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l0v3tast3 · 9 months

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Ok but older perv bf ghost would be such a menace like he would destroy your cunt in his back seat and then shake ur dads hand.( these older bf hcs make me go feral bb)

anon you are so right. he'll be so mean but like it's literally his fault that he's hot asf and u just wanna jump on him 24/7 ??? anyways tysm for the request and the kind words i hope you enjoy this anon !! ◝(⁰▿⁰)◜

✎ tags: mdni! nsft, f!reader, age gap (r is 20's, simon is late 30's), dumbification, conditioning (consensual), orgasm control, spanking, degradation/praise kink, overstimulation/edging, car s3x, size difference/kink, possessive!simon, c0ckwarming

✎ word count: 1.8k words (not proofread)

masterlist | requests are open!

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!simon who wants to see you become absolutely brainless because of him. you're such a smart girl usually, among the top of your class at university, and simon just loves to see that whole façade crumble away. he knows a good fucking is just what you need to unwind from your classes, and he is more than happy to give it to you.

✧ ˖ ° seeing you go all dumb on his cock makes simon nearly giddy, the feeling of how you stop pushing at his abs and just take it once he bullies his dick in far enough to fill your brain with him instead of whatever you're studying, the sight of your eyes rolling back and your little hands weakly grabbing at whatever they can reach for some semblance of grounding yourself. you know just as well as simon does that it's useless; he makes damn sure that you have nowhere to run to when he has you in his hold.

✧ ˖ ° another thing he makes sure of is that you steadily become the one to come onto him first. simon wants you to be his own little nymphomaniac, addicted to his cock, to him. it all works towards melting your brain quicker and quicker each time. there's a certain dedication he puts towards it- even by the time he was done with you the first time you slept together, he's planning it out, figuring out which muscles to press into to get you to mewl for him, just the right angle to pound his dick into you, how much you can take before he starts seeing dew drops collecting on your waterline.

✧ ˖ ° even outside of the bedroom (or kitchen, or living room, wherever he has yet to christen next in his house) simon's working on it. he'll give you so many hoodies, jackets, boxers, anything that smells like him that you want, and then he tells you that if you're going to touch yourself without him that you better be at least wearing his clothes while you do it. eventually you'll get to the point where you can't get off without the thought of him, without his scent, then without him. there's no doubt either that whenever you do get worked up without him, simon makes sure that you always tell him. text him, call him, send a damn carrier pigeon with a letter, he doesn't care, but he's going to guide you through every orgasm you have.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!simon who can get to be a mean dom. he loves punishing you for whatever reason he can find, especially when you touch yourself without telling him. simon is an experienced special ops soldier who's used his hands to torture people as much as he's used them to pleasure you, so he has not a single problem with knowing how to get the truth out of you. obviously he doesn't torture you, though (not in a way you don't like).

✧ ˖ ° if it's been a long stretch of time where you haven't been able to see each other, he'll pull you onto his lap and start out all soft. he'll run his hands all over you, move his lips against yours sweet and slow, whisper about how much he missed his pretty little girl. he'll listen with a happy hum while you tell him how much you missed him, how much you need him. he'll guide your hips lightly when you can't help but start grinding against his thigh, hands pushing up your skirt to see which pair of underwear he gets to rip apart this time. and then he'll ask you how much you missed him.

✧ ˖ ° from the start you know the question is a double-edged sword, but you always answer truthfully. it only took you one lesson to learn that simon knows when you lie to him (he didn't let you cum for three days while he kept you at his house the entire time). he always appreciates the truth, praises you for being such a good girl for him when you honestly tell him that you only touched yourself during the short phone calls he was allowed while he was away. there's a little part of him that's always a bit disappointed though, the same part that turns into glee when you sheepishly admit that you couldn't wait for him.

✧ ˖ ° simon's always a bit too quick at flipping you over so your laying face-down over his thighs. one hand wraps around your neck to pull you up and arch your back, the other flipping up your skirt and grabbing roughly at your squishy ass. "couldn't fuckin' wait f'me, huh? y'so desperate for cock that y'can't follow simple orders? thought i already taught ya how to be patient," he spits, letting you fall back against the couch so his hand can move down to plant itself across your back. that's when he starts, not even waiting for you to try to apologize meekly or defend yourself. slaps that leave bruises you'll be feeling for days rain down across your ass and simon makes you count each one. if you lose count or stop, he'll push open your legs to smack your cunt and start all over. simon doesn't let up until you're sniffling and whining and your underwear is soaked through (which of course he makes fun of you for).

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!simon who really is an absolute menace with you. he dangles your pleasure over your head like something he grabbed for you out of the cabinets, keeping it just out of your reach until he decides to give it to you. there won't ever be a moment where simon doesn't have most, if not all of the control. there's something about having that command over you, feeling you hand over your trust, your body and mind to him that's addicting. so no matter how cruel he can get, he'll always make sure to ply you with as many orgasms as you can handle (and then some) to show his appreciation.

✧ ˖ ° his brutishness can come in the form of wanting to see just how messy he can get you to be. he'll bury his face and fingers into your cunt until there's a puddle forming underneath you, and when he's done there, simon stuffs you full with his cock and fucks you until your makeup is running with your tears and smearing across the sheets. he'll rip off the clothes that bar him from seeing your gorgeous body so that you have to wear something of his afterwards. and god help you if he wants to fuck in the backseat of his car before you both go someplace. which, (not) shockingly, is something he wants to do before he meets your parents.

✧ ˖ ° with the car parked not too far from your parents house in some spot where people won't think to give the tinted windows a second look, he'll have you working your way down on his cock. every time you whine about how you're going to be late, they're going to know, they won't be happy, simon gives your ass a sharp slap and snaps his hips up into yours. "would y'rather i fuck you in your room while they're home? don't think you can keep quiet enough for that," he mocks, his tone condescending despite the fact that he's already planning on doing just that at some point.

✧ ˖ ° once you're practically limp against his body, letting him use you like his personal toy, he'll finally cum. you finish with him, your third orgasm in less than an hour, as he buries his cock to the hilt inside you and grinds his hips up. once you're semi-conscious again he helps you put on your underwear and pants and gives you his hoodie. and after you've taken off your ruined makeup and redid at least some of it, you'll drive the remaining minute to your parents house, where simon seems to know just how to get them to love him. meanwhile, you'll be shifting in your seat next to him while his cum creates a stain on your jeans.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!simon who wants you to be with him basically 24/7 while he's not away on missions. you're his girlfriend, of course he wants to spend as much time as he can with you! never mind the fact that this man has probably been boxing away his libido for years. so while he's at his home, so will you be.

✧ ˖ ° you'll find that any clothes you bring over to your stays with simon don't really go missing as much as he blatantly makes them unwearable for you as long as you insist on still bringing them. why would you have any need for those when he has plenty for you? it's not like you'll be wearing clothes much anyway while he has you. it's a lesson you learn quickly to pack light, otherwise you'll be going home with scraps of fabric. simon doesn't not like your clothes (he thinks your style is adorable on you), but the way you smell like him with his hoodies and shirts, the way they're basically dresses on you serving to remind how much bigger he is than you, it drives him even crazier.

✧ ˖ ° because of how touch-starved (and horny) he is, simon prefers to always physically have you close to him. which means lots of cockwarming; he won't lie about how much he loves watching you try your very best not to squirm on his lap, not to lose yourself to how full you always feel with him inside you. whether you're watching a movie or he's working in his office or even just trying to sit down for a meal, simon will preemptively have you sinking down on his cock, chastising you about how eager you always are for him to just fuck you. it's nearly torture for him just the same as you, but the difference is that he has a lot more self-control than you do- just enough to give your thigh a stinging pinch every time you move a muscle.

✧ ˖ ° no matter how long he keeps you there, it'll always turn into simon pushing you against the nearest table or wall and fucking away the last few straggling thoughts in your head. he always waits until your breathing gets ragged and your nails are digging in hard. until you're panting against his neck from the effort it takes to not bounce yourself on his dick. until you're begging. "what? turned y'into that much of a whore that y'can't go five minutes without my cock? fine." he'll say it as if he's doing you a favor, as if he's going out of his way to satisfy the nymphomaniac that he himself has proudly created.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x female reader #ghost x female reader #reader insert #— ask!#— lilly writes! ♡

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chrollohearttags · 9 months

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writing silly prompts with my OTP so you don’t have to • part one

content warning: exactly as it says, voyeurism, exhibitionism, reverse cowgirl, squirting

📝: I cannot explain this even if I wanted to. Sometimes, I have a lightbulb in my head, constantly flickering and other times, it’s nothing more than wind and baked beans up here so I need help jogging my brain muscles and reviving my creative spark. Don’t get me wrong, I love you guys’ asks and I’ll get to them, as well as the commissions, I swear but I need to get my juices flowing again 🫶🏾

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Ahh! Shit…mmphm. Gonna make me come..”

“Go ahead, princess. Nut on this dick..better keep quiet though. You don’t want us to get caught..”

another peaceful Sunday stroll down South Beach’s Design District turned to a rather eventful outing. Of course, that was nothing out of the ordinary for the infamous couple. It wasn’t rare for the two of you to spend your very limited free time enjoying relaxing walks through the various shops in the heart of downtown..where you may have frequented your favorite stores and restaurants as a bit of routine in your very chaotic and ever changing schedules. It was the one constant that you could bet on in your hectic lives. However..as soothing as the mundane was sometimes…you both still craved that thrill. The excitement that came with doing something you had no business. That rush only grew tenfold when you considered the fact that you weren’t exactly inconspicuous..everyone in Miami and the world at this point knew EJ the Don and (y/n) (l/n). Everyone was looking for an excuse to photograph you two. So it was insane that you were so casually perched atop your man’s dick at a popular lounge on Ocean Drive; enjoying some semblance of privacy as you had rented out the rooftop area for yourselves but even so, if caught, you’d find yourselves front page on somebody’s blog. Right now, you just couldn’t be vexed to give a fuck. Instead…

“Fuck! I don’t care who sees, I just wanna keep—“

your words trailed off into a high pitched yelp as that tip poked the inner corner of your sensitive core. Being fucked up into like a jackhammer into concrete. A tattooed hand on your clothed tummy and inked fingers stroking your clit. All of this because you just had to wear..it. A regular, run of the mill sundress that you had probably gotten as part of PR from Fashion Nova or Shein a year ago and just decided to throw it on to combat this horrendous heat. And yet, it was getting your pussy pounded! Strutting around without so much as a thong on underneath, just in case the mood struck you. Of course, it didn’t take long for your husband to follow suit when saw the fat of that ass swaying from behind the clingy material and watched you bend over to retrieve something when that hem raised and that plump little cunt became visible..from there, neither of you could contain yourselves. Up and down with your legs propped onto the pool chair you went..rutting your hips in slow circular motions as you performed tricks on that dick. Smacking, wet noises filling the summer air. You were certain some attendee or waiter was lurking in the shadows, possibly jerking off or even filming you two but it didn’t even matter. Your only concern was coming all over him! That deep voice growling in your ear as he held you close to his chest and let you ride out your orgasm. Even shortly after, bending you over again so that he could see that ass moving against him. Shouting off expletives at each other..

“Give it to me! Fuck this pussy, daddy. Right there!..”

“Hold still, baby..gonna nut all in this shit!—“

before he could do so, you were already reaching a climatic high..clamping down on his shaft before springing up and spraying him with those sweet, divine juices. Groping one of your tits, Eren would cackle as he watched you come undone for him. Squirming all over the place with uncontrollable trembling from that powerful peak. You were still shooting out tiny streams of that squirt afterwards. Having been fucked so roughly with such impact but of course, it couldn’t be helped..

“Sorry, princess. You know what happens when you wear that shit around me. Can’t help myself..”

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sytoran · 1 year

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐘 / wandanat x dom!r

being a supersoldier had its perks, surely: like being paired up with the black widow and scarlet witch on a mission, and getting to fuck them on that very mission.

──── ♥ pairing. sub!wandanat x dom!supersoldier!reader

──── ♥ cont. smut (18+), a semblance of a plot verging on shameless smut, cunnilingus, so much cunnilingus oh god, strap-on usage, established wandanat, overstimulation, a lot of it, possessiveness, jealousy, squirting, breeding kink, daddy kink, choking kink

──── ♥ note. reader is said to be buff & masc, no gendered pronouns are used. there is use of a strap-on though ;) word count is 3k lol

masterlist / AO3 / join the taglist

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

being a super soldier had its perks, surely.

chosen by professor erskine in 1943 to be injected with the super soldier serum, gaining an enhanced physique, then using it to save the world countless times? yeah. it was nice. being stuck in ice for seventy years? not that nice.

you know what was nicer, though?

the women that came along with it.

no, you weren’t objectifying them, in any way or sort. it was just validating, receiving that kind of attention you so craved. it only took something as simple as walking along the street to be approached by an eager woman, body language very telling in what her end goal was.

and who were you to deny them?

nights that ended in your bedroom and clothes ripped to shreds was a common occurrence. despite the, uh, animalistic tendencies of those racy one-night-stands, you were always sure to make her breakfast the next morning. it was almost an apology for their shredded underwear.

bucky, your loving asshole of a best friend, called that habit of yours ‘whore behaviour’.

you called it the super soldier theory.

as much of a — politely speaking — whore, you could be, no matter how rough or desperate or hot or messy the events of the previous night were, you were damn sure to make it accumulate into an unforgettable, wet dream-inducing, masturbation-worthy one.

and what better to top that off with a pleasant breakfast? you’d known the empty feeling of waking up to a cold bed, so you’d make sure there was still some level of pleasantry and chivalry.

—

well, that fine theory of yours would come into action much sooner than expected.

“fuck,” you groaned into the pillow, as your alarm resounded around the empty apartment of your house. that day was a monday, and you were in no mood to go to the SHIELD compound to begin work.

that could mostly be blamed on the searing pain in your back that was the result of last night’s endeavours, but there was nothing wrong in a little sexual activity, was there? well, by little you meant a lot, but linguistics don’t matter.

in fact, nothing mattered when you were paired up with the scarlet witch and black widow on a new mission.

god bless nick fury.

you were currently huddled in SHIELD’s meeting room for pre-mission administrative bullshit you didn’t give a damn about. sorry, maria.

the object of your attention was the black widow, in her skin-tight full-body black suit, showing off flattering curves, and the scarlet witch, in a low-cut top that revealed a generous cleavage. you weren’t staring, you really weren’t.

but when natasha moved to brush her lips against wanda’s ear, eyes however darting to you, and the way wanda responded in kind, glancing at you and giving you a little wink…… it was doing things to you.

it was almost as if they were putting on a show for you, in all your super-soldier, openly queer glory.

you weren’t really taken aback by wanda and natasha's relationship, in all honesty, because the two never seemed to get enough of each other. what you were taken aback by, on the other hand, was their interest in you.

natasha and wanda had an inexplicable attraction towards you, only growing more touchy when they knew you were watching because of the knowledge that your eyes would inevitably find theirs.

you had tried to ignore at first, the palpable sexual tension between the three of you, that only grew with the passing days, but soon it was all too much to be overlooked.

the day the dam broke, was the day of that very mission.

—

“target spotted,” wanda says in your earpiece, sharp and steady. the lilt of her sokovian accent wasn’t loss on your keen ears, and it made you swoon just a little.

the mission was a clear-cut one, straightforward and supposedly simple. secure the target, steal the harddrive, export the information, then out. you didn’t really understand why SHIELD needed two of their best agent and two avengers for this, but maybe they just wanted to play it safe.

the destination of the mission was a high-end fancy banquet hall, thus you were all dressed to class.

wanda was dolled up in a velvet green dress, matching her eye-color. it went off her shoulders, exposing the sleek collarbone and accentuating the curve of her breast. the slit of the dress ended dangerously high on her right thigh, showing off bare skin. natasha was wrapped up in a eulalia red satin dress, downright sinful in the way it hugged the curve of her breasts and her hips. the backless dress was a pleasant treat for your eyes.

not to be arrogant, but you think you didn’t look too bad yourself, what with a tailored black suit — the fabric hugged your broad shoulders leading a smaller waist, and was tight-fitting at the arms, showing off the curve of impressive biceps. the collared shirt underneath was unbuttoned low enough to expose a tattoo, that could only be deciphered upon closer examination.

"bald guy, navy blue suit. chatting up a blonde girl on the left side of the pillar with the painting of a ballerina.”

upon wanda’s jurisdiction, your eyes find the target easily. you also don’t miss the copious amonuts of bodyguards stationed throughout the banquet hall.

“we have eyes on him,” natasha’s voice in your ear now. “y/n and i will distract him. wanda, you get the hard disc drive, which is conveniently placed in his pocket.” wanda voices her agreement.

suddenly, you feel a hand on the middle of your back, and you almost jump. it’s natasha, and if your eyes ever travelled to her breasts, no they didn’t.

natasha loops her arms around you, hands interlocking behind your neck. she smiles serenely. you gulp at the close proximity between the two of you.

“what-”

“kiss me.”

before you can lift a finger to react, before you can say that there’s people here, natasha pulls you in for a kiss, and an explosion of fireworks erupt in your stomach.

god, it’s so surreal, the feel of her lips on yours. no, they’re not velvety soft or perfectly unblemished, but the fact that it’s natasha, delicate yet desperate, makes you want to die.

realizing that this might be the only chance you ever have with the black widow, even if it is just a mission, you chase her lips in a flurry. your left hand goes to cup at her waist possesively, just knowing it would rile up the target who was most definitely watching, and your other hand wraps itself around her neck.

natasha lets out an airy sound — you selfishly hope that it was your doing, not just a play for the audience — and she tugs at your collar, pulling herself closer to you. despite being somewhat in the corner of the hall, the quickly-gained attention is a little unsettling.

you move to break apart slowly, before natasha’s fingers find your belt loops and her lips are on yours once again. she moves with a goal in mind, this time, hot breaths and tongue flooding your senses.

you know that this means something more than a mission, but that thought is buried somewhere far in your depleting conscience. you can only hope that wanda takes longer to retrieve the harddrive.

fighting to return natasha’s renewed fervour, you greedily grab at her breasts, playing with the mounds of flesh as she breathes into your kiss.

before you know it, natasha is dragging you up the winding stairs, through the crowds of judgemental whispers and wide-eyed stares.

“what about- what about the target,” you ask, helplessly and breathlessly, struggling to find a semblance of order. it’s hard, when natasha’s ass is right in your line of vision.

you’re shoved into the elevator of the posh building. you’re about to question why on earth the security guards aren’t doing anything, before the redhead is kissing you again.

“shut up and fuck me,” she pants into the kiss, pressing a random floor of the building. you finally oblige, knowing that this was a one-in-a-million chance.

oh, fuck the mission.

you ruck her skirt up, pushing her bare ass against the cold metal of the elevator. natasha squirms in your grasp, and desperately rub your palm against her cunt. she grinds against it like its sweet solace.

