#i should finally make a commission sheet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

samodivaa · 5 months

Text

You Are Art

Request : College!Bucky x Artist!Reader where Bucky is a nude model partner for life drawing.

Warnings - smut, soft sex Words - 2.3k AN - Me personally, would draw Soldat. ;o

All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique—because one eye sees, the other feels. And the human form that you need to draw will include a physiological precondition that is indispensable—intoxication, lust. If you can say your feelings for him in words, there would be no reason to paint him—you wouldn't have asked him to be your model.

Bucky grows pale as death, he gazes into your eyes with a strange, wild, reproachful look as his lips tremble and vainly endeavors to form some words, then his mouth twisted into an incongruous smile. “Should I…undress now?” His face gave evidence of suffering. You are considerably amazed. “Yeah if you are comfortable? Does something worry you?” “I have scars” Bucky says all this perfectly seriously, and without the slightest appearance of joking, indeed, he seems strangely gloomy.

“There is no need to-”you say, seriously and with deference.

Never judge a work of art by its defects―Washington Allston “I want to, I promised you”

He interrupts suddenly, with a look of weariness, focusing on his lungs, on his ability to take a deep breath, to soothe with oxygen as the word rolls off his tongue. He is a handsome man, rather stout, with a very polite and dignified manner. He is always well dressed, and his clothes are always exquisite. Your conscience very soon informs you that is the proper narrative to tell. You met in the first semester, he is a business major looking to commission an artist for his project. You admit, that among the many silly and thoughtless actions of your life, the memory of that encounter comes prominently forward and reminds you that it lay long like a stone on your heart—ever since that, you stayed friends—it makes sense, doesn't it? For him to return the favor. There are a few seconds of dead silence before he goes to your small coach to undress. You eyes are flashing in a most unmistakable way, lips were all quiver as you observe his back muscles flexing. You try to speak, to reassure him, but can’t form words, a great weight seems to lie upon your breast, suffocating you. He’s quite tall with broad shoulders and an athletic physique that even his leather jacket cannot hide. You lick your lips, trying to quench the mental thirst for him—his belt clattering noisily as he unbuckles it, popping the buttons of his jeans open, followed by the low purr of his zipper coming undone, he drifts his hands down his sides and hooks both thumbs into his jeans, sliding them and the boxers down his legs. There is a frightened feeling, which makes him scowl and feel ashamed while removing his jacket and shirt until he is fully naked.

As you sit, your eyes turn to the blank canvas, squinting at it in the dwindling light, trying to concentrate. Then you gaze out the window, study the way snow clings to the spruce beside the building, and wonder how you will manage on your own once you have received your degree. With a sinking heart and a nervous tremor, he finally turns to face you. “So you just want me to sit here?” he whispers at last, drawing his breath with an effort, his nerves are terribly overstrained by now. He is sober, but the excitement of this chaotic situation—the strangest day of his life—has affected him so much that he was in a dazed, wild condition, which almost resembles drunkenness “Okay I will just sit here”

Bucky sits on the bar stool that is next to your canvas and his eyes fall upon yours, stop short, grow white as a sheet, and stares motionless, it is clear that his heart was beating painfully. He is gazing intently, but timidly, for a few seconds. Suddenly, as though bereft of his senses, he moves a bit, putting his hands on his tights. He knows that he won’t get hard—worry empties any dirty thoughts he might have. You are mesmerized by the tiny flecks of indigo in his blue eyes—you can drown in those eyes and it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. His beautiful features offer themselves to your gaze as you trail through them, annoyed at how attractive he looks—putting your mind into a darker cloud of irritation. In spite of this scornful reflection of his current mental state, he is looking cheerful as though he is suddenly set free from the terrible burden of worry and he gazes round. “Just don’t move I need to start with the sketch” You crack your fingers nervously before picking up the piece of charcoal—you stare at him, mentally measuring the propositions which helps you with the composition and scale. As an artist, you dip your brush in your own soul, you paint him with love—but you love him beyond words, beyond paint. And you hope Bucky will feel that once he sees the finished art. “Just tell me when you need a break” “Yeah, okay” he answers firmly, after a brief pause. Your voice is positively reflecting a sort of radiance on his face. You think, staring at him deliberately, that it is just another life painting, simply that's his body, his face, that are his eyes, his nose, and yet at the same time, It's a miracle, it's an ecstasy. And your only concern is to capture his beauty. “It is turning out amazing” you continue, pursuing the whirling ideas that chases each other in your brain “You are art, Bucky” He feels a hammering in his head and a faint smile shows on his face. His eyes are riveted upon yours, at first reluctantly and, as it is, resentfully, and then more and more intently.

Why isn't he saying anything? Did you need to say that out loud? The one time you try to implement that you like him and… So you torture yourself, fretting with questions, and finding a kind of enjoyment in it. And yet all these questions are not new, but suddenly confronting you, they are old familiar aches—it grips and rends your heart—maybe he just sees you as a friend.

It tortures your heart and mind, clamoring insistently for an answer, but you don’t dare turn your eyes to him for several moments. Bucky’s heart is beating violently, and his brain is in turmoil. At that moment something seems to sting him; in an instant a complete revulsion of feeling comes over him. He suffers passively, realizing that his cock is getting hard, but that he must do something, do it at once, and do it quickly.

“Can we take a break now?”

“Of course” you are bewildered, and stare at him open-eyed. You spot it, you can’t miss such a big dick. He gets up and goes to sit on the couch, covering his private parts with his jacket. His thoughts stray aimlessly…he finds it hard to fix his mind on anything at that moment. He longs to forget himself altogether, to forget everything, and then to wake up and begin life anew.

“Things like that happen all the time, no need to be embarrassed. It is nature” Bucky ponders and rubs his forehead, strange to say, after long musing, a spontaneous and by chance, a fantastic idea comes to his mind—to be honest with you. “It is not because of nature” he says all at once, calmly, he has reached a final determination. That answer agitates you, but you keep uneasily seeking for some sinister significance. You get up, slowly moving closer to him, standing in front of his sitting form. Bucky looks at you, your yellow dress of some light silky material, but put on strangely awry, not properly hooked up, and torn open at the top of the skirt, full of colorful stains, close to the waist. You stare straight at him. For one instant, the look on your face, in your eyes, has him puzzled— then he recognizes it. Curiosity—you are shocked, stunned, or thrown into a maidenly fluster. You are curious, you want to hear more, searching his eyes, but couldn't read his thoughts beyond the fact that he is considering you, considering what to tell you. “It is because of you” He stills, but his confident smile doesn't waver.

There is no going back as he removes his jacket, inviting you to madness, to sit on his legs. The sight literally steals your breath. His defined body, his creaminess of his forehead and cheeks, and the determined line of his jaw, the soft vulnerability of his lips, slightly parted. You see the scars on his legs, but your gaze is more drawn to the long block stranding out from his pelvis.

The gorgeous curves of your body somehow delineated beneath taut fabric, his eyes wonder shamelessly to your pink lips simply begging to be kissed. Their shape is etched in his mind, he wants the taste to be imprinted on his senses. "Here? You want me to sit here, on your lap?" The word, weak though it is, accurately reflects your disbelief. Your legs feels suddenly heavy, drowsiness comes upon them.

"Right here. Right now.”

At this time, the setting, his words and the whole picture are so truth-like and filled with details so delicate, so unexpectedly—it leaves a powerful impression on the overwrought and deranged nervous system. You straddle him, knees dug into the couch beneath you, the solid columns of his thighs hard against your soft limbs. Bucky adjusts his hold as his hands slide about your waist, beneath your dress. You gasp desperately, clenching your hands on his shoulders, fingers sinking deep.

Then he lifts one hand, sliding one finger beneath your chin.

Your sensitive skin comes alive to his touch. He tips your face up so that your eyes lock on his with heavy lids, watching flaring passion light your eyes. Sparks of pure innocence and want flashes in the depths as he gently kneads, then sends his fingers of his other hand to glide over your silken back. Desire heightens, needs escalates—and he is in no rush, you are too important to rush—conquering your senses and body is not all that he wants. He wants you forever and even though he doesn’t have the talent of art, he has the one of love.

He takes possession of your lips, your mouth. His hard lips move on your, and you soften, not just your lips, but every muscle. Slow heat washes through your body. When he pulls back, you swallow, and drag in a desperately needed breath. It is all pleasure, simple love—you become softer—he becomes harder, needy. The touch of his eyes, the touch of his hands. Art. As he is savoring you again, the softness of your mouth is his to enjoy, you feel his desire, the hard, throbbing length pressing against your panties. The softness of your thighs pressing firmly on both sides of his legs as you slowly grind against his cock and you can feel him attempting to buck his hips up to meet yours. The tension, pouring off him in waves, eases, just a little. He sighs, and rests his forehead on yours. Your innocence is addictive, entrancing.

Bucky shivers, eyes shut tight―he lets a low, wickedly teasing laugh. “I love you”

His lips brushes your in an inexpressibly tender caress. You kiss him, sliding your hands up, framing his face, so you can let him know―let him feel―your response to his words.

“Are you okay with doing it like this?”he murmurs, his tone deep. You gaze at his eyes, slowly nodding. "Good" The word is a feral purr then his hand slid lower, to lightly caress, with just the barest touch, the sensitive skin, moving the panties aside and rubbing his fingers along your folds, stroking and sliding slowly into you. Sweet pleasure washes through you, making you moan softly. His thumb presses your clit, moving in slow circles as two fingers slide deeper, finding the spot that makes you tremble. There it is.

“I want you inside me, please” The smile on his face, curving those fascinating lips―you are flushed yet so bold with words. He withdraws his fingers. You lift your hips as he tugs and shifts them until he is aligned, but you don’t wait as you sink on his cock to the hilt. A muffled groan escapes your lips as his length stretches your walls and you move your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, rocking slowly onto his cock, the head of it hitting your deepest places. Bucky’s hands travel to massage your breast, eliciting unexpected loud moans from you. His eyes locked on your face. “Don’t slow don’t, keep on riding me”

He states, his voice very low, it sends a most peculiar thrill through you, he grabs at your hips, impatiently thrusts up hard into your core, urging you to continue. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes around the small studio as you keep the moderate pace.

“I will come, Bucky” You keep on hitting your cervix as your trusts become harder, your nubile breasts swing with the force of your body rocking. An impossible pleasure goes through you, cumming violently, your throbbing walls milking his cock as he keeps on trusting through your orgasm, moaning before filling you up with his cum.

