#oh folie you have my heart | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 9 months

Text

FOLIE Á DEUX ─── jonathan crane ✧

ೃ⁀➷ “Not all love is gentle. Sometimes it's gritty and dirty and possessive, sometimes it's not supposed to be careful or soft at all. Sometimes it feels like teeth.” - Azra T.

pairing. professor!jonathan crane x stalker!reader

summary. you’ve been stalking your professor for 8 months, keeping track of his movements with your diary. one day, said professor informs that you left something of yours behind in his office…

warnings. swearing, choking, p in v, dacryphilia, oral sex (f), dubcon (if u squint), stalking, breeding, orgasm delay/denial, unprotected sex, hair pulling, student-teacher relationship, SMUT UNDER THE CUT

word count. 4.5k

a/n. this is my first ever smut, so if it sucks i really do apologize. also, im kinda unsure where the plot on this one went, but whatever! lastly, i do try to keep all my fics gender-neutral, but seeing as this is smut, i had to choose, and the reader is afab.

“Miss [Name], please stay behind after class. I need just a moment's worth of your time.” Your professor said absently, not looking at you, when he handed back your essay on the human id.

You hummed, nodding your head carefully. “Yes, Professor Crane.”

Inwardly, you swooned at his choice of words: “I need just a moment's worth of your time.” He’d highlighted the existence of both you and him in the sentence, as if coexisting together, with one another, was plausible.

Later, when class ended, you’d packed up all your things, and walked into Professor Crane’s office off to the side, where he was tidying up.

“You asked me to stay behind, sir?”

“Yes,” Crane acknowledged your presence, looking at you squarely. “You forgot something in my office during our last tutoring session.”

Your eyes widened slightly, both at the fact you’d left one of your items behind, and that your Professor had seen the item, and knew it belonged to you. He hadn’t mistaken it as his own, or anyone else's - he knew it was yours.

“Oh!” You said, a beat later. “Thank you for telling me. Where is it, exactly?”

“Before we get to that matter - do take a seat - I believe we need to have a, ah, talk.” He gestured to the seat in front of his office desk, the same seat you sat on every Wednesday at 6:30 for the past few months.

“A talk, sir?” You pried, but sat down anyway, reveling in the one-on-one time you were experiencing with your favorite professor.

That was the main motivator for getting tutored by the man - you adored going in, having an entire hour of him all to yourself.

Prior, you pretended not to get some of his lessons, let your grade in his psychology class slip to a pitiful mark so low he couldn’t ignore it. You’d started the semester with a stellar grade, so he took it upon himself to offer tutoring - he knew you could understand his method of teaching, and theorized that you hadn’t been able to pay attention in class because of the sheer size of people attending.

In actuality, however, you understood everything completely - it was merely your obsessive attraction following him like the sound of thunder trailing behind lightning.

Crane scrubbed his face when you sat, thinking intently on what he wanted to say. “I need you to understand, Miss [Name], that a student-teacher relationship is completely taboo. Such a thing can never - should never, occur.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and suddenly, you were reminded how you hadn’t seen that book in a while, you hadn’t read it when you woke up, when you went for lunch, you hadn’t even written anything about him for the day—

Your professor slid open one of his desk drawers, and pulled out the familiar pocket notebook you kept with yourself at all times.

“I’m telling you about rules, Miss [Name], because you forgot this.” He said, voice low. “And, pardon my intrusion, but the stuff you have written here is quite… intriguing.”

Your heart began racing in your chest, a cold sweat trailing down your back. “Professor, I- whatever you read in there—“ You began, but froze when he opened the notebook, thumbing through the pages.

Crane cleared his throat, looking intently at the words. His expression changed several times as his eyes flitted over your writing, and you felt your body burn with shame.

“January 26th. Professor's gloves were found in the nook of his podium. I was looking for the green apple he’d forgo from finishing, his teeth tracks fresh on the alabaster flesh, but found his winter wear instead. Gloves were brought home - I imagined he’d come over to mine, undressed his biting winter clothing, and forgot his sweet mittens here.” Your professor read your diary out loud. Crane looked like he enjoyed your shame being laid out bare, but you were too absorbed in a whirlwind of emotion to notice.

“P—Professor, please, I - I can explain, I didn’t mean anything—“

“April 17th. Professor came down with a flu, like I expected. I saw him walking in last week’s evening downpour and waited for what day this week he’d call in. Later, he bought cough syrup and aspirin at the convenience store. I watched him struggle to care for himself, covered head to toe in blankets, missing meals, barely able to keep upright. I wish professor knew how well I could care for him, how I fulfill his every request and need. I saw how touchy he was, how he fidgeted, that feverish want — I could satiate him like no-one else.”

His lips enunciated every word, and the longer he went on reading, the dizzier you felt; your professor, your darling, had found out - he had found out - he had found fucking out -

“Be honest with me, Miss [Name]. Do you stalk me?” Your professor said, slipping off his wire-framed glasses. The man leaned in closer now, elbows resting on the wooden desk.

Your eyes darted away from him, looking anywhere but forwards. You felt like you had been stripped away, so bare your professor could count how many ribs you had, how many minor hairline fractures your tattered bones had collected over the years. You tried to analyze the man’s reaction through your peripheral, but it was to no avail - he was as cold as he had been during class, during your entire time knowing the professor.

You breathed, in and out, analyzing the situation tenfold, precisely, trying to find a way out of this place alive, dignity intact. Then, you found it.

This man had ensnared you, entranced you with his delicious charm and carefully spoken words. You repeat inwardly to yourself: Crane knew all the right words, all the right places to touch. If he dared press charges, you would tell the world he hurt you first.

“Yes, Professor Crane.” You nodded, unabashed after deciding how to deal with everything. He can’t touch me with this. I’ll just go first: please, he took advantage of me! I needed to pass his class… and he offered a solution to me. He’s lying! Lying to you all. He just wants to destroy me… and hide his sin.

“The human body knows when someone’s watching them, but you haven’t noticed, not once in the 8 months I’ve watched you. You didn’t notice, even when I followed you home, even to Arkham. Every obscure outing you’ve had, I’ve been there.”

“I’m quite alarmed by this information, Miss [Name]. Moreso by the absence of your remorse.” Crane said, but mere seconds later a low laugh was drawn out of him, looking more amused than alarmed if anything.

Crane’s tone was husky, nearing a purr, and he clasped his large, calloused hands together contemplatively. “What were you going to do to me, Miss [Name]? Or were you just going to watch, standby my life?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, unable to respond to his provocations. You didn’t want to alarm him further, tell him you’d been planning to finally have him, once and for all, as soon as you got a hold of his house keys and got the chance to replicate your own pair. You didn’t tell him that you were barely restraining yourself from knocking him out during your tutoring sessions, wanting your darling all for yourself for more than an hour a week.

“Are you not afraid, Miss [Name]? What I can do to your life with this information? How I can ruin you, paint you mad enough to be admitted to Arkham?” he continued, closer than ever before and whispering in your ear. His plush lips brushed past the shell of your ear, making your heart skip a beat.

You winced, both from the feeling of him near you and his sweet voice spewing poison in your ear, but quickly composed yourself, for you knew things he didn’t know you knew.

Then - you weren’t quite sure what possessed you, but - your hand came up to his hair, tugging so he could hear you, “Professor - or, should I say… Scarecrow, what would you do, if I told the police what Gotham University’s psychology professor did in his spare time?”

“What would you do, if I plastered pictures of the renowned Doctor Jonathan Crane wearing the familiar burlap sack mask all over Gotham - especially in places the Batman frequented?”

“I can destroy you, sir.” Your voice was quiet, but dangerous, a terribly alluring thing, like a melody Crane heard a long time ago and remembered every time he smelt the must of an old piano. “Don’t push me.”

This time, Crane stilled, turning to face you fully. His gaze had darkened, looking at you through his long lashes. “My dear, you should’ve just told me how bad you wanted to find out how this fear-toxin of mine can break you.” He whispered, so quiet you had to strain yourself to hear.

With your professor's warm breath fanning on the nape of your neck, you couldn’t help how you squirmed, clenched your thighs together - especially when you had been dreaming of something like this for the past eight months. You couldn’t count how many times you found yourself with your hands down your pants at the thought of your darling professor having his way with you… controlling you completely.

You didn’t answer the man for a moment, gulping down the dryness in your throat. “Would you, sir? Would you let fear dominate me like those tortured souls in the Narrows?”

Crane’s eyes trailed across your face, then he pulled back, leaning in his chair, a grin all teeth and no tongue spreading across his lips. There was something there, you realized, something he noticed in the intone of your voice - had he noticed the neediness, the warble as your thoughts went elsewhere? The arch in your back, your body desperate to be as close to him as possible?

“Can I tell you what I think?” said Crane, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “I think you want me to. I think you want me to see you tremble… shake in fear… you want me to hear you beg. I think you want to be utterly consumed by me.”

The deep timbre of his voice, the suggestion in his words, how he stared you down with each syllable, sent electric shivers down your spine. You took in a sharp breath, leaning your head back to look at the ceiling, compose yourself, when—

Crane’s rough hand gripped at your throat, thumb caressing the little notch at the center, and your heart fluttered, jumping at his touch.

“Fear is an addicting, beautiful thing, is it not? You’re afraid of me, but you can’t help how fucking needy you are.” Your professor spoke, pressing down further on your neck. He had noticed.

His touch made your skin feel like it was on fire, the rough pads of his fingertips digging bruises into your delicate skin. It was the most delicious thing you had ever felt, and you leaned into it, despite the connotations of death by asphyxiation looming over your shoulder.

Your professor manhandled you, dragging your weak body over to his side of the desk, hand still curved neatly around your throat. You were growing dizzy, a fearful, pleasure-filled fog slowly clouding your mind, and you couldn’t speak. All you could do was let out little squeaks of surprise & pleasure, a moan rumbling out of you as he pressed down further.

Crane was saying something, but you couldn’t tell under the pressure. His facial expression was all you needed, however; his eyes were bloodshot, lustful, so laser-focused that, if looks could kill, you’d have been long gone, while a feral grin replaced his emotionless facade. Crane’s usually well-kept appearance had dissolved, and his hair was askew, tie loose, buttons haphazardly undone.

Suddenly, the man pressed himself flush against you, pressing his face into your hair, your neck - losing himself in you. His tongue flicked out, dragging a long stripe down the side of your neck, and you jumped, a startled whine tearing out of your choked-up throat.

His grip on you tightened. “What? I’m just having a taste. Is that so wrong?” At your wide eyes, and silent response, he let out a fitful laugh. “You’re coated in shame, darling. You’re sour.”

You squirmed - not because you didn’t enjoy it - you just couldn’t breathe, but Crane didn’t care. His fingernails were sharp, maybe even drawing some of your blood.

“Plea— sir, I can’t breathe,” you stuttered out raspily. His face remained unchanged while listening to your pathetic pleas, before he leaned in close.

“Beg for it. Beg like you’re terrified for your life. You might as well be,” he said, and he began pressing his thumb into the center of your throat, choking you fully now.

