laps up the droplets of blood as he marks her body, leaving evidence of his desire behind. Every tiny movement that agitates the tender bruises will remind her of his love, of what good pain feels like. With each bite she contorts beneath him, yearning for more of his touch, his teeth, his lips.

“At this rate I could make you cum without even touching you,” he hums with a satisfied smirk, pushing his knee up into her mound and feeling her wetness seep through her shorts. Zalaria whimpers and grinds against his thigh wantonly.

“Ah ah,” he chides gently and pulls his knee away, throwing it over one side of her and straddling her waist. “Not until I say so, pet. First you must prove yourself to me. Can you do that?”

She can see the beginnings of an erection tenting his pants, and the thought of him roughly fucking her mouth sends a spark of heat between her legs. She looks up at him and bites her lower lip, giving him something between a pout and a plea. He grabs her jaw again, thumb pulling down on her chin so that her mouth pops open for him, waiting to be filled.

“I said, can you do that?” he repeats himself, tightening his fingers. She yelps and a sound vaguely resembling assent works its way out of her mouth.

“That’s my good girl,” he breathes and slides off his pants, dragging his half-hard cock up her belly. It takes everything in her power to keep her hands still, not daring to move them without Astarion’s command. He wrenches her mouth open and presses two fingers against her tongue.

“Suck,” he orders and she closes her lips around his fingers, working them as voraciously as if he had blessed her with his cock. She feels a jolt of delight as a breathy moan escapes his lips and she’s desperate to hear more. But he denies her that pleasure, taking his fingers back and using her saliva to bring himself to fully erect. Her eyes remain fixed on his cock, awaiting her treat hungrily.

“How much do you think you’ll be able to take, love?” He teases her lips with his tip and she cranes her neck impatiently. He instantly retaliates, grabbing hold of her horns and shoving her head back down onto the pillow.

“Naughty,” he snarls and Zalaria’s hips jerk with the sudden movement.

She can feel her slick coating her thighs and she lays tractably still, proving her compliance. His grip on her horns loosens and he strokes them, forcing a shiver down her spine.

“Do I need to take over?” he whispers dangerously.

She swallows a shaky breath, looking up at him towering over her, his light pink glans bobbing in front of her mockingly.

“Whatever it is you want, sir,” she rasps, eyes darting between his face and his cock mere inches away from her mouth. His lips curl into a devilish grin and he slides one hand down her face, grasping her chin tightly.

“That’s right, pet, whatever I want.” He yanks her mouth open and slides his cock in, her moan vibrating through his shaft. He moves both hands back to her horns, touch still infuriatingly gentle. Zalaria releases her jaw and opens her throat to welcome him deeper. He pushes in slowly, only stopping when he can feel her gag.

“Good girl, look how well you’re taking me,” he praises her on a low breath and she keens around his cock. He closes his grip on her horns once again and she freely relents to his control. He thrusts in and out of her mouth a few times, carefully curbing his speed with her horns.

She clenches the sheets in her hands, her cunt aching for relief as he fucks her mouth agonizingly slowly. He smirks, taking pleasure in how torturous this is for her.

“Shall I speed up? Can you take it? Have you earned it?” he croons and she nods, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. He increases his pace, and her breathy moans are garbled by his cock sliding in and out of her mouth. His little grunts and groans as his pleasure builds ring in Zalaria’s ears like a hymn.

“You’re such a good girl, doing such a good job letting me fuck your face,” he shudders, head falling back and grip remaining tight.

She slides her hand close to her sopping pussy but doesn’t touch. She looks up and asks the question with her eyes and a whine.

“Yes, my sweet. Since you’re doing so wonderfully, you may touch yourself,” he pants and she groans with relief as her fingers slide through her swollen folds. “But keep your gaze trained on me,” he adds in a growl as her eyelids flutter with ecstasy. She snaps her attention to him, his crimson eyes glowering down at her and his curls swaying with each stroke. Her fingers circle her clit and she knows that she won’t last long staring at him. She moans around his cock plunging in and out of her, his tip hitting the back of her throat.

“Ah, fuck,” he stammers and his movement grows more erratic. Zalaria forces her eyes to remain open as she cries into his thrusts, his menacing stare and punishing pace enough to send her over the edge. He grabs onto the base of her horns and with a few more stuttered jerks of his hips he comes too, his hot seed flooding her mouth.

He pulls out and she swallows greedily, licking as much as she can off her lips. He pants and tilts her head up, kissing his semen off her lips. She stares up at him adoringly.