“I think that sex is a form of art” You kiss him long and soft, and when you pull yourself away, you touch his mouth with your fingers. “I suggest you not to think more, Bucky”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky imagine #college!bucky #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #request #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut

927 notes · View notes

angelltheninth · 2 years

Text

Dragon Love

Pairing: Malleus Draconia x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, biting, breeding kink, possessiveness, dragon fae mating cycles, touch starved Malleus

Word count: 2k

Ao3

A/N: I found this dragon man randomly, I feel hard, I can't wait for Disney+ to release the anime so I fawn over him even more. I also just really like the evil lime green color, it always makes characters more aesthetically pleasing for me.

He wasn't in class that day, which was only slightly unusual for Malleus. Yeah he was more magically gifted that some of the other students but since you became friends he started to come out of his shell a little more. And well... you really looked forward to seeing him and maybe finally asking him to the annual dance.

"Oh Mall, he sick today. Might be out of commission for a few days, the poor boy." For as bad as Lilia made it sound he sure brushed it off quickly, "He'll be fine after a few days."

"Should he see a doctor then?"

"No, it's... a specific sickness to... his kind. Don't worry your pretty little head about it alright, you'll see him again before you know it." Lilia patted your head before he headed down the hall.

It still didn't seem right to you, just going about your day without even paying your sick friend a visit. You do just that the moment class lets up, running ahead of the rest to the dorm and up to Malleus' door. You can hear painful grunting sounds coming from inside.

"Mall?" You slowly open the door and take a look inside. The bed is messy, pillows and sheets everywhere but where they should be, in fact the whole room is a mess, it's quite unlike Malleus. Where is Malleus though. "Mall? Lilia told me you were sick? I came to check up on- gah!"

A hand reaches out from behind the door and pulls you in, slamming the door shut behind you. You feel a warm body pinning you to the cold wall and those same grunting sounds next to your ear. Before you stands Malleus, looking... out of breath and very disheveled. He usually takes great care in his appearance, but today his hair is untied, spilling over his back, his naked upper body is covered with sweat, his claws digging into your wrists, his mouth open in a snarl and showing off his pointy fangs. He looks wild, primal.

"What..." His voice is deeper than you ever heard it, "What are you doing here?"

"Um... Lilia said you're not feeling well but wouldn't give me the details, so I came to see for myself." His eyes flash green at something, and for a moment you feel his touch grow even warmer.

"You're here to see me?" He sounds hopeful, happy, "Truly? You're here for me?"

"Well yes?" A dazed grin spreads across his face, his face growing pinkish.

"I was hoping you would." His lips find your neck quickly, a warm tongue licking across your skin, "I've been waiting. It's painful to endure alone. But now you're here. I've never done this before but I promise to make it good for you, my lovely little rose petal."

His hands leave your wrists and sneak under your skirt, leaving goosebumps across your skin, "I don't understand."

"My mate. It's you. It's always been you. Please, love. Let me make this good for you. Make you mine." He didn't even seem to register your words, seemingly lost in the fog of his own lust, teeth scraping across unmarked skin.

Oh. He's... he's in heat. You know that fae go through them a few times a year, but this is the first time you've heard of Malleus going through one.

"You want me?" Sure you knew he liked you well enough to be your friend but to be his mate, to spend his heat with him, that's a big step from friends.

"Of course. You're the only one I want." He parted your thighs and pressed his bulge against your core, the subtle jerk from his cock evidence of his desire, "And what of you? You want me as well? I can... I can smell you. Fuck, it's driving me insane."

You moan as he grinds his hips against you, only making the ache between your legs worse, "I actually... wanted to ask you to the dance."

"The dance?" You see him glance at you out of the corner of his eye, "Ah. I can... I can take you. And anything else you want. Just..." A growl tears from his throat, "Tell me I can. Tell me I can have you. Tell me that you want to be mine."

You gulp, sensing that there's a lot of power in those words. After a beat of silence goes on for a moment longer Malleus whines, his claws digging into your skin, trying to ground himself while also trying to find relief by grinding against the source of heat between your legs.

You move some of his hair from his neck, finding his pulse point, hot under your lips as you suck a bruise on the pale skin, the taste making your vision blurry with lust.

"You can have me." You husk against his skin, licking up a path to his ear and nibbling.

"And you me, my love." Malleus bit into your neck, his fangs breaking skin just a little before licking over the bruise, fire traveling through your body, desire wrapping around you like creeping vines, "Mine. Mine. I'll make you mine." Malleus growled into your ear as he lifted you up by your thighs, hips rolling into each other as he carries you to the bed. "Off. I want everything off."

Melleus is very eager in his quest to get you naked as soon as possible, so much so that most of the buttons of your uniform end up flying as he tears your jacket and shirt open. He doesn't bother to open it up all the way, just enough to reveal your bra clad breasts. As for your skirt, it's quickly pulled down your legs along with your shoes and stockings.

He seems a bit too eager, thrusting against you even with the barrier of his pants and your panties. He growls in annoyance, eyes glowing green.

You chuckle, "Let me." Your hands travel down his chest and stomach to unbuckle his belt and ease his pants and boxers down. Malleus lets out a hiss now that his cock is finally free of its constraints, standing tall and hard, the head an angry red color as cum trickles down. You trace a finger along the underside all the way to the tip and along the slit. "It feels hot."

Malleus groans as you give his cock an experimental stroke, making more of his cum leak out. A warning growl startles you as you were about to start running your hand up and down his length, "No. Inside. All of it. I don't want to waste a single drop." His eyes zero in on the wet spot on your underwear. He licks his lips as he eases them down your thighs, a string of arousal breaking the further down he pulls, until he tears them apart just above your knees, "They were in my way."

You chuckle, "Eager are we?" You pull him down into a sweet, slow kiss, savoring his warm tongue against yours, the nip of his fangs against your lips. Your hands circle around his neck as you feel him part your thighs and slot in-between them. His touch is so hot against your skin, igniting fire in your veins. "I need you inside."

There's a green glint in his eyes, his pupils narrowing to barely visible slits, a wide grin spreading across his features, "Of course you do my love. Let me make your desires a reality." He pushes his pants and underwear further down past his knees, not even having the patience to take them off fully. He lines himself up with your entrance, running his cock through your folds to coat it in your wetness. "Apologies for being rough in advance, my love."

He waits for your nod before pushing his cock inside, all the way inside, not leaving an inch between your hips.

The stretch isn't too painful, but the rough pace in which he slid in was. Your nails scratching into his skin was more than expected, and seemingly welcomed by him. His claws dig into your hips as he starts to move back and forth, using just as much force as the initial thrust, showing no signs of slowing down or easing up. "It's so tight. Is it always like this? Or is it only me? Does your cunt know it belongs to me now?" The words make you twist your hips, try to keep up with him, "Yeah? You tightened around me, do it again, let me feel you around my cock."

You gladly comply, watching as Malleus throws his head back, his mouth open in a smile, his fangs glinting in the dim sunlight, "Can you..." You groan, "I want you... to bite me."

Malleus licks his tongue across his fangs, bending down close to your face, which makes his cock hit at a slightly different angle and make your eyes roll back. His teeth find the front of your bra and pull, tearing it up again and again like he was a feral beast. You flush as you feel his hungry gaze on your breasts. His tongue flicks over your left nipple, twirling the stuff bud before his warm lips envelop around it and suck, briefly before his teeth nip at the underside of your breast.

As he lavishes your breasts with kisses and little bites, moving from one to the other his hands press against your thighs, pushing them further apart so he can thrust faster, deeper, his balls slapping against your skin every time he sinks his cock inside you.

"You're gonna look so pretty when I'm done. Covered with marks, filled with so much cum. Over and over until you're pregnant." The words made you clench around him, make you arch your back and push your breasts closer to his mouth. "I'll make sure every knows you belong to me. That I'm the only one whose cock gets to be inside this tight fucking cunt of yours. I'll make it mine with my cum. Make you mine by making you come all over my cock. And you want to don't you? You want to fall apart on my cock."

"Yes. Fuck. I want everything. Give me all of you, please." You pull up toward you, lips finding his neck again, biting down as hard as your can. Malleus groans and growls, his hips hammering away into yours, until he feels you fluttering around his cock. He doesn't stop, not even for a moment, not even as he starts to spill his seed inside you, "Fill me up handsome." And he does, he fucks every last drop of cum into you as your cunt tries to take all of it, pulsing around him, feeling full yet taking more and more, your orgasm feeding into each other and prolonging the pleasure.

His fangs find the base of your neck and bite. Hard. He moans as he tastes copper on his tongue, groaning as his orgasm begins to fade. "Love you." He whispers as he licks the blood off your neck, his pace now slow, a little sluggish but still very much intent on helping you ride out your orgasmic high.

You feel his body slump against your, enveloping you in warmth, he's careful as he moves his head, not wanting to poke you with his horns by accident. A deep groan leaves your lips when he pulls his cock out. He looks down in awe as some of his cum trickles out, "God." His eyes travel up your body, still hungry for you.

A smile dawns across your face from the intensity of his gaze, "Come here." He slides into your open arms, curling into you like a kitten, inhaling your sweet scent.

"How long until you can go again?" You feel his cock twitch against your inner thigh. This is gonna be a long few days, and you're pretty sure you're gonna need his help to walk by the end.

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #twst x reader #twst headcanons #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst smut #twst malleus #malleus headcanons #malleus x reader #malleus hcs #malleus smut #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia smut

4K notes · View notes

stevenose · 7 months

Text

a sub!steve commission i did for @steveshairspray - thank you so for your support!

contains: sub!steve; soft top!reader; rimming + fingering + pegging (steve receiving); surprise breeding kink; slight sub space/steve fucked stupid; lil bit of aftercare

word count: 1.4k

“I’ve got you,” you promise, kissing a stray freckle along Steve’s spine. He rests on his elbows and knees below you on the bed. He’s shaking, just a little, but also laughing at himself.

“I know, I know,” he chuckles. “I’m okay, I promise. Just thinkin’ about how funny this is.”

“What’s funny?”

“Guy like me getting fucked dumb is kinda ironic, no?”

You gently pinch his thigh. “Not ironic. Just hot. You gonna be good for me like I’ll be for you?”

“Of course.”

You kiss his shoulder blades. “Good boy.”

Lips brush against his skin as you slide downwards, letting your soft hands explore Steve’s sides and tummy before you rest behind him. He’s a little paler back here, not exposed to the sun like the rest of his golden body. Your palms rest against his ass, massaging his skin. He giggles again, then quickly follows with a “sorry!”

