#|| no matter how dark this city gets ( there will be light ) ||
Text
Nevermind (ao3)
Twelve months to the day since she and Elain were thrown in the Cauldron, Nesta finds herself at one of Feyre’s dinner parties, trying to wrestle with an entire year’s worth of grief— until Cassian holds out a hand. (For @nestaarcheronweek day 2)
“I fell out of love again, not with you but with living in general, and I lost a lot of friends, never mind. Cause I’ve been on a losing streak, my heart’s made of stone, and I can’t trust my own damn feet to show me the right way home.” - Nevermind, Deaf Havana
It was the laughter that rankled the most.
That stung as it echoed off the crystal wine glasses and polished silver knives that lay at intervals along the grand mahogany table; glittering peals of it reverberating as bottles were uncorked and priceless wine was poured as liberally as water. Edged in the soft evening light, their joy was bright and bold and loud and warm, but as the dark crimson liquid licked the sides of her glass when someone filled it, Nesta Archeron could do nothing but sit frozen in the chair set out for her in Feyre’s expensive new house, watching the wine settle in her glass, trying not to think of how much it resembled freshly spilled blood.
There was no air in that expansive dining room trimmed with wealth and filled with golden light and laughter, no way to breathe, and as Nesta felt herself slowly suffocate, their laughter cut and pierced her skin like an entire quiver of arrows shot from seven different bows. Each one hit their mark; each one made her bleed.
With a hand she forced steady, she reached for the wine and lifted it to her lips, praying she might find some relief at the bottom regardless of… well, everything.
She wished they’d given her whiskey instead.
Cheap wine and strong liquor— that’s what Nesta had grown used to these past months. What she wantedmore than fine wine and elegant dinners pierced with laughter she couldn’t share. But then— when had it ever really mattered what she wanted anyway? When had it ever made a difference?
This wine certainly wasn’t cheap. It was rich and heady, the taste lingering on her tongue and coating the back of her throat, so thick she couldn’t breathe. It clung to the side of her glass as she lowered her hand, a smear of red staining the crystal that had her stomach churning and her throat threatening to close. Blood— did none of them notice, how much it looked like blood? It had her hearing not laughter but screams— had her tasting iron and recalling the way the blood had pooled between her fingers and collected between her knuckles only a handful of months ago.
Around the stem of her wine glass, her fingers trembled.
So little time had passed since the battle that had made an orphan of her, and yet…
They laughed.
Still, they laughed.
It was why, in the time since they had walked away from that battlefield alive if not entirely intact, Nesta had done everything in her power to distance herself from her sister and her newfound family. She had found an apartment on the other side of the city, as far from Feyre’s new house as she could get, and most nights she tried her hardest to avoid Rhysand and the members of his Inner Circle, seeking solace instead in dive bars— trying to find it in the arms of strangers whose names she never learned and whose faces she wouldn’t remember when the sun came up.
But this night…
This night was different.
The wine soured on her tongue, the sound of their laughter almost making her flinch. It was twelve months to the day since she and Elain had been forced into that Cauldron— twelve months since she had been broken apart so irrevocably that she didn’t think that there was a hope in hell of putting her back together again. It was the only reason - the only reason - why she had accepted Feyre’s weekly invitation to dinner when so many others had gone ignored. Why Nesta had crossed the river and stood in that grand, echoing entrance hall, looking up at portraits of damn near everyone Feyre had ever met, and finding that the only absence was her own.
The familiar hole in her chest had widened, yawned and gaped until it threatened to swallow her, and on this brutal anniversary she had thought that she might want, for once, to be near the only people who might understand the significance of it. Who might remember what day it was too.
She’d realised her mistake as soon as she stepped over the threshold.
Elain had been holding a cake on a silver stand, emerging victorious from the kitchen and smiling as she made her way to the dining room, where the cake now sat proudly in the centre of the table. Elain always makes dessert, Feyre had whispered as Nesta stood motionless in the doorway, trying to catch Elain’s eye and hoping to find—
What?
The same pain, reflected back at her in eyes she knew as well as her own? Some flicker of understanding?
Feyre had patted Nesta on the arm and slipped away to the sitting room, leading her to the space warmed by the glow of the fire and softened by the sound of laughter. But Nesta couldn’t find it in her to make her lips bend into a smile, couldn’t force a spark into her eyes. When Elain returned, and when Rhysand complimented the cake, her sister had blushed and dipped her chin, batting away the kind words with a soft smile and a demure tilt of her head. All the while Nesta sat in her chair, blinking, trying not to feel like a ghost that had stumbled and sat, unseen and unnoticed, at a stranger’s dinner party.
The laughter rose now, filling the dining room until the space was bursting with it, their joy pushing at the seams until it felt like Nesta would break beneath the pressure. As if from a great distance she heard Amren make some dry, cutting comment that she was too far gone to fully comprehend, and Azriel’s retort was a low, dark whisper across the silverware that had Mor’s laughter pealing all over again, like the ringing of a church bell.
Nesta’s hand tightened on her wine glass.
Did they not realise— did they not see? Or was she just screaming into the void, her pain and her anguish swallowed by their laughter?
The grief was a collar around her neck, tightening with every breath and dragging her beneath the surface whenever she was reminded that this place was not her home, this life not one that she had chosen. When she looked in the mirror and glimpsed her reflection, Nesta saw elegantly arched ears and eyes that glinted silver and she mourned every. damned. time. On the rare occasions she managed a smile, her lips felt absurdly weighty, the curvature forced and unwieldy, too unnatural to be believable given that her chest was still so empty and hollow.
And none of them noticed.
It hurt.
Every breath hurt— still. They had told her it would get better with time, that she would learn to heal, but it hadn’t, she hadn’t, and all she had come to realise was that her anger and her sorrow and her pain could not be parcelled away, couldn’t fit neatly into their little box. It had teeth— teeth and claws and a taste for blood, and it was tearing her apart, day by day by fucking day.
But it was invisible to them, because they had ticked off the days, the weeks turning to months, and now that a full year had passed… Nesta had, apparently, sailed right past the point of her pain being acceptable.
She gritted her teeth now, the meaningless and inane babble making her want to take her fork and drive it through Rhysand’s neck. If any of them spoke to her, she didn’t hear it. Didn’t register it. Instead she sat with her back straight, pushing around the food on her plate and ignoring Mor’s disapproving glance when she barely ate a mouthful and chose, instead, to drain her sanguineous wine.
A silent scream began to build in her chest, one that threatened to cleave her in two.
The laughter grew louder, another bottle of wine was opened, and for all the size of the great dining room in Feyre’s new home, the walls seemed to be closing in, the air suddenly thin as ribbons of ice crawled up Nesta’s spine. When the food was cleared away, Nesta saw as if through water when Feyre pushed away from the table, lifting her glass and suggesting that they move to the sitting room for a while before returning later for Elain’s cake.
She didn’t hear the murmurs of agreement or the clink of glasses as her sister’s family got to their feet. She didn’t hear the scrape of the chairs against the hardwood floors - not even her own - and as the rest of them departed for one of the luxurious sitting rooms overlooking the lawns, Nesta curled a hand around the back of her chair as she stood, fingers curling painfully into the carved wood.
“Nesta?”
Feyre’s voice drifted to her as she placed a hand on Nesta’s arm, but Nesta didn’t feel any warmth or kindness in her sister’s touch— felt only the icy kiss of the Cauldron and the hands that had held her captive in that throne room— a bruising grip that had held her down before water closed over her head, before her blood had boiled and her bones had shattered.
The memory slammed into her, made her flinch.
Against the onslaught Nesta took a breath, fixing her eyes on the windows and the night sky beyond, dark and clouded over, without a single star visible in the sky overhead. She looked into the impenetrable black, like a mirror to her soul.
“I’ll join you in a minute,” she managed after a long silence, her voice straining against the words.
Slowly, Feyre nodded.
She drew her hand away and looked once at her eldest sister before turning for the door, and as the sound of Feyre’s retreating footsteps grew distant, Nesta found herself standing alone and motionless before the window, looking at her reflection and mourning the life she had lived twelve months ago.
A life where she had a father still, even if he had been absent.
A life where she woke each morning and recognised her face in the mirror; where there was a path laid before that she knew she could follow. A human, mortal path.
Nesta caught sight of her eyes reflected back at her in the glass, dark and humourless, as cold and as empty as a void. From the sitting room the laughter echoed still, Mor’s voice louder than the rest as she told some ridiculous, raucous story that had Rhysand shouting something in good-natured protest, that had Feyre gasping a laugh as she allowed herself to be regaled by some tale from her husband’s past.
Nesta wondered if she would ever laugh again— ever find a reason to smile.
She had never felt more out of place than she did now, with her arms wrapped tight around herself as she stood alone, listening to the laughter and the joy of a family she would never be a part of.
A mistake— it had been a mistake to come tonight.
She closed her eyes, wondering how much scorn she would receive if she left right now, without saying goodbye. Glasses clinked in the sitting room, and it was almost enough to make her dart for the kitchen and the door that she knew would take her outside, but before she could commit herself to running away, the sound of footsteps approaching made her open her eyes again. Looking at the dining room reflected back at her through the windows, Nesta didn’t bother to turn as the door was opened again, letting in another sharp slice of the mirth beyond.
Cassian hesitated in the doorway.
Through the glass Nesta watched as he stood, lingering and drawing no nearer, even though his eyes had found her in an instant— had snapped to her, like seeking her out was the only thing he was good at. Without pause, without fear, he met her gaze in the window’s reflection, standing a handful of feet behind her as the heart in Nesta’s chest twisted painfully.
“There you are,” he said gently. “I wondered where you’d got to.”
He stood with his hands in his pockets, a stance so casual that Nesta could have forgiven herself for forgetting that he was a warrior born and bred, as ruthless as they come, with hands even more bloodstained than her own. The hair hung to his shoulders in a mass of haphazard curls, and the ruby earring he wore caught in the low light as he canted his head to the side, studying her with eyes that held no humour anymore, no hint of jest.
She wished now that Feyre had left the wine behind.
Cassian’s eyes searched hers in the reflection, taking in the hollows of her cheeks and the skin that she knew was too pale, too wan. His eyebrows inched together, a furrow forming in his brow as he took in the tracery of grief left behind, and when his throat bobbed with a swallow, something like concern alighted across his face. The scar slicing through his eyebrow was thrown into relief as his head tilted, his jaw tight as he looked her over, and something sparked in his eyes that she couldn’t bear, something so ardent and sincere that it made the hollow ache in her chest spread until she could feel it in her toes.
She didn’t know what to do with it. How to handle it.
So Nesta turned sharply on her heel, whirling to face him and taking some small pleasure in the fact that his eyes widened— that she had managed to surprise him.
“You don’t want to join us in the sitting room?” he asked, his voice slow and careful. Like he was sizing up an opponent for battle.
Nesta snorted.
Regret glimmered in his eyes, edged with just the barest hint of sorrow, but it was there and gone in an instant. The hazel darkened, and Nesta felt the anger and pain that simmered beneath her skin extending its claws like a beast stretching languorous before the hunt.
“Why should I?” she asked, poison seeping into her tone— poison as lethal to her as it was to him. Part of her knew she would regret it later, regretted it already, but she couldn’t hold back the tide of her grief alone. It was easier to let it swallow her, to let it drown her— easier to feed the anger than feel the pain, and so she lifted a chin and nodded to the doorway and the sitting room beyond, her lip curling on a sneer that only a small part of her tried and failed to fight. “So I can hear more tales about how wonderful your lives have been?”
Cassian’s eyes didn’t widen this time, like he’d expected every harsh word that had fallen from her lips. But he didn’t draw back— Cassian remained, resolute, with his face blank as Nesta’s arms tightened around her middle, as though her grip was the only thing holding her together. For half a moment she thought she saw his eyes soften— thought she saw him reach the same conclusion.
“So you can sit beside your sisters and remember what it is to be loved by them,” he suggested instead, removing one hand from his pocket and extending it smoothly out towards her. He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow, splaying his fingers like all he wanted was for her to take his hand and let her fingers slip between the gaps he’d left in his.
Nesta’s heart twisted again, and she thought that maybe - maybe - a part of her might want that, too.
A pity then, she thought dryly, that she couldn’t see beyond the tangled mess of emotions that were churning up her chest like dried earth. That she couldn’t reach beyond the shroud of grief to accept the hand that he offered.
She was silent for a moment, not quite knowing the words to say. His hand hung in the air between them, not quite enough to close the gap, and she was acutely aware that before her was a man who had thrown his life before hers, who had laid his head in her lap and grasped her hand as he lay dying. A man that she had barely seen since, who had started the hours and days after the battle by giving her space, and had never quite managed to stop. The distance between them was so great now that Nesta had no idea how to bridge it.
And then—
“I know what day it is, Nes,” he said quietly.
He made the nickname soft, breathed it like it could somehow belong to someone with a tongue as sharp as hers. His lips parted as his eyes fluttered, his gaze drifting down, and gods, it was as much of a hand extended out to her as the fingers he still had stretching towards her, a bridge offered when she couldn’t find one herself. Nesta had stilled by the windows, immovable as stone, but when her eyes shifted from his outstretched hand to the eyes that he had fixed on hers…
She had never seen his hazel gaze so earnest.
It was almost enough to make her weep, forcing apart the cracks in her chest with enough verocity to leave her in splinters. But Cassian didn’t blink, didn’t shy away from her, and when she said nothing, he only took a single step towards her.
“I know what it is to grieve, you know,” he added softly, in a voice hardly more than a whisper. “I know what it is to mourn.”
The laughter from the sitting room grew louder, and Nesta felt her eyes close against it, like she might protect herself from it if she could only pretend she was somewhere else entirely. She heard the rustle as Cassian’s wings spread a little, and part of her wondered if he’d thought he might extend those wings and shield her, blocking out the entire world. Part of her wished he would.
“Do you?” she managed as she opened her eyes again, tilting her head in a challenge that wasn’t half as sharp as she had intended. His eyes softened. “Do they?”
“Yes,” he answered simply. “But they don’t allow their pain to morph them into something else—“
“How dare you—“
“Nes.” He dared another step, eyes wide, lips parted. A plea shone in his eyes, edged with desperation. “Please.”
Nesta felt her lip curl, falling back on the all-too familiar anger that served as her shield— the defence she flung up to keep them all from looking at her too closely, from seeing just how much she had been torn apart that day twelve months ago. Just how much she’d been raked apart every day since.
“Please what?”
Cassian didn’t back away, and in the face of her barbed words he only took another breath, as if to tell her he understood— and he wasn’t afraid.
“Please let me help you. Let me do something. Anything.”
There it was again— the bridge he offered, the path back to the surface.
“You think after all these years I don’t know what you’re going through? That I don’t see it?” Cassian dropped his hand at last, curling it into a fist and bringing it above his heart. “That I haven’t been standing exactly where you’re standing right now, facing down the same damn thing?”
The beast inside her bared its teeth, claws raking down her spine. It begged to be set loose again, to snap and bite and lash out and even the slightest provocation, but…
Gods, she was tired.
So, so, tired.
“I can’t sit there and pretend,” she said at last, her voice tight in her throat. She nodded to the sitting room, to the laughter still drifting through the walls. “Just because a year has passed doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly made my peace with any of this.”
“I know,” Cassian said smoothly, reaching out his hand once again. He didn’t wait for her to accept him this time, and there was no hesitation or second-guessing as he took her hand in his and closed his fingers tight around her own. His eyes burned, his face lined with the kind of sorrow that Nesta knew would be etched across her own too, and she wanted to sob, wanted to crumble. But for once there was a crack in the darkness, a sliver of light pushing against the black and begging to be let in, and as Nesta’s fingers slid home between his, she let his warmth ground her just enough to pull her back from the edge— enough to let his light filter through the gaps.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” he whispered, and just like that…
Suddenly it felt like the weight she had carried alone for so long was shouldered by him too. Like he took a portion of it, eased the burden with nothing but a squeeze of his hand and a look in his eyes that said that even now, he wouldn’t forsake her.
And it didn’t fix everything - far from it - but she hadn’t realised how powerful it was to have someone there beside her, to take her hand when the darkness got too much, when the ache was too deep and the world too heavy. Somehow the teeth tearing her apart felt a little less sharp, the claws a little more dulled than usual; the beast calmed if not placated. The pain didn’t vanish, but it was easier to bear somehow, and for the first time in twelve months, Nesta could see beyond her grief to the world beyond.
Cassian’s fingers curled around her own, his grip tight, like he was loath to let her go lest she slip away into shadow again.
“Why?” she asked, looking down at their entwined hands. “Why do you remember when they don’t?”
Cassian shook his head. “They remember,” he said softly. “Elain remembers.” He nodded to the cake still sitting on the table, waiting to be cut after dinner. “Why do you think they laugh so loudly, Nes?”
His other hand lifted to her face, his thumb brushing across her cheek, as if to wipe away the tears that had yet to fall. He angled his head to the side, as if to hear the laughter, and when it echoed his eyes snapped back to hers. His grip on her hand tightened.
“They laugh in the face of it,” he said. “They find the joy and cling to it.”
And what do I have to cling to, Nesta thought dryly. Who do I have to lean on?
She thought of the dim bars waiting for her and the nights she had spent in the arms of strangers, and even though she didn’t ask the question out loud, Cassian’s lips lifted at the edges, giving her a gentle, plaintive smile as he squeezed her hand— as if that was the answer.
As if he was the answer.
He tugged on her hand, his smile lifting to something wider, something more mischievous.
“If you don’t want to face the sitting room, how about we just stay here instead?” he suggested. “Or slip away to Rhys’ study? There’s a chess board in there and believe it or not, I was never much good at it.” Slowly, the smile curving his lips grew into one that felt more genuine than any Nesta had to offer, but Cassian didn’t let it drop. His eyes glimmered as he added, “Would thoroughly humiliating me in a game of strategy help turn the night around for you?”
“You’d rather sit and play chess with me than be with your family?”
Cassian rolled his eyes indulgently, tugging on the hand she still had clasped in his palm. “Of course I would.”
Nesta didn’t know how to answer, but when she glanced up and met his eyes, there was a warmth there that she hadn’t expected to find. And maybe it wasn’t enough to chase away the dark entirely, but maybe it was the tether that she needed to a world that wasn’t so completely consumed by sorrow. Cassian’s fingers were so warm around her own, still holding tight to her even after she’d spent so long pushing him away - pushing all of them away - and for the first time in twelve months, she wanted to let herself feel that warmth, to let it sink into her bones.
“Come on,” he said, giving her hand another small tug. His smile turned somewhat conspiratorial, his voice dropping to a whisper. “If we’re quick we can sneak down to the wine cellar. I know where Rhys keeps the good stuff.”
The retort bloomed in Nesta’s throat— a cutting remark waiting on her tongue about how she didn’t want anything from Rhysand, not even his most expensive wine. A scowl threatened to twist her lips, but when Cassian waggled a single eyebrow as if to say, well? What do you say? she felt the words die on her tongue, turning to ash as she pushed the scowl back. For too long, the sharpness had been her only defence, the only armour she could call on. But with Cassian’s hand wrapped around her own and the small smirk at the corner of his lips somehow telling her they were in this together…
Maybe she didn’t need the armour.
Not all the time. Not with him.
After all, he had taken her hand when she was hurting and hadn’t flinched as she spat and cursed. He had let her sharpen her claws, but had been there to bring her back when she needed it, when he realised that those claws were cutting her to ribbons too, and so this time, when Cassian tilted his head in a silent question and squeezed her hand one more time…
Nesta nodded.
Because she didn’t want the next year to be like the last, and she didn’t think she could do it alone, and he was there, holding her hand and throwing a smile over his shoulder as he led her from the dining room and towards the kitchen, headed right for the door leading down to the cellars beneath. And even though the grief inside her continued to snarl and writhe and claw, Nesta felt her steps fall in line with his and thought that as long as she wasn’t alone, as long as he was there, waiting to pick her up when she fell down…
Well, she thought as she squeezed his hand in return, maybe the next twelve months would turn out better than the last.
New Taglist: (If you want to be added or removed, let me know!) @asnowfern , @podemechamardek , @c-e-d-dreamer ,@lady-winter-sunrise , @starryblueskies7, @melphss , @that-little-red-head , @misswonderflower , @fwiggle , @tanishab, @xstarlightsupremex @burningsnowleopard , @hiimheresworld , @wannawriteyouabook , @hereforthenessian @kale-theteaqueen
68 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Garden Without Impurity
A Homelander x GN Reader fic one-shot
A/N: Should be working on my other fics but i needed to get this out me system, inspired by a conversation I had in this site and watching the apothecary diaries, not an expert on chinese harem systems but i based this sort of on the Qin Dynasty system bcuz it was like the simpliest, like those emperors got around a lot… this is more drabble than fic-fic but i hope y’all enjoy.
Tags: light smut, 3-some, bilander, dark topics, not proofread I die here, non-canon complaint/canon-divergent, takes place in who knows, traditional polygamy, no dialogue here btw, Homelander being himself, light gore.
Word Count: 5K
Synopsis: You’re a member of Homelander harem, this is but a documentation of that.
Homelander was always a lonely man perpetually hunting after love, for anybody who could give him attention, who would want him. He clung easily to lovers, too young at first to notice how easily he could be tricked into becoming nothing but a trophy fuck, too inmature to notice how his behaviour frightened them in the long run, and the more and more he was hurt the worse he became, all he’d learned was how to hide his anguish– turning him dangerously bitter.
Lovers came easy but just as easily they left– either scared straight by an army of lawyers, handsomely compensated or increasingly more often in pine boxes… crisis management meetings became so commonplace they began to be run on emails.
He was a man desperate for love– so much love to give but nobody could ever give him an ounce of what he needed, an ounce of what he gave, he was hungry for intimate devotion and adoration, the public could only give him bites sizes but it was fading and quick, and his mind steadily warping from this unfulfilled primal need.
Lovers couldn’t handle how pushy he became, how possessive and controlling he could become, how he wished to monopolize everything– so it was a problem, his sickly nature only wisthand by those contractually obligated to tolerate him, Maeve who had been so perfect until the downstairs neighbors logged less and less noise complaints as their passion cool and soured and Madelyn whose allure came in how untouchable she was, how forbidden she was, how much of a special occasion she had to be, and well rumors circulated involving Mr. Edgar but nobody ever dared to discuss it much.
Porn seem to alleviate some issues but the poor team in-charge of monitoring his online usage had filed formal complaint about having to be subjected to so much ‘stepmom porn’ and increasingly bizarre fetishes, whether he watched them to get off or not was unknown but once he switched the porn to browsing r/watchpeopledie– a meeting had to be made and this time it was in person.
It was hard to pin-point the exact moment a suit suggested this solution– it was merely a joke but no matter how thick these walls were it would never be missed by Homelander, who indulge them.
And the project began to take place, with the end goal to provide him with company, and a controlled environment for Vought overseeing… a facility where the damage would be limited to seven floors and 30 large and luxurious condos.