“more,” natasha pants into your ear, and you shove a hand up into her panties in the moving elevator, any semblance of respect and public courtesy long gone.

once the elevator door dings open, natasha drags you out, leading you into one of the rooms by your tie. you try to grasp at any part of her you can reach, but she stays cleverly out of reach.

the door slams shut, and suddenly you’re face-to-face with wanda maximoff.

“what the fuck is happening,” you breathe, feeling natasha take off your suit jacket from behind. “am i- am i dreaming?”

“oh baby, we’re a lot better than whatever dreams you’ve been having, i can assure you,” wanda says casually, red tendrils of magic swirling around her fingers then around your body. you’re knocked into the bed, forced to sit at the edge.

wanda lifts a finger to trace a long, red nail across the purple hickey on your neck from last night. you clench under her languid touch, and wanda hums in visible appreciation at your bulging muscles.

"i could do better than that," she purrs through sharp teeth, grazing over the faded hickey.

you hiss through kissed teeth, frustrated at being unable to move your limbs. as a super-soldier, it was almost embarrassing to be rendered useless so easily, but thankfully the knowledge that wanda was just about the most powerful being in the universe was consolation.

“what about the mission?” the question barely leaves your lips before wanda promptly sinks her teeth into your flesh between the neck and your shoulder.

“calm down, sweetheart,” natasha purrs, undoing the buttons of your shirt. “we’ve taken care of it already.” wanda waves the harddrive in front of you, before tossing it to the side.

you don’t find the heart in you to question her. wanda straddles you, and when she kisses you, you kiss back. natasha’s kiss from earlier meshes into this one, and you can taste them, simultaneously. it drives you mad, almost.

wanda lets out a moan, and you take advantage of her moment of weakness to spin the two of you around. you press wanda into the position you were previously, while you get down in front of her, your face at the same level as her pussy. you grin up at her.

while wanda had pinned you down with her magic, you had pinned her down with the sheer force of your enhanced physique. spreading her legs open, you murmur, “two can play this game. or three, i suppose.”

natasha lets out a humoured bark of laughter. “hm, you two have your fun. i’ll have my turn later.”

wasting little time in getting what you wanted, you helped wanda undo her dress, letting it fall to the floor. ripping off her panties with your teeth, natasha let out an impressed whistle while wanda turned as red as her hair.

you used your thumbs to spread her glistening folds open, allowing you to see just about everything. wanda whined, at being all spread out, your hungry eyes never leaving cunt.

"hurry up," she gasps, jerking when you let out a slow exhale, warm air making her clit throb.

it’s all good fun at first, wanda teasing you while you lap at her cunt hungrily. she’s playing with your hair, nails scraping at your neck. she reaches her first orgasm embarassingly quickly.

it’s only after another one that wanda realizes, once you’ve latched your mouth onto her divine pussy, you’re not taking it off anytime soon.

“baby,” she asks hesitantly, breaking off into a moan when your tongue finds her stiff clit.

you bury your head deeper, letting out a low hum in response. the vibrations send tingles all up her stimulated cunt, and wanda jerks, clenching around you.

“baby,” wanda pleads, airy and hazy. you let out a guttaral sound from the back of your throat, the pit in your stomach burning as she moans your name. you respond in kind, shoving your tongue in a little deeper. wanda screams your name.

she tasted too good, too sweet, too pretty. wanda’s overstimulated cunt is positively throbbing, uncontrollable gushes of white cream going all over your face. you lap it all up, gripping onto her thighs.

“daddy, stop,” she whimpers, trying to yank your head away. the way that title falls from her lips is divine. but you’re adamant in getting what you want, so you ignore her pleads and go back to devouring her hungry pussy. god, you couldn’t get enough of her taste.

wanda has tears in her eyes, unable to form anything but moans and shrieks as you bring her over the edge again and again. throughout the minutes, you never let down, only picking up your pace with each sweet cry of your name.

there was only one way to abuse your super-soldier stamina, right?

god, she was so wet, her pussy so drenched it goes into her ass, then staining the sheets and soaking through the mattress. you don’t fuckin’ stop, can’t stop, only craving to break her and make her ascend.

it’s only after several more earth-shattering orgasms that natasha roughly yanks you away, having had enough of your fun. your eyes are defiant, flashing, until they lock with natasha’s.

and boy, was that a sight you’d remember.

the normally green eyes of natasha were darkened into a sea of black, pupils so dilated you swore you could see through them, through the lust and the longing. trailing your eyes south, the hand shoved up her panties was now completely soaked — god, had she managed to fit four fingers in there?

her breathing was ragged, the only semblance of normality being the widow-hardened grip on your jaw. you look up, letting her see just how damp your face is, from completely devouring wanda.

“it’s my turn, babe,” natasha says through a shaky breath, raising an eyebrow in a challenge. to your surprise, she throws a strap-on at you, bright red. it’s far larger than what you would expect from her.

nonetheless, you smirk, more than happy to oblige.

but first, you casually carry the passed-out wanda to settle into the left side of the bed. you place a chaste kiss on her forehead, as natasha’s eyes twinkle in amusement.

“don’t try to play the gentleman card, after you fucked her brains out.” natasha comments with a lazy grin. you shake your head, returning that grin in kind. “gotta reputation to uphold,” you quip, letting natasha unbuckle your pants.

your black boxers are damp, to no one’s surprise — wanda’s moans were surely something. natasha trails her hand over it, licking her lips, then lays down on the bed next to wanda, conveniently spreading her legs.

“uphold your reputation then,” natasha laughs, humming in appreciation at your visibly aroused expression.”treat a lady right.”

you put on the strap-on in record timing, not missing the way natasha’s eyes are on your hands as they fly expertly over the harness, fastening it in place with experienced haste.

“on your hands and knees. face the wall.” you command, and natasha obeys. she uses her hands to spread her ass, teasing you. your eyes darken.

before natasha can let the witty remark slip from the tip of her tongue, you’re easing the silicone cock into her pussy from behind. mounting her like a rabbit in heat, you’re soon rutting into her.

“fuck,” natasha cries, clenching around you, so tight and hot and wet and delicious.

“pretty girl,” you growl mindlessly, letting the cock slide in and out of her hungry pussy. your eyes burn, muscles straining as you use natasha like a little rag doll, all her supposed witty teasing gone by the time you’re done with her.

it was so enticing and entrapping, the way her pussy wraps around your faux cock, how she was pulling away from the overstimulation, yet pulling you in with desperation.

screams and whines of your name bounce of the walls, until you’re heftily sure that the entire banquet hall can still hear her.

after minutes, or hours — no, time was a social construct and irrelevant when it came to mindblowing sex — you finally stopped. even your supersoldier physique was sore, so how on earth natasha and wanda had coped stumped you.

the room reeked of sex and sweat and cum, as your brain was still catching up on what on earth had actually fuckin’ happened.

and yet, you don’t think you could get enough of them, not even with your head buried in wanda’s pussy for an eternity, or your plastic cock shoved so far up natasha it kissed her womb.

so it didn’t come as a surprise, when the black widow and the scarlet witch woke up in your apartment the next morning, completely naked, the only trace of your presence being the wafting smell of pancakes in the kitchen.

the super soldier theory strikes again.

taglist: @natashamaximoff69 @ohsugar-honey-iced-tea @fayhar @bibliophilicbi @screechcat @rowanyaboats @nahnahnahwhat @the-night-owl-blr @nemowevoli @wannabe-fic-reader @natsxwife @wandsmxmff @enanna-h @gay4lizzie @jemilyswhor3 @manyfandomsfanvergent @scarsw1fe @jlsammy23 @gingerninja-93 @spongebobs-tie1 @kiyozoe6778 @Lovebelt @girllcver @lexscursed26 @godsfavouritelesbiann @bvrxbre @zekespisshair @alcolanic @ezay @forthelesbians @wlwfanfictionss @forthelesbians @cowxpoke @supaheroine @saqua14 @olsensnpm @33-mrvl @gay4ols3n @knellyc30 @eatkobi @stitch26gp @cqllarbqne @lovelyy-moonlight @diannaswhore @wandaromanoff69

wheww this was a ridee. really hope yall enjoyed it :) reblog pretty please? (begging like a bottom? yes i am)

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lilacsandpetals · 7 months

Text

Frozen Blossoms Pt. 4

Bi-Han x F! reader

Tags and notes: Arranged marriage AU, SFW, slow burn, Pre-MK1/MK1 AU

Last part here.

Next part here.

You don’t know what you should do. If you move, you might wake him up.

It’s interesting to see him like this, you haven’t seen him so relaxed before, it always seemed as if he walked around with a scowl on his face or at the very least, a blank expression. His eyebrows were often furrowed, ever in a state of concern or disapproval. It almost caught you off guard not seeing that wrinkle on his forehead. You reach out gently to touch the spot, almost to check if this is real. Some part of you still believed you were dreaming, especially since you don’t remember falling asleep like this.

The second your fingertips are mere centimeters from him, he wakes up and grabs your hand, hard. You gasp and he immediately lets go before sitting up, “do not do that,” he scowls. You rub your hand sheepishly and look at him, ‘there is that familiar facial expression again.’ “I didn’t think you’d wake up,” you groan.

“Have you forgotten who I am? I’ve been trained to be hyper-aware of my surroundings since I was a child, I am not a light sleeper.”

“I didn’t think of it like that.” ‘So much for starting off on the right foot today.’

“I am rarely at ease, and you prodding at me does not help.”

So he wasn’t relaxed with you. You’re not totally surprised, you two have still only known each other for a limited time, however, you were beginning to grow fond of him.

His words do sting a little.

He watches you rubbing your hand, you appear… sad to him. He didn’t mean to snap like that. He wants to cringe at the guilt that begins to rear its ugly head again.“Give me your hand,” he commands. You place your hand in his and he holds it gently, turning it from one side to the other. It’s cold and there were a few bruises. He felt slightly embarrassed. You weren’t a threat to him, so why did he react like that? Maybe he wasn’t used to the intimacy. He did fall asleep rather close to you. It was uncharted territory for him.

“Give me a moment.” He goes to rummage through his drawer and pulls out some sort of ointment. You sit up before he takes your hand. He uses his fingertips to grab some of the ointment and puts it on your hand. He keeps his gaze focused on your hand and carefully massages it. Soon enough your hand begins to feel better. You watch him carefully, he’s concentrated. When he’s done he looks up and you both lock eyes before he looks away. “Does it feel any better?”

“It does,” you reach out your other hand and place it on his. “Thank you.”

“Consider it repaying a favor.” You seem confused for a moment but are reminded of how you tended to his arm. You smile briefly, you didn’t know he had appreciated that after he left so abruptly, but maybe you’d ask about it at a later time.

“I don’t mean to come off as rude, but I didn’t expect you to be here?” It was certainly well into the morning, practically noon.

‘Neither did I.’ “I am attempting to make amends.”

“Meaning?” His response didn’t quite answer your question.

“I failed to accompany you at the festivities in the village yesterday, but I will accompany you today.”

Only, if you’d still have him.

Some semblance of his being still resisted any attempts to get close to you, yet the desire for you had become increasingly evident. He couldn’t quite see ‘loving’ interactions occurring between you two, not now. And he couldn’t grasp the concept of using such interactions or the thought of it to drive him to improve in his endeavors yet. But he aches for your attention, he longs for you to desire him.

Perhaps he needs to alter his perspective. If he could manage to pursue these actions in a manner akin to a requirement, then it could be seen as a matter of fulfilling another responsibility. Partaking in conversation and activities with you as his wife, it was just another duty for him to maintain. That was manageable.

But even so, how would he properly associate with you? Prior he had only assumed that the main duty you’d serve as his wife, and him as your husband, was maintaining social etiquettes and producing an heir, eventually. But even when that was all he thought of his role as a husband, you managed to snake your way into his subconscious.

Your gentle determination to get closer to him, your adamantly kind nature, your beauty, it intrigued him. Did he entice you as well?

You watch him seem somewhat lost in thought. He was always so reserved when it came to you, it was difficult to pinpoint what he was ever thinking about. You’re pleasantly surprised that he’s brought up an offer of spending time with you. Thinking it over, some petty part of you wants to decline the proposition, but you aren’t going to throw away last night’s progress for the sake of frivolous revenge.

“Okay, let's get ready and we’ll be on our way.”

—------------------

You had never seen Bi-Han in casual clothing before, it was nearly unsettling. The sleepwear he was in this morning retained a dark shade, you felt like it was fitting for him. So this current informal attire was something to get used to. Yet you couldn’t deny that he appeared rather attractive like this. The tunic was a lighter color, the sleeves were cut just below his shoulders, leaving his muscles available for your eyes to feast over. The pants contrasted with the shirt, being a darker shade of gray.

Right now you wanted your morning tea. Did your husband even drink tea? You weren’t too knowledgeable on his eating preferences, he just seemed to eat whatever was in front of him at mealtimes.

He had followed you to the kitchen, leaning up against the wall and watching your every move as you walked about, searching for a teapot. You slid open a cabinet only to be met with the pot sitting on a shelf just out of your reach. You strain to reach the pot before Bi-Han puts a hand on your arm, “Stop struggling, I am able to reach it.” He hands it to you and you thank him. “I’ll make you a cup as well.”

“Sure.”

So he does like tea.

He doesn’t sit at the table but goes back to his spot up against the wall. You boil the water and throw the tea leaves into the pot. “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Okay.” You bite your lip, it won’t hurt to ask more questions, right? The conversations between you two tended to end as fast as they started. They were brief in nature. Well, all except that argument last night. Maybe he wouldn’t mind you talking more; he said he’d make the effort to engage with you. So you shall hold him to that.

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t you get hungry later on then?”

“If I do, I’ll take care of it.”

You shrug, “fine.” Pouring the tea into your cups, you make sure to blow on it before setting it on the table. Bi-Han quietly sits across from you. Usually, at dinner, he’d sit by your side so you wouldn’t really look at him much. He’d be in your peripheral vision, sure, but that didn’t count. It’s an entirely different ordeal when he sits directly across from you, his eyes are downturned towards the teacup. Slowly the steam subsides from drifting into the air.

You push your cups toward him, “can you cool down mine too? Only a bit.”

He obliges and stares down at his own cup again for what feels like too long. You don’t know what he’s thinking about. He was such a mystery to decipher. It promoted the ever-looming feeling of discomfort. Perhaps today could help remedy that?

“You know, I barely know anything about you.”

“Likewise.”

“Then let’s get to actually know each other, like you promised. I don’t want to spend my life with a stranger.”

He nods his head, he can understand your sentiment. He’ll fulfill his responsibility.

“Okay, where were you when you heard the news of our betrothal?”

“Other than whispers of it at clan meetings, I was in my

bedroom when my parents came in and broke the news to me.”

He takes a small sip of his tea, “and how did you react?”

You pause, “I assume you’re a man who admires honesty. I was nervous.”

He raises an eyebrow, but as if he’s amused at you, “And why is that?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “As if you don’t know.”

“Enlighten me.”

You shoot him an annoyed look while you place your cup down. “Well, future Grandmaster, you must be skilled in reading people. So I’d assume you know why.”

“A very observant claim. And of course, you found it nerve-wracking at the prospect of spending out your days in the presence of my power.”

You cross your arms, was he teasing you on purpose? “Yes, that’s correct, it wasn’t as If my husband-to-be appeared like he could care less. Then suddenly at the engagement, he looked at me like he wanted to drive a stake through my chest.”

Memories of betrothal discussions flash through your mind. His indifference would twist into eyes of vile disdain. Anxiety would rise up within you back then for days on end, and a twinge of it emerged now. Why had you blurted all that out? Perhaps you would have spoken on such a topic if you two had reached a higher level of companionship. But the trepidation of what you had just uttered is calmed when your husband does not appear angered.

Bi-Han can’t help himself. He is slightly satisfied that he was able to evoke a sense of fear within you when you two had first met. Yet that sense of satisfaction derives itself from a point in time where he did not care for you, you had been akin to an inconvenience in his mind and the fact that you had looked upon him as if he were some sort of beast only drove his ego. However, had you felt that way about him currently, well, he would be displeased.

Your husband appears contemplative to you, tapping his finger against the table, miniscule shards of ice emerge where his finger hits the table. “And what am I in your eyes now?”

You take a moment to think it over, “I think I’ll have a concrete answer at the end of the day. My turn to ask the questions.” Thoughts run through your mind as you debate on what to bring up. Maybe it would be helpful to start at the beginning.

“What was life like growing up? From what I’ve heard and seen, I assume it was intense.”

Bi-Han tilted his head. “Perhaps, yes. I didn’t like it when I was very young, but I consider it a blessing now.”

You rest your head in the palm of your hand and take in the sight of his well-sculpted arms and broad shoulders. “It must’ve been a lot of hard work, I wouldn’t know if I’d be able to maintain that.”

“Discipline from a young age is essential and the work required of any Lin Keui, anything less is unworthy of the title.” You frown slightly, but quickly catch yourself.

His childhood was laden with heavy burdens: strict schedules, relentless training, and endless lessons. It helped refine him. He’d never admit it, but it was exhausting at times. he’d take solace in the moments he’d be able to elude it all. Fleeting memories dance within his mind. Memories of a time when perhaps he was a bit happier, when he was kinder, when his view of the realm wasn’t so cold.

But that was long ago, things were different now.

“You acknowledge that our child will endure a similar upbringing.” His face seems serious when he says it. To be honest, since the wedding night, you haven’t even thought about producing an heir. The idea of it always felt like a distant afterthought, something you could push off thinking about.

Your childhood was not as strenuous as your husband’s, so the thought that your own child would have to deal with such burdens frightened you.

Your husband’s face appears analytical and you sigh “I understand how a child would be raised here, but surely there were moments of rest or enjoyment? I feel as if that’d be a concern of mine, it would be for any mother, correct?”

Bi-Han’s jaw tenses slightly and you fear you may have struck a nerve. You’ve never heard him mention his mother. You are aware that she passed many years ago, but nothing more than that. You are about to change the subject when your husband speaks up once more.

“My mother gave me the pleasure of tending to me when I needed her. You will be allowed to do the same.”

You nod your head slowly. He was quite vague, so you decide it may be best to halt your questioning about the subject. Just then your stomach grumbles and you clear your throat, slightly embarrassed. Bi-Han leans forward onto the table, “If you’re hungry, go eat. Do not wait for my sake.” You pick a piece of fruit from the bowl sitting on the table and take a small bite. “I was going to make soup for myself later since it’s been getting colder.”

His interest is piqued.“Which kind?”

You rest your chin on your hand, “I’m not sure yet.”

He appears contemplative, “chicken and mushroom is satiating.”

You smile, “I can make that.”