“You won’t be laughing for long,” you tease, moving your thumbs inwards, spreading him apart. Steve shivers when he feels your breath on him there, such an intimate spot that already has his vision blacking out. “Promise.”

He moans loud and long when your tongue gently licks at his hole. It’s so tight you’re not entirely sure how you’ll spread him open, though using your tongue should certainly work.

“Baby,” he moans, voice wrecked. “Oh, Jesus.”

You giggle now, gathering saliva in your mouth before spitting on his hole. He gasps and slides down, unable to keep himself upright on his elbows. He chokes, then keens when your tongue finally makes real contact with his ass. You lick gently, messily, letting your saliva run down his balls and his cock, which is slowly filling out.

“You like this, Stevie?”

“Mhm.”

You glance upwards to see his face buried in a pillow. You smile and press a tender kiss to his hole before tapering your tongue and fucking it against his rim.

“Ah!”

Despite his squirming, you make no efforts to stop. In fact, you ramp them up, reaching around to take his hardening cock in one hand. Steve wails, fucking his hips forwards into your fist and then back into your mouth. With your free hand, you spank him, smiling when he jumps.

“Stay still, Steve.”

“I’m sorry, I - woah! Feels so - good -“

“Relax,” you coo, rubbing his ass before spanking him again. Your tongue fucks his hole once more, getting messy and wet, spit sliding downwards into your fist. Wet, sloppy noises fill the room, and coupled with Steve’s whines and moans, your cunt starts to drip. You can imagine him in knee high socks next time you have him like this, maybe some mascara and lip gloss. He’d look so pretty all bitched out on your cock. Your thighs squeeze together and you can’t help but to moan as you kiss downwards towards his full balls.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans. “‘m gonna cum.”

It doesn’t ever take him long. Not at all. Anytime he slides into you his eyes get all unfocused and he can last maybe ten minutes before his cock starts twitching. Now, he’s lasted five. And you aren’t keen on letting him cum just yet. You wait until he’s panting and arching before pulling away from him completely.

Steve groans and slides down onto his tummy, humping his cock against the sheets.

“No,” you warn, smacking his ass a little harder this time and pulling his hips back up. “You cum when I make you, Steve.”

“I need more,” he whines, needy, voice thick and hoarse. If you could see his face you’d see the tears rimming his lashes.

“You’ll get more,” you promise him, letting your thumb rest on his rim. You rub in smooth, slow circles, your previous ministrations easing it inwards. “But if you’re not good for me, I’ll stop. Been thinking of getting you a cock cage, Stevie. Know how fucking insatiable you are. Could keep it locked on you for a few weeks until you’re crying for me to take it off. Y’want that?”

“Yes!”

“That was supposed to be a threat,” you mumble, lips twitching upwards. You reach out to rub his back while you press your thumb into his rim, clit pulsing at the way it sucks your finger in.

Steve says something that doesn’t make any sense, big strong biceps flexing as he grips onto the sheets. You want to see his face. “Flip over.”

He does so, a little slow, already getting to the point that his mind is lost to pleasure. He’s so pretty when his face comes into view, all soft and handsome, coffee colored eyes begging for you to continue. So you do, with no hesitation, sinking your thumb back into his ass as his legs rest on your shoulders. You can see his cock kick from this angle, drooling precum onto his stomach. “Steve,” you breathe. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“Th- thanks,” he moans, bottom lip bit firmly between his teeth. His cheeks are rosy, eyes glassy.

It’s nothing compared to when you eventually slide into his ass with your lubed up cock. His eyes truly cross, precious lips parting open. He groans, punched out and pathetic, as you slide halfway in. You give him a moment to take it, a hand resting on his jugular lightly. You pull back nice and slow, watching him exhale. You angle your hips and push forward, trying to find his prostate - which you do, according to Steve’s little scream. He grabs you, just like you grab him, his nails digging into your arms. He can’t speak. He only moans like a desperate whore as you fuck the tip of the dildo against his pleasure spot.

“Yeah, Stevie,” you moan. “Y’look so fuckin’ good when you’re fucked out and desperate, huh? Drooly little baby.”

He doesn’t answer. He can’t.

“You want me to jerk this fat cock off? Or you wanna cum untouched? Bet you could.” Your fingers twist a nipple and he finally reacts, shuddering and moaning.

“Touch me,” he cries. He’s so pretty when the tears spill over his bottom lash line.

He’s writhing and gasping when you start jerking him off, cock so heavy and hot. Precum pools downwards to where you’re fucking him open. He twitches and sputters, says some words that once again make no sense.

“Want me to kiss you?” you smile.

He just nods and angles his head upwards.

You fuck him slow and gentle as you kiss him an equal amount. He’s hardly kissing back, but you know he’s alright when he moans happily and lets go of your arms a little. You’re prideful of the bruises he’ll leave on you. Your tongue tenderly glides over his bottom lip and he opens his mouth so you can lick into it.

“I’m cum,” he moans suddenly, panting again, hairy chest heaving.

“You’re cum?”

“Uh-huh,” he groans, so low it sounds like a growl. “Mhm.”

You squeeze his neck a little. “You want to? Are you fucked out enough?”

He nods. “Mhm.”

And now it’s time to pull out all the stops on him. “You want me to cum, too? Want my dildo to knock you up?”

He gasps, cock jumping in your hand. “Oh god yeah fuck yes please?”

“Want me to fuck my cum into you?”

“Oh!” he gasps again, back arching off the bed. You fold him in half and fuck him a little harder, a little faster. “Please!”

“Cum, honey,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss him again. You feel his cock pulse and twitch and then he’s crying out into your mouth, baring down on your strap, stomach convulsing as he cums all over himself and your fist. A deep groan rumbles his chest as you continue to rub his sensitive cock until he shakes his head.

“There you go,” you praise, kissing his forehead and moving his sweaty hair out of his face. “I’m here, honey. You okay, Steve?”

He can’t speak. He nods, slack jawed and delirious.

“Yeah, honey? Give me a sec, gotta pull out, okay?”

He groans, eyes falling shut as you slowly pull out of him. You rub his chest down to his legs - his body is still stiff from his orgasm.

“So goddamn hot, Steve. You look so pretty when you’re getting fucked, baby. Want me to get you a bath ready? I’ll get in with you.”

“Mhm.” He’s smiling now, dopily, eyes still unfocused but he’s trying to look at you. “Soun’s good.”

You kiss the tip of his perfect little nose. “Okay, sweetheart. Stay right here.”

“I will.” He laughs suddenly and then doesn’t tell you why.

“You’re so hot when you’re fucked stupid,” you tease, sliding off the bed. “Now I get why you do it to me.”

#stevenose posts #steve harrington smut #ns/fw #steve x reader #kinktober 23

261 notes · View notes

dckweed · 1 year

Text

hello there my loves..long time no see, huh? i'm randomly back on my vampire bullshit, and may have spent a few hours listening to a spotify playlist that makes me think of elijah railing somone senseless :) youre welcome.

also, i'm going to be making an edit to my pinned post, to include a list of commissions/things i'll write for you guys in return for a small fee.

warnings: minors, DO NOT INTERACT. sexual plot, physical violence mentioned, blood, blood play, kinda rough but also kinda not..elijah just totally loving his person but wanting to go all murdery murdery on your ex for making you bleed (even though he very much enjoyed the aftermath).

im sorry but in my eyes vampire = blood kink w their significant other/mates.

PART ONE

'𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝖉𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘 ' elijah mikaelson x fem!reader

True to his word Elijah drove you home, kissing your cheek sweetly despite the evil glint to his eye as he watched you step out of the car, still fucked out and with his cum still wet on your cunt. He was taking more glee in this than he probably should have, and he wondered if Niklaus would be proud of him for it.

He sat in the driver's seat, car off as he watched you walk your way up to the front door, digging the keys out of your purse. He saw you fidget with the skirt of your dress touching your bottom, he wondered if maybe it was still sore, but he couldn't help but smirk harder knowing it was his hand print that adorned your ass, his cum that still lingered in your pussy, pooling slowly between your legs and seeping out onto your skirt. He felt his cock stiffen again, and fuck he hadn't ever been more turned by the thought of something so.so abhorrently human as claiming someone for his own..loving someone the way that he loved you, so truly to his core.

He watched as you pushed open the door, closing it behind you, and closed his eyes as he listened to you with his hearing.

You walked through the small hallway, noting how oddly quiet the small one story house was, aside from the clacking of your small heels against the hardwood flooring, it was as if everything was oddly still.

"Joshua?" You call out, your voice still a little shaky from earlier and probably combined with nerves. Why you were nervous, you didn't know, Joshua was harmless, he couldn't even kill a cockroach.

You veered off to the hallway that housed the two bedrooms the house held, and noticed the door to your guys' room was oddly closed. "Joshua?" You call out again, finally hearing a shuffle; hushed whispering behind the wood. You turn the knob, curious.

If you were quite honest, it wasn't the fact that you had caught him doing it, it was the fact that you didn't think he had ever had the fucking balls for it, let alone in your own home. You can't help but laugh a little at the sight of him standing in in the middle of the bed, a sheet covering his still hard, slightly less than average sized cock. You couldn't help but to laugh at that too, knowing what you had waiting for you in the car.

"Oh that's fucking hilarious.. would you believe me if I told you I was only here to tell you I've been doing the same thing?" You ask, shit eating smug grin sliding across your lips. "Holy fuck this entire year I've been feeling so bad for being with Elijah more romantically and sexually than we ever were, but this whole time you've been doing this?"

You shake your head stepping farther into the room, headed towards the dresser. You have a luggage bag sitting just next to it for a trip you were supposed to be taking next week to go visit your family, but hadn't yet packed for. You bend down towards it, feeling the skirt of your dress ride up, leaving your bottom on full display.

A choked noise comes from Joshua's throat as you throw open the lid to the case, and pull open your two drawers in the dresser, grabbing handfuls of clothes and tossing them into the open compartment as you did. You hear movement behind you, and someone sidling up behind you before you feel the skirt of your dress being pulled up to your midback.

"What the fuck is this, Y/N?" He asks, his voice calm but you could hear the undertone of intense anger behind it. His hand is on your ass, as if checking to see if it was even real what he was seeing. "Is this a fucking handprint? His handprint?"

