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eyesxxyou · 1 month

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❝ sunshine pt.2 ❞ (hobie brown x male!reader)

｡ﾟ･ ¡ content. hobie x male!reader. reader pretends to hate dislike hobie. gay longing. denial of feelings. a little internalized homophobia. leg humping. handjob thru underwear. lots of kissing. hobie being a lil shut. weeks of avoiding hobie become moot when you and him find yourselves alone in a bathroom together.

wc: 3.6k

You wish you hated Hobie Brown.

It would be so easy, wouldn't it? He kissed you, did unspeakable things to you in that closet. And you let him. You enjoyed even, you relished in the way his mouth felt, his lithe fingers sinking into your flesh. the way he cooed in your ear. It would be easy to write him off completely, hate him for the rest of your life, his smug face, his hooded eyes that gaze into yours and hold secrets only known between you, him, and God.

But you don't hate him. You can't. You hate yourself more than anything. You should have never indulged him, never let him put a single finger on you. Because now, when you lie in bed at night and close your eyes, all you can see is him on his knees, feel your cock sliding down the pocket of his throat while he looks up at you through his lashes with those dark eyes of his. You can't get it up any other way. Women don't do it for you anymore.

The moment the two of you left the closet you told everyone to leave. You picked up Hobie’s clothes and shoved them into his arms before sending him out the door with the rest of them. You never once looked him in the eye.

Your friends asked Hobie what had happened inside the hour you spent together and Hobie, being quite the convincing liar, simply shrugged as if he had no idea what had set you off. “Nothin’. Think ‘e migh’ be claustrophobic.” But he knew. You both would always know, no matter how hard you attempted to scrub it from your mind. He’d keep it a secret if you did. He might start shit from time to time but he wasn’t into outing people. He’d keep the secret for you if you didn't want it.

You know better. You know yourself. If you were alone with him, something like that would happen again and you wouldn't know what to do with yourself.

So you avoided Hobie like the plague after that night. Every invitation to hang out was promptly turned down with an excuse that was only a thinly veiled lie, obvious to no one except for Hobie who knew better than to accept that you were sick 3 weeks in a row.

It was understandable. He had made you question everything you had known about yourself all within a matter of an hour. Why would you want to be around him? You feared him and everything he symbolized to you.

“It’s Hobie, isn't it?” Your friend, Riri, sighed. She had come in person to get you out of the house. There was no pretending to be sick, no feigning exhaustion. She came and she called you out so accurately you feared that Hobie might have told her what had happened in the closet. Your chest squeezed and you lost your breath, terrified that she may know.

You scoffed, anxiety swelling within your chest as you pretend to roll the question off your shoulders. “Hobie? Why would I care about Hobie?”

“Everyone knows you can't stand him. And you haven't been the same since we stuck y’all in the closet. Did he say somethin’ to you?” You looked into her eyes for any semblance of your secret and found nothing. You wished you could tell her, your shame, your pleasure, the absolute heaven you felt being in that closet with Hobie. You’d just embarrass yourself.

“No, that's ridiculous. I find him just as endlessly irritating as I always have.” You reach up, tug at your hair softly, and shift your gaze. You were telling on yourself. Fuck, if you didn't agree now, she’d definitely know that there was something up with you and Hobie. “I’ll go, it’s whatever. Just let me get ready.” Your voice was quick, snappy, you were definitely acting suspicious. But you hoped you conceding to going would distract her enough to forget.

It did. Your friends weren't the most aware bunch.

That's how you ended up here, standing in the midst of a true punk party. There was a mosh pit in the front, people inches away from getting punched in the face, starting an all-out brawl. Most were drunk or high off shitty beer and even shittier drugs.

Hobie was on stage performing. You heard his voice before you saw him, the way it echoed in your ears and left you delirious. Riri dragged you into the crowd, just far away from the mosh pit to not get trampled over, and you saw him. His dark skin glistening in a thin layer of sweat, fingers meticulously strumming at his guitar, lips pressed against the mesh of the microphone as if he were attempting to kiss it like he kissed you.

He wore a plaid skirt, his muscle shirt was just cropped enough to reveal the scant of his abdomen and the hair on his slender naval. You saw him and all you could think about was how you wanted to touch him. You wanted his black-painted lips on your neck, wanted to bury your fingers in the new growth of his hair, wanted your cock in his mouth once again and maybe to put his in yours.

The thoughts terrified you but what frightened you even more was that when you came to, Hobie was looking at you. Smug, careless, beautiful, like he knew just what you were thinking about and he was thinking the very same thing.

Face hot and embarrassed over being caught, you averted your gaze. You turned on your heels and swiftly left Riri to make your way to the bar. You needed a drink, or five, so that maybe your nausea could be attributed to something worthwhile. But no matter how far from the stage you found yourself, Hobie’s voice was still in your ear, teasing your senses, tempting your body. You felt hot and parched.

“Give me the strongest you have.” You asked the bartender and pressed your face into your hands.

Hobie played three of his songs before his time was over, the entire time you watched from the corner of your eye. Watched the way he swayed, jumped, wrecked the stage, a force to be reckoned with. You watched him and his bandmates, your friends, walk backstage and felt relief. You wouldn’t have to hear his voice everywhere you went. You hadn’t considered that meant that they would all gravitate over to you to have a chat over where you’ve been for nearly a month now.

They came over with Riri, the unknowing traitor, Hobie standing taller than everyone else in the back. They hugged you one by one, slapped your back, kissed your cheeks, told you they were happy you finally agreed to hang. You would have loved to see them if Hobie hadn’t tossed his arm over your shoulder and pulled you into him.

He smelled like musk and faint, fragrant cologne, your nose pressed to the side of his chest. You look up from where you sat on your barstool only to find him already smiling broadly down at you. “Well, well, look who decided to grace us with they presence. Miss me, sunshine?” He was so smug, so proud. If only you could kiss that look from his stupid face and leave him breathless for once instead of the other way around.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at him, shrugging his arm from your shoulders. “Don’t get so full of yourself.” You downed the rest of your drink and requested another one. Hobie came, sat on the stool beside you, and told the barkeep to add all your drinks to his tab.

“Ya been avoidin’ me, sunshine?” Hobie only really seemed interested in talking to you. The others chatted aimlessly amongst themselves. They didn’t seem to notice the way Hobie’s eyes glazed over you, the way his smile seemed a little different when it was directed at you. They also didn’t notice the way he placed his hand on your thigh, rubbing soft circles into your flesh, the way his digits fingered the rips at your jeans.

“Whyever would I be avoiding you, Hobie?” You grabbed his hand to stop his gentle assault on your thigh and he took the opportunity to lace his fingers in with yours.

“I don’ know. Why are you avoidin’ me?” His hand was hot and rough with callouses. If only he’d touch you a little more. Slide his hand up your arm, brush over your neck. You could feel your body growing warmer by the moment. You couldn’t be trusted with him, couldn’t trust yourself for that matter.

You tore your hand from his. “You know exactly why. I hate it when people play dumb.”

“Jus’ add i’ to the long list of all the reasons ya hate me.”

Oh, if only it were so easy to hate. You’d hate him till the day he died. You’d hate him beyond the grave. You’d hate him until the world combusted into flames and everyone burned with it. But it wasn’t so easy. It was actually quite hard to hate someone you longed so carnally for. If you could rid yourself of him for good, you would in a heartbeat.

Hobie ordered himself a nice large glass of beer and leaned in. “Was i’ so bad, what we did? Ya seemed to enjoy i’ in the moment.”

Your eyes grew wide, glancing about to ensure your friends hadn’t heard him.

Hobie scoffed. “Please, too loud in here. They all wrapped up in ‘emselves to pay attention t’us. Look here, sunshine.” He reached out and gently grasped your chin to make you look at him. His touch was like fire all throughout your body. Looking him in the eyes lit something in the pit of your stomach. "Ya look good t'nigh'."

His drink came and he took a sip of the froth at the top while looking at you, his gaze all affectionate and tender. The way one lover would look at another. He didn’t even have to touch you to get you riled up because you both knew him looking at you through his lashes like that was just the way he looked at you when he kissed the tip of your cock.

You needed air. It was suddenly so stuffy where you were, you felt like you were suffocating. The ache of your cock made your jeans tighten. You felt nauseous.

You must have looked crazy standing so abruptly. Your friends attempted to call your name as you pushed your way through them and searched wildly for the nearest exit. The best you could find was a bathroom sign. That would have to work.

The bathroom was grimy and covered in graffiti. Your boots suck to the floor when you walked and you’re sure you could see a leftover powdery substance on the side of the sink. You turned on the water and cupped your hands beneath it to gather some and splash it on your face.

Nothing between you and Hobie had to change. If he would simply stop provoking you, you could ignore everything else. The way your eyes lingered on his exposed body, the way his lingered on yours, the memory of your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking till he came on your tummy, the way you came in his mouth and he drank it all up.

You pressed your hand against the bulge in your jeans and moaned softly at the pressure. Then there was a knock at the door, startling you out of your momentary pleasure and reminding you that you were indeed in a public restroom.

“Oi, sunshine! Ya alrigh”?” Hobie. He just simply couldn’t let you have a moment of reprieve. Readjusting yourself in your pants so it's not so noticeable, you opened the door only to be met with Hobie leaning against the frame. He looked at you, questioning, before inviting himself right in. “Le’s talk.”

“Talk? You wanna talk?” You slammed the door shut and locked the door behind the two of you out of instinct. “We have nothing to talk about, Hobie. Absolutely nothing.” Your demeanor was cold, your lip curled. It all belied how much you needed him to stop looking at you that way. With heavy eyes and a touch of a smirk on his lips.

Hobie quirked a pierced brow at you. “Who’s playin’ dumb now? Ya tink I ‘aven’t noticed how you’ve been actin’? Yer meaner than usual.” He approached you. Slowly. He looked at you, watched to stand your ground. “God, yer down bad, aren’cha?”

Your face was hot, cock hard in your pants. You said not a word. Let him get close, really close, leaning into you while staring into your eyes.

“It's okay, though. I like ya mean.”

You grabbed him by the shirt, hands tight in the fabric as you turned him around and pushed him against the wall. “You think this is fucking funny, huh?” You shook him a little, pressed his thin body to the door, your eyes aflame with passion and anger. Hobie just looked at you, smiling, with his hands up as if to surrender to you, his eyes heavy with seduction.

You hated that look, so cocky and proud, fucking gorgeous.

You were rough when you kissed him. You knew you couldn't be trusted with yourself or with him. You knew it would all lead to this. And God if it didn't feel good. His lips were so soft, sweet, a little salty from his sweat. You held his shirt a little tighter, pulled him a little closer and his hands settled on your hips.

You let him slide his tongue into your mouth, let him slide his hands up and down the length of your body, slide beneath your shirt. His thumbs looked into your pants and tucked his knee between your legs to press against the growing bulge in your pants.

Just like that, he took control of you. You melted into him, licked into his mouth as you moaned, rutting yourself against his knee. You were desperate, panting, needy. You showed all your cards just as they were dealt and now you had nothing but an empty hand and a hard cock.

“I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout'cha.” Hobie panted into your mouth, hands pawing at you. Your kiss was sloppy, filled with swapped saliva and sticky tongue. “Missed ya. Looks like ya missed me too.” He chuckled softly as you licked his bottom lip, sighing with pleasure when he pressed his knee harder into you.

You should stop this. You should be stopping yourself. But you simply couldn't control yourself and you didn't know if that said more about you or about him. You were insatiable. You were angry. You were horny out of your mind.

Hobie let you suck on his lip and tongue, chuckling the whole time. It made you stop, your hands tightening up in his shirt. “Is something funny?” You pushed him against the wall harder, your body pressed against his, your aching cock against his knee. You tried to play tough, your face firming up, but Hobie already witnessed how desperately you've been wanting him this entire time.

Hobie sighed softly, looking at you, smiling broadly. “Nah, nah, ‘m laughin’ ‘cause ya definitely like me, sunshine. Just as much as I like you.” He leaned in, pressed his lips to yours, and kissed you softly. Lips latching, tongue licking, teeth nipping, you didn't resist him as much as you thought you would. You hadn't imagined for it to feel so good the second time around.

“Lemme help ya out, sunshine.” Hobie pressed his knee harder into your crotch and you crumbled, panting into his mouth with your eyes squeezed shut. One of your hands unballed itself from his shirt and found itself settled against the apple of his throat, pressing and squeezing while you humped his leg into oblivion.

The friction was delicious. The pressing and grinding with his tongue down your throat left you a little delirious. You were lightheaded and feared you might faint if he kept holding your waist like he was, moving your hips for you, pressing you harder.

“Keep goin’, pretty boy. Ya got i'.” Hobie crooned into your mouth as your lips fiended for another kiss, a lick, something, anything to satiate the burning in your chest, the fire all over. His fingers sunk into the meat of your thighs with his soft grip that meant to gently coax you towards your climax.

How embarrassing. To cum in your jeans just from humping a leg. But God, if this didn't feel good, if Hobie wasn't doing you so right. You pushed him harder against the wall, squeezed his throat a little tighter as you ground yourself into him.

Your free hand slid down his front and beneath his skirt to feel the bulge of his erection through his underwear. You weighed him in the palm of your hand, clumsy massaging and fondling. You didn't know how to handle him. Attempting to conjure up the way you touched him the last time you two felt each other, you rubbed him, felt the wet patch where precum leaked and soaked into the fabric of his underwear and stroked his tip.

Hobie shuddered, one that rattled through his entire body. He gripped you harder, bruising your hips and thighs and he drove you further into his knee and left you shivering. You squeezed him in your palm and he moaned.

It was pathetic how easy it was to forget how much you wanted to hate him. Your brain was foggy with pleasure and need. Your hands groped at each other with a fiendish desire. Hobie nipped at your bottom lip. “Fuck, jus’ like tha’.”

You were so close. Your lips broke apart from his with a string of saliva connecting the two of you. Your head felt back, exposing the supple flesh of your throat which Hobie greedily attacked with lips and teeth and tongue. “Gonna cum f’me? Hmm, sunshine? Go ‘head ‘n make a mess f’me.”

You whined, your body rocking back and forth with the waves of your orgasm. You hadn't cum in your pants since you were a teen and never before because of another man. You felt as though you should be humiliated but you were so wrapped up in Hobie's sweet scent and the way he moaned into your neck as you pressed your hand into him and felt his cock twitch in your hold.