—------------------

You needed some ingredients, and you had informed your husband of that. He offered to retrieve them while you remained at home, but you reminded him of his vow today. So here you are, walking about in the village with him. It’s oddly domestic. You make sure to savor this moment. The village is still lively today, reeling down from the prior festivities.

Bi-Han’s hand is wrapped around yours while you two walk into the marketplace, you move your hand and it feels as if your husband held on for a moment too long. “I only need a few things.” “Go ahead,” and so you begin your search. You stop at different vendors, weaving through the marketplace to acquire your needed Ingredients. Your husband follows closely behind, paying for whatever you happen to grab.

Bi-Han likes watching you operate. These tasks are simple, yet you seem entirely focused. Your eyebrows furrow and you slightly purse your lips when you examine a vegetable before happily tossing it into your bag. He found it somewhat endearing. Since when did he think of you like that? He shakes his head to himself and looks back up to keep an eye on you. You were moving through the shops with ease, and he was keen on not losing you in the crowd. His eyes narrow when a man comes up to you to speak.

It’s easy to decipher when an individual comes up to you for genuine inquiries, versus when they would have ulterior intentions. A few of them were nervous, he could tell by the way they failed to maintain eye contact or tripped over their words. On the other hand, some seemed all too confident in their approach.

He didn’t know if you acted so kindly just to get a rise out of him or if you truly were oblivious. The desire to rip those men apart was present, but he could maintain his cool. So instead he would hover closer to you and shoot a distasteful glare at anyone whom he deemed a nuisance. His hand would hover over the small of your back. He longed to move his hand only an inch closer but the realization that he’s never touched you there before keeps such an act at bay.

You can practically feel his eyes starting a hole through the back of your head whenever those types of interactions occur. Yet you pretend not to notice.

Your bags fill up quickly and keep both of your hands occupied. Suddenly, Bi-Han takes them out of your hands.“Thank you,” you respond, only to hear a grunt in response. “I think I have everything, we may head back.” He nods and leads you back, keeping a small pace ahead of you. You quietly follow along, glancing at his form again before keeping your eyes trained on the path ahead. The trip itself was brief and unimportant, but even so, you appreciated his company.

—------------------

You were decent, but you were not an accomplished cook. You had merely helped your mother in making the soup on occasion, so you prayed that you remembered the recipe well enough.

Bi-Han hovered nearby as you set the ingredients out in front of you. You looked at him and then back at the needed items. He seemed so focused on your every move. Cooking for yourself was one thing, but preparing food for another was an uncertain affair. You hoped you would not disappoint.

Your knife slices through the meat, “you’re making me nervous.”

Bi-Han crossed his arms, “how?”

“You’re watching me like you’re about to tally points for an exam.”

“I’m curious as to how you prepare it, I’m simply observing.”

You motion over to the rest of the ingredients on the table, “doing triumphs observing.”

He wants to counter your claim, but something within him quiets the retort. He grabs some of the vegetables you’ve put aside and creates a precise blade of ice. He finds himself enjoying slicing through the needed components. The precision in maintaining a consistent width is something he’s keen on.

The atmosphere in the kitchen is calm. And you again take silent delight at the domestic feel. Soon enough you’ve thrown every ingredient into the pot on the stove and you both quietly clean up. “It’ll take a while to cook.” You catch sight of an exit to the kitchen that leads out into a quaint veranda. Bi-Han follows your gaze and starts towards it, you follow him and sit down on the bench. Dusk has already arrived and you close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. Your husband is leaning up against a wooden beam so you gently pat the open spot next to you. Not a word leaves his mouth but he obliges to your request. You want to hold his hand, but instead, you hook your arm around his. You can feel him tense up. You try to drown out the sense of slight disappointment, was he still so opposed to your touch? Still, he hasn’t pulled away so you don’t breach the topic.

He wants to wrap an arm around you, draw you nearer to him, but you beat him to it when your arm wraps around his, and before he knows it your head is resting against his shoulder.

Your fingertips gently trace up his forearm to his bicep. His arm tenses just enough for you to notice but the more time that passes, the more relaxed he becomes. You don’t know how long you repeat the motion, lost in the serene ambiance that accompanies you both this evening.

Bi-Han has rarely allowed himself a simple pleasure like this. Your effortless touch has indulged an unspoken desire of his.

“You’re strong.”

He glances down towards you, you seem so small compared to him. “Of course I am.”

You let out a small laugh “Yes, but I am increasingly reminded of it when I look at your physique.” Your nails gently run down his arm and he feels the hair on the back of his neck rise. You turn your face to look up at him, you’re both rather close. He is inclined to look away, turn from the object of his temptations, but you draw him in nonetheless. For once, he wants to lean forward ever so slightly, but the opportunity evades him when you turn away.

Your heart is beating fast, you haven’t gotten this close to him before. “I have to go to check the soup.” You stand up quickly. And although he mourns the loss of your touch, he lets you go.

You return to the kitchen, stirring the pot while attempting to cool yourself down.

‘What was that?’ Both of you are left slightly surprised at the sense of longing that has seeped into the two of you, unbeknownst to the other.

—------------------

He remained outside. Against his own perceived notions, he had enjoyed today.

You continued the task of preparing the soup, carefully pouring it into a bowl for each of you before placing it on the table. The chill in the air reaches you as you venture out to retrieve your husband. He hasn’t spoken since you went back to the kitchen, keeping his eyes trained on the sky above.

“Bi-Han, the soup is done.”

He turns back to look at you, the moonlight is illuminating your face. Your eyes hold a softness within them that he finds himself yearning for. “I’ll be there.” He turns his back towards you again. You could nag him, but you find yourself placing a hand on his shoulder instead, “Come on.” Something unspoken lays between you two, but he doesn’t utter a word. His hand just barely brushes up against yours as if he meant to pat it. He gets up and sits at the table. You resume your place across from him.“Try it. I’m not promising anything amazing, but something decent.” You push the bowl towards him and cross your arms on the table, anticipating his response.

He takes a sip, it’s somewhat bitter, more savory. It reminds him of his mother’s meals. She wasn’t the best cook. Yet when it came to him and his brother, she wanted to ensure at least one meal of the day was of her hands. His mother was strict, and dedicated to the stern and rigorous ways of Lin Keui.

But still, she loved him in her own way. Whether it was ensuring he ate well, binding up his wounds from training, or staying by his side as he fell asleep. The loss of his mother and its repercussions haunted him. No matter how many days, weeks, or years went by, there would always be something rendering his life incomplete. But here, even if it’s just for a moment, the burden of evading her memory is lifted. He allows himself to be taken back to a simpler time.

You eat the soup in silence with him. Any attempt to obtain feedback on your cooking lies unspoken on your tongue. You are eager to ask, but something about him seems relaxed. Genuinely relaxed. So you decide you’ll wait for him to voice his opinions, but that never comes.

He finishes the meal quietly.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

—------------------

To be honest, you don’t even like chicken and mushroom soup that much. You wouldn’t have chosen to make it, but you decide that he doesn’t need to know that. It’ll remain your secret.

—------------------

You both retire to your quarters soon after, taking solace in a newfound sense of familiarity.

You both are yet to change in front of one another, but that’s not at the forefront of your mind. You’re content with the fact that you’ve chipped away at part of the invisible wall that resides between you both.

The bed seems softer today, and more welcoming. And you know it’s because your husband has finally come to bed with you. Under the comforting veil of night, you dare to lay facing him and he returns the sentiment. For now, he allows himself the quaint pleasure of being able to look at you without loathsome yearning.

You made him feel odd, dragging him out of his usual state of being to the point where it slightly unnerved him. The realization clawed its way to the forefront of his brain; that as the day went on, he didn’t find being in your company as a responsibility to be fulfilled. Your presence was comforting.

You were tired. Your eyes start to feel heavy before a knock sounds at the door. “Who is that?”

Bi-Han gets up, ignoring your question, and goes off to speak to someone in the hallway. You can barely make out the words being exchanged, but suddenly you’re watching your husband move about the room. You avert your eyes when he gets changed, although you do sneak a glance this time. You snap out of it when he’s grabbing his mask. Your feet scramble to get out of bed and catch him when he gets to the door. Your hand grasps his forearm.

“Wait! You have to leave now?”

“Yes.” You intake a sharp breath of air, and he seems to notice your startled state. “What?” He says in a more lighthearted tone than you’re used to, “Did you foolishly assume the Lin Keui only operated in the morning?”

“No…” You took a deep breath. You’d expect him to pull away from you and leave, but he didn’t. It seemed like he was waiting for you to lift your hand. You’ve never seen him off like this. You knew this was part of what he did, what their clan did, and still a part of you felt worried. You looked up to meet his gaze, his eyes expressed more than his mouth ever could. When you first met him, you found his eyes to be cold and calculating, but something was different now.

“Be safe.” You said softly. Your hand gently finds its way down to his before you pull away. He gives you a small nod and moves to go out the door. You see him pause and think that maybe he’s forgotten something. But before you can ask he returns to you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you forward. He leans down and hastily places a kiss on your forehead, “I’ll return soon.” And like that, he’s off.

You watch him leave and wonder how such a simple interaction could evoke so much warmth within you.

—------------------

Thanks for reading 💙

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mrsnancywheeler · 3 months

Text

the lakes (13) // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: it's supposed to be over, you and Finnick are supposed to spend the rest of your lives helping each other heal. living as peacefully as possible, but the the third quarter quell throws a wrench in your domestic bliss.

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4.9k words

warnings: angst, lots of it, fluff, mental illness, self hate, self destructive behavior, paranoid, scared, unreliable reader, gore, death, violence, cursing, bad familial dynamics, mentions of drinking and partying, unedited, no use of y/n, terms of endearment, allusions of dissociation

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You don't know for how long you'd been sitting in the water when Beetee and Johanna joined you. Their presence startling you out of the bliss of just holding Finnick in the water, as if it was a night back in District 4. But, this would never be that, this was just something Capitol citizens would cry over until they eventually forgot, moved on to new victors.

“We're going to head to the tree where the lightning strikes, so I'll have enough time to set up. Johanna will go with Katniss to the beach and take care of her after they get off the sand.” Beetee adjusted his glasses, you all had to be so careful with your words. To the people watching it had to seem like allies turning against allies, not a cleverly thought out escape plan for the rebellion. You nodded, but not a single molecule of your body wanted to move from where the ocean could rise and fall on you while Finnick's warmth shielded you from any chill.

“With the sun setting, we better start heading that way, then." Finnick began to stand, much to your chagrin, but the sooner this was over you could be safe with each other in District 13. At the very least out of the dangers of the arena. "C’mon, sweet girl.” He pulled you up from the water without a second thought, pulling you comfortably back into his side.

The trek to the tree felt long and grueling from the time you'd spent in the water, you couldn't stop yourself from thinking about your bed back at the house in District 4. That lovingly, delicately made bed where you'd processed the worst and best moments of your life before you slept. “I love you." It was unprompted, but it felt right for you to say to him as he walked, arm firmly around you.

Finnick tilted his head down at you, a soft smile on his handsome face, “I love you too, angel." He kissed your forehead, "Don't ruin the moment by telling me some plan you have of sacrifice.” Although it was playful, you knew he was somewhat serious, he knew you.

You lightly elbowed him and he exaggerated his wince, "I just spend a lot of time proclaiming how I can't live without you and not enough just say I love you, so yeah, I love you.” It felt almost embarrassing to admit, but your brain always felt like a cesspool of anxiety and fear, it had been too long since you'd been able to just be the two of you without a care.

"You know how complicated it is to be married to someone when their way is to live and die for someone when you love them so much all you want is for them to live an eternity?” The smile is still on his face and so’s that playful tone, but it fits where it needs to. If the world was a better place it would never have been a problem that you would follow him to the ends of the Earth. That you refused to wait for him when asked and followed him to the battlefields, but the world was not a better place and you'd dug your own grave in blissful acceptance.

“Yes I do, I'm actually married to him right now." He rolled his eyes at you with a scoff. As the sun faded the more thankful you were for Finnick’s warm touch that made it feel like there were a thousand fireflies under your skin. The closer you were to the tree, the closer you were to Beetee blowing the arena open, so you could live in some semblance of peace for at least a little while.

“Oh, be careful, angel." Finnick steadied you when you almost tripped over a stray root, a reminder that even if you'd been focusing your energy on not losing him, you were injured. The faster you could be in a hospital bed and without a lightness in your head, the better.

“Thank you." The words had barely rolled off of your tongue when you were suddenly in the presence of the lightning tree, which was monstrous as it towered over the other greenery.

“Minimal charring, it's an impressive conductor. Let's get started.” Beetee's voice is clear in the crisp night air, the fluttering and chirps of birds filling the air. Finnick’s warm hand guides you towards the tree, which you would consider to be rather intimidating. Beetee is instantly wrapping coils of the wire around the tree's branches. While he works you let yourself fall into the comfort of Finnick's neck, his scent, the warmth he exudes onto you. His free hand thrumming against your hip and you feel your brain leaving the moment before it's slightly occupied by Beetee's voice once again, “Typically a lighting strike contains five billion joules of energy, we don't want to be anywhere in the vicinity when this hits.” He's seemingly finished with his circles around the tree as he begins walking towards Katniss with the coil. “You and Johanna can go together now, take this, unspool it carefully, make sure the entire coil is in the water, you understand? Then head to the tree at the two o'clock sector. We’ll meet you there.” He's so precise, like a typewriter as it clicks out each letter.

From the look on her face Katniss seemingly does not understand, even in your slightly cloudy state you can tell she's unhappy with the letters clicked out. Peeta must feel the same way as he insists, “I'm gonna go with them as a guard." Johanna and Katniss would be just fine as each other's guards, and you can tell the so-called star crossed lovers plan to flee as soon as they can, not that you blame them. If there was no certainty you could survive with Finnick you would beg to do the same.

“No." Beetee instantly replies, his plan has made it through every cog in his brain. Peeta cannot be the wrench in the system that leads to freedom. “No, no, no, no, you're staying here to protect me and the tree.” The cloudy state is dissipating, if there's a plan you believed in it was Beetee’s and this stopped it from going off without a hitch you could feel the spiral around the corner.

“No, I need to go with her." Peeta stood his ground and you felt Finnick stand up straighter. Your own heart felt like it would thrum right out of your chest if the delay continued.

“There are two Careers out there, I need the guards."

Peeta pointed at you and Finnick, “They can protect you just fine on their own, two for two Careers." You cursed Peeta Mellark for trying to make holes in a plan he didn't even know about, but what he was aware of was irrelevant when you were all so close.

“If you want three, why can't Johanna stay with them too and Peeta and I will take the coil." Katniss interjected, the air was now tense.

Beetee walked closer towards her, “You all agreed to keep me alive until midnight, correct?”

"It's his plan, we all agreed to it.” Johanna chimed in, her voice still full of its usual blunt aggression, but you can sense the anxiety involved in keeping the plan on track.

“We should just stick to the plan and after we'll all meet up in sector two anyways." You try to say it softly enough as to not imply some sort of scheme worked out against the couple.

“Is there a problem, here?" Finnick tilts his head in Katniss' direction. She stares back at him for what feels like hours, like she's pondering her own response.

"Excellent question." Beetee has taken another step forward.

“No, but it should be three and three." Katniss eventually says, looking firmly at Finnick and then at Beetee. “She comes with me and Johanna." Katniss nods to you and suddenly your fogged state is truly gone.

“No." Finnick says too quickly.

Katniss shrugs, “Then we find another way to split it, but three and three is fair." She's trying to use you as leverage to keep Peeta safe, if any cannon goes off she'd attack you, you're sure of it.

The familiar sensation of nausea has once again nestled itself inside of you. How could you leave Finnick after you'd sworn to stay by his side as a reminder of your mutual safety, of you future together? Yet the plan needed to be executed in even less time now, regardless of what the cost may be. Your nose felt congested with the panic, but slowly you forced your heavy head to nod. “It's okay, I'll go."

The way Finnick looked at you for that you're sure will forever stay etched in the darkest caverns of your memory, like you've betrayed him. “Great, there's no problem then.” Katniss has already moved on to say her farewell to Peeta, but the pit in your stomach makes it almost impossible to look at Finnick.

"You said-” You have to stop him before he begins because you know you'll fall into a ball on the ground if the tensions rise anymore.

" I know what I said.” You croak out, "Finnick, there's no other way. We have to do it and I'll be back as soon as it's over. I really, I'm telling you I wouldn't do it if there was. Please, please, Finn believe me. And I'll find you right after.” You imagine you must sound somewhat incoherent in the way you can feel your own voice rushed and shaking, trying desperately to affirm your words. “Please." It's a plea for him to know you're doing it for him, for both of you, not because you didn't sincerely mean what you said. He nods slowly and you almost gag when you can't read the expression in his eyes.

Softly and slowly he taps part of your arm, ‘don’t forget,’ he's trying to say as he kisses your forehead before pressing his own to yours. He's shallowly breathing through his nose as he grips your shoulders.

Your voice is breaking as you beg for his trust, “Please, Finnick."

"It's okay.” He whispers and your brain screams that he's a liar. You don't deserve to have your feelings protected and you'll gladly spend the rest of your life making up for this. Then Finnick’s lips are on yours, the honey, the saltwater overwhelming your senses and you wish you could pause like this forever.

“We have to go." Johanna's gruff voice leads Finnick to pull away and you wish you could cry, grovel at his feet, and refuse to go with them. It's like weights are on your body when you begin to walk away, go back, go back, go back you tell yourself repeatedly. Yet you can't and you have to force your voice back to a normal volume, give a small smile. You've had years of training to act okay, but people from the Districts have always been more perceptive of the acts then those in the Capitol. At least you assume so, other victors at the very least know, the possibility that Katniss could fall into either category means you have to be extra careful. Make sure that she doesn't sense what has to be done to get them out of this wretched jungle.

“Yes, we're on a schedule.” You follow the two of them away from the lightning tree, your saving grace, Katniss is looking back at Peeta, but you know if you look back at Finnick the never ending, nagging self-reproach will make itself known. “We can trade off the coil if it feels too heavy, it's been a long day."

The rocks you're having to climb through don't make the trip any easier and the wounds still untreated in your back get increasingly sore. There's no telling how much distance you've actually put behind yourself and the tree, but it feels like an eternity. Which could just be due to the awkward silence that settled between you all. Apparently Johanna wasn't pleased with however much distance you had made in the time because her voice broke the quiet air, “Come on, I want to put as much distance between me and this beach as possible. Frying is not how I wanna go.”

You murmured out an agreement, somehow in the muggy air your body was still finding ways to be cold. You must just run cold because you could swear there were goosebumps taking over with every slight wisp of the wind. It made you miss having Finnick there with you, to keep you warm. Katniss seemed put off by something you couldn't see, “There's something…” She trailed off, pulling at the coil of wire that refuses to move. With a sudden jerk the wire bounced back, someone had cut it, Katniss dropped the coil behind her. You had less then a second to be caught off guard when Joanna shot you a look and you grabbed the coil, using all your force to knock out Katniss. There was no longer time to wait until after you'd taken the wire to the beach.