You straighten, your dress falling as you look at him in the mirror. "Yeah, Joshua it is..he put it there about thirty minutes ago while he was fucking my brains out face down on his bed, right before he brought me here to get my things." You turn to face him, glancing at the bitch still on the bed that you had paid for. "And a lot more than you've ever done."

The look on his face is almost priceless, and you happily turn back to your bag, tossing in what was left in your drawers and getting it zipped. You start to leave when you feel his hand in your hair, pulling you backwards. "Hold the fuck on, you're not going anywhere you cheating fucking bitch," He says, and you hear the girl gasp.

"Let her go, Joshua!" She says, her voice full of her nervousness. "It's not like we weren't doing the same fucking thing, let her the fu-" She didn't have time to finish her sentence before she started screaming in fear as a blurred mass comes barreling through the bedroom, pushing you gently out of the way before grabbing your offender by the throat and pushing him up against the window on the opposite side of the room.

You can hear him growling, can tell his face has changed in the reflection of the glass and hes glaring your now ex boyfriend directly in the eye, the look on Joshua's face is one of absolute fear and panic. "Elijah stop it!" You yell, and you notice him falter. "He's not worth it, just take me home..i'm done here."

He doesn't move for a moment, his face still contorted with rage although he lets his normal face comeback. He moves his hand off of Joshua's neck and up to his face, gripping his jaw hard enough to turn make his eyes meet his own. "Joshua, i will let this go, but only because she is here. However, you will not reach out and contact her again, nor will you ever put your hands on another woman without their consent. Am I understood?" You see the man nod and Elijah drops him to the ground, where he crumples like tin foil.

"Right, come along now darling.." Elijah says, giving the girl on the bed just the briefest look. You shoot her a thankful smile for a least trying to stop Joshua from whatever he was about to do, he'd never been one to result to that kind of behavior before so it definitely took you by surprise and you were more than thankful that she had stepped in on your behalf. Elijah grabs your bag off the ground where it had fallen, and then tucks you up under his shoulder, leading you out of the room, and ultimately out of the house, though not before you can grab a photo of your sister and brother that had been hanging on the wall in the hallway, one of the only ones you had of you guys together as a family.

The ride to your new home is tense and quiet, though you know that he's not upset with you at all judging by the way his hand still lovingly rests on your thigh as he drives. You reach down and grab it, intertwining your fingers with his, something you loved doing in private and intimate moments alone with him, as you knew it wouldn't be private for long.

Nearly as soon as he had parked the car your blonde, fierce tempered best friend made her way outside, arms crossed over her chest as she watched Elijah help you out of the car before he went to grab your suitcase from the trunk.

"What happened? You smell like..stress.." She says, sniffing at you weirdly as welcomed you with open arms. "Welcome home, finally." She says, not even giving you a moment to answer as she catches her brothers strange look her way.

"Ill tell you later." You mouth, following behind your boyfriend as he heads inside, you ran to catch up with him, leaving your friend behind as he leads you to your now shared bedroom. Elijah sets your luggage off to the side, near the dresser before going over to a small chest on the other side of the room and pouring himself what looked to be a much needed drink. You purse your lips, headed to the connecting bathroom that already held many of your things from your numerous nighs spent here, fixing your hair in the mirror and touching up your lip gloss just the slightest bit before straightening out your outfit and giving yourself a once over in the mirror.

You found your vampire boyfriend seated on the chaise lounge not too far off from the bathroom, his head back, and a half full crystal glass of what appeared to be bourbon in his hand resting on the back of the lounge. You plant yourself firmly on his lap, legs on either side of his and peer down at him, your hands going to play with the bits of soft hair on the nape of his neck. He hums in response, his body relaxing at the feel of your touch.

"'lijah?" You ask, kissing his jaw just the slightest bit, almost as if to tease him. He hums again, his free hand sliding up the bare skin of your thigh to rest on your hip underneath of your dress, pushing the fabric up, almost as if he needed to be touching your skin in any way he possibly could. "I love you.." You whisper, grazing your lips against his as you speak, pressing yourself against his chest.

A noise sparks in the back of his throat as he kisses you back, lips pressed firmly against yours, holding your body in place against his own as he moves his hand from your hip to your lower back, hand splayed across it in an almost possessive way.

You move a hand from the back of his head, letting it trail over his shoulder and across his arm, fingertips ghosting over his hand as you reach for the glass it held, removing it from his grasp before reaching for the side table and setting it down haphazardly enough that the liquid splashes out of the rim.

His now free hand relocates to your thigh, the other traveling it's way up your back, resting on the back of your neck for the briefest of moments before winding up into your hair, clutching at it. Elijah groans after a moment, pulling away from you unexpectedly before yanking his hand from your hair, fingertips coated in blood. "You're bleeding.." He whispers.

You furrow your brow, face scrunching in confusion as you grab his hand, taking in the blood. You hadn't even felt any pain.. "Huh.." You say, shrugging it off. "he must've grabbed my hair hard enough that his nails dug in..i don't remember any pain though.." You feel his entire body tense up underneath of you at the mention of the events that had happened merely half an hour ago, a growl forms in his chest and a dark look passes over his face and you realize that that was definitely the wrong thing to say, you were used to seeing Elijah so composed and mannerly, you didn't even stop to think that he might not have been able to get past something like this so quickly, especially when it was pertaining to you as his significant other.

Quickly, you do the only thing that you can think of in the moment, and use your own fingers to smudge the blood off of his, looking him in the eye as you put them in his mouth. The vampire makes a noise of surprise, though doesn't reject to the experience, and you realize that he's never tastes your blood before, and that while that had always initially terrified you, doing it in this situation brought an arousal out of you that you didn't even think that you could possess.

Elijah sucks your fingers lightly, letting the taste of your crimson blood linger on his tongue, relishing in the delicacy that was your very own life force..for heavens sake he hadn't ever expected you to do that, of all things in that moment, but he'd be a damned liar if he hadn't nearly creamed his own trousers in that moment. There was no better drug in the world to him than blood, and he could officially say that there was no other blood in the world as fine tasting as your own.

You watch eyes wide, bare pussy sopping wet against his trousers as you watch him suck on your fingers, relishing in the taste. The absolute look of pure pleasure on his face was something you'd never quite seen on him before, and if you were being honest, you had definitely just opened a whole new world of pleasures for the both of you..

After a moment Elijah lets your fingers fall from your mouth, his hand wrapping around your wrist as he looks up at you, unable to even fathom words, drunk off what little taste of you he had just had. You see him swallow hard, as if trying to control himself, and without even thinking you press your lips to his in a harsh embrace, needy and desperate, of which he is all too quick to reciprocate.

You moan, hands at the collar of his shirt as you try to unbutton it, though your hands are too shakey and ultimately it's too slow work..without too much effort you pull at his shirt, the buttons flying apart but finally revealing his skin to you as you shove it off of his shoulders. He tugs his arms out, never breaking from you kiss as his hands go back to your body, squeezing and touching every inch of it.

Earlier had merely been foreplay at this point, and while he loved how beautiful your dress was on you, he couldn't stand to look at it anymore, not when he needed you oh so badly in this moment, and so, in similar fashion to your own, he merely tugs at the spot behind your neck, ripping the dress into two before tossing it somewhere off to the side. He kisses you with a hungry, firey passion, damn near growling in pleasure as he brings a harsh smack down upon your bare ass cheek, which had to have still been sore from earlier.

You squeal at the contact, breaking your kiss for merely a second to catch your breath before giggling like a ditz as he stands to his feet with ease, you in his arms, before tossing you into the middle of his large, four poster bed. You land on your back, bouncing against the mattress. Propped up on your elbows you watch as he makes quick work of his trousers and underwear, surprised to see how hard his cock was already as it swings free of it's restraints.

It's almost predatory the way that he climbs up the bed towards you, eyes held on you, unwavering, gives him the predatory aura, and it quite literally suits him. You watch the muscles in his arms move under his skin with each movement he makes, every inch that he comes closer to you, admiring the way his body looked as he stared down at you, ready to pounce on you.

He finally makes his way between your legs, lingering wet kisses up your body as he presses against you, trailing harsh hickies up your neck, before coming to rest on your face. You're breathless a the sensation of his teeth against your skin, and as he brings his face up to yours, you gasp, this wasn't youre usual Elijah, the person staring at you now was 100% vampire. The veins in his face are prominent, and you notice that his grasp is much stronger than normal as he takes hold of your thigh, bringing it up to hook around his waist, cock sliding into your sopping pussy as he does.

You clench around him immediately, a moan coming from deep within you as you throw your head back, instinctively moving your other leg up to wrap around him, not wanting to let him go as you pull him against your body. The pace he sets is damn near brutal, but none the less pleasurable for you as he takes hard, deep strokes in and out of your already quivering cunt, your brain unable to keep with the sensation as you babble out a string of incoherent noises.

He loves you like this, an absolute vulnerable mess under him, and call it the predator in him, but god damn it only spurred him on farther. His cock was hard he could barely feel it, and he knew that like this he could go for hours, although deep in his mind that little voice reminded him that you were still human, and he was already brutally fucking you into his mattress.

"'lijah, i..oh..holy..ohmygod..." Is the string of words that falls from your mouth as he pulls an earth-shattering orgasm from you in barely a few minutes, he growls in response taking your lips against his own harshly once more, using a hand behind your head to lock you in place against him as he splits his tongue between your lips, searching for your own withing the cavern of your mouth.

His pace doesn't falter, and as he brings the hand out from behind your head, once more tainted with your blood, he drags it across the skin of your chest, painting you with the red liquid he so desperately craved. His mouth follows his hand, tongue lapping up every bit of it he could get, groaning so fucking pathetically with pleasure as he does it. The taste of your blood turns him on in such a way that he suddenly realizes he's not going to last too much longer, and with one hand, he braces himself against the mattress, forearm holding his weight next to your head as he uses his other one to slip under your lower back, lifting your hips up into a new position as he continued to drive his cock into you harsher than he ever had before, grinning almost sadistically at you as your panted, barely comprehendable words turn into a river of high pitched squeals, your hands grabbing onto anything they could reach to brace yourself, face almost unreadable from how fucking amazing you were feeling.

Elijah growls, hand gripping on to his bedding as he stares down at you, the taste of your blood still lingering on his taste buds. He needed more, though even in his most animalistic state he knew he couldn't straight up drink from you, too afraid that he would accidentally drain you.