You rubbed him harder, faster, determined to get him to come undone the way he had your world falling apart. Hobie chuckled against your throat. “Tryna get me t’cum, pretty boy?” His lips peppered kisses to your lovely throat. You nodded, your hand stroking his throat with your thumb. “Give it to me, please.” Oh how the mighty fall.

Hobie faltered a bit when you squeezed his balls in your hand, whining into you like a puppy. “Beg.” He sighed softly against your neck. “Beg fo i'.”

"Please, please. Shit, Hobie, give it to me " Overstimulated, his knee still pressed into the wet spot in your sticky jeans, your hips still rutting into the mess you’ve made of yourself, you jerked him off through his underwear, stroking it rapid, blundering twists of your wrist. Hobie liked how inexperienced you seemed, he found it amusing how hard you tried to please him.

You knew he was just on the edge of an orgasm by the way his moan lowered an octave. He sang for you like he sang on stage, your own private show. His hands gripped you with an impossible strength, tongue lavishing over your throat. He nosed at the curve of your jaw and moaned into your ear as he came in your hand, leaking out into the cotton of his underwear.

You were left panting, stroking at each other in tender touches. You were uncharacteristically affectionate, desperate for it. You needed his hands, his lips, his soft chuckles, his pretty smile. God, you were losing it.

“Fuck-” You pulled away from Hobie, your entire body coiling away from him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” It all came back to you like a tsunami. How did you let this happen? Again no less. What in the world were you thinking? What the hell has he done to you?

“Sunshine, calm down. It's okay.” Hobie reached out for you but you almost fell over trying to get away from him. Your hands gripped the sink for stability and in hopes to ground yourself in reality. “No, no, it’s not okay, Hobie! We need to stop this.”

“Whatever we have goin’ on between us-”

“There's nothing going on between us,” you insisted. “There should be nothing going on between us.” Hobie scoffed at you, crossing his arms over his chest. “Would’ja get ova y’self? We didn' make each other cum by accident. This keeps happenin’ fo’ a reason. We like each other.” He motioned between the two of you, his eyes softening.

“I can't do this, Hobie. I can't give you what you want.” You rushed past him and escaped out of the bathroom door before Hobie had a chance to catch you. It was a mistake to come out. You should have left the moment Hobie touched you.

It was just your luck to run into Riri on the way out the door. You bumped into her just as you neared the exit. She had whipped around, ready to let you have it until she saw that it was you and worse, when she saw the tears streaming down your face. As if this night couldn't get even more embarrassing.

You said nothing to her. You simply pushed past her and left the bar with her calling after you. Hobie approached behind her, watching you leave with sulken shoulders and smudged makeup.

“Shit.”

#across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman atsv #spiderman #hobie brown #spider punk #hobie brown x male!reader #hobie brown smut #hobie smut #spiderpunk x male!reader #spiderpunk smut #atsv smut

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strangersmunsons · 1 month

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bloodletting

you're kind of dead. but so is Eddie, just in a different way.

"Oh, you were a vampire, and baby, I’m a walking dead."

Contains: Vampire!Eddie x Zombie!Reader, gn!zombie!reader, Eddie owns a record store, you’re newly (un)dead and still figuring it out. No use of y/n, no description of reader’s appearance, use of pet names but no gendered pronouns. Warnings: mentions of death and descriptions of anatomical parts, both of which may be a little gross. Allusions to murder, though nothing is shown. Eddie drinks blood. Word Count: ~5,000 Not sure if this has been done yet; I've seen vampire!eddie and zombie!eddie, but I don't think I've come across this particular x reader combo? so hopefully I'm not stepping on anyone's toes here. anyway - hope you enjoy!

The summer heat is miserable, suffocating; large swaths of shimmering air hover above the sticky tar pavement, beckoning you from a distance like a teasing portal to another dimension, always in sight but never in reach.

You plod down the crack-ridden sidewalk, eyes cast downward. Dregs of once-lush moss and sprays of weeds poke through the shattered valleys in the concrete, now brown and withered beneath the cruel sun.

You admire those tiny plants. How they survive. How they find a way to live, against all odds, in the most unlikeliest of places.

They remind you of yourself. Especially now, on the verge of their death.

You continue on, shuffling aimlessly. Each step is halting, just the tiniest bit broken. And there’s an odd grinding noise that emits from your left knee if you take too large of a stride. You suppose that it would probably hurt, if you could feel pain.

But such sensations tend to be lost on you these days.

You glance skyward, the sun a winking yellow coin directly overhead. You’re not sure how it may affect your strange flesh — you haven’t quite worked out all the particulars of your condition yet. Some parts of you are lost, utterly lifeless; and yet, your sentience, amongst other random physiological capabilities, remain. You imagine your trillions of cells to be stuck in some kind of purgatory, hovering on the equatorial line between life and death.

Can the sun hurt you? Have your cells gone far enough down the path of their programmed death so as to be rendered impervious to the ultraviolet rays, or are the thymine dimers still forming, creating mutinous clumps in your DNA? Or, would you react like a corpse left to rot in the desert, internal gasses bubbling up through your gut that will make you bloat and split, ripping you open like a spoiled piece of overripe fruit?

You’d rather not find out.

The strip mall you’re treading through is mostly deserted. You suppose that everyone is at home, waiting out the heat within the cool confines of air-conditioned houses. Only you, to whom the temperature changes barely register, are out and about.

You duck into the nearest shop without checking to see what store it is. You just need to kill some time, wait for some cloud cover before venturing back out. There’s a cheerful tinkling of bells when you push the door open, an inviting sound to welcome you inside.

Hovering at the entrance, you stare unblinkingly around at your new surroundings — a record store.

Here, it’s dark and cool. The walls are painted black, and only just visible beneath the hundreds of posters plastered overtop of them. There are rows and rows of vinyl records and cassette tapes on display, and one corner is sectioned off for t-shirts and band merchandise, along with a table offering a small selection of horror novels and VHS tapes. No one seems to around, though you figure at least one employee must be lurking somewhere. An unknown song crackles through the speakers, some band with a wailing guitar and an even louder singer. It’s not bad.

You take a deep breath, although you’re not sure what the action does for you, exactly, and move down an aisle to start browsing in. Your fingers pop at the knuckles when you stretch your hands out to file through the records, and you frown when you notice one of your fingernails has broken off.

Is that gonna grow back, or…?

“Help you find somethin’?”

You look up, careful not to move your head too quickly, lest it snap right off of your neck.

The store employee — Eddie, by the title on his nametag — is standing very close to you, much closer than you would expect him to be, considering that you hadn’t seen or heard anyone approaching at all. Your eyes rake over his figure.

He has dark, tangled curls that hang all the way down to his chest, and his eyes are so brown they’re nearly black. He’s wearing a denim vest over a black W.A.S.P. shirt with the sleeves cut off, exposing thick, tattooed arms. He gives you a serene, close-mouthed smile that dimples his cheeks, full lips stretching widely across his pale face. If you could still flush, you probably would, but blood flow seems to be at a very minimum, if it’s even happening at all. He��s hot.

Well. Interesting to note that that part of you hasn’t changed.

You cough. “J-just looking.” Your voice is dry, raspy; you sound like a sixty-year-old chainsmoker. But if it surprises Eddie, it doesn’t show.

He points at the album you’ve paused at. “You like The Cramps?”

You nod carefully, not trusting your rusty larynx.

He hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the merch section. “We got some cool shirts of theirs over there, too, if you wanna take a look.”

“O-okay.”

There’s a mild shift in his expression, a slight shadow crossing over that customer-service smile, causing it to fade from his pretty face. He stares at you curiously; you swear you see his nostrils flaring.

You take a cautious step back.

“Well…if you need anything, just holler,” he tells you, disgruntled. As he turns and walks away, back to the register, he casts a backward glance at you, brow furrowed. If you weren’t so nervous, you might have marveled at how silent his footfalls are.

With shaky hands, you continue perusing the selection before you, though all you can really focus on is the feeling of Eddie’s eyes glued to your back from across the store.

Some of your senses might have been dulled, but you still know when you’re being watched.

Would it be too suspicious if you just dropped everything and made a break for it? You haven’t technically done anything wrong. Your only crime is being dead. And really, what can he — or anyone — even do to you?

Kill me?

You snicker.

Then, to your horror, in between Smell of Female and Off the Bone, your left pinkie finger falls off.

Immediately you lurch forward to hide the offending digit from Eddie’s prying eyes, hunching over the display rack. The damn thing has been threatening to come loose for days, kept in its place with the help of a little surgical tape and some superglue — but you’d hoped that the remaining ligaments would be strong enough to prevent this from happening.

Desperately, you plunge further into the display box, jamming your lifeless hands down between the records, groping blindly for the missing finger. You glance back at Eddie, who’s staring at you unabashedly, face a mask of blank confusion. He rises from his seat behind the checkout counter.

Finally, your hand closes around the lost pinkie, and you pull it back out of the display box, keeping it hidden within the confines of your fist. You just manage to spin around with your hands clasped behind your back by the time Eddie manages to make his way over to you again.

He stands with his feet firmly planted on the ground before you, his hands on his hips. “Everything alright over here?” he asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Yessir,” you chuckle drily.

He’s unconvinced. “Whatcha got back there?”

Panic bolts through your ruined insides. “N-nothing,” you rasp.

His dark eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “No? Prove it.”

He waits expectantly. You try to moisten your lips with your tongue, but the muscle feels like a dehydrated slug in your mouth. Reluctantly, you move the finger so it’s in just one of your fists, and then hold your other hand out to him, flat so he can see your empty palm, smiling weakly.

It’s stupid, but it’s all you’ve got.

Eddie rolls his eyes and scoffs, but before he can say anything, your body betrays you once again. Your grip is none too strong anymore, and the missing digit slips through the web of your other, still-intact fingers, dropping to the floor with a tiny thunk.

Both you and Eddie stare down at the freestanding pinkie, sitting in the center of a white tile near your feet, mottled and sickly-looking. Neither of you say anything.

Suddenly his dark eyes are boring into yours again.

“Uh…I can explain.”

“I knew you smelled wrong,” is the first thing he tells you in the back office of the shop, as he rifles determinedly through the desk drawers.

“Wrong?” you ask, alarmed.

He shoots you a look, a reassuring smile on his lips. “Not bad — just different. Like…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Like green. Earthy, I guess.”

You wonder if it’s worth mentioning that you crawled out of the ground a week ago.

“It’s not how people usually smell,” he says casually, face turning triumphant when he finally finds what he’s searching for. Eddie holds up a pocket-sized sewing kit in a plastic case. “I keep this around in case one of my patches falls off. I gotta say, emergency finger-reattachment surgery is a first for me.”

You’re still stuck on his previous statement. “H-how do people usually smell?” your voice quivers, and you wonder how he can act so nonchalant despite your decidedly-undead condition.

“Oh, like lots of different things,” he muses, selecting a needle from the kit. “Some people are flowery, some are fruity.” He wrinkles his nose. “Some people have harsher smells, like…crude oil, or something. And then there’s some that are so sweet it actually burns my nose.”

Eddie holds the case out so you can peer inside at the contents. “Here. Pick a color for your stitches.”

You opt for a tiny spool of dark green thread.

He gestures towards the rolling chair behind the desk. “Have a seat.”

You do as you’re told, plopping unceremoniously down onto the cushion. The chair moves several inches back across the floor from the force of your graceless fall.

Eddie snips the thread, and pops the end in his mouth to wet the frayed fibers, smoothing them into one even strand. Then he threads the needle quickly with an expert hand, tying it off with a knot when he has a decent amount of string to work with.

He kneels down before you, gently taking your pinkie-less hand in his. “Lemme see…do you think you can hold it in place for me?”

You hold the missing pinkie to the spot it was ripped from, lining up the torn edges as best you can. The whitish bone poking out at the ends slips greasily against the stumpy flesh of your knuckle. Frustrated, you try to hold it still so that the phalange and the metacarpal bones are aligned at least somewhat evenly, but you don’t quite have the stability.

Eddie purses his lips, but amusement flickers in his dark eyes. He takes the finger back from you. “I’ve got it, I think,” he says kindly. “Just, ah, help keep it steady, okay?”

Tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, Eddie presses the needle lightly against your skin. His eyes flit up to yours. “Does that hurt?”

“No,” you admit.

“Didn’t think so,” he says smugly.

He pushes the needle in deeper, piercing the skin, maneuvering the slim point beneath the flesh of your knuckle and into the lost finger, connecting the two, then pulling it back out. He does it again and again, looping the thread through your skin until the first few knobbly stitches are formed.

He checks in again, just in case. “Still doesn’t hurt?”

You shake your head.

Eddie chuckles under his breath, then resumes his progress. For the next ten minutes, he weaves the needle in and out of your skin, until there are stitches going the whole way around your finger. He carefully ties the last one off, trimming the excess thread with a pair of tiny scissors.

You hold your now-intact hand out, admiring his handiwork. It’s not perfect, but it’s certainly miles better than anything you could have done yourself.

“Thank you.” You’re touched by his kindness, but still completely boggled by his non-reaction to a customer losing an entire finger. “I h-have,” you hack out a cough, “a question.”

“Shoot.”

“You’re very calm. How is that?”

Eddie, still kneeling on the floor, looks up at you, puzzled. Then it dawns on him. “Oh, honey. You don’t realize?” But he doesn’t wait for you to reply, maybe anticipating that your throaty, stuttering speech will take too long. Instead, his face scrunches, mouth twisting as though he’s running his tongue across his gums, and then his lips pull back, baring his teeth at you, and —

Shiny, lethal-looking fangs slide out through some hidden, gummy pockets right above his canines. They’re sharp, sharper than any needle he might string through you, gleaming menacingly even in the dim fluorescent light.

You let out a noise that might have been a squeal, in a past life. Clumsily, your feet push at the floor, sending you careening backwards on the rolling chair in an effort to get away from him.

“Whoa, whoa, hang on! It’s alright!”

Eddie stands and moves a few paces back, giving you some space. He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m not gonna hurt you, babe. Pretty sure you don’t got what I need, anyway.”

Your body sags in the chair, which is pressed all the way up against the office’s back wall. You eye him warily, although you suppose you’re being a little hypocritical.

But you’re not the one packing fangs that rival a pit viper’s.

Eddie smiles at you, pointed teeth poking down over that full bottom lip of his. “What? Did you think you were the only thing that went bump in the night?” he jokes.