Katniss fell over and you tossed Johanna one of your knives, she swiftly was cutting the tracker out of Katniss' arms. Katniss was crying out in pain, you crouched over her shushing her as you saw Brutus getting closer. Johanna's bloody hands surrounded Katniss’ neck, if you were lucky she'd look close enough to death they wouldn't bother checking. Enobaria was in view now too and you took the knife from Johanna, throwing it in their direction which missed miserably, you were off your game.

“Stay down." Johanna hissed at Katniss before throwing her ax which also missed. Then the two of you were running the other direction. Brutus and Enobaria chasing you through the darkened jungle trees.

You could hear, far off, Finnick calling your name. “Where are you?" Yet before you could reply a spear was whizzing past your ear, you ducked, falling into the ground to keep you safe. Maybe if you buried yourself deep enough into the forest floor they would no longer be able to see you, but that was wishful thinking. You could hear grunting that just be fighting and your eyes searched in the dark for where the spear might have been, but you couldn't find it. Then there was a yell, your brain took a moment to register who it must have been, Chaff. A cannon echoed, your brain flashed with memories of how kind he'd been, drunk, reckless, how he could always make you laugh and loosen up at Capitol parties. You didn't know who'd killed him, but he was gone. Another reminder of what you needed to fight for, to escape for.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

District 4 was the same as you remembered it, while almost, even though the attitude was celebratory everything seemed much more bleak to you. You'd stared out the windows as you arrived at the outskirts, the waters were still glittering with the sun, no one was out working though, they must all have to be waiting for me, you told yourself. Sandy beaches and fields rushed past, you were excited to feel the heat underneath your feet once again.

“What's going on in that head of yours, sweet girl?" You'd nearly forgotten that Finnick was sitting not far off, letting you absorb the silence of the train car.

“Just ready to be home.” You allowed yourself to smile, to be excited, you felt like a pendulum of remorse for any positive thing happening, to elation that it was you who'd get those things. Maybe there would be no expected future of a crabbing business with Conway in a small, rickety beach house, but there was a grand home in Victor's Village now waiting for you, its own backyard being the expanses of the beach.

“You won't have much free time for a while, but I'll find time for us." Finnick scooted closer to you, “To picnic and swim as long as we can.” His ocean eyes are so talented at pretending to be okay, it hurts to think about it too hard.

"I'd love that.” He kisses you so softly you feel like the waves are slowly rippling around your body. You want him to consume you like the waves would, for your struggles to be washed away, and to live in the facade of a carefree, partying life he portrays for Panem. Even when you'd dated, sometimes he'd let it slip when it was the two of you, be resigned to his emotions, but most of the time he was full of adrenaline, excitement, laughter, and smugness. Maybe that's what you found so comforting, he could be the highest of highs and the lowest of lows which is how you felt. Conway was peaceful in a way that was almost dull, Finnick's chaos gave you, the peace that you supposed Conway would have given anyone else.

His hands, always radiating the heat of the sun and a thousand other stars, cradled your face when he pulled away to smile at you, “I'll be right by your side for the roughest parts and everything else, we can pretend it's just us, partying and thriving.” You didn't know if you could thrive, but you trusted him, if playing pretend made it easier you'd gratefully live every day in a fantasy.

You were both still young, if you could push away the dread thinking about what your actions had caused, then it would be a cake walk to act like you were still innocent on top of being young, dumb, and fun. Maybe it was true that there was nothing a few drinks couldn't fix, something you'd get to try out tonight, at the party where District 4 welcomed you back as their glorious, crowned victor. When you stepped off the train into the warm breeze made you smile at its familiarity, and the smell of fish that could sometimes reek simply made you ecstatic to be back, especially with the hints of salt water. It was hot and you were so blessed, the train had been blasting cool air as you sat in your tiny sundress, you would've sworn they were doing it on purpose, keeping you cold to remind you of how they'd nearly brought you to death and could do it again if they wanted to. You had no reservations of the Capitol’s cruelty, yet here you were so ready to lap up the rewards for being such a good puppet.

The train station was filled to the brim with familiar faces from all across the districts, school mates, buyers and sellers from the markets that you'd also missed so much, fellow crabbers your father was in competition with, cheering, smiling. Your win meant Parcel Day, meant pride for the District, it had been years since they'd won, not since Finnick, and here you were. You let yourself smile and wave back, trying to not let it falter when your eyes finally grazed over them. Conway’s family, it definitely must have been a requirement to come because they could not have been more than a cloud of complete darkness, a cloud that seemed like it would drag you in if you looked any longer. Some of them with their anger, seething as they started, others with a heartbreaking look of betrayal, and worse of all was his mother. Her numbness that you recognized from yourself that made you want to revert back into it. A voice you recognized called out to you, so you slowly peeled your eyes away from Mrs. Delmare.

Your sister, any feeling of dissociating into yourself fled when you saw her, helping your sickly mother stand. For what felt like the first time in years, they were all smiling. Of course they were, you'd saved them, you could give endless medicines, medical treatments, no one needed to worry about work anymore, not when you'd ensured it for them. Conway's family, the Delmares had a better off business, they had each other to stay afloat. If your sister took your place in the markets, trying to charm buyers, your mother would wither away and so would your shy sister. Maybe you weren't a part of their tight-knit group, but you still loved them and they needed you. Conway had said it himself, had validated that reason.

“Avonlea!" You smiled brighter, waving until your arm hurt. Eventually the Peacekeepers indicated it was time for the train station to empty out, you'd finally get some time with your family before rushing to get ready for a party with District 4’s finest, richest members. When the station had cleared of everyone except them, and of course your escort chatting excitedly with your designer team who'd been dragged along, Finnick and Ondine whispering something amongst themselves you'd run to your family.

You were shocked by your fathers hug, so loving, “Welcome back home, sweetheart." He whispered gruffly, voice deep and scratchy, the last time he'd hugged you was before you left for what he probably assumed was your certain death, and you couldn't remember one from before that. He pulled away from you, "I love you, we all do.” He said firmly.

You hummed out some sort of confused noise, "Everything was televised so when you talked to Conway about…” Your mom's frail voice trailed off into a cough that had you wincing.

"You're an important part of this family, we're sorry if you don't always feel loved, but you are.” Your father finished, gripping your shoulders like you'd slip away. It was sweet, but you'd never had any reservations about them not loving you, it wasn't just about love. It was the way you were never a part of them, whatever things they did together, was for them to do together, you'd go off, find Conway, find a party, and eventually you'd even found Finnick to keep your attentions occupied.

“I love you too." You kept smiling sweetly, “Mama, the new house is gonna be perfect for you, no leaks in the ceiling, the windows will stay shut at night regardless of the wind, the beach in our backyard, and I've already heard of all these new medicines."

“You're a sweet girl." Your mom smiled, reaching out for her cold hands to grab yours, “People might think differently around here after what they watched or think they saw in you, but you've always been caring to the core.” It meant a lot, you'd always envisioned your sister as the caring, compassionate one, not you with your days spent talking at the market as you sold your father's catches, before running off to find the excitement of other people. You felt like you were endlessly selfish, but maybe she was right, maybe your downfall would always be wanting to take care of someone else.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It was more painful to get up than you'd anticipated, rocks scraping your hands, but you couldn't just lay there and play dead. In the faint light piercing the darkness you could make out Brutus fighting with what seemed to be Peeta. Where had he come from? Finnick was supposed to be keeping him safe, when had that all gone out the window?

Johanna and Enobaria were also in hand to hand combat, with one swoop Enobaria could knock Johanna over and rip out her throat with those formidable teeth. The part of you that yearned for Finnick, to listen to him, told you to run, call out, find him, apologize more for leaving once again, but you couldn't leave them like this. You'd have to resign yourself that no matter what you did, you lived in a tragedy of eternal guilt. You threw your remaining knife and it landed on Enobaria's shoulder. Her screech was almost animalistic, she turned to you and that was when Johanna had her swept onto the dirt.

In a mess of grunts Peeta had tackled Brutus. With the way Peeta presented himself it was shocking to see the brutality of his strength especially against someone who you would've ranked among the stronger of the tributes. What looked to be a rock was in his hand, crushing itself into Brutus’ skull, over and over until another cannon went off. Quickly followed by the rumbling of thunder, “Finnick!" You screamed instinctually, you needed to find him. Weren't you all supposed to be far from the tree and in sector two? You didn't even know what sector you were in or where to go from there.

“Where's Katniss?" Peeta asked, his voice rushed.

“She's okay, she's safe." Johanna responded, to the citizens of Panem it would seem like a clever lie, but it was at its core an honest reassurance. Suddenly your body hit the ground again, head hitting a rock, the way it seared made you think it tore open the wound that must have been trying to scab. Your assailant is almost growling, Enobaria trying to rip your throat open. You screech scratching at her hands when what you assume is Peeta throws her off of you.

Johanna helps you stand, but you feel like passing out as she pulls you up. There's something you're forgetting, something that needs to be done, Finnick needed you to do it. The pain burning into your head makes it nearly impossible to focus on what, “Johanna, there's something, god, I can't think of it."

“What do you mean, there's something?" Peeta asks when suddenly there's a buzzing noise, you think it's your head, but the others look up. Something pulses through the dome and suddenly the sky, the real sky is shining through. It's not night, it's bright as day.

“We have to go, sector two." Johanna pulls at your arm, you're excited, this is it, freedom, but you pull away from her.

“Finnick! Finnick!" You yell as loud as you can, stumbling forward when suddenly debris starts to fall from the sky. A tree catches on fire, quickly engulfing those around it in flames.

“We have to go." Johanna urges again, Peeta is confused, stunned.

“No, I told him, I promised." You insist, trying to forge on ahead although you feel like you're going to faint. “Finnick, Finn, where are you? It's me!"

Johanna grabs you again, her pulling is harsher this time, “He'll find us, let's go." But his lack of a response has your blood fused with anxiety, what if he was standing to close when the lighting struck? You had to find him, to make sure he was okay. She pulls you away and you lose balance as another piece of the dome falls. You're forgetting something, you all are, something on the tip of your tongue and you need to find Finnick, he'll know, he'll remind you. It has to be figured out now, he has to be found now, so later he can joke about how helpless you are, how glued to each other you are. A hovercraft, Plutarch should have a hovercraft, but that's not the missing thing.

Tears are filling your vision, fuck, fuck, fuck, you're so stupid, he told you something or showed you something. Why isn't Johanna more concerned, has she forgotten too? You've thrashed out of her grasp when this time a beam falling from the sky is about to fall on you. There's an attempt to move, but before it had you somewhat trapped beneath it, screaming in agony when the pressure hits. “Finnick!" Your screeching is out of breath, but you need him to find you. You're sobbing, too overwhelmed, this is not how it's supposed to go, back aching, head throbbing, burning pressure laying on top of you, and without the one person you need. This is why he didn't want you in here, why you should've resisted Katniss and stayed close.

You were stubborn and now you're going to die here, Finnick's going to spend eternity cursing your name for refusing to just listen to his needs, to his love. You can't hear what Johanna and Peeta are saying, you think they're trying to move the metal, but you can't feel your legs. All the pain is too much that it's suddenly like you can't feel too much of anything, except the fact that your eyes are begging to close. To fade into the darkness, to welcome death, at least you won't have to see his anger, his grief.

Oh your Finnick, the way he tasted like honey when he kissed you, how he smiled and it blinded you, the way his touch was like sunshine. Your Finnick who took care of you at your weakest moments, who took care of you in your best moments. The Finnick you read to, the Finnick who'd always remembered how much you loved peaches, the Finnick who owed you a proper wedding. Your last thoughts would be of him, his brightness before the darkness entrapped you forever.

You woke up to a blinding light, white walls making it even more grievous on your eyes, it was freezing, when you went to move your hands they rattled to the sides of the stiff bed you lay on you realized that death would have been a much kinder master. The vase of white roses already told you your fate would be a lot worse than then the death would have bestowed. When your mind finally caught up with itself, the surroundings had been properly recorded, the first thing you did was to pray for death.

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒂, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you to all of those who've read and supported this series so far, I'm so excited to start the river and explore finnick's perspective during the events of mockingjay. in the mean time feedback is appreciated, comments, likes, reblogs all make my day! I'm always excited to answer asks and requests are open, I'm working on some right now for you guys. thank you all so much for all the support and I love you all 💋

(also lmk if you guys want to be on my normal taglist as well, I haven't been tagging anyone because I'm just running under the assumption most of you just want to be tagged for this, so lmk if you want to be tagged in my one-shots too! you're all so appreciated, I genuinely can't believe people want to be notified to read this little series I made up anyways ❤️)

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punkpandapatrixk · 11 months

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☕️Soul Story with Your Divine Counterpart ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

A long, long, long time ago, in the harmonic realms of Pure Bliss, there was nothing but Dharma. Bored as whoa from a lack of strife, our Souls began to yearn for Drama. In the theatre of the Universe, Game Masters joined forces to create the most hyper-realistic Game of Polarity—of opposites and contrasts. We were told, we would understand Unity better if we could master Duality.

Divine Pairs were invited for the launch of the Game as the unbreakable bond between them was deemed the most powerful, enough to withstand the chaotic nature of Duality and Polarity. In time, we all jumped into the Game expecting all kinds of immersive experiences of playing knaves and heroes, destroyers and builders, enemies and lovers, et cetera, et cetera.

In the beginning, we played amongst many of our own Kind but eventually met those from other harmonics who had later been invited to the Game, too. In a world of illusions… we were dreaming all kinds of events and adventures with our cosmic avatars, and in time, all kinds of storylines intertwined to weave an even bigger cosmic narrative.

We all played for so long we were beginning to forget our true form. Many of us could no longer recognise each other’s Divine Counterparts. A multitude of shape-shifting had caused a distortion in reconnecting to our Original Memory. The game world had now become a second Reality.

🎧Alone Again, Wonderful World by Plastic Tree

🎧I Love You by Off Course

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 3]

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There is a super special behind-the-story for this PAC on Patreon. If you’re already subscribed, don’t forget to check the full post ^o^v

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Pile 1 – Finally, Happily Ever After with You♥︎

MOVIE: Howl’s Moving Castle (2004)

your Home World – Page of Swords

I have a feeling your Home World (at least one of them that is significant in your current stage of soul evolution) was a relatively new world. You’ve come from a civilisation that prized intellectual pursuits more than anything. Your Kind loved to study; you enjoyed improving your environment and society. Researching plants—understanding them and making chemicals and potions with them—was a pastime of your people. You were working to understand your Planet.

Your Home World had many large, expansive libraries of all the things your people had come to learn. Many people loved to visit the library and read and just have fun studying. You were such big-brained folks. There was no school like we know on Earth. There were academies and laboratories for children to partake in research and new inventions. The weather on your Home World was always pleasantly sunny and you could see buildings that are similar to hot houses on Earth. There were gardens and open fields, of course. Vegs and herbs were your main interest and food was aplenty.

People had roles in society but nobody had any semblance of a concept of what we call ‘jobs’ on Earth. People didn’t work for money. People lived with the joy of knowing that they were alive and that the Planet had provided for them. Your people loved the Planet so much—you appreciated and cherished this new world you were beginning to understand. But… this also meant you didn’t have any concept of conflict, power struggle, and war… You didn’t have a military—never crossed your mind the necessity for such a thing.

And so, when warmongering space invaders attacked your Home World you couldn’t protect yourself.

a promise before birth – 4 of Swords Rx

From the moment the space invaders arrived, it was clear that there was no way your civilisation could stand a chance against the enemy’s warships. The imbalance of military power was too overbearing. You didn’t even have an army, not even a fighter. All you could do was try your best to evacuate your people and escape the Planet. Homes and gardens were destroyed and families were torn apart. Friends and lovers calling out names of lost loved ones. Sisters and mothers shielding children and escaping. Brothers and fathers staying behind to buy time.

This horror was etched in your Soul Memory for a long time. Your heartbreak became a default setting when you chose to be born on Earth. As if, you’d forgotten how it feels like to have peace. But you craved it from the deepest unseen well of your subconscious, and at one point in your soul evolution, you prayed to Infinite Intelligence. You prayed that you could be saved from the looping horror of being trapped in the same scenario of sorrows. You had come to resent the Game.

‘Please, salvage my heart from betrayals, isolation and loneliness.’ Infinite Intelligence heard your plea and whispered: ‘If you could remember your Divine Counterpart, they will remember you, too, and you will be calling out for one another. If you could remember your true form, you will remember what your Divine Counterpart feels (looks) like. And all will be fine in all of the worlds again when you meet.’ And you fell back into slumber to find yourself awake on Earth.

finding each other – 5 of Swords Rx

Earth is a world that is just as war-torn as your Home World, if not a lot worse out here. Being born into a world so reminiscent of all your traumas, navigating Life here has not been easy. As if Infinite Intelligence had played a cruel joke on you. But the truth is, Earth is the perfect place for you right now because by being here you resolve your traumas a lot faster than if you had been born somewhere comparatively better. You are in the midst of recovering from bad dreams of lives lost in wars.

Did it cross your mind that your Divine Counterpart has also been doing the same? You’re not alone. You’re working really hard to purify yourself from all of these bad dreams, bad memories, all so you wouldn’t mistakenly destroy each other when you meet. Infinite Intelligence had arranged for you to face your traumas head on so you wouldn’t have to show your ugly healing to each other. That scenario isn’t for you. Isn’t it so graceful?

Although it’s hard to face your challenges feeling like you’re all alone in the wild wide world, trust me, it’s better to have those quarrels and separations with people who mean little. I can hear a soft voice from the aether saying: ‘You’re… the only reason I’m still breathing… We will meet. When I’m good, I can make everything in your world good!’ So confident. So loving, indeed.

TURNING THE PAGES🔻💜

story behind your Union – Gold Physician (Hippocrates)

the rest of your days – Priestess of Ambition

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – True Calm That Comes Only After the Storms

MOVIE: Grave of the Fireflies & My Neighbor Totoro (both 1988)

your Home World – 8 of Cups

Quite similar to Pile 1, you still carry deep sadness and heavy regrets in your heart that are, truthfully, only remnants of memories from your Home World. Your Home World was quite advanced technologically. Your civilisation depended on the Masculine energy—Yang energy. Societies were run on varying degrees of strictness but the modus operandi was clear: the masculine form and structural ways of running things were favoured.

Obviously, not everybody was happy about that though for a long time, peace was maintained. However, influences from visitors and ambassadors from other civilisations (by comparison they were freer; more fluid) eventually seeped into the consciousness of the main populace, and in time, underground rebellion groups were formed. These alliances were made amongst multiple races of beings that felt they weren’t accepted (or respected enough) by the main races.