You nodded - as much as the allowance between his hand and your head allowed, anyway. “Professor, please,” you said breathily, “please let me go. I’ll do any- anything, just puh— please stop.”

“Ah, there it is,” Your professor cooed, eyes shutting at the sweet intone of your pleaing, distressed voice. He was losing himself in your words. “Keep going… and don’t forget the crying. It's my favorite part.”

“Let - me go! Please,” you whimpered helplessly, mustering thick, heavy tears to form at the corners of your eyes as you saw black spots dotting your vision.

A lump formed in your throat, choking your words. “Please… stop! Let me - breathe,” You said, leaning delightedly into his touch. His other hand was now digging painfully into your hip, as if the professor were focussing intensely on holding back.

“Look at you go,” Crane clicked his tongue, eyes opening and gazing deep into you. He pulled you in closer to him, letting go of your abused throat.

You finally breathed, taking in such large bouts of air you might’ve choked and keeled over right there. But then, Crane’s hands at your side crawed carefully to your rear, while the other hand came up to the crown of your head to pet you.

He whispered into the top of your head, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” You said raspily, your face pressed flat against his bandy chest.

His hand found the swell of your ass, fingers grabbing hold and squeezing so tight you were sure there’d be a bruise later, “About doing anything. For me.”

You nodded, still not looking at him. This answer didn’t please him, however, and the hand that had been petting you tangled through your hair and roughly pulled you away, to look up at him. “In words.”

“Y— yes. I’ll do anything for you.” You rattled off, prickling pain twisting in your scalp.

“You’ll be a good girl for me?”

“The best.”

A grin twisted his pink, plush lips, and he promptly pushed you face down flat against his cold, wooden desk. It was rough, and sudden, pain blooming in your side. But there was a tug in your lower stomach at the way he handled you, all selfish and touchy and focused solely on chasing after his own pleasure.

Crane’s hands roamed all over your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His touch was insatiable, rubbing and petting and kneading at every part of your body.

His hands found your thighs, squeezing at the flesh, before hiking up your skirt and inspecting your panties. “Oh, you’re fucking soaked,” Crane rumbled out, voice like gravel. “You liked it, didn’t you? When I said I’d admit you to Arkham.”

Then, you heard him kneel down, and begin to press sloppy, wet kisses on your legs. “Be honest,” he said between kisses, “you want me to admit you, have you all to myself in isolation.”

You didn’t respond, instead whimpering and bucking forward when you could feel Crane’s sharp teeth brush over your sensitive skin. He noticed the effect he had on you, and you felt him smile against you.

“Please,” you keened out, not dissimilar to how you begged him just moments ago, “stop teasing, Professor.”

You felt Crane’s hot breath fan over your clothed mound, pausing for a moment to catch his breath. “Stop teasing, how?” he said at last, before suddenly pushing your panties to the side and licking a stripe up your cunt. He lapped at your lips, collecting your wetness on his tongue, but he didn’t go further.

“Pro - Professor,” you whined, grounding out a low moan. It wasn’t enough, and he knew it. He liked playing with you, making you squirm and shake and beg for more.

“What? This not enough for you?” He pulled away, and you hissed at the cold that hit you. Then, he tugged, hard, pulling both your underwear and your skirt down to your knees.

“You want me to eat you out till you’re a trembling fucking mess, don’t you?” He buried himself between your legs, “I knew you were a horny little slut.”

Finally, his tongue found you once more, and pushed deep into your folds. Crane’s tongue ran across every rivet your pussy had, before darting out to your clit, suckling at the velvet bundle of nerves. His touch drew out a high-pitched keen, your back arching.

You couldn’t see him, face still pressed against the wooden desk, but you could hear him, the filthy squelching of your pussy and his tongue making your knees buckle.

“Fuck, Jonathan,” you choked out, when he went deeper into your quivering hole, your body tingling like nothing you’d ever felt before. At your reaction, his name curling around your pretty little lips, he went faster, wet mouth brushing against you, licking you up and down, animalistic, following his instinct to a tee.

“Please, wait -“ You said, feeling the knot in your insides grow tighter, the heat washing over you like a steaming shower, toes curling in your flats.

“What?” He growled out beneath you, not letting up his assault on your cunt.

“I don’t - don’t wanna come on your tongue…” You said, shaking your head weakly against the desk. “Wanna - wanna feel you in me.”

Jonathan snorted, and continued to lap up your insides, “D’you think you have a fucking choice? Huh? I know you’re a whore, you could do this all day. I’ll just make you come again on my cock.”

Before you could protest, or even just whine at his words, you shut your eyes, feeling yourself come undone, your legs barely able to keep you upright. His hands had reached away from your thighs, rough fingers toying with your fleshy button, maximizing the climax washing over you tenfold.

“Jonathan, Jonathan!” You practically screamed out, heat in your stomach pulsing rapidly.

“Ugh, fuck,” You heard him say, “you’re creaming all over my fucking face.”

You were a complete mess by the time he pulled away from you, your high washing away as Crane wiped the come and wetness off his face.

“You came that hard, just on my tongue?” He mocked, fingers spreading your lips and observing your swollen pussy as you laid flat, weakly gripping the edge of the desk so you’d stay standing.

“Well,” he said, reaching down to his pants and undoing his belt buckle and fly, “M’not done with this sweet little cunt just yet.”

Your eyes widened, “I’m - I’m still sensitive, wait-“

Jonathan didn’t listen, however, letting his pants and boxers pool at his feet, stroking himself in the artificial light of his office, which smelt like sweat and sex.

He spat on his hand, first coating his cock in it, then your parted lips (which you theorized was just because he wanted to feel you up again), before lining up his thick head at your entrance. “God,” he groaned, “you’re so fucking wet.”

You keened at the intrusion you felt between your legs, “Jonathan, please, jus’ - give me a sec to rest —“ You were interrupted however, by the shock of how big he felt.

You hadn’t gotten a look at him, but as he let himself slowly enter you, you could tell it was bigger than anything you’d ever taken before. “You’re - you’re too big!” you squeaked out, “You won’t fit.”

He laughed, hands resting on your hips as he held you upright. “I’ll make it fit,” he said, before roughly pounding the rest of himself into you, stretching out your inexperienced cunt.

You choked, his fat cock pushing you wider than you’d ever been before, the pain biting at you, a burning feeling spreading within your lower body. “Jon- Jonathan,” was all you could say, as he slowly pulled out, pure relief written on your face, until he sank right back into you, somehow deeper than before.

Tears welled in your eyes, as he gripped harshly on the flesh of your hips, making you pound back and forth on him. His cock was hard, and thick, and he was forcing the thing deep within you at an excruciatingly quick pace. Your sensitivity was the cherry on top to this whole situation - you were trembling, body weak, shallow breaths and teary moans tearing out of you at the overstimulation.

Soon, however, the pain slowly dissolved into a filthy, exquisite pleasure that echoed throughout your entire body. The rhythm your professor had gotten to was downright perfect, filling you completely and making you clench in all the right places. Crane made your brain go foggy, focussing solely on the sound of your skin slapping against each other in the quiet, after-hours office, his taller frame encapsulating you completely.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he cooed, hands moving to splay across your ass and spread you open further. “How many cocks have taken this sweet pussy, huh?”

You gulped. “Just,” you started, but then your eyes rolled to the back of your head, stopping you mid-sentence as his length brushed up to your most sensitive spot.

“How,” he gripped you tighter, “many,” slipped out, “cocks!” then thrust into you roughly, rougher than before and making the desk screech forward a few inches.

“Just one!” You said at last, words choked up as his long cock pierced you.

“Just one, huh?” He said and began pounding in and out of you faster, rougher, needier, “I bet you didn’t even fucking come, you’re so tight. This pretty pussy of yours is practically virgin.”

“Uh-huh,” you said incoherently, thoughts blending together. “Jus’ a - a fucking virgin for you,” you babbled out, losing yourself in the fast-paced pleasure he was serving on a silver platter.

“That you are,” Jonathan growled, “you’re just my horny virgin. Mine.” Every thrust he plunged into you brushed up against that plush spot deep within you, making you drool, body going slack.

“Oh, jesus, you’re so fucked out,” he murmured, looking down at your limp, trembling form. “Drunk on my thick fucking cock.”

The ecstasy was becoming too much for you now, controlling you completely, like if he stopped fucking you right now you’d be so fucking needy, going slowly insane until he touched you again. You knew you wouldn’t be able to fuck anyone else and feel the same; he made you feel fucking feral, instinctual, your id going into drive and controlling you instead of logic. Your darling was the only one you wanted to offer yourself up completely to. He could do anything he fucking wanted to you, and you’d take it in stride.

“Jonathan,” you keened, feeling your walls clench around him tighter, “m’close.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, voice deep and dangerous, “keep that orgasm in, whore, till I tell you to.”

Your cheeks burned, distraught at the denial of your release, especially when his cock slipped out of you as he flipped you over. Quickly, however, he rammed his cock back into you. You were facing each other now, and you could see how hot and bothered he looked, despite how confident and careless his words had been as he fucked you.

His lips were bitten between his teeth, hair sticking to the sweat on his face, cheeks flushed. He was focussed entirely on getting back that rhythm, and you let him, watching how his gorgeous features contorted as your hot cunt sucked him in.

Your arms reached around his neck, and he promptly lifted your legs up to hook around his back, making him fill you even further.

“Fuck me!” You squealed, his shaft reaching places you didn’t know could be reached. It was getting harder to stop your impending orgasm, and your felt fucking sick at how sweetly he was stretching you, how you knew you couldn’t let go no matter what despite the delicious pleasure.

“Already am, baby,” he grumbled, rutting in and out of you at a dizzying pace. You felt his pace stutter, slightly, and you heard his small, revealing whines of pleasure as his head was nestled in the nook of your neck, and you knew he was close.

The thought of him coming in you made you tighten and tense, and he felt it, your back lifting off the desk in an arch.

“Fuck, how’d you get even tighter?” he said shakily, before sliding out of you so far he almost pulled out completely, then let his cock thrust into you so hard you saw stars dancing across your vision.

You merely mewled back at him in response.

“Come,” he said breathily, “come all over my thick— ugh, fuuuck, just like that, yes,” his sentence was cut off as you let go, letting the waves of pleasure surge through your body like electricity.

Your body shook, your knees trembled, and an animalistic whine slipped out of your bruise throat as he thrust into you jerkily. Just as quickly as you camez, he did too, and you felt Jonathan’s load shoot straight up into your worn-out cunt, not impeded by a condom of any sorts. Crane’s head cocked back as he did so, jaw clenching as he released his sweet and sticky liquid deep within you, warm and coating your walls completely.

For a moment, he laid atop of you, and you both kept silent, the office filled with nothing but your breathing and the sweet smell of come. Then, he pulled away, both of you wincing as his cock left you, his come dripping out of your weeping hole onto his office floors.

He pulled his underwear and pants back on, but revelled in your own crumpled form on his desk, your shirt hiked up, your skirt and panties hanging off your ankles, barely there. It was a shame he couldn’t have explored further up your body, groped those tits he loved seeing bounce during tutoring, but his need to fill your pussy up took precedent.