After a few moments more of his continued pace, the bed jolting underneath of you, the vampire rakes his teeth across the skin of your chest, right above your left breast, right above your heart, his teeth sinking in just enough to draw blood to the surface, letting it flow out and smear against his lips, you moan at the sensation, and as you watch hin lick your blood from your skin your pussy clenches hard, drawing out a strangled moan from him as your nails clamp down into the skin of his shoulder blades, drawing blood on your own as you clung to him for dear life, fearing he was going to fuck you through the floor.

You knew what he was holding back from, could feel it in the way he clenched his eyes shut after licking your chest clean, it wasn't enough. You also knew you couldn't take much more of this brutal pounding to your pussy (as much as you do enjoy this unexplored side of him).

Deciding that you trust him enough, you gather your breath, trying to think in a clear pattern before you use both hands to grip the back of his head, pulling at his hair to lift his head up to look at you, staring into his eyes.

"Bite. Me." You say, nodding at him, before losing yourself in a moan again as he yet again shifts your position to your body being damn near folded un half, you scream as you feel the bed give out beneath you and drop to the ground, thr movement somehow sending his cock even deeper inside of you, and God it is a sensation you haven't ever felt before.."Elijah, baby, please..please..please.." you don't even remember what you're begging for, and can barely comprehend the movement of his face to your neck, where he nuzzles it almost lovingly before you feel his teeth sink into the delicate, already bruised skin and start sucking, a sensation that borders on pain and euphoria. the feeling is brief, and you very distinctly hear him shout in ecstasy as his hot cum sprays inside of you, pumping it into you for a minuet or too before he has to stop, both of you overestimated and over-fucked.

His body slumps against yours, both of you relaxing, bodies pressed against each other as you play with his hair, your brain still reeling from the way that he had fucked you, and from the very intimate moment you had just shared with him..

You feel his body start to slump more, and you know he's about to fall asleep, though before he does he makes sure to shift the both of you so that you're spooning, him behind you. Somehow, maneuvering you so that his cock doesn't slip out, he didn't jniw why, but he needed to keep feeling you like that for a while, wanting to feel connected to you in any way now that he had drinken your blood in that way..he had just claimed you for the entire vampire world, that mark would scar, and it's not like most of the vampire population didn't already know..he couldn't ever be too safe though..

"Elijah.." You mumble, eyes closed. You hear him hum behind you, feel his arm tighten around your middle as he tried to pull you closer.."We broke the bed.."

He chuckles behind you, kissing the back of your head before whispering in your ear, "I love you, baby.."

@amournoir :)

#elijah mikaelson x y/n #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikealson x reader #elijah mikaelson smut #the mikaelsons #rebekah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson

351 notes · View notes

happyandticklish · 1 year

Text

Breathless

Notes: Commission for @ssnicker-doodless. Holy hell is this ever late, and I am super appreciative of your understanding while I was working on it through mountains of homework ;-; But I had to pull through for the sake of lee Brett, which is a worthy cause that I think we can all get behind😤 I loosely incorporated some of your headcannons as well, as those were incredible and I needed to put them into use somehow. I hope you enjoy!!

Summary: Brett and Reagan experiment with their first real session.

Brett Hand was used to feeling helpless.

It was a common occurrence in his life and as such, he had forced himself to become accustomed to it. There were some things in life that were out of his control, and while he hadn’t yet found a healthy way to cope with that information, he had turned to denial instead to try to block out the anxious storm brewing inside of him. When the whole team decided to secretly inject him with truth serum without telling him one day, he took a deep breath and powered through it after sharing many a detail of his first time that was quickly dragged out of him. When Reagan cancelled on their dinner plans he had spent hours arranging for them because there had been an accident in the lab, he had simply smiled and sent back a text telling her not to worry. When every exam left him gritting his teeth in frustration as he furiously rose his grade to an A for his family, he told himself that life wasn’t about just facts and memorization.

Brett Hand was a helpless individual so often that it had become comfortable at this point.

Yet, as Reagan tugged the last remaining strap around his wrists, he felt that same sense of telltale helplessness. Only this time, he couldn’t shove it down as usual. It wrapped around his insides, making him squirm uncomfortably in his seat as he tried to breathe normally.

Unfortunately, he was dating possibly one of the smartest people he had ever met, so it didn’t take her long to notice his nervousness. “Are you okay? You’re looking a little pale there.”

He nodded, the motion jerky and tense. “Of course! Definitely okay! I did ask for this after all, so it would be weird if I wasn’t okay, right?” He was more convincing himself than anyone else. “I mean, I like this kind of thing, so why would any of this be a problem for me?”

Her face had fallen in understanding and guilt twinged in his gut. “Brett, if you’re not okay with this—”

“I am,” Brett insisted. Not technically a lie. He was okay with this. He should be okay with this. He had hardly been able to contain his excitement when Reagan had readily agreed to his request, and had spent hours fantasizing about it in the weeks leading up to the event. Now it was finally happening and his incompetent lump of a brain was ruining everything for him. “I’m fine, Reagan, really. Just some first-time jitters, that’s all. I’m sure it will go away once you get started.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly still concerned, but consented, standing up to go back to her mysterious table of tools she hadn’t let him look at yet. They had decided to conduct the session in her lab, as that was one of the few places where a theoretical torture set-up wouldn’t look out of place. The bondage in place was rudimentary, more for Brett’s sake than anything. His hands were tied firmly behind the leather back chair, but other than that he was free to squirm as much as he wanted. The lighting in the room was dimmed to create atmosphere, and across from him was a table with a billowy sheet covering an array of different tools.

The setting all felt very dungeon-y, which had sent a thrill through Brett when he had first seen it. Now, it was making him realize how easy it would be to keep him down here forever if Reagan so pleased. He was pretty sure these walls were soundproof too. Again, a would-be benefit that, in the wrong hands, could end catastrophically for him.

Not that he was worried Reagan was going to kill him, per se. But there were other risks. A safeword is a difficult thing to comprehend in-between bouts of giggling laughter. And who knows what objects Reagan had picked out for him. He was fully clothed at the current moment but he knew that was bound to change later on. Being tied up, completely exposed, with no idea of how far things could go…

He squeezed his eyes shut as his thoughts spiraled. Calm down, Brett. It’s just tickling. You like tickling.

When he opened them, Reagan had turned back around with her hands held suspiciously behind her back.

“What’s that?” he asked, trying for casual as though he was not tied to a chair and was instead sitting comfortably on Reagan’s bed with zero stakes involved. He shifted in his bindings, trying to get a better look. “Nothing too intense, I hope?”

“Trust me, you’re gonna love it,” she said, kneeling beside him. She had that crazy scientist look on her face, the one that said she had just discovered a new idea she wanted to try out and someone was going to suffer for it. There was an uncertainty to it though, as though she were out of her element. “I have to admit, I did a bit of research to prep for this and found some common tools people use online. I just… we don’t normally do this in-depth of sessions and I wanted to make sure it was special.”

She was nervous. That made him feel a slight bit better about this whole thing. Her words and her demeanor conflicted though. He wanted to assure her that this was very sweet of her, but he couldn’t help the anxiety prickling inside of him at the thought of just what kind of ‘research’ she did. He had spent many nights delving into that side of the internet, and some of the devices they used looked intense. Really intense. Instinctively, he tugged on his bonds. They held. Obviously, as there was no way perfectionist Reagan was going to create shitty bondage. He tried again, just to make sure, his mind running rampant with scenarios. What if it really, really tickled, and he couldn’t get free, and he was forced to just sit there and take it? What if she didn’t understand how bad it was?

Brett yelped when she started to pull her hand out and she paused, face freezing in alarm.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was no playing that off.

“Brett,” Reagan asked slowly, dropping something on the ground. A quick glance down revealed it to be a toothbrush. Disappointment and relief tangled up inside of him at the thought that it probably wouldn’t be used on him now. “Look, if something is bothering you, you need to tell me. Because I’m not going to consent to do something to you that is so obviously making you uncomfortable. You can’t even look me in the eyes right now!”

“I can too,” he muttered, staring determinedly at the floor. “Besides, this is supposed to happen! I’ve watched all the videos for it, and the, uh, ‘victim’ always feels nervous beforehand. That’s supposed to be the fun of it!”

“Is this fun?”

No. The answer came to him instinctively before he could think about it, and he shoved it down as he had been doing the entire ride over here up till now. Because he had watched the videos. He had watched people scream and beg for release and be given none, and though he knew it was all part of some elaborate act, he could never shake the thought that one day that would be him. It was what had prevented him from telling past lovers about this interest of his, and it was what was preventing him from letting Reagan go through with this now.

“Brett.”

“No! Yes! I don’t know!” Behind the chair, Brett fiddled with his fingers, keeping his panic at bay. He exhaled shakily, forcibly calming himself down. It’s just Reagan. “Look. I love you, Reagan. I know you would never do anything to hurt me or that I wouldn’t want. You made that very clear and I don’t want to make it seem like I’m doubting you, because I’m definitely, definitely not! I just… this is new to me, too. I think maybe it was too much too fast and I don’t think I can handle that right now. Not like this.”

He wiggled his shoulders to indicate the bondage. Embarrassed heat crawled up the back of his neck. Probably, he should have had this conversation earlier so he didn’t have to share such an intimate confession while tied up and vulnerable.

He felt a touch on his hand and flinched—regrettably as Reagan pulled back almost instantly. This is exactly what he had been trying to avoid. “I’m sorry, I—I rushed this,” she said, tone unbearably apologetic. “I only agreed to all of this because I thought you’d be into it, but you’re right, it’s too soon. We can try another time, or not at all, or… I don’t know, whatever you want. Here, let me untie that for you—”

“Wait!”

They both paused. Brett coughed, the blush crawling down his neck unhelpfully. “Well… that is… I didn’t mean I’m not ready for all of it.”

Reagan sat back on her heels, frowning. Confusion was an odd emotion to see displayed on the usual know-it-all. “Oh. Okay.” She paused. “I’m sorry, what are you saying? You do want to be tickled?”

Tickled. The way the word sent giddy butterflies swooping through his stomach made Brett more and more sure of his decision. He inhaled shakily, needing to phrase this correctly so as not to hurt anyone’s feelings involved. “Well, I don’t not want to be tickled. But I don’t think I can handle all of… well. That.”

He nodded down towards the discarded electric toothbrush which sat in abandoned offense at his words.