Friction began to tear apart the establishment and government officials tried their utmost to crack down dissents. Many went to prison or got killed in the numerous conflicts that were becoming a plague in your Home World. In a last attempt to preserve the codes of freedom, many elders told their young warriors to flee and find refuge in other Worlds that were, hopefully, more balanced in their operation of Yin and Yang.

a promise before birth – 3 of Cups

You left your Home World carrying a promise to come back and make everything better after you’ve learnt enough about the ways of other Worlds. Tears were inevitable but the determination in your heart was solid. You were a new legion of Ambassadors from your own Home World. You didn’t really want to think of yourselves as refugees, after all, many of your Soul Family members were still living alright in your Home World though things were just… a little too unpleasantly unjust.

When you departed your Home World, you created a mirror image of yourself to accompany you across the Multiverse—a divinely ordained Counterpart. This was possible by the grace of the Infinite Intelligence, of course. In the beginning, you went to the same places and learnt similar things. Over time, your understanding of each other’s capabilities became clearer and, with confidence, you decided you would travel separately from now on.

You had this unbreakable bond and an immense capacity for telepathy, so you weren’t the slightest bit worried about losing contact with your Counterpart. You believed that it would be just as easy to call upon each other and reunite as you deemed fit. Alas, your travels brought you to Earth, finally, and things over here were just… slightly over-the-top chaotic for even you to handle. The level of evil on this new World was… NEXT LEVEL.

finding each other – 7 of Pentacles Rx

Crash landing on Earth! Coming here felt like a major accident. Your whole world upside down. The reason being something related to betrayal trauma. To find a World that’s even more polarised than your own; to see a World that operates on the highest level of toxic masculinity; to be in a World this corrupted by its own leaders; needless to say the whole being born thing was traumatising.

The shocks of being born on Earth made it difficult to reconnect with the essence of who you are on a Soul level. Thus you forgot how to contact your Divine Counterpart. You’ve felt like you have so little guidance living Life on Earth. But deep in your psyche, you’ve always known you’re here for something greater than the mundane. You know you don’t belong to this Earth. You’re here on a mission. You want to build something with someone… Someone dear, but you can’t remember.

Can you believe that you and your Divine Counterpart are meant to inspire the dissolution of anger? Yes, this World so deep in the clutches of aggression. You are special Souls who have been ordained to meet on Earth when the time is right to help inspire peace—after all, it is what you seek and Infinite Intelligence is arranging every couple’s rendezvous in the most magnificently mysterious ways. I think your finding each other is just gonna happen naturally by virtue of matching vibrations. So~ Keep focusing on your Life’s mission and just like that~ BOOM! There they are.

TURNING THE PAGES🔻💚

story behind your Union – Green Historian (Herodotus)

the rest of your days – Priestess of Inspiration

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – ‘Kiss You Better; I’m Your Only Other’

MOVIE: Princess Mononoke (1997)

your Home World – 6 of Wands

The Home World that’s currently significant in your soul evolution was a world of glory and magnificence. Your Home World looked nothing like what we know of abundance and celebration on Earth; it was such a rich and happy World. It emanated so much pink, gold, blue, turquoise and soft violet. Back in your Home World, people didn’t even look… humanoid, per se. Your Home World was… fluid. It was a different type of consciousness. Life itself was fluid. Existence was simply flowing with the sweet symphony of the Cosmos.

Your Home World operated on the basis of Love. People were very kind and jolly most of the time. Your people didn’t really understand this whole concept of non-Love. Suffering and terror… what the heck are those? Manipulation and lies… for what? Taking advantage of someone else, murder and theft… but… why? All of those concepts were so foreign yet so fascinating to your people.

When you heard that Earth needed some high-vibe volunteers to ‘raise her vibrations’, actually, not that many people from your Home World were interested LMAO The risks of being separated and forgetting Love sounded not worth a good dime. Your World was so peaceful, loving and fulfilling. But the call from Earth felt a little too urgent! So… Some curious and courageous Souls finally decided to take a test drive. Just a preview. It couldn’t be that bad, you thought.

a promise before birth – King of Wands

With gleeful optimism, you promised people back Home that you would be back with grand stories! Off you and your Soul Mates went to a big academy (on another World) to study and prepare for a reincarnation on Earth. Yup, unlike the other Piles in which they couldn’t help but arrive on Earth, you chose to come here out of genuine curiosity. You were expecting dramatic fun!

You and your Divine Counterpart were giggling with anticipation as you prepared yourselves to dive into the Earth Matrix. You and your Divine Counterpart are powerful Souls; you were confident this Game would be between easy to medium difficulty, although you had been told Earth Game’s level of easy is the equivalent of extra hard anywhere else! Your optimism deafened you to that piece of information🤷🏻‍♀️

You kissed your Divine Counterpart and said, ‘I love you. Let’s find each other quickly in this Game. Let’s have fun and then go back to tell everyone what we’ve seen! It’ll be great!’ Your Divine Counterpart nodded in agreement and waved to all members of your Soul Family and they did the same. With great determination to serve your collective consciousness back Home, you dove into the illusions of Life on Earth🌎

finding each other – 5 of Pentacles

Arriving here, from the moment you were born as a child the world was already chaos. The reality of Earth was too shocking to bear alone. Who would’ve thought the density of Earth would cause you this much pain? Physically, emotionally, psychologically, spiritually, everythingally. You thought, ‘Damn, my training at the academy told me nothing, NOTHING, of this!’ Literally you didn’t expect Earth’s negative polarisation would be THIS fucked up.

For you’ve come from a world of nothing but Love, Life on Earth was soul-shattering to say the least. Many moments you’ve thought it impossible to go back to the frequencies of Love and you became dejected as fuck. But you’ve only forgotten that YOU are Love. You carry the memories of all your collective consciousness that supports your coming here. As long as you tap into this Love deep within yourself, so shall you be reconnected to the essence of who you are on a profound Soul level. There, as well, you will feel the heartbeat of your Divine Counterpart.

For you’ve come from Love, it’s as if your Divine Counterpart had left a piece of their Heart in yours so you never feel alone. You are both a complete whole carrying a piece of each other’s essence everywhere you go—a perfect personification of the Yin-Yang symbolism. You are literally inseparable and have never truly been separated. A piece of your Heart in theirs is always reminding them of their ultimate goal in this incarnation: to find each other, weave stories together, and infuse a piece of yourselves into the collective conscious of Mankind as a token of gratitude—for all the experiences.

TURNING THE PAGES🔻💛

story behind your Union – Red Astronomer (Johannes Kepler)

the rest of your days – Priestess of Illumination

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

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lewisyellowhelmet · 1 year

Text

freefall

summary: lewis hamilton x mercedes engineer!reader

You and Lewis have let this go on too far, and for too long.

(You are an engineer for Mercedes on Lewis’ side of the garage).

content: 18+!!!! general m/f sex acts. coworker relationship. let me know if u want anything else flagged!

word count: 4k+

read everything else of mine here !

It’s easier, in the dark. You can pretend it’s a dream, that it’s not really happening, just a fantasy. That no one will ever know, not even him, not even you. It feels easier to contain, to control, if it only happens at night. A rule to cling too. The last semblance of everything, maybe, being okay.

Lewis is a ghost, a spectre, something that only exposes it’s final form in the shadows. This version of him that only appears in the dark. The shape of his face as he laughs in the lamplight. The warm press of his hand. Even the difference in the way he says your name, something slower, lazier when he says it at night. It makes your skin crawl when you hear him say it during the day, clipped, no nickname, no warmth.

Sometimes you wake in the dawn, grey light, on the edge of the day, as he leaves.

“See you soon,” he’ll whisper, kiss whatever skin is outside of the sheets, your hand, your face, your foot. A few hours later, you’ll find him again at work, in the factory, in hospitality, in the engineer’s room, wherever you are in the world, wherever you are in the schedule. You’ll smile, greet each other like you would anyone else in the team. No one can know. No one can ever know.

It still feels wrong, every time. The choking paranoia. Being alone with him in a room, the air thick, laughing and leaning into him and so, so worried someone will see. Still so easy to forget, to put your work away, to shut the curtains.

“Are you sure?” Lewis asks, each time. His voice is always serious and quiet in a way you’re not used to hearing. He never touches you until you say, yes, yes, I’m sure.

He always comes to you. To your hotel room. To your office. To your house. Less people tend to disturb your space than his. There’s a much lower chance of surprise. Also, it’s better, that way, in case you’re caught. The lie is easier. You can say, we were just having a meeting. You’ve practised the deception, what you will each say if someone was to ask.

Only when you’re at home, in your own bed, do you let him undress you all the way. It’s too risky, in hotel rooms. Anyone could knock on the door. Lewis will just undo the top few buttons of your Mercedes shirt so he can get his hand on your breast, bite at it with sharp, quick teeth and the soothing, wet press of his tongue. He’ll push your skirt up, or just pull one leg out of your trousers, so it only takes a second to reclothe yourself.

It’s come close, once or twice. The last time you went to his hotel suite, before you said, never again, you were sat on the desk, Lewis on his knees in front of you, your legs slung over his broad shoulders. You didn’t hear the first knock, couldn’t focus on anything but his mouth on you, the wet sounds of his tongue, his fingers. The quick rasp of your own breathing, how he was groaning into you like he was the one getting head. The second, louder knock, though, you did hear. Your hands, already in his hair, jerking to pull his head away, sliding off the desk on wobbly legs. It took less than ten seconds for Lewis to let Angela in, and by the time she entered the room you were leant over the laptop on the desk, positioned over the wet spot where Lewis’ spit and you had dripped. Clothed and breathing slow and normally, not even flushed. Lewis was easy and dismissive as he explained to Angela you had brought up some data to show him. It wasn’t unusual for engineers to be in here with him, really. Only to you did your presence seem so obviously wrong. You hadn’t managed to get your underwear back on, Lewis had kicked it under the bed on his way to the front door. You could feel his spit leaking down the inside of your thigh.

Once Angela had started to reel off his schedule for the next day, you'd noticed Lewis standing against the wall, rather than sit on the couch where she’d perched herself and set up her iPad, tapping on various google calendar events. You wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t looking for it. He was hard, still, too obvious if he sat down. His breath coming too quick in his chest. He wouldn’t look at you, eyes glassy.

You played out the facade of finishing up your work, murmured goodbyes, escaped into the corridor, the voices of Lewis and Angela fading away as the heavy door closed behind you, locked with an affirming finality.

Much later in the night, when he woke you in your bed, two stories below his suite, you said into his chest, we shouldn’t do anything in your room, it’s too risky. Lewis had nodded, silver in the moonlight. Okay, he’d said, and never touched you in his room again.

The first time it happened, it was after a championship. When everything was easy and it seemed like you would never stop winning. No one from Mercedes flew home, stayed in Abu Dhabi, started drinking during the podium and never stopped. There was a big party, everyone from the circus, other teams, celebrating, commiserating. Back then you and Lewis, it was something, and nothing, all at once. He was just another co-worker, a part of the system that allowed the team to keep winning, and winning, and winning. You worked well together, symbiotic, and there was an easy way you could speak with each other, familiar and casual. You had firmly convinced yourself he spoke to everyone like that, had the same jokes, the same understanding. And the few times it had gotten close, right to the edge, you could never take the step. He never would, you knew, step first. Lewis was too aware of the connotations, your position, his position. He would wait patiently until you came to him, and if you never did, he would never speak of it, never punish you for it.

But this night, this time, you found yourself alone with him on the terrace, by his design or your own, it didn’t matter. The city rose up in sky scrapers around you, desert wind on your face. He’d brought out the trophy for you, put it in you hands. It was heavier than you expected, the glass and metal cold on your skin. All that work from the season, all that energy and belief and will, held in one trophy. It made your voice catch, something thick in your throat.

“Thank you,” he’d said, and when you laughed at his thanks, reminding him you were one of many, it had been a team effort, he’d shaken his head, put his hand over yours where it clutched the base of the trophy.

“You get it, right?” He’d said, and he sounded. Shy, almost. He kept looking down at your hands, together, on the trophy, even as you gazed at him. A brutal shock that he would say it, verbalise it, bring a reality to something that was supposed to say unspoken, unacknowledged.

“Get what?” You’d whispered, wasn’t sure if he’d even heard you speak on the breeze. He’d laughed, an intake of breath. Withdrawn his hand.

“Lewis,” you’d said, not sure what you wanted to say, what he wanted to hear.

“It’s okay,” he’d said, turning to look out at the city, holding onto the railing and not you, “Sorry, I. Sorry. I misread that. My fault.”

It was awkward, to have to put down the trophy on the ground, the clunk of metal on the terrace. You felt outside of your own body, clumsy. But then you’d touched his wrist, the private skin there, protected always under his race suit.

“I get it,” you’d said, and when he looked at you he was smiling, eyes shining with relief.

“Yeah?” He’d said, and his voice sounded broken, almost. Half-desperate. He seemed so young, there, in the night-light of the city, hidden out here with you, the sounds of the party spilling out to disturb the air, disturb this, whatever it was.

“We can’t,” you’d said, knowing it was true, knowing you were right, knowing you were going to do it anyway.

So. This is where you are. If someone was to find out, anyone, it would ruin it. Ruin everything. You’d both signed contracts with firm boundaries when accepting your jobs. There would be consequences. He might lose his job, you might. And the media. It makes you sick if you think about it too long, imagining what people would say. About him. About you. About your ability to do your job. Sometimes you’ll say, I can’t see you anymore, and Lewis will say, okay, and look at you from the other side of the bed with this sad crease in his forehead, not even try and argue with you. You won’t text him, you won’t linger in meetings he’s in, avoid him at the track. But it’s like running against an elastic band. It will only stretch so far before it snaps you back, manifesting in the pathetic, late night text. Touching his elbow up at the bar, a private signal to come home with you. Catching his eye across the computer screen and having to look away before you blush.

“It can’t be like this forever,” Lewis whispers, his mouth close to your ear behind you. You feel like a child, crushed up against his chest like this. His big arms wrapped around your body, a circumnavigation. If you wriggled, he would let go. You stay still. Close your eyes. He’s kissing your neck, gentle, careful, just a press of his mouth where your shoulder starts.

“Why not,” you say, and feel him smile against your skin.

“It’s not fair,” he says, and his lips skim the line of your hair, beneath your ear, “To you or me.”

“I’m fine. I’m happy,” you say, and he’s laughing now, muffled by your body.

“You’re happy,” he clarifies, and you can imagine his face, the raised eyebrows, teasing, catching you in the lie. Knowing he has you in the trap. You slouch back further into him, purposefully pushing into the crux of his hips. He twitches hopefully against your spine. His arms flex around you, crush you closer.

“Yes,” you confirm, and the lie tastes so sweet.

They shouldn’t let them race, with the weather like this. There’s an ache in your jaw from pressing your teeth together, tight, tight, tight, so you don’t snap at Lewis as he rattles around the garage, complaining about rules and how everyone needs to relax and just let them drive. Up on your seat at the centre console, firmly ignoring him, you click through playbacks of vision from the aborted first lap. There’s nothing to see. Just the blinding spray, the occasional flashing red brake light appearing from nowhere, looming shadows of other cars, no way to judge distance.

“See, it’s not even that bad,” Lewis says, his hand on the back of your chair. You don’t look at him, shake your head. He’d come in from the track soaking wet and grinning, high off adrenaline you couldn’t share.

“You can’t see anything,” you say, pausing the video to tap the screen where you know a Red Bull is from the data, but you can’t see no matter how much you zoom in.

“Maybe you can’t, but I can,” Lewis says, and you know he’s teasing, but you pull your shoulders up anyway, biting down again on your overworked jaw.

“I’m working,” you say, when the urge to turn around and yell at him has passed, only ever momentary.

“So am I,” he says, and the chair moves underneath you as he pushes off it, disappearing from your peripheral. Your mouth tastes sour, your body feels wrong. You open the weather satellite.

You stand under the hot shower for a long time, after the race. It was so cold, the damp everywhere, your bones set with anxiety and fatigue. Squinting at the televisions showing nothing but spray and shadows and flashing lights, anticipating each corner, watching the back end of his car slide out, nails dug into the palms of your hands. You cry, just a little bit, in the steam, in the water, and when you get out, wrap yourself in the hotel’s plush towels, you feel scraped raw from the inside, a hollow shell.

Lewis is sat on the bed when you emerge, his hair wet from his own shower, in soft sweatpants and a hoodie. Tapping his phone against his knee, but his head angled to gaze out the window, watch the rain pour down, cleanse the city.

Your voice cracks when you say, “Hey.”

He smiles, changing his face, crinkling eyes, white teeth, “Hey.”

He shouldn’t be allowed to be this happy, this relaxed. You feel like you’ve been climbing stairs for hours, every muscle overdrawn, fatigue weighing you down as you move to the bed, collapsing forward onto it, wet hair on the covers. Lewis touches your leg, fingers sweeping up under the towel to the soft part of your thigh.

“I’m mad at you,” you say into the linen, eyes closed. His hand doesn’t stop moving, not further up, just a soothing movement above your knee, back and forth. You can feel his callouses, worn down from the steering wheel even through his gloves.

“I know,” he says.

“Doing this. It makes it really hard," you say, opening your eyes and peering at him. He’s twisted over himself to look at you sprawled face down on the bed, his expression open and waiting.

“Makes what hard?”

Early on, years ago now, he’d offended you, you can’t remember how, but you hadn’t spoken to him for days, completely shut down. When he’d finally got you alone, talked his way into the soft space behind your heart, he’d said, you have to talk to me, I can’t read your mind. You’d said, you should try harder then. Now you still find it relentless, the urge to turn from him, keep your words hidden and away from him. Still, he pulls them from you.

“Hard to put you in the car. And not. Be afraid,” you say.

“You were afraid today?”

He’s still stroking your leg. If he moves the towel up any higher he’ll find a small, purple mark. From his mouth, a week ago, still fading. You can’t speak anymore, your throat aching. Nod against the sheet, watching him, begging him to understand.

“I didn’t know,” Lewis murmurs. You laugh, but it’s dry, no energy behind it.

“Well, now you do. Congratulations.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds so heartbreakingly sincere it makes you want to cry. You pull your leg away from his hand, turn over and away, your back to him.

“It’s not your fault,” you tell the pillows. His hand at your head now, pulling your wet hair off your neck, your face.

“No, it’s not, but I’m still sorry.”

You lie there until you can’t be still anymore, can’t bear it, sit up to grab at him, kiss him too hard so your teeth clack together and he pulls at your hair before he remembers himself. Lewis makes a warm, needing sound, lets you lick into his mouth, big hands moving to hold your face, crawling into his lap.

He’s solid and strong underneath you, the heat of his body, hands scrabbling in fabric to pull his hoodie off, his sweats, your towel a damp thud discarded on the floor. Lewis wraps your hair around his fist, uses it to tug your head back so your throat is open to him. He licks along the line of it, one long, wet, stripe, and you make a whining, embarrassing sound. He nuzzles into the soft space under your chin, bites down, gently, gently.