“You're so beautiful. My beautiful good girl,” he murmurs, stroking her cheek.

She nuzzles into him like a cat, her purr manifesting as a low hum in her throat. After a moment, she whispers, “Thank you, Astarion, this means a lot to me.”

He’s still straddling her torso, and she lazily strokes his calf by her side. He laughs, low and dangerous, as he swings his other leg over and grabs her hips.

“You don't think I'm through with you yet, my love?” The rumble in his throat emanates a wicked promise.

Zalaria looks at him quizzically but can’t help the way her breath catches. Her voice is horse as she splutters, “But don't you—”

He silences her with a fierce kiss before roughly turning her over onto her stomach, yanking her hips up so her ass presses into his softening dick. He bends over her back and yanks her hair so his lips brush up against her ear.

“Do you still remember your name?”

She shivers as his teeth barely scrape along the shell of her ear.

“I- what? No, it’s fine—” she gasps, but a tug on her hair kills the words in her throat.

“Then I haven’t done my job.”

The venom in his voice might’ve scared Zalaria if it didn’t arouse her so much. He puts a little more pressure on her earlobe with his teeth and her mouth falls open in a suspended moan. He turns her head up slightly to look back at him.

“Unless it’s not what you want.”

His voice is icy, threatening even, but Zalaria knows that this is her opportunity to back out if she so pleases.

“No, it is what I want,” she pants, looking at him through heavy lidded eyes.

“I’m not convinced,” he spits into her ear. “Tell me exactly what you want, pet.”

“I-I want you,” she stammers, the strain on her neck pulling on her windpipe. “I want you to ruin me, Astarion. Please, sir, please use me however you want. Turn me into your obedient little pet.”

“And what else?” His hand tightens and Zalaria squeaks.

“Make me forget my name,” she keens, fists balling up the covers.

“That’s my good girl.” He releases her hair and massages her scalp, soothing the abused skin. He runs his lips down her shoulder blade, ending the trail with a bite that just barely breaks the skin.

“Count,” he demands.

“One.”

He laps up her blood.

“Say thank you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The gears in Zalaria’s mind turn, following the rules of his game. Bite. Count. Lick. Thank you. She can understand that. She quivers with excitement, tail swishing anxiously as she waits for the next bite. It’s a little harder when it comes, and she can’t hide her cry before the “two.” His tongue soothes the puncture left behind and she lets out a shuddering breath.

“Th-thank you, sir.”

Zalaria gnaws on her bottom lip to brace herself against the pain. She knows there are more to come and she wants to be sure she responds correctly. He moves the next bite lower on her back and she can feel his lips smiling against her skin just before he sinks his teeth in.

“Ah- three.” She’s unsuccessful in her attempt to suppress the groan that precedes her count. Astarion’s front is still pressed into her back and she can feel his cock twitch lightly. She smiles internally knowing he won’t need much more time to recover. He lavishes his tongue over the bite.

“Thank you, sir.” Zalaria’s breath rushes out of her in a wave. He digs his fingers into her ass cheeks, leaving angry raised marks behind. He bites into her thick love handle, properly drawing enough blood to drink. He relishes her hiss of, “Four,” that morphs into a satisfied groan.

After a few delicious sips he licks her skin clean, and her raspy “thank you, s-sir,” is barely audible. He runs a languid hand across the curve of her ass, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He spreads her cheeks and presses the length of his hardening dick between them. His abs push against the base of her tail, adding a new slant of pain, and she bites down on the comforter to muffle her moan. Astarion responds with a swift slap across her ass cheek.

“No no, love, you know I need to hear you. I want to hear you loud and clear this time, understood?” His honeyed voice has an underlying edge to it that sparks an ember in her belly.

“Y-yes sir!” Zalaria chokes out a cry of assent. He strokes up the base of her tail and she arches into him.

“That's my good girl. Last one, alright? You've done very well so far,” he coos and her tense backside relaxes into his grip. He bends down and bites again, this time into the flesh perilously close to her hole.

“Five!” Her twisted cry of pleasure and pain reverberates like music in his ears. He runs the flat of his tongue in a long stripe up the inside of her cheek and she shudders in response.

“Thank you, sirrr-ah!!” she shouts, the words disintegrating into an unbridled moan. He plants a tender kiss on the bite mark to soothe it while caressing her hips.