Legally this building was just one of the many owned by Vought– like many other megacorps it was no surprise Vought dab in real estate, owning a couple buildings around the city to provide employee accommodation much like their Silicon Valley competition. After selecting the small building that once simply served as their own service apartments to accommodate shareholders, the project began to take place.
Homelander found it amusing, interested as to what things were going… surprised about how much he was looking forward to this, much to his chagrin– Homelander was very much a man and at the thought of being supplied with sex on tap he was quite happy to play along giving it a fair-go for a few weeks then forget about it after the novelty faded.
The first iteration was an utter failure, simply nothing but a duped “Playboy” Mansion, women who were paid to seduce him and become available whenever he desired– they were boring, they weren’t there for him, they were there for the paycheck and presents, for the free rent and the possibility of becoming his favorite perhaps.
It was dull.
Painfully dull, nothing different from what he was doing, only it was kept behind closely guarded doors and managed by the company that micromanaged everything else in his life.
Dull Lovers who barely pretended to care, who rolled their eyes when he wanted to talk about his interest, who looked at their phones during the good scenes of his favorite films, who signed when he wished to be held, who gave no enthusiastic response at anything but Versace and Jimmy Choo’s.
He felt the ever growing emptiness spread further like a cancerous mass.
As he sat alone sinking on his couch flipping channels in the dark and his eyes finally grew heavy for the night– his fingers stopped in some show about a man trying to balance having four wives, the scenario intrigued him… a man married to several women who seemed enamored with him despite all the drama in the background… These women on his screen weren’t like the ones provided… they weren’t his… They didn’t love him nor wanted to devote themselves to him, they were just high paid prostitutes– even the women at the Playboy Mansion he had met seemed to have a better relationship to the old creep than his own had to him– he wasn’t special or interesting to them.
It was transactional and the affection unconvincing, unlike this man’s wives who seemed to care about him, who didn’t look forward to meeting other men or keep in touch with old John’s and sold their feet pics online to just any guy.
Vought or the public would never allow him to have a dozen wives, he wasn’t even a Mormon, officially he was an Evangelical just in name not in practice so he couldn’t simply adopt the church's views nor was he interested in even more rigid rules… I mean he did enjoy a cup of coffee every once in a blue moon and he certainly had a spicy tongue.
It took a lot of trial and error and plenty of lawyers too.
But a single joke turned into this…
You had been there for quite a long time, you seen plenty of pretty faces come and go, most left because they disliked the system in place– had they simply bothered to glance the wikipedia article on Chinese harem practices before signing the dotted line their grievances would have been lessened… altho calling yourself a polygamist might not even been an applicable label– after all his rules made it difficult to do so.
You had simply been a low-level intern when Homelander first laid eyes on you all those years ago.
He watched you for a long time and you watched him with the same intensity, he was a pretty thing, he had a quirky laugh that veer into cackle territory, his hands were as soft as the rest of him and above all you could tell pretty early on that there was a hunger inside him unmatched by anything else.
No lover before had ever made you feel so wanted, he made you feel as if he was born for you, no lover ever devoured you with a single look… it was desperate.
When have you ever felt this desire before? You asked yourself the more intense this became.
You never experience the titillation and the fear that his hunger inspired in you, the way he touched and explored every inch of your skin inside that broom closet made you fear for your life, as if he would feast on you and gnaw at your bones like a dog with a fresh treat, that one spicy rendezvous after office hours quickly became a regular occurrence and he never had enough.
Neither did you.
His gentleness hid praise worthy self-control, he molded his performance after what made you feel best but you would soon learn it was performance– you were puddy in his hands as he trapped you with this pleasure.
To be yearned for was different, he wanted all your free time to be for him, to ignore all the pretty faces and nameless ass that crossed your sight and devote yourself to him, he was honest about wanting you, about wanting you to love him just as much as he could love you.
Made worse by the fact that you had no qualms with the worst of his personality your fights and arguments as unhealthy as anybody else but always over petty things, never about the nights he soaked the carpet with some miscreant chunky remains, after all you had to be a bit loopy and unhinge to look at him as if he was the only source of light in the cave that was your life.
It was a long courtship before he told you about ‘The Gardens’. At first you simply thought it was another luxury building stuck in Manhattan but behind the doorman and reception clerk was a building only inhabited by lovers.
It wasn’t easy to digest– but floor to ceiling windows, private drivers and Hermes boxes demonstrate to your ego that you might have a price… The 6 figure allowance certainly made your stomach drop as you accepted new found facts about yourself… this was not counting any extra presents– after all your job would be to stay pretty and interesting for him.
You certainly had your suspicions but you had been quite enamored with the Supe, unable to look away from those cornflower blues and the sad expression painting his face as he began to suspect your rejection, the palpable anguish he was trying so hard to contain. Accepting simply to do a few excessive sessions of retail therapy on his dime to recover from the shock, coming in thinking he will grow bored of you soon enough and you could commence the healing process afterwards.
But you never left ‘The Gardens’, the people who ran the building would refer to you as the Noble Consort with the Empress or Imperial Noble Consort reserved for whoever Homelander was dating for the papers (altho you would have given the title of Stillwell for the longest time), to your disbelief you found enjoyment in this arrangement, your were free to pursue whatever you wanted for money was now not a problem– all those hobbies you had abandoned, halted and wished to explore were now back on the table, a new career change or education now a possibility, even pursuing a lifelong passion or dream was available, as long as you kept pretty and keep his favor.
There were other rules of course… Nobody besides Homelander could be in your life. Sex-work was out of the question once somebody took residency in one of the handful of luxury condos. Not involving oneself romantically with any of the other concubines or anybody was also a major rule. He demanded a vow of secrecy as well obviously– telling anybody about the arrangement specially online or the media, and you would have a head on your front door… you would have prefered a finger, a tooth or a kidney like the others on your floor but he left the brainless severed head on yours.
You were certain that Vought kept a dystopian level of watch over your digital footprint while you no longer worked with Vought and did your thing… you heard the rumor of a shadow department whose whole job was to watch this place– it wasn’t really out of the realm of possibility after all Homelander was worth billions to them… and if not Homelander was there watching somehow.
Which is how you end up with having to call somebody to pick up and puzzle the old concubine back together.
He was The Emperor and thus you had to act like a noble, anybody caught breaking his rules would be in more than a little trouble– Homelander was quite cruel once a lover lost his fancy.
But not as cruel as the other residents when they sensed somebody trying to plant the seeds of discourse, threats to the system were ever present whenever he brought a new concubine, those who survived the longer kept the peace.
A mixture of jealousy and self-preservation feed the cruelty… after all these years you liked your comfortable life and so did the others– those with more expensive taste to your own, those whose families were partially supported by Homelander (if he was aware or not was not yours or his problem) those who loved him and didn’t wish to part, and those who needed his support to make sure even if he grew bored with them they had a back-up to their back-up, none who would risk losing it all just because some new lover wanted him all for himself– they had no grace about it and would soon realize that tribalistic nature of humans… unless somebody whispered sweetly in John’s ear and prevented the carnage.
Unsure as to why anybody would want to monopolize him as if this entire building wasn’t a red flag about how pointless that was, you discussed with the others.
He was more than an armful, he was too much even for you who obsessed so easily with him, who demanded his attention and affection but ultimately unable to match just how much he needed in return, you stopped disliking this new life because Homelander would never be satiated, because he would wear you down to a stub, because he would scare you away if you didn’t find a way to get breathing room, more for his sake than your own. You loved him, you wanted to hold tight but if he kept going you would let go of his hand mid-flight and the thought of hating him or falling out of love with him filled you with dread.
You needed him on a cellular level, you joked in the past as you talked to a neighbor, who understood you as he laughed.
It stung for a long time to live this way– You just made it look easy.
But you made it, and it earned you some perks.
You checked your agenda to make sure that time had come around, you weren’t called the Noble Consort for nothing– he would reserve you even outside your birthday week.
8.3 million people in this city and he could make sure you felt like the only one in this town.
Perpetually charming you thought as he landed inthe balcony with your favorite chocolate and flowers.
If Homelander had to explain why he kept you the longest it was how you talked to him earnestly, you treated him as if he was not just a celeb but a husband, how happy you always were too see him, how you always clung to his shoulders even before his boots touched the ground and how quickly you always dragged him inside worried he would get sick from the cold winds, even if he went weeks without seeing you in person you never let him see it, it was as if no matter how long it had pass you couldn’t care less, only the now you experienced together mattered.
He wondered if this was how sailors felt when they came back home after a lengthy tour, if it was warm like this.
No matter how long this had been going on for– your love was genuine, he even thought of you as a weekend masochist for putting up with his whims, but you took him as he was and that was something special… something worth keeping… worth protecting.
He could snuggle in your chest all he wanted, he knew your fingers would scratch his scalp without command, he would find your warmth either gifted by your words or your core.
A perfect spouse to him, he would whisper to himself when you slept or when he missed you, in this intimacy he knew he would stay with you, the only one who understood what this place was all about, who was this emperor’s favorite.
Now when it came to sex–the life of his concubine wasn’t sexless… you doubted the man actually lived in his actual penthouse all the way up in Vought Tower, he might use it to change suits or pick up his mail, for he would share somebody else’s bed every night, if he didn’t you would find out at the lobby, perks of knowing everybody in the building was that rumors traveled quickly and plans of actions would be organized in elevators… so your bed was not infrequent and during your weeks he would always sleep there.
You keep a spare pair of his boots and gloves that didn’t came with the apartment, which said a lot about how infrequently did he slept at his legal address and your longevity in this palace– what did came was a toothbrush, comb, some of his skincare products and extra-creamy milk restocked frequently more so these days.
These private weeks were both sugary and bitter, date nights and cuddling lazily on the couch as he spoke of his day and listened to yours, you spoke a lot catching up with lost time while he washed your back and you washed his hair, knowing he would leave soon enough and return to some girl back in the tower or go downstairs.
And as your week ended he would treat you to something adventurous.
You kissed him in the upper courtyard by the warm dim lights surrounded by whistling shrubs, the night was starting to grow cold, draping his cape around you for your comfort, he moaned as your lips suckled on his neck savoring the feel of your tongue as you drew lines on chin, slowly melting on your sweltering heat, your hand taking his thigh with a firm squeeze teasing him as they came close to his member, kissing until lips bruised and blood inked his tongue, you kissed until his jaw started to numb and his cock leaked with anticipation, being uphere where somebody might see always excited him, he had already baptized every bench in this courtyard but it didn’t lose his splendor just yet.
His hips buckle as your hand finally gave him much needed affection, hearing your muscles push as hard as they could against him, mewling as you chuckled with delight at his reactions, his eyes so hazy.
Trembling as your hand left him, you pulled at his belt watching him blush as he remembered that the one thing you lacked was super strength, you leaned back as he swiftly began to lower his tights, throwing his belt to the ground so the cold steel wouldn’t make you shudder.
His cock was hard, crying rivers into the cold wind until your lips kissed it better.
He made no attempt to conceal his moaning, growling as your teeth grazed the sensitive head, he was unapologetically loud, this was the one place where he forgo all his acting lessons, nor did you want him to be quiet it made you excited to hear him moan, he just sounded so needy– cute too… and tonite he was obscenely loud, animalistic even, grunting and growling as your drooled unto your chin and made his thigh slippery, as you took his cock down to the base, licking down his taint, he lifted his legs adjusting his position to follow your tongue, whining and panting as you pleasured him, aggressively pumping at his cock as you suck gently on his balls.
You look up from half-lid eyes drowning on your own pleasure, he came with ease coating your throat with his thick salty cum but just as quickly as he came he would come back up and just as hard as a minute ago– you made it into a game to see how many times you could make him cum before he begged you to let him do it inside you for that was the only way to kill his battery. Pumping his shaft with short and quick pump focusing on the mid-length as to deprive his crying tip taking sadistic delight in knowing that he wanted you to touch the tip immediately but being too far gone to asks for it clearly as he mumbled incoherently behind his breathy wanton, his hips following the rhythm of your hands and tongue.
A shaky smile crossed his lips as the consort took pity on him, you chuckled knowing you won an unspoken bet with your downstairs neighbor, pulling their hair out of the way as their head went up and down and lips grazed your fingers.
You climbed up letting your fellow concubine enjoy themselves in this debauchery.
Biting on his ears as you whispered what you wished to do with him, calling him by his name with a sweetness that tingled something scary inside him.
Homelander laughed weakly against you, his hand pulling on the other’s hair gently, he spouts his orders, throwing the cushions unto the ground you both give each other giddy looks as the man pulls you down with him with the last bit of composure he had before burying his face with your crotch, one hand kept your hips in place and the other held his other concubine hand, gasping against you as the other took him, you saw red– it was not a competition but you did not want him to only focus on the warm enveloping his cock.
All that filled the air were your choir of moans above his muffled coos and whines as you fucked his mouth, his tongue doing his best to keep up, eyes rolling back as you took fistfuls of his hair pulling harshly distracting him so much that he had begun to run of breath, as he ate everything and swallowed desperately, trying to concentrate on the feeling developing his tongue and lips and the sweet musky scent drowing him, fading with a twsited smile as you fucked him earnestly and harshly, he loved it when he was made into a bitch, he would never say it outloud of course– like many things in this building it went unspoken, but you could tell that all the old residents shared a certain quality to them.
Men and women who provided something everybody was afraid of giving to him before.
You’d seen him cling to men and women who wished to mark him, who told him that he was as much their property as they were his.
That proved their love was not superficial… It was genuine.
Or genuine enough for him.
He moaned and bucked his hips pathetically, yearning to reach the furthest parts of you, filling you, to feel his own cum foaming within you as he fucked you.
Moving you quickly, glad that this time he had thought ahead with these cushions for your knees would be bleeding and burning otherwise– it was all hazy at this point, all you knew was his name, the cold wind hardening your nipples, and the sound of his hips slapping into you as he whimpered with a mixture of desperation and pleasure, he finger fucked your companion, hands fucking his lover just as fast and hard to have the concubine running out of breath begging Homelander to not dare stop, making a mess of themselves on his fingers, coating them as their hole squelched and sucked him right back in, as the man grew pleased with the sight, your hands interlocked squeezing hard as they rode their orgasm to a happy end.
You caught a ruby glimpse reflecting in a metal bench nearby, you gulped knowing you had to think quickly.
Turning your face and arching your back as you begged him to hold you.
Coming loudly letting your knees and elbows give up, letting him push you down with his weight, always surprised how heavy those silly golden eagles are, you couldn’t believe his shoulders weren’t stiff 24/7, with a satisfied chuckle he waits for you both to snuggle with him.
The other urges him to take it into their apartment for it was getting cold and they sure didn’t want to catch a cold.
He half-begrudgingly agreed, wishing deep down to go a few more rounds outside but as he felt your goosebumps he took you both inside urgently.
Your hands never touched after that, Homelander ever so vigilant of both your movements, all you could do was hope the concubine would learn just how stringent and absurd John could be, fearful that anybody would dare hold affections to anybody but him.
You kissed his neck, nuzzling against him as he watched the sleeping concubine coldly, arguing with himself if they had meant to break the rules.
Whispering his name as he squeezed your stomach, soothing his unspoken anxiety he let go of those thoughts.
He returned your affections, easing into him as you fed off his warmth.
You whispered quietly, enjoying each other, easing his worries.
This was a peculiar life but in these quiet moments it was like any other.
In these moments it all felt perfectly normal, the world might never get it entirely and you yourself struggled with it at times but when you woke up to his kisses on your chest as he found a way to turn into the little spoon while the other sneaked to the toilet, you certainly didn’t want to change things.
Not one bit.
#homelander#homelander x reader#the boys fanfic#homelander fanfiction#personal#my fic tag#homelander x you#tempted to write a little series on these but if anybody wants to write about concubines feel free#on my behalf#might come back and re-edit this
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
having a tav that's a Lloth-sworn life domain cleric of a noble background who before getting yeeted into the nautiloid was a sacrificial priestess (gn) during one of the cycles of Drow society and had their own altar and temple under their care, means Solune would have the most insane however many minutes they spent interacting with Minthara and I am obsessed about it.
As far as I'm conceptualising it, I'm thinking of Lloth as extremely Ungoliant-like. Goddess of hunger, goddess of wanting and consumption, goddess of excess and exuberance, goddess who unmasked the hypocritical gods of starvation, guilt and purity into a society that cherishes a certain kind of clarity about the double standard they impose. For Drow are evil for their wars and their wanting and their taking, but those other people with their other gods kill, warmonger and enslave with no regard and no self-awareness, calling the indignation about receiving scraps from a bunch of silent, unrepentant gods, "guilt and shame". There is violence in denial and her Children will not suffer it.
In the season of Life, they do not sacrifice the unwilling. It is taboo. The only sacrifice that matters is the desire to be devoured and destroyed by the things you love the most.
And Solune sees Minthara and is like fucking finally, someone rational enough to get what I'm going through, that they're losing their mind that their life was taken from them and if they become this other thing, if they transform, if they do not remain Luxe Solune Mizzmyrra, Life Knife of Lloth, they're never going to be able to be reintegrated into that life. They will die away from home, from their temple, from their (first) spouse, from their mother and their siblings and there won't be the day when they too succumb to the knife, when it is time, when the day they no longer feel hunger comes.
And then the parasite gives them an in into Minthara thinking she was raised from the darkness into a FALSE GOD? One thing you do not do is steal from Lady Lloth, and oh my god, there could've been a time, a chance that existed only in ignorance, of Solune lending a hand to Minthara but this to them is unforgivable because Solune is genuinely a good friend to their friends, but if you keep peeking into whatever mindset nobility and religious authority has given them it's like realising your friend is a cesspool of "what the actual and everliving fuck", and when the knife of the morningstar priestess comes down on Minthara it won't be with love but with absolute rage, grief and disgust and I will be thinking about this for evermore. Thanks, I'm not well
#bg3#bg: solune#minthara#i love Solune they're so fun to build with because it's like sometimes organically they will reach the same conclusion as Wyll about sth#(I did NOT expect them to get along but he is their highest approval followed by Lae'zel)#but it's someone who has such an Alien concept of society to literally everyone else in the party. Solune is (fundamentally!!!) land owning#power concentrating nobility and no matter what they do not matter what conclusion their reach this specific brand of social conservativism#and verticality informs them to their very core. however also and cannot be dismissed that bc of how I'm conceptualising Lloth#(sorry but to write a vertical society that just brutalises itself what is this? western europe? fuck off)#Solune is by some contradiction one of the most You Do You people possible. but like. to a weird extreme and a wouldn't thou like to live#deliciously manner. oh you want to be FREE from your past then BE IT. oh you want to find your place in the world? then let that place#consume you and change you forever until the day there is no more than hungers in you and you can truly say you have lived#terrible enabling force but also extreme nurturing capacity#and above all they want that life back and sympathise with those feelings so well#but if there is one thing they cannot stand and that they will maim you on the spot about is heresy against lloth because you were not give#the gift of unmasking the hypocrisy of the gods of the above to waste yourself turning your back against the underdark jewels of Drow citie#there where the darkness does not mean shadows but the glimmering light of jewels. what do you mean some people live unfair lives?#well have they thought living better???#i'm obsessed with Solune and whatever the fuck is wrong with them (it's money. it's having money)
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
The "Valicer In The Dark Meets Baldur's Gate III" Not-Incorrect Quotes/Shitpost Collection
(Don't worry too much about spoilers -- most of this is early-game stuff, with just a couple of things relating to stuff in Act II)
--
Alice: [having just met Lae'zel on the Nautiloid and been informed of the situation with the parasites] And who are you, exactly?
Lae'zel: Who am I? Your only chance of survival.
[later, after the imps have been fought, and everyone's met back up and freed Shadowheart:]
Victor: [introducing himself as they get back on the move] I'm Victor.
Alice: I'm Alice. [pointing to Lae'zel] And this is Only.
Lae'zel: ?
Alice: Well, you've given me nothing else to call you.
--
Shadowheart: [after being informed the trio live in a world without a sun and that's why they're being so weird about the sky being blue] I -- are you Shar's Chosen? Is this some sort of test? Am I not supposed to believe you when you say you like sunlight? I can totally not believe you if that's the case!
Alice: ...I feel like we've missed something.
Smiler: [lying down and sunbathing] Yeah, it's in the sky above us.
--
Withers: What is the worth of a single mortal's life?
Victor: I -- I would say priceless. You can't put a value on life itself.
Alice: I say it's worth whatever you're willing to pay to defend it. Only the owner of said life can set the value.
Smiler: I'm pretty sure the standard rate of assassins in Duskwall is four Coin minimum -- not sure how that translates to your money.
Victor & Alice: [look at Smiler]
Smiler: What? It's a legitimate answer!
--
Withers: I shall be here, in thy camp, for whenever thou has need of my services.
Alice: Oh? What kind of services do you offer?
Withers: A mending of the threads between life and death. Should thou or any of thy compatriots perish, I will cleave soul to body once more.
Victor: Cleave soul to -- wait a minute, isn't that how you get vampires?
Astarion: [rearranging his tent, pauses and gives them a really weird look]
--
Alice: [during one of the meetings with Raphael] You do seem like a very powerful devil.
Raphael: [preening] I consider myself no slouch, yes.
Smiler: [cheerfully] I bet your blood could power an entire city block for a month!
Raphael: [blink blink] ...thank...you?
--
Strange Ox: Ah, you're addressing me. A humble ox. How...quaint.
Smiler: [tilting their head] What are you?
Strange Ox: As I said, a humble ox. I don't know why you're --
Smiler: No, I mean, what's an ox?
Strange Ox: ...
--
Smiler: [standing behind a table lined with eight samples of the same Potion Of Glorious Vaulting, with Victor, Alice, and the companions all gathered around the front of it] Thank you all for coming to this blind taste test, where we will be disproving the idiotic notion that you only need one specific ingredient per potion to create something that does what you want it to. In front of you are eight individual Potions of Glorious Vaulting, each made with a different type of Ashes -- I would like you each to drink one, test the effects, then rate it based on how strong the effects were, how long they lasted, and how tasty it was.
Wyll: You care about the taste?
Smiler: Of course! If we're going to be making potions, the least we could do is make them pleasant to consume! We're working toward maximum happiness here! Now everybody pick one and let's get jumping!
--
Gale: [realizing the trio isn't with them as they move through the mind flayer colony under Moonrise] Hold -- where's Victor, Alice, and Smiler?
Karlach: I think I saw them looking at a cage in the last room.
Lae'zel: Chk -- they should know by now that we cannot pause and look at every little thing that --
Smiler: [rejoining the group carrying a certain intellect devourer, beaming, as Victor and Alice come up behind them] Hey everyone!
Lae'zel: [stares at the brain] ...
Astarion: Why are you carrying an intellect --
Lae'zel: THAT. THING. SURVIVED?!
Us: Hello Angry Friend!