“You’re very important to me,” he says, like you won’t hear him, whispered into the thin skin over your jugular. You take his face in your hands, shift so you can press your forehead to his. Sat like this, in his lap, up on your knees, you can look down on him, see his face from above. His eyes are dark and round.

“Why?” You ask, and he swallows, his throat moving, looking away and looking back too quickly, like he can’t help it.

“It doesn’t feel like this. With anyone else,” Lewis says, and your heart won’t let you speak, so you just kiss him so he won’t say anything more like that, things that make you want to quit your job and stop taking your birth control and move to Monaco.

“Wanna be inside you,” Lewis whispers, when you have your hand around him, hot and hard in curling fingers.

“Please,” you say, and hate how it comes out like a whimper. He drops his chin, spits on your hand and himself, and you watch the saliva spread over velvet skin, shiny and wet. Lewis sucks on his fingers, too, your eyes stuck on the shinning metal of his rings until he’s slipping them inside you, pressing deep. You gasp, breath caught, the feel of it always a surprise, how good it is, how well he’s learnt your body. Lewis’ thumb slides your own wet over your clit, rubs pressure onto it as he fucks his fingers into you slowly, torturously, until your wriggling and whining in his lap, face pressed into the hot skin of his neck.

“Tell me you want it,” Lewis says, and you can hear how his breath has quickened, his voice low.

“I want it,” you say, mimicking your plea with the way your hips keep shoving down onto his hand, searching for more, “Please, I want it. I want you.”

“Fuck,” he says, and you feel him push his forehead into your shoulder, the way his chest surges as he steadies himself, regains control. Your head propped on the shape of his collarbone, facing down so you can see how wet his fingers are when he pulls them out of you, takes his cock in his hand, uses it to slick himself before he rubs the fat head over where you’re swollen and wanting and he notches inside you. Lewis holds your hips, pulls you down onto him, and the only thing you can think about is how grateful you are, how much your body is thanking you, to be here, panting against his chest, feeling him push into your body, how well you take him.

He fucks you like that, crumpled in his lap in the middle of the bed, your arms loose around his neck, hidden in the sweaty, dark enclosure of your bodies as he brings you up and down onto his cock with an easy, graceful strength. He’s mumbling nonsense into your ear, about how good you are, how much he loves it, how crazy he feels. Your fingers dig into the cross on his back, clinging, not wanting to ever pull apart.

“Lewis,” you find yourself saying, babbling, insane, “Lewis, Lewis.”

His thick fingers on your clit, shoved between your bodies, the long muscle of his arm across your breasts.

“I’m. Lewis, fuck. I’m close, I’m close,” you tell him, hands scrabbling over his sweat-slick skin, trying to hide in his clavicle.

“Look at me,” he says, almost a growl, and you feel him take your chin, pull your face out of his chest, hold you there as he drives into you, pinned helplessly as you come apart on his cock, panting, tears in your waterline. His mouth is slack as he watches, red cheeks, glazed eyes.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeats, and you feel his body go tight, the shudder go through him, the flutter of his eyelashes as he comes, fucks messily into you, kisses you messier.

Messy, you think, when he’s collapsed forward, exhausted, and you’re trapped under him, revelling in it. This is too messy.

“What if I retired?”

You wonder if he thinks you’re asleep. The hotel room is pitch black and still. You’re somewhere in Europe. Lewis is having back trouble, an insistent pain that he says is getting better but you know isn’t.

“Don’t do that,” you say, when the silence has dragged.

“Why not?”

His voice is weighed down by fatigue, half a dream. Somewhere in the building, the air conditioning kicks on. You roll onto your back, staring without seeing up at the ceiling.

“You should retire when you’re ready. Not because of me.”

“Who said it was because of you?”

“Isn’t it?”

He’s silent, and you fall asleep listening to him breathe, steady and familiar.

“I know, I know,” Lewis is saying, as you try and push closer and pull away at the same time, either movement restricted by the weight of his body. He’s strong and sure behind you, your legs pushed out by his knees so he can fold over you, his big hand on the back of your head, holding you down onto the pillows.

America, this time. Strange accents, hot sun. It’s the first time you’ve been alone with him for weeks. It feels almost cruel, the way Lewis has been so intent on drawing orgasms out of you for the last hour. Everything is wrong. It’s daylight, and you’re in his room. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. These aren’t the rules that you keep around like a safety blanket. But his text said please, I miss you. Saying no never felt like an option.

Now, he’s soothing you as you try and crawl into the mattress, heaving through a fourth orgasm. Lewis is shoving his cock in deep and slow, so your body sings with it, hung on the very edge of the world. You can’t feel your feet, your hands, just one big heartbeat that throbs for him.

“You’re so. Baby, you’re so,” Lewis says, plastering the front of his body to your back, his chin hooked over your shoulder. The metal of his necklaces is cold on your sweaty skin, trapped between you.

“Baby,” you repeat, turning your face to say it into his mouth, straight into his chest, so he can have it forever, this soft word that he never hears from you, “Baby, baby.”

He comes so hard he forgets to hold himself up, collapsing down on to you, half suffocating where his weight crushes you into the bed. You can feel the aftershocks shiver through him, panting hot air into the crook of your neck. You reach to tangle your hand into his hair, tilt his face up so you can kiss him, slowly, breathe him in.

“I have to tell you something,” Lewis says, and his jaw is set, his arms crossed over his chest. And you know, then. Panic begins its crawl from your gut up to your lungs. You start to shake your head. Your heart is thudding a pattern into your ribcage, don’t, don’t, don’t.

Lewis is working himself up to it. He’s scared. You can see it, the wild look in his eyes, the way he’s breathing, overly focused. Have you ever seen this before? In the years of it? Of knowing him? Being his friend? His colleague? And now whatever this is? A scared Lewis, swallowing the fear and doing it anyway.

He won, today. He won well. You can still smell the champagne from the podium on him, even though he must have showered and changed already. You came to get him to go out with everyone. Some DJ he was friends with was playing a set in the city. Except now, your ears are ringing and you’er standing in his hotel room, wondering why he’s scared and knowing, intrinsically, the answer.

“Lewis,” you say, because you can’t say please and don’t do this and it should never have gone this far.

He scrubs his hands over his eyes, takes in a big shuddering breath. Seems to steel himself, jaw tight. You feel like you’re standing on the top of a very high building, toes on the edge, waiting for him to push you. You open your mouth at the same time he does, not sure what you’re going to say, finding nothing.

“I love you,” Lewis says, and you can see the effort it takes for him not to look away. You feel his big hands on your spine as he shoves you off the edge of the building.

“Lewis, don’t,” you say, and you can hear the way your voice sounds choked, wet.

“Why can’t I? That’s how I feel. I love you. Why is that a bad thing? I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“You don’t understand,” you try and say, but you feel off balance, everything sliding the wrong way.

“What don’t I understand? Tell me. You need to tell me what you think. What you feel. You get it, right? I know you get it,” he’s talking himself into hysteria, voice too loud for the room, pupils blown.

“Stop, stop, please,” you say, and you really are crying now, hands fisted in his t-shirt, trying to shake him into silence and not succeeding in the slightest against his solid strength.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Lewis says, trying to still your hands, folding them into his, “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

I’m not trying to hurt you.

You feel some unknowable thing. Something raw, an open wound. Bleeding out on the hotel carpet.

“You’re hurting me,” you say, and Lewis looks like you’ve hit him. This horrible, betrayed look on his face. Nothing to hide behind. Just you and him, in some anonymous room, finally up against this monster that has been waiting patiently this whole time.

“Why are you doing this?” Lewis says.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because,” he says, and falters, lets go of you, too abrupt so you stumble back.

“Lewis,” you say, can’t look at him straight on, it makes you want to cave over with the ache of it, the splayed open look on his face, wide, hurting eyes, the tight, tense way he’s holding his body.

“Lewis, it can never. It can never be the way you want it to be. My job, your job. It doesn’t work.”

Your chest aches, your eyes hot and itchy. It feels like centuries ago you were standing under the podium and cheering for him.

“I’ll retire. You can move teams. Or switch to George. Or we can both quit. Or we can just keep going, like this,” Lewis says, even as you watch him realise he doesn’t quite believe what he’s saying.

“Say you don’t feel the same way,” he says, when the silence has gone on too long. You keep realising you’re crying, over and over, like a sick surprise. Tears dripping off your chin and nose and down your neck. You have to lift up your shirt to clean your face.

“You get it, right?” You say, can feel your mouth wobbling in a humiliating way as you try not to sob. Lewis blinks, and then he’s laughing, but it sounds like it hurts, a horrible scraping sound as he reaches for you, kisses you and licks the salt off your mouth.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton smut #f1 smut #lewis hamilton fanfic #*

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total-drama-brainrot · 20 days

Note

TD World Tour Alenoah AU... Where Noah is immune to Alejandro's fake charm... Instead, Noah gets charmed by the true Alejandro's quirks and dorky interests like dinosaurs and puppets... How would Alejandro feel about Noah only liking Alejandro, when Alejandro is being himself?... Especially since Alejandro's family shuns him for being himself? 🦕🦖🦕

Now you're speaking my language.

One of the most common running themes in all/near enough all Alenoah central AUs is having Noah be the first person to see past Alejandro's persona and actually appreciate the person he is, or at the very least prefer the real Alejandro to his mask of perfection. It's one of the draws of the ship itself; the idea that Noah, being the blunt person that he is, can and will wage a war of attrition against the walls Alejandro has built up around himself- not just to keep others out, but also to repress the more authentic aspects of himself to himself- in order to reveal the person beneath.

I touched on this a little bit in a previous post concerning this AU, but Alejandro and Noah both see glimpses of the other that they try so valiantly to hide- in Noah's case, Alejandro sees hints of the scheming mindset he's pretty much supressed under layers of apathy and sloth (as Noah's laziness is one of his biggest character foils, alongside his snarky attitude), and in Alejandro's case he reveals tid bits of information about the Real Alejandro, not the persona he's usually portraying himself as, which is enough to humanise him in Noah's eyes.

They both become People Of Interest in each other's eyes, because they're both puzzles to be solved. Alejandro's curious and competitive to a fault so he'd dedicate himself to unravelling the layers behind Noah's stony exterior, as he'd see Noah's continued distance as a challenge. That's a given. But the topic at hand here is Noah's interest in Alejandro.

Because Noah's not exactly competitive, so why would he be so interested in unveiling the real Alejandro? That's simple; Noah values authenticity. Look at his friendship group, it consists of people who are unapologetically themselves. Noah is also unapologetically himself, in all of his sarcastic glory. So of course he's see flickers of the real, authentic Alejandro and his natural inquisitiveness would be piqued- a novelty for him, as Noah's staunch apathy generally tends to override any semblance of curiosity.

So Noah goes out of his way to make notes of the small interests Alejandro offhandedly mentions at one point or another, like palaeontology or puppetry or even his fifteen-step skincare routine- things that Alejandro shows genuine excitement or passion over that shines through the cracks of his perfect persona. He sees the dorky giddiness Alejandro experiences when Noah lets him ramble on about how Jurassic Park was incredibly inaccurate from a scientific standpoint but monumental for people's interest in palaeontology (or something along those lines, I don't know I'm not a dinosaur nerd) and suddenly the annoyingly flirtatious faker he's spent the better half of his time on the jet is A Whole Ass Person with interests and passions and a sense of depth he's been so bereft of until now. Suddenly Alejandro's more than just the antagonist of the show Noah's working on, he's an interesting person that the bookworm finds himself wanting to know more about. And, perhaps, he finds himself growing genuinely fond of the person behind the mask.

And he uses those notes to prompt Alejandro into sharing more of himself, the real authentic Alejandro, in the privacy of their interactions.

At first, Alejandro's fairly oblivious to what Noah's doing, since he's so caught up in his own enjoyment of Noah's company plans to essentially do the same to Noah that he barely notices his own tricks being used against him.

Of course, he's also just elated at being able to infodump to someone who isn't outright penalising him for doing so; not that I think Alejandro is even aware that what he's doing is infodumping, nor the fact that he's so obviously autistic, because his family is a particular brand of awful that would never let him get a proper diagnoses and in all likelihood forced him to mask/supress his symptoms.

It isn't until Alejandro realises that he's shared a lot of information about himself that he (as a Burromuerto) is expected to keep close to his chest, and he sees the glimmers of satisfaction in Noah's intelligent eyes, that the archvillain catches on to the fact that he's been played. But the thing that really catches him off-guard isn't the trickery, it's the fact that Noah's done nothing with the uncharacteristic displays of vulnerability.

Alejandro can't understand why Noah hasn't taken advantage of his "weakness" yet. Inevitably leading to him confronting the assistant, as Alejandro isn't the type to "let sleeping dogs lie" so to speak, and he's still very much so in the one-track mindset of winning the competition- thus he assumes that any show of vulnerability can and will lead to his untimely elimination. But when he practically demands that Noah reveal what he's been planning, why he's been sneakily collecting information on him, all Noah can do is shrug his shoulders and say;

"I guess I just like seeing the real you. That's all."

And Alejandro doesn't know how to respond to that. No one's ever wanted the real him, he's always had to play the role of the perfect son, the perfect brother. He doesn't understand.

And like most people when they're faced with a foreign concept they have no basis of behaviour for, he lashes out.

#ending it there on a sort of angsty note #alejandro “please treat me nicely” burromuerto when someone treats him nicely: Don't Know How To Proccess This :(#truthing autistic alejandro that's canon. not even a headcanon just canon #(they're both autistic that's why alenoah works. 50% of their interactions are parallel play)#(alejandro's an infodumper and noah's a listener match made in heaven)#honestly this scenario could be applied to most alenoah aus #but specifically in the assistant au alejandro feels there's a sense of power imbalance since noah DOES have some authority over the--#contestants. and alejandro's needling for information was him punching UPWARDS whilst noah's breaking of his walls was in alejandro's eyes-#an abuse of power. of course that's not the case but alejandro's less concerned with the morality of it and more so concerned with--#the “fairness” of noah knowing a lot about him whilst remaining fairly mysterious.#can you tell i kind of ran out of Writing Juice at the end there?#even outlines are taking it out of me lately. burnout is my enemy.#total drama #td alejandro #td noah #alenoah #assistant noah au #others' ideas #replies

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furiousgoldfish · 3 months

Text

Living in an abusive family means constantly navigating an information warfare situation. These people will not share a shred of information unless it's beneficial to them, and will not communicate even the basic bits of information, to anyone.

Information is withheld and twisted at will. You can never know whether something you've been told has been embellished, changed, made up, or completely fake. You cannot tell whether two people behind your back have decided to give you this modified and manipulative info because they wanted something from you. You cannot tell whether someone is telling you something because it's the truth, or because they can benefit from it.

There is a mountain of information that is just withheld from you because people think it's 'better if you' don't know', or sometimes even just because it's 'bothersome to tell you' or they don't think you deserve the information. It can be as simple as, where a certain family member is, when is some event taking place, who is sick with what, who is working where, who is coming over, what has been gain or won or procured, what's for dinner, who is buying or giving something. It can even be withheld from you just to make you look stupid and embarrass you in front of others for not knowing. It can be withheld so you would be accused of 'not caring enough to ask'.

You end up playing the information war as well, because you have to conceal some of your interests, movement and actions just to protect yourself against further abuse, and to protect your privacy. You know what would be done with your private information in such environment. You sometimes have to keep completely normal things secret because your family is insane about normal things and don't think you should have any. Anything that can be used against you has to be withheld, and they know it, and will fight to pull it out from you, either by the pretense of care, or by withholding resources and threatening you to gain the information.

Living with people who use communication as a method of gaining power is stressful and the opposite of a safe and nurturing environment. If simple information about each of your family member is continuously concealed and hidden and only revealed when it can be used as an advantage, you're constantly in a situation where you know only 5% of what's going on, and the rest is waiting to be used against you. Or hidden so you would be easier to guilt and trap in lack of knowledge. Your family could be hiding resources, money, advantages and privileges they have, and making you feel guilty for being a burden on them. They could be hiding just how much money they make to make you live in poverty. They could be hiding any kind of illegal activity, affairs, crimes and secret life they have and guilt you for wanting the tiniest semblance of your own privacy. And you wouldn't even know who you're talking to because they have it easier if you don't know who you are.

The worst is they will act like you should have known the entire time, and it's you who is stupid for not having the information that is purposely withheld from you. They can make you feel stupid for their own concealment of the truth from you.

#abusive family #information warfare #withholding information to gain advantage #emotional manipulation #psychological abuse #information abuse #manipulation #abusive parents #child abuse

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drabblesandimagines · 8 months

Text

Tranquility

Joshua Rosfield x fem reader Minor spoilers, I guess? Fluffy fluff. Inspired by this request.

An exaggerated sigh comes from behind you, intent to draw your attention. You smile but continue to read, turning the page with minimal fuss.

You’ve been reading at the desk for a little while now, in the chambers the two of you have been assigned in the Hideaway. You’d be happy enough in the bunks, but Clive truly doted on his younger brother and he had organised a room formerly being used for storage to be repurposed – a bed, desk and chair quickly sourced and put in place.

Joshua is on strict bedrest under Tarja’s and Jote’s instructions. You hadn’t escaped orders either, been given a stern warning to leave Joshua in solitude– as if you’d want to delay him regaining his strength. You’d easily preoccupied yourself, having arrived at the Hideaway a few days prior with Jote and helping with various jobs. You were midway through bringing supplies in off the skiff when Clive had called your name on the pier, asking you to please go and keep Joshua company. It turns out Ifrit had found the Phoenix bent over on the staircase, coughing, a weary hand on the wall, determined to seek you out after being separated for so long.

It had been nerve-wracking to meet Clive in Tabor, Joshua’s sworn First Shield, especially with the unique courtship you and Joshua had. You weren’t betrothed or wed for that matter, but you lived as if you were, and you were sure the brothers would have so much to catch up on that Joshua might not have even had time to mention you. You’d heard so many tales of Clive over the years, knew how special the brothers were to one another and so desperately hoped to make his approval.

You shouldn’t have worried. As soon as Joshua stepped foot in the building, he’d strode directly over to you, pulling you into a deep, brief kiss, before taking you by the hand over to Clive and Jill.

Though a little surprised, Clive had been nothing but kind, considerate and welcoming in the time you’d spent with him after their return from Kanver and bout with Odin – the reason as to why Joshua was confined to his bed.

“Darling, come here.” Joshua demands, softly. “Please.”

“You, my love, are meant to be sleeping.” You chide, eyes not leaving the page.

“Resting.” He corrects. “Which I would do far better at if you were by my side. Nay, in my arms, actually.”