“Such a good girl, you listened so well,” he murmurs into the plump skin of her ass. She rests her forehead on her arm, panting heavily. Her tail curls subconsciously around the back of his neck as he continues to cover her ass in kisses, each one growing progressively sloppier.

Zalaria, still trying to catch her breath, lets out a strangled yelp as she feels Astarion’s tongue flick the puckered skin around her hole. She bites into her forearm, just trying to keep still as the competing sensations of exhilaration and debauchery threaten to tear her body apart.

“Astar-” she whines, his name getting swallowed up by a heavy breath.

“Do you like that, pet?” Astarion chuckles, enjoying the feel of Zalaria writhing beneath him. He forcefully yanks her tail up as he reaches a hand between her legs, running a gentle finger along her dripping slit and eliciting another shuddering gasp. “It would seem so if this is anything to judge by.”

With her face buried into the covers, she can't see him, but rather hears him lasciviously suck her slick off his finger.

“Please,” she moans, the sound of it stifled in the cave created between her head and arm.

“Please what?” He asks the question almost innocently, a stark contrast to the depravity of his actions. He swirls his tongue around her anus as he puts his hand between her legs again, scooping up her juices. He wipes the wetness around her rim, pressing his finger into her slightly before licking her clean.

She chokes on a sob, her whole body trembling.

“Please f-fuck me,” she manages to squeeze the words out despite falling apart. He hums with approval, the vibration of it resonating deep within her.

“Well, since you've been so good for me this evening, I suppose I can grant you this,” he coos, pressing his now throbbing cock against her swollen cunt.

She cries out, whether in relief or anguish or something else entirely, she has no idea. The painful teasing of his dick along her folds as his vice-like grip on her soft hips holds her in place sends her reeling.

“And I want to hear you scream,” he says in a low thrum, running a hand up her back from ass to neck, pressing into the trail of still sensitive bite marks. He reaches his destination and grabs a fistful of her hair, yanking her head up until she's staring at the ceiling. She wraps her tail around his arm, a loving caress for a cruel limb.

He lines up his tip with the entrance of her cunt, letting the slippery wetness lube up the head of his cock. He hisses as he slides into her, her tight walls clenching around him. An incoherent string of mewls and moans spills out of Zalaria as he fills her slowly, excruciatingly, until he’s sheathed up to his base. He bends forward and pulls on her hair until his lips meet her ear.

“Scream,” he repeats sharply before grabbing hold of both of her horns and pounding into her mercilessly.

Her uninhibited wails stutter with the force of his thrusts, each one hitting her cervix and sending a white hot jolt of lightning rocketing through her entire body. She arches her back into him, pushing up on her elbows to ease the strain of him pulling her toward him with her horns. Each slam of his hips, every slap of his balls against her puffy labia brings her closer to the edge. She needs to reallocate the energy keeping her tail around his arm and it slides down limp at her side.

He pushes her face down into the covers, holding onto her horns even tighter while his hips start to tear into her unevenly. The friction of the fabric against her nipples, the fact that she can tell he’s close, his wrenching grip on her horns; it all proves too much for Zalaria. She turns her face to the side—making sure he can hear her, as instructed—and keens loudly through her climax. He follows soon after, spilling his seed into her with a low, sated groan.

She’s still shaking as he pulls out of her, softening cock gleaming with a mixture of their cum. She falls forward onto her belly, out of breath and completely unable to move. He sidles up beside her and pulls her back into him close, his soft kiss on the base of her neck like a soothing balm.

“Do you remember your name?” he whispers against her ear. He sweeps hair out of her eyes and gazes down at her fondly.

“I, uh- huh?” Zalaria blinks, her head still swimming through the fog of sensations, trying to parse any thoughts from the mess.

“Exactly what I wanted to hear,” he titters and presses another kiss to her temple. He helps her sit up, grabbing a plush blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. “I'll go put on water for tea,” he says, cradling her face in his hand briefly before stepping away to head to the kitchen a few rooms over.

She pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders, baring her teeth as it agitates the bites on her back. She takes a few steadying breaths while she nestles deeper into her blanket cocoon, absentmindedly stroking the soft fabric.

Astarion returns, picking his sleep pants up off the floor. Zalaria protests softly and he stops with one pant leg on. He smirks at her puppy-like expression.