“Maybe we could… I don’t know. Try something softer. Gentler. Just for now, anyway. I do still want to do all of that.” He paused, daring a glance at her. Not angry, so that was a plus. “Just not for today. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

It was a relief to get the confession off his chest. Terrifying, but a relief. He waited for the inevitable rejection he was used to or at the very least the derisive snort of judgement that Reagan was never shy about withholding. Instead, Reagan merely grabbed the toothbrush off of the floor and stood up to place it back over on the metal table—harmless, now. Then, she walked back over behind him, calmly gripping the back of the chair. Her knuckles brushed against his shoulder blades and he shivered at the sudden touch.

“Uh, Reagan?” he asked, a nervous smile slipping onto his face once more. He didn’t appreciate the silent game they were playing here. “Did you hear what I said? Are we good?”

“You know, the very first time I met you, I didn’t think you were very bright.”

Okay. Not where he’d thought this was going. “Well I mean, that’s not entirely—”

“And then I got to know you and realized that hey, this guy has some brains after all,” Reagan went on, ignoring his protests. “In fact, he may be one of the only halfway competent members on this team.”

Brett furrowed his brow. “Thank you? I think?”

“And as we grew even closer, I realized you were actually pretty smart, in your own weird Brett way that I could never accomplish no matter how hard I tried. Which is why I cannot for the life of me understand why you’d ever think that I would be annoyed by something like this.”

Oh. Oh. Brett’s shoulders slackened as he realized he was not, in fact, being scolded, at least not in a way that mattered. “I—I mean, I didn’t think you would be annoyed per se—”

She interrupted him, glaring down at him over the chair. “If I ever do anything to make you uncomfortable, especially when it comes to stuff as serious as this, you’ll tell me?”

He paused. “Y-Yeah, I mean, of course.”

“Brett.”

“I promise, Reagan. Seriously.”

“Good.” Reagan exhaled in relief, stretching her hands in front of her as she cracked both her knuckles. “Now that that’s done with…”

Brett stiffened as he felt hands coming around to unbutton his jacket from behind, carefully undoing each button with an almost awkward precision. They had been together for several months now, but Reagan still approached him carefully at first like he was going to bite her if she made any sudden movements. Brett probably would have been hurt by it if he didn’t know by now that that was just how Reagan was. After a while, she would relax into the touch, into touching him, and everything would be fine.

Which reminded him that she was touching him which meant that most likely this was going to lead to…

Anticipation kicked into high gear once more, panic bubbling gently at the back of his brain. This time, however, it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt exciting. He squirmed in his seat, unable to help it.

“Is this okay?” Her voice was right by his ear and his breath hitched in his throat. This was really happening. Weakly, he nodded, and he could practically feel her smile. “Good. Because I’d hate to have put all my notes to waste.”

“N-Notes?” he managed to croak out in confusion, scrunching back in the chair when she undid the last button. He could feel the cool breeze of the fans in the corner blowing against his bare skin and he shivered.

“You didn’t think I came into this unprepared, did you?” She cocked a brow, bringing her hands up to rest against his ribs. Just sitting there, not moving. A simple reminder of what she could do to him. “This might be our first real session, but it’s certainly not the first time I’ve had the pleasure of making you helpless under my fingers, and I’ve been keeping a mental record of those experiences, as any good scientist does. I’ve memorized your spots, Brett. I know which methods have you screaming and which have you begging for more, and which do both. And, most importantly, I know exactly which you like.”

Brett’s heart had stopped beating in his chest some time ago. It must have, anyways, because he couldn’t seem to feel its presence there anymore. All he could focus on was her fingers, two of her fingers to be precise, which had set subtly into motion while she talked. They touched down gently on his ribs, sliding up into slow, methodical circles under his arms. It was unfair how much that simple gesture tickled and he felt the first beginning giggles start to rise in his chest. He refused to break this early, however, so he thinned his lips together in resistance, his cheeks puffing out from the exertion of it.

“This is how it starts. Just two fingers, ever-so-slowly tracing, reminding you of just how ticklish you can be and how you can’t do a damn thing about it.” The circles climbed higher and Brett followed their path, arching back in his chair as he tried to move out of their line of fire. “For all you know, I’ll just stay like this forever. Endless teasing. Sounds fun, doesn’t it?”

This was new. Not the teasing, per se. She had done that before many times, usually at Brett’s insistence that it was fine, he didn’t mind it. But she hadn’t teased him like this. Not with confidence. Not with that sadistic edge in her voice.

He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on his breathing so that it didn’t stutter when her fingertips finally landed under his arms. “R-Reagan…”

“Is teasing not okay?” She scratched under his arms lightly, one nail at each side that kept up a horrendously persistent pace. “Sorry, I’m just trying to figure out what is or isn’t allowed here.”

“T-Teasing’s fine.” The words came out in a rush as Brett held back the grin that threatened to take over his face if he didn’t do something about it.

“Mm. And this?”

Brett jerked at the addition of two more fingers, the chair squeaking out in protest as his movement scooched it. Okay, all good, just a tad more ticklish than he was expecting things to be right off the bat. Giggles were slipping out now, choked and muffled as he tried to hold them back. There was no real point to the farce, but he couldn’t help the way his body instinctively held onto the laughter each time as though letting it out would reveal some failure on his part.

He nodded quickly, deciding that complete sentences weren’t smart under the circumstances. He kept shifting in his seat, his shoulders rolling back and then forwards as he tried to dissuade her fingers from their tasks.

When all five fingers descended under his arms, he squeaked, a stupid noise that he wished he could grab back and shove down his throat but it was too late. Reagan chuckled, amusement underlying her words. "Tickle?"

Red tinged the ends of Brett’s ears. Obviously, he wanted to say, but he had a feeling that would be unwise considering his position. He tried to open his mouth to respond, but each time she would spider over the skin by his topmost rib and his words crumpled into a fit of panicked giggles. He jerked against the chair in frustration, trying to ignore how much it tickled already.

This was how it always was. That endless conflict of desire vs need. He needed the tickling to end but everything in him wanted it to continue. He tried to force his body to understand that he liked this, but it refused to stay still under her gentle ministrations. His stomach was in knots as he tried to reconcile the nervous excitement that made him want to scream or break out of these bonds or something.

“This is one of your favorite spots,” Reagan noted, upkeeping her gentle pace. Her tone had that tinge of pride and excitement in it that she used when she was unveiling one of her latest discoveries. He wasn’t sure how to feel about being one. “At first I thought you hated it from how much you’d try to get away and insist that it was ‘too much’. However, after examining the data, I’ve realized that you expose this area both during tickling and outside of it far more than is necessary. So then, I tried shying away from the area when tickling you to see if you’d provoke me to move there. Do you want to know the results?”

Absolutely none of this was fair and he was loving it. Since when did she become so good at this? “Oh my god, Reagan, do we really have to go through thihihIHIS—shit!”

Reagan merely raised her voice to accommodate the shrieking laughter that accompanied the spidering fingers under what she could reach of his armpits. “Every time, without fail, you would direct my hands towards there, whether you realized it or not. I mean, really, Brett. Begging me not to tickle you there when I’m nowhere near it?”

Brett had not thought he could blush any harder than he was, but evidently, his body had other plans. He felt like his skin was on fire, the sensation blooming over the rest of his skin and creating an embarrassing vermillion tint. He felt like some kind of human tomato, which is a thought he would have found undignified if he wasn’t so focused on being embarrassed by other things.

I mean, what kind of person keeps notes on your tickling habits? He had always assumed he was being slick about this particular interest. To find out that Reagan had not only noticed his behavior but had been keeping tabs on it without his awareness was unbelievably mortifying—and a tad flattering, if he was being completely honest.

Due to this compromised state of mind, he was running short on comebacks so he merely shook his head, keeping his gaze directed firmly at the floor to hide even a modicum of the effect she was having on him.

“No?” The fake sympathy was practically palpable in the air between them, sending goosebumps up the back of Brett’s neck. “So you don’t want me to stay here for the next…. Hmm. Does ten minutes sound good to you?”

Ten minutes. Dread crept its icy fingers down his chest, kicking his heart rate into high gear. No way, absolutely not, not there.

And yet.

There was no way he’d be able to handle something like that, so why did he feel so damn giddy at the concept?

Reagan seemed to take his lack of response as agreement if the way her hands refused to leave their perch was any indication. The laughter that had started as mere giggles at first was growing more frantic as time went on, whines and shrieks entering into the mix as he struggled violently against his bonds. The safeword rested on the tip of his tongue, ready if he needed it, but they had barely been at this for more than five minutes. There was no way he was giving in now.

Even if Reagan was driving him insane. Even if this tickled more than anything should have a right to tickle. Even if he was spending every second tied up planning out revenge scenarios because this wasn’t fair.

Though he was pretty sure Reagan had been joking at first, the digital clock resting on the desk across from them displayed the passing of five, six, eight—twelve minutes. Brett, breathless from struggling and laughter, was on the verge of giving in when her hands finally stilled. He exhaled a sigh that was half-relief, half-disappointment at the break.

“How was that?”

He glared at her, though the gesture lacked any real venom. “Horrible.”

“Liar.” She poked him in the side and he yelped, twisting away from her finger. “How was that, really?”

“Ticklish,” Brett admitted after a minute, and then with a bit of hesitance, “and fun. Just a little. Possibly.”

Reagan came out from behind him with a self-satisfied hum, coming to kneel by his lap. He forced his legs not to curl up off instinct. “That’s what I thought. You’re unbelievably obvious—it’s endearing, I’ll admit. Like dating a puppy.”

He frowned. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to be nice or if you’re making fun of me.”

“Ah, c’mon, it can be both.” She placed her hands on either of his knees carefully and he barely restrained a flinch. Don’t give yourself away, Brett. “Now, that was a perfect example of a strategy that has you begging, even if you enjoyed it thoroughly—”

“Hey—!”

“But—” she continued, squeezing his knee lightly and choking off any further reply from him. “There is another spot that you love far more, even if it is not as ticklish as the other. Now, places like your sides or stomach work well for results, but nothing beats out this from what I’ve seen. This is the one area that, unbelievably, never makes you beg no matter how much it tickles.”

Anticipation was crowding out panic at this point in his mind, and Brett forced any show of enjoyment off of his face. Being tickled was one thing, but there was no need to let Reagan know how eager he was for this kind of treatment.

“You are being unnecessarily sadistic about this,” he huffed, averting his gaze when that prompted a snort from her.

“Yeah well, you did assign a mad scientist to tickle you.” Both hands were on his knees now. His heart leaped into his threat when she squeezed once more. “Not a very well-calculated decision on your part.”

“Well, that depends on your goal.”

“Mm. And just what is your goal here, Brett Hand?”