Lae'zel: I'M NOT YOUR FRIEND
--
Aylin: [after everyone's agreed to meet up with her and Isobel again later at the camp] Now -- you will leave us. We must take succour in one another's bodies and words.
Isobel: Aylin. We'll see you later.
Victor: [hiding a smile] Of course.
Alice: [biting back a chuckle] Later.
Smiler: [big beaming grin and a double thumbs up] Enjoy the hot lesbian sex!
Victor: Smiler!
Aylin: I intend to.
Isobel: AYLIN.
#valicer in the dark au#baldur's gate 3#bg3#bg3 spoilers#(very minor ones nothing for Act III but I guess there's a little bit for Act II here)#not incorrect quotes#had probably more fun with these than I should have#Lae'zel cracks and tells Alice her name when she tells 'Only' and Shadowheart not to fight before they reach the helm#Alice of courses persists in calling her 'Only' when she's annoyed with her#and Smiler is like 'VINDICATED' when Withers admits that resurrecting people is a matter of coin#'see I told you he might want the economics answer!'#also yes ghosts possessing soulless bodies is how you get vampires in Duskwall#not to mention most of them suck life straight out of other people#a blood-drinker like Astarion is unusual there#as for the 'blood could power a city block'#most of the electroplasmic power that helps light up Duskwall comes from leviathan blood#and leviathans are a large form of devil#so it really was meant as a compliment XD#and yes I looked at how alchemy worked in the game#and Smiler was immediately like 'what do you mean ANY SALT'#they take their craft seriously damn it XD#and also you should be allowed to hug Us#put that in the next patch Larian#queued
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
I LOVE YOU DOTTORE I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU SO MUCB IT HURTYS I LOVE UUUUUUUUU
YIPE!!!!! M i loev yiu !!! :D my husban
You are my everythinf i lobe u !!! when it is dark out u are my light and u make me so happy!!!!!! everday i am happy bevausw of u!!!
yay!!!! WHEN I DO NOT HAVE U I AM SAD AND LONELY AND I AM SAD..... I AM VERY SAD WITHOUT YOU. I am upset. but it is ok BECAUSE u are always with me!!!!!! Yay!!!!!! :D everywhere I go I see u.... 💕💕💕💕💕😊😊😭😊💕💕 ai love u dotore u are my life and u live you
(sorry accienrly did the bullet point too lazy to fix it lol)
I LOVE U SO MUCH DOTTORE YOU ARE MY EVERYTHING IN LIFE WHENEVER IM FEELING DOWN I LOOK AT YOU AND MY FROEN TURNS UPSIDE DOWN!!! :D
I Love you so much you.makr me so happy Dottore i love you
*kisses dottore and blushies* :3 I LOVE YOU!!!!
dottore: *kisses me back* Affectionate today are we?
me: ya!!! YIPPE!!!!!
i lovr him. thatb was just a peak jnto our bewutiful marriage because we are so happy together i even have a ring that he made me <3 it shoot laser its pretty cool
i look uo at dottor with big eyes and i ask for kiss!!! and he give me kiss !!!! YAY!!!!!!!!!!!
i literlay lovr dottoreso much im ill i love him so much I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM
I wish he eas real!!!!!! IF GOD EXISTS I DEMAND HE BESTOW ME MY SILLY. RIGHT NOW!!! I dont think he would want to see mr when im mad. Lets just say... i can be pretty scary when i reveal my true form😈
I will find a way to make him real. I will.
I WILL TEAR THROUGH THE CLOUDS IN THE SKY AND BEND THOSE PEARLY GATES OPEN LIKE IM A PITBULL. I WILL MAKE MY WAY THROUGH THAT GOLDEN AND HOLY CITY TO DESTROY THAT THROWN AND GET MY BLORBO. I WILL FIND A WAY. AND IF IT IS NOT GOD WHO FORSAKES ME. I WILL FIND THAT TWINKASS DEVIL AND FORCE HIM TO RELEASE MY MAN FROM WHATEVER CIRCLE HE IS LOCKED IN. I WILL CRAWL THROUGH EACH LAYER UNTIL I REACH HIS. I WILL GO THROUGH A MILLION INFERNOS FOR DOTTORE. A MILLION YEARS IS NOTHING IN THE PURSUIT OF MY ONE TRUE LOVE.
nothing can hold me back my love is stronger than that of the heavens and the hells
i love you dottroe !!! i love every single you!!!! you are my beautiful husband and I love you!! you are so smart and amazing and you are so aweaome!!! even thiugh other throw rocks at you I will shield u 💕😊😊😊😊💕💕🥰I will bear the pain of the stones for you my loev 😍😍😍😍🥰😍🥰😍😍🥰😍🥰😍🥰😍 bcuz I lov3 u!!!! You are my everything!!!!!! i love you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I want to grab that waist of yours and swing you around... I'll show everone ehy nobody messes with my kitten. I dont play around. I protect those I love. Dottore i love you!!!!!
i love you so mych u love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love yoi i l9g3 uou i love yeoue eioe eloeve uoeie ie leoev eyoi ieleieke ekoev eui e leove you I lobe you SO MUCH I LORV YOU SO MUCH IT WILL NEVRR FIT A WORD LIMIT NO MATTER HOW BIG!!!! MY LOVE ONLY GROWS EVERY DAY. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH DOTTORE. YOU ARE MY EVERYTHING IN LIFE.
yippe!!!!!!!!! chicke abbudibcjodoonsoninxubbucjiwijind I love dotore we are so halpy and i like chicke!!!! we have 363 chickens and we are so happy tohether!!!! i live u dottore!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
dottore: I love you too Absol
me: *blushes and then we make out*
Yippe!!!!!!!!! :D I love dottore so much!!!!! Yippe!!!
I look at him like this with so much love and happiness in my eyes... I love u dottoreee....I will never stop loving you!!!!!!!!!! i will repeat it to the skies however many times I need to get my wish to come true. I love you dottore!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH DOTTORE!!!!! I LOVE YOU!!!
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
The Ghost Prince does not, under any circumstances, answer a summoning after it was made aware he existed. None know why he doesn't, some are bitter and hateful of it while others are thankful that it's one less bloodthirsty manic to deal with.
The Ghost King meanwhile hasn't been seen in multiple eons, so the magical community who wanted to use his power just, stopped, trying to summon him for a long time.
Most magic users knew that the Ghost Prince never answered a summons, and that the Ghost King just dropped off the radar.
So could you really blame Constantine for not taking it that seriously when some wannabe hotshot cultists try to summon both of them in the middle of a city to wreak havoc?
He'll give them some credit though. Points for doing it in broad daylight and actually being somewhat of a threat with not relying on just summoning the Ghost royalty and figuring out what to do from there.
The area they were in was somewhat destroyed, then the cultists manage to complete the summoning circle to summon both of them and Constantine, well he just light up a smoke.
It isn't going to work anyways so what does it matter?
...
Is that a fucking Ice cream truck he hears? Who the fuck is driving an Ice cream truck while their city is being under attacked with cultists trying to summon eldritch ghost royalty?
He'll give them some points for dedication, though.
Then he looked at the cultists and nearly had a goddamn heart attack to see that the summoning circle is actually fucking lighting up and working.
The Bat is so gonna give him a headache over this.
----
Danny Phantom, crown prince of the Infinite Realms. Does not answer summons.
For one, it is annoying as shit, whenever someone interrupts his day just to ask for infinite power (that he can't give), world domination (that he won't do) or infinite riches (which he also can't do).
It just got annoying being summoned all the time so. One day he just, well, no. And hey, it worked out well enough for him to not continue doing it.
Then he also learned that Pariah Dark is basically the same, after he got out the coffin and stopped trying to take over the world for whatever reason. He was actually a pretty swell guy!
He was just with him too, with him being not so swell at the time for making him go through lessons about Ghost etiquette, rules, stuff that's expected of him as the crown prince.
And don't even get him started on the engagement and marriage proposals.
Overall, he just wanted to find an excuse to leave. Then he felt the familiar suggestive pull of a summoning and, instead of rejection as he usually does in a second. He thought for a bit if he wanted to go with that or crown prince duties.
It was tempting, but dealing with cultists seemed worse than this so he was about to reject.
At least, before he heard an Ice cream truck playing in the background. He doesn't even know how the hell that popped up through the pull but by the gods has it been a while since he's had Ice cream.
So he answers and is gone with a pop.
Pariah Dark just stares for a good second or two, before breathing out and deciding to also answer. Fright Knight is just there, off to side, questioning what he should do now.
Danny wastes no time with the cultists on the other side and in fact, he pushes them out of the way and goes diving for that Ice cream truck he hears. Only to realize he doesn't, have any money on him.
Fuck.
Pariah Dark is less inclined to follow the rules imposed by humans like money, but he does know it can be important. Once in a while. Not that often, but it has its times.
So when he sees his adopted son being sad over being unable to pay for some kind of human delicacy, he digs around in his hair (yes, his hair.) and pulls out some money and puts it on the counter as payment.
The man inside the tiny vehicle had shrieked before getting what they wanted. Which is good. Fear is a good motivator, Pariah thinks.
Unknown to him, it wasn't out of fear (Well, mostly) but because the Ghost King placed down a coin made of pure, solid gold on his counter.
The two then go about their business in the human realm, completely forgetting about the fact that they were summoned here for something.
Constantine is both relieved and about to have an aneurysm at seeing Infinite Realm royalty only answering a summon because of Ice cream.
#dc x dp#dp x dc#dp x dc crossover#pariah dark#john constantine#The Ghost King and Prince are known to not answer summons#both for different reasons#But Danny instantly answers one because he heard an Ice cream truck in the background#Pariah followed because he at first wanted to get Danny back to Crown Prince lessons#Only to be swayed by his puppies eyes and the absolute delicacy that is Ice cream#Pariah Dark is stuck in the medieval times in terms of money#He would literally pull out gold coins and pay for shit that way#He is rich rich#Like basically a neigh infinite supply of gold coins he keeps in his hair#Don't ask him how just ghost logic#They then spent the day going around to Ice cream shops and taste testing them#Poor Fright Knight is left alone wondering what he should do#Word spreads in the magical community about this and everyone tries it out#It does work#But if there isn't actually Ice cream you'll have an angry Ghost Prince to deal with#And an angry Ghost Prince leads to a less than cordial Ghost King
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
So does anyone remember that post that was like "Robin and Eddie meet when she does that thing that's like 'hello, please pretend you know me so I can get away from this person' then Steddie happens?" Because I do. I cannot for the life of me find it. If anyone knows the post I'm talking about please let me know so I can link it, this is very much not my idea, it's that persons idea but the brain worms got me so here we are. 🤷♀️
We found it! It's this post by @wynnyfryd Thank you Anon! Obviously I went in a different direction with it but this post was 100% my inspiration so thank you for helping me find it!
AO3 link for those asking! 🖤
Robin should be royally pissed off with herself right now. She would be if she wasn’t so damn scared.
That guy was still trailing behind her, no matter the twists and turns she’d taken down different streets trying to lose him and the only thing she’d gained from it was to get totally and completely lost. It could be something completely innocent, the guy might be coincidentally going in the same direction as her but she wasn’t willing to give him the benefit of the doubt if it meant keeping herself alive.
The distance between the two of them was slowly closing as she was followed through the dark and empty streets of the city, hoping, praying for some kind of shop or restaurant or something to make an appearance so she could hide inside but apparently Robin was able to find the one street in this city where everything was either closed for the night or boarded up.
Her heart was pounding in her ears and the beginnings of tears were starting to sting her eyes and all she could think of was how sick with worry Steve was going to be in the morning when he woke up to no missed calls, no missed texts and no Robin. She’d scoffed at him hours earlier when he’d offered to go to the ‘work thing’ with her but she'd told him she was a big girl and she could look after herself and not to be such a worrywart mom.
And now she had no idea where her phone had gone, if she'd left it behind or dropped it somewhere, no idea where she was and no idea of what she was going to do.
If she’d been a bit more present in her head she probably would have noticed the loud, braying, male laughter coming from just ahead of her and crossed the street to avoid them before it was obvious she was avoiding them. But as it was she could barely see straight through her tears and panicked tunnel vision while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the slowly encroaching guy behind her. She was practically already in the group’s space and one of them had definitely already seen her though he didn’t pay her any attention.
But even through her blurred vision and panic, she finally registered what exactly she was looking at. Four men standing around the entrance to what looked like the diviest of empty dive bars, chain smoking and being as loud as humanly possible, but that’s not what caught her eye.
Long hair, chains, leather, denim, tartan, rings, tattoos, subculture. If Robin had to choose a group of men to approach, any kind of subculture would be the best option. They knew what it was like to be other. There was no guarantee these guys were safe, but they were probably safer than a group of frat boys.
The next thing that caught her eye that nearly made her cry in relief as she got closer were the patches and pins.
A rainbow ‘A’ against a black and white striped background pinned on one guys collar, a yellow-white-purple-black patch on another's arm, a pink-yellow-blue patch over the third guys heart and a progress pride flag pinned to the largest guys pocket.
Her people.
Without a second's hesitation she made a bee-line for them, planting herself firmly next to yellow-white-purple-black patch person who had a mess of thick light brown curls that reminded her of Steve’s hair. They fell painfully silent at her arrival.
The four of them blinked down at her, with her tearfilled eyes and wild aura of panic around her they were probably, understandably freaked out.
“Hi guys!” She called out to them, probably a little too loud, hoping her voice carried back to the fucker following her, tensing as she could actually hear his footsteps approaching now.
The guy with the longest hair and the pink-yellow-blue patch standing directly in front of her glanced quickly over her shoulder before returning his gaze to her. His face split into a wide warm grin, tapping her shoulder lightly.
“Hey girlie. We thought you weren’t coming, we’ve been waiting.”
The footsteps behind her audibly slowed down. Robin laughed, a little maniacally, keeping her frantic gaze on him, not daring to turn around. “Yeah, I uh- g- got sidetracked.”
“Eddie, what-”
Pink-yellow-blue patch guy, Eddie she supposed, slapped ‘A’ patch guy lightly on the stomach with the back of his hand, shutting him up as her pursuer passed them by, giving the group a wide berth.
“Hey, no worries. You’re here now, right?”
Pride patch guy kept his eyes on the guy who’d been following her the whole time, only looking away when he eventually turned the corner, disappearing into the night.
Robin immediately felt her posture slacken now that he was finally gone, the full weight of everything coming down on her. Her tears began to spill over and her whole body shook as hysterical sobs started to pour out of her body.
“I’m sorry. I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I think I left my phone behind and I don’t know where I am. We only moved here a couple of weeks ago and I got lost trying to get away and- and-”
“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Yellow-white-purple-black patch person squeezed her shoulder lightly, keeping their distance. “You’re okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“We can call someone for you, if you want?” Eddie asked, crossing his arms tight like he was trying not to reach out to her, probably worried it would freak her out more. “Boyfriend or girlfriend-”
“Or romantic partner.” The person with their hand on her shoulder interjected lightly.
“Alright Baron from the Baronies.” Eddie snorted. “But fair point, Gareth. Romantic partner or friend or whatever?”
“Um,” Robin’s voice was still shaking. “I don’t… I’ve never been good at memorising numbers…”
“Me too, terrible at them.” Eddie smiled again, pulling his phone from his pocket. Robin’s fear and panic was almost entirely gone now even though she was still hiccuping and sniffling underneath their concerned gazes. They were all firmly keeping their distance, keeping any touches short and fleeting, not moving too suddenly, trying their best to make sure she knew they weren’t a threat and it was really helping her to start feeling safe again. “But we could try to find them online? Instagram or something?”
“Yeah. Yeah we could try that.” She wiped her eyes roughly against her sleeve as she shuffled over to Eddie’s side. “My best friend, Steve, he uh- he’s probably asleep and I don’t think you can call him if you don’t have him added…”
“You can send him a message.” Eddie replied easily, handing his phone over. “And if he doesn’t wake up, we’ll try something else.”
“Don’t worry we’ll get you home.” ‘A’ patch guy smiled down at her while pride patch guy nodded along.
Robin sniffed again. “Thanks.” She was able to conjure up a small watery smile as she opened the app and found Steve’s profile, shooting off a quick message begging him not to freak out and explaining the situation as concisely as she could.
“Here.” She handed Eddie back his phone who glanced down at it for just a second before his eyes widened slightly as he scrolled through Steve’s profile.
“Oh shit. This is your friend?”
Robin nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
“He’s… he’s really pretty.”
That managed to pull a startled laugh from her. “Oh god, don’t tell him that, you’ll give him a big head.”
“Let me see?” Gareth asked, whistling low when Eddie turned his phone around showing a photo of Steve and Robin at their last pride parade cheering with the crowd, Steve with the pink-purple-blue of the bi flag smeared across each cheek and Robin with the pinks, oranges and white of the lesbian flag draped around her shoulders. “He is really pretty.”
Eddie snatched the phone back, cradling it to his chest. “Fuck off, Gare. I saw him first.”
Robin smiled again. “Any response from him?”
“Hm?” Eddie asked distractedly, scrolling through Steve’s photos before pride flag guy punched him in the shoulder. “Ow! Wh- oh, sorry!” Eddie frantically scrolled back up before clicking into his messages again and shaking his head. “Nothing yet.” He held the phone out to show her.
“Okay.”
“What’s your address? If he doesn’t respond, we'll find a way to get you there.”
“Uh…” Robin was drawing a complete blank, only able to remember her parents home address hundreds of miles away.
“Or tell us something nearby.” Eddie added, not missing a beat, clearly picking up on Robin’s lack of an answer. “What’s on your street?”
“Um,” she closed her eyes, trying to picture it in her head, “there’s a couple of Chinese take outs, Asian food store, paint store… there’s… I think it’s a tattoo parlour? There’s designs painted on the window, a tower on either side. I think they’re from Lord of the Rings?”
“Inklings? Is that the place?”
Robin opened her eyes. Eddie was grinning at her conspiratorially. “That’s it. You know it?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I work there?”
“No way.”
“Way.”
Hope was starting to grow feathers inside Robin’s chest. She could go home, she didn’t have to stay out all night waiting for Steve to wake up and never let her out of his sight again, she could hug her best friend and drink coffee out of her favourite mug and curse at their finicky fridge and steal his hair products again. She could go home.
“Is it far?”
“Nah, only a few streets away. Ten minute walk, tops.”
“D’you- I mean… do you think you could-” Could she really ask them to walk her home after they’d already done so much for her? Would she be asking too much? Could she be putting herself in more danger?
“I can take you there if you want? Let you get back to your… Steve.” There was a slight blush dusting over Eddie’s cheeks. Maybe he did have an ulterior motive, but it wasn’t an ulterior motive involving her. If she wasn’t so wrung out and aching to crawl into her own bed she’d be thinking up teasing material to lambaste Steve with. But as it was, she was desperate to get home.
“Would that be okay?”
“Yeah.” Eddie replied, bright and easy. “It would just be me and you though,” he held his hands up in surrender, “and you can totally say no, like if you're uncomfortable or whatever. Gareth is Grant and Jeff’s ride home and you’re still on the clock, right?” He turned to Gareth towards the end of his sentence.
“Yeah, but I get off shift in about an hour so could come in if you wanted, wait around in the back room until then if you wanna go as a group?” They answered.
“I think… I think I just want to get home.”
“Okay, cool. No worries I’ll get you there safe and sound. Here,” Eddie pulled his phone out again, “I’m gonna message Steve to let him know we’re on the way in case he wakes up,” he showed her the short message only sending it off when she gave a nod, “and I’ll get you to navigate just so we don’t get lost.”
He handed his phone to her with the maps app open, directing them towards Inklings tattoo parlour. He was playing it off like an easy joke, instead of another way to assure her she was safe. He was making sure she knew exactly where he was taking her at all times, he was making sure she had the ability to call the police or whatever if he turned on her, he was making sure she knew he didn’t need or want her address if she didn’t want to give it.
This fucking guy.
He definitely wouldn’t be the worst choice Steve had ever made if it did go that way.
“I don’t know how to thank all of you, seriously. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t run into you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Grant smiled at her before hesitating. “Uh, I just realised we don’t have your name.”
“Oh!” She laughed at herself, feeling lighter. “I’m Robin.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Robin.” Grant held his hand out, shaking hers once she took it.
“Likewise.”
“And don’t worry about thanking us, just pay it forward, yeah?” Jeff said.
“Plus.” Gareth took on a nonchalant tone even though they had a smirk plastered over their face. “We’ll see you again at Steve and Eddie’s wedding.”
“Shut up!” Eddie scowled but didn’t hold onto it for long in the wake of Robin’s giggles.
She sighed once the giggles subsided, a weight lifted off her shoulders. “I look forward to it.” She raised her hand in salute as the three of them headed back inside, turning to Eddie as he held his elbow out.
“Shall we?”
Robin tried to suppress her smile but took Eddie’s arm anyway. They only made it down one street and around one corner, Robin clutching tight to Eddie’s phone before he finally asked.
"So."
"So."
"Best friend Steve." Eddie twirled his rings around his fingers. "Is he…"
“He’s single.” She answered lightly. “But you might be arriving into his life at the wrong time. He’s recently sworn off men.”
“Well we’ve all sworn off men once or twice. Men are terrible.”
“Agreed.”
“Is it because of a bad ex?”
Robin threw her head back with a groan remembering the giant breakdown that had finally finally ended it. “Tommy was the worst. He’s the reason we even moved out here, there’s nowhere to get away from an ex in a small town, you know? They’re everywhere. I’m not going to go into what happened, it’s not my business to say but it was bad.”
Eddie nodded, his eyes down on the ground, running through everything in his head.
Robin could see the tattoo parlour up ahead, the glorious sight of their apartment building just a few buildings away.
“Do you think… with time… he could open himself up to men again?”
Eddie had such a tentative hope in his eyes, it was adorable really. Looking over him, she thought about the type of people Steve would constantly thirst over, blip in the matrix Tommy Hagan notwithstanding.
Lithe bodies with full lips and giant eyes, hair he could run his fingers through and something unusual about them. Something odd.
He’d never explicitly gone for someone so heavily into a subculture before but he’d never turned them down either. And based on Eddie’s job at the tattoo parlour and the way he was dressed, he almost definitely had some ink on him. That alone would be enough to make Steve swoon.
“I think he might. Will you walk me up?” Robin asked, holding the door to the building open, offering Eddie the same kindness under the guise of doing a favour that he had offered her so many times tonight.
“Yeah, sure.”
They’d managed to make it up to the third floor, walking down her hallway before Eddie’s phone started to ping incessantly.
She turned the phone over in her hand, looking at the screen. “He’s awake.”
Robin, where are you?
Are you okay?
I’m on the way.
Please be okay.
Their apartment door was flung open just as they reached it. Steve was standing there panting and terrified, his hair a mess, his glasses askew, his jacket and shoes thrown haphazardly over his pyjamas.
“Robbie.”
Steve slammed into her, holding her tight before immediately letting go to inspect her face and running his hands over her body, checking to see if anything was wrong.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened? What do you need?”