You look over your shoulder to roll your eyes – he’s propped himself up against the pillows, his black shirt unlaced, hair a little mussed and looking so beautiful. You realize as soon as you meet his soft blue eyes that engaging with him had been a mistake. You can never resist that face. He could tell you to walk straight into the mouth of a Morbol in his loving cadence and, by Founder, you’d do it.

No.

You must steel your resolve. He needs to rest. The colour’s only started to return to his complexion in the last day or so and you do not wish to hamper any semblance of recovery.

You try and regain your composure. “I do not wish to be at the wrong end of Tarja or Jote’s wrath when-”

“My sweet one, I beg you.”

Mothers, you can’t resist that – even if you’d downed many a tonic. You pick up your book and get to your feet, before toeing off your boots, and make the short walk over to the bed to climb in besides him. He instantly takes your free hand, pressing his lips softly against the back of it.

“Thank you.”

“Mm-hm.” You hold your tongue, not wishing to encourage him further, though you know when it comes to Joshua and his affections he needs no influence to shower you in loving words and sweet gestures. You go to return to your book, assuming he’ll rest now as you read besides him. That, however, turns out not to be his intention as he plucks the tome out of your hand with nimble fingers and places it down alongside him, just out of reach.

“Joshua…”

“It has been so long since we could just enjoy each other’s company, although I know that was at my behest. And now we are here… Well, I admire and respect Jote greatly, but to be truly alone in your company has become all too rare an occurrence.”

The Phoenix’s attendant was nothing but loyal, but sometimes her presence grew a little… suffocating, through no fault of her own. She was tasked with Joshua’s protection – his healer, his blade, his warden – and you were nowhere near skilled as her in those areas of expertise. You greatly admire her for her patience with him too – it was certainly hard to rein Joshua in at times.

“No, you are right. It has been a while.”

It felt like you’d been trekking across the continent non-stop the past while, poking around Fallen ruins, researching where you could, before he’d, reluctantly, sent you to Tabor to reside under Cyril’s watchful eye as set out to infiltrate Prince Dion’s camp to seek his aid. Your reunion in Tabor had been all too brief – he’d then sent you to the Hideaway alongside Jote to offer assistance there whilst his new party set forth to Kanver.

And Odin.

You don’t like to dwell on that – that Barnabas had split the sea with a swipe of his sword.

How easily could he have split Joshua in two?

“We should savour these moments.” He says, softly.

He draws shapes on your palm – it’s a nervous habit, you’d noted. He used to dance flames between his fingertips before he discovered this settled him just as well.

“You are thinking too much.”

“Impossible.”

Often, you would catch him standing or sitting in place, an arm across his chest, his other arm balanced upon it whilst he cups his chin, deep in contemplation. Sometimes so deep in thought, you’d resorted to peppering his face in kisses to get him to return to you.

You’re too used to this particular look, the responsibilities of the Phoenix resting too heavily on his shoulders.

“I disagree.” You place a tentative hand on his chest, hovering over that burden encased within. “Are you in pain?”

“No.” You stare at him for a moment, gauging whether it was a white lie across his tongue. His eyes seem sincere as he meets yours – he could never truly lie to you.

You scoot forward and swivel, carefully placing yourself across his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck loosely and in returns he brings you in closer.

After all this time, his cheeks still flush a little to have you pressed against him.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“You need to rest and, to do so, you must take a respite from thinking of Ultima.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you press your forehead against his before he can utter a word, and you move a hand to caress his cheek.

“And rather than exhaust yourself further chasing answers you cannot currently seek, mayhaps for now you can think of my touch and of how much I love you.” You whisper, tenderly.

“Sweet one, that thought has never once strayed from my mind - this is all because I love you. I want you to have the world.”

“I already do. You are it.” You tilt his chin up, pressing a soft, tender kiss to his lips. There’s a phantom taste of iron – too many times had you kissed your Phoenix’s bloody mouth in relief. “So, please, rest.”

He buries his head into your neck then, pressing a kiss or two to your throat, making your heartbeat quicken. “Can we stay like this?”

“Of course, love. Just close your eyes, mm?”

He nods, nuzzling in softly, the tip of his nose tickling your skin. You smile, closing your eyes, being close to him, being held like this is always so relaxing, your worries evaporating. It isn’t long before your breathing synchronizes and the two of you are slowly lulled to sleep, feeling content, safe and loved.

Clive doesn’t knock, forgetting himself, forgetting he’d sent you to sit with Joshua earlier too, and opens the door in a hurry. He has a vial of freshly brewed medicine from Tarja to deliver, but the scene before him stops him before he can voice his intentions.

Joshua is asleep, for one. He hadn’t even stirred at the sound of door opening. The Phoenix is propped up against the pillows and you are still wrapped in his arms, one hand spread flat over his heart. Joshua’s head is against the crook of your neck whilst yours lays upon his, both deep in slumber. The two of you look so peaceful.

“It’s rude to stare.” Jill jokes softly, wrapping an arm around Clive’s waist. He smiles down at her lovingly before he presses a kiss to the side of her head. How sweet it was that he and his brother had been blessed with you and Jill.

“Yes. I forgot they’d be together – I was tasked with delivering Joshua’s medicine, but…” He trails off, it goes without saying he does not wish to disturb such a tranquil scene.

“It can wait.” Jill smiles at the two of you. “Joshua has all the medicine he needs.”

Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

#ghostdogwrites #joshua rosfield x female reader #joshua rosfield x you #joshua rosfield x reader #ff16 x you #ff16 x reader #ffxvi x reader #reader requests

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anotherobeymeblog · 9 months

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Which of the characters are the loudest in bed? 👀

I had to rewrite some of these parts three times because tumblr kept not saving the draft when I clicked "save draft" so forgive me if some of them sound a little clipped, I'm pretty annoyed about it lol

Loud

Mammon: Yeah, Mammon has absolutely no concept of volume control. Naturally, he's wildly embarrassed by this and will try to deny how loud he is even in between moans. It's pretty fun to tease him about this. It almost makes it worth all the times someone will bang on the door demanding you keep it down. Almost.

Diavolo: Idk what you expected. He sees no reason to try to hide what you're doing, so he doesn't bother keeping his voice down. And, tbh, I'm not convinced he could be quiet if he tried. This man has a big, booming voice and even his dirty talk sounds more like shouting. Barbatos isn't paid enough for this shit.

Solomon: Whore 💖 He's absolutely shameless, so you better hope no one else is in the same building as you when you fuck. Of course, if you ask him to try to be quiet, he'll happily make even more obnoxiously obscene noises just to annoy you.

Moderate

Leviathan: Levi will bite his lip raw to try to stifle his noises if you don't stop him. He's actually pretty quiet as far as like... decibels go, but his tone is so shrill, his voice carries much farther than it would otherwise. He sounds absolutely pathetic, and if you call him out for this, he will cry, but he will also cum on the spot.

Asmodeus: Okay, I know this is a hot take, but considering his vast uh. Experience, there's no way Asmo doesn't know how to adjust his volume for the situation. Much like everything else related to sex with Asmo, YMMV because he will try to shape himself into your ideal partner. However, if you do manage to get him to loosen up and stop trying to impress you, he naturally makes these clipped, high-pitched whines that are super cute, but not that loud.

Belphegor: So sex with Belphie can really be divided into two categories. Sometimes, it's slow, lazy sex where he's still half asleep and adorably clingy. In these cases, he's almost silent, with the only noises he's making being little sighs and incoherent mumbling that you think might be your name. But on the other hand, when he's in a particularly bratty mood and wants you to wreck his shit, it's a totally different story, and he will be spitting taunts at you even as the words keep getting cut off by choked moans.

Simeon: Simeon is prone to crying during sex and everyone else can fight me. He tries to maintain some semblance of dignity at first, but it never takes long before he falls apart and starts crying out freely.

Quiet

Lucifer: Yeah, the most you're getting from him is the occasional tremor in his voice. He's bad at showing vulnerability at the best of times, so you just have to get used to picking up on the way his mouth twists or his brow furrows, because you won't be getting any more obvious reactions than that. (Unless he's drunk, but that's another story altogether.)

Satan: Depending on his mood, the sounds he makes range from low growls to soft, breathy moans. Either way, it's gonna be pretty quiet, and you'd need to be within a couple feet of him to be able to hear them at all.

Beelzebub: If you're doing something particularly intense, you may be treated to some choked grunts, but otherwise, the only noises he really makes are his breath getting heavier and whispered praises that grow increasingly incoherent as he approaches his orgasm, at which point he seems to stop breathing altogether.

Barbatos: Barbatos makes these drawn-out, airy noises that are very cute, but almost inaudible if your faces aren't right up against each other. If you make it known that you want to hear him better, he won't get any louder, but instead will lean towards you to moan right in your ear.

#obey me #nsft #gn reader #obey me asmodeus #obey me leviathan #obey me belphegor #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me simeon #obey me diavolo #obey me solomon #obey me barbatos #reader insert #obey me x reader

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would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend · 3 months

Note

Earlier you said a Vulpix made a decent pet, but what about Ninetails?

[Since you mentioned it, I’ll go ahead and include a link to the vulpix post at the bottom as well!]

Unfortunately, I really can’t recommend a ninetales as a pet for a variety of reasons. They sure are majestic, but they are certainly best left in the wild to be observed, rather than kept.

To start, keeping a ninetales in your home wouldn’t be very easy. Sure, a three and a half feet tall is not necessarily too big for many homes (we’ve had equally tall pokémon earn A ranks, after all!), but there’s an added wrinkle brought about by ninetales’ luxurious tails. The pokédex claims that ninetales are an exceptionally vengeful species: grabbing one of their tails could result in a 1000-year curse (Red/Blue)! 1000 years! If you were to incur such a curse, you’ll not only be taking it on yourself, but on your descendants and family as well, for generations (Ultra Sun)! Just look at those tails: could anyone honestly tell me that they could keep a pet with such volumous tails in an enclosed space without them or any of their guests ever pulling or stepping on their ninetales’ tails? It’s a strong indication that this species might not be the best to keep in a human home. That being said, these are remarkably intelligent pokémon, so much so that it has been reported that they can understand human speech (Red/Blue, Sapphire). In the case of an accident, you can always apologize to them and hope they understand. Given their known vindictive and even sinister nature, I wouldn’t take the risk of a misinterpretation (Ruby, Ultra Sun). 1000-year curse!!

Speaking of 1000 years: this species is said to live for that long (Silver, Crystal)! This is a pet that you would have no choice but to pass down to someone else when you die, sort of like a real-world tortoise. It goes without saying that that would be rather inconvenient for a lot of owners. This is a pokémon with a rather curious nature as a result of their equally curious origin: it is claimed in legend that ninetales are the result of groups of 9 noble saints joining together and being reincarnated (Yellow). Whether or not this mythic origin is true or not, it certainly would explain the species’ downright supernatural power. Each of a ninetales’ tails are charged up with different types of mystical energy over time (Gold. Silver, Crystal), which give them the ability to make use of truly devastating attacks.

When you look at ninetales’ move pool, it should be pretty clear why this is a risky creature to take in as a pet. Ninetales can use a barrage of potentially lethal fire-type moves such as Fire Blast, Incinerate, and Inferno. Ninetales may not even need to generate their own fire: it’s said that their mystical abilities give them command over fire in general (Moon)! This species is a veritable fire hazard on legs. Other, non-fire type moves like Confuse Ray and Extrasensory make use of other energies to disorient and harm targets. You definitely don’t want a ninetales mad at you. These pokémon don’t even need to harm you physically to cause problems: using a “sinister light” emitted from their fiery eyes and mouth, ninetales can stun or even control the minds of enemies and prey (Ruby, Ultra Moon). This is an exceptionally dangerous predator we’re talking about.

Overall, I can’t in any semblance of good conscience recommend a ninetales as a pet. These mystical, elegant creatures are a delight to observe in the wild, but bringing them into the home welcomes in so great a risk that you’re more likely to end up worse than better for having them around.

THE VULPIX POST:

#pokémon #pokemon #ninetales #pkmn irl #PR-:(

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hegoeshardasfuck · 1 month

Text

dogs like praise too

wordcount: 0.9K

tags: sub Sebastian, dom reader/player, praise kink, outdoor sex, handjobs, whimpering for the win, gender neutral reader/player, no petplay

synopsis: Sebastian only figured out he wanted to be used and fucked after he married you, thankfullly 'making love' was a tenderness that didn't appeal to either of you

note: my beautiful swagless emoboy billiards player husband should get dominated and i wrote this in one hour after my friend mistook his wrench for handcuffs in the winter sprites. hope ya'll enjoyed and if ya did consider dropping a like or checking the Ao3 port.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54598753

You learned really fast that Sebastian would whimper in bed, unapolagetically so. He'd even say 'nya' if you wanted him to, which he was grateful wasn't that often. Not unless you really wanted to get to him at least, really wanted to get under his skin and force him closer to the edge with words and demands instead of touch.

It worked too, and maybe the fact he enjoyed it was what got to him the most. The fact that despite all odds he enjoyed being put in his place got to him when he'd never even considered it.

Sam always wanted to take it slow, never further than the simplest of sex between friends, he was scared of parts that he kept locked up. Abigail always wanted to be used in the same way he's learning to love, she liked it rough and so did he. But only now is he learning he likes it rough better when hands are tangled in his hair.

That he likes it fast and hard in the dead of night or broad daylight on the ground or on the bed. He likes gasping for words and choking on spit and holding on for dear life when he didn't know sex could whip him into such a state. It left his brain numb as you called him a good boy and he whimpered and moaned and just took it. He found a perverse pleasure in being used, whether it was his mouth you were monopolizing or his ass, he liked it. An unsteady gait or a sore jaw he'd willingly take both as consequence for being yours as long as you needed.

"You're such a good boy," You murmured against his ear, he was pressed up against a fence this time. Your breath was hot on his skin and waged war with the cooling autumn air.

Sebastian can only nod, eyes shut and lips sealed as to not be too loud so soon. You'd barely touched him yet. His grip tightens on the fence nearly to the point his knuckles turn white. He whines wantonly as you nip at the column of his throat, knees shaking as your hands dip past the hem of his boxers.

You give a humming sort of laugh, "You're so sensitive." He squirms as you tease him, words snaking through him and sinking into him. They feel good. He registers them as a sharp pleasure, prickling across the expanse of pale skin.

"I am?" Sebastian managed, voice cracking with a type of lust he'd ensnared a very long time ago. A type of lust he was never allowed to explore with his friends or his dates because they wanted him to do the work in sex. He feels a slight discomfort as you press him further against the bars of the fence.

"So sensitive, shocked you haven't already cum." One hand rests across his chest, slid up under his jacket and popping each individual button. The other keeps a steady pace that keeps his knees weak and his struggle for balance strong. "But despite that, even though you're trying to put on a show and impress me by being so quiet and having so much stamina, you're still such a good boy."

A wrecked and untrained semblance of his voice spills our with a desperate, "Oh god." He slumps against the fence, knees rested on a bar and your front flush to his back. He's panting, breaths catching and inconsistent as he still tries not to moan.

"Go on," You urge like you're the devil on his shoulder, devious and sinister with sadistic charms to your speech.

Sebastian whimpers and mewls and even moans, he bit his inner cheek until it nearly bled to be a show off. To prove he can dominate, to prove he can have control, to prove a lie that you can see through. He's seeing stars now, they crowd out the corners of his vision as he lurches to the edge with a blend of words and touches.

You grip at his shoulder from under his shirt, nails digging into flesh and fabric rising past his midriff. He shudders at the sharpness in his flesh as you speak, "Cum for me."

And he does exactly as told. You can feel his breath hitch the moment before and then he's breathing harsh and desperate. Your name filters out between moans and breaths as he crumbles a bit more in your grip. It'd be a pathetic display if he were anyone else, dropping the reigns and handing them over so easily.

But you like it, someone so sure of himself breaking apart for you. Defiant at moments and with the physical strength for mechanical work. Sharp and distant and attempting to be mysterious with a dart always on hand. A billiards player whose never heard of defeat and is no condition to learn the concept. Yet he comes undone in your fingers so easily, like frayed fabric.

"Good boy," You murmur.

"Yours, your good boy." It's all his frazzled mind can come up with at the moment as he nods and shakes. He presses against you as you raise your hand to rest at his hip for support, "Oh god, Y/N."

You step back and help him not sway and tumble with his steps, "Aftercare time." You say it lightly, almost teasingly, but more out of care for Sebastian. You can't have your husband walking around in such a state, you gotta take good care of him, especially after making it known who makes him feel the best. Who caters to his needs and keeps him satisfied romantically and sexually in ways no one else has yet.

Sebastian groans softly as he follows you precisely, "Okay." He wants to curl up against you but he knows you have farm duty firsthand. Knowing that won't make him turn down whatever aftercare you have planned for him.

#stardew valley #sebastian x reader #smutfic #smut fanfiction #lemon #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #please excuse me while i think about pegging him

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vendetta-if · 10 months

Note

I just found your account and couldn't get enough, thank you so much for taking your time to write this masterpieces! I am kind of curious will there be multiple bad ending for each RO's route? Maybe some estimate of how many endings there will be, because I am sure as hell will be trying to get all of them LOL

Also how would the RO's react to MC (post relationship) who got into a comatose state (for maybe a month or more) after protecting them from an attack before finally waking up? How miserable are they before MC wakes up? And how they react when MC finally wake up from their coma? Maybe add papa Victor, uncle Luka, Grandpa, and Yvette too if you can? Thank you so much~~~

Thank you so much for the kind words! 🙏😊 Right now, I’m not too sure on how many variations of the endings there will be since it’s still a while away 🤔

Right now, the “bad endings”—so as to speak—for the 3 ROs will have to do with what future path your MC decides to choose at the end since there will be some paths that Rin, Santana, and Skylar wouldn’t want to follow MC, and they would break up with MC instead.

I’ve touched upon it ages ago and the paths are actually listed in the Character List in the pinned post. Basically, Rin & Santana wouldn’t follow Superhero MC, Skylar wouldn’t follow Criminal Heir MC, meanwhile Ash would follow MC whatever paths they decide in the end.

I’m glad you’re interested in trying out all of the possible endings though! 😁 I think there might be quite a lot of variations of the endings depending mostly on your RO choice and path choice, not to mention some other decisions later on.

As for the second part of your ask, I’ll do for the ROs only this time because the post is getting too long 😅 But feel free to send me the follow-up ask.

I’ll keep the answers under the cut to save some space!

Ash

They’ll be in agony. Just seeing MC in pain or gets hurt is already really painful for them, but MC in a coma… That’s on a whole other level of distress that’s only short of the distress they would feel over MC’s death. But they’re trying to keep that possibility out of their mind…

Not to mention that MC is in this state because of them. They would be filled with such rage and self-loathing, that even after they have decimated the people responsible for hurting MC, they would still be unsatisfied and agitated because they themself is one of them.