Jonathan swiped a finger into your cunt, collecting some of your combined liquid, and you flinched at the feeling. Then, he licked at his dirty finger. “Oh, baby,” he heaved, “we taste delectable mixed together.”

You raised a brow, then weakly lifted yourself off the desk, pulling up your panties and skirt (not without adoring the feeling of Jonathan’s fresh, wet come smearing all over your panties and sensitive cunt) before reaching for his hand. He leaned in towards you, and you lapped up the juice on his finger, grinning up at him.

Jonathan looked completely lost in your performance, brows knitted. “Jesus fucking christ,” he whispered under his breath, “where has a perfect little fucktoy like you been hiding from me?”

“Oh,” you said, nonchalant, “just stalking you.”

#jonathan crane x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #batman begins #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane #scarecrow #jonathan crane smut #cillian murphy smut

3K notes · View notes

eilidh-eternal · 2 months

Note

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

Ohhhhhh I have SO MANY recommendations!

@yeyinde their entire masterlist. Absolutely transformative experience reading anything and everything Lev writes. I want to be her when I grow up

@groguspicklejar Chink In the Armor! Best medieval Ghoap AU I’ve ever read!!!! Mafia!141 is so deliciously angsty and she captures it soooo perfectly! Kelsi is absolutely my go to for any and all Kyle pretty boy Garrick reads!!!

@gemmahale Gemma my beloved🖤 everything she writes is literal treasure. Priceless. Deserving of a pretty glass case and soft leather bindings. There are worlds in her head I could not dream up in 100 lifetimes, and her OC’s are sooo complex and well rounded!

@peachesofteal once again, her entire masterlist. Everything she writes is guaranteed to leave me staring at the damn wall with the loading circle spinning on my forehead, wishing I could jump through my screen and live in the worlds she writes

@luminousbeings-crudematter Folie á Deux, Donner Party, and Land Softly are some of my favorites! I still need to work my way through the rest of Lumi’s masterlist😅 but the way she writes Simon 😳 my enclosure only has so many bars, I’m going to have to replace it soon

@391780 oh god too many to count! I looooove the way Early writes dark!141 and ALL of her stories highlight and praise big soft bodies🥰 she also does comic relief INSANELY well, and I just know anytime I sit down to read her fics I’m gonna have a good laugh (get wrecked König)

@moondirti I have just read the first part of Cabin fever and I am already IN LOVE with Dee and their writing style! Cannot wait to read more when I have the chance!

@ceilidho I was not a Price girly when I started getting into CoD, but Ceil’s take on him has irreversibly altered my brain chemistry🫠 and her characterization of a darker Simon?! Canon. She’s in charge now.

@auspicioustidings OH MY GOD!!!! Mhairi just started Ae Fond Kiss and I am so, so, sooooo in love with the concept for this fic! It’s already incredibly gut wrenching and I know I’m gonna be a sobbing mess throughout this series! Truly on the edge of my seat!!!

@pfhwrittes P has such a wrinkly brain! I’m absolutely in love with their Here Be Kink and Dealing Drugs and Feelings collections! Absolutely phenomenal writing! Everything they write is so dark, decadent and rich🤤

@kaadaaan Offer Me His Hunger is such a beautifully written descent into madness and obsession, and Vi does a truly immaculate job of portraying it! I chew on drywall thinking about this DAILY!!!!

@ohbo-ohno PUPPY! SOAP! Don’t Leave Me Locked In Your Heart was the beginning of a very transformative experience for me and with every new fic Bo writes I descend further into madness😵‍💫 I cannot unsee Soap with big puppy eyes and a pouty face and I think Bo should be on the writers team for his “surprise I’m not dead but guess what? I’m Very Fucked Up™️ now” story arc in MWIV bc that was not him in that tunnel

@glossysoap The go-to for any and all Captain related thoughts! Price and 09’ Soap can captain my ship anytime as long as it’s Glossy’s version🫡 Peppers is absolutely deserving of it’s namesake🥵

@charliemwrites never misses! All of her characterizations are spot-fucking-on and she has a wonderful selection of CoD characters that span multiple genres! I’m particularly in love with Woof Woof Johnny🥴 (nasty little freak🖤) and Fields of Elation

@vanderilnde RUGBY! PLAYER! SOAP! He’s dirty and nasty and pervy and pathetic!!!! What more could you want from a man like him? And the way Orion writes him…… CHEWING ON GLASS! I love when soap is a pathetic little whore and Orion NAILED IT!!!

@the-californicationist Oooohhhhh Guile and Guilt was one of the first CoD fics I ever read and it lives in my head 24/7, even when Johnny is whispering Nasty™️ ideas in my ear. The story, the poetry, the characterizations…. IT’S LITERAL PERFECTION!!!!

#eilidh’s asks #author recs #fic recs

243 notes · View notes

foli-vora · 1 year

Note

Female reader. Steven grant. Prompts: 21, 26, 75.

In my mind is something like reader having to protect sweet Steven, so she breaks up with him and he’s destroyed and begs her to not leave him or something but ends up telling her he hates her after the whole break up scene, and she leaves.

Break my heart with this please. I want to feel stevens sadness and readers heart breaking knowing it’s what she has to do.

CONGRATS ON 3K MY LOVE!!! PRECIOUS FOLI IM SO HAPPY TO SAY THAT IVE BEEN HERE FOR LONG RIDE!! It’s an absolute honor to read you.

my sweet love, i am so honoured you've been here for the long haul and i appreciate you so much! thank you for your request, i had so much fun breaking sweet boi's heart! i hope this is painful enough for you x

tear into my heart

steven grant x f!reader

word count: 2359 warnings: angst. so much angst. mention of the avengers/other marvel characters, brief mention of S.H.I.E.L.D & HYDRA, mentions of danger, mentions of death/dying, lies, a fake affair, break up, brief violence (throwing a plate)

Dread.

It fills you. It runs through your veins, churns restlessly in your gut and fills your throat until it feels impossible to inhale. Panic begins to build, with sweat stinging at your skin and bringing a wave of fog over your mind.

How had things gotten so out of hand? You’d thought for sure the situation would be contained, would be dealt with so easily. It was looking fine, everything had gone well and it was meant to just be over. Done with. Finished. You should’ve known it was never that simple.

Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.

How did you get here? Maybe you could explain, maybe you could keep him safe, maybe it didn’t have to be this way—

Bucky sighs, the crackled whisper of it falling into your ear from your phone and you bite down on your lip to stem the bitter feel of tears.

“I’m sorry, doll. I wish there was another way.”

You swallow around the sudden dryness in your throat, picking at the blanket beneath you. The blanket you often shared with him.

The blanket he’d draped around your shoulders when you had a cold, the blanket you tucked around him when he fell asleep reading on the couch… so many memories with just a bit of fabric. You dare not look around to see the other trinkets and memories lingering in his flat.

“Am I doing the right thing, Buck? I don’t want to hurt him, surely I—we—can protect him—”

“I wish I could say we could, but the reality is I just don’t know. Do you want to risk it?”

Could you risk it by staying? Risk him?

“No,” you reply softly, knowing you’d rather suffer the pain of not being with him rather than the pain of potentially burying him. You needed him safe. You needed to know he was safe.

“Maybe once this is over, you could sit him down and explain everything. He might understand?”

Would he? Would you even get that far? While confident in your skills and abilities, there was always a chance of not walking away, and you might never have the chance to fix anything. Death has never frightened you — the possibility simply came with the job and you had long made peace with that, but now?

A trickle of fear buds in the centre of your chest. Could you die knowing you had left him heartbroken? Could you die knowing you didn’t utter a final ‘I love you’? Would he even know you died?

As far as he knew, you worked in an office. A simple job, with occasional travel included.

You hated lying, but it just seemed a lot easier than coming out with the whole 'Oh, well I worked as an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D before that went up in literal flames and I’m now actually stationed in London and employed by the Avengers on the recommendation of Agent Barton'.

Steven was nervous enough in the beginning, you didn’t need another reason to scare him away with that whole backstory.

“Yeah… maybe,” you mutter, desperately blinking the shine of tears overtaking your vision. “Okay. I’ll be an hour or so, I don’t want to just leave him a note—I want to do it properly.”

“We’ll be here, doll.”

Knowing you didn’t have long until Steven got home, you pass some time by shoving clothes into a bag and clearing your things from the bathroom, trying to not focus on the way his toothbrush now sits alone in the cup. You can barely look at your reflection in the mirror.

Emotion claws at your throat when you empty your side drawer and pluck the single polaroid from its depths. You hold it between two fingers, studying the way he looks so damn handsome in his glasses and fully focused on the little book in his hands, completely oblivious to you taking a photo.

“I love you,” you whisper, trailing your fingertips over its shiny surface before slipping it carefully into the front pocket of your bag, unwilling to part from it should he not want to see you once you were finished with the mission.

At least he’d be safe.

“Take care of him, Gus,” you murmur to the glass, watching the orange fish swim his usual paths through his tank.

The door opens, drawing your attention away from the little animal, and in shuffles Steven, rustling with a plastic shopping bag and a tired smile that considerably brightens when his eyes find you. Your heart quickens in your chest, his presence never failing to send your system into a tizzy.

He’s too good for this, too good for you.

“Hiya, love. Gods, you would not believe the day I’ve had—”

Off he goes.

You love his ramblings. You love how he would use his hands so much as he talks, how expressive he would get and how he was oblivious to anything happening around him. He would talk and talk and talk, and you would soak it all up, hanging on every word falling from his lips.

Just for a moment, you enjoy the normality of it; the calm before the storm, the peace before the pain. He’d stop soon, realising he hadn’t yet given you a kiss, so you straighten before he can do so, knowing if you were to feel that simple, tender press of his lips you wouldn’t have the strength to walk out the door.

“Steven?”

The word gets trapped in your throat.

“—and then some kid knocked the stuffed scarabs over so that was a little disaster in itself coz you know what Donna’s like. Oh! There’s that new David Attenborough doco on the telly tonight so I thought we could watch that and order in some tea, maybe have a little b—”

“Steven,” you repeat louder, firmer, “we need to talk.”

Immediately, he stops. His eyes fly to you and you fight to weaken at the softness swimming in them. This is for him, you remind yourself. It’s all for him. He’d be killed if they knew.

“I thought we already were, though it was a bit hard for you to get a word in what with me going on,” he gives a chuckle, but your face remains indifferent to it. His eyes flick over your face, taking in your cool, stiffly set features and his smile falters. “You ‘right, love?”

Here we go. I’m so sorry.

“No. I’m leaving.”

He blinks, “You what?”

“I’m leaving. This is over.”

“Over?” Confusion twists his brows, his face pinching as the words ring through his ears. “What do you mean ‘over’?”

“I mean this—” you gesture between him and yourself, “—is over. What we have? It’s done. I’m done, Steven. I’m leaving.”

“What? No, you—you can’t. We—” he runs a flustered hand through his curls, his chest jumping with his sharp inhale, “everything’s great. It’s great. Wh… I don’t understand. I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur before you can stop the words from falling, forcing yourself to swallow the feel of your heart beating in your throat.