Yes. Admittedly.

His face softens. “You haven’t been like this very long, have you?”

Timidly, you shake your head no, the vertebrae in your cervical spine grinding from within your neck.

Lost in thought, Eddie runs his tongue over his teeth again — a seemingly-unconscious movement. “Right…do you need a place to stay tonight?” he asks suddenly, concern lining his features.

You’re not sure how to answer. You don’t seem to really need anything. “Uh…”

He crosses his arms across his chest, mouth quirking up in amusement. “Have you just been wandering around town like you’re in Night of the Living Dead?”

You snort, a dry puff of air whistling through your nostrils. “Kinda.”

“Sheesh. Y’know, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not as inconspicuous as you think you are. It’s a wonder no one’s shot you in the head yet.”

“I th-thought I was blending in pretty well.”

He laughs, a deep belly-laugh that reverberates around the tiny room. “To the untrained eye, maybe. But not to me.”

Eddie, as it turns out, owns the record store, Vicious Vinyl, and lives in the apartment above the shop. The small space is decorated similarly, so much so that it might be mistaken for a second level of the store as opposed to his home. But while Vicious Vinyl seems to offer a wide variety of music options for its patrons, Eddie’s tastes are made clear when you enter the apartment; he’s a heavy metal guy. Pictures of thrash bands, big names you recognize and obscure ones you don’t, hang on all the walls, and macabre-looking baubles lie on every flat surface. Music equipment is scattered throughout the room, guitars and amps filling the empty gaps between the dark furniture. And the windows are all covered by heavy black curtains — drawn tightly shut, of course, keeping the poisonous sunshine from leaching in.

“I have a cot that I’ll set up for you,” says Eddie, tossing his keys onto the kitchen table. You note that the cloth draped overtop of it is a deep crimson color.

Eddie pauses mid-step as something occurs to him. “Do you sleep?”

“Uh-uh. Do you?”

Eddie nods. “I do. Not in a coffin,” he adds, catching the way you peer around the room as though looking for a cobweb-ridden box. He nudges you playfully. “But you know where I do sleep?”

You imagine him hanging upside down from the ceiling like a bat. “Where?”

His eyes twinkle, like he’s about to divulge something juicy. “Under the bed.”

Your mouth falls open in surprise, and he laughs at your awestruck gaze. “Don’t know why, just feels right.”

“Weird.”

“Weirder than not sleeping at all?”

You shrug, unsteady frame rippling with the motion. Your cracked lips pull up at the corners, forming your first true smile of this odd existence. Eddie grins back.

“You’re pretty cute for a corpse, you know that?”

Your dead body fills with delight that you don’t quite know how to express — you hope that your condition excuses your lack of verbal response. But either way Eddie doesn’t seem to mind it; he simply turns and heads into the living room, motioning for you to follow.

You obey, shuffling along as quickly as you can, feet dragging noisily against the hardwood floor. When he gestures for you to do so, you sink unsteadily onto the plush leather couch.

“I have to get back down to the shop, but I’ll close early and come back up soon,” he says nonchalantly, adjusting the chain bracelet on his wrist. “In the meantime, you make yourself at home.”

“Thank you.”

He nods in acknowledgement and, with a smile, exits the apartment, leaving you alone.

The door clicks shut, and you settle back into the cushions, eyes wandering around as your tap your feet gently, impatiently, against the floor. You pick up the remote from the coffee table and flick the boxy television to life. You flip through channels for a while, letting each mindless program play for a minute before moving on to the next one, the muted colors on the bulbous screen and scratchy audio leaving little to no impression upon you. Boring. You turn it back off.

You purse your dry lips in thought. Truthfully, what you really want to do is snoop, but it’s rather gracious of Eddie to let you stay here, especially unattended…trusting, even. Would he be able to tell if you took a quick look around? And would he be angry with you if you did?

You decide you can probably risk it. He told you to make yourself at home, after all.

Rising once more, you peer around the room cautiously, scanning all the bookshelves and photographs and records, looking for anything out of the ordinary, or decidedly vampiric — whatever that should be. But the den seems to be pretty innocuous.

You make your way back into the kitchen. From here, a short stretch of hallway juts out of the room, with two more doors — one is already slightly ajar, offering a glimpse of Eddie’s bedroom, and the other turns out to be a tiny bathroom. You rest a hand on the bedroom door, ready to enter and unearth all of Eddie’s secrets, but hesitate, intuition flickering.

If Eddie’s in possession of any bloody contraband, there’s one certain place you suspect he might keep it, and it’s not in his room.

The refrigerator is humming innocently with life. There’s the crackling sound of ice being made. Its cool whiteness is smooth and clean. Your hand clasps around the handle, and you wrench the door open.

Jars rattle from the force of your pull. A burst of bright light floods the dark kitchen, illuminating your dead face in a nightmarish glow.

The interior shelves are smeared with crimson fingerprints, speckled with dried puddles of red crust. No doubt spillage from the plethora of bloody bottles crowded inside, all filled with that human lifestuff that they — and he — need so badly to survive. The dark, thick liquid gleams within the confines of the glass, some filled to the brim, others containing only mere dregs.

Fascinated, you pull one of the bottles off the shelf and give it an experimental shake, watching bubbles whir into existence on the surface, making a layer of soft pink foam. You twist off the cap, peering inside; almost nosing the lip of the opening, you give it a delicate sniff. You’re not sure if your olfactory nerves can actually detect the faint, rusty odor, or if it’s a phantom scent, pulled from your memory.

You quietly screw the cap back on, and stowe the bottle back in its place. The refrigerator door swings shut once more, closing the gory sight out of view.

Interesting.

Hours later, Eddie comes back to the apartment. You’re sitting at the kitchen table now, working on the crossword puzzle from yesterday’s newspaper, dry tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration.

“Hello,” he greets you easily, shrugging out of his vest and tossing it over the back of a chair. He comes to stand beside you, looking down at the paper from over your shoulder. “24 down is orc, by the way. O-R-C.”

You frown. “I’m not there yet.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. “Sorry.” He pulls the chair next to you away from the table and takes a seat.

You tap the end of your pencil against the table. “I w-would’ve gotten it.”

“I’m sure you would have,” he says indulgently, resting his head on his hand. “Is this what you’ve been doing all afternoon?”

You nod. Mostly, anyway.

He studies your face for a moment, then scrunches his nose.

You mimic his expression. “What?”

“Have you noticed that you don’t blink?”

“No.”

He pokes you in the shoulder. “It’s kinda spooky,” he chuckles playfully. “Which is fine! I’m kinda spooky, too.”

“I don’t think I n-need to.”

His head cocks to the side. “You are funny, aren’t you,” he murmurs.

That’s one way of putting it.

Eddie bites his lip — fangs hidden away again, retreated back in their gummy slits — and, hesitantly, extends one hand towards you. You flinch back automatically.

“Sorry,” he says, but doesn’t pull his hand back. “But do you mind if I just…try something?”

You nod cautiously, unsure of what he’s getting at.

Eddie — slowly, so as not to startle you — leans forward and presses his palm to your chest, right over where your heart lurks inside. He searches for a pulse that isn’t there, feeling nothing, no meaty organ throbbing and thumping against your ribcage, just placid hollowness, as though there were no chambered fist of tissue there at all.

A hush falls over the two of you, while he waits in vain.

You offer an apologetic smile.

Eddie simply hums, and removes his hand, settling back in his chair. “You and I aren’t so different, you know. Mine doesn’t beat, either, unless I…” he trails off, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “Well, you can probably guess.”

“Yes. I found your stash.”

Eddie sucks in a quick breath, face hardening. “Forgive me. I know it’s a little gruesome, but a man’s gotta survive somehow, doesn’t he?”

You nod, understanding. The shock of his vampirism has worn off quickly, now that you no longer believe him to be a threat. As he’s so dutifully pointed out, and proven again just now, you don’t have what he needs.

“Listen, I was thinking when I was down there, and I know I already said you could stay for the night, but —”

Dismay. He’s already kicking you out, and you’ve only been here for a few hours.

“— we can talk about a more long-term arrangement, if you want?”

Oh. Okay.

Eddie continues, oblivious to your inner turmoil, “I need some help around the shop. And I can’t trust myself to have too many employees hanging around, for obvious reasons,” he chuckles, gesturing helplessly towards his fridge, “so if you’re interested, I could give you a job. And I’d have you stay here with me, of course.”

“Really?” you whisper raggedly.

Eddie shrugs. “Yeah. And you don’t have to worry about rent or anything, either. Just a few hours of work a day, that’s all I ask.”

You nod eagerly, the motion exuberant enough that it makes your neck click.

Eddie’s eyes widen at the alarming sound, though he’s still grinning. “Okay! Be careful. Your head will be a lot harder to sew back on than a finger.”

The next few weeks are a bit of a learning curve, you and Eddie both adjusting to your presence in each other’s lives.

During the day, you get some basic retail training. Eddie handles the real business side of things, but teaches you how he likes to organize and stock new arrivals, and lets you try your hand at the register. You’re good at it, but he’s hesitant to let customers speak to you for too long, lest they notice anything…unusual about you.

It’s all good fun, the two of you together, even when business is slow. You spend one dull afternoon crowded at the counter together, working on a nametag — Eddie’s a good artist, and decorates the space around your name with green, swirling designs and miniature doodles of tombstones. He even lets you swipe a Cramps button from the merch table to pin onto your lanyard.

When the shop closes up, you both trudge back upstairs to the apartment, and pass the time playing cards, watching movies, listening to records; Eddie will sip on a cup of dark liquid, puffing on a cigarette or maybe a joint, while you sit with your hands folded neatly in your lap, no needs or vices to trouble you, just enjoying this newfound companionship. Sometimes he even reads aloud to you, or plays you song on his acoustic guitar.

Eventually it reaches that point in the day where the sun finally sinks out of sight, wherein Eddie yanks back the curtains and throws up the window, letting the cool night air seep in. You watch with fascination every time, transfixed by the way the moonlight hits his pale skin, shines across his dark curls…dances over his pearly teeth.

Later, Eddie will retire to bed, bidding you goodnight and crawling into the small space beneath his floor and his mattress to sleep, while you sit up on the couch or the cot he’s so needlessly set up for you, with the gentle hum of the television keeping you company in the slumberless dark.

But other times he leaves, disappearing into the night and not returning til it’s nearly dawn, spattered with blood, bits of gore clinging to his clothes. He practically lurches into the apartment, blood-drunk, dragging what’s left of his kill behind him in a cooler for safekeeping.

The bloodletting takes place outside. He never brings the body in.

The first time it happened, you simply watched, glassy eyes watching him from across the room. But the next time you were ready. When he finished stowing the fresh blood away in the fridge, you moved in, and gently tugged on the back of his shirt, prompting him to remove his clothing; when he was stripped down to his boxers, you brought the discarded, ruined garments to the sink, and ran them under cold water. He watched you treat his clothes silently, searching for any sign of fright or disgust, but found none. He rested his hands on your shoulders and squeezed, a nonverbal thank you, before leaving you to take a shower.

This becomes routine. Eddie feeds and brings home the leftovers, which will tide him over until he has to make another kill. This doesn’t bother you; with each passing day, you feel more and more disconnected from the humans around you, the true ones, the ones who live and breathe and pump blood through their veins. You aren’t one of them, and they aren’t one of you.

So you don’t ask who any of them are, or where he finds them, but you do wait patiently for your vampire to come home, with a damp cloth in hand, ready to wash the blood from his face.

Tonight is one such night; when he stumbles through the door and into the kitchen, you’re already seated at the table with a bowl of warm water and a rag. You rise unsteadily to greet him, and he unloads his haul, putting the fresh bottles away onto their cold shelves. When he turns to face you again, he leans in, letting you tenderly swipe the dried smears of red tissue from around his mouth. His lips pout slightly when you drag the cloth over them, like a small kiss barely felt through the fabric.

He seems different; charged and bristling, as opposed to his usual sated and sleepy state.

“Everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he strokes a thumb across your cheekbone, a light, experimental touch. “You’re sort of perfect for me, you know that?”

You pause your ministrations, startled by the unprompted praise. You swallow drily, and try to continue cleaning his face, but he clasps a hand around your wrist, keeping it in place.

His other arm snakes around your waist. “I’m serious,” he insists in a whisper. “Where have you been all my life?”

A faint smile touches your lips. “Had to wait until mine was over, I s’pose.”

His eyelids flutter, and before you can react, his bloody mouth is on yours. His kisses are sloppy, all fangs and tongue, smearing your lips and chin with gore. You return them dazedly, brittle fingers knotting in his tangled hair, letting him take what he wants.

It’s not like you need to catch your breath.

When he finally pulls back, a string of red-tinged spit connects your mouths. He pants in your face, nose rubbing against yours, then dots bloody pecks all over your cheeks and forehead. You lean into him, letting him hold your dead body in his arms.

“My little love,” he whispers into your skin.

thank you for reading!! ❤️

btw did you know that the gaboon viper has the longest fangs of any venemous snake? this has nothing to do with the fic. just thought if you made it to the end, maybe you'd enjoy a fun snake fact I came across when looking something up for this story. their fangs can grow up to 2 inches long, and this species is in a genus called Bitis, so that's fucking hilarious.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #vampire!eddie munson #vampire!eddie #monster!eddie munson #monster!eddie #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic

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yanderes-galore · 2 months

Note

Fandom: Genshin Impact

May I request an Arlecchino concept?

I can try. I stopped playing Genshin during Sumeru, so this is primarily me researching and gaining info from the internet and friends. I hope you enjoy this regardless of that :) Doesn't help that we still don't have much info on her....

Yandere! Arlecchino Concept

(Pre-Version 4.6)

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Manipulation, Violence, Blood, Mentions of murder, Subtle possessive behavior, Kidnapping mention, Isolation, Dubious/Forced companionship/relationship.

Arlecchino seems to be manipulative, acting as a spy for the Fatui.

Her main objective is to find the Hydro Gnosis, prying about to find the true Hydro Archon.

She acts kind, often being described as a "Wolf in Sheep's Clothing".

She wants others to trust her... but we can assume she is willing to use others like most other Fatui.

Arlecchino would originally see her obsession over her darling as a distraction to her goals.

When you meet Arlecchino, she comes off as cordial and graceful.

She's strict but still capable of being lenient towards subordinates.

Other Fatui feel she is acting and isn't truthful with her motives, loyalty, and behavior.