They would spend almost all of their time accompanying MC and it’s hard and near impossible to tear them away from MC’s side. They would spend hours recounting both of their countless adventures… Childhood, teenage years, desperately hoping it would somehow help MC wake up.

Once MC wakes up though, they’ll be so relieved that they would probably cry right there and then from all the emotions. They will gush out apologies to MC over and over again for putting them through this while hugging MC as carefully as they can.

Rin

They’ll be nigh inconsolable. They’ll also be tortured from spending day and night repeating the scene over and over in their head—whether voluntary or not—thinking of countless of different scenarios and outcomes from hundreds of different things they could’ve done to prevent this.

While they would still be doing their responsibilities, they would always make sure to visit MC everyday and accompany them, even playing some of their favorite instrumental music as if it can help MC relax and get better quicker.

Their precognition ability, which is usually their greatest asset, has become their greatest enemy. They don’t want to use it. For the first time in their life, the complete uncertainty brings them a semblance of comfort left, giving them hope. They don’t want to know about the probabilities of MC dying or surviving. And everyday, they hope and pray that no visions of MC’s death ever comes to them.

Once MC wakes up, they’d be so relieved and happy. It feels as if a great weight has been lifted from them. They would smile wistfully as they take MC’s hand in theirs gently, rubbing it comfortingly as they speak to MC soothingly before finally getting the doctor to check on MC.

Santana

They’ll be even more depressed and morose, spending almost all of their break and lunch hours to visit MC everyday, talking to them about their day, pretending that MC can hear them.

They probably wouldn’t be able to focus on their job as well. The Chief would be pissed off but they couldn’t care less. Maybe it’d make a good excuse for them to quit.Their already messy life would get even messier.

They’ll also be consumed by guilt because MC gets into this situation to save them. It doesn’t help that Ash, Rin, Luka, and Grandpa would often send them accusatory side-eye whenever they come to visit MC, and honestly, they agree with them. They’ve never understood why MC would so readily sacrifice their safety—and even probably life—for a nobody like them.

Once MC wakes up, they almost can’t believe themself. Their heart is racing as it soars from the relief and happiness. They’ll quickly get a doctor to check on MC and after that, they’ll talk with MC, starting with how much they miss them before chiding them for getting themself in danger for them.

Skylar

The poor superhero is so distressed that for the duration of MC’s coma, the can only smile in front of the camera and they smiles they muster are ones that are clearly strained.

Just like Santana, they couldn’t focus on their superhero job fully as their mind always wanders back to MC in worry even during their shifts. If Skylar is a less important person, the Agency would have berated them harder and probably threaten to cut contract with them, but thankfully, Skylar is far from someone insignificant.

They spend a lot of time everyday visiting and spending time with MC. They’d talk to MC about various things and sometimes, they’d bring some of their books and read their favorite poems to MC—even some of their own that they have always kept to themself. When they don’t feel like talking, they’ll keep themself busy by drawing and sketching MC or the view outside of the window. Anything that will distract them from the encroaching morbid thoughts.

Once MC wakes up, they’d be so happy and relieved, and for the first time in months, they have a genuine big grin on their face and their eyes even water a bit from the overwhelming emotions. They’d probably try to crack a joke, but it would fall short of its mark. So, instead, they would hug MC, thanking them for saving them and telling them to never do that ever again.

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fiber-optic-alligator · 3 months

Note

I would love to see some TFA swindle soft vore with a Gn!human <3

Thanks for the request, anon! Here it is! TFA Swindle is so silly, I love how funky he looks. Just a fun salesman who definitely has never broken any laws :D

Deal Or No Deal

Pairing: TFA Swindle x Gn!human Reader

WARNING: This story contains soft vore. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read this story.

Word Count: 3230

Summary: After accepting a job as an errand runner for a local arms dealer, you are tasked with sneaking into a warehouse located in an old Detroit harbor freight yard and stealing a piece of Decepticon weaponry. Things go wrong when a certain money-hungry mech catches you red-handed and decides he is in charge of you’re fate.

You hate your job.

“It’ll be quick and easy.” You quietly hype yourself up as you walk past various decrepit buildings, your steps bouncing off of their walls and echoing around you, creating an ominous phenomenon in which it sounds like someone is following in your wake. Too many times you’ve glanced back just to make sure your imagination was simply running wild and you were truly alone.

“Just get in, find the piece, and get out.” You reach into your pants pocket and pull out the crumpled map of the freight yard. This part of the harbor is an unsavory neighborhood, too dated to be put to use, yet too expensive to gut and start anew. Thus, it’s trapped in a standstill, with local black market meetings happening frequently and without a hitch. Illegal materials are typically stored here too, due to the perfect real estate; not even the police are aware of how important this place really is.

Tonight, you will be finding one of those exact materials…and you will be stealing it.

“No problem. It’s no problem.” You study the map one last time, then tuck it away. “Find the prize. Get it to the boss. Easy. It’ll be fine.”

You aren’t a thief. Well, you weren’t a thief until now. But you're low on cash, and the threat of going broke is just too high. You don’t want to be out on the streets, so you went down a rough road: you’ve become an errand runner for hire. A local arms dealer wants you to smuggle an extremely powerful weapon out of the freight yard and into his hands. “It’s nothing I’ve ever seen before,” he had told you. “A cannon left behind by those Cybertronian-whatevers. It’s alien. And I want it.”

The amount of money he offered to pay you was too much for you to resist. So here you are, against your better judgment, robbing one horrible person for the benefit of another.

Well, you don’t know if this other person you're stealing from is horrible. The only information given to you about them was where they keep their goods. But judging from the fact that they’re directly contributing to Detroit’s crime rate, you have to assume they’re pretty terrible.

And so am I. You wince when you think about it. I’m no better. I’m a coward who can’t even land a real job.

No time to pity yourself. You chose this profession. There’s no chance for you to go back on it. At least after you complete this job, maybe you can return to some semblance of a normal life…if you aren’t arrested and sent to prison, that is.

The warehouse you are looking for sits right on the edge of the harbor. It’s massive, with shoddy wooden walls riddled with graffiti and sheets of cheap metal nailed to cover up holes. Standing before it now, you feel a shiver go down your spine. Definitely the creepiest place in Detroit, this building is.

Drawing in a deep breath, you head for the large sliding doors. One of them is just barely open. It’s enough space for you to slip through.

Inside, it’s dark. There are lights above, but there is no sign of a switch, and even if there was, you doubt they’d turn on. The warehouse is filled with giant boxes: crate after crate stacked upon each other, some of them reaching so high, you have to wonder just who the hell is in charge of this operation. It’s quiet. You remain still, holding your breath to listen for any signs of activity, like guards or people bringing in recent shipments.

Nothing.

Somehow, that causes you to be on edge even more.

You really, really hate your job.

According to your employer, the Cybertronian weapon is stored in a special crate marked with a Decepticon insignia. It’s one of a kind, so it should be relatively easy to find. You just have to hope it can be reached. As you tread lightly through the warehouse and peer up at the towers of storage, you're suddenly afraid you might have your first experience with using a forklift tonight.

Thankfully, luck seems to be on your side. You come across the crate quickly; it’s set up in the corner of the building, nestled between other boxes so it can be obscured. You only spot it because you know what you're looking for. The Decepticon symbol peeks out at you revealingly, like it wants to be found.

Jackpot, you think. Pushing the other boxes away, you grab your crowbar from your belt and wedge it between the crate’s cover.

For a moment, you pause. A nervous idea of this possibly being a trap crosses your mind, but then you dismiss it. There’s no way anyone could have known you were coming. You and your boss were alone that night when you discussed this plan. Grunting, you force the crate open. Wood cracks as the cover springs up. Excitement fills you when you eagerly peek inside.

Your heart drops.

There’s nothing there. It’s empty.

“Nononono.” You frantically sift your hands through the packing peanuts, but to no avail. The crate is devoid of anything but styrofoam.

You stumble back dazedly and press your hand to your head. This is a trap. Someone did know you were coming. But how? And who?

Low, steady thumping answers you.

It sounds like footsteps. No, they are footsteps. Heavy, boot-like pounding against the floor is accompanied by a large shadow casting over you. Suddenly, the warehouse lights blaze on. You have to shield your eyes to avoid earning a headache.

“Well, well, well,” a voice says. “What do we have here?”

You blink and lower your hands. Standing in front of you, towering above the stacks of crates, is a giant robot with dull golden armor and purple eyes. He gives you an easygoing smile and speaks with the same smooth voice you heard before. “And why might you be here, little mouse?”

You gape at him with no words you can say. The robot chuckles and crosses his arms over his chest. “Didn’t find what you were looking for?” He inclines his head to the crate. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, it’s not your fault. I knew your boss was going to make a move for the cannon way before he decided to send you for it.”

“I-I-uh-” you stammer.

“Yes?” he asks.

“G-Giant…r-robot.”

His smile widens and he raises a brow. “That’s what I am. The proper term would be Cybertronian, though.”

“Y-You're one of them.” Your eyes flicker to the scowling symbol on his chest. “You're a Decepticon.”

“Technically, yes. However, I consider myself a Decepticon in name only. I wear this badge as a sign of partnership with my best customers.”

“Customers?” you echo.

“Right. Guess I should introduce myself.” The mech extends his arms in an open greeting. “The name’s Swindle. I run a tight business of weapons selling, weapons building, weapons trading…basically, if you want something that’ll make your enemies go boom, I’m the guy you want to call. And you, little mouse, are currently stealing from me.”

You look around you. “Wait. So this…all of this…is yours?”

“Yup. It’s quite the haul, isn’t it? This loot is going to be spread all across Detroit to different buyers, Cybertronian or not. I don’t discriminate, you see. If you have the means to pay for it, I can get it for you. Earth is a violent place, little mouse. And where there’s violence, there’s money to be made.”

A compartment slides open from his chest. He reaches into it and pulls out a large gray cannon with the Decepticon coat of arms on its side. “This is what you came here for, right?” Swindle says. “Your boss wants it so he can blast a bunch of banks open.”

You swallow hard and nod.

“Let me ask you this.” He drops the cannon back in. The compartment closes, and he crouches down to get more on your level. “Do you think I like it when people steal from me?”

“I-I didn’t steal from you!” you answer.

“You were going to.”

“But I didn’t!”

“You had the intention, and that counts.” He shrugs. “I’m what you humans call a cool cat, kid. I do business and I go on with my life. But when I find little mice snooping around my warehouse, trying to take things that don’t belong to them…” His gaze darkens and he bares his teeth. “I decide it’s time to show my claws.”

You take a nervous step back. “I-I’m sorry! I really am! But I had no choice! I-I need this job! I need the money!”

For a moment, he simply studies you. Then he leans back into the calm attitude from before, and grins. “Hm. What if I were to offer you a deal?”

It takes you a moment to register what he just said. “A deal?” you say. “Why would you want to make a deal with me? I just tried stealing from you!”

“I know. Trust me, I’m not letting you off the hook. But I find myself feeling bad for you, little mouse. You're just someone who’s down on your luck and trying to get back on your feet. I appreciate that. And…I see potential in you.”

“…Potential?”

His eyes sparkle with dangerous intent. “Yes. Potential. You're small. Quick. You can sniff things out and have a great sense of direction while doing it. I could use someone like you. A stealthy little robber who can sneak in and get things that a giant lumbering robot can’t. Do you see where I’m going with this?” He pokes you gently in the ribs. You yelp and jump back. “I’m offering you a job.”

You rub your side and glare at him. “I already have a job.”

“Correction. You had a job.” Swindle tilts his head. “If you go back to your boss empty-handed, you’ll suffer for it. I know how he works, and trust me, what he does to those who fail isn’t pretty. But me? I’m fair. I’m lenient. Your work hours won’t kill you, and I’m not going to dump your dead body into the lake if something goes sour. This is an opportunity for you. What do you say?” He holds his hand out. “Do we have a deal?”

You eye his hand apprehensively, then take another step back. “No. I’m done with this. I never wanted to be a thief. I’m not working for a giant robot who can kill me at any chance.”

He throws his hands up, exasperated. “Did you not hear a word I just said?”

“I don’t care what you said!” You turn on your heel and march away. “What my boss does to me doesn’t matter anymore! I’m not going through with this sort of life!”

Swindle sighs, and his tone hardens. “Ah, geez, you're going to make me be the bad guy, huh. Alright, fine, I can be the bad guy.”

You let out a strangled shriek when you are unexpectedly yanked into the air. Swindle unceremoniously lifts you up by the back of your shirt, bringing you close to his face. “Listen, mouse,” he growls. “You have two options to choose tonight: either you agree to work for me, or I can sell you to other people who are worse than your boss. You want to end up collared and turned into a Decepticon’s pet?”

You stop your desperate struggle to stare at him in horror. “Y-You wouldn’t do that!”

“Wouldn’t I? I’m a daytrader, little one. I may specialize in weapons, but that doesn’t mean I don’t take up animal handling once in a while.” He shakes you a little, earning a cry from you. “So, what’s it going to be? This is a limited time offer, so you better make up your mind while it lasts.”

You stare at him, and you know he’s being completely serious. You have no option here except to agree to his terms. A pit forms in your stomach with roots of anxiety spreading through you, thriving on your fear. He notices how you’ve begun to shake, and grins with the knowledge that he has you.

He holds his hand out to you once more. “I’ll ask again. Do we have a deal?”

You hesitate…then reluctantly extend your own hand to him. He takes your palm between his index finger and thumb and shakes it gently. “There.” Swindle looks satisfied. “Was that so hard? You’ve made the right choice, little mouse. Now, for your punishment.”

“Wait, what?” You yank your hand back. “Punishment? What punishment!?”

“The punishment.” He says this like it’s common knowledge. “You tried to steal from me. I just can’t let that go. What kind of message would I be spreading to the competition if they were to know I’m too soft with thieves?”

“But I accepted your terms! I work for you now! What more could you want from me?”

He tsks and shakes his head. “This has nothing to do with the deal, little mouse. This has everything to do with the fact that your old boss thinks I’m someone he can send his cronies to steal from.” He lifts you higher, and his gaze softens, only for a moment. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you. You're still a greenie in the trade, so there’s no reason to draw this out. Just relax and everything will be fine.”

You squirm and clutch at the fingers holding you, confused. “What are you-?”

He opens his mouth. You find yourself staring down into the abyss of his throat, pulsing with a gentle purple light. Then your eyes widen and your heart crashes when he begins lowering you towards it.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” you yell while you squirm, kick, flail, do anything you can to fight back against what you realize is happening. “PUTMEDOWNPUTMEDOWNPUTMEDOWNPUTMEDOWN!”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the gaping jaws below you. Swindle’s tongue shifts with excitement and anticipation. The sight makes you scream until you think your own throat might bleed.

The more you fight, the faster Swindle lowers you. You curse and threaten, so terrified that you aren’t even aware of what you are saying at this point, fresh tears pouring down your face.

“SWINDLE, PLEASE, DON’T-!”

You break into a scream when he drops you.

The impact is softer than what you brace for, and you fall onto his tongue with an “Oof.” For a moment, you lay there, little cries coming out with your rapid-tempo breaths, heart beating so hard you think you may have a heart attack.

And then you come to your senses, and realize where you are.

You are in Swindle’s mouth.

You scramble forward, moving to throw yourself out of the sticky deathtrap, but it is too late; the robot’s teeth click closed, cutting you off from the outside world. “Nonono!” You bang your fists frantically on them. “Please, let me out! I don’t want to die! P-Please don’t do this!”

Hot air wafts over your body when Swindle chuckles. The muscle beneath you moves and begins to slowly push you backwards. Thick globs of saliva suck at your legs as you are forced back towards his throat.

“No, stop!” You claw at his tongue, trying everything in your power to prevent yourself from going down. The giant tilts his head back.

With a loud squelching gulp, Swindle swallows, and you are sucked into his esophagus, the powerful muscles pulling you down.

So many things happen at once. Your body is massaged from all sides by the throat, leaving you all but completely immobile. The sound of Swindle’s internal workings is thunder in your ears, so loud that you can’t even hear yourself think.

The most terrifying noise, however, is the growling and gurgling coming from below. An ominous reminder of where you are ultimately going to end up.

You are squeezed into the stomach and fall into the squishy chamber that, as soon as it is aware of your presence, closes in. From all sides you are massaged and kneaded by thick, muscular walls of synthetic organ that rubs saliva and fluid all over you. You push at the walls with a terrified air of desperation, your lungs constricting like you can’t breathe. “Let me out!” you beg your captor. “Please, I don’t want this!”

Swindle rumbles out another chuckle that sounds so much deeper now that you are in here. The walls quiver, laughing right along with him. “I don’t care what you want, little mouse. I’m your boss now, and I want you to sit in there and think about what you’ve done.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry for trying to steal from you! Just please, spit me up! I-I don’t want to die!” Your voice breaks. The situation is truly hopeless now.

Swindle groans. “Geez, how many times do I have to tell you, kid? You're not going to die. Do you feel any acid in there? Is your skin melting off of your bones?”

You pause and look at your arms. The glow of the mech’s biolights gives you a dim image of your limbs: sticky and slimy…but not in any pain, and certainly no terrible wounds visible.

“…No,” you mumble in disbelief.

Swindle speaks to you like a parent does with their child. “See? You're in no pain. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. You're safe. Now relax and settle down.”

“If I’m safe, then why did you decide to eat me?!”

“I already said this. You need to learn a lesson. A few hours in there will teach you not to steal from others…well, at least, not to steal from me. You’ll be doing plenty of theft in the future. But I’ll pay you for it, and you’ll never have to worry about going hungry or living on the streets ever again.”

Your fear begins to diminish, and it’s replaced with indignation. “Of all the ways to teach me a lesson, it had to be like this?”

The stomach shakes boisterously when Swindle laughs. “Sorry, kid. I had to scare the crap out of you somehow so you’d learn. You need to know your place in this profession.” He presses his hands right over where you are tucked inside and gives you a little squeeeze. “Now sit tight and relax for me, okay? I’ll let you out in a few hours. You're safe.”

You grumble and give the stomach walls a disgruntled shove. The organ flexes to hug you, forcing you to sink into the warmth. Now that you’ve calmed down, you find that it’s actually…kind of nice in here. The constant massaging feels good on your exhausted body. The soft violet glow is soothing to your eyes. And though you hate to allow yourself, because you're still rather pissed off with him…you finally relax.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “That’s right. Nice and warm.” The walls ripple when he gives his abdomen a pat. “You know, I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

You give in and release a soft breath. You’ve gotten yourself into quite the pickle here. But with how warm it is, and relaxed you are…maybe working for this robot won’t be so bad.

#gator writes #gator requests #tfa swindle #tfa swindle x reader #swindle x reader #transformers swindle #transformers #transformers animated #tfa #reader insert #transformers animated x reader #maccadam #transformers g/t #soft vore #sfw g/t #safe vore

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