“Steve.” Robin caught his fluttering hands in hers and squeezed, nearly crying out in relief just to have him with her again. “I’m okay. Eddie and his friends helped me.”
“Eddie-” Steve looked to the side, noticing her saviour for the first time. “You’re Eddie.”
“I’m Eddie.” Eddie gave him a short little wave and a dazzling smile that quickly dropped in shock as Steve pulled him into a crushing hug, his blush returning with full force.
“Thank you, thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve-” Steve took a big breath in and loosened his arms from around Eddie’s shoulders. Robin saw his eyes slowly trail over his face before very briefly flicking down to the pink-yellow-blue patch then back up. “Come inside, the two of you. Can I get you anything? Tea? Decaf coffee? A glass of water? Like, literally anything to say thank you.” He asked, ushering the two of them into the apartment.
Steve caught Robin’s eye behind Eddie’s back and mouthed ‘oh my god he’s fucking gorgeous!’
Robin snorted and thought to herself ‘sworn off men, my ass.’
#steddie#steve x eddie#stranger things#fanfic#eddie x steve#penny00dreadful#steddie fic#stranger things fic#modern au#eddie and robin#platonic stobin#robin and steve#finding safety in people through pride flags#I am SUPPOSED to be TAKING A BREAK from WRITING so I don't BURN OUT#But THIS would NOT leave me ALONE#what's the ship name for platonic eddie and robin?#is there one?#THERE IS ONE#platonic edbin#safety fic
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
Who's the goose... (1)
Finally having arrived in Baldur's Gate, Astarion finds the wrong pocket to pick - and gets turned into a goose as punishement. Peace was never an option.
PART 2 | MASTERLIST | AO3
Author's Note: This might as well have been the stupidest idea I've ever had but I couldn't get it out of my head, so here we are. Thanks for input and giving me some more stupid ideas for this to my bf, @tatterings, @bearhugsandshrugs and @the-littlest-raindrop and @megschaef98 for already cackling about it (and everyone else on that server for your love and support!); ah also Neil Newbon for coming up with this... The wonderful little doodle is once more done by the lovely @azaani-art!
Pairing: Uhm, Goosetarion(Astarion)/GN!Tav (You)
Rating: Stupid
Warnings: goose? (I'm sorry, I'm really just running with the bit by now...)
Wordcount: 3,7k
~~~
A goose sat in front of you all.
And it looked weirdly humanoid how it sat there: tiny rubbery legs stretched out in front of it and the wings too – as if it didn’t know how to properly move or place them.
The goose’s head turned around on the long neck to look at you and your companions out of its small red button eyes. The feathers on top of its head were a bit ruffled and almost gave it the look of having a flurry of white curls right there.
It lifted its stretched out wings a little. Looked at them one after another and made a small croaking noise as it did so.
That made it shut its beak again and snap its red gaze back to you.
You looked down at the goose in shock. The goose looked at you with what you presumed was shock too.
And then it opened its beak wide and started wailing with loud honks, as loud as its avian lungs would allow.
The party had finally arrived at Baldur’s Gate. And then had quickly realised that none of you had really an idea where to start your investigation. So, you had taken to walk around the Lower City and just casually ask around to find out more about what seemed to be going on in the city – especially with this Lord Enver Gortash and his newly established Steel Watch.
The day had been long and exhausting. You all kind of had forgotten how a day without a battle, killing and mortal peril was spent – just walking around in the city, engaging in inconspicuous small talk and trying not to lose your mind by getting nowhere with it – what could possibly be more dreadful than that?
Morale had already been low since the start. Halsin had very obviously been a bit unsettled by the big, bustling city, no matter how much he had tried to hide it. Jaheira had just stoically taken in the city and what had changed since she had last been there. Lae’zel had basically been gnawing on your ears with her complaints of how stupid your approach of talking to people was. That in turn had made Shadowheart almost want to choke her (again). And Wyll had become awfully silent since you’d entered the city – too much was weighing on his mind. Gale was just sad.
Karlach probably was the only one in quite the happy mood: since it’s been a very long time for her since she’s actually been to Baldur’s Gate she was just amazed by everything she saw. And she promptly called that out. Every. Single. Thing. So really not doing anything to help with the low mood of the group.
You had just tried to make the best out of it although you certainly had had to admit to yourself that the missing success of your day had been weighing on you also. But you had tried to be stubborn about it.
Astarion had walked by your side the whole day, surprisingly diligent on his part. You had felt that he was tense – as could have been expected upon entering the lair of his master again. But he had really tried to support you with your current goals – and you were absolutely thankful for that.
But as the day had grown late you had felt the annoyance rise in him too, just as much as it had within you.
It had already become dark in the city. Lanterns and the pale moonlight now had been the only sources of light. You had known that the group should’ve soon gotten back to the inn to retire for the night – despite having found out nothing today.
But you had wanted to push for one last attempt - unfortunately. And when you had happened upon a rather feisty older fellow, Astarion’s thin-stretched patience had finally snapped.
After you had tried to talk to this guy and he had only kept answering in riddles, you had been about to give up when you had noticed that the vampire beside you had disappeared.
You had feared nothing good from this finding and sure as all Nine Hells you had seen how Astarion had tried to sneak up on this man and pickpocket him.
And this had been, when things had really gone sideways – and then backwards; and down a hill.
With Astarion’s hands still in his robe the man had turned around to the vampire and looked him straight in the eye: “What do you think you’re doing there, young man?” He hadn’t even sounded awfully angry, rather a bit amused.
Astarion had simply blinked at him, absolutely dumbfounded that he had so easily been found out. The guy had watched him for a second longer with a small, suppressed smile playing on his lips and then started to whisper as an ominous purple glow had started to emit from him.
The vampire had hastily tried to scurry back, but it was already too late. An explosion of purple light had blinded you all and made you turn away with groans.
And when you had turned around again, both men standing there had been gone, only a single goose left in their place that had looked dazed and very out of place.
So here you were now: with a vampire turned into a screaming goose.
You really didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry – probably both. The wailing from polymorphed Astarion was ringing in your ears. Gods, geese could be really loud, couldn’t they?
You looked around your group of friends in desperate need for help.
Karlach had completely lost it, almost doubled over on the cobblestone street. Even Lae’zel bit her bottom lip in an attempt to not burst out laughing, covering half her face with one of her hands. But most of your other companions just looked as shocked and surprised as you.
Gale had his hand on his chin and was obviously very deep in thought – surely, he was already figuring something out to fix this mess. At least you immediately deeply hoped for it.
For a moment you just stood there. Warm, orange light from some nearby windows was lighting the absurd scene. The goose’s wailing drifted to the background for a few moments as your vision blurred and your gaze wandered miles away.
How exactly had you ended up in this ridiculous situation? Out of everything, how had all the steps you had taken led you to this night where your already traumatised soulmate had been turned into poultry and was now shouting the whole city down? Didn’t you have enough on your godsdamned plate already? Would the damned gods ever give you a break?
Your eyes started to burn and water as you stared into the void. You really couldn’t take much more.
But how many times had you been at this point? Too many already anyways.
So, you did, what you always did: took a deep breath, closed your eyes for a hot second, pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose and tried to focus your thoughts again.
You’d find a way out of this and if not… Well, you’d find a way to live with Astarion as a goose, for better or for worse.
When you focused again on the scene, you saw how Halsin was slowly approaching the goose that was Astarion and was still honking as if his life depended on it – and maybe it did, who knew? Gale was whispering an incantation and focusing on the goose. The rest was just still standing around with quizzical looks on their faces or casually losing it and losing their last shreds of sanity.
Halsin had almost reached the crying bird, all the while softly mumbling calming words to Astarion. The druid stretched out his arms as if he planned to pick up the still screaming animal.
But just before he could reach it, Astarion saw it coming, stopped his whining and jumped up with fluttering wings. With a quickness that would have been astounding for such an animal, had you not known that it was normally a dexterous rogue, the goose got up from its awkward sitting position and snapped at the fingers of the druid. Halsin immediately recoiled and looked a little hurt.
Astarion was flaring his big white wings now – lifting them up and his long goose neck stretched out, ready to snap again at anyone that tried to touch him. At least he had stopped honking now and was just swaying his head around at all of you standing around him in a loose half circle – ready to fight anyone who would dare touch a single feather on his head.
“Astarion?”, you asked cautiously, fearing that the transmutation hadn’t altered the vampire’s mind as well. The goose immediately turned to you, a small and much more silent honk left its throat. Its wings lowered a little as soon as it heard your voice. “I know this will sound stupid given the situation, but uh, please try to calm down?”, you asked him and made a grimace while you helplessly stretched out your arms to him, bending your knees.
Astarion honked once more in a clearly annoyed tone and let his wings sink fully as if he was letting his shoulders drop in defeat.
“I’m sorry”, you whispered and felt a wave of sadness wash over you. Meanwhile the others had started to get out of their stupor or calmed themselves from their laughter. Everyone stayed clear of the clearly readily violent goose though.
You crouched down fully and stretched out your arms even more towards the animal that kept watching you intently. With no more words or honks, the goose settled down its wings and carefully waddled over to you and your opened arms.
Once Astarion was very close you couldn’t help yourself but go to your knees and reach out both your arms wider for the animal – ready to give it a hug. Astarion slowly stepped into them and you carefully wrapped your arms around the goose as it made a small honk. It sounded pretty sad and helpless and you could suddenly feel tears well up in your eyes.
You held the much smaller animal. The feathers were surprisingly soft and Astarion carefully placed his small goose head on your shoulder with another quiet honk. It was so light you could barely feel it at all resting there.
The mood in the group had suddenly soured watching you take your partner in your arms – no matter the actual ridiculousness of the situation.
You held the goose and petted it softly, until Gale interrupted the awkward silence with an exclamation.
“Aha”, the wizard made and came back out of his trancelike concentration. He looked around in some confusion as everyone watched the tragic scene of you sadly hugging the poor animal that had awkwardly stretched out its wings a little to return the sentiment – it hadn’t really worked well.
“Uhm”, Gale made and then cleared his throat to catch everyone’s attention. The group just looked at him in silence.
“By the gods, what is with the sudden graveyard atmosphere? You all do realise Astarion is not de- I mean…”, he started sassily and interrupted himself when he realised his mistake. And before he could start again, the bird in your arms had started writhing and honking again. Obviously, Astarion had opinions on not getting the same kind of compassion from Gale as from the others now.
He tried to break free from your arms, but you held him easily – he was just… a goose after all. Although, you got whacked in the face by his wings several times. “Astarion!”, you scolded him. “I really don’t think you’re in a position to be feisty right now. And I’m pretty sure he has something to share that will help about the situation you are in. And might I add, the situation you put yourself in on your own!” A bit of anger welled up in you at the vampire and his godsdamned shenanigans that had landed you all in this mess now. Also his audacity to still be sassy about it – not even being turned into a featherball could stop him from that, it seemed.
The goose calmed down, reluctantly. Its beak was still open as it stared at the wizard – probably the equivalent of the vampire baring his teeth at him. You carefully let him go and just sat down backwards on the ground. You could use it right now.
“Now, if we’re not in a poultry house anymore”, Gale continued cheerily and gave the present poultry a death glare. The goose gave a very slight hiss – at least he had retained that capability.
You waved Gale to please go on.
“Alright, it’s – as you might’ve figured already – a transmutation spell. And might I add a mighty one. I really have no idea who that fellow was, but it surely was the wrong pocket to pick, Astarion – or might I say Goosetarion”, the wizard explained in his scholarly manor and wiggled a finger at the goose while grinning – earning himself another hiss. At least someone present seemed intrigued about the whole situation.
Hearing that it was a mighty spell already let your heart sink. But Gale went on and everyone just listened intently: “The good news is though: transmutations spells can’t be held for overly long. So, I’d say we’re back with our sassy humanoid companion in about…” Gale drew out his words as everyone hung on his lips.
“I’d say twenty-four hours at the latest.”
“TWENTY-FOUR HOURS”, came back the answer in unison from almost all the companions – and a mournful honk. Your mouth fell open but honestly you were immediately flooded with relief that you wouldn’t have to spend the rest of your life with a goose – although you would have committed to that.
“Tchk, and what are we going to do with him in the meantime? Walk him around on a leash? We can’t waste any time!”, Lae’zel commented. Karlach started to snicker again, and so did Shadowheart and Wyll around her.
Goosetarion small red eyes flashed viciously and he quickly lashed out at her like he had at Halsin before, aiming for the githyanki ankle. But Lae’zel had the upper hand and quickly pushed him away with her foot – not exactly kicking him but not exactly being gentle either.
The goose landed ungracefully on its back, legs flailing in the air while it kept complaining and trying to get up again.
“Lae’zel”, you shouted but she simply shrugged at you.
“Well, what else are we going to do? Tomorrow will just be another day of walking around the city trying to gather more information. What harm can it be then? Also, it’s not like we could just leave him here anywhere anyway. Beastly as he is, but he’s still only a goose now, we need to protect him”, Wyll chimed in sympathetically. You nodded your head in agreement and the others muttered their agreement, although some just a tad reluctantly.
Goosetarion in the meanwhile had waddled back over to you to be embraced again, head hanging slightly, doing his best to look like… well, a kicked goose.
You softly stroked his long feathery neck and noticed to your amusement that his rump started to wiggle when you did that. It surely seemed he wasn’t aware that he was doing that. You couldn’t hide a grin and you saw that Halsin grinned at you and the goose too.
“Can we just go back to the inn then? It’s already super late and my feet hurt”, Shadowheart added after it had been settled. Everyone hummed in exhausted agreement.
And so you went on your way. You softly got up from your seat on the cobble road while the goose complained about the lack of caressing happening. You stretched your back and watched after your friends that had already started to walk back towards your location for the night.
“Want me to carry you?”, you asked looking down at the goose and stretched out your arms again. But Goosetarion gave a curt honk and stretched his long neck away from you in an offended manner, then started to waddle after the others.
Now that you knew that he would hopefully be back to his normal humanoid self very soon, the humorous nature of the situation wasn’t as lost on you anymore. The way the goose wiggled its whole torso around while trying to catch up with the others was a sight to behold. Especially if you compared it with Astarion’s usual feline grace. And yet he was way too proud to just accept help.
You snorted and started to follow behind Goosetarion. He heard that and swung his head around while he kept walking, making him look even more ridiculous. You snorted more. And were pretty sure you could see the small red eyes scream bloody murder at you for mocking him.
But Astarion was way too focused and needed all his energy to keep up. Occasionally, he even had to break into a sprint – almost tripping over his rubbery feet and spreading out his wings to not lose balance. It was truly hilarious.
Some idle chatter developed between the companions and you on the way back. And of course, Goosetarion was the subject matter.
“Is there nothing you can do before the spell runs out?”, you asked Gale at some point while you were careful to walk exactly by the goose to offer at least a little protection.
“Oh, believe me, I would if I could – although I have to say I’m enjoying this situation a little bit-“ (“HONK!”) “ but it is, as I pointed out before, a pretty powerful spell. And if I started to fumble with it I might make it worse and-“ (“Honk…”) “- and I guess you’d rather have him back in one piece”, Gale ended and ignored the bickering animal between him and you. You nodded in agreement with the wizard – seemed your safest bet would be to just sit this one out.
“Looks like until tomorrow you’re just going to be a silly little goose then, aren’t you, Asta-OWW!” That had been a line crossed for Goosetarion. And other than Halsin and Lae’zel, the wizard surely was not quick enough to avoid the rogue goose’s vicious attack on his ankles. Gale awkwardly tried to kick at the goose but Goosetarion had learnt from the last time and quickly ducked out of the way, rushing around you so he could hide behind your legs.
“You had that one coming”, you mumbled under your breath as Gale looked at you hurt. He walked a little faster then, trying to steer clear from the murderous bird and engaged others in conversation. Goosetarion waddled through your legs so he was walking in front of you again although you noticed that he was clearly starting to struggle
“And couldn’t you not just at least cast “Speak with animals” or something?”, Karlach took up the conversation about Goosetarion’s fate. You hadn’t even thought of that so far. You had just been too occupied with the situation as a whole. You simply shrugged because you had absolutely no idea.
“But he is not an animal”, Jaheira replied to Karlach’s suggestion in her matter-of-fact demeanor from in front of you. Halsin beside her nodded silently. “He is still his vampiric elven self, just temporarily in another form. Even if Halsin or I wildshaped into geese we would not be able to speak with him because we are at least partly beast when we turn”, the infamous druid added to her explanation. “As far as I know there is no spell to work in this situation. But quite frankly maybe we could all do without his yapping for at least a day and he learns a lesson about all of this”, she finished and gave the goose a stern look.
Goosetarion stopped and made another rather sad honk. He really must have been having the worst and most humbling of times.
You stopped just behind the goose: “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.” The look Jaheira gave you made sure though that she absolutely did, but you brushed over it. You held out your arms to the goose again. However, Goosetarion again just waddled off on his own.
But the way to the inn was long and the goose was soon almost completely exhausted, probably amplified by not being used to moving around like that. At some point, when you had already slid out of all the other conversations and were just deep in your thoughts, you were stopped by another soft honk just below you.
Astarion stood before you and had spread his wings towards you, neck craned up towards you. It again looked weirdly humanoid with the way he moved and behaved. When you didn’t immediately react because you were really just very exhausted and didn’t catch on, the goose started to kind of hop in place and honked again.
“Oh, you want to be picked up! Sorry”, you replied and bent down to awkwardly grab the animal.
After some wriggling around and Astarion’s earnest tries to not writhe around too much in your arms, you were able to lift him up. He was stretching his neck and small feet out and made small noises that made you think that he wasn’t quite very comfortable with what was happening. But he gave his best to cope.
Once you kind of had him settled down on your hip, one arm around him and one under him to support him, he seemed to be considerably more comfortable, better even. When you had caught up to the others again and Gale sassily lifted an eyebrow at the goose now being carried around, Astarion made full use of his long neck to peck at the wizard’s sleeve.
Gale squealed again – much to the amusement of the rest of the group and made sure to keep even more distance from the goose. Goosetarion gave a contented honk then and refrained from biting anyone else for the rest of the way.
You were still laughing softly with the others, when the inn came into view. At least you hadn’t lost your humour so far.
(To be continued...)
~~~
Taglist: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @bloopthebat @dark-star-exe
#astarion#astarion x tav#baldurs gate#baldurs gate 3#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate iii#astarion x reader#astarion x mc#baldurs gate astarion#astarion x oc#astarion x you#fanfiction#astarion ancunin#bg3 spoilers#tav#bg3#goosetarion#neil newbon#halsin#bg3 companions#wyll#wyll ravengard#bg3 wyll#lae'zel#shadowheart#jaheira#karlach#gale#gale of waterdeep#goostarion
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Black woman’s skin turns blue from powers; is this whitewashing/erasure?
Anonymous asked:
I have a character in a comic I'm hoping to write one day. She's a light skinned black woman(she's half white if that helps!) living in New York City during an 80s themed post nuclear apocalypse. The comic's main characters are all rock stars, so a lot of the character design elements revolve around the different rock genres. The character in question is in a glam rock band, so there's lots of bright, saturated, crazy colors involved in her design.
The problem I'm having involves this one story beat where she gets mutant superpowers that give her electricity and sound based abilities. Her skin turns cotton candy blue as a result of the mutation. I'm hung up on whether or not this might fall under some kind of skin lightening or white-washing trope since it's a fairly light shade of blue. I designed her mutant look before her human look, so this was well before I'd even figured out what race she was, and I simply thought the shade of blue would compliment both the electricity powers and the fact that her hair is dyed pink. Is there a way I could still make this work? Or am I worrying about nothing?
Ideally, it would be nice to keep her brown skin tone. There’s a common comic and supernatural trend where Black people’s skin is covered up by a suit or Black-coded characters are an unnatural color (blue, green, purple, etc).
This is more of an issue when:
There are no other Black characters of those identities besides the covered up/ ones with unnatural skin colors.
The creator adds this change to make them "special" because they do not believe Black characters, with features commonly associated with Black people like dark hair, skin and eyes, are acceptable enough for the character to stand on their own.
The supernatural special Black people are treated well by the story. The "non-special" Black people have unhappy stories and misfortune.
Other races of characters do not get their skin covered up or changed. Only the Black ones and/or BIPOC in general.
I think a quick fix for this would be for her skin to turn blue when she’s actively using her powers, at random, or other specific times, besides constantly. If she needs to be more consistently “mutant looking” Are there other ways she could change without her skin color changing or changing completely?
People with glitter on skin, light surrounding their face, and blue braids. Images from pexels.
More ideas that keep her skin brown
Hair
Her hair color changes blue or your color of choice (which could include body hair too, which would give her a more “otherworldly” appearance).
Note: If her hair is curly or natural, please keep it so! At least, the powers shouldn't change it straight.
Eyes
Her eyes glowing brighter or colorfully during power-use.
Note: If they're usually brown, they could stay brown when powers not in use, like Marvel's Storm in some versions.
Storm by Marvel Entertainment//20th Century Studios.
Skin and body
Blue patterns appear on her skin.
Blue glow or sheen to her skin without fully changing the color.
Her skin projects color and light.
New growths or changes to body, such as ear shape, wings, etc.
No matter what you decide, please make clear in your tale that she’s a Black mixed race woman. And have fun!
More reading:
How Special is Too Special? The Politics and Characterization of Stacking Special/Abnormal Traits on Mixed Race Characters
~Colette
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
After Dark
Summary: It’s a universal rule that every ghost face at a Halloween party is hot underneath. Let’s test that theory, shall we?
an: AHHH OKAY! Lemme explain. I made a post about participating in kinktober, and while a lot of you wanted me to, I feel like it’s too late for me to properly participate. HOWEVER, I still want to give you something to kick off the weekend! Something spooky AND smutty for all my ghouls out there. I hope you’re all having a good Halloweekend! Pls stay safe and have lots of fun, I’m sure you all have the cutest costumes planned! Also, I took a different approach to reader, so let me know how you guys like her!! 🖤🖤 p.s I was drunk when I wrote this :p
Warnings: SMUT!!! 18+, MDNI, porn with no plot, strap-on sex, mentions of the word “cock”, mask kink, alcohol usage, mentions of latex, riding, cliche house party trope, slight sugar mommy!ellie if you squint??, lmk if I missed anything!
Out of all of three hundred and sixty five days of the year, today was your favorite.
Today was the one day within the year that there weren’t really any rules. You could wear anything, be whoever you wanted, and it was socially acceptable to get drunk while doing so, and there was no way in hell you would ever pass up on that.
No matter the circumstances, you were invited to a Halloween party. Whether it was some cheesy bash that was being thrown at a friend of a friends house, or a more upscale party, you were going out.
And you always looked damn good doing so.
You were always praised on your costumes, every year it was expected of you to top what you did the last, so there was no doubt in the fact that you were putting in maximum effort year after year.
This year? You stuck with one of the classics of course. The devil.