This manipulative behavior of hers makes it easy for her to hide her obsession.

If she does have some sort of interest in you, she hides her true motives.

Imagine if Arlecchino had Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet gain info on you.

She never says why, just asking them to learn more about you.

When they're busy, Arlecchino herself watches you closely to know more about you.

She doesn't understand her obsession... which is why she spends time getting information on you.

After all, your presence drives her thoughts crazy.

Arlecchino is very tactical in her way of thinking, carefully gaining info on you.

You barely can tell her obsession when she speaks to you for one reason or another.

Although it is odd to others that she seems so interested in you (Mostly the Fatui are intrigued).

Her views of a platonic or romantic relationship towards you are naturally quite twisted.

She's literally the Knave, so....

A platonic obsession is obviously not the typical "friends/allies" relationship.

That's not even getting into the idea of her having a romantic fascination over you.

Arlecchino will come off kind and cordial towards her obsession.

You won't catch her true motives until it's too late.

She tries to play off your conversations as "friendly chatter".

For once maybe she doesn't want to be diplomatic, yeah?

But then she begins asking oddly specific questions about you.

Arlecchino, despite claiming to be a friend, seems to want to know too much.

All the while she tries her best to keep up the trust between you two.

Arlecchino treats speaking with her darling as a balancing act.

She tries to maintain your trust with truths and lies... along with gather more information on you to fuel her obsession.

As her obsession grows... she even considers isolating you.

Those too close to what's hers is done away with.

May her polearm be coated in blood and the smell of burning flesh greet her nose...

Many will perish by her hand if it means she can have her new obsession all to herself.

When Arlecchino has enough of waiting around and gathering research, she'll escalate her obsession.

It's either the moment she loses your trust or gets impatient that sets her off.

She can't lose you to anyone or anything... you drive her insane.

Do you really think... you can just leave her now?

By the time you learn of her true identity, by the time you see how unhinged you make her...

You're taken away.

You're thrown in a cell, somewhere where none can find you.

She doesn't let any other Fatui touch you.

You're hers now, the person who had been driving her insane is now within her grasp.

She doesn't apologize for her manipulation.

Obviously Arlecchino doesn't care if you feel betrayed... much.

Even when she tries to reach out to caress your face... you flinch away and it hurts her a bit.

Despite this... she never lets you go.

You're hers... it's final....

She doesn't even care if you call her a monster as long as she has you.

Arlecchino clearly cares for you to some degree...

That's why you're here, all alone, with just her by your side... isn't it?

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere arlecchino #yandere fatui harbingers

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the-californicationist · 3 months

Text

Good Fences (Fluffuary #02)

FEB02: A Bit of Banter

You were outside of his window again, wearing the most ridiculous sleep shorts he’d ever seen in his goddamn life. And by ridiculous, he meant downright tantalizing. Sure, they were highlighter pink and had little hearts on the pockets, but they may as well have been transparent. As you bent over to move your potted plants away from his half of the balcony, he could see… everything.

At the plump, delightful join of your shapely legs, the outline of your adorable little pussy lips kept peeking between them, playing hide-and-seek with his unblinking line of sight and making him sincerely doubt his self-control.

You had insisted, of course, that John needed to take ownership of his half of the outside porch. You had lived there for so long that you had acquired a veritable forest of houseplants. He liked it. The greenery was nice. It was such a departure from most of the living spaces he found himself in, and watching you bend over to pick up fallen leaves or check the soil for its water content was a hell of a bonus.

He knew he shouldn’t bother you. He’d let himself fall into a terrible, almost insatiable crush. Your voice when you talked on the phone, the little songs you only knew three or four lines of in the shower, the smell of your cooking; he had let it consume him, and now he was hooked. John would make any excuse to be near you. You’d told him to just leave the empty pyrex he’d borrowed on the porch table, but he hadn’t. He’d waited, selfishly, until you were outside so he would be able to hand it back in person. Now, his opportunity had come.

The sliding door shuddered in its track as he climbed onto the balcony with you. You turned to look at him, and when you did, he was treated to the rest of your outfit. Your sweater was a little cropped, and it was full of large, crocheted holes so he could see your skin straight through them. You had a pale blue bralette, all lace and bows, covering your full breasts underneath, and he thought he might pass out from the blood loss. But, he controlled his face, and handed you back your baking dish,

“Ah!” You smiled, taking it from him, “Thanks! Hope you enjoyed the cookies.”

“Enjoyed? Ate them in one sitting, more like,” he chuckled, having a seat at the little round table that sat in the middle of the porch, and pulled out his cigar case.

“I guess you’ll need another batch this weekend, then,” you winked, obviously joking. But, he looked at you and quite seriously said,

“I would pay money, love.”

You blushed, and he enjoyed watching it flood your cheeks. How badly he wanted to kiss them, to feel the soft flesh bend under the pressure of his mouth…

“Sorry about all the plants. I’ve been working on clearing off your side…” You started dragging another pot into your corner.

“Told you it was alright.”

He lit his cigar, and watched you carefully. You had finally moved all the plants out of his side and had pulled out the broom to sweep it off.

“Can’t have you cleanin’ for me too, love,” he moved to stop you.

“It’s my mess, John. But, I make a pretty decent maid.”

There was a twinkle in his eye when he responded to your comment,

“Mmm. Bet you look pretty good in the outfit,” he laughed when you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to hold back your own laugh as you swept off the stray soil, “Little feather duster?” He mimicked the dusting motion at you and let the smoke billow out around his beard.

“You’re going to need to hire a real maid if you keep leaving those ashes all over my table,” you shot back, teasing him.

He feigned injury, pouting a bit,

“I’ll buy an ashtray, love, don’t worry. C’mon. Don’t you like a smoke every now and then?”

You shrugged, sitting across from him, resting after your chores,

“Never had one. Not a big cigar like that anyway.”

“Think it’s big, huh?” He cocked a sly smile, knowing he was being rude.

You rolled your eyes, but gave him a soft laugh anyway.

He handed it to you, and you admired the glowing ember at its tip. You had to admit, the scent was wonderfully complex, and you had accidentally trained yourself, like Pavlov’s dog, to respond when you smelled it outside. It meant he was around…

“Don’t inhale into your chest. Just pull it into your mouth, and then let it fall away slowly. It’s meant to be relaxing.”

You tried to follow his directions and he grinned with no small amount of satisfaction.

“It’s nice,” you admitted, handing it back to him.

“You should let me cook for you. Gotta pay you back for all those cookies somehow,” he offered, staring out into the vanilla sky as the sun tucked itself behind the cloud.

“Mmm,” you smiled, leaning back in your chair and looking out into the sunset with him, “Not sure if it’s safe. You might be a murderer, you know?”

“I might be…” He took another long drag, and there was something in his tone that gave you pause, but he smirked, so he was clearly joking around.

“You don’t seem very motivated,” you shrugged, “It’s been two weeks, and I’m still breathing. Or, maybe you’re terrible at it?”

He cut his eyes over to you and burst out laughing. You laughed with him, not exactly knowing what was so funny. But, being with him was intoxicating, and you were having a hard time staying away. Laughing together like this felt like a dream.

John finally caught his breath and nodded,

“That’s true. You could make it easier on me by coming to dinner tomorrow. We could eat out here,” he winked, “For your safety.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged, pulling your sweater a little tighter around your shoulders, “That sounds nice.”

“Great,” he took another long, enticing drag of smoke, “It’s a date.”

Check out the schedule here.

AO3 Link

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twistedcharismaaa · 4 months

Text

Pleasure...

Summary: Two souls indulge in the act of pleasure.

Author's Note: Hi guysssss! Happy New Year! I hope this year has been kind to you all thus far and will continue to be kind to all of you. I have missed you guys sooooo much. I'm here with something new! I haven't written in awhile so I may be a little rusty! I hope you all enjoy nonetheless! I love you guys and don't forget to leave a comment for ya girl cause you know I liveeee for the commentary! Love you! Enoy!!!!

She couldn’t hold it in any longer. Her pleasure was just too much. Bursting, bubbling, itching to tumble over. Desperate pleas departed from her lips and was greeted with deaf ears. Relentlessly, he sank deeper inside of her. Almost as if he was trying to give her all of him. His hands gripped her hips as he licked up her sweaty spine. Soon after, she blessed him with the purest rain. He watched her leak all over him. He watched in amusement and admiration. What a beautiful mix of emotions.

“Mhm, that’s right,” he uttered. “Taste that shit for me,” he commanded.

Her back was still fully arched and her hands still rested on the mattress beneath her. Her lips were wedged between her teeth while her pretty face laid on her silk pillow. She felt almost paralyzed with delight. But again, her lover was relentless.

Slowing his pace now, teasingly sliding in and out of her, he leaned forward and spoke again. This time softer.

“Taste that shit for me,” he whispered.

She whimpered.

Gradually her right hand left the residence of the mattress and moved towards her sensitive bud. Gradually, her fingertips delicately danced over her flesh forming small circles. Her pleasure now growing self-indulgent. She twisted her hips as she met her beloved thrust for thrust as she simultaneously massaged her clit. Progressively, he quickened his pace. His hands wrapped around the base of her neck as he crashed into her. The room now echoed that familiar sound. The sound of praise, the sound of ocean waves, - the sweet sound of lovemaking. It filled their ears pleasantly.

Soon after, she removed her hands from her honeypot to taste its candied nectar. Now all 5 senses have officially awakened. She was utterly sent into overdrive or maybe into outer orbit? Pressure was building between her thighs yet again. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she clenched around him. The feel of that embrace automatically rewarded her with a moan from him. Then another. Within seconds, those moans graduated to curses through gritted teeth. He was getting close and she wasn’t playing fair. It was the most gratifying revenge.

They pushed each other equally until they both fell over the edge. And like a gentleman, he blessed her back filling her womb with the most divine intentions. As the day collapsed into night so did they. Breathless, sweaty, and joyous. Gentle kisses were exchanged as their eyes both grew heavy. He cupped her face and spoke to her tenderly.

“I love you,” he finally admitted.

Instantly, her eyes stretched wide with glee. Quickly, she wrapped her hand around his and spoke lightly.

“I love you too,” she confessed.

In all the delight that was shared between the two, there was nothing more pleasurable than them both knowing that they were loved and in love.

——-

@sapiosexuallywise @ghostfacekill-monger @l-auteuse @isisafrofairy @blackburnbook @sheabuttahwrites @neeville @nelleana @chaneajoyyy @angelsuni-ficwrecks @id-rather-be-an-outsider @thadelightfulone @madamcjda3rd @themajesticnigerian @nzia-writes @just-peachee @theycallmechanty @brwn-recluse @mooon-berry @theboldlady @geriixox @soulfuljas @19jammmy @shewrites02 @sapphichottie

#black original characters #original story #black lovers #black romance

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dollwritesarchive · 2 years

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𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓎 ⎹ 𝓕.𝓛.

❝ ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ⤻ twisted wonderland / @dollsotome-library

❝ ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs ⤻ floyd leech x reader ( f! )

❝ ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ ⤻ nsfw! none of my writings are meant for anyone under the age of 18, and any minors interacting will be blocked on site.

❝ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs ⤻ literally all smut because i’m a whore, oral sex / face fucking, semi public sex, spit kink, orgasm denial, degradation, floyd should come with his own warning

❝ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ⤻ 1.5k / mini musing

❝ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴇ ⤻ i do not consent to having my work reposted / translated / stolen in any capacity for any reason. please reblog and leave a comment to support content creators! my work is very rarely proof read so mistakes may be present. all characters / pairings i write for are 18+ with no exceptions. enjoy!

you could stay like this for hours.

sure, your knees were tender from being dug against the floor for so long, and the corners of your mouth were starting to ache; your jaw tight and sore, and your arm was getting tired from the relentless pumping.

but then, he moaned like that and none of the discomfort mattered anymore.

you could stay like this for hours as long as it meant he kept making those sounds.

a soft, breathy whine of your name, and your eyes flickered up. they trail along the length of his torso, tracing the join of his purple button down until it ends and the taut, slick skin of his sweating, heaving chest began. you’d already marked his porcelain flesh with teeth and tongue from collarbone to earlobe, leaving thick, purple marks in the shape of your kiss, and your gaze leap-frogged from lovebite to lovebite upwards over his clavicle and neck. he always wore your signatures with pride, brandishing them like brand new tattoos for all to see. now was no exception— he catches you staring and his mouth twists into a wicked smirk, flashing sharpened teeth.

“You like to watch me, angelfish?” he croons, golden gaze glimmering. “Wanna see how good you can make me feel?” you would’ve nodded, if your head wasn’t bobbing— mouth full of his cock. still, Floyd expected some kind of answer, so you manage a garbled mhm and pair it with a flutter of your lashes, begging him to give you a show. in the dimmed glow of the Mostro Lounge, he was celestial, bathed in aquamarines. long legs spread, kicked out for you to fit right between them. once the lounge closed for the night, it had been all too easy the moment he plopped down at one of the empty tables for you to follow and drop to your knees.

it was almost pathetic just how wrapped around his finger you were.

“Haaa…” it’s a shaky exhale, his lids slitting when you swirl your tongue around the swollen head of his cock, teasing the most sensitive portion with the very tip of your velvety muscle. to ensure that not a single inch of him is neglected, you squeeze your fist around his thickness, pumping from the very base to tip, kissing the side of your hand with each stroke. you’re gifted with a drizzle of precum for your fervent flicking— the rawest form of his desire intoxicating you the very second it coats your tastebuds. “That’s it,” he whines, and even though you want to close your eyes and savor him, you’re entranced by the visage of him writhing in the chair, his jagged pearls grinding with his jaw sewn tight, “Like that… please…” you were already obeying, pumping faster, sucking harder. it wasn’t so often that anyone made Floyd this docile or hopeless, and you would be lying to say that it didn’t make you feel like a goddess.

that was, of course, until you felt the weight of his hand on the top of your head.

you half expect him to push down, force his entirety down your throat. it wouldn’t have been the first time, and so you allowed your jaw a moment to relax, so maybe (fingers crossed) you wouldn’t gag on him this time.

but Floyd’s willowy fingers comb through your hair, grasping the very roots to urge your head back. his cock slips from your swollen lips, and you lean back, falling on the cool, hard floor on your bum. you hadn’t noticed how wet you were until you felt the damp patch of your panties shift against you. you did love sucking him off.