“Is it the sleep thing? Love, I-I’m sorry, I can… I can figure something out! I’ll tie myself to the bloody bed if I have to!” He smiles, laughs, but it’s all nerves, panic.

So many nights you’d woken to him up and moving about. The first time it happened, it was almost as if he didn’t recognise you, like he was so lost to dreams that he wasn’t truly there and was startled at your presence. It happened frequently, almost every night, and with the more you began to stay over, the more it became a routine.

You’d coax him into bed, wrap him in the quilt and kiss his cheek with a loud smack, expecting his dorky little chuckle or an adoring little comment, but instead you were met with stares that didn’t seem quite so familiar. He looked like Steven, smelt like Steven, but the eyes… there was something there.

“No Steven, it’s not the sleep thing.”

“Is—is it me?” He asks shakily, faltering on a step forward and bringing his hands together anxiously, his fingers turning and twisting around the others. “I know I can be a bit much, love, but I-I can change… I’ll do anything for you, anything—”

It pierces right through your chest, impaling your heart and tearing it in half. How could he think that? He’s lovely. So, so lovely. You’ve never met anyone like Steven. He’s beautiful. He’s smart. He’s kind and warm and so damn sweet—

“It’s not you, please believe me when I say that.”

No, it’s not you, precious boy. I’m so sorry.

His hands begin to tremble.

There’s nothing more to say. It’s done. You let your gaze fall away from him, taking a quick second to gather yourself and keep your posture straight, ensuring to swallow down the pressure in your throat before it could morph into tears.

He moves when you do, watches you pick up the readied bag he had passed coming in, and he steps in front of the door, holding a hand out in an effort to keep you still.

“Love, please—”

“I’m going, Steven.”

He doesn’t move. He stands there in your way, hands shaking by his sides, his lips pressing tightly together to keep the noticeable wobble at bay.

“Please let me do this,” you mutter, the dull sting pricking the back of your eyes. Get out now.

“You can’t leave, love. You can’t, we—you’re my everything. Please—please, just—we can fix this. Whatever it is, we can fix it!”

He won’t let go.

Gods, Steven, please let go.

The thought of this all blowing out of control and someone finding him… the thought of it makes you physically ill. Your mind rejects the images of him hurt, beaten, laying bleeding and broken on the floor, his eyes empty and staring vacantly into nothing.

Bile builds in your throat. You have to protect him, you have to keep him safe.

There’s a way to make him let go, but it’s fucking brutal, and you’re almost certain there’s no coming back from it. But it’s okay. If he’s safe, it will be okay. It’s for him.

A bubble of self loathing builds in your gut. Please forgive me.

The words make you sick.

“There’s someone else.”

The moment holds after your spoken words, the air in the flat turning harder somehow. His heart shatters. You can see it play across his face. First the confusion, your words not quite sinking in. Someone else? No. No, you would never. The denial—you wouldn’t do that… no, you love him, don’t you? The pain. It pierces right through to the very core of you.

You bite down hard on your tongue. There’s so much you want to say. You want to cry, you want to apologise, you want to cradle him and tell him there’s no one else, there could never be anyone else… but you stand firm, watching the daunting understanding leak into his features.

His shoulders drop, and those tortured eyes meet yours.

“Oh. What’s their name?”

Your training kicks in.

“James.”

“James,” he repeats quietly, his throat bobbing with a swallow. “How long?”

“Steven—”

“How long?”

“A few months,” you lie through your teeth.

Lying had always been somewhat of a second nature to you, but here? Now? The words burn your mouth. The lies feel acidic on your tongue. It burns to the point you think you can’t utter another word.

“All that time?” He whispers in surprise, his voice cracking.

His lips press firmly together but the action doesn’t stem the tears that build along his lash line. The barrier breaks and they eventually spill, falling from his eyes and painting his cheeks with trails of heartbreak.

“Does… does he know about me?”

You don’t answer, but he seems to draw a conclusion from the look on your face. He gives a barely there broken chuckle, forced through shaking lips.

“Bet you both had a right laugh,” he mutters scornfully, “while your stupid little boyfriend waited in his stupid little flat.”

Your face creases, “Steven—”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, eyes dropping to the floor as more tears stream down his face. “Gods I love you, but I fucking hate you right now.”

And with those final words, he crumbles.

His devastation is palpable, and your heart shatters alongside him.

He wraps his arms around himself, unable to raise his eyes enough to meet yours as he shuffles out of your way, freeing your exit and allowing you to leave. A warm tear slips down your cheek as you listen to the sounds of agony falling from his throat, spreading over your skin when your fingers rise to brush it away.

Every step towards the door is a struggle.

You want nothing more than to turn around, to stay. The door knob is ice cold under your fingers, mirroring the feeling of grief spreading out from your gut. His cries echo around you, burning into your mind with each broken inhale and heavy exhale.

The soul shattering sobs stop, and the startling finality of it is enough to have you pausing where you pull the door open. His curled shoulders stiffen and his body hardens, almost as if he just snapped right out of his heartbreak.

He half turns, his dark, wild gaze locking onto you from beneath the mop of curls falling over his eyes and you’re frozen from the bitter hostility filling them. The rage, the hatred.

It’s not the stare you’re used to meeting at night. This is different.

The air changes, thickens.

He’s different.

“Steven?”

“Get out,” he rasps, voice taking on a deeper, angrier husk and it’s not him—it’s not your Steven, “now.”

“What—”

“Leave!”

His hand swipes a plate from the table, sending it flying across the room before it shatters into pieces against the wall and you swallow a sob, quickly resuming your exit and aching at the sounds of further destruction that echo down the hall once the door slams shut.

moon bois tags: @acourtofsnakes, @greeneyedblondie44, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @itswanktime, @stevenmylove, @ruhro7, @juletheghoul, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @asgardiandeadpoetsociety, @excitedcurtain864, @chickencouncilrep, @bluestuesday, @katronautt, @what-iwish-you-knew, @totallynotastanacc, @bangaveragewhitewine, @chaoticevilbakugo, @trickstersp8, @rominaszh, @gooddaykate, @midgardianminx, @mishasminion360, @detectivecarisi-1, @quicksilvermad, @raphaelaisabella, @iceclaw101, @thatpinkshirt, @breakfastonpluto19, @withakindheartx, @sirpascal, @littleone65, @xoxabs88xox, @timpletance, @jitterbugs927, @randomchick546, @xdaddysprincessxx, @dnxgma, @astronomeoww, @dindjarinswhore, @Curiouser-an-curiouser, @h-hxgirl, @mischiefnevermanaged94, @mando-amando, @mx-ferelden, @xxvariant, @welcometostayingawake, @trinkets01, @shadowolf993, @mwltwo, @loveslide, @lccs-world, @artsymaddie

#foli's 3k #steven grant x reader #steven grant x f!reader #steven grant x you #steven grant #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant imagine

406 notes · View notes

woncon · 7 months

Text

Flufftober Day 17

Encouraging s.o. to achieve a goal

🍁 felix x gn!reader

🍁 thanks to @wonsheep for helping me fix my grammar mistakes and for giving me advice how to convert a whole story into another language precisely ❣

🍁 flufftober masterlist | main masterlist

✁- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You should be studying, but instead you're looking at Felix. As his eyebrows furrow softly, he browses through the cookbook and then scratches the tip of his nose, leaving a small cloud of flour behind.

You lean close to wipe away the smudge. At first, Felix is a little startled by the sudden closeness, but then he continues to watch the pages with a slightly bemused smile.

"Have you nothing better to do than to look at me?"

"Is there anything better than that?"

Felix grimaces shyly at the compliment, and you feel like your heart will burst out of your chest. How the hell could you be learning French words about love when Felix is standing in front of you, trying to bake you a cake full of love.

"I thought you said you're gonna take a test on something."

Felix's warm gaze finds your notebook by your thigh. You quickly shove it against the wall behind your back, but of course the boy notices and blinks at you, mildly puzzled.

"Fine, I have to learn French. But I can't. I'd much rather watch you. After the cake's done and we've watched the mov-"

"No, no." Felix dusts off his floury hands, walks to the tap, washes them, then firmly grabs your notebook and lays it on your lap. "You can't put it off. It never leads to anything good. I'll help you, then we can bake together."

"Alright." As Felix's face lights up with excitement, so does your enthusiasm. You open your notebook to the concepts to be learned. It's not much, really, just a mini-test, but it's still a pain to get yourself to study. Of course, now that your boyfriend is offering his services, it's a different story.

You quickly run through the words, then hand him the notebook. You're ready, let's get it over with. Felix nods, reads the meaning of a word to quiz you, and you suddenly panic as those pretty lips, reading silently, empty your short-term memory.

"What's gently?" he inquires, his eyes fixed on your face. You shake your head. You're ashamed that you can't answer even though you just saw the solution. Seeing your exasperated expression, Felix takes pity on you.

"Tendrement," he smiles encouragingly, and takes possession of your lips again as he looks at the next solution. This time it's not slow, but intense, blood-pumping, yearning. He grips your hips, presses himself tightly between your legs, his tongue as if to carve the letters he pronounces as he part your lips.

"À la folie," he whispers in your ear. Your throat is dry. Nobody said Felix's deep voice mixed with French would make you so weak. "The meaning is passionately or madly."

"It was indeed mad." You throat is like a parched desert, you clear it, searching for water. Luckily for you, there's a bottle on the other side of the counter you're sitting on, which you take into your hand.

"Can we continue?" He asks after you drink a few fresh sips.

"Un peu, a little bit. Beaucoup, very. Pas du tout, not at all. I know these," you announce, while he checks that you've got them right. Somehow you've pulled them out of the short term after all. Or maybe Felix's kiss was so effective that the words bounced enthusiastically into your long-term memory.

"You won't forget the other two?"

"I don't think so." It's totally impossible to get Felix's teaching technique out of your head the next day, you're sure. "But we can still practice a few more times. You know, just to make sure."

"Oh, of course. Glad to help." Felix's wide, excited, sweet smile makes you weak in the knee - so it's very useful for you that you are sitting right now.

Your notebook lays forgotten on the counter under Felix's palm as you reach into his hair to swallow his sweet sigh into your mouth and love him as these learned words suggest.

flufftober taglist (send an ask! <3)

@jaeheekangslover

@haechansbbg

56 notes · View notes

bearhugsandshrugs · 4 months

Text

Korilla x Reader: A dwarf and a hero walk into a bar...

Wrote this for @irlswampy who, when I asked, suggested I write something with Korilla. So here we have Korilla and reader hanging out for drinks. She's such a fun character, thank you for suggesting her! Swampy was one of the first people to feed me with comments on Folie all the way back in September, and it's safe to say that they motivated me to keep writing even through some slumps. So I wanted to return the favor and wrote this. It's just a short drabble but I hope you enjoy!

Sharess’ Caress brims with excitement as you make your way to the bar. Patrons are laughing and arguing, most of them drunk, some of them desperate, and from what you can tell there’ll be another show starting soon.