You were dripping in skin tight latex, the black corset you wore that pushed your boobs out perfectly, your soft skin nearly spilling out of the tight top, the tight booty shorts that hugged the globes of your ass, your cheeks peeking out, the gloves that hugged your arms, and the thigh high socks that shined under the moonlight, everything you wore was that delicious shiny material that made you look almost unreal.
And underneath it all? You had painted your entire body red, paired with fake red horns peeking out of your pretty hair.
So yeah, you were almost always crowned as the queen of Halloween.
This year was no different, halloweekend had been kicked off with quite the everything shower, making sure your body was in perfect condition for everything you’d be attending. You had gotten ready with your friends at your apartment, getting a few shots in before making it to the biggest party of the year. Everyone looked forward to it, putting together their best costumes for the party at the house that almost everyone died to get into.
Walking down the streets of the city on Halloween was like Christmas, various characters from movies and cartoons cheering, dancing, all social barriers that were put up every other day of the year were down, the veil being lifted for one night that allowed anything to be game.
The amount of whistles you and your friends received on your way there was almost appalling, not to mention the amount of people who told you they’d let you torture them any day. You thought that was cute.
Soon enough, the sounds of the party were near, and you could see the red lights spilling out of the big house in the middle of the block, and you knew it was time.
Eyes were on you immediately, and it made you giggle as you scoped out the food group that was there tonight. Of course you knew they’d stare, drool over you with their mouths open, begging for just a moment of your time.
But you were a very picky girl.
Ignoring their advances was like second nature, all you had to do, was shake your ass, drink some free liquor, and wait for the perfect person to take up your time for the night.
And as always, that never took long for you.
Your hips swayed to the music, eyes closed as you enjoyed one of the best parts of parties. The alcohol you drank made your body warm up in the best way, made every touch on your body feel so much more intense, all while numbing out everything else. It made you feel alive, it made you raise your arms above your head and simply let the music move you.
It was only a moment, your eyes drifting open to make sure your friend was still in front of you, and you’re sure if you hadn’t, you would’ve missed it.
Across the room, stood a tall figure. She wore a loose black t shirt, baggy black jeans, black boots….
And a ghost face mask.
The figure was turned towards you, leaning against the wall with a red solo cup clasped between a hand, a pretty tattoo bleeding into it. Anyone else would have seen it, and thought that whoever it was, was extremely fucking creepy. Everyone knew that ghost face was one of the creepiest people you could choose to be for Halloween ever.
But it just so happened, that you’ve always had a thing for masked killers.
Although you couldn’t see the eyes of the person behind the mask, you could feel them, and it made you burn from the inside. You bit your bottom lip softly, throwing back the rest of the alcohol in your cup before you turned your body more towards them, giving them a good view of your body. You began dancing, putting on a show for them, your glove glad hands running up and down your body, your neck, your boobs, your waist, practically having sex on the dance floor with yourself, all for this stranger who was most definitely watching you.
You feel like you have x-ray vision, because although you can’t see her face, you can see the way she grips her cup tighter whenever you sway your hips, turning around to give her a nice view of your ass. You see the way she shifts her weight onto her other foot whenever your hand runs over the curve of your tits. When you really know you’ve got her, is when you rest your hands on your friends hips, and pull her into your crotch, your eyes never leaving the ghost face mask. You know you’ve got her because she sets her cup down, raises her long, skinny fingers, and silently calls you over before she makes her way down one of the hallways in the house.
And suddenly, a game of cat and mouse begins.
You almost never chase anyone at a party, you’re always the one that’s being chased. However, there’s something about this ghost face. There’s an aura radiating off of her, one that’s dripping of lust, screaming at you, telling you she’s got exactly what you need, exactly what you’re looking for during these stupid Halloween parties.
So you break your little streak, and as soon as she calls you, you’re following her.
The house is lit up with all different colors, the kitchen was purple, the living room was pink, everywhere you turned was another tinted space that fit the Halloween vibe perfectly.
As you look around for your ghost face, you can’t help but huff softly. It almost feels as if she’s disappeared into thin air, as if the alcohol in your system made you hallucinate the entire thing. You begin to question yourself, a soft pout on your lips as you make your way down the final place to look for her.
But of course, you finally find her leaned up against one of the hallways, and of course it’s completely lit up red.
You tug your bottom lip between your teeth as you smile, making you way towards her. Once you’re standing in front of her, you expect her to take off the mask, show her who it is that’s hiding behind that silly mask.
But she doesn’t
You giggle softly, your hand toying with the hem of her shirt as you stare up at her with big doe eyes.
“You gonna show me the pretty face you’re hiding under that mask?” You purr out, and the ghost face simply shakes her head. It makes you pout, tugging at her shirt gently as you lean into her a bit, but still keeping your body a ways away from hers.
“But…how am I supposed to talk to you if I can’t see you” you whine, hoping that this little pouty act will get you what you want. It usually does, but this ghost face seems far too stubborn for that. She simply cocks her head to the side, as if clicking her tongue and mocking your pout.
It makes your pussy flutter with need.
She hasn’t even said anything to you, but you’re already squeezing your legs together, eager for some kind of friction to soothe the ache between your legs, your lips rubbing together with the arousal that grew with each passing second.
You hum softly, your latex clad fingers running down her arm, reaching her tattoo and tracing the pattern gently.
Hm…you don’t recall that one.
She gives you her arm with ease, allowing you to see her tattoo, that makes you smile softly.
“This is pretty…” you hum before you look back up at her, biting your plush bottom lip softly. “Are there anymore for me to find?” You question, giving her a playful smile. This one gets her, because you can hear the way her breath shudders, see the way her chest rises and falls for a moment.
She’s right where you want her.
You hum softly, your hand slowly coming up to the mask, eyeing her closely as you gently begin pushing it up, eager to see her face. You flinch when she grabs your wrist, stopping you from lifting it up any further. You pout again, it’s genuine this time, not like before. A soft huff leaves your lips before you open your mouth to complain, tell the girl that if she doesn’t want to show you her face, you’ll leave to find someone else who will.
But before you can, you’re being tugged into a random bedroom.
Upon entering, you can see why this place is the spot was so popular for parties. The rooms are clean, and the host went as far as to decorate them accordingly, the same red lights from the hallway lighting up the place. If you weren’t so hellbent on getting fucked by the ghost face, you’d most certainly be gushing over what a wonderful party host this was.
Your thoughts are completely cut off by strong arms wrapping around your waist, and pulling you into an even stronger chest. It makes you moan softly, your head falling back against her chest. You feel her strong hands running up and down your latex clad body, squeezing your hips, your boobs, running along your thighs. You can hear her breathing behind you, and you can almost hear the sweet tone of her voice through it.
You let out a small whine, one of your hands coming down to lay over hers, keeping her close to you. “Wanna play with you…” you hum softly, it makes your ghost face groan, her hands squeezing your plush body before she turns you around, and pushes you onto the soft bed.
It makes you giggle softly, your hands running along the soft sheets as you watch her. She looks like a god above you, standing so tall, the ghostly mask almost haunting as she eats you up with her eyes, head cocked to the side as you lazily smile up at her.
You move to prop yourself up onto your hands, palms pressing into the bed, your legs spreading for her. “So…you’re leaving the mask on, huh? Does that make me the helpless victim?” You pout out, holding back a giggle as you recite the lines from the movie the mask came from. It earns a slow nod from your ghost face, and you have to hold back a moan.
“Well…please play with me ghost face…I wanna be yours tonight” you purr out, your body sitting up as you reach forward, your fingers snagging around the belt loop of her jeans and pulling her closer.
You hear a soft sigh from behind the mask, and it almost sounds like she’s suffering, like she’s torturing herself just as much as she’s torturing you by not touching you yet. Her strong hand slowly comes up, cupping your chin gently and angling your head up, her thumb dragging across your bottom lip. You moan softly, kissing her finger gently, it makes her groan again.
She slowly moves down, bending down until her hands are pushed against the bed, caging you in. It makes you crawl backwards, a soft whimper leaving your lips. When she’s this close, backing you up onto the bed, you can catch a glimmer of her eyes beneath the mesh material of the eyes of the ghost. You can see her long lashes, and big green eyes. It makes your pussy throb desperately.
Because fuck, you’ve never seen eyes that pretty before.
You almost done catch her hands reaching down between you, pushing into the tight material of your latex shorts, fingers pressing against your soaked core. You’re so desperate for her, that the small act makes you moan softly, eyes fluttering shut as you grind your hips against her fingers. You can tell she’s skilled just by the way she fingers your clit and rubs you slowly, the right fabric of your shorts making it an even tighter fit.
“Fuck…” you hear softly from behind the mask, and it’s the first time you’ve properly heard her voice, it makes you feel like you can cum right then and there.
You blink softly as you stare into her eyes, watching her as she slowly toys with your pussy, making you whine and moan for her from the small motions of her fingers.
“Mmpph…feels…fuck…your fingers…” you moan softly, feeling yourself growing close just from the way she rubbed your throbbing clit. Your hand goes down to her tattooed arm, grabbing it as she begins to speed up. You whine loudly, your back arching as you grind in tow with her movements, and fuck…you’re so close, you feel like you’re going to explode just from a stranger finger fucking you.
And suddenly, her fingers are gone.
“W-what? Why’d you…why’d you stop” you whimper softly while trying to catch your breath, watching as your ghost face began to tug your shorts off. You whine softly with embarrassment, watching as she silently tugged your shorts off, a string of your arousal connecting you to your shorts. You can’t remember the last time you were this wet.
Your ghost face groans softly, mumbling something under her breath that you don’t quite catch. You open your mouth to say something, but you’re quickly being tugged up into her arms as she lays down on the bed.
Now you’re straddling her lap, your bare core dragging along her jeans as her strong hands massage your thighs. You whine softly, because you can feel the prominent bulge pressing against you through her pants. Her hands go to your hips, forcing you to grind your soaking wet pussy against her crotch, your arousal staining her black jeans, making you burn from the inside out.
You moan loudly, your hands pressing against her lower stomach as you watch the way she slowly grinds you down on her as she pleases. You’re eager, so you’re already undoing her belt and unbuttoning her jeans. You almost expect her to stop you, but she doesn’t, and you’re pulling out her pink strap, the length of it making your mouth water.
If you weren’t so fucking horny, the color would’ve made you giggle, but there’s no time for that. You tug her jeans down a bit more, to which she lifts her hips up to help you, and you begin to crawl up her body slightly until you’re hovering over her length, her hand grabbing the shaft as she runs it along your lips, getting it wet with your arousal before she helps you sink down on it.
The moan you both let out is past pornography, the weight of you pushing down her strap rubs against her clit perfectly, and she’s sure she’s never experienced someone riding her so fucking well. The sound of her pretty voice makes you want to cry, because she’s been teasing you so much that you’ll take just about anything she gives you. You begin to bounce on her length slowly, adjusting to her size, your hands pressed against her chest to act as leverage.
“Oh my…fucking god….mmmhhh…a-ah!” You moan out, eyes fluttering shut as you ride her, back arching as your hands go up into your hair, tugging on it, needing somewhat of an outlet to release the pleasure you were feeling. Your senses were on overload, and you weren’t sure if it was the build up of not knowing who the hell you were fucking, or if it was truly that good, but you’re sure you’ve never had a fuck this good in your entire life.
“Fuck…that’s a good fucking girl…bouncing on my cock so well…yeah…that’s it” the voice makes you moan loudly, your eyes opening immediately. She sounds perfect, her voice low and smooth, strong hands gripping your thighs for a moment before they come down on your ass, spanking you hard and making you moan even louder.
You can practically hear the smirk in her voice when she speaks, her voice dripping with lust as you fuck your self down onto her cock. “Haven’t even seen my face and you’re doing all of this for me…treating me special, pretty girl?” She hums out before moaning loudly with you. You can’t help but nod, slowly feeling yourself becoming dumb on her cock.
“S’good…feels so good…I’ll do anything for you” you moan out almost incoherently, saying just about anything that comes to mind in that moment.
As you continue bouncing on her cock, the motions of it all makes her mask come up a bit, and you catch a glimpse of her plush pink lips tugged beneath her pretty teeth. It makes you whine softly, and you realize you can’t fucking do this anymore.
You reach forward, your hand going to the edge of the mask, and you tug it off of her head.
You feel like you’ll lose your breath, keel over and die at that very moment when you see her, because she’s so fucking pretty. Her brown hair is so messy, soft fringe splayed across her face, prettiest freckles littering her red cheeks, those same green eyes staring into yours, pretty lips tugging into a smirk when she sees the way your eyebrows furrow with pleasure, knowing that it was her face that made you feel that way.
“Just couldn’t wait, could you?” She smirks softly, her words followed by a soft groan, hands traveling up your body and gripping your boobs that were nearly completely spilled out of your top.
“Want you to cum for me, princess…can you do that? Cum all over my cock?” She urges on, her words cut off by various moans as you continue fucking yourself down on her. You want to speak, but you can’t, so all you do is nod eagerly and give her a loud moan, feeling the familiar warmth building up in the pit of your stomach, electricity traveling through your body.
Ellie moans with you, her eyes never leaving yours as she gives you an encouraging nod. “That’s it baby…such a pretty fucking girl…been watching you all night…knew I needed to…fuck…have you…come on baby…cum for me” she commands, and you feel like you’ll turn into jelly just from the way she tells you to do it, so stern, your legs felt like they could no longer hold you up, shaking as your back arched almost painfully, and your orgasm raked through your body.
It was electrifying, the feeling of her cock sliding so deep into you, your walls fluttering around it as you came, her hands gripping your hips tightly as she pushed even deeper into you, her own orgasm visibly washing over her as she pushed her head further into the bed, eyes squeezing shut, curse words flying from her pretty lips.
You both sat there for a moment, Ellie sitting up and pressing her face against your chest as she held you close, hands rubbing against your thighs, soft kisses against your boobs, giving both you and herself a moment to collect yourselves after the intense session you’d just had.
After a few moments passed, you pouted softly as you looked down at the bed and noticed some of the red body paint had smeared onto the bed.
“Fuck…you don’t think the host will be mad about that…do you?” You mumbled softly, trying to avoid the embarrassment you felt at the fact that your fucking costume had ended up screwing you over.
Ellie chuckled softly as she looked down at the bed, humming softly as she pressed another kiss to your chest before she pulled you down to lay down with her, having every intention of keeping you there until enough people left, and you could both go for a shower.
“Nah…I don’t mind” she smirked softly, knowing she’d most definitely be making sure the sheets were changed for you both in the morning.
#ellie williams#ellie williams smut#ellie williams x y/n#ellie williams x female reader#ellie williams x you#ellie tlou#ellie x y/n#ellie the last of us#ellie x you
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
if there were cameras in the traffic lights they’d make me a star
chris sturniolo x reader
summary: chris love to go on drives with you especially so he can distract you every time you hit a red light
warnings: kissing, like 1 curse word, little blurb
“babe, babe, babe red light!!” chris exclaimed trying to get your attention
“chris if you yell at me one more damn time while i’m driving i’m leaving you on the side of the road,” you said trying to hold a straight face.
driving with chris was always an adventure. he was your passenger princess, and he loved taking advantage of it.
this night specifically, chris wanted to go for a drive around the city. you agreed only because he promised to buy you food while you guys were out. you also just loved having these simple moments with chris.
recently chris has been in a phase of trying to make sure you hit every red light and stop sign possible. he’ll tell you to go down random streets or take a wrong turn just so you have a closer chance of getting that dark color when you pull up.
as much as you tried to hate it, because he was taking you off your track, you loved seeing how excited chris would get when he was able to give you a small kiss.
“stop sign!” chris yelled as he quickly stretched his head over to give you a kiss on the cheek.
you laughed as you looked both ways before you continued driving.
lil skies played in the background as you listened to chris ramble about the newest project he was working on for fresh love. he loved telling you all about the stuff he was working on. he was truthfully one of the most creative people you know.
you were close to the boys house when you realized you only had one red light left until your trip was over.
as annoyed as you pretend to act whenever chris yells out to get your attention, you miss it when he’s distracted or doing something.
“chris! red light!” you yelled at him. he jumped at the sudden loudness before looking up from his phone and making eye contact with you.
you quickly leaned over cupping chris’ face. your hand moved up to slightly grab the hair at the nape of his neck, slightly moving his beanie. he pushed forward deepening the kiss. a few seconds went by before he began to kiss down your neck when all of a sudden a loud honk was heard from behind your car.
“oh fuck it’s green”
“go! drive baby.”
neither of you two knew how long the light was green before you were made aware, but it didn’t matter to you.
you now had a tradition of kissing at that exact red light.
#matt sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x reader#nick sturniolo#chris sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo imagine#matt x reader#sturniolo fanfic
448 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇
pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader
genre: smut, minors dni
word count: 4k
summary: after finding him wounded in an empty alleyway, against your better judgment, you decide to patch him up in your apartment. you expect that to be the end of it, never to see him again, that is, until you do.
warnings: piv, rough sex, dirty talking, biting, claws make a brief appearance, mild degradation (he calls you slut once), mention of female masturbation
You live in a world without heroes. Yet, the villains roam free.
You’re used to it by now, walking through the damp alleyways. You hear a shout here and there, always keeping your head bowed as you walk past whatever might be going on. Once upon a time, this bothered you. But after a knife to your stomach and a punch to the cheek, you learned to look the other way around, no matter how painful it might be. Sometimes you find yourself wondering why this might be. You always assumed some type of ying yang situation should be in place, making everything right, but you seem to be living in a world without good. Without light.
You don’t know what prompts you to do it. You’re walking back from work, the scent of rain and the stench of exhaust thick in the air. All you want to do is get to your cramped apartment before the downpour.
You think it’s the wind that makes you turn your head, you hate when your eyes water and dry out. When you do turn, you stare into the familiar abyss of the alleyway behind your apartment. It’s truly pitch black. Despite the darkness, you see a faint movement in shadows, a loud sound, a crash. You see a flash of red, blue. Your eyes narrow—what the?
You know well that you shouldn’t, that whatever was lurking in the shadows would be bad news, but you do it anyway. With a grunt, you open the flashlight of your phone and take a step closer. There’s a man laying on the cold ground, he doesn’t seem to be moving.
“Hello?” you call out. No answer. “Um, are you drunk or high? Should I call an ambulance?”
The broad figure groans and your heart nearly lurches. “No,” he mumbles. “No doctors.”
With a slight tremor in your step, you come closer. You shine the light into his face, his brows furrow, an annoyed scowl etching into his handsome features. Your lips part with a soft exhale. He’s so handsome.
Then you get a good look at the rest of him—what the hell is he wearing?
“Do you need help?” you ask, unsure. He doesn’t seem to be bleeding, his eye looks a bit swollen though. Wait, scratch that, you think you spot some blood on his lips. “Should I get you anything?”
Maybe you sound foolish, but you know better than to just call 911 for a random person. Everyone is a criminal these days. Fuck, if he was a criminal you should call the cops, this city is seriously starting to cloud your better judgment.
“No cops,” he chokes and coughs, as if he can read your thoughts. “Go away, I’ll be fine.”
No, he won’t.
He knows it. You know it.
“I live right next door,” you answer against your better judgment. “I have a first aid kit. I can patch you up if you want? I don’t wanna brag, but I am a nurse in training.”
He makes a sound that is similar to a chuckle but the sound quickly fades into a vicious cough. You tuck the phone into your pocket and lean over, “Alright big guy, you’re coming with me,” you attempt to throw his arm over your shoulder but that proves to be more difficult. “Can you stand? Even a little.”
He nods and straightens up a bit. You’re still carrying most of his weight but you manage to get him past the door and onto your couch.
You must’ve thrown him a little too hard because he lets out a loud grunt, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to stifle the sound.
“Sorry,” you mutter. “Just wait for me here, I’ll come back with water and the first aid kit.”
The man makes another sound. You’re starting to think this is his only form of communication.
When you come back, he’s still where you left him. Albeit looking a bit more alert now, eyes constantly scanning your humble apartment. You can’t really blame him though, you would do the same thing. You eye him warily, then place the glass of water on the coffee table. He glares at it like it’s poison.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
He scoffs, “I don’t think you could even if you tried,” he answers, tongue moving over his bloody bottom lip. He points at the table. “And there’s a coaster right there.”
“Who are you, my mother?”
Despite your sharp tone, you place the glass on the coaster and sit on the coffee table, the small first aid kit in hand. “Does that thing have a zipper, or. . . ?”
His right brow and lip cock up simultaneously. You’re acutely aware that no matter what you do, you’ll never be able to understand what’s going on in that head of his—Not that you want to. He’s a stranger. A man that looks strong enough to hold you by the neck before you can reach the pepper spray nestled in your bag.
The silence makes you uneasy, and when you finally open your mouth to speak, he leans forward. “Don’t freak out,” he grunts.
“Why would I freak out—” The rest of the sentence dies in your throat, his suit glitches—glitches—like a damn video game. It blinks once, twice and you swear you can see little particles glimmering on his skin, fading away from reality. Panic flaring in your gut, you look down.
Pants still on. And here your thought that the entire thing was a one-piece suit.
“I said don’t freak out,” he repeats, eyebrow raised and head tilted to the side. You snap your mouth shut.
“I’m not freaking out,” you say, voice shrill. “Who’s freaking out? Not me.”
His shoulders are broad, arms muscular with thick veins meandering down. You’ve never been a fan of veins popping out but whoever this man was made it look good. You swallow over and over in a weak attempt to wet the inside of your mouth. You fail helplessly. You’re not even aware that you’re holding the first aid kit with an iron grip, knuckles aching from the pressure. His torso is completely bare now.
“I don’t have a zipper,” he says unhelpfully, unaware of you behaving straight out of a 1950s cartoon.
“I can see that.”
God, he is the weirdest stray you ever brought over.
He points at the box, “So do you actually know how to use what’s inside or were you just bluffing when you said you were a nurse?”
“A nurse in training,” you quip. “And no, I wasn’t bluffing.”
With great strength, you finally drag your eyes down his torso. There’s a splatter of blood, some of the drops rubbed into his skin and the crimson trail is followed up by a giant slash across his stomach. The bleeding had stopped which was a good sign. You lean closer, your fingers fiddling with the box at the same time, narrowing your gaze you notice the wound is deeper than you had initially thought.
“Whoever it was that attacked you got you good,” you murmur. Without a second thought, you slide off the coffee table and kneel in front of him, you miss the glint in his eyes as he looks down, miss the way he spreads his legs so you can fit better.
“How do you know it wasn’t me who attacked them?”
The rough tone of his voice prompts you to look up. For someone who’s been stabbed, he’s eerily calm. His arms are spread over the backrest, chest slowly rising up and down as his eyes flit across your face, searching. The muscle in his jaw twitches, lips stretching into something resembling a snarl. Suddenly you’re hyper-aware of where you are, the position you’re in. The sound of danger rings in your ears—you don’t even know this man’s name. Your breath catches in your throat, stomach jumping. You don’t know why you initially felt so comfortable with him, as if you were long-lost friends, but you aren’t. You were being reckless.