Floyd is beaming; grinning ear to ear in the sleaziest way, his eyes twinkling as he hunches forward, leaning close. “Lemme see here, open that pretty cocksucker!” he exclaims, breathing hot air on your lips until they hang open in acquiescence. your own breath is heavy and excited, the tip of your tongue hanging out over your bottom tier. “So submissive,” Floyd purrs, “and you love every minute of being my bitch.” he didn’t have to ask— he knew you did, and he emphasized his certainty by shoving his free hand into your uniform skirt and panties so abruptly that you squeak and arch your back when he cups your sex.

“Flo—“

“Shut up,” he mutters, but his tone isn’t malicious. he’s staring at you with the fondest, hungriest eyes you’ve ever seen, “you’re so cute, angelfish!” his tongue slithers out swiping over his teeth, before curling under yours. at first, you think he wants to play, and you twist yours, but his lips envelop your tongue, instead, and he suckles on it as he rubs you, the tips of his first two fingers zeroed in on your clitoris to coax it with hard spearing to swell further. you mewl, grinding your hips in sync with his massage, riding his fingers until they’re soaked. Floyd grins, dragging the edges of his teeth over your tastebuds before he lets go, taking a second to stare at your countenance. your eyes were closed, mouth open wide and tongue dangling for him, and lusty whimpers drip from your tiers. “Is it so sensitive?” he teases, excited and he chortles when you nod, “Look at you, getting all worked up from just my fingers. You’re just so easy it’s both pathetic and adorable. I could do anything to you, couldn't i? I could get away with anything as long as I keep playing with this little pussy.” he wasn’t wrong, either. you were rubbing yourself on his hand like a bitch in heat, begging to cum and moaning for him, and all he had to do was sit there and let you.

you definitely weren’t expecting what happens next, however. his tongue disappears back into his mouth and he works it around for a moment, before his lips pucker and he launches a mouthful of spit into your open cavern. you flinch when your lips are peppered with his saliva, but resist the urge to lick it up; instead, allowing it to dribble down to your chin in thin strips.

“Wanna… cum…” you breathe out, eyelids fluttering. you were already on the cusp, your stomach knotting up, muscles pulling taut, back arching. you could feel it tugging at you, eager to spread like wildfire and engulf you. Floyd watches you, even more enthralled, and suddenly snatches his hand away, leaving you unfulfilled. you whine, eyes wide and disappointed as your hips quiver. “W—wait—“

“I don’t want you to.” Floyd replies, careless as he brings his hand up. he spreads each digit in front of your face, showing you just how messy you were. his fingers were coated in shine, and strings of slick web them together, “Teasing you is so much more fun.”

“Floyd!” you whine, sitting up on your knees and rubbing your thighs together in hopes to stimulate you enough, but it was too late; the pending orgasm had already melted. “Please!”

“Nuh uh,” he answers with a roll of his eyes, smearing his sticky fingers over your open mouth, forcing you to taste yourself and making a bigger mess of your face, “and stop using that warm fuckhole to bug me about it and wrap your lips around my cock again.” the hand that had been idle in your hair pushes your head down again, and you welcome him into your mouth again with a gurgled moan. “Azul and Jade will be back soon, and you know how much they love to ruin our play time in the lounge, so hurry up and make me cum.” you look up at him, eyelashes wet, as he uses the grip on your hair to dribble your head on him until you’re drooling, bobbing helplessly, and your moans are broken clucks. Floyd takes one look at you like that and exhales in adoration, “and I’ll take you back to my room and tie you up with my scarf. Then, I’ll tongue fuck your greedy, little pussy until you cry.”

#floyd leech smut #floyd leech x mc #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #floyd leech imagines #twisted wonderland smut #twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst x mc #twst x you #twst smut #twst imagines #anime #otome #Disney

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ladyempty · 13 days

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We all know the story, Steffon on Aerys' orders goes to find a bride for Rhaegar, one of good lineage and valerian. But he doesn't find any good enough so Rhaegar marries Elia.

Now, let's imagine, there is a last Velaryon who is consequently the Lady of the Velaryon house but is constantly traveling to the free cities to increase the fortune of the house so Velaryon!Reader went unnoticed by Steffon.

What would Yandere Rhaegar's reaction be when Velaryon Reader appears at the Harrenhal tournament married to a man from Essos and already with three children, two girls and a boy, all with platinum hair? 👀

° | My first order! I can't believe it!! Thank you very much 💜 English is not my first language. |

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life. |

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the last dragon and with the advancing madness of King Aerys, the final hope of house Targaryen. Surrounded by an air of melancholy and a veil of sadness, he sought in books and parchments a refuge for a tired mind beyond his tender years.

His thirst for reading, always insatiable and sadness for no reason, it was no surprise that the Targaryen sought answers in his most reliable “friends”, books, the certain mental instability that surrounded him left fertile ground for his almost insane thoughts and dreams to take over. leadership. He had clung to every word and prophecy spoken about the Targaryen house as if it was the only thing that mattered, he had complete confidence and certainty that the promised prince would be born from his bloodline. Of his blood and flesh. A justification that went beyond men's understanding for their birth and unhappy existence. He had a greater purpose.

And he certainly wouldn't rest until he accomplished it. His marriage to Elia, like so many other royals, was purely political with no real feelings shared between them. Rhaegar didn't feel frustrated, Elia was kind, intelligent, fun and beautiful, from the second largest house in Westeros, he had nothing to complain about. A bolt of happiness struck him every time Elia managed to get pregnant, it was the beginning of the realization of his destiny. Just one more and then finally a dragon will have three heads as it should be.

But of course that didn't happen. The wife was very weak, her body would not be able to handle another pregnancy without her dying in the process and possibly along with the child who could not be born. It was not a pleasant risk, it would also cause certain disagreements in the political relationship with Dornes. He just needed a son, no matter who mother him.

It was a sunny day that morning, the sun was pleasantly warm, and the glory of the day in the riverlands spread before his eyes. On the sides of the road, the fruit trees hide with their delicate greenery and the birds busy with their melodies come out of hiding to enjoy some of the sun's rays. He was accompanied to the tournament at Harrenhal by his wife, children and father, who, paranoidly, would not allow any of his guards to remain more than two feet away from him. Observing each of those present with dark and suspicious purple eyes, not recognizing their own allies and subjects.

They arrived at dusk in time to attend the tournament's opening ceremonies, a grand banquet held in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths with nearly every lord of the seven kingdoms present, laughing and dancing along to the lively melody that resounded throughout the great hall. Elia quickly walked away to continue a conversation with his brother, the king remained quiet, his half-closed gaze migrating from one person to another with the speed and distrust of a trained dog. And after countless requests from nervous ladies and smiling gentlemen, Rhaegar surrendered to playing at least one melody on the harp.

The spirited Lady Lyanna seemed more moved, shedding a few tears and letting out a few shaky sighs, and Rhaegar was almost convinced that she was a fragile and lovely maiden before Stark poured, between grumbles and without any hesitation, an entire goblet of wine on her head of the younger brother. The action managed to surprise the prince, the girl had a joy that was not constantly present in her life and that was very well appreciated. Her mind strayed for a moment, and Rhaegar admired the young woman's beauty, she was charming and youthful like a flower in bloom.

His thoughts strayed again as an unsettling silence fell over the great hall like never before, the ladies ceased their gossip and the lords no longer clinked their overflowing goblets of the most expensive wine. All eyes were fixed on the large entrance door, which creaked as it was moved again. By instinct, Rhaegar followed the crowd's gaze and later, when he recalled the moment, he would not regret his decision.

A couple closely accompanied by three children entered the room. The man was tall, with copper skin and short dark hair, with a beard and wore an ice blue doublet. He carried the youngest child with him, a small girl who didn't look two years old anymore and certainly couldn't keep up with the adults. On the left side was another child, a boy just over five years old, with short hair and blue clothes, just like his father and next to the boy was another girl, with closed features, a little taller. And on the right side was the woman who was assumed to be the man's wife.

Naquele momento o coração de Rhaegar falhou algumas batidas, seu coração acelerou, o friozinho na barriga apareceu tão rápido quanto um raio que o deixou sem fôlego, uma corrente elétrica percorrendo seu corpo até atingir sua mente turva e inquieta. Se antes ele achava Lady Lyanna adorável, agora sua aparência empalidecia em comparação à elegância e beleza da mulher desconhecida. Seu caminho ainda nebuloso toma outro caminho, os longos cabelos platinados que brilhavam prateados sob a luz das velas e os olhos roxos como ametistas, da mulher e das crianças.

Was this a Joke? How was it possible? Rhaegar could not recall any woman with Valerian features in any house great or small in the seven kingdoms. If he knew, she would certainly be his wife right now. This thought darkened his features, due to the incompetence of others Rhaegar did not have the woman of his dreams, much less his three children as the prophecy said. His eyes fixed on the boy... Rhaegar didn't have the promised prince....

As the night wore on, the Targaryen prince's eyes never left the unknown woman's warm figure, every smile, every graceful dance, every sway of her platinum curls, even the quick glimpse of her stockinged legs. Everything was caught in the Targaryen's hungry, shameless eyes, the hunger that grew in her strange squirming with every little interaction she had with her husband or children. Every smile that was never directed at him was a punch to his face and a kick to his gut.

That Wasn't Right, Why Was This Happening? It was his destiny, those should be his children and his wife. Were the gods testing him? How could they be so cruel?

He approached without delay the moment you were left alone by your husband, the youngest daughter firmly holding the skirt of your light blue dress. Rhaegar put the best smile he had on his face before greeting, cornering the woman, who he now knew the identity of, to talk more personal, more gentle, more compromising. He simply couldn't contain himself, a dissatisfied tingling spread through his hands with every minute that passed without touching the softness of his face, a touch that could be interpreted as inappropriate but felt absolutely right in the prince's mind.

Rhaegar nodded calmly with a slight smile at each word you said, unable to contain himself any longer, his hand gently placed one of the platinum strands of your hair behind your ear, his fingertips trailing gently down the side of your slender neck. Restraining himself from saying anything or moving forward with his movements. Ignoring the way you winced and tried to politely walk away.

Why were you shy? Soon you would be married. It was destiny and nothing mattered beyond that. You would follow your duty.

#yandere x reader #Yandere Rhaegar Targaryen #Rhaegar Targaryen x Reader #Yandere Rhaegar Targaryen x Reader

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larsisfrommars · 2 months

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The Light Won't Die (Part 6)

Halsin x Tav

Rating: T for Teen (Canon Typical Gore)

Chapter: 6/??? (<- Prev Chapter)

Word Count: 1596

Genre: Adventure, Hurt/Comfort

Content: Halsin x Tav, Male!Tav, Fighter!Tav, the meat of the matter, oops turns out this is also a sickfic, budding feelings, Tav mini lore drop, Shadow Cursed wounds are the best kind of wounds don't you think?

"Tav knew Halsin was in no state to travel, let alone defend himself if more Shadows came. They had to find somewhere and fast."

———————✨🌿✨———————

“Well,” Halsin coughed “that’s curious.”

He took an uneven step forward, about to explain himself or theorize the nature of his previously uninfected wound. What came out instead is something between a cough and a groan.

The strength left the Druid’s body before Tav could get a word in. His eyes rolled back, his knees buckled, Nature’s Snare clattering to the ground. It took the majority of Tav’s strength to catch him and prevent them both from crashing onto the cobblestones.

Halsin regained his senses at the sudden jostling. But it was clear that the Druid could no longer stand on his own two feet, not without help at least.

“Easy, easy, easy! Let’s sit you down for a moment. Gods Halsin! Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt so badly?!” Tav hissed incredulously as he set himself and Halsin down against the low stone barrier beside them.

Halsin’s his head lolled back against the wall, grimacing, breathing heavy, trying to piece together a reply.

“Your wounds… from the fall… more urgent… did not know, though it was a flesh wound. Clearly… I was mistaken.” The elf spoke between labored breaths. Letting out a half chuckle that dissolved into a wheezing cough.

Tav couldn’t even pretend to be amused, they were both in danger now because Halsin had put his needs above his own, the selfless oaf.

Then again, Tav had been unconscious when they hit the bottom of the cliffside.

Tav had assumed he’d died, perhaps that wasn’t far from the truth. Halsin had looked unusually relieved when he came to, maybe he feared the worst… maybe…

Tav shook his head, he had more important things to worry about than a personal brush with death. Those were a copper a dozen for him. It was Tav’s fault they were down here anyway, a healing potion was the least he could do.

“Looks like some kind of poison, I thought you told me about all the dangers of the shadow curse already?” Tav glanced up at the wound as he rifled around his bag. Looking much stranger and angrier than it had as he watched it made by those accursed Thorn Blights.

“This is new… I have neither suffered nor seen a wound like this before.” He turned to look at Tav now. “There are a great many things that have changed since I last saw this place, not just the landscape. When the Curse first fell, most were either transformed, killed or were the precious few like myself who escaped with minor injuries. Perhaps the sun cured whatever ails this wound, or perhaps… I shudder to think-”

Halsin’s conjecture was interrupted by a coughing fit. Tav finally unearthed a potion of lesser healing from his bag. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. He uncorked it for the Druid, prepared to help him choke it down if it came to it.

“The curse may be evolving.” Halsin finished soberly, gingerly taking the petite glass bottle in both hands. Emptying it in a signal swallow.

They waited with baited breath, Halsin’s breathing did not ease, nor did the narrow, angry gash in his side show any signs of closing. Not even a fading of bruises, not a thing done by such a valuable vial of magic. They looked at one another, Tav didn’t have to ask whether or not he felt any better.

“Bone Chill.” Tav realized with a nasty feeling in his gut. So much for the least he could do.

“We need to get you somewhere safe. Can you stand?”

“I will try.” Halsin breathed.

It took the staff and Tav’s help, but he was able to get back to his feet. Their travel speed now slowed to a crawl. Though he would if asked, Tav knew Halsin was in no state to travel, let alone defend himself if more Shadows came. They had to find somewhere and fast.

Slim pickings to put it lightly, less searching for a decent shelter and more so “which one of these ancient buildings is the least derelict”. Tav eyed a large silo shaped cobblestone building with barely any roof. At least the walls were intact, and he didn’t know of anything that would attack them from above.

It would have to do.

“Come on, just a little further to go.”

The Druid only nodded in reply.