“Good, you made it”, Korilla smiles when you sit down next to her, “I was already wondering if you got cold feet after all.”

“Sorry”, you mumble, knowing full well that you’re late. “I got caught up.”

Gesturing towards the bartender you order ale, matching Korilla’s drink, the glass of the dwarf nearly as tall as her head.

“Raphael says hi”, she smirks, adding a wink, “he was making a fuss about not being allowed to join for about an hour before he let me go.”

You find yourself chuckling, only slightly disturbed by the devil’s growing obsession with you.

“Is he usually like that? Micromanaging?” You take a sip from the ale that just arrived, and it’s refreshing: cool and malty on your tongue.

Korilla’s smirk widens into a grin. “He is not. I already told you, he is quite fair, you'll find.” Regarding the skepticism that spreads on your face with interest, she adds: “It’s only you that drives him up the walls.”

“How’s Haarlep?”, you ask casually, trying to change the subject. The less you hear about Raphael, the better.

“Suggested to come here instead of me. Can you imagine it though? Me sleeping with the master’s incubus so they can have my form?” Korilla breaks into laughter.

Blushing, you can imagine. You know full well what it’s like to get close to Raphael’s copy, what they feel like when they enter you, and what they taste like on your lips.

“Maybe I am Haarlep”, you tease, but the dwarf waves you off immediately.

“You haven’t made a lewd joke yet. That usually gives it away.”

You sit in silence for a little while longer and you come to enjoy the company: Korilla wordlessly points out some weird or funny scenes to you, and each time you follow her gaze, you end up chuckling. Returning the favor by nodding towards a particularly embarrassing patron, you grin when you hear her laugh loudly.

“Oh, please do consider my master’s offer, will you?”, she sighs a little later. You’re on your third ale, the alcohol dulling your inhibition.

“I am considering it”, you reply, slurring the words around the edges. “Else I’d hardly meet you for drinks.”

“What?!” Korilla’s protest comes as quickly as it comes intensely, and she throws her hand to her heart in mockery. “You hurt me! I thought you liked me!”

Chuckling, you shake your head. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I do like you. This has been rather fun.”

“Ha, I know”, she laughs before turning a bit more serious, “but you really should consider it. Come to the House of Hope. Spend some time with Haarlep and me. Not in that way, of course.”

“And Raphael?” Going to the devil’s house without him there feels wrong, especially after your last visit. But going there with him there feels even worse.

Korilla waves you off, her eyes holding your gaze gently.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about him. We’ll tell him there’s a promising soul out in Neverwinter, better at lanceboard and poetry than him, and he’ll be off in no time.”

You weigh the option in your mind: Hanging out with Raphael’s closest circle without him there, all so you can figure out if you should take his deal. It does sound intriguing.

“Okay”, you nod, “under one condition: No lying. I want to figure out what I’m dealing with.” Having them available to answer any question you have sounds nearly too good to be true.

But Korilla smirks. “No lying, understood.” Clinking her glass with yours, she nods, almost more to herself than you: “Haarlep will be thrilled. It’s been a while since we played Truth or Dare, you know.”

You don’t know. But you have the feeling you’ll find out more than you ever imagined soon enough.

#it's just a silly little drabble but hope you like it .___.#go follow swampy #korilla hearthflame #korilla #drabbles #my writing

24 notes · View notes

kerubimcrepin · 3 months

Text

Episode 30 - Bonta Folie's (part 1)

This says: "COCO PEOPL PLAQU"

I wonder what this magazine is about, as someone who doesn't read magazines. Swimwear? Beaches?

Guys are we sure she was shaving "him" off, and not "it"? Because I'm scared, Mr submaker.

There are multiple things to point out here:

Simone is basically Joris's babysitter whenever Kerubim leaves. And by god, Kerubim seems to leave a lot.

Living/working across from Kerubim, Julie is familiar with him and Joris, and has a prior relationship. She is an ecaflip, and a fellow business owner, — besides that, being an ex-hairdresser, Kerubim probably has taught her a thing or two. So, she's very happy to see him. Cute.

She discussed Simone's hair, and how to style it with him, without Simone's knowledge.

It's so sad that Simone is trapped in a reality where at times Kerubim Crepin really is as cool and knowledgeable about everything as he likes to present himself.

Imagine if the world's most entitled person entered your coffee shop and turned out to be a 30-year-in-a-row winner of the coffee making competition. Imagine if this happened every day to you at every single place you went to, with the exact same guy.

He's recommended your girlfriend what dresses to put you in, and they're all amazing. Yesterday he forgot a knife on the table, his son began running around with it. You want to beat his ass for both.

The translation here doesn't really carry across that he's saying that he wasn't a male hairdresser, but a Female Hairdresseresse.

"I was a Girlboss, my Jojo! A girlslay, gaslight, gatekeep one!"

Here Julie confirms what I already supposed: that she knows this story, and that he's taught her things.

I want to believe this is Ecaflip's doing, because Kerubim slipping on a banana peel that evil fucking cat left behind twice, and it making his life better each time, would be the funniest brick joke to date.

"LOU PRESENTE

LA _RAIE"

It doesn't look like a V at all, but it would make sense if it said "La Vraie," and they simply didn't bother to add any detail to the letter under his finger.

I think Lou is bisexual, and told him repeatedly about the cool sapphic cabaret she went to, to him, and this man who has never before been interested in cabaret was like "yeah that's probably the best one, the most renowned coolest one." and never understood it's a., lesbian thing.

I think this is the easiest way to explain how he knows about it, yet knows nothing about it.

I will be real, it's heart-warming to see him drink something that isn't beer while in a bar. Though the little artistocratic pinky thing he's doing is... very distracting.

Thank you, ecaflip psychiatric ward, for making him a bit saner, yet insane in new, weirder ways.

Feminism.

(Eric Andre voice) Oh you think the Bontarian Sapphic Cabaret has girl power? Well then, do you think the Bontarian Sapphic Cabaret effectively utilized their girl power by propagating the Bonta-supremacist view among their viewers using their sex appeal, in service of the corrupt nobility?

God, redressing from that costume in five minutes sounds hellish.

A lot of shows would have made an episode, where their male protagonist cross dresses, and infiltrates a "female space", one filled with Goofs about him being a pervert, or uncomfortable, or would have him act visibly flustered. Because it's "funny", man in drag fails at being a woman, laugh.

...I am very happy this one doesn't go in that direction, for many, many reasons.

Realistically, after losing his fiancée, after weeks, or months, in a psychiatric ward, he really wouldn't have "this is a place full of pretty women", of all things, on his mind.

Beyond that, the whole concept of drag as a joke at the expense of the person wearing it, is, well, offensive, and to see it being something more than that, is quite refreshing.

His nerves come from how much he has to do, and how out of depth he is.

This guy has never worked in a high-stress environment like that, he's never done a girly thing before either! He just fucked up a woman's wig, and is about to burn a hole through these clothes. Things are bad.

The real Lili wasn't fucking lying: this really is hell.

Your daily reminder that, for all the jokes of Joris being a manlet, Kerubim is almost the exact same height as he, give-or-take like, ten centimetres.

The thing is that, he used to hate himself so much, that he developed 30-50 addictions and gave her magical amnesia about it.

Now he wants her back so badly that he's drinking tea in taverns, dressing up as a woman (despite, y'know, his incredibly fragile sense of masculinity), and he's chasing her despite knowing how badly he fucked up and that she may never forgive him, simply because he wants to try to make it work anyway.

What he hadn't solved, is his issue with lying, but it is a nice sentiment, — for him to be ready to toss aside his previous identity that used to serve as his shield, in favour of this more vulnerable, girlfailure-esque one.

He can't even muster it in him, to feel bad, when Lou's teasing him here.

I think it's also important to point out that this episode is, funnily enough, one where we see young Kerubim at his most carefree and happy, and his relationship with Lou at it's peak.

He isn't forcing himself to learn how to do make-up through gritted teeth just to get closer to her. He's learning that his girlfriend's interests are fun, and that he likes it. That he's been missing out all this time.

Yes, as an old man he views it as "forgetting who he really is," but to say this didn't affect him greatly, would be a big, big lie. He is still implied to, at times, do drag. He's far more emotionally open with his peers, and doesn't really view it as a weakness anymore. He knits, for god's sake.

Also, and I'm sorry for this., but he has an actual fucking Single-Mom Syndrome. A fatal case of it, in fact. So that's just one last nail in the coffin, proving that this really was one of the most profound thing to ever happen to him, and one that changed his brain chemistry forever, for better or for worse.

#ro liveblogs dofus #dofus #wakfu #krosmoz #kerubim crepin #ep30

14 notes · View notes

southlandghost · 7 days

Text

Consummation (Norm MacLean x Marcy)

2.7k words

I've watched the whole show and know what goes on in 31, not diving into it for OC lore purposes.

18+ Only or you will be blocked.

Summary: After months of being in an arranged marriage, Norm MacLean realizes that he has fallen for his wife and fellow breeder program vault dweller, Marcy.

---

Norm MacLean hated to admit it, but he had grown accustomed to married life. True, he had been married to Marcy for months before he realized he actually loved her, but he loved her nonetheless. And to say she loved him back was an understatement.

This morning he awoke to a fresh pot of coffee served by Marcy, her light brown hair tied back with a blue ribbon and a VaultTec robe covering her body. The thought of her discarding the robe and bearing herself to him crossed his mind, but he was quick to dismiss it. Instead, he sat in his chair at the dining table and waited for her to join him.

“Good morning, dear.” She grinned, pouring a cup of coffee and handing it to him. “How did you sleep?”

“Not too great, really.” He admitted. The truth was that he had stayed up all night, going over in his mind how he would tell her about his feelings. No doubt, she had known he was not enthusiastic about their marriage in the beginning, but she did not let her concern or doubts show. Her tendency to focus on the positives reminded him of his sister in a way.

“I figured that. Felt like you tossed and turned all night.”

“I didn’t keep you up, did I?”

Marcy shook her head as she sat down, joining him at the table. “No, I couldn’t sleep either. Folie a Deux, but with insomnia instead of illness, I guess.”

Norm raised the coffee to his lips and took a sip. The bitter liquid flooded his mouth, washing away the minty aftertaste of toothpaste. Marcy leaned forward, propping her chin in her hand. “I still can’t see how you can drink it black. I need to have something sweet to start my day.”

“Makes sense. You need something as sweet as you, I guess.” He smirked before taking another sip.

Marcy’s cheeks tinged pink and she could not help but to grin again. Norm’s kindness never failed to surprise her, even if he was standoffish when they were first married. She cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “So, what are our plans for today? Nothing has been assigned by the council, or by your dad, so what do you suggest we do?”

“Honestly? I just want to watch TV and relax.”

“That sounds perfect to me.”

---

Hours had passed with the two of them on the couch. Marcy laid her head on Norm’s shoulder with her eyes glued to the television screen. On screen, Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck were sopping wet, conversing about the situation they had just escaped when Peck went in for a kiss. Marcy let out a small sigh, letting her hand roam down to lie on top of Norm’s leg. This small gesture surprised him, and gave him the push he needed to finally speak up.