“Scared?” he asks, venomous, hunching over your frame, caging you in. Heat radiates from his thighs, a stark contrast to the cold fear gripping your insides. He hooks two fingers under your chin, lifts your head up. Your bottom lip quivers. “You should be. You live in a dangerous world.”
“And you don’t?” you counter, your voice barely above a whisper, your words hanging in the air, challenging his assertion. The question slips out before you can fully comprehend its weight, and you see his jaw tighten as he ponders for an answer.
You meticulously cleanse the wound, removing dirt and debris with steady hands. The sting of antiseptic fills the air, intermingling with the charged atmosphere. You’re not shy with the way you touch him, a simmering annoyance warming your gut. He can take it, you think applying further pressure. He doesn’t make a sound.
The dim light of the room accentuates the harsh contours of his face, and his piercing gaze feels like it's cutting through your soul. You drag your teth against the smooth surface of the inside of your cheek. You’ve never had a patient stand this still.
Finally, just as you complete the final wrap of the bandage, he gives you an answer.
“Not the same one as you do.”
Miguel O’hara was his name. He told you just before disappearing into the neon lights of the dark and cold city. You didn’t think much of it, you were sure you wouldn’t be seeing him again, which meant remembering his name was useless.
But your mind wouldn’t let him go. You tasted his name in the dark hours of the night, hand between your legs, coming as you thought of scenarios where instead of dousing his wound in antiseptic, you took his cock into his mouth, helping him in a different way. His suit left little to the imagination and now that your imagination roamed free, you’re glad that it was.
Convinced that he’ll never show up again, you continue on normally, half in fear due to the chaos around you, trying to do your best.
That was until he did show up.
You step out of the shower, water trickling down your skin, softened by the warm steam. The towel hangs loosely around your chest, on the verge of slipping off. You never quite mastered the art of securing it tightly, but living alone means you don't have to worry about walking around naked if it happens to fall off.
The window cracks open, cold air seeping through, chilling your freshly warmed body. Tension instantly builds in your body, your eyes slowly moving to the window. You see him then. Miguel. He pushes the window open and climbs in, not saying a word. You hold the towel tightly around you—a dream, you think, it has to be.
With quick, large steps, he crowds your space, forcing your back against the wall. The air is knocked from your lungs, your throat convulsing with a sudden panic. He’s not touching you.
“M-Miguel,” you whisper. “I didn’t—I didn’t think I would see you again.”
“Neither did I,” he answers, large hands cupping your waist and pinning you to the wall. “I’m tired,” he adds, words dropping from his lips more like a punch than a plea. Like someone is squeezing the words out of him.
“What do you need?”
His eyes drop to your lips, a hungry gaze that sends shivers up your spine. You hold your breath. He’s so close, close enough that you feel his breath on your damp skin. He tilts his head to the side, eyes closing.
“I need to not think,” he answers painfully slow, tasting every word. “I need to not feel. I need to not worry. I need to disappear for a while.”
Miguel takes a long, languid breath. Filling his lungs with the scent of your watermelon body wash. His tongue pokes from between his lips, moving over the bottom one. “Can you give me that?”
His fingers tighten, the soft fabric of your towel bunching in his palm, you swear you feel the bite of nails despite the fluffy exterior. Your eyes search his. You know nothing of him. Only his name that he’d begrudgingly given you. Your pulse quickens, the rush of blood loud in your ears. He’s not here for you, that’s something you need to keep in mind before going any further. He’s here for the release, for the simple act of having another’s warmth surrounding him. You’re an escape. Something simple and easy he doesn’t have to think about when he runs off to deal with whatever he deals with.
After seconds that feel like hours, you decide you want to give that to him. You don’t mind the hurt you’ll feel after. Letting him take what he wants knowing that’ll affect you more than him. Something about him makes you not care.
“I can,” you breathe, instinctively searching for his lips with your own. “Do your worst Miguel O’hara.”
You drop the towel, damp fabric pooling at your ankles. His eyes widen briefly before smiling something wicked. His forehead touches yours, nose brushing your own as his lips ghost an inch away. Your breath catches in your throat, the need growing between your legs. A chuckle drops from his lips reminding you of gravel. You don’t share his humor, you just want to feel him.
“You don’t want my worst,” he grunts. “You’ll break.”
“I won’t.”
He scoffs but doesn’t argue. Miguel doesn’t attempt to probe you wrong, breaking things is meant to have consequences. You either try to fix it or ponder over what you’ve done, he wants none of that. Instead, he presses flush against you, body firm in contrast with the soft swell of your chest and stomach. Your nipples tighten. He crashes into you, tongue hungrily slipping between your lips as his mouth moves greedily. You feel hands on your chest, kneading, squeezing, pinching. You moan into his mouth, he swallows the sounds, grinding himself hard into you. You’re shaking, his body suffocating.
“If I touch you,” he says into your mouth, fingers skimming the outside of your thighs. “Will you be soaked for me?” With a whimper, you nod. He grins, canines looking sharper compared to what they did before, “Such a good little slut,” he growls.
Contrary to what he’d said, he doesn’t slip his fingers between your legs to see if you’re telling the truth. Instead, he slots his thick thigh between your bare legs, pushing the muscle up until you’re left gasping, your hands flailing as you wrap them around his broad shoulders. The pressure makes you dizzy, the fabric of his suit softer than what you expected, a delicious friction over your aching clit. You moan openly into his neck, teeth scraping against the vein.
“I’m going to fuck you like this,” he murmurs. “Up against the wall,” his suit fades away, cock hard against the soft planes of your stomach. You shudder as precome smears over the skin. He continues, licking your lips. “Then up against the window, want you to be loud. Want you to scream and tell me to take. . .”
The emphasis on the “t” sends a million tiny needles biting into your skin. Your chest heaves with the brush of his lips, you want to feel it again, the plush feeling of faux softness on your mouth. But he doesn’t give you that. He smiles a cruel smile, one that chills your skin but lights a fire in the pit of your stomach. He tilts his head.
“And take. . .”
You chase his lips, he refuses to give you what you want.
“And take. . .”
Your frustration grows, a desperate sound twists through you, and your fingers curl around his neck, knitting through his hair as you give the curls a warning tug. He doesn’t seem to be affected in the slightest. He drags his lips down your neck, hitches your one thigh up his hip, and positions his length against you. He doesn’t look at you, nor say another word. He fills you with one hard thrust, knocking you back against the wall, your body sliding up the rough interior. The stretch of him lingers on the line of being painful. There’s a bite to it, but also a deep pleasure that makes your legs shake.
“So fucking wet,” he rasps, sinking his teeth into your neck. It feels sharp enough that you think he breaks the skin, blood filling his mouth, but that’s not the case. The feeling quickly passes when his mouth crashes into yours in a messy kiss. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust, he doesn’t care. He takes what you give him and he does so violently, splitting you into two with every thrust.
He grabs handfuls of your hips, lifting you off the wall before slamming you back down with renewed fervor. He angles each thrust to the point of almost pain. You cry out, a long, desperate noise that almost drowns out his own, panting gruffly. You can feel the heat in your veins coursing through you as pleasure builds, the almost unbearable sensation sending you into overload. Your toes curl, your nails dig into his skin as his name leaves your lips in a plea for him to not stop. His hands grip you tighter as his movements become more violent, eyes locked together as they both reach the brink of ecstasy.
The look in his eyes, the furrow of his brows, the parting of his lips, the damp curls at the base of his scalp—it does something indescribable to you. You arch your back to give more for him. All your focus narrowing on the feeling of him.
Suddenly your body strains as he stills, the thunderous rumbling of your orgasm hitting you full force as you feel yourself tighten around his shaft in an attempt to prolong the blissful pleasure. His grip slackens and you fall forward against him, boneless as you feel the last throes of your orgasm lingering in your veins. You lick the salt off his skin, your body grinding sloppily against him.
“Fuck,” he hisses between gritted teeth, still achingly hard inside of you. “Already?”
“I—I never came that quick before. . .” you answer with a slight slur of speech, you’re tingling all over.
You’re not sure but you think you see a hint of pride in those dark smug eyes, “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” he says. “You’re mine until the sun comes up.”
Miguel is a man of his word.
He fucks you up against the window, just like he said. Your breasts pressed up against the cold smooth surface as he takes you from behind. It burns. It burns yet you can only beg for more. You scream his name, fog up the window, the rough drag of his cock forcing the roll of your eyes every goddamn time. The feeling of being stretched wide never passes, each thrust like the first time.
He holds you by the nape, pushes you forward, the pressure only adding to the fire. You figure out soon he likes holding you like that. He enjoys shoving you up against things, adding to the idea that you’re just a fleeting moment and nothing more. When he pulls out you instinctively search for him with your hips. His cock lays heavy over the curve of your ass, he spreads you and presses his cock between the globes, rocking until thick ropes of come land on your back. You shudder, breathless, your vocabulary reduced to only his name.
You feel a grip on your chin and he turns you enough so that he can slot his lips against yours. Your neck aches but your part for him anyway, allowing the taste of him to flood all your senses. When he parts only a string of saliva connects you, your breathing coming in heavy pants.
A second later the world around you blurs and you quickly find yourself straddling him above the bed. The old furniture creaking in protest. You forget how nervous you would be if it were someone else, how self-conscience you would be riding a man but Miguel doesn’t give you a chance to think about it. His feet planted firmly on the bedding, he snaps his hips, burying himself deep into the tight fist of your cunt, over and over, until you’re stupid for him.
His name rips from your throat, you can’t even think of saying anything else. You attempt to muffle yourself with the back of your hand but he’s quick to yank it back down.
“No” he utters a low, guttural sound, hands coming up your back. “I said I wanted you to scream.”
He sounds unhinged, like something snapped inside of him. You feel teeth on your collarbone, nails dragging down your back, sharp, leaving long lines of irritated skin. A pleasurable pain blossoming over your skin.
You begin to unravel as you thrust your hips against him, his movements setting off white-hot sparks of pleasure like incandescent lightning. Moans rush from your lips as his name is repeated in a mantra and you cling to him desperately, your hands clawing at his back and your nails digging into his skin as you spiral ever faster into oblivion.
Miguel is relentless in the way he drives into you. You can feel him swell inside you, every thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He moves his hands to your hips, pushing and grinding against you as every muscle in his body strains.
His breathing is quick and harsh against your ear, his voice a hungry growl, “That’s it, take it. You were waiting for this, weren’t you? Hungry for a cock no matter who it belongs to.”
You can’t answer.
Miguel’s hips thrust harder, faster—his orgasm crashes through him, his hands gripping your hips painfully as he spills his hot seed deep within you. You find yourself trembling as aftershocks of pleasure ripple through you, your body feeling like electricity as you come down from the high. You clench tightly around him, your own overwhelming orgasm ripping through you, overstimulation making you cry out.
He spins you both, bringing you to lay underneath him. Miguel collapses against you, breathing heavy as his grip on you slowly relaxes. He holds you for a moment, your heart thrumming as his forehead briefly rests against yours, breaths mingling. Then, with a satisfied groan, he pulls away. You let out a hiss. It feels achingly empty.
You’re surprised when he starts pushing your legs apart, watching his spend trickling down your folds and making a mess on the sheets. He pushes globs of cum back into you with thick fingers. Your head falls, back arching into his touch. “You made such a mess,” he says, sounding almost transfixed. Cramming fingers inside of you and curling them, your body seizes.
After that, you’re not sure when he leaves. Sleep takes you and when you wake, he’s gone. No note, no message left behind. The only evidence that he was here is the ache between your legs, and the taces of him still lingering on your thighs.
You’re sure you won’t be seeing him again. He got what he came for.
The next night he’s back, climbing through the window for more.
#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara x f!reader#miguel o'hara x female reader#across the spiderverse fic#across the spiderverse fanfiction#oscar isaac characters#oscar isaac character fanfiction#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099 x you
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
bakugou hated defeat. he was never one to forfeit anything. if he could challenge the ocean to a battle, he would and sincerely believe he’d win.
once, he admits defeat to the universe and chooses to let you slip through his fingers.
when he began to fall in love with your sweet manner, delicate touch, warm smile and witty behavior, he also began to hate himself.
he hated the way he was when it came to feelings. he knew he wasn’t able to express his emotions like a good boyfriend should. he was intolerable, insufferable. something that couldn’t have mixed with you.
love was a foreign concept to him, something he couldn’t grasp but something he desperately wished for deep down, no matter how many times he brushed it off or ridiculed the idea.
bakugou knew love wasn’t designed for him, and he wasn’t ever going to let his silly imagination deceive him otherwise.
but, he knows his heart never stands a chance. especially tonight when he finds you on the terrace of ua. the night-sky wrapped the area in its darkness, the crescent moon illuminating the brightest color it could, and the silent night bringing the greatest solitude it could.
bakugou attempts to leave you be, but your eyes find him faster than he originally thought, him being pulled into your magnetic, overwhelming aura.
“hey,” he begins, a slight waver in his voice from his nerves. “not enjoyin’ the party inside?”
you chuckle slightly, waving his question off. “just needed some air.”
bakugou nods in response. he folded his arms over the railing, taking in the scenery around them.
it was the last night for the third years at ua, everyone celebrating their triumphs, losses, friendships. it was the last time they’d be within this building all together, the last time bakugou could silently admire you from afar. he’d always think about his last day there, wondering if he’d be shouting from excitement. he wasn’t close to thinking that he’d feel like his whole world was coming down.
you were planning to travel to the united states to start your hero debut, receiving an offer there that you just couldn’t pass up. he remembered the moment when you told him so vividly. you wore a huge smile, basically jumping out of excitement. that was the first time bakugou came to the realization that he couldn’t have you.
truth be told, he was scared of breaking paths with you. anger, sorrow, fear. you shone a light on all of those emotions. it felt like his anchor was gone. breaking every stable piece off of him one by one.
“so, what’s next for you? don’t think you ever told me your plan.”
in his head, bakugou replies with, that was on purpose. he wanted to remove everything from his mind. go with the flow and live in the moment until it was officially time to get started on his new path of life. but, he figured there was no more time to put it off.
“stay in the city for a bit. kirishima talked about collaboratin’ on an agency, so been givin’ that some consideration.” he replies somberly. “i don’t know really, just gotta find something to keep me busy.”
you echoed bakugou’s action from earlier, nodding to his statement. a small sigh parted your lips, partly from exhaustion, but also from sadness.
“you scared?” it came out as a whisper, as if it was a taboo subject to never touch on, and frankly it was when it came to bakugou.
he waited to respond, pausing for as long as he could before the silence turned uncomfortable.
“yeah.” something so simple but spoke so much considering bakugou would never admit such a thing. “you’ll be okay though. you got an offer some of us wish we could have, and i heard the states has good job opportunities.”
“i don’t wanna go.” first it came out as a mumble, bakugou unsure if he just understood the words that came out of your mouth.
“what?”
“i don’t want to go.” this time, your voice was much more stern.
“the fuck you talkin’ about? you’ve been excited for this shit the day you got the letter, now you don’t wanna go? as if.” he was aware that he came off a little too defensive, mostly to shield his heart from catching a little bit of hope, he didn’t mean to come at you so harshly.
you peeled your eyes away from him, purposely avoiding his eye contact. looking at him seemed more like receiving a scolding from a parent more than anything right now.
“i mean, the united states? i’ll be there alone, no family, no friends. it’s not the money or opportunities i’m concerned about, bakugou. it’s about my happiness.” you explained. “isn’t that something you’re thinking about too?”
bakugou weighs his options. he thinks he has nothing else to lose, but he also considers the fact of you breaking his heart even more than it is. besides, you were smart, he knew you were going to take the offer anyway no matter how bad your nerves were eating you up.
“you can’t think with your heart about things like this, y/n.” he knows he’s an asshole. he knows you’re looking to him for the reassurance you want to hear but he just can’t give it.
“i’m not! i just want to be happy doing the things i love and that’s not possible in an environment i cant stand to be in.”
“you don’t know that yet.”
“i’m getting a pretty good feeling.”
“because you’re scared.”
you shrug, “so what? you don’t know how i feel. you’ll be here with your mom, dad, and all of your friends. i’ll have to start over from scratch in a country i know nothing about.”
he scoffed, his eyes darting away from your figure. “right because you know exactly how i feel.” his tone bled with sarcasm.
“you don’t tell me how you feel for anything, so sorry for taking an educated guess.” you retorted.
“you never ask to begin with.”
“as if you’d even tell me. you think i haven’t noticed you avoiding me these past couple of weeks? you don’t even talk to me anymore.”
now the roles reversed, you stared at him, bakugou not daring to look into your eye.
he shifted in his position, beginning to become uncomfortable. he replayed in his mind what he should’ve done moments ago instead of coming to speak to you.
“nothing to say?” you were playing with fire, not caring that you were poking the bear. “guess that’s not anything new. you just do whatever you want, say whatever you wish without thinking of the other person, because you’re ‘katsuki bakugou’. the man who cares about none other than the title of being the number one hero.”
“that’s not fuckin’ true and you know it.” he snaps his head towards you.
“do i?” your eyes searched his. “maybe a few months ago i would’ve, but you’ve been treating me like an outcast recently. i thought i mattered to you! i thought we were something!”
“what do you want me to say here?”
“i want you to be honest.”
bakugou clenched his teeth, his jaw sharpening from the action. of course he wanted to be with you, there was no other girl that he could imagine being with. but it just couldn’t work. you weren’t made to be with a monster, and he didn’t deserve to enjoy something so sweet as you.
so, bakugou opted to refuse the truth once again, brushing her off.
“you’re just too good for me.” he simply replies. “don’t waste your potential here. go to america.”
bakugou takes no more time to indulge in your erratic behavior, so he leaves you at the terrace, the noise of the party being heard the moment he opened the side door.
he wanted you more than anything. if the universe loved him a little more, then maybe things between you two would work out. but because of his shitty luck and vexatious attitude, you two just didn’t match.
he also knew there was just someone you were bound to fall in love with in america.
bakugou wasn’t going to lead you on to make a stupid decision. even if that meant destroying himself in the process.
the morning after, your name wasn’t to be found on any of his socials, and his messages to you turned green. if he didn’t know before, then he definitely knew now that he burned anything he had with you.
#bakugou katsuki#bakugou smut#bakugou x reader#bnha#bnha bakugo katsuki#bnha bakugo x reader#bnha bakugou#bnha x reader#katsuki bakugo mha#katsuki bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugo my hero academia#katsuki bakugo fluff#katsuki bakugo imagine#katsuki x you#my hero academia bakugou#bakugo katuski#katsuki bakugou#bakugou angst#bakugou x reader angst#bakugou x y/n#mha bakugou#bakugou x you#katsukibakugou#katsuki smut#my hero academia#bnha smut#my hero academy fanfiction#boku no hero academia#bakugou fluff#bakugou fanart
759 notes
·
View notes
Text
To Distraction
(18+, Explicit)
Gale’s been busy the last tenday, to the point you’re wondering if he’s not bewitched. He’s spent most of his days and evening in his study face buried in some tome or another. When you’d asked him what caught his attention about two days into the obsession he’d tried to explain but had a fit of ‘idea’ mid explanation and wandered off.
He’s not being unkind. You still get kisses when he wakes and whenever you wander into the room to see he’s at least eating and drinking. He still crawls into bed for a few hours every night and holds you close. He tells you he loves you when you walk in and out of rooms. He just isn’t present it seems.
You love his focus and most of the time his drive to learn and understand all things magic. You understood this would happen, you’d seen it with the crown long before you’d ever set foot in Waterdeep. But you hadn’t realized just how much you’d miss him and his attentions.
You’d be lying if you didn’t admit you also missed those attentions as well.
In fact it’s been the entire tenday since the two of you were intimate. He barely sleeps as it is so propositioning him during the few hours your lying in bed together doesn’t seem the way to go. So you just haven’t been together in days.
The idea sparks one morning as you’re perusing the shelves of his study while he’s completely lost within a book, the tea you brought him going cold on the desk. You find a book there. Not some archaic tome filled with the words of scholars but a rather modern little novel. A bawdy one at that. You surreptitiously slip it from the shelves and into your pocket. Though reasonably you probably could have told him you were taking it and he still wouldn’t have realized what you were doing.
You spent much of the day reading Gale’s naughty little book of a lonely noblewoman and her black-hearted kidnapper turned seducer. It’s a raunchy book filled with explicit acts and does little to keep your mind from Gale. If anything, it makes the ache of missing him worse, well, it certainly makes the ache between your legs worse.
You’ve decided you’ve had enough. Gale is free to wrap himself up in whatever it is that’s caught his attention but not to the point he’s forgotten about you.
That night you ignore your normal bedclothes in favor of a rather sheer nightgown. One better suited to a new bride on her wedding night. You’d felt silly buying it not long after moving to the city but it had been so lovely you couldn’t resist. Now you realize you’d given yourself an uncommon weapon against the loneliness you were feeling.
When you slipped back into the study, Gale was writing something. He was surrounded by several candles to ward off the darkness of the evening, most of them close enough to pose a serious fire hazard to his clothes.
“Good evening, my love,” He says, still focused on his desk.
“Good evening,” you repeat, settling onto the little couch the two of you had dragged into the room.
Gale had wanted to make sure you could be comfortable in the room, give you a place to be when he was at the desk. It was a comfortable plush thing that was a dream to curl up on with a book or simply take a nap. More importantly, for tonight, Gale could see you from his desk.
You rest back against the arm for a while, legs stretched out in front of you, watching him. No matter your apprehension about the sheer number of candles, the light did suit him unfairly. Then again you found most light suited him.
You aren’t shy as you slowly begin dragging the hem of your nightgown up above your knees. Once it reaches your thighs you leave it rest, one hand continuing to trail upwards to your breast. You run a finger teasingly over a nipple coaxing it to hardness.
Relaxing further back, you allow your head to rest on the arm of the sofa, no longer able to see Gale. Or see if Gale sees you. Even if he doesn’t right now, he will seen.
You continue teasing your nipple, the hand on your thigh caressing gently. It’s not quite what you want.
You want a much larger hand gently cupping your breast. You want its fingers, calloused from both weapons and quills, to be the ones gently pinching your nipple. Instead, it’s your smaller fingers making you gasp out loud as you do just that.
Your other hand slowly makes its way up your thigh. You both do and don’t want to rush it, your toes curling into the soft cushion in agonizing anticipation. It feels a bit like torture to move so slowly but for every bit that this is for you it’s also for another reason.
You close your eyes to resist lifting your head to see if he’s looking now.
The thin fabric of your nightgown has been crumpled up to your waist. You draw up one knee and let the other fall open barely balanced on the sofa, baring yourself to the room. To him.
You take a breath, trying to relax further.
You slip a finger down in between your folds. You’re wet, you have been since finding that silly book. Or perhaps you have been for days because gods damnit why won't he touch you? Why has he somehow managed to ruin even touching yourself?
Another breath.