Tav helped Halsin ease himself onto the dirt floor of the strange old silo, relieving himself of his pack. Rifling through it for bedroll, torches, anything that would help, he had one more health potion but obviously that wasn’t going to do any good until the Bone Chill wore off, if that was even what it was. Up until recently Tav had been a complete stranger to necromancy.

He wished he still was.

Four torches, they’d have to be relit every few hours but that could last them two, maybe three days, not counting using the Mace for backup. He had enough rations for the both of them for much longer than that thanks to raiding the Creche.

Halsin obviously needed the bedroll more than he did, he’d sleep on the floor, lightly, sitting up, just in case a torch died. Now, if only he could put a flare together to show the others where to find them.

No, bad idea, that could draw the Absolutists right to them, not to mention all manner of light hating beasts that slathered these lands in their ravenous pitch. No matter how ominously Halsin had described the Curse it was nothing compared to actually being inside it yourself. It was oppressive, if only you really could cut air with a knife. Then maybe he could think straight. He already had enough incomprehensible forces gnawing on his grey matter as it was!

“You should rest.” A shallow voice rasped from the corner.

Tav gasped, immediately putting hand to mace hilt, he almost didn’t recognize the elf’s voice.

It bothered Tav how slow he was to take his hand away from the mace although he knew full well even if Halsin were well, he’d never lay a hand on him. Even as he thought that, his mind wandered to the thorns in his chest… The mace clearly wasn’t enough, he really must light a torch!

So he did, and all the anger and fear washed away in face of a new and more powerful force. One that he’d become all too familiar with in Halsin’s presence.

Care. Not only that but the self assured sense of protectiveness he felt for all their companions, something he hadn’t quite realized was ebbing away in face of this gloom.

“Are you… well?” Halsin asked wheezily, half-conscious.

Beads of sweat speckled the Druid’s brow despite the omnipresent chill the Curse bestowed on the land, one of its many gruesomely charming features.

“I am. But you’re not.” Tav brushed Halsin’s hair from his forehead with the back of his hand “Gods Halsin, you’re burning hotter than the Hells. You’ll be competing with Karlach soon enough. You should lie down.”

The Druid not argue, perhaps he couldn’t. Strong, warm, dry hands were made cold and trembling by the strange poison running through Halsin’s veins. A hand in hand to ease. A hand laced through russet hair so that the weakened elf would not hit his head too harshly on the ground.

Gingerly, tenderly, his hands did what was necessary, what was right, as they always did. It took no real effort, so why was his heart pounding so violently in its cage then? Why did he feel as though he needed to catch his breath? He had practically been ready to cave this man’s skull in not moments prior just for startling him! Gods it had been a long day.

Tav took out his canteen.

“Drink.”

Halsin abided, with a bit of propping up.

“Thank you, Tav.” Halsin managed, followed by yet another coughing fit.

Tav was no healer but, you don’t become a Flaming Fist without getting some rudimentary first aid training. “No bleeding out before the Clerics show up!” His drill sergeant used to bark.

No Clerics around here Tav thought bitterly. Removing a water jug and a bundle of clean linens from his pack.

“I’m going to have to remove this.” Tav spoke mechanically, gesturing to Halsin’s armor. Trying focus on the task at hand and not the sudden return of that same rush of feeling from before.

Halsin nodded his understanding, doing his best to make it easier for Tav. The wound looked even worse beneath the cuirass. He wasn’t particularly squeamish given his line of work, but this wound was magical, alien, and Tav couldn’t help but wince.

The initial shock passed Tav got to work, methodically, gently cleaning the dirt and blood and ichor away until all that remained was what continued to well-up from the wound, which was quickly tapered off by the makeshift bandages he’d rustled up.

Tav had done what he must, and Halsin had finally given into exhaustion. Hopefully what people said about Elves only sleeping to heal was true. All that could be done without magic had been.

Despite his efforts, despite the Blood of Lathander, despite the lit torch, one haunting lingering anxiety for which no curse could be blamed lingered in Tav’s mind.

That fever, the dark magic in that would could kill Halsin in his sleep, and there would be very little Tav could do about it.

He fought his own tired body to the last, just to watch his breathing.

Just in case.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 tav #halsin #halsin silverbough #halsin bg3 #halsin x tav #halsin x male tav #halsin x reader #halsin x male reader #hurt/comfort #adventure #sickfic #fanfiction #fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic

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ftm-radio · 11 days

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My gender is 4 years old

...and four days, as of April 15th. This post is a bit late. 😅

Four years ago, all the confusing little puzzle pieces I'd been collecting came together in a genuine eureka! moment and I realized I was transgender. It was exhilarating and terrifying and it undeniably changed my life for the better.

The last few years have felt pretty damn slow and I've had to scramble over a few frustrating obstacles (never changing my name AGAIN, lmao, that was annoying as fuck) but it's all been worth it and now it feels like I'm really making headway.

I started testosterone this past year! I did that! I'm almost 7 months on T now! Currently on a dose of two pumps of gel, which I have only missed applying once in all that time because I was literally sick. The changes are gradual but they are real and they have already brought me so much joy and made me so much happier in my humble flesh prison. 💗

The most anticipated change for me (and for a lot of transmasc folks, I imagine) is my voice, and BOY (heh) am I happy to share this data comparison with you:

[ LEFT: A screenshot from the Voice Pitch Analyzer app, dated November 3rd, 2021. It shows that OP's voice registers fully within the female voice range. RIGHT: Another screenshot from the app, dated April 12th, 2024. This one shows that OP's voice registers mostly between the Androgynous and Male voice ranges. ]

My voice is so different now. It sounds different, it feels different, and in just the last week or so I swear it has gotten a little rougher and raspier and I am LIVING. I could not be happier!!!

...okay, fine, I could be happier lmao.

I'm adjusting to my deeper voice and still learning how to use it in a way I like & that feels best to me, so I'm starting to do some casual at-home voice training again after basically forgetting about the concept completely since 2021. (Whoops.) But I am already so much happier and more content with my voice than I have ever been in my life, so it's only getting better from here, lads. <3

I've also had to go to a lot of appointments and answer a ton of phone calls about said appts recently because I kinda fucked up my eyeball (it's better now, don't worry! and be gentle to your eyes, they are delicate and eye drops are so fucking annoying when you're doing them seven times a day, jfc) and my voice has reached a point where I was a lot more comfortable interacting with strangers and I also didn't notice any surprise or confusion when I introduced myself with a male name! It was kind of amazing.

Also singing is even more fun now. I love love LOVE singing along with a male vocalist and feeling the way my voice kinda rumbles through my chest. 10/10 sensory experience.

Other changes aren't nearly as exciting or obvious as my voice, but here's a quick (?) rundown, for those who are curious:

Mood — Gotta be honest, I don't think I've really noticed any significant change in my day-to-day mood, though I may not be the best judge for this because I have trouble figuring out what/how I'm feeling in general, tbh. But I think I have certainly gotten more comfortable and content with myself and I'd even go so far as to say I feel a little more confident these days. It's nice, I appreciate it.

Acne — I definitely noticed a change in how my acne presents itself on my face. I wouldn't say it's worse than before (I've had very bad acne since I was a young teenager and only got medication for it like, last year which has helped immensely) but I think it's different. More little red spots and roughness than the unpleasant and painful pimples I'm used to. I don't even mind it, really. Oddly affirming.

Facial Hair — I've got facial hair. I really do!!! Not clickbait!!! It's not much, not enough for me to be brave and take my dad up on his offer of shaving lessons quite yet, but it has grown in enough that I don't feel silly including it in self portraits! 🤭🧔🏻 Got a little bit of a mustache happening, a little bit at the sides of my face, some fuzz on my chin (with one LONG hair that I can only assume has been greedy and stealing his brothers' growth), and a frankly surprising lil patch of hair under my jaw. On a semi-related note, not sure if my brows have gotten much darker/thicker. They might have? idk.

my new discord icon, hehe... 👁💜🪓

Body Hair — I have gotten a little more hair on my forearms, and it may have gotten a little darker too! I have a tattoo on my arm just below my left wrist and it's been surprisingly helpful for measuring arm hair growth because for years my tattoo was not covered by hair at all but the left side of it's a little fuzzy now... 😏 I've gotten more noticeable hair growth on my upper arms, which were basically hairless before (free gender euphoria every time I put on my T) and on my thighs. Don't think my lower legs have gotten much hairier, and I'm a little impatient about it lmao. I want to get hairy enough to rival my brother.

Energy/Appetite — Can't say I've really noticed any differences here? I am not a very active person and I already struggled with appetite and getting myself to eat before I started T (thank you adhd & poor eating habits 🥲💀), so I can't quite tell if I'm ignoring more hunger signals than usual. 😅 I am hoping to get more active and start doing more physical activity now that it's starting to get warmer outside again, so hopefully that will help me see these sorts of changes and also get me into some better eating habits as I expend more energy and work up a proper appetite! (Also, since we're on the topic... a reminder for all of us that taking care of yourself and feeding the body you live in is a million times more important than aesthetics and numbers on a scale. ❤)

Menstruation — I am still getting my period right on schedule, but I am happy to say it is considerably lighter than it was before I started testosterone! My period has begun getting shorter, too. It lasted for roughly 7–9 days before, but I was bleeding for exactly 7 days last month, and only 6 days this month. I'm not sure if this trend will continue at such a dramatic rate, but if my next round is only 5 days I will be very excited about it, lol. My uterus can retire any day now, please...

Bottom Growth — if any of my friends read this part, don't speak to me about it lmao — Yeah... there's a little bit of something happening down there. Not a lot, and I haven't really noticed any pain or sensitivity, but there's a Difference. Aaaaand I like it. 😌 I am looking forward to any and all future developments. 😏👉🏻👉🏻

Okay! I think that's it, really.

I know I haven't been super active on this blog for quite a while now (I have really gotten into fandom blogging on my main lmao, and also discord is my favorite thing right now, it's where 90% of my friends live) so I hope this nice, long, ramble-y post makes up for that a little bit. <3

Not gonna make any promises that I'll post here more often, but y'know. I might. It could happen. Definitely not leaving this blog to sit and gather dust, that's for sure. I'll still be reblogging stuff semi-frequently, even if I'm not writing up my own posts.

So goodbye for now, and thanks for tuning in! 👋🏻📻💖💙✨️

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r0-boat · 7 months

Text

Prince's Greatest Treasure

Human! Silas x Dragon hybrid! reader

Part 1 -sfw

Part 2 - nsfw

Wc: slight Stockholm syndrome, yandere, kidnapping, hitting and retaliation, biting

Young Crown Prince of his Kingdom of the Golden Sun and General of the most powerful army on the continent.

Silas Creed the charming 3rd prince quiet, Cold, and Stern yet soft, and awkward. A role model to soldiers and popular bachelor to King's looking to give him their daughters and sons' hands in marriage. No matter how many times fair noble women in there sparkling gems and with their elegant dresses, to whom gentleman with kill for a chance to have look their way try to seduce and get the Prince to catch their eye. But Silas was always distant paying them no mind for their was already another he loved.

Ah yes, it was love at first sight. That day he first laid his eyes apon you. He would have mistaken you for a forest nymph if it weren't for the beautiful scales a color that caught his eye that shimmered like pearls on your body which you meticulously washed as you bathed underneath the waterfall your long slender tail splashing against the water surface as you enjoy the cool refreshing is soak and Majestic horns sturdy and a symbol of your power yet clean and sensitive judging by how your fingers and palm graze against them. And you wings a dead giveaway to who you were. Outstretched with a pleasant smile on your face the sound of the waterfall and the coolness of the water against your skin and scales how do you distract it as the Prince crept closer enamored by your beauty. Hypnotized by other attributes of your human form, a hand over his armor chest as if trying to calm the beating in his heart.

He had once heard stories tales from senior nights of his army about the the terrible yet feared and revered dragons. Revered as great creatures and some even gods if one were to encounter a dragon run and pray it does not find you...

But even so, how could a beautiful, gentle creature like you do such harm? Was a thought in his mind at first before he had armies track you down and catch you. You are not only captivating but you are powerful. Fighting your hardest against the chains and ropes that held you down. No matter how hard you flap your wings you cannot stop the hordes of humans that held you to the ground.

Like a bird in its caged there you sat.

Human tales talk about royalty being held captive by a dragon in a high tower you scoff at the irony now. Has he days out the window being held steel bars enchanted with a strange magic that won't let you break free. Your wings itch to feel the winds beneath them to grow into your bigger form and take to the skies once more.

Your eyes gaze over at bars to see your captor. Silas with a loving smile on his face. How could a man who robbed you of your freedom smile like that?

"Beloved? Are you busy? May I come in?" Silas speaks in a gentle tone. Even though there was no privacy between you and him since he is refused to give you the courtesy of walls and a proper door he still asks to come into your 'room.'

Even as you do not answer, he comes in anyway, of course, gazing at you with an unblinking stare. You could almost feel his obsession with you, making you feel as if you were naked. With his intense stare, he slowly stalks toward you. That gaze now growing soft when he stands before you, his hulking figure towering above you before getting on his knees but not before holding your hips and gently turning you, wanting no craving your attention on him, Making you look down at him as he lays his head into your lap. You could kill him. You could sink your claws into his stupid flesh and rip him apart till he stops breathing, unleashing your anger in a horrid roar.

But-.

Silas smiles, nuzzling himself against your thighs. He takes his place beside you. You keep your eyes on him. Your gaze is filled with malice yet fear, but you're looking at him, and that's all he cared about. Those deep amethyst eyes you've grown to fear look at you with such love. This is hand brushes against your cheek, going down to your neck to rub against the iron and gemstone collar faceted around your neck. His proof of his love but to you, your handcuffs, the artifact that's keeping you here, sapping away at your strength until you are but an ordinary human with dragon features. Faceted tightly around your neck since the first day he brought you to the ground.

He holds your chin leaning close to press his lips against yours. Only for you to finally react, putting your hands against Silas's cold armor and pushing him away. Which made him frown, his eyes filled with hurt, as if you've kicked him and not denied him a kiss

"This again? My darling, you hurt me by denying me of your affection; don't you see my heart aches for your touch every day? I've given you delicacies of the human world. Treasures beyond your wildest dreams, I would move mountains for you. What else can I do for you? What will it take for you to love me?!" Silas says, his voice getting more and more desperate as it shakes. As much as he wants to respect the little ounce of autonomy he has allowed you to have, your little silent treatment game was becoming tiresome. He can only take so much until he snaps.