“You’ll have to make room for me under that blanket, darling, you know that,” he says and slides back on the bed, pulling Zalaria up into his lap as she wraps the blanket around his back, shielding his scars from the cold air. She nuzzles up to his naked chest, breathing in his scent and providing enough warmth for both of them. He tilts up her chin gently with a knuckle, red eyes sparkling with his affection for her, and lays a sugary sweet kiss on her lips. She savors it, the taste that can sustain her through any nightmare.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate fanfiction #astarion smut #baldurs gate smut #fanfiction #bg3 spoilers #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x tiefling #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!tav

144 notes · View notes

ellethespaceunicorn · 2 years

Text

Hold Me Til I Scream For Air To Breathe

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Sub!Clark Kent x Domme!Reader

Word Count: 1.7K

Summary: For @sillyrabbit81’s follower milestone celebration; Clark needs to give over to his submissive urges, specifically he yearns to be tied up and owned.

Prompt [screenshot at the end]: Slow & Romantic, Tied Up, Clark Kent

Warnings: Subby Clark should be considered a warning, rope bondage (Shibari), poorly hidden Anakin Skywalker quote, oral sex (f/m receiving), cum swallowing

A/N: Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best. [I promise I am working on Bright Like The Moon still, but Sub!Clark though!]

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

My Masterlist

It had been days of him dropping hints. He was sending me links to shibari websites, referring to me as Miss without provocation, and kneeling at my feet when I entered a room.

The man was relentless, but I understood it perfectly when he explained it over dinner. He was calm and collected, but I’m sure it took all of the Kryptonian’s strength not to melt.

“I save people all of the time, it feels nice to be so needed. It feels amazing to be in control, don’t get me wrong,” He looks at me while rising from his chair and coming to kneel next to mine, “But I want to relinquish control. I want someone else to have power over me. I want you to own me, Miss. Please, will you help me?”

His politeness always went straight to my pussy. This man could hold the planet but needed to feel protected, I could do that. “I’ll help you, Clark. On one condition.”

“Anything,” he whispers, already slipping into submissive mode.

“You give yourself over to me completely. From this moment on, until you can’t take any more, and I’ll be the judge of that, you are mine to do with whatever I please. Do you understand?” I ponder aloud, my hand ghosting across his jawline.

“Yes, Miss. I understand that you are in control,” he breathes, his blue eyes blazing in the low light of the dining room. Damn, he is such a good little sub already.

“Good boy,” I hum, running my fingers through his curls. Now, I expect a response and when I didn’t get one, I let him know what happens when he does the wrong thing. Grabbing a fistful of his hair and tightening my grip, I growl in his ear. “I didn’t hear a thank you.”

“Thank you, Miss. I’m sorry, Miss,” he whimpers, eyes remorseful.

“Now he gets it,” I purr, releasing my grip on his hair. “You’re going to go to the guest room. You’re going to crawl on your hands and knees. When you get there, you’re going to strip completely and wait for me. When your head is down and your hands are resting on your thighs, I’ll know you’re ready to begin. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss, I understand,” he affirms, looking down in servitude.

“Good boy,” I beam, getting up to stand over him, “Go on then, show Miss that you can follow directions.”

“Yes, Miss,” he says, hands going to the floor in front of him as he begins to crawl on his hands and knees through the house, looking for all intents and purposes like a cat stalking after prey. But this time, I was the predator. Watching his shoulder blades shift through his tight dress shirt, his perfect ass swaying in those perfectly tailored dress pants. The man was a vision of lust. And I was ready to tear him apart.

In truth, I did make him wait for just a hairsbreadth longer than I intended to. I took my time getting ready, slipping into some new lingerie Clark had never seen and dabbing his favorite scent on my wrists and neck. I grab the rope and my Hitachi and put on my highest stilettos. I walk slowly to the guest room, letting the click of my heels alert him that I was coming.

Entering the room, I see Clark kneeling with his back to the bed. Head down, hands resting on his thighs. My sub is so good at following the rules. And by the way his cock hangs heavy between his legs, I can tell he is beyond excited to start.

“Such a good boy, waiting so patiently for me,” I purr, stalking over to him and placing one hand within his curls and one on his cheek, “We have a few things to go over and then we can get started, ok baby?”

“Yes, Miss,” he acknowledges his understanding, turning to my hand to kiss my palm.

“That brings us to Rule #1: You don’t get to touch unless I give you permission. I will allow you this one mistake, but be clear that is the only one. Rule #2: You cum when I say you do, no sooner or later. Rule #3: If I ask you what color, you respond with green for good, yellow for slow down, or red for stop. Do you understand these rules?” I step back and raise his chin so he can look me in the eye.