You imagine his hand, his fingers seeking out your clit to rub it in maddening little circles.
You’re letting free shy little moans. The confidence you had in your plan is still there but its hard to undo a lifetime of modesty.
It’s so easy to imagine it's him touching you while surrounded by so much of him. This room, even without Gale, would smell of him for years.
You let your other hand drift to your ignored nipple. It’s already so hard that the fabric over your breast is pulled taut. You’re barely conscious of the whimper that is pulled from you when you flick your thumb across it.
The fingers between your legs dip deeper, you press one inside of yourself. You can’t up but rock your hips into your hand, your one foot dropping to the floor to give you more room. You press your finger in as deep as the angle allows, moaning as the heel of your hand grinds into your clit.
It’s the whisper of fabric against your leg that get you to open your eyes.
Gale is standing above you. Eyes flicking between your hands as if he’s not really sure what he wants to watch the most. He’s looking at you with the same intensity with which you’ve seen him studying his books the last several days.
Finally, finally, that beautiful brain is focused on you.
He notices you watching him after a few moments.
You boldly hold his gaze as you slip a second finger into yourself, the soft slick sounds brazenly announcing how wet you are.
“Gale,” you whimper pinching your nipple.
He drops to his knees as if they’ve buckled out from under him at the sound of his name on your lips. You wince slightly for him.
His gaze finally settles between your legs. He’s frozen that way for a second just watching you fuck yourself with your fingers. But then he reaches out and grabs your wrist, stilling your movements.
“May I?” It’s more of a breath than a question.
You consider being cruel and denying him his request but in the end it’s your own selfish desire for him that wins over.
You slip your fingers out from between your thighs but before you can make any kind of decision Gale’s grip on your wrist guides them to his lips.
Without hesitation and without shame he sucks them into his mouth. You both moan when he does. You can’t move, can’t think, as you watch him greedily clean the wetness from your fingers.
Fuck, oh fuck.
You understand some things about men all of a sudden.
He works on your fingers long enough that surely the only thing that could be left on them is his own saliva. Only then does he let you pull them from his mouth.
He rests on hand on your knee and looks to you in silently pleading. As if there were any way you could possibly tell him no.
You nod weakly.
He positively dives into you with his mouth and the noise that comes out of yours is inhuman.
He works on your clit with his tongue like a man starved. As if he’s decided the only thing that could possibly sustain him were your moans. He grabs your hips and drags you further towards him forcing your one leg to drape over his shoulder.
You think you might die.
You’re certain you will when he presses one of those fingers you were fantasizing about early into you.
He’s near frenzied with how he fucks you with his mouth and fingers and yet no less skilled.
Somehow in your fog you realize he’s moaning, his body rocking ever so slightly. And you realize, he’s touching himself as he devours you.
It’s enough to push you over the edge.
Your back bows and you can’t help but tangle your hands in his hair, drawing him even closer, grinding against his tongue and fingers as the waves of your climax take you.
He stays there happily until you push him away, everything becoming too much all of a sudden.
You’re panting as you reach for him and when you drag him to you, you find he is too.
You kiss him until you no longer taste yourself. Until it’s just Gale on your tongue.
You reach down to grab him. Instead of finding him achingly hard he’s already beginning to soften.
You pull back and raise an eyebrow.
He clears his throat, a light pink color dusts his cheeks. “It’s ah, been a while,” he admits bashfully.
“Who’s fault is that?” You meant it as a tease but the tone is just a touch to heavy for that.
He has the decency to look properly chastised. You can see him mulling it over in his head before he abruptly stands tucking himself back into his pants.
He nods.
Then abruptly you’re lifted from the sofa. You squeak, arms flailing as you grab for his shoulders.
“Allow me to properly make my amends,” he says searching your eyes.
“I thought you just did?” You’re certain he did, even your imagination isn’t that good.
Perhaps it's the way a candle flame catches in his eyes, or maybe it’s a flicker of mischief. “I believe I have several days to make amends for.”
#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#gale x tav#gale x reader#i'm going to write this man going down 101 times and I still wont be over it
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
BIRTHDAY SURPRISES — NSFW
Sanemi Shinazugawa x Reader
A/N: there is nothing redeemable about this. It’s just 7.9k words of pure filth in honor of my man’s birthday.
My husband got a boner reading this, so enjoy you whores.
CW: MDNI • Explicit sexual content • daddy!kink • elevator blowjobs • creampies • rough sex • kinky sex • brat-taming/mild dumbification • overstimulation • fluff at the end followed by more smut • not proof read lmao
Sanemi Shinazugawa has never liked the month of November.
For starters, the stupid month can’t decide what damn season it wants to be. It’s somehow too cold to really qualify as autumn and the leaves have usually fallen to the ground, brown and dead and useless, but it’s also still too warm to snow.
And November is such a tease — smack dab between two great holidays yet offering nothing but a restlessness that persists until the end of the year.
So no, Sanemi Shinazugawa isn’t fond of this time of year. But the universe has never shied away from giving him the middle finger, so Sanemi supposes he shouldn’t be surprised his birthday falls during such a bullshit month like November.
He’d been content to spend the day of his birth like he did every other year — hunkered down in his apartment with some cheap takeout, alone, without anyone to make a big fuss about it. That was the plan — his goddamn plan.
So how the fuck did he end up here?
The “here” in question is a suite at one of the city’s most exclusive hotels. The room is stuffed full of faces, some familiar but most not, packed together like sardines. The music is loud and pulsing and it threatens to give him a nasty headache.
It was Tengen who convinced him to allow this — though, Sanemi doesn’t suppose he was given much of a choice in the matter. But his friend group learned of his impending birthday a few weeks earlier, and before Sanemi could level a few, well-backed threats against any party planning, Tengen had booked the massive suite in which he now found himself, and promised Sanemi that he wouldn’t have to buy a single drink.
Sanemi agreed only on the condition that he be allowed to book a separate hotel room — several floors below where this godforsaken party now raged.
At least Tengen had meant it when he promised Sanemi wouldn’t have to spend a dime on alcohol. He took care to run up his friend’s tab by ordering several shots of Grey Goose, throwing them back as easily as water.
Hey, it was his birthday, after all.
The hotel suite is a blur of lights and colors and bodies pressed together in dark corners. Truthfully, Sanemi really can’t find any one thing to pay attention to; it’s ironic that this party is supposedly for him, and yet he feels like the most invisible person in the room.
But then he spots you — beautiful, witty, and charming you — seated in the lounge area, surrounded by both shared friends and strangers, and it’s like a spotlight has been pointed directly at you. All else seems to fall away, recessing into the shadows of the room, and his attention is locked solely on you; the star of the show that is his birthday party.
The feelings swirling in Sanemi’s chest are dangerous; lethal. He knows he should look away and accept the fact that you, with your endless pick of eligible women and men, would never deign to chase after someone like him, someone with as many scars on his heart as are seared into his skin. He knows that. He knows he’s only setting himself up to get more pissed off — to hate his birthday more than he already does.
But he can’t stop watching you.
And even if he could, he doesn’t want to. He’s only been in love with you since the moment Shinobu tugged you into a booth at a bar they all frequented. There hadnt really been any room for you to sit — not with seven of them already packed tightly onto the bench — but you’d taken one look at him and grinned, something that could only be described as mischief lighting your eyes.
“You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?” You’d asked him sweetly as you plopped your ass right down on his lap. “You look like you’re the comfiest one here.”
Sanemi, who was known for having a quick temper and an even quicker mouth, had been stunned into silence by the presence of a beautiful woman, perched on his knee like it was the most natural thing to sit on a stranger’s lap. His friends had been hard-pressed to suppress their smirks at the way Sanemi gaped at the back of your head, and he was fairly certain it was because you’d been so ballsy that you’d secured a permanent spot in their weekly bar rotation.
That had been over a year ago, and Sanemi’s infatuation with you grew deeper by the day.
Not that he’d ever done anything about it — even though, at times, it felt like you were all but baiting him into acting on his feelings. He wanted to believe the way your eyes followed him wherever he went in a room meant something, that your lingering touches were an invitation for more, but he could never bring himself to find out.
That cowardice, he supposed bitterly, was exactly what led him here, sitting alone at the suite room bar, watching as countless others flirted with you and you, right back.
A few times your eyes had tracked him across the room; one time, you looked as though you were about to push through the throng of people shoved into Tengen’s suite to come talk to him, but a hand on your bicep caught you and diverted your attention.
It’s then that Sanemi snaps. The moment he watches as the asshole in question pulls you against him for a slow grind, that jealous, monstrous thing in his chest rears its ugly head, growling and gnawing to be let free.
He’d hoped, for one pathetic moment, that you would push the man away, shake your head, do something that indicated you weren’t the least bit interested in him, no matter how fascinating his multi-colored eyes were, or how charming his feral grin was, but you didn’t. And the moment he sees the douchebag pull your hips flush against his, Sanemi knows he needs to get some air.
So with less grace than he knows he probably should show, Sanemi shoves his way towards the door leading out the suite and into the hallway.
Fuck it, he decides. He would go back to his room, several floors below, take a shower and hit the fucking hay. His birthday was bullshit, anyways.
He storms towards the elevators, slightly tipsy and certainly angry. He stabs a finger against the down button, his leg bouncing as he waits for the elevator to come and save him from his own party.
“What’re you doing out here, birthday boy?”
His stomach sinks to his ass at the familiar cadence of the voice behind him. Reluctantly, he turns and sees you making your way down the hallway wall, a smirk on your pretty lips and looking downright sinful in that flimsy, silvery dress that barely reaches the middle of your thighs.
That damn elevator can’t come fast enough.
“Go back to the party,” he says tightly, though he still won’t look you directly in the eyes. “Don’t let me interrupt your good time.”
You draw up short. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sanemi only scoffs and jabs frustratingly at the elevator button, willing for the telltale ding that will allow him to step into the lift and get far the fuck away from this rager he didn’t want.
From you.
“What’s wrong with you? Did something happen?” You push, resuming your advance on him and shortening the space between your bodies. “Sanemi —“
“Save it,” Sanemi bites, and because he cannot help himself, he adds, “I just don’t particularly feel like watching you spread your legs for some lowlife asshole who can’t be bothered to remember your name.”
You blink, comprehension dawning on your face before melting to anger. “That’s what you’re so pissy about?”
Sanemi silently begs the elevator to hurry the fuck up, because now you’re only a few feet away from him and he doesn’t want you to see his fraying restraint.
You fold your arms across your chest, hip jutting out to the side. “You’re acting like a bitch because some jackass tried to grind on me? Why do you even care?”
Sanemi dodges your question with ease.
“You’re the one who fuckin’ followed me out here.”
The elevator dings and Sanemi is damn near falling to his knees in gratitude at its timing. The double sliding doors have barely finished opening before he’s already inside, jamming his finger into the button marked 26, praying it’ll move faster than it arrived.
The doors start to close but a pair of hands slam against both sides of the doorway, preventing them from joining in the middle.
You stand in the center of the threshold, eyes bright and nostrils flaring, the elevator doors half-closed around you.
“It wasn’t easy to throw this party together y’know,” you snap at him, and dully, Sanemi thinks the glare you give him is strong enough to wither plants. “Everyone went out of their way to try and make you feel special, but you’ve been nothing but an asshole about it.”
“I didn’t ask you all to do this — I begged you not to,” Sanemi retorts just as hotly, his arms folding across his chest. “I didn’t want a fuckin’ party.”
“Well, what do you want?”
the silence that stretches between you is more telling than any answer he could have given. By the way your lips part, you seem to realize it at the same moment he does, and that’s when Sanemi knows he’s fucked.
The two of you stare at one another for a moment, the weight of Sanemi’s unspoken admission hanging above your heads like the sword of Damocles.
But then, the blade drops, and it must impale you both, because suddenly your hands fall from the elevator doors and are tangling in his hair at the same moment Sanemi’s fingers latch onto your waist, and your mouths slam together in a fiery clash of lips and teeth.
The elevator doors slide shut behind you right as Sanemi presses you up against the paneled wall and slides his tongue into your mouth.
At the first stroke of his tongue against yours, you tense, and for one panicked moment, he fears he’s gone too far. But then you’re melting against him, and the way you tug on his hair and whimper his name against his lips makes Sanemi loses his goddamn mind.
Time stands still and there are no thoughts in Sanemi’s brain but the feel of your hands running down his arms, his chest, pushing under the open collar of his shirt to dance along his burning skin.
They can’t get to the 26th floor fast enough, no matter how fast the numbers tick past, bringing them closer and closer to privacy —
The elevator jolts to a stop, somewhere between the 29th and 28th floors, and does not move.
It’s just his fucking luck; the girl of his dreams is pressed flush against him, her lips at his ear as she begs for him, and the goddamn elevator has forgotten how to work. If his hands weren’t so busy pushing under the hem of that slip you call a dress to fondle the curve of your ass, he might’ve put a hole through the one of the doors.
He punches the button for the 26th floor again and again, his sanity fraying with each urgent jab of his fingers, yet the elevator still does not move.
If the idea that the pair of you are stranded in a metal box of death suspended over twenty stories high bothers you, Sanemi wouldn’t be able to tell — not when you’ve decided to turn your attention someplace else.
“What’re you —“ Sanemi’s voice is hardly more than a croak as your hands busy themselves with the buckle on his belt, fumbling and tugging until the leather fastened around his hips gives way.
“Shhh!” A press of your index finger to his lips silences him. “Birthday boys shouldn’t worry!”
Your fingers hook under the waistband of his pants and suddenly they’re following you down as you slide to your knees before him.
Sanemi’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head at the way your half-lidded gaze drifts from his face down his body, coming to rest on the tent of his briefs, jutting out from between his thighs.
Your voice is syrupy and warm as you whisper, “I guess I should let you have your first gift,”
Sanemi forgets how to breathe when you peer back up at him, your eyes suddenly round and wide; he nearly forgets how to stand when you lean forward and press your cheek against the side of his cock where it strains against his underwear.
Sanemi sucks in sharply through clenched teeth at the sudden rush of cold elevator air against the heated, sensitive skin of his bare cock, your fingers having tugged him free from the confines of his briefs.
“F-first?” He can’t stop the way the question stutters out, not when your lips, just barely gazing against him, drag from his base to his tip. The soft exhale of your warm breath up his length has his hands shooting behind him for something — anything — to grip.
You hum in confirmation, and Sanemi’s vision almost blacks out when your tongue peeks past your glossy, red-stained lips to trail over his leaking head.
“But you’ll have to wait ‘til we get to your room before you can unwrap the next one.”
Sanemi swears he’ll set the entire hotel building on fire if the elevator doesn’t start working in the next fucking minute. His vicious promise, however, fades to the back of his mind, along with every other coherent thought he’s ever had as your lips part around his head and you take him into your mouth.
“Holy fuck,” Sanemi hisses and his head falls back against the elevator wall with a dull thump.
You him pleasantly around his cock and Sanemi nearly cums right there, the vibrations from your mouth too sweet, adding gasoline to the already raging inferno of his desire.
At first, you keep your hands primly folded behind you, only allowing your mouth to work his shaft. Every time you slide up off him, you curl your tongue against the underside of his cock and every time, Sanemi has to draw upon every morsel of self-restraint he possesses to not buck further down your throat.
But soon, your hands pat their way to his, and you bring his hands against either side of your head. You hold them there for only a moment, just long enough for Sanemi’s stomach to flip as he realizes what you’re giving him permission to do.
You peer up at him with those big eyes, so wide and deceptively innocent, and he knows you’re trying to kill him.“Motherfucking — Y/N,” he moans, threading his fingers through your hair. “Fuck.”
With his grip in your hair secure, Sanemi begins to fuck your mouth. His cock slides in and out of your heat, every push shoving a little more of himself further into your mouth. You only relax your throat, your tongue still curling against the underside of his shaft in a way that makes Sanemi see white.
Sanemi’s hold on your hair tightens. “Fucking take it,” he pants, hips bucking against your face. “My little cock whore.” From his position over you, Sanemi can see the way his words make you squirm with need, your answering moan long, and deep.
Your hands flutter to the side of his thighs, and Sanemi almost winces at the prick of your nails against his skin. But despite the saliva steadily trailing down your chin and the guttural sounds choking in the back of your throat, you’re tugging him closer, your fingers inching around to grip his backside, pressing him closer and closer to you until your nose brushes his groin.
The elevator jolts with movement and resumes its descent, but neither of you notice. All Sanemi can focus on his the way his tip bumps against the back of your throat, and how your cheeks hollow against him as he ruts into your mouth.
Sanemi makes a strangled noise in the vague shape of your name. “I-I’m gonna —“
You only need to swallow around him once before Sanemi is filling your throat with his cum. With a deep groan, his head drops back, his hand splayed across the back of your skull, keeping your nose pressed against his base as he rocks his hips, his cock twitching violently in your mouth.
His eyes fly open when he feels the wetness from your tears against the sensitive skin of his groin, and he’s quick to pull out of your mouth. Your hands bracing against his thighs as you gulp down air in heavy, shuddering gasps.
“Fuck — I’m sorry,” his hands smooth worryingly over your hair. “That was too rough, I’m so fuckin’ sorry-“
Your head snaps up, and Sanemi feels a brief moment of panic at the sight of your mascara, streaked down your cheeks from an onslaught of tears. Bht then you’re smiling at him, a big, triumphant, radiant smile, and Sanemi feels almost as dumb in the head as he had when your mouth was around his cock.
The elevator slows and Sanemi hastily tucks himself back into his pants. The moment his belt is refastened, his hand is on your arm, gently guiding you up to stand right as a ding! sounds, and the doors slide open to reveal the 26th floor.
You step out first, turning back to him expectantly. “Well? What room?”
Sanemi’s heart falls to his ass as he beholds the assured confidence blazing in your eyes. “2602,” he manages to croak.
You tug him out of the elevator and for a few moments, he’s dumbstruck by his good fortune. It almost feels like a dream, that your here, leading him down the winding hallway of this oversized and overpriced hotel, eager to get back to his room and do whatever the hell it is that’s lit that fire in your eyes.
Sanemi’s awe is short-lived, replaced by a crashing wave of need and boiling desire, hot and furiously bubbling under his skin. His hand tightens around yours and he jerks you around, spinning you until you’re caged tightly between the hallway wall and his chest.
His mouth attacks your neck, biting and sucking his claim into your skin, no matter how temporary. Your leg hikes up to hook around his hips, your foot pressed against his calf, and it seems neither of you care that you’re very much still on an open hallway as opposed to the privacy of his hotel room.
“I’m not holding back with you,” he whispers against the hollow of your throat. His hands slide hotly down your sides, fingers toying under the absurdly short hem of your dress, kneading just beneath the curve of your ass. “You asked me what I wanted — I want this. You.”
Your sultry giggle in his ear chokes off as Sanemi’s finger dips under your ass from behind to run firmly over your clothed slit. A breathy fuck falls from his lips as he feels the wetness seeping through the fabric of your underwear.
“That’s your main gift,” you’re tugging on his hair again until you’ve pulled him away from your throat so that you can slant your mouth over his. “Me. However you want me.”
You take his bottom lip between your teeth and suck, and Sanemi swears he’s died and gone to heaven. “As many times as you want.”
“And in whatever positions you want.”
Sanemi has never been a particularly religious man, but he thinks he’s about one nanosecond from dropping to his knees in worship of you.
Sanemi wastes no time in hauling you over his shoulder, throwing any and all cares to the wind of being seen as he slaps your ass and books the remaining trek back to his hotel room. Youre lucky his room is only around the corner, given that you won’t stop groping his ass.
Somehow, Sanemi manages to fumble for his keycard and swipes it, and he has you inside his room and pushed up against the door before it even fully latches shut.
You’re moaning and panting just from his hands, and Sanemi can feel himself already growing hard once more. His lips are feverish as they roam from your lips, to your neck, and down to the hem of your dress concealing your soft breasts from sight. His hands are even greedier, bunching the tissue-paper-like fabric of you dress between his fingers as he explores the curves and dips of your body.
“God you feel so fucking good,” he mutters against your lips between kisses. “I can’t get enough of you.”
From the way your hands drag down his chest, fingers sliding between the undone buttons of his shirt to explore his chest, he knows you’re just as starved as he is.
With a slight whine, you push him back, breaking your kiss. Sanemi looks at you, but the question building on his tongue does as you kick your heels off, your fingers flying to the straps of your dress.
Sanemi feels locked in place by the heat of your gaze, and he swears he can feel his pulse tick in his neck. One by one, you push the straps of your dress from your shoulders, letting the satiny material fall down your waist and puddle around your feet.
If Sanemi thought he was losing his mind before, he knows for certain that he likely needs to be committed now.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Sanemi’s stare is unabashed and gaping. For beneath that flimsy scrap of shiny fabric pretending to be a dress was not your bare skin, but dark green lace and mesh and corset paneling.
A teddy.
You twist slightly so you’re looking over your shoulder, fully exposing your ass and the thong-like back of your one-piece to the slack-jawed birthday boy.
“I figured you would like this one.”
Your words knock Sanemi right off his axis, his head spinning so fast, it’s a miracle it’s still attached to his shoulders.
You’d worn fucking lingerie for his party.
For him.
You’d gone out of your way to wear something you thought he would like on the mere chance you’d end up as you were now, here in his room. You’d planned for it.
You didn’t leave him any other choice; he was going to fucking ruin you.
His hand flies behind his neck to grip his shirt, ripping it over his head and throwing it unceremoniously to the side.
Sanemi doesn’t fail to notice the way your tongue darts out to wet your lips, your pupils blowing wide at the sight of the sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen.
He kicks off his shoes and his hands shove his pants quickly down his legs, grateful that he hadn’t bothered to refasten his belt or button after the stunt you pulled in the elevator.
“C’mere,” he orders, roughly. Left in just his black briefs, he lunges forward to take you into his arms once more.
Your peal of laughter as Sanemi throws you onto his king-sized hotel bed is the prettiest thing he’s ever heard. He wastes no time pouncing on you, eager to reconnect your lips, to kiss you until you’re left as breathless and wanting as he is.
Between messy kisses, Sanemi’s hands make their way down your body, squeezing and marveling at the way your body seems made for his touch. And as if the feeling of your skin beneath his palms isn’t enough to drive him wild, you’re so responsive to his touch. Every stroke of his hands seems to bring you alive until you’re practically thrumming with want and begging him for more.
His fingers slide over your lace-covered cunt and he swears at the dampness he feels clean through the fabric of your teddy.
“Eager, are we?” He hums, his lips following down the path he traced with his hands. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”
Your hips buck impatiently against him as his face settles between your thighs. He grins at your desperation, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your inner thigh until he reaches your covered slit.
He lets his tongue peek out between his lips and drags it over until he reaches your other thigh, groaning at the faint taste of you dampening the lace.
Sanemi’s fingers push under the edge of the teddy, a breath blowing past his lips when he connects with your dripping cunt.
“Look how fucking soaked you are,” he says in awe, marveling the way your slick coats his fingers. “Is this all for me?”