He couldn’t say it. Not now, not with her fingers crawling around the sides of his knees, nails slipping underneath. Not when she was looking at him like that. But he couldn’t explain any of that to her, so instead, he allowed himself to be swept up in sensation as her fingers slowly untangled his nervous system, and laughed.

Which is what he continued to do for the next hour that they spent down in her lab until the laughter slowly transformed into an exhausted wheeze of delight.

Maybe it wasn’t the “proper” session he had imagined for their first time, but in a way, it was so much better than his expectations could have ever hyped up.

They could always make use of the “dungeon’s” full potential later, after all.

#inside job #tickle fic #brett hand #reagan ridley #breagan #tickling #fanfiction #commission #commissions

264 notes · View notes

malarkgirlypop · 5 months

Text

MEDIC! Part 19 (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

Ok guys just read this one really quick so I can upload Chapter 20, ok, cool, you got it. Great, alright read fast!

Based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters, no hate to anyone involved.Keep reading

Tag list: @next-autopsy, @panzershrike-pretz, @xxluckystrike, @bucky32557038ww2 (let me know if you want to be tagged.)

I hurried along the streets, saying hello to the men I passed. I finally made it to the house. Hearing familiar voices from the upper room I made my way up the staircase.

“Ah there she is. We were wondering where you disappeared too.” Babe said as I reached the top.

“I’m a busy bee Babe, you should know that.” I sat next to the man, who perched on the edge of the bunk.

“Oh, bunk beds.” I said bouncing up and down on the mattress, it squeaked under me.

“Saved you the lower bunk under me.” Babe told me. I smiled at him, giving his hair a tousle.

“Ah you’re a sweetheart.” He grinned at me. I glanced across the room to see Don standing on the far side looking out the window smoking. A solemn expression visible on his features. I watched him just smoking.

“He’s been like that since we started coming from Rachamps.” Babe whispered to me, I nodded agreeing with him. I don’t know what happened. Was it because he knew I was ok, he finally let himself process. If that was the case I feel awful, they were his friends before I was close with them. I let it cloud my thoughts so much I couldn’t even ensure that he was fine. Now he’s stepping back from me, is that what he wants? I need to talk to him, but I can’t get him alone at the moment, now that he’s a ranking officer it seems like everyone needs to talk to him. I have barely been able to have a moment with him without someone else requesting him. They obviously take priority over me. Babe’s hand landed on my knee giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’ll find some time.” He says as if he can read my thoughts. I nod, turning my attention back onto the conversation the men are having as they all lie on the bunks. I’m so excited to be able to sleep on a bed with a pillow and sheets. Even if it is some crappy thin mattress, better than the cold hard floor.

“Oh My God! I forgot to say, you’ll never guess what Webster said to me.” I announced to the group. They all waited for me to tell them. “Well firstly he was like, ‘when did nurses work on the front?’ So I corrected him. But then he said, ‘oh yeah I remember you, wow I’m surprised you’re still alive’.” I waited for their response, my mouth open to show my shocked face.

“What?!” Babe said from beside me.

“You’re joking?” Grant asked, I shook my head.

“That cheeky fucker.” Lieb growled.

“I know! I was like excuse me! Rude!” I scoffed while laughing. “I think he’s being put with us.” I also told them, a collective groan echoed around the room. I laughed at their enthusiasm.

“Oh speak of the devil.” I motioned with my head to the door, as Webster and Jones wandered in looking dazed.

“Hey, guys. This taken?” He asked about the top bunk no one had claimed yet.

“Go ahead.” Rameriz told him, lying down on his own bunk. Webster threw his bag onto the bed claiming it for his own.

“Sergeant, this is Lieutenant Jones, just assigned to 2nd platoon.” Webster informed Malarkey. All eyes were on the pair. The men in the corner who were helping themselves to hot drinks and standing around the heater, eyed up the young Lieutenant.

“Malarkey, platoon Sergeant.” Don said.

“Congratulations on the battlefield commission.” Jones said, reaching out his hand to shake Don’s. I watched as Malarkey glanced at the outstretched hand looking confused.

“The what?” Malarkey asked, shaking his hand.

“They’re making you an officer, no?” Jones inquired. Lieb sniggerd into his cup, as Webster turned around to glare at him. Realising too late that Lieb was just fucking with him.

“Me? No.” Malarkey chuckled, looking back to see Grant and Lieb trying to hide their grins. “You must be thinking of First Sergeant Lipton.” Jones and Webster share a glance, clearly Webster had passed on the information that Lieb had given him this morning to the officer, only to be very wrong. Webster gave a defeated shrug and shake of his head.

“My mistake.” Jones apologised to Don. “So you’re without a platoon leader?”

“No, not anymore, Lieutenant.” Don said to the officer.

“Right.” Jones nodded as if he seemingly forgot his rank. “So do you want to introduce me to the men?” He asked. Don gave him a tight smile, he was busy and so were the men.

“Well, some of them are sleeping downstairs. The rest are right here.” Jones glanced around the room looking at the men, who gave him small nods as they made eye-contact. His eyes landed on me, I gave a small smile.

“A female.” He said, looking at me. Don turned around to look at him. “Our medic, Emily.”

“Odd for a female to be on the front.” Jones said without thinking. The chatter ceased in the room, waiting for him to say something else.

“She’s a good medic, we’re lucky to have her.” Don said, sending me a smile. I grinned back appreciative of his defence.

“What? Is it be mean to Emily day?” I whispered to Babe, who just chuckled, shaking his head continuing to read the comic he had picked up. Jones cleared his throat moving on from the awkward conversation he’d started.

“Sergeant, a patrol’s being planned for tonight 0100 hours across the river. Regiment wants POWs for interrogation. What’s the situation?” Jones asked, the men moving their conversation somewhere more private, away from listening ears. The men all looked pissed, they again were being chosen to go on an attack.

“Hey Web. Come here. I just want to talk to you for a sec” Lieb pulled the man from over by the window. Webster seemed rightly suspicious of Lieb’s motives. “Why?” He asked, resisting Lieb’s arm that snaked around his neck trying to drag him elsewhere.

“Come here, You want some coffee.” Lieb offered as he ushered him to the bunks Babe and I sat on.

“No.” Web said, stepping out of the man’s arm.

“Is this kid out of highschool yet?” Lieb asked Webster. They both looked over to the young officer who was speaking with Malarkey.

“He’s out of West Point.” Webster informed the men.

“West Point?” Lieb asked. I have no idea what West Point is.

“Isn’t that where Ike went?” Jackson said from above me, spread out on the top bunk.

Babe, now more invested in the conversation, put down the comic I was reading over his shoulder. Lieb stood right in front of me as he spoke to Webster, I couldn’t see anything past his butt. I leaned more into Babe so that I didn’t feel like I was being suffocated by Joe’s ass.

“Yeah he actually graduated with his son.” Webster confirmed Jackson’s question.

“Shit, so ah… what do you know about this patrol thing?” Lieb’s true motive revealed themselves, his cunning ability to coerce information out of you.

“Uh, nothing.” Webster lied. I laughed, shaking my head. Oh poor sweet Webster you can’t get out of it this easily, not with Lieb you can’t.

“Oh, come on, Web. You gotta know something.” Ramirez adds to the peer pressure.

“I don’t.” Webster turns away fiddling with his bag.

Lieb spits on the ground, I nudge him with my foot, mouthing gross. He just smirks at me.

“Bullshit.” Lieb says. “You were there right? At the CP?” Chuck moves past us heading for the exit.

“Hey, Chuck, Listen to this.” Babe calls to him, he stops to listen. McClung sits beside Babe as we scooch down the bunk to make room.

“Come on, Webster, spill it.” Lieb is persistent with his interrogation. And now with everyone gathered around eager to hear, I’m sure he feels even more pressured. I can see his eyes finally give into it.

“Captain Speirs is to pick 15 men. Lt. Jones wants to be one of them.” Webster casted his gaze to the man who still spoke with Don.

“I say let the kid go. He could use the experience.” Lieb said.

“Probably could find 14 replacements to help him out.” Ramirez grinned.

“Why are you holding out on me? I know you know.” Lieb grilled Webster.

“Just give us the names, Web.” Ramirez and Lieb had him backed into a metaphorical corner.

“Who?” Lieb asked.

Webster glanced around all of us, our eyes trained on him, he had the answers. We waited patiently knowing that Lieb and Ramirez would break him at some point.

“There are three men here in this room that they think should be on the patrol.” Webster started.

“Who?” Ramirez asked, was there a bunch of owls somewhere? I laughed at my own joke. Babe gave me a weird look, wondering why I was chuckling. I’m funny ok! I cleared my throat paying attention again to the conversation.

“Well, if I tell you, you can’t let on that you know.” Webster stalled.

“Your secret’s safe, Web. Who is it?” Lieb promised. I almost laughed again, as if he would keep his mouth shut for Webster. But Webster was gullible enough to believe that Lieb would have his best interests at heart. Webster glanced at Babe sitting next to me. Babe shook his head, he didn’t want to be chosen, he was waiting for his name not to be called. I tensed, I wasn’t particularly keen on any of the men being sent but especially not Babe.

“Yeah, Heffron.” Webster confirmed our fears.

“Aw, shit.” Babe groaned, dragging his hand across his face. I sighed along with Babe who looked disappointed. This time I was the one to give him a pat of reassurance on his leg. McClung, who sat on his other side, threw an arm around his shoulders.

“McClung…” Webster continued, Earl also groaned in annoyance. Babe slapped his leg, in a well-were-in-this-together-now way.

“And you.” Webster said to Ramirez, looking equally as disappointed as the other two.

“He want any other guys from any other platoon?” Lieb asked, looking down into his cup of coffee.

“No, no. I don’t know. Not that I know of. Look, that’s all I know, I’m sorry.” Webster rambled on, trying to prove to Lieb he didn’t have any more information for him to draw out.

I almost leaped off the bed when Don yelled, “Listen up!” I grabbed onto Babe's arm out of instinct. Covering my heart with my other hand, to stop it jumping out of my chest.

“Got some bad news. There is a patrol set for tonight. And so far, Speirs wants McClung–” Don told the room. But was interrupted.

“We know.” McClung told Don.

“Yeah, we just fucking heard. Webster here told us.” Babe blabbed, so much for keeping it a secret. But Babe and Earl never made any promises to the man, only Lieb.

Don answers the ringing phone, mumbling into it. He hangs up quickly, having more information to give us. “The PX rations just came in, including winter shoe packs.” Don informs us.