“Yes, Miss, I understand these rules,” he sighed, pupils blown and wild.

“Good boy. To make sure Rule #1 is followed to the letter, I’m going to take away your ability to use your hands. May I begin to restrain you?”

“Yes, Miss,” he agrees, watching me as I pick up the red rope I brought into the room with me.

“Good boy. Stand for me so I can tie your chest and arms,” I croon, waiting until he was at his full height to kiss and nip at his jawline as I untwined the rope slowly.

I find the tails of the rope, holding onto the bight, and begin to tie the Shinju harness across his broad chest. As I tighten the rope every so often, I also tease Clark’s nipples with the soft pads of my fingers. I lean in and lick and bite at his pectoral muscles until he squirms. I connect his arms to the harness, keeping them straight to emphasize his chest as he is forced to stand straighter. I finish and stand back to look at my work.

“We both know you can get out of the rope if you need to. But in keeping with the rest of the night, I’m going to let you out of the ropes if you need to be rid of them. Color?” I prod, suddenly feeling the reality of domming Superman.

“Green, Miss,” he assures, cock bobbing happily between his legs.

I reach down and lightly squeeze the base of his cock and he whimpers. “On your knees facing the bed,” I insist, pushing down on his shoulders. I sit on the bed after taking off my lace thong and I put my shins on his shoulders. “You look hungry, Clark. Why don’t you eat my pussy until I cum on that pretty face of yours?”

“Yes, Miss” he breathes, getting to work with that wicked tongue of his. I don’t understand how he is holding himself up without the use of his hands, but it must be a balance thing. I don’t put too much thought into it as my focus is elsewhere.

Before I know it, Clark is humming around my clit at just the right decibel to have me screaming his name. He then laps up my juices as they flow uncontrollably from me, leaning back after I push him back.

“Thank you, Miss,” he says, ever the polite submissive.

“Such a good boy, you are, Clark. I think you’ve earned an orgasm,” I praise, getting up to grab the Hitachi. I play with the settings, letting the lowest setting stay on while I tease Clark’s nipples. When he starts to wriggle at the sensation, I push the head of the Hitachi against the underside of his balls. This is where the fun begins…

With his balls being stimulated, I lean down and wrap my lips around his cockhead, swirling my tongue. Clark groans so loud and for so long, it feels like his entire being will explode.

“May I please cum, Miss?” he yelps, his breathing fast-paced.

“Cum for me, Clark,” I confirm, watching as Clark’s tension ebbs away. His tightly shut eyes pop open and he cries out as his cock erupts into my eagerly awaiting mouth. After a few seconds, I realize he is still cumming and turn off the Hitachi, putting it to the side. I wait until his cock only twitches but doesn’t release any more spunk and I pull off of him in enough to catch him as he pitches forward.

“Clark, I’m taking off the ropes, ok?” I don’t wait for an answer as I make quick work of releasing his arms and sliding the ropes off of him. I roll him over on his back and see his eyes searching mine. “I’m right here baby, are you ok? I think that orgasm might have been a little too intense.”

“I’m…k. Yeah, in…tense. Thank you…Miss,” he stutters, a lazy grin on his face, cock still twitching.

“You did so good baby, I am so proud of you,” I croon, leaning Clark into my lap while I check his arms and chest for rope burns. When I see nothing to worry about, I run my fingers through his curls. “How are you feeling now, Clark?”

“I think a few brain cells are gone completely but it was so worth it. I think I was deep in subspace for a second there,” he smiles up at me, love beaming in his eyes.

“Yeah, I would say so. That means you really needed it,” I kiss the tip of his nose, “So, I think I know the answer, but for my own ego, how did I do?”

“You took such good care of me. I felt so safe with you. And the way you took charge and realized I needed to end the scene? That was perfect. I couldn’t ask for a better Domme. Thank you, baby,” He brings my face down to his and kisses me.

“You are very welcome. What do you say we go take a bath together and then watch some bad tv?” I smile down at him and wiggle my eyebrows at him.

“That sounds wonderful,” he chuckles and gets up from the floor, reaching his hand out to me.

I take his hand and allow him to lead me to the tub. We bathe and get dressed in comfy jammies and spend the rest of the night watching tv and cuddling.

**Tag List**

Henry Fanfiction: @astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry

Prompt screenshot:

#rabbitsmilestone23 #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x reader #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #clark kent #clark kent x reader #clark kent x black reader #clark kent x black!reader

448 notes · View notes