You groan, pushing your hips down to grind harder against his hand.
“Just fuck me already,” you huff. “I’m ready now.”
Sanemi tsks softly at you. “You need to ask a lot nicer than that, sweet girl.”
Your impatient demands taper off into soft moans as Sanemi sinks a single finger into your entrance, his cock growing impossibly hard at the feeling of you clenching easily around him.
Sanemi practically trembles at the thought of sinking into your heat, of how you might feel clenching and pulsing around his length while he fucks you the way he’s been dreaming since he met you.
But while he might be pent up, Sanemi isn’t so much of an asshole that he wouldn’t make sure you were good and ready to take him.
So he simply tugs the crotch of your teddy aside and without any further teasing or torture, he latches his mouth to your cunt with a deep moan.
As his tongue darts between your folds, Sanemi realizes that all the cake in the world couldn’t compare to how fucking sweet your pussy tastes.
You cry out, his name stuttering out between a staccato of moans and cooes for more. Your hands twist in his hair, alternating between pulling his face closer to your core and pushing him away, the pleasure almost too much for you to bear.
Sanemi thinks he could get drunk on your taste. His eyes open to watch the way your face pinches, how your jaw goes slack to let his name drip from your tongue.
Your hands unwind from his hair to tug at the sinful draping of lace fitted against your body like a glove. “Off,” you whimper. “Off.”
It takes him a moment to realize what you want. But after another plea of “off,” Sanemi’s hands are already working to push the teddy down your lithe form.
“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you,” he soothes, dragging the lingerie off your legs. Sanemi swears softly at the sight of you, bare and spread out on his mattress, your body pliant and ready for him to use however he chooses.
“S-Sanemi,” he can’t suppress his grin at the apparent whine in your tone. “I feel so — so empty —“
He doesn’t try to hold in the groan resounding deep from his chest. Youre asking — practically begging — for his cock, and Sanemi doesn’t have the willpower to deny you.
“Fuck this,” he snarls, and suddenly your body is caged under his, his hips slotting perfectly into the cradle of your thighs. “I need to be in you.”
His lips dance feverishly up the side of your neck until they reconnect with yours.
For a moment, your kiss slows to something more sensual and passionate, as opposed to the heated and frantic kisses you’d exchanged earlier. The sigh you exhale against his mouth is the sexiest thing Sanemi has ever heard, and the feeling of your fingers latching in his hair is a sensation he never wants to forget.
Your tongue swipes along his lower lip in a silent request for entry that he’s only too happy to grant. You moan against the taste of yourself on his tongue.
Sanemi knows he’s been head over heels for you for a long time, but the way your tongue dances languidly with his has him utterly undone.
If you wanted to, he’d let you swallow him whole.
Your kiss melts into something more needy and frantic, and Sanemi feels your wetness grind down against his thigh, a pleading whimper building on your lips. With an eagerness that makes his head spin, your legs shift to lock around his waist, and one of the hands you’d had latched in his hair drifts down his abdomen until it finds his cock, heavy and hot in your palm.
“I’ve got a condom —“ Sanemi manages between desperate kisses. “In my wallet —“
But your legs tighten around his hips and your hand pumps harder at his stiffened length. “Don’t need it,” you murmur against his lips. “On the pill.”
Sanemi thinks he might pass out. “Fuck — are you sure?”
You nod, eyes bright and alert even in spite of your sleepy, fucked-out smile. “Wanna feel you, baby.”
Don’t have to fucking tell him twice. Especially not when you’re calling him baby, even if it’s a pet name you’ll only use on him for the night.
With deft hands, Sanemi flips you so that your front is pressed against the mattress. You scramble beneath him to plant your knees, raising your ass high in the air, your cunt held out in an offering he could never refuse.
He gives one of your pert ass cheeks an appreciative smack before he shuffles forward on his knees. He rests one foot on the outside of your leg, parallel with your hip, and slots his other knee between your parted thighs. One hand grips the base of his cock while the other kneads at your hip, holding you steady while also keeping your limbs relaxed as he lines his tip up with your dripping entrance.
“Unless you say otherwise, ‘M goin’ hard,” he warns, his voice rougher than gravel. “Been waiting too long to do this.”
Ever the devilish little minx, you wiggle your hips back against him, and his breath chokes in his throat when your wet heat catches him at his tip.
You look back over your shoulder and Sanemi’s gaze darkens at the challenge in your eyes. “Give me everything you’ve got.”
Sanemi decides to respond to your taunt not with his words, but with his body. In a single, fluid movement, he plunges his cock deep into your heated core, his fingers tightening around your hips with bruising force.
“Jesus fuck,” he pants once he’s fully embedded to the hilt inside your warmth.
It’s unreal; the feeling of your silken, pleasure-soaked walls moulding around his cock like you were made to take him sends a bolt lightning surging down his spine, making him shudder.
A cross between a cry and a scream tears from your throat, muffled only by the press of your mouth against the starchy blankets of his hotel bed. He’s about to ask if you’re okay, if you want him to go slow for a bit since he knows he’s a larger than average. but then you’re throwing your hips back against him, circling and grinding and mewling for more.
“Fuck me,” you moan. “Fuck me, Sanemi — please.”
“God fucking damn,” Sanemi hisses through clenched teeth. And he knows he can’t deny you, not when your whining so prettily for him; nor when your pussy feels this fucking good.
He draws back, his cock sliding out of you until only his tip remains. He lingers there, for just a hair’s breadth of a moment, teasing.
Your impatient whine doesn’t last long as Sanemi slams you back onto him, the sound choking off in your throat. He doesn’t give you time to recover; he digs his fingers into the flesh of your hips and drives his cock into you again and again, pounding a relentless rhythm into you that has you sobbing into the mattress.
“Yes, yes, yes!” You blubber, your fingers fisted into the blankets below for purchase as you push yourself back to meet his frenzied thrusts.
Sanemi can’t tear his eyes away from where his cock, shiny with your wetness, disappears in and out of you. “You’re taking me so fuckin’ well,” he says in awe. Your pussy is gripping him like a vice, practically sucking him back into your heat. “You like letting me use you, huh?”
Sanemi shifts so that his weight is on the knee resting beside your leg, allowing him to push harder and deeper into your cunt. You try to lift your head, but Sanemi’s hand leaves its place on your hip to press down on the back of your neck, squeezing lightly.
“Oh f-fuck,” you groaned, voice slightly muffled from where your face was half-pressed into the mattress. “Oh god — just like that — D-daddy, yes —“
Sanemi’s hips stutter. Daddy. No one has ever called him that in the bedroom before, but fuck if it doesn’t somehow make him harder than a fucking diamond.
Especially because it seems like it slipped out of you without much thought, your eyes too busy staring at the back of your skull as every punishing thrust of Sanemi’s cock into your pliant cunt makes your body bounce against the mattress.
He likes it. A lot.
“Should’ve known you’d have a daddy kink, filthy little thing,” he groans, his hand reaching under you to toy with your swollen clit.
You only moan in response, and Sanemi can’t help but to swirl his fingers around that nub, savoring the way it makes your thighs quiver beneath you.
The hand still pressing against the back of your neck slides up to grip your hair, and Sanemi pulls your head up from the bed. “Do you call everyone ‘daddy,’ sweetness, or just those who fuck you the way you like it?”
“Not everyone” you gasp, voice strained against the tight arch of your neck. “Just you — ah! Only you.”
With a growl, Sanemi’s arm locks around your middle and hauls you up until your back is flush against his chest. One hand wraps around your jaw, his fingers squeezing your cheeks to keep your head back as he continues pounding into you.
“Look at you,” his exhales hotly against your ear, his teeth grazing your lobe. “Daddy’s pretty little toy.”
Your thighs quake in their effort to keep you up. Your moans raise an octave, warbling out of your throat as you settle heavily against him, utterly helpless against the pleasure rolling through your body.
Sanemi’s hand drops from your jaw to drag teasingly down your torso. When he reaches your lower belly, he presses his palm flat, the pressure allowing the blunt head of his cock to rub against that sensitive spot that makes you sing his name.
“You feel that, baby?” And the whine that slips out of you is one he wishes he could bottle up. “That’s all me — that’s how deeply I’m fucking you.”
He’s practically holding you up, your limbs little more than jelly, but he doesn’t mind. He only increases the pressure of his hand, rubbing slightly over the softness of your stomach.
“And that’s where I’m gonna fill you up, ‘til you’re nice and full, hm?”
A stilted cry of his name is dragged from your lips, and Sanemi swears he’d marry you tomorrow, if you’d let him.
It’s not lost on him that this is likely a one-time thing; that you’ll likely leave his hotel room and the two of you won’t speak of it again, but he can’t find it within himself to give a shit.
It doesn’t matter if this is just a slightly drunken hook up — it doesn’t matter to him if it’s just sex. You’re letting him use your body for his pleasure, and that thought is enough to make his brain turn to liquid between his ears.
Sanemi falls back against the bed, bringing you with him, your back still pressed against his chest. He winds an arm around one of your thighs, holding it open to allow himself to continue fucking up into you with the speed of a racehorse.
“God you’re so fuckin’ tight — don’t want me to leave, do you, precious?”
He chuckles in your ear, catching your lobe between his teeth. His hand wedges between your thighs to play with your clit again, and the way your pussy flutters around him signals that you’re right on the precipice of your orgasm.
The first of the night, if he had anything to say about it.
“Maybe I should make you my own personal cocksleeve — would you like that, sweetheart?” You’re mewling, nodding frantically as you squirm and thrash atop him.
“Would you like to sit on Daddy’s cock all day, keep him nice and warm?”
“Yes!” You sob, and Sanemi’s fingers circle your clit even harder, determined to to make you cum. “Yes, ‘Nemi, please! I’ll be your good girl — I’ll be so good —“
Sanemi’s pace falters slightly at your words, a new idea — a wicked idea, forming fast in his mind. “You will, huh?”
He abruptly pulls out of you, though the anguished cry that rattles out of you at the loss of his warmth tugs at his heartstrings. After all, you’d been so close.
Sanemi wastes no time flipping you under him, hooking both your legs over his muscled shoulders until the underside of your thighs press flat against his chest.
“You’ll cum when I say so,” he shoves his painfully hard cock back into your pulsing warmth, his knuckles turning white under his grip against the rumpled blankets as he fights to keep his eyes from rolling back at the feeling of being sheathed back inside you once more.
“And you’re gonna fuckin’ look at me when i fill you up,” Sanemi snarls between ferocious snaps of his hips. “I wanna see that gorgeous face when I cum inside this pretty little pussy.”
“Yes! Yes s-sir.”
“Yeah? And who’s fucking you this good?”
“Y-you,”
He ducks his head down to nip sharply at your breast. “Try again.”
“You are — D-daddy,”
Sanemi’s pace only increases. “Still not what I’m looking for, princess,” he’s borderline cruel and he knows it, but he also knows what he wants. “Tell me whose pussy this is.”
You don’t answer; you can’t, given how slack your jaw has gone, your mouth frozen in a perfect “o” as Sanemi pushes the head of his cock right at that spot deep within you that makes you seize down on him hard enough that he sees stars.
He growls your name and when you still don’t respond, he snaps his hips particularly hard against yours.
“Say it.”
His hand shoves between your bodies, and Sanemi pinches your clit harshly between this thumb and index finger.
“Sanemi!” You wail, writhing under him. His fingers rub soothing circles against your clit, though the relentless thrust of his cock does not ease.
“That’s my girl,” he praises, and the pressure of his fingers against your throbbing nub increases. “Now cum on this fucking cock.”
That does it.
Your back arcs sharply up off the mattress, thighs tightening around his hips as your cunt clenching around him with earth-shattering force. Sanemi feels a smug wave of pride as a surge of fluid springs forth and coats his abdomen and groin.
You fall back against the bed, limp and spent, but Sanemi isn’t done with you yet; you won’t be, not until Sanemi has left his mark.
He shifts over you, his full weight pressing you down into the mattress; his hands pushing your knees up until they’re level with your chest. You sigh and hum, still wading through the haze of your orgasm, but given the way you let your thighs spread a little wider, you’re aware enough to know that Sanemi is readying you to take his release.
It’s not enough; Sanemi doesn’t want you lost in the aftermath of your euphoria — he wants you crying out for his.
His hand grips your face, your cheeks squishing together beneath his fingers as he forces your head to tilt toward him. Your eyes flutter open, bleary and unfocused before the clouds part and your attention is locked wholly on him.
“Beg for it,” he grits out, his hand smacking against your clit until you howled. “Beg for my cum.”
“Please!” Your cry is shrill and desperate, your hands tightening weakly around his shoulders. “Please f-fill me up — oh, Sanemi —“
He nearly loses it at the way you say his name, like it’s some damn prayer and he, your salvation, but he holds back. It’s not enough — he wants you as filthy and wanton as him.
“Use your words,” his words leave him in a single, inexorable command.
Your lower lip wobbles. “Your cum — please, please fill this pussy up. Fill me up, fuck it into me —“
Sanemi cuts off your babbling with a single, bruising kiss. He feels his balls tighten, and the prickle at the base of his spine grows hotter, signaling just how close he is to nirvana.
His hand finds one of yours where it clings to his shoulder, a fruitful attempt to anchor yourself, and he pulls it away. Sanemi presses your hand back against the mattress, interlacing his fingers with yours.
Your pussy flutters around him in time with your thumb stroking over his knuckle, and that’s all it takes.
“Oh fuck —“ Sanemi grunts before he feels himself explode. With a strangled yell, Sanemi’s hips slam into yours, pushing his cock as deep as it can possibly go, and his release crashes into him with mind-blowing force.
it’s the hardest and the most he’s ever come in his entire life. Nothing else has ever or will ever compare to this.
But even as his release spurts heavily inside your honeyed core, Sanemi doesn’t relent in his pace. His hips keep rolling steadily into you, prolonging his release to the point his toes curl, and he wonders whether his nose might start bleeding.
The corners of your mouth tilt up, a pleased groan vibrating loud and wanton in your throat as you feel him fuck his hot seed right into the Eden of your body.
Despite the mind-numbing pleasure of his orgasm, Sanemi won’t let himself look away. The face you make as he fills you up is the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen.
Sanemi stays buried in your heat for several more moments as he comes down from his high, his head dropping into the crook of your shoulder. With a grunt, he pulls out, dropping down next to you in a flurry of messy blankets and pillows.
You push yourself to your side, a hand coming to push the sweat-dampened ends of his bangs from his eyes. “Good birthday?” You tease, your cheeks flushed bright red, your eyes bright.
“The best,” Sanemi agrees, his eyes scanning your face, committing every detail of you and your post-sex glow to memory.
The two of you lay next to one another for a little while, talking and quietly laughing. Neither one of you seems eager to leave the bed, and Sanemi in particular finds himself hoping today never ends.
Eventually, nature calls and he excuses himself — reluctantly — to the bathroom. When he emerges, he’s greeted with the sight of your ass, bare and exposed as you nestle into the bed, one leg kicking lazily up into the air behind you.
Fuck, you’re too beautiful, and he is far too weak.
He approaches the side of the bed, stretching out one hand to drag teasingly down your spine, until he reaches your ass, knuckles kneading the soft flesh.
His eyes flit to the small clock perched on the hotel nightstand. Sanemi’s grin turns lupine as he reads time reflected by the green-tinted digits.
Sanemi’s fingers skirt down to your ankle, gripping it firmly in his hand. He tugs you over the side of the bed until your head dangles off the edge, your hair stretching towards the ground. “Looks like it’s still my birthday, darling. I ain’t finished enjoying my present yet,” he grips the base of his half-hard cock and taps it against your lips. “And I’ve been dying to cum all over this pretty face of yours.”
—-
True to his word, Sanemi takes him time ravishing his birthday gift. When the clock on the nightstand finally reads 12:01 AM, he flops down next to you, chest heaving as he works to catch his breath.
You lay beside him, panting in tandem with him from the exertion of the night’s activities. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t sticky as a result of the heady mixture of your sweat and Sanemi’s cum.
You feel his eyes searing into you as you trail a finger through the milky white splattered across your chest — a favorite place of his to cum, as you’d learned, second only to spilling inside of you.
Sanemi hardly holds back a whimper at the way you bring it to your lips, letting your tongue lick your finger clean of his pleasure.
“You’re trying to drive me wild, woman,” he throws a tired arm over his face, shrouding his eyes. “You torture all your hookups like this?”
He’s surprised at how quickly you sit up in bed, your eyes flashing.
“Hookup?”
Sanemi props a fist under his cheek. “Well, yeah,” he winces slightly, searching for more careful words. “I don’t expect anything from you. I appreciate the birthday surprise, though.”
Your gaze is leveled, and your voice even. “I don’t buy lingerie for one-night stands, Sanemi. That shit is an investment.”
His eyes blow wide, and he feels the erratic thrum of his heart stuttering in his throat.
“I want you,” you say firmly. “And I had every intention when I followed you in here tonight for this —“ your hand waves back and forth between your chests. “— to continue.”
It’s a miracle Sanemi is able to speak at all. “I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.”
You grin. “Well, now that you’ve fucked me, I guess you should take me on a date.” You pause, trailing one delicate finger down his chest. “But I won’t make you wait until we’ve been on three before I let you fuck me again.”
Your hand dips below the edge of the blanket and glides teasingly over his cock, already beginning to stir once more. “You’re far too delicious.”
Sanemi snatches your hand and rolls you under him before you can blink, your answering giggle the sweetest music ever to grace his ears.
“Y’know, in other parts of the world, it’s still the 29th,” he murmurs huskily, grazing his lips against yours. “So by that logic…”
You nod, eyebrows drawn together in seriousness. “We’re obligated to keep celebrating.”
Sanemi’s lips are already trailing down your body, savoring the taste of himself on your skin. He settles back between your legs, marveling at the way your thighs fall to the side so easily to accommodate his mass.
He presses a sweet kiss against your clit. “You’re just the gift that keeps on giving, aren’t you, darlin’?”
#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba#sanemi shinazugawa#kny#kny x reader#kny fanfic#kny sanemi#sanemi x reader#kny smut#demon slayer smut
996 notes
·
View notes
Text
ᡣ𐭩 DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָsimon riley + fem!reader
summary: in which simon riley decides to message you after a year of no contact!
tags: angst, romance-ish, talk of abusive parents, simon's an asshole, slight age gap (27 - 30!), cursing, very slight body image issues, simon is a wreck, not proofread oopsie!
talia talks: this is my first post!! this account is inspired by @audisive, much love to this blog! if this does well a part two will be out soon!
One year. Today officially marks one year since Simon left without any warning. He didn't even leave a note. You were a wreck. No one was able to get in contact with you for a month. Simon was your first everything. You questioned yourself over and over. You often find yourself looking in the mirror. You studied your appearance in the mirror. Was it the way you looked? Was it your age?
It took almost two months for you to even begin working again. It wasn't as if Simon was your world, but he was a very important part of it. After you got yourself back on your feet life was beginning to get better. You moved to a new city, got a new job, found new friends, and left your old self behind. A change of pass, at least that's what you wanted.
No matter how much you wanted to forget the day he left you couldn't. He was always there in the back of your mind. The sound of his voice replaying over and over again. You would catch yourself staring into space, thinking of what life would be like if he was here now. How would he touch you? Simon left a large wound, and you felt as if it wouldn't heal anytime soon. You wondered if would you be engaged or married. Simon left like you were nothing to him, but it was quite the opposite.
Leaving you was the hardest thing Simon had ever done. Simon wasn't one for crying, he despised it. Yet as he took one last look at your once-shared home he felt a singular tear slip down his cheek. The salty liquid traced the curve of his face and slipped into his mouth. The taste of his tears brought him back to himself. Crying? Pathetic.
Simon Riley grew up in a rough house. His father was either absent or drunk. His mother died when Simon was young. He grew up hardened by abuse and war, but when he saw you it all went away. You were the light of his life. He often got lost in the darkness, thoughts of trauma and PTSD clouding his thoughts. You, you were the one thing that stopped him from destroying himself. Now that he didn't have you, he told himself he had nothing to lose.
Simon had stopped going to work, he had stopped eating, and he had stopped speaking. It was as if he wasn't living anymore, like his heart stopped. Simon was staying with his godmother, she was the only constant thing in his life now. He stayed in his room, only coming out once a week to eat. His godmother, Delena worried about him. She had known Simon since he was a child. She watched him grow up, and this was not like him.
Today was the day that marked a year, and you and Simon were both a mess. You wanted nothing more than a warm embrace from Simon. You imagine the creaking in the floorboards was his large boots trudging up the stairs. You imagined he had just come back from deployment, you would smile as he walked into your once-shared room. The sound of your phone “ding!” brought you out of your daydream.
Simon.
As Delena knocked softly on Simon's door she heard the sound of Simon's heavy breathing. Delena didn't wait for confirmation to walk in. She found Simon on his bathroom floor. A bottle of Disaronno lay by his side. His phone was cracked and his balaclava was nowhere to be found. His eyes were red, his lips were chapped, and his hands were shaking. He looked up at Delena with tired glossy eyes. He stayed away for a reason, he was going to ruin you. He wasn't healthy, no part of him was healthy. He was toxic, the only good part about him was you. But he didn't have you anymore.
Simon looked at Delena as she sat down next to him, her back sliding against the wall until she hit the ground. She chuckles softly and his lips curl into a tight grin. “I texted her,” Simon says, he picks up his cracked phone and shows it to his godmother. She gives him a sympathetic look and rubs his back. She knew that you were going to text back. She wished deep down you wouldn't. He had left you, who's to say he won't do it again? But she could never say that to her godson.
“Well, that was very brave of you, Si.” The older woman says. Her hair was a gorgeous silver color. Her nails were painted a dark red. Simon liked the way she carried herself, with class and elegance. Simon, on the other hand, was a mess. She sighed as she realized there was a slight chance he might never get better. Delena wasn't sure if she was okay with that. She was getting too old.
Your breath hitched as you read the text. Simon had texted you? Why? You didn't want to respond, you hated him. He left you, he never called or texted. Not even a letter, so why should you respond to his text? Yet as you open the message, your heart drops.
Simon.
I miss you, love.
talia talks: this was fun to write!! part two will be on it's way soon! xoxo!
#° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐘’𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒!#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#ghost smut#simon riley smut#cod#cod smut#tf141#task force 141#simon riley x younger!reader#call of duty#simon ghost riley#cod mwii#ghost call of duty#simon riley x female reader#simon riley x f!reader#simon riley x you angst#simon riley x you smut#simon riley x y/n#simon riley x reader angst#simon riley x reader smut#simon ghost riley angst#simon ghost riley smut#writers on tumblr#sunshine!reader#cod links#barbie#ghost
506 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
umameninatimidapensadora
Roseanne Wimmer
flippingpancake
Clay / Rain
bittykittydrawsfr
BittyKitty Draws Dragons
despitebeinggenorous
do whatever, be free
younvziyuan
幼女资源