However, you were beyond your limit. And the prince explaining his love for you, telling you that he would provide anything you could ever desire, was the one thing the final drop of water to be added to the glass picture to make it burst.

As he continues to babble the same words you've heard day in and day out. His useless cries of "i love you"'s , "i treasure you"'s and sugar-sweet words about every aspect he loves about you.

you feeling the dormant rage begin to bubble up, the frustration of not being able to fight back your sorrow of missing the blue sky you thought you could hold everything inside until the prince grew tired of keeping you as more of a pet then a suitor. The urge to claw his eyes out becoming overwhelming before bubbling over you saw watery red your emotions overflowing you-!

SMACK

You hadn't realized what you had done until you were already yelling. Your clawed hand had struck his face. Even with your strength sapped, you had enough power just to slash your claws across his cheek. Silas just froze his eyes wide with disbelief as you screamed.

"Then free me! Free me from this cage you call a castle! Free me from your suffocating hold! Do not and will not love you! I hate you!"

Something seems to have broken inside of him. From months of torture from ignoring him, not giving him your undivided love and attention, accumulating to you announcing your hatred for him.

Silas was not a patient man, being without you was like agony and only to see you rip his heart to shreds see if your heart sank with an instant regret when you saw his eyes darkening, his teeth clenched.

" I see that I have been to lenient on you-" the growls grabbing you by the throat and forcing you in for a kiss. Slip smash against yours his tongue immediately darting into your mouth forcing her mouth open as his fingers press against your cheek. Even by force tasting your mouth was everything he ever dreamed of the fluttering of his heart from his first kiss from you it's almost enough to subside his anger...

Almost.

"I do not care how much you scream and disrespect me you are not leaving this place. You will love me you will learn to love me."

" and if I have to force you, then so be it." Silas said all tone in his voice and his expression dying before he lays a hand on you instead of gently caressing your skin he grabbed you with force, greedly grabbing at you. And with his sheer overpowering strength He easily manhandle you, holding you down; eager, hungry to feel his lips against your precious skin, desperate to make you see to make you realize his love for you.

Trapped in a cage which was this man's love, your options were thin, and you were getting desperate. For a moment, you started to feel that maybe this man's love for you in exchange for your freedom wouldn't be so bad. Especially now with those amethyst eyes burned red with rage. That soft voice he'd always speak to you in as he praised you for your beauty now loud booming. Those soft lips that he would like kisses upon your skin now snarl as he bites into your skin, leaving his mark of ownership. All he wanted was for you to love him. Was that really so hard to accept his gentle love and reciprocate?

#oc:silas #prince oc #Dragon! Reader #Oc x reader #Prince x reader #X reader #Ro.Ocs #Yandere oc #yandere men #yandere x reader

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femd-archive · 10 months

Note

May I request a sub! heracles who has a mommy kink for reader?🤭

sorry for the late reply! but sure thing :]

this counts as a part 2 from this post

AFTER CENTURIES [PT.2]

pairing: record of ragnarok — heracles x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k

📎 side note: english is not my first language, so sorry in advance for any grammar mistakes.

The exclamations from the crowd reached out all the way to the intimacy of Heracles’ quartels. Still, neither of you play them no mind as you’re all over each other, making love like it would be the last time you would do so.

“Hurry up…hurry up” Heracles whispers breathless, hips moving towards your hand as you thrust three fingers inside his lubed hole.

“I know, I know. Spare me a little. For your information, is not easy to dilate a man that’s twice your size”

“And I’ve been telling you that there’s no need. I’ve been doing this a fair amount of times in the past for me to use the toy with ease” the God says, still biting down his bottom lip at the feeling of the flesh of your fingers moving inside him.

“Well, excuse me for trying to make this more intimate” you huff, rolling your eyes in a joking manner as you started to pull away to reach for the toy in the night stand.

Heracles pulls you in a deep kiss before you could make another move.

“Every moment with you is intimate enough, my dear” he whispers softly against your lips, a smile growing on his face as you smile back at him.

“Mmh. Now I’ll fuck you like you want me to” leaving a short kiss on his lips, you start moving again to take the big dildo from the night stand.

Without even asking him to, Heracles took both of his strong legs and pulled them over his chest, leaving you free access to his hole and swollen dick that rested on top of his strong torso. His gaping hole was looking ready to receive the toy at any moment, and his sparkling eyes confirmed it.

“Cute” you whisper to yourself as you move around the mattress to lay beside him. You leave a kiss on his forehead before turning around and starting to slowly insert the toy inside him.

“Oh…” Alcides throws his head back on the pillows, his grip on his legs loosening for his arms to wrap around your figure.

“Feels good?” you smile at his face twisting in pleasure.

“So good…” he moans before biting down his bottom lip.

The room, once again, was filled with Heracles’ moans as you thrust the dildo inside of him again and again. The squelching noises of the extra lube you used on him sounded so provocative that you couldn’t help but feel yourself getting aroused too, but for now, you want to focus on your lover’s pleasure and the expressions that he’s making for you.

“If only you could take a look at yourself, baby” you groaned in his ear, leaving kisses around his ear and cheek. “So beautiful, so precious…just for me” you kiss the corner of his lips, smiling when he moves his face to follow your lips.

He looks up at you with puppy eyes, as he wasn’t one of the most powerful Gods to exist on earth, and with a whiny voice he says. “Only for you, mommy”

Your heart beats faster in your chest, and without any second thought and pure lust, you crash your lips on his, as your hand takes upon a fasten speed, fucking into your boyfriend roughly.

His moans die on your mouth and his strong arms scoot you closer to his body, hands running all over your skin. He can’t get enough, he had centuries of relationship he had to make up with you.

Even after you pulled away, his kisses followed from your cheek to your neck, one of his hands sliding under your shirt and starting to massage your breasts.

“Where do you learn all these things?” you ask out of breath.

“God Loki is always…s-showing me these human websites where…oh fuck- adults are having sex in videos” he managed to say in between moans, “and I particularly like those where men calls their woman partners ‘mommy’...made me think of you” he grins, moving his hips over the dildo.

“You’re really driving me crazy” you whisper against his lips before kissing him again.

Both your hand and Heracles’ hips moves meet in one synchronized dance.

Once you pull apart from the kiss, your mouth quickly moves to his chest and takes one of his nipples between your teeth before starting toying with it with your tongue.

“Oh mommy…that feels so good!”

“Yeah? Keep doing those sounds for me, baby. Show mommy how good she makes you feel”

Something about you calling yourself mommy made Haracles feel more aroused, and without a second thought, he filled the room and hallways with his moans and whimpers.

After a few more minutes in the same position, Heracles was now with his face on the pillows and ass up in the air, you in between his legs as you kept pushing the dildo in and out of him, his moans muffled by the pillow.

“There you go ~ Such a good boy for me, mmh? Are you gonna cum for mommy?” you coo at him, stroking his dick at the same time your other hand -ever so tired- keep on pushing the toy in him.

“Mmhg yes…gonna cum. Oh…oh heavens”

He bites down on the pillow he holds as threads of his cum shoot from his tip and dirties the sheets below him.

“There you go ~” you coo at him once again as you milk him off. That hand that stroked him slowly started to lose its pace, as well as the hand that controlled the dildo inside of him, gradually stopping and pulling away.

Heracles stays laid face down on the bed as you clean him up and put the toy away, smiling when he feels you leave kisses along his broad back until you reach his face, that you also shower with kisses.

“You did so good” you whisper with a kiss on his lips.

“Mmh, you shouldn’t have doubted my abilities to take the toy” he mumbles with a raspy voice, letting you cuddle him closer to your chest.

“Mmh yes ~ You did so great taking it for me” you kiss his forehead as your fingers run through his hair.

You share another few minutes like that, bodies entangled together in a comfortable silence, until a few knocks on the door makes the both of you look at the door.

“Heracles-sama? It’s almost time for the fight” it was one of the guards who speaked from the other side.

You let the guard’s words sink into you, and an overwhelming sadness strikes on your chest. Now it was really time for him to go.

Heracles looks up at you and instantly senses your mood change. He smiles a sad smile before he kisses your cheek, and takes your lips on his when you turn around.

“I’ll come back” he whispers against your lips, letting you kiss him once again, this time a little bit longer.

“Please do” you whisper back, resting your forehead on his for a second, before he starts getting out of bed and starts picking up his clothes.

Your eyes run along his back once again, trying to remember every single detail of him. Just in case you won’t see him again.

[taglist] @welcometomyfantasyzone (sorry if you didn't want to get tagged, but i finally posted the part 2 of the heracles fic ! hope you like it 😋)

#record of ragnarok #heracles #heracles x reader #dom!reader #dom reader #sub!character #sub character #sub!heracles #sub heracles #sub!record of ragnarok #sub record of ragnarok

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rebornologist · 1 month

Note

Hello, may I request you write some dirty talk headcanons for Reborn, Fon, Lal similar to the ones you did for Giotto, Tsuna, and Yamamoto?

Hiii anon! This was a fun prompt to ponder. I present to you.. thots brought to me by Breathe Carolina ♡♡

♡ Dirty Talk w/ Reborn, Fon, & Lal Mirch ✧ warnings: nsf/t content ahead, gnReader, dirty dirty language, some D/s dynamics, ropes mentioned, biting mentioned, I love women

✧ Reborn is so shameless and absolutely filthy with it. He’s such an asshole and cannot go without being a little mean and sometimes even mocking his partners. He is especially playful after the fact and enjoys teasing his partners in the most subtle ways, perhaps using some buzzwords that they would be familiar with in other contexts while in public. When you give him a look for it, he simply blinks and tilts his head in innocent questioning, knowing that you wouldn’t dare lose your cool outwardly. However, he’s fully aware that you’re reeling on the inside, and perhaps feeling heat pool in your nether regions like some kind of pavlovian response... It’s the best.

“Look at you.. so, beautifully, fucked out.. and drunk on my cock,” “Shhh… squirmy little one, sounds like you want them tighter, huh? No? Pleaseeee noo sir— you sound sooo pathetic,” he pouts, tilting his head as he mocks your tone sadistically. “Fine, but you’re going to thank me for this.” “They shoot well. I’ve shown them the ropes before,” he gestured towards you with a tilt of his head, explaining to your colleague that he’s at least taught you some firearm basics. He reads the lack of reaction on their face before his gaze shifts ever so quickly to you, making eye contact for a split second. You swear you may have imagined the lascivious tilt in the corners of his lips.

✧ Fon is full of flowery words and idioms you’ve never heard of. He’s a poet through and through and doesn’t ever waste a single word when he speaks. Sometimes he’s too quiet and you begin to wonder what’s on his mind. It could be everything and it could be nothing at all, honestly. However, he lets his thoughts be known when you’re making love, of course. There’s probably no better description for it.

“Don’t look away now,” he coos, calloused but gentle hands slipping over the sensitive flesh of your neck to cup your jaw and turn your gaze back to meet his. “Open up for me, my dove..” Everything he says in moments like these are barely above a whisper. Words meant only for your ears, or to be felt as ticklish vibrations against the nape of your neck, the curve of your waist, the plush of your thighs.. or what sits between them. “Absolutely breathtaking,” a wide grin grows on his handsome features, his long hair falling loose over his broad shoulders and sticking slightly to his moist skin. His chest heaves once, twice.. slower this third time, and he exhales a soft giggle with the next breath. You can’t help but notice how his radiant smile reaches his eyes, and he blinks at you a few times, expression almost frozen in this joyful afterglow. You tell him that you want to go again. “Oh, my love.. you know I have no qualms about taking all that you are willing to give me… come here,”

✧ Lal Mirch ashgdsjkhdfsdjf she can dish it but she can’t take it. She generally likes being in charge in the bedroom and takes very good care of her partners, but when you can convince her to let go of control for once, she gives you the most beautiful low groans and eventually melts into a whimpery mess. Another thing: she avoids name-calling because she doesn't like associating her partners with those words in any context, but will drop a few slightly degradation-tinted praises here and there.

“You like that? Oh, of course you do, filthy little thing,” she mumbles, clicking her tongue as you squirm under her searing gaze. Her long lashes fan over her flushed cheeks as a small smirk grows on her gorgeous features. Her calloused fingers ghost over the sensitive flesh inside your thigh, and you whine as she firmly grabs at the meat of your thigh. “Ah ah, no squirming, or I’ll stop,” she warns. And you heed that warning, knowing just how much she sticks to her word.

Subby Lal is such an achievement to unlock pleaseeee tuck her hair behind her ears and call her your woman, one and only, love of your life, gorgeous goddess, yeahhh….

“Wh-what-?!” Her lips, swollen from kissing you, press together firmly into a pout at the sound of your praises, and her face is beet red. She rolls her hips once again, pressing her wetness into your thigh. You chuckle and coo at her, letting another sweet praise fall from your lips. She grumbles in embarrassment and grips the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging softly for you to expose your throat to her. “Shut up..” she bites down and you yelp. You were in for a looong power struggle tonight.

#khr #hitman reborn #katekyo hitman reborn #khr headcanons #khr imagines #khr x reader #khr smut #lal mirch #fon khr #reborn khr #reborn #reborn x reader #lal mirch x reader #fon x reader

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al-astakbar · 8 months

Text

☆ The Gift -- Thrawn x reader ☆

> title ☆ The Gift ☆part 4/?

> summary ☆ As congratulations for his recent promotion to Grand Admiral, Emperor Palpatine gives Thrawn a gift -- a young woman who has been trained as a pleasure companion.

> pairing ☆ Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [3.2k] ☆ warnings for this part ☆ explicit PIV sex, dubious consent, very mild/brief anal fingering, orgasm self-denial, Thrawn is not nice yet, he's rough and efficient and horny... > series warnings ☆ dubious consent; sexual slavery; concubine/ sex slave AU; will add more warnings as more parts are posted

>series navigation ☆ part 1 ☆ part 2 ☆ part 3 ☆ part 4 ☆ part 5 ☆ part 6 ☆ part 7

> posted on ao3

author note!! To be very clear, in this story reader is a concubine against her will and is gifted to Thrawn, but there is at no point any noncon between Thrawn and reader. Reader is never noncon with anyone, either referenced or explicitly, and there is never any explicit noncon. However, this is a darker take on Thrawn and he doesn't really have many hangups about putting his gift to use...

“Is this how it’s going to be?” You ask as soon as the hatch shuts behind him. “You’re just going to lock me in here while you go to work?” You hadn’t meant to be accusatory but emotion slips through, makes your voice crack.