“Hey, Marcy…” He shifted his shoulder, causing her to lift her head and look at him. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Of course.” She sat up straight and turned to face him now. “Is something wrong?”

“No! No, not at all… It’s just, I’ve been thinking.” He took a deep breath and made a point to place his hand over hers that rested on his knee. “I’ve been thinking about us and I just… I wanted to apologize for being so cold towards you. Like when we first got married, you know?”

“Oh, Norman… I never held it against you.” Marcy frowned and brought her free hand to his face, cupping his cheek before leaning in to give him a kiss. He felt his heart stutter a bit; he took his chance and deepened the kiss, tongue brushing against her lips before she allowed him entrance.

Marcy felt dizzy from the kiss, yet she could not pull away; she didn’t want to. She reciprocated the kiss, copying the movements of his tongue until she fell into a rhythm. This is what she had waited for since before she entered the vault all those years ago. This is what she craved: the companionship of someone who made her feel wanted. After a moment, she pulled away to catch her breath.

Norm thought she looked as beautiful as ever, her lips swollen from the kiss, cheeks flushed red, and pupils blown out amidst the gray pools of her irises. At that moment, he knew that he had to tell her.

“I love you, Marcy.” His hands wandered to her waist, fingers looping against the belt of her robe. “I love you. And I want you, all of you.”

“All of me?” Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

His eyes softened at her question and he couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “I want you, Marcy. I want to consummate our marriage. We’ve been married for months now, and I… I want to have sex, if you want to?”

“Oh… Okay, then.” The puzzled look didn’t leave her face, but she still nodded. “Yes, I’d like to… do that, too. Very much so, actually, but... I don’t know if I’ll be any good; I don’t really know what to do. I haven’t done anything like this before, Norman.”

“Me either.” He pulled at the belt of her robe and the loosely tied knot gave away. “We can learn together.”

Marcy slipped the robe from her shoulders as his hands gripped her waist, pulling her towards him. The robe hung at the crook of her elbows and he helped her slide the garment off, discarding it onto the floor. She was not wearing her vault suit beneath the robe, choosing to spend the day in her pajamas, much like her husband. The nightgown she wore was white and fit like an oversized t-shirt, baggy and hiding her form.

“Here,” Norm sat up straight and took her hands in his, guiding her to hold onto his shoulders. “Come sit on my lap.”

She did as told, her face and inner thighs burning like fire. Once she was seated and straddling his lap, she hid her face in the crook of his neck. He took this as a chance to begin planting soft, open-mouthed kisses on her own neck. She surprised him by letting out a small moan as his tongue laved over her skin. He took this as a sign to keep going and grazed his teeth against the same spot, eliciting a louder noise to escape her lips. She was quick to cover her mouth with her hand, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled it away.

“Let me hear you, Marcy.” He pleaded. “I wanna make sure you feel good.”

She nodded, confused as to why he was so worried about her pleasure, but she placed her hands back onto his shoulders and tried to relax. As she settled in his lap, she could now feel the hardness of his manhood against her. To her horror, her first instinct was to grind against him; he let out a hiss and she froze. “I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?”

“No! No, no, you didn’t hurt me.” He exclaimed. “It felt good. Really, really good. Do it- I mean, can you do it again? Please?”

“Oh, um… Yeah.” She rolled her hips against him once more, a wave of pleasure washing over her as he thrusted up to match her movements. “Norman!”

“There we go.” Norman grinned. “Does it feel good?”

“Mmhm!”

“Good. I’m taking this off of you now, and I’m gonna get undressed too, ok?” He bunched up the fabric of her nightgown, pulling it over her head and exposing her body to him. Her hands flew to her breasts in order to cover herself, but she stopped when she saw his gaze of adoration.

“You’re beautiful.”

She lowered her hands, cupping his face and resting her forehead against his. “I love you, Norman.”

With that, she captured his lips with a kiss. He raised his hands to cup her breasts, testing the waters as his thumbs brushed against her nipples. She shuddered, her moans muffled into the kiss. He grasped her more firmly, massaging her breasts and eliciting more moans from her. He pulled away after a moment and looked up at her. “Mind if we move this to the bed?”

She shook her head and he withdrew his touch; she whined at the removal of his hands, but stood up and helped him to his feet. They made their way to the bed together and she laid down first, watching in anticipation as he undressed himself. She swallowed hard at the sight of his naked body, flames of anxiety licking up the inside of her chest. She’d heard that penetration was the most painful part of intercourse, but she was determined to be a good wife, to tough it out for him.

Marcy scooted back until her shoulder blades touched the cool metal of the headboard. Goosebumps pricked up on her skin as she watched Norman approach the bed and sit beside her. She glanced down at his cock, then met his eyes once again. “Let me know if I do something wrong, okay?”

Of course, she had accidentally watched him pleasure himself before -usually in the shower before they went to bed- but the fear that she would do something wrong lingered. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft, shocked at how his skin was hot to the touch, and began with long, slow strokes.

Norman let out a low moan. She took this as a sign that she was doing a good job and, in response, quickened the pace a bit. ‘If the women from the set could see me now.’ She thought, smirking as she remembered their snide remarks of her naivety.

Her husband bucked his hips up to match her strokes. “Marcy… Marcy, wait. You- You keep going and I’ll finish before I get to you.”

She slowed down before completely pulling away from him. Once again, a puzzled expression was painted across her face. “Why… Why are you so worried about me?”

It was his turn to look confused. “What do you mean? I want to make you cum, Marcy. I want you to feel as good as you’re making me feel. Did you… Not learn about that in 31’s sex education classes?”

Marcy inhaled sharply and looked down, feeling the fabric of the sheets beneath her fingers. “That duty fell to the parents… and mine decided to take the conservative route. Women are meant to serve their husbands. Sex is for making babies. No love or passion involved.”

“Marcy, that’s… That’s not how it goes. Not now, at least. You’re… You’re my wife- and sex is supposed to be fun for the both of us. Now just lay back and let me make you feel good.”

He kissed her before she could argue, grasping onto the waistband of her panties and pulling them down. She covered her face with her hands and closed her legs, but he parted them as soon as she did. “Marcy, look at me.”

She peaked out from between her fingers before dropping her hands. “I’m sorry… Just nervous.”

“It’s okay, just- just focus on how it feels, yeah?”

“Okay…”

She took a deep breath and watched as his fingers traced the stretch marks of her inner thighs; smiled as he looked at the slick of arousal that stuck to her skin. Cautiously, he took his index and middle finger and began to leave featherlight touches on her clit. He looked up at her, continuing his motions. “This okay? How does it feel?” “Good- So good… Keep going, please.”

Norm shifted on the bed so he could lie beside her, making sure to not stop the motions that were drawing heavenly sounds from her throat. He leaned over, kissing and lightly nipping at her neck, and he grinned when she let out a loud whine.

“Norman~ I need-I need…”

“What do you need, Marcy?”

“More.”

“More? Okay. It may be sore at first, though.”

“Mmh, I don’t care.”

He chuckled at her response and dipped his hand lower, slipping one finger into her tight, wet cunt and relishing in the noises she made as he curled his finger inside her. He added a second finger, and she winced, but pleaded for him to keep going. “Look at you. Where’s that shy girl that was here just a minute ago?”

Marcy playfully swatted at his arm. “Hush. Will you kiss me again?”

“Of course.”

He did as she asked, kissing her deeply as he worked at her. His free hand came forward, drawing a steady figure-eight pattern on her clit and making her cry out. She felt as if her insides were on fire, sweat beading on her skin as she felt a tightness emerge in her lower belly. Her breathing became rapid and shallow, chasing the pleasure that he was providing her. She pulled away from the kiss, throwing her head back onto the pillow and whining. “Norman, please, I-”

She cut herself off with a string of moans as the tight feeling snapped, sending waves of pleasure throughout her body as she whined his name. He did not stop his ministrations, wanting to let her relish in the feeling before she went to pull his hands away. “Too much.”

Norm pulled his hand from Marcy, staring briefly in awe of the slick that coated his fingers. He took the opportunity to use her fluids as a lubricant, taking his cock in his hand and pumping a few times. “Are you ready? We can still stop at any time you want.”

“I don’t want to stop.” She panted, skin flushed and damp with sweat; he didn’t think she could have gotten more beautiful until he saw her like this. “I want you, Norman. All of you.”

He turned, lying down on his back. “It’ll probably be more comfortable for you if you, uh, sit on my lap again.”

She nodded and sat up, body shaking as she moved to straddle him as she had before. He held his cock with one hand and used the other to grasp onto her waist, guiding her down until his tip was at her entrance. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Ok. Go as slow as you need to.”

Marcy lowered herself onto him, her gasps and winces mixed with moans as he filled her. Norm himself moaned as she sank lower, taking his entire length. “Nngh! You feel so good…”

She sat still for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of him inside her. She couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “I think… I know why we were taught that this- Ah~ that this wasn’t fun for women.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because no one would get anything done.” She giggled. He laughed with her, but their laughter turned to moans when he thrusted up into her. “Do that again, Norman, please. Please, please.”

“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” He grinned and wrapped his arms around her waist in order to give her extra support. He leaned forward, leaving a trail of kisses from her sternum to her collarbone.

They had fallen into a rhythm now, Norm’s thrusts meeting the roll of her hips. He brought one of his hands back to her cunt, using his thumb to circle her clit. She collapsed forward without warning, hiding her face in the crook of his neck and letting out breathy high pitched moans. He could feel her tightening around him and took it as a sign to keep up what he was doing to her, drawing those beautiful sounds out from her as her body gave into him once more.

Marcy shuddered out a moan of his name as she rode out her second orgasm. The feeling of her walls so desperately clenching to him was more than he could bear. His orgasm came almost immediately after her own, and he grunted as he spilled his seed deep inside her.

They both laid still for a while, catching their breath and holding on to one another. Finally, Marcy lifted her head and gazed down at Norman. “Thank you for not treating me like I’m stupid, Norman.”

“Who would think that you’re stupid?” He questioned, brows furrowing in concern at her statement.

“It’s a long story, and I’ll tell you one day, but right now I think we both could use a shower.” She planted a kiss on the tip of his nose and smiled. “I love you, Norman MacLean.”

“Okay,” He smiled back. “And I love you, Marcy MacLean.”

#norm maclean x oc #Marcy (OC)#norm x marcy

8 notes · View notes

juletheghoul · 2 years

Text

Vignette

AN: I decided to test myself by creating a writing challenge for myself, and it turned into this. It also helped that House of the Dragon has put me into an Oberyn mood. Quick thank you to my girl @wheresarizona for the amazing moodboard and for her general awesomeness as well as my wifey @foli-vora for letting me bombard her with this. Hope you enjoy xox.

Pairing; coded as Oberyn Martell x f!reader - (no use of his name, this could be read as a choose your own character)

Warnings; piv sex (wrap it up), fingering, dirty talk, implied heartbreak, Creampie, pornographic photography, let me know if I missed anything

Word count; 3.8k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

----

He was intense, but not in an intentional way-it seemed to go way beyond that.

Maybe it was his gaze, the way you knew instinctively that he saw everything, saw your sad smile and your nervously fidgeting hands. He saw the spectre of heartbreak that curled around you like smoke, the invisible weight that on a bad day- affected your very posture.

“Feel free to make yourself comfortable, nothing will happen for now, I’d like to start by talking about what will happen today.” He gestured to the middle of his almost decadent space, the soft lilt in his voice reassuring. It was small, and filled with treasures, endless framed pictures and artworks hung in no discernible pattern on the emerald green wall. There was a massive rattan basket chair filled with cushions and plush blankets in a corner, the fading sunlight streaming in through the window would make the pictures taken there gorgeous.

“Sure, just anywhere?” You set down your bag and stood beside the chair, pausing to admire the lush plants in the space.

“In the chair would be wonderful, we’ll most likely begin there.” He had a table set up opposite the chair, on that table were a few cameras and lenses, what you imagined were boxes of film along with a stool he now moved to sit across from you. He paused before taking his seat- “Can I offer you something to drink? I have bottled water as well as a few different kinds of tea, I could make coffee?” He stood, head tilted.

“Um - water would be great, thank you.” You sank into the chair, slightly surprised at how comfortable it was.

I suppose it would have to be for this sort of thing.

“I uh- I’ve never done anything like this before.” You tried to laugh a bit, but it sounded disingenuous, instead resorting to a small smile when he handed you the water bottle.

“That’s okay- it’s a little unorthodox but my clients have been very happy with the results.” He sits finally, his body language conveying how comfortable he is. “I’ve booked you as my only appointment today so there’s no time limit, I pulled out quite a bit of film so don’t worry about running out or having to get the perfect shot, your only job today is to be yourself and forget about the camera.” He grabs a mug from a small table, it steams and the smell of jasmine fills the air. “For obvious reasons, I don’t use digital cameras. The pictures I take are only hard copy, any and all negatives you either take with you, or I keep in my private collection and you have my guarantee that they don’t end up anywhere but my portfolio. Now-” He smiles, his lively brown eyes bore into yours in a way that makes your heart race slightly. “-any questions for me?” He sips at his tea again, his attention solely focused on you.

“Oh-” You’d had a few questions on the way over but sitting there, in the plush chair opposite this handsome, comforting man they were hard to get a grasp of. You took a sip of the water to stall while you gathered your thoughts. “How long do these sessions usually take?”

“It varies, really depends on the person or people-” Your eyes widened and he smiled warmly. “You’d be surprised to know a lot of my clients are married or long term couples, people who want to document their intimacy, in a tasteful way. Professional more like, it’s hard to take nudes sometimes.” He laughs and you join. It made sense, an ex of yours had convinced you to record once and the whole experience had ended in laughter. “I also do regular portraits, I do regular boudoir shoots, intimacy shots, tasteful nudity and even some not so tasteful stuff. I capture whatever the client wants to capture and sometimes - I even join in. It’s all a matter of comfort.”

Your eyebrows rose into your hairline and all at once you imagined how he’d kiss, how his facial hair would feel on your face, on your breasts and on your thighs. You took a deep, steadying breath.

“Have you or one of your clients ever stopped a session?” You fiddled with the fringed edge of the cushion beside you.

“Yes, I’ve had a client say they wanted to stop because their heart wasn’t in it - they came back a few days later and the second shoot turned out noticeably better. I have had to stop a session with a couple because I wasn’t comfortable with what they wanted me to document. It happens, we’re only humans and I try not to judge anyone too harshly. I will check in with you constantly.” You nodded along, curious as to what could have made him cancel mid-appointment. “I feel like there is something you aren’t saying.”

“Am I that transparent?” His eyes had a way of holding your gaze, of drawing you in despite the heat crawling up your neck.

“I pride myself in my ability to read people, it makes me good at my job.” He smiled as he sat there, cross-legged and completely at ease.

“Well, you aren’t what I imagined, I mean to say- you aren’t what I pictured when we spoke over the phone.” And he wasn’t, he looked like some lost emperor, his face regal, his movements elegant. This was a man who was in total control of his body.

“Am I an improvement? Or a disappointment?” His voice was neutral, a twinkle in his eye- an understanding that he could read the answer in your fidgeting.

“I think you know.” A nervous laugh fills the room from both of you and suddenly you understand why clients would ask him to join.

“I think I do as well, but words are paramount- I need you to communicate with me if this will work.” He set his cup down and stood, reaching over for the first camera as he smiled. “Nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen- but if there is something you want, you must open that pretty mouth and say it out loud.” He slid some film into his camera before moving the stool away, his eyes back on you. “Shall we begin?” His eyes shine with mischief and you find yourself excited to start.

Here goes nothing.

“Yes I’m ready.” You do your best to make sure you’re presentable, your hands briefly fussing at your hair before they straighten out the simple dress you’d chosen while he goes about moving your bag out of the frame.

“Lovely. First I’m going to just have you get comfortable in that chair, your first instinct will be to pose and I want you to try to fight that, just make the space your own and I will find what I’m looking for.” He fluffs a few floor pillows as he speaks, moves some things around while you do your best to follow his instructions.

It was hard to ignore the camera though, hard not to think of how you’ll show up in the picture, what parts of your body will be highlighted and whether it’ll be flattering or not.

“Pretend you've come here at the end of the day. To this space to unwind. There is no rush, the hard part of the day is through.” His voice is so rich, so calming and you close your eyes to picture it. “Time to relax, to curl up with a good book and a glass of wine.” Your legs draw up close to your body, making yourself as small as you can. “Perfect, move blankets, move pillows, make yourself at home and I’ll adjust things. Keep your eyes closed and don’t mind my hands.” You feel them then, warm and soft on your thigh when he straightens the fabric of your dress.

The camera's shutter isn’t as loud as you’d imagined it would be - not as jarring as you’d thought it would be, instead you imagine yourself at home; imagine yourself in bed.

The soft pad of his thumb smooths your eyebrow slowly, smooths the worry out of your face silently before the soft shutter sounds again, closer now but it doesn’t matter. The camera isn’t there, instead you focus on your breathing, deep breaths in as well as out.

Soft fingertips trace the line of your jaw, tipping your face towards the window and it feels like his fingers are charged with something. A sparkling path burned into the places he brushes that bloom and spread throughout your person. He hums in approval, more shutters and it's so much easier than you would have thought.

One hand slides under your neck like silk for a moment before a pillow is placed underneath, shifting you half onto your back now and it raises your chest, opens you up to the light streaming in around you, calls to mind the classic paintings of the female form and if you hadn’t been so at ease with him you might have laughed.

“Lovely, let’s hold here a moment.” His voice has dropped into something smoky, something simmering under the skin; nothing in the world could let you disobey a voice like that.

More soft shutters.

“Beautiful.”

He’s moving, the sounds come from behind the chair and you try to imagine what it would look like for him, is he taking a picture through the rattan? Does the chair's shadow look like netting?

He’s in front of you again, your ears prickle and track his movements and your heart leaps to feel his hands slide up the soft skin of your thighs.

“May I see more of your skin?” His hands rest on your knees, you nod and a soft breath escapes when he pulls the fabric up to show more of your legs, when his fingers undo a button at your cleavage. “You’re doing wonderfully.” You take another deep, steadying breath and within a moment soft music fills the space, further alleviating the nerves keeping you stiff.

“Much better.” He says it almost to himself but you know he sees your body become more pliant, sees the stiffness in your limbs bleed out into the comfortable nest he's created, all of it infused with the scent of Jasmine and oud and bergamot -the smell of him.

Your lip slips between your teeth at the thought of his mouth tracing the same paths as his fingers-

“Wait, bite your lip for me once more.” His thumb presses at the plush of it, coaxing it slowly back into your mouth- your nipples harden to feel his thumb there, the soft shutters sounding before he’s moved his thumb away and the thought of it being captured makes your cunt ache. “Such a lovely sight my sweet.” There is a smile in his voice, you know he sees through you- sees your visceral reaction when he slides his fingers softly down the curve of your throat, down past your collarbones to rest where another button keeps you hidden.

He sees, and he waits, waits for the words he warned must come all the while the shutters continue to sound and he patiently documents your slow, curated descent into a lustful madness.

“Out loud.” His finger traces soft patterns at the base of your throat, waiting until you open your eyes and breathe out a yes.

He smiles and undoes a few more buttons, his focus now on the skin on display for him, the rise and fall of your chest, the goosebumps that raise in his wake and he moves again. Makes himself comfortable at your feet and your heart races in anticipation.

The camera dangles from his neck as his hands move slowly, tracing up your thighs until the fabric bunches and pools at your waist, until he sees the no-doubt noticeable damp spot between your legs. Your heartbeat races, thumping loudly in your ears as he pulls your legs apart, thrums steadily in your cunt the longer he stares and then he leaves you there - open to his gaze while the shutters sound and he takes pictures of your ruined underwear.

It’s hard not to tense up, hard not to scream from the tension thick enough to slice through permeating every inch of space between you.

“Very lovely - I could photograph you all day like this.” He fiddles with the lens before placing his hand onto the meat of your thigh, the sheer size of it makes you almost pant but you don’t, instead you take another deep breath, take a moment to yourself to calm down. But you can’t calm down, his proximity, his smell, his warm breath ghosting across your heated skin makes it impossible to do anything but melt and burn for him.

“What-” Your voice almost cracks but you steady yourself. “What do your clients usually say, when they ask you to join?” You feel the heat crawling up your neck when his gaze returns to your face, a knowing smile.

“They tell me exactly what they want me to do my sweet. If they want me to kiss them-” He dips his head and presses his lips to your knee and your mouth drops open. “If they want me to touch them-” His palm slides across your inner thigh and then he presses it against the whole of your cunt. “Is that what you want? You want me to touch you?” He doesn’t move, doesn’t alter his pressure and it feels like your body is vibrating with want.

“I can feel the heat coming off you.” He takes another picture and for a moment you can do nothing but swallow thickly. Your body is a live wire and it takes everything in you not to shake, all of it made harder still with your hands pressed into your thighs, the flesh of which spills through your fingers in your will to keep them open.

“Yes.” It comes out as almost a whisper and he doesn't react for a moment, instead he searches your face for something while your heart races and races. Finally he moves and pushes the damp fabric away to reveal your glistening heat.

Its his turn to bite his lip now, his focus solely on the slightly parted lips of your sex before moving the camera up to take another picture. His thumb breaches the seam of you to swipe through the arousal flowing freely, collecting it before moving it up to the ripe little berry of your clit.

It’s wanton the way he looks at you, deeply erotic and you’d be hard pressed to ever remember feeling this aroused- this desired. With every delicious swirl of his thumb your slick flows, the fire of arousal burning bright within every fibre of your being.

Shutters sound as he keeps up his assault, swirling swirling swirling until he dips into your heat again, wetting his thumb in you and all you can do is pant, hold your legs open and pray that he doesn’t stop.