Right now, he appears to be in no mood to entertain your insolence.

“Undress,” he orders darkly. “Then bend over the desk and wait for me.”

You stare at him, frozen for a moment. Then, compelled by some facet of his power, you obey.

His tone leaves no room for defiance, and his expression is one of unmistakable lust, his glowing red eyes fixed on you. Your arms and legs feel heavy, your fingers clumsy trying to work the ties and clasps. Your hooded robe with the veil attached comes off and you drop it to the side. Then your simple undershift, and finally you toe off your thin slippers. Those, too, you had chosen to embellish during your vigil, though the practice was uncommon. If Thrawn notices now, he says nothing. Gingerly, cringing at the cold, hard stone, you place yourself over the desk, wanting to appease him with your obedience and ignore the low thrum of arousal he struck in you with a simple command.

Coming to stand in front of the desk where you can see him, he pulls each of his gloves off, tucks them in his belt. “Tell me what you were reading,” he says before circling around the desk, behind you.

It seems foolish to try to lie, so you don’t. You recount what you’ve learned about him, all the while trying to keep the apprehension out of your voice.

“I'm not upset,” Thrawn says. “You have every reason to be curious and you took advantage of the resource available to you.”

“Does that mean you’ll answer questions?” You ask, a little dryly.

“Perhaps. The biographies are often biased and incomplete.”

“So is any of it true?” You try to sound nonchalant. “Or is it all just bantha shit.”

“Most of the accounts of the battles are accurate. Such things are the most easily provable, though in such chaos, details are often lost or distorted, even from recent conflicts. As for the other claims, I only stand by my deeds. Others may draw their own conclusions.”

You hear the quiet rumpling of clothing and then, unmistakably, the rhythmic sound of flesh on flesh. You peek back over your shoulder. He’s tucked the hem of his tunic up in his belt, and is pumping himself in his hand rather lazily. You swallow hard seeing how big he is. He wasn’t lying— it is familiar, just thicker and longer than any human’s you’ve ever seen. And, fascinatingly, a deep bluish-purple.

His eyes roam over your naked body.

He reaches for your hip, not grabbing or pawing roughly, but an inquisitive touch, like that of a new lover. You wonder if he’s doing it on purpose— either to make you feel at ease or mock you. You wonder if he’s enjoying it. He lingers, and the pressure in the room seems to change.

His hand drops lower, skimming your skin, and your breath catches in your throat. Lower still, your thigh, inside, perhaps testing to see if you’ll clamp your legs together to deny him access.

You don’t.

You won’t.

His fingers find your center. His approach feels like one of curiosity, rather than passion. A real lover would be pleased to feel the slight wetness, the beginning of your arousal. Your new master says nothing. You twist to look at him again and see his hand still working his cock with no real hurry.

He appears completely unaffected. He could be wearing the same expression giving orders from the bridge of his ship. His glowing red eyes meet yours and the intensity holds you there, not permitting you to look away.

Then, a caress. A deliberate roll of his finger over your clit that spikes desire— real, pulsing desire— through your core.

“Don’t. Don’t try to make it nice for me.”

“As you wish.” And with no other warning, he notches the head of his cock at your entrance and pushes in. You gasp at the stinging pain and your arms give out, your breasts press against the cold surface of the desk and all you can do is rest your cheek flat and submit.

The stretch is merciless, and he is so large that he can’t fully enter in one stroke. He does not stop at the resistance, not at your sounds, not when you cringe away. Not when you clench around him, so tight he grunts and grips your ass harder, fingers digging in to bruise and he keeps going— stars, he’s huge— working his thick cock into you, unrelenting, until all you can feel is him.

He only puts a firm hand at the small of your back as if to say ‘I did warn you’.

You are full of him, so utterly stuffed you can’t move and the frigid room and uncomfortable desk are a distant afterthought. To your embarrassment, you feel your face heat, tears welling and running down your cheeks. Not from the pain, which has faded, given way to an aching fullness, but from everything else. From this sudden, overwhelming intimacy with a stranger. From the humiliation of being used by someone who doesn’t really even want you. And worst, from the undeniable reaction your body has to him.

He pauses for a moment, when his hips finally press fully against the round curve of your ass and he is as deep as he can go, stretching you past the point of discomfort. Your hips are pinned against the edge of the desk, there is nowhere to go.

“Crying already and I’ve barely started,” he observes, though there is no malice in his voice. “Perhaps next time you will consider my offer.” He leans close, pumping into you slowly and shallowly. “You know it need not be like this every time. There is no reason for you to be in pain other than your pride.”

You attempt a derisive snort at that but only manage to sound bratty. “Fuck you.”

He rolls his hips, seating himself somehow even deeper and you can’t help but gasp again.

“Every—- every time?” You fish for something, anything to say to distract yourself from reality.

“Surely you didn’t think it would be just one time? And I will have you here.” He reaches forward to tap your mouth. “And here.” With his hand gripping your ass he brushes a thumb over the tight pucker.

The touch makes you squirm in shock and embarrassment and oh, yes, an unhealthy measure of arousal that you steadfastly try to ignore. Impossible. He can tell, and over your shoulder, you see him lick his thumb, then do it again, this time massaging his wet thumb around your rim, with just the slightest bit of pressure, and it makes you quiver. With just a bit more, he circles, and presses the tip of his thumb inside. You squeal at the intrusion and clamp down on him, hard.

His movement stutters for a moment, then resumes. “You are a plaything,” he says, and you hear new warmth in his voice, amusement, maybe. “And I intend to enjoy you. I am confident you will come to enjoy my company as well.” He plunges into you again at just the right angle, the one that had made you clench around him before.

“There,” he whispers, his breath hot on your neck as he arches over you, and repeats the motion slowly, rolling his hips just so. It pulls insistently at the thread of your arousal.

“Don’t.. don’t do that.” You strain to keep the note of pleading out of your voice.

“This?” He does it again.

“Y- yes.” Your breath hitches. With his thumb still hooked in your ass, and his thick cock splitting you open, you can hardly think, let alone resist.

You will not enjoy this, you repeat to yourself. It takes all your willpower to insist to yourself that you don’t like him. Dimly, you cling to irritation at his overconfidence, to your fear, to humiliation. You may grudgingly submit, but you will never enjoy his company. You are mounted over a Grand Admiral’s desk and he is using you as a toy, a convenient hole to fuck, and you should hate it.

Should.

“I see that you will require some additional training,” he murmurs. His accent has grown a little stronger, his movements a little more urgent. “To be of use to me.”

He braces himself with one hand flat on the desk, right next to your face. He rides you fast and hard now, forcing your cunt wide around him with every thrust. You shove away your arousal each time it rises, grasping at the edge of the desk and once, briefly, at his blue hand next to your head— which you release very quickly. You will not give him the satisfaction.

It swells in you, though, an insistent, pulsing heat, much too big to ignore, and makes you tight and slick around his cock, makes you pant and moan, makes you sob with undisguised need when he holds you down with a firm hand that nearly spans the width of your back so he can pound you mercilessly.

He loses none of his efficiency and control. Nothing rough, not like you had feared, but he makes it very clear that he owns you. He owns your cunt, your mouth, your ass, and he will, eventually, own your pleasure too.

He is quiet when he comes. Only a soft grunt. His movement jerks and stalls, and you feel a distinct pulsing within you. His cock seems to grow even larger, overfilling you as he pumps his cum into you. So much of it. It’s leaking out, dripping down your thighs even before he pulls away.

Wetness gushes from you when he withdraws. In the cold it runs sticky and sluggish down your legs.

You stay there, cheek flat on the desk, as your breath slowly comes back to you. When you move to stand up, he pushes you back down again.

“We’re not done.”

Before you can process what this means, he’s positioning his cock at your slick, open hole. Thrusts in all the way, so deep and hard the movement shoves you up the desk and forces more of his cum out of you with an obscene sound.

“Fuck!” You gasp in surprise. The sudden feeling of being stuffed and stretched doesn’t hurt now, though your nerves are raw. Oversensitized and keen to every little touch.

Thrawn seems to observe this. He presses in deeper, as deep as he can, and grinds his hips against yours. It makes his thick cock inside you hit just there, kindling again that slow, deep, relentless pleasure that makes you tremble.

Still, you resist it. You had agreed to his plan. His reasoning was sound. But this is a perversion and you owe him nothing more.

Thrawn leans down, his face close to yours. He brushes a strand of hair off your face. He continues rolling his hips, leisurely and measured. You get the feeling he’s studying you, and studying the effect he’s having on your willpower. “No?” His voice is like cool silk.

One small change of angle and he draws a helpless, broken moan from you.

“Fuck…” You can’t quite manage the ‘you’ part of it, but he catches your meaning.

“Very well.” He straightens up, resettles himself. One hand on your waist, the other gripping your ass. He pulls out, drives back in. Again, faster. He does not hold back this time, setting a brutal pace.

You feel almost distant from yourself somehow. You can hear yourself panting. The undeniable swell of need that rises in your core does not feel like it belongs to you. Split open on his cock, you feel yourself clench tightly around him, involuntary, and at that Thrawn gives a strangled growl. He lets himself drop to his forearm, bracketing you on one side. His other hand finds the bend of your hip, and he pulls you to meet each of his thrusts. He is flush against your back, his breath ragged and hot against your neck, balls smacking heavily as he hammers into you.

“Thrawn—“ you give an incoherent, needy moan. The sound he makes in answer very nearly sends you over the edge. Later, when he is gone, you will play it over in your head, the visceral memory reawakening the pulsing ache between your legs. “Thrawn, please—“ if he doesn’t stop, you’re going to—

The tension held in his body pulls tight and snaps, his hips stutter and he cums, his cock flexing and pulsing as he fills you a second time.

You hold yourself still through it, for worry you would follow him. It’s a relief, in its own way, not to give him the satisfaction.

He rests his head on your back, between your shoulder blades. He takes slower, large gulps of breath. He stays like this barely a few seconds before removing himself. You stay long enough to feel the cold again, and your breasts pressed naked against the cold hard stone of his desk.

Empty and aching, you lever yourself up and turn to face him. You resist the urge to cover yourself with your hands, as ineffective as that would be. He is already standing tall, uniform impeccable, looking no different than he had before he had bent you over his desk, except for one errant strand of hair. It gives him a rakish appearance, falling from the crown of his widow's peak.

He has made a mess of you. Your hair is mussed and tangled, your robe and veil in a crumpled pile on the floor, and his spend drying on your legs. Some of it ends up in a puddle at your feet.

Thrawn takes in this sight. “One moment. Stay.” He comes back with a cloth and cleans you up, wipes between your legs, your feet and then the floor.

You want to reject this. You don’t need tenderness or concern from him.

“You have been entrusted to my care,” he speaks, as if answering your thoughts. “I am responsible for your health, your well-being, and your safety.”

You shoot him a suspicious glare. Surely he knows how ridiculous that statement sounds given what just happened on his desk.

He picks up your clothes, smoothes them out and folds them neatly. “You should take more care of these. They are finely made.”

You almost work up the nerve to ask him if you could have an embroidery kit.

He proffers his arm to assist you, and you shove it away at first only to find your legs wobbly. He doesn’t offer again, but simply hoists you over his shoulder as if you weigh nothing at all and carries you through a side hatch, down a short passageway. His metal plate epaulets are cold and dig uncomfortably into your skin.

It is so undignified, you can’t even bring yourself to demand that he put you down. At the end of the passageway, through a second hatch, leads to what is apparently his sleeping cabin. It looks unused. The bed is perfectly made, and there is not a personal item in sight. You don’t have long to look before he brings you into the refresher. It’s not as cramped as you would expect for being aboard a ship, but then again, these are the quarters of a Grand Admiral.

“I have to pee,” you announce, as soon as he sets you down.

Thrawn does not move.

“You’re just gonna stand there and watch?” You snipe.

He raises a blue-black eyebrow. “Can you be trusted alone?”

So you sit, and wait, and have to will yourself to let go and the bastard just stands there with his arms crossed.

“The least you could do is politely look at the ceiling,” you say.

He doesn’t look away. When you’re done, he herds you into the shower with a quiet warning— “real water”— and pushes the button. You jump as it hits your skin, too cold for a few seconds. He watches you clean yourself, too, and you wonder how he would react if you splashed him. You resolve to try it the next time he insists on watching you shower.

“We lived right next to the Imperial Palace and we only got real water once a week,” you say, your thoughts distant. You don’t really expect him to respond, or have much to say to you at all. He said it himself, he has little use for you. For however long you’re with him, you can expect to be lonely. “The rest of the time it was sonics. We used to make bets about which one of us would get stuck with one of you and still not get real water.”

But he surprises you. “It is rationed aboard the ship,” he offers. “Mostly for drinking. This is one of the few quarters that has it available for washing.” You do not miss his gaze roaming over your naked form as you rub lather over yourself. If he weren’t here you would be tempted to seek the release you had denied yourself and him earlier.

Once you are clean and the soap rinsed off, he presses the button again, and towels you dry himself despite your protests that you don’t need help.

As he does, he speaks. “Tomorrow, you will make yourself ready for me. And you will fold your clothes neatly. I do not like untidiness in my quarters. Are my expectations clear?”

“‘Make myself ready?” You say back to him. You know exactly what he means, but it feels unfair that he should get to dodge saying it.

“Masturbate,” he replies, composure unwavering, though there is an edge to his voice. “Since you don’t want me to… touch you there. Get yourself nice and wet for me. I suggest at least two fingers. You seemed to struggle with my size.”

You swallow hard, and perceptive as he is, he does not miss your reaction. You can only wonder what he makes of it. How much he felt…

“One last thing. Tonight I was lenient. From tomorrow, I will administer discipline.”

He lets that hang ominously between you for a moment. You have, at least, the good sense not to ask exactly what he means by it.Then he brings you back into the bedroom and tells you that he has work to do. He orders dinner. You eat methodically, barely tasting it, and he eats nothing. Every time you interrupt him, though most of your questions are inane and just an excuse to get him to look up from his datapad, he answers calmly and patiently. Never dismissive. Though, you think you do get an eye twitch when you ask him why he’s blue. When you go to bed-- his bed-- he does not join you, instead he sits in an armchair in the corner of the room. He stays there long after you turn off the light, his glowing eyes and the dim datapad screen an unsettling reminder of his presence as you drift off to sleep.

☆ link to part 5 ☆

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