“Look at you, ripe as a peach.” He pulls away and you almost cry, a whimper leaves your mouth as you watch him lick his thumb clean with an almost disrespectful gleam in his eye. “Bursting with honey for me.” A pained sigh escapes you now as he dips his thumb again and this time, he strokes with a purpose - tight circles until the coil snaps and you come with a cry. Again the shutters sound but he gives you no respite, two thick fingers spear into the fluttering clutch of your cunt, thick and scissoring you open for his eyes and his lense and it's so much you can barely think straight.

The orgasm only served to skyrocket your need for him, making you feel almost unhinged.

“I want you.” You reach out your hand and press your fingers to your clit, he smiles and focuses on where your hands almost touch. His splitting you open, your smaller one sweeping over your clit.

“I like this- show me how you like to touch yourself my sweet.” He crooks his fingers inside and touches something white hot while you obey. Your other hand pulls the last few buttons of your neckline open to pinch at a nipple and it’s so good you can barely hear anything over your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

“That's it, you’re doing so well, so wet.” The sounds coming from between your legs are obscene, the wet plunge of his fingers, the shutter of his camera and all too soon you're clenching around his fingers, pushing at them slightly when he doesn’t stop.

“Absolutely gorgeous.” He pressed another kiss to your thigh before licking you off his fingers.

He stands and turns from you, replacing the used film - a dreamy smile creeps onto your face to see him adjusting the sizeable bulge at his crotch. In that moment, as your skin tingles and your arousal flows you almost laugh at the thought of any and all trepidation you’d had over this appointment.

“How do you want me?” You sit up to rest on your elbows while he removes his soft linen shirt, grateful at the golden skin on display now. “Will there be a tripod or something?” You look around momentarily, wondering about the logistics.

“I don’t use them, the pictures are never the same but I would love to have you on your knees- if you’d like that.” He comes to stand before you - letting you decide how you want this to go.

“So you won’t be in the pictures?” You pout slightly before pulling the dress off completely.

“Parts of me will be, my hands, my cock, I want you to be the focus.” He brings his thumb up to swipe at your bottom lip, pressing into it softly, he smiles when you take it into your mouth and you hope your expression is sexy when he takes more pictures.

“So we won’t kiss?” You ask after letting go of his thumb with a pop.

“You want me to kiss you?” He pulls you up to stand in front of him so he can run his free hand up and down your arm, stopping briefly to undo your bra.

“Yes.” You stare at his mouth, his lower lip plump and begging to be bitten.

He brushes his nose against yours for a moment before pressing his mouth to yours, his kiss is chaste at first but it quickly turns. His tongue swiping at the seam of your lips begging for entrance which you gladly grant him. He licks into your mouth with purpose, pressing himself as close as he can with the camera hanging by his side. You sigh into his mouth when you feel his huge hand cup the back of your neck and all of a sudden his tongue is almost obscene in your mouth. It’s aggressive and it makes you drip, a frenzy coming through as he licks into your mouth before he's pulling away, leaving you almost drunk.

He places one last kiss on your neck before he guides you to the pillows and blankets set up on the floor.

The rustling of his clothes reaches your ears as he kneels behind you, his thighs pressed up against the backs of yours and before he touches you the shutters sound, they sound as his palm presses down on your back. They sound as he grabs a handful of your ass, as he pulls your panties down and off. Sounds still as the weeping head of his cock presses against the curve of your ass.

It’s a heady feeling, to feel him pressed up so close with your pussy dripping in anticipation while he takes his time framing his shots, capturing your desperation for him before you finally feel him coating his thick length in your liquid heat.

He groans as he splits you open on his dick in one smooth stroke, holding himself still as you both catch your breath. Your skin is burning up, arousal coursing through your veins like electricity, everything heightened ten times over as the shutters sound behind you.

He rocks slowly, gliding into your soaked cunt over and over, your slick drips out around him as he pulls you apart. You lift your head to stare back at him over your shoulder, seeing him photograph himself entering you and it pulls a throaty moan out of you. He points the camera at you, capturing the no doubt cockdumb expression on your face before he puts it down beside him.

His pace speeds up and it feels like he's battering against your womb, his hands slips around and he pulls you up close. Your back meets the solid wall of his chest and now he holds your breasts with both hands, nipples pinched gloriously between his fingers.

“I wish I could photograph you like this.” He spits the words out into your ear, his panting breath pushing you closer towards the release you're desperate for, the pressure of it blooming in your core.

“Make me come-“ Your fingers reach for him, threading through his fine black waves. “Please, please make me come.” He growls at your words and then his fingers are gliding against your clit. “Yes, right there-“ A truly filthy moan fills the air as you clench around his length.

“There you go sweetling, that’s good, gonna fill you to the brim-“ he grunts with the effort of his fucking into you, his pace growing eratic and after a handful more he seizes- pressing you both forward, he replaces his heavy thrusts with a deep grinding against the plush swell of your ass.

There is sweat beading in your hairline, heat radiating from your face where it's pressed against the crushed velvet of his pillow. He presses a few kisses to your spine before pulling out with a hiss and suddenly he's turning you over to lay on your back. He moves the pillows and blankets before opening your legs and raising your knees to inspect your still-fluttering pussy.

“Stay just like that my sweet, just like that, I want a picture of that gorgeous little cunt full of my come.” He moves pausing to press kisses to your neck on his journey south, again to lick at one stiffened nipple, then the second. He stares at you briefly, his gaze glued to where you can feel him slowly leaking out. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He grabs the camera and takes his pictures, some up close, others with his hand on your thigh and finally- with his fingers pushing into the wet clutch of your puffy, filled pussy.

“You'll have to come back for another session. So many other pictures I’d like to take.” He spreads his fingers inside, somehow making you ache for him again.

“I think we should take more right now.” You pull his fingers from between your legs, and stick them in your mouth - relishing the pained look on his face.

“Oh yes, we’re nowhere near done.”

Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @lori-tovar @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @just-here-for-the-moment @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @goldielocks2004 @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @hellovanessax @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @mrs-ghuleh @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @mandosmistress @deadhumourist @felicisimor @tuskens-mando @no-droids-on-sunday @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @maievdenoir @kissasith @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @lorosette @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @allthatsleftbehind @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @planetariumx @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @swtaura @evelynseventyr @send-me-to-valhalla @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @ichigodjarin @oliviajdjarin

372 notes · View notes

caffernnn · 5 months

Note

as a folie a deux stan, would you share your thoughts & feelings about the album

A chance to ramble about one of my all-time faves?? ooOOO SAY LESS MY FRIEND ♥️🧸💛

I think Folie finding a place in my heart was a perfect storm — I’m a new fan falling into obsession with FOB during my mid-teens, and they’re starting to get into the hayday of the post-hiatus SR&R era. So of course, I’m looking through wiki pages, poking through fan pages, seeing interviews here and there (doing research for my sophomore year’s mandatory big research essay, and also satisfying my need to Know Everything™️ ), and I start wondering about how hiatus happened. What’s up with Folie? Why is it listed as not being well-received by fans and painful for the band (at that time)?

It becomes this situation where you’re handing 16-year-old me this misfit outcast album, one with bears on the cover (I’m predictable and easy to please shhhh) and an openly experimental vibe set apart from their previous work (more collaborative iirc, the four of them drawing on stuff they were inspired by to try new things). Pair that outcast magnetism (impulse to show love to wounded birds and rejected things) with lyrics that speak to the liminal space I existed in with my own adolescent identity (lyrics speaking to madness in complex dependent relationships, to not knowing yourself, to wanting to know yourself, to wanting to know the world, to trying to figure out morals and love and worth amidst your missteps and lost sense of self and unspeakable depression), and I was sunk. Listened to some YouTube video rip of the full album (or playlists that also included pavlove and lullabye) to fall asleep at night, while showering, really whenever I had a chance in my downtime (since I didn’t have headphones and listened to more of the futct/ioh/sr&r hit singles when with friends). Something about Pete’s devastating lyrical angst and Patrick/Joe/Andy’s artistry and the heavy feelings surrounding the album (from the minor bits the fans/public know about the time and the stories weaved throughout the album) started hitting in a specific way that had me imprinting on Folie and the band like a baby bird. Yeah, I started having that feeling of being understood by music with other bands (MCR, Paramore, P!atD, classic emo trinity stuff) along with some of the more pop punk stuff I was already into (PtV, ATL, you know the era), but for whatever reason, Folie maintained its place as my heart and soul album (along with Soul Punk for PStump-related reasons, but we’re not talking about her right now 🏃🏻‍♀️)

We’d be here all night if I tried to list favorite songs or lyrics, but I can ramble a bit about what hit me most when I started going “oh yeah, this is my album” as a teen:

I mean like, of course, right? “What a Catch, Donnie” is the pinnacle ballad, from all the lyrical callbacks and cameo features to the somber/hopeful music video, plus the interviews out there noting the song as lyrically important to the band. I think you can find stuff from back in that era (‘08-‘09) talking about it as almost a “swan song,” a final message that’s as close as you’ll get to personal convictions in a less-autobiographical album. For me, it felt like a love letter to their past selves in the unstoppable march forward in time. It felt like grief, the kind that comes with change and it’s inevitable losses, but it also felt like hope. Imagine not seeing goodness within you, not recognizing yourself, feeling stranded and pushed by the tides and not sure where you’ll end up. Then, imagine finding a lifeline through hanging on to someone else with the same type of stormy muddled mind, finding them and becoming their looking glass, their mirror, their guide — helping someone apathetic and listless find a spark again after giving up on themselves. It makes you wonder if you’ll find clarity through connection too, if you’ll be saved over and over again by people who see you and make sense of it all, or maybe don’t make it all better/comprehensible but care for you anyway. It became an anthem for me to hang onto my friends and budding new interests to help make me feel whole and keep going at a time where everything felt overwhelming and impossibly complicated (the curse of being 15/16/etc). Something about learning about hiatus, learning about the peaks and valleys of the band, looking at it all while having the fortune of knowing they find their ways back to each other to create more music and memories and get to keep growing together — that was big for me in a way I couldn’t articulate at the time but still felt deeply. We can be lost, but still found; flawed, but still loved. That’s important to hear when you’re stumbling through those early formative years, and important to be reminded of when we stumble through evolving our identities again and again and again.

There’s a lot of nostalgic love for the album now that I’ve held onto it for a decade, but it’s still so fun to revisit and holds up for me amidst all of the new music I listen to now. SM(f)S wriggled it’s way into my heart this past year and sits in there holding onto Folie’s hand, speaking on heavy themes and channeling that same motivation to experiment and create a legacy through music. Getting to see FOB live this year (!!!) playing Folie songs live (!!!!!) and eventually revisiting the whole album throughout the duration of tourdust (!!!!!!!) was an amazing experience, and it’s great to see Folie get her flowers in the many years since her release. Happy 15 years, Folie!! 🩵🐻💙

#folie a deux #late night catherine lore time #hold on let me just talk your ear off real quick <3 #tldr: I just think she’s neat #unrelated side note: folie a bleu recolor is so pretty. like yeah the original deep reds are everything but BLUE!!!!#song stuff #I should probably have a FOB tag. since. y’know. I’m so casual chill normal about them #anyway #thanks for asking!#celesteeal

8 notes · View notes