“Beautiful.” Ramirez says sarcastically.

“Yeah, finally right?” Don agrees.

“Good of ‘em, now we’re in a nice warm house.” Lieb adds.

“Also we get showers.” Don tells us. I gasp so loudly everyone stares at me. Pure delightment on my face.

“We get showers!” I say excitedly. I feel like I can bounce off the walls. A shower sounds amazing. I make quiet screaming noises. I feel like a kid on christmas. Everyone watches me have my mini celebration. I stop mid party, “Sorry, I’m just really excited to have a shower.”

“Yeah, no we can tell.” Lieb laughs at me, patting me on the head.

“You’re so cute!” Babe teases trying to pinch my cheeks, I fend him off. Before he can reach me the distant sounds of explosions boom through the room. The sounds of whistling are closer, the sound of a bomb being dropped in close proximity.

“All right, let's move! Clear it out! Move, move!” Don yells over the noise. We get to our feet, rushing out of the top room into the lower floors. Babe is behind me pushing me down the stairs faster than my feet can take me. We barge into the basement taking cover. Everyone yelling at everyone to get down, take cover, incoming. The bombs stop right as we reach the room. I laugh in disbelief of course it would stop right as we are safe. Everyone else had the same reaction, well except for Jones and Webster. They both looked like they were about to faint from shock.

“Showers let’s go!” Don ushered us out. I was quickly on my feet, yes showers, omg I want to wash my hair, and body. Omg maybe shave my legs with running water.

#guys just read it real fast #or don't maybe just pretend you did #the next couple of chapter are fun again #not just fillers #I know their good cause i cried while writing #which normally means they aren't boring #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #donald malarkey #hbo war #band of brothers imagine #fanfic #joe toye #bill guarnere #dick winters #emarkey #emily lane

39 notes · View notes

explorevenus · 2 years

Note

hey love <333 how about some eddie smut where he’s like ruthlessly rough? i can’t imagine him as the gentle type 24/7. i mean, he’s got to snap at some point.

hii love !! ♥ thanks so much for the request !!

ooooohh yes he's gotta snap eventually, and i imagine that when he does snap, he really snaps. he can't just let you get away with everything.

nsfw (18+) - minors dni !!

word count - 1.5k

warnings - master!eddie, sub!reader, spanking, restraint, degradation (involves use of the word 'whore'), edging, begging, creampie, orgasm denial

my masterlist ♥

fic under the cut, thanks for reading and i hope u enjoy !! ♥

It's probably safe to say you've been a bit bratty lately.

Juuuust a little bit.

Despite his outward appearance, Eddie tends to be an incredibly sweet lover, always checking in on you and asking if it hurts, and always careful not to lose control of himself around you, but... he isn't Superman, he's not infallible, and as you'd come to find out, there were certainly limits to his patience.

That's how you found yourself bent over his knee, his worn leather belt binding your wrists tightly behind you, your skirt hiked up to the middle of your back, and your ass bright red and stinging horribly as he spanked the absolute fuck out of you.

"E-Eddie--" You cried out at the harsh sound of yet another smack, squirming in his lap in a fruitless attempt to move away from him, your eyes welling with tears. "Eddie, t-the rings, it hurts--"

But he wasn't having any of that. He grabbed you roughly by your bound wrists, situating you right back where he wanted you, and once he was satisfied with your position, he spanked you again, twice as hard this time, a sinister laugh bellowing from him as you yipped in pain. "Yeah, I know it does," He scoffed. Smack. "Maybe you should have thought about that before acting like a bratty little fucking nightmare all week."

Your eyes screwed shut as you prepared yourself for another spanking, and surely it came, but to the inside of your thigh this time, worryingly close to your heat. That one really made you jump.

"I-I'm sorry, I was just messing around--"

Your words were cut off as the rough palm of his hand came down harshly on your embarrassingly wet cunt, thick metal rings and all, and you truly screamed. The pain radiated through you in a resounding shockwave, leaving pure fire in its path.

"Enough with the excuses," Eddie shouted, pulling you up by your hair with his other hand so that he could ensure your attention. "If you're going to act like you're sorry, then you need to get better at pretending like you really believe it. You're lucky I'm not using that belt."

Tears were flooding from your eyes and dripping down your reddened cheeks as you struggled to catch your breath through your cries. Of course the two of you had a safe word, and you knew he would stop if you used it, but there was no denying that you'd walked yourself into this. He needed to let you have it because you'd made him. Eager now to make amends, you took it obediently as he gave you the final few hits to your pussy.

At this point your legs may as well have been jelly already, making you a bit nervous as he lifted you from his lap and positioned you on your knees on the bed. You held yourself up as well as you could, although you were wobbling, and as you sought to fix your posture with your arms out of commission you found yourself toppling forward to the sheets. Eddie was quick to grab you by your throat, yanking you upwards and forcing your thighs apart with his knee.

"Stay," He growled into your ear, the hand that held your throat creeping upward, granting you a brief moment to catch your breath before he forced two fingers into your mouth. "Now spit."

Not that you had much choice in the matter. Promptly, you swirled your tongue around his thick fingers, wetting them with your own spit, and it was no secret why. As soon as he felt that you'd done enough, he withdrew his fingers from your mouth and traced a thin line of your own spit down your back just to taunt you, before thrusting them into your throbbing cunt just enough to spread you open for him. You keened into his touch, a string of unintelligible noises tumbling from your lips as he prepared you, your thighs shaking with strain, but you wouldn't dare disobey him now.

Your head was swimming already, but as he sheathed himself inside of you in one bruising movement, fingertips whitening with pressure over your hips, you lost any and all ability to think clearly. He loved having that effect on you, and he was good at it, and he knew it. As he fucked deeply into you with seemingly very little regard for allowing you to adjust to the size of him, you clenched desperately around his cock and the sound he'd made in response to that feeling was borderline animalistic.

You whined, wishing you could prop yourself up on your hands, but you were at his mercy in every possible way. "F-Fuck, Eddie--"

But he was quick to cut off your words by delivering yet another harsh spank, uncaring of the fact that you were practically already bruising. This time when you buckled forward to the mattress, he didn't stop you, he took advantage of it by pressing one hand into the back of your head, fisting your hair and pressing your face roughly into the bedding as he continued almost uninterrupted. "That's not my name, is it?" He sorely reminded you.

Shit. "N-No," You sobbed, tears collecting in your lashes until you could hardly see anymore-- everything felt so good, but it teetered on being too much, a fine line that Eddie had become adept at toeing-- and before you could properly finish your answer, he pressed you further.

"You know what my fucking name is, (Y/N). Say it."

Without a beat of hesitation, you whimpered, "M-Master."

"Louder."

Your lip quivered, heat pooling deeply in your stomach. "Master!" You cried, relaxing into his hold and thus fully giving yourself up to him, to his needs. Your chest heaved with a pathetic sob at the complete and utter sensitivity that occupied every inch of your inner workings, and the increasing difficulty of staving off an orgasm against his unforgiving treatment. After all, you knew well enough not to finish without permission. He continued to bore deeply into you, hips snapping forward with relentless fervor as he chased his own end.

"You're so fucking tight, baby... I bet you're close, aren't you? Practically begging me to fuck you full," He teased, drinking in every detail of your writhing body beneath him. Slyly, he reached over your hip to play with your aching clit, and you could have fainted from the sudden influx of white hot bliss. Your own arousal was dripping down your legs, that pressure in your core threatening to release with his every movement. "Beg for it," Eddie demanded. "I want you to beg for it like the whore you are."

Your lips parted in a quivering gasp. "Fuck, please, master, I-I'm so close, wanna cum with you..."

You thought that was pretty good, but Eddie was only further encouraged, fingertips printing deeply into your hot skin as he began to fuck you even harder. You couldn't help the choked weep that fell from your lips in response-- you could feel the way his cock throbbed within you, undoubtedly nearing his end, but he hardly showed it. Every snap of his hips had the swollen bulb of his cock prodding at your cervix.

"Come on, I know you can do better than that," He scoffed. "Pathetic."

Your ears burned in humiliation. It was difficult to come up with proper words through the thick fog in your brain, and surely he was aware of that. He was toying with you, dangling what you wanted right before your eyes but not letting you have it, just to watch you squirm and trip over your own tongue.

...One might argue that exactly that is what you'd been doing to him all week.

Tearfully, you slurred, "I-I want it so bad, master, please, I wanna cum with you, w-want your cum," Inadvertently you pressed your hips back into him. "I want it, master... please..."

He hummed, feigning consideration just to string you along, but he could only hold off his own peak for so long. Unfortunately for you, however, such gratification must be earned.

"That's too bad, isn't it? I don't think you deserve it," He mocked breathlessly, taking a fistful of your hair as the pace of his hips stuttered, and you felt a rush of warmth between your legs as he lazily fucked you full of his seed. "You're gonna have to take care of yourself tonight, sweetheart."

You were bawling, fists clenched behind your back as you went boneless in his strong hold and cried into the sheets. You were so close, and while it was a miracle that he was allowing you to finish at all in his current state of annoyance, it was unspeakably sore that he wouldn't be helping you himself. Trembling, worked up, and dripping with his seed, you resigned yourself to the cards you'd been dealt for the evening as he withdrew from you in his own time and casually reached for a cigarette, admiring you with dark, proud eyes, pupils blown wide.

#goddess on the mountain top #summit of beauty and love #venustext #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #sintext

877 notes · View notes

intothegenshinworld · 2 years

Note

Hey since we already had used to luxury reader how about a complete opposite

A reader who was used to barley making the ends meet

Ps sorry for bad lenguaje English isn’t my first language

No worries! I could understand what you wanted to say! :D Hope you like it!

Note 2: Idk might have included too many people. I didn't know how to tag this bc there were so many but sksksk I hope this is okay

Normally you don't spend a lot of money on clothes and luxury stuff, only when you needed it.

Your most prized possession was your phone. Not only could you contact your friends but you spend many hours playing Genshin.

The game really helped you on your bad days.

It distracts you and you love the characters. You feel as if they truly understand you and will remain there, no matter how bad things will get.

When you were playing the game and your screen died you freaked out.

What were you supposed to do without your phone?

Shortly after your phone breaks, you black out. Or at least, that's what you think happened.

When you wake up, you feel like you're laying in clouds. The bed is so soft and warm, silk sheets are draped over your figure and you're wearing new clothes made from the best materials.

When you see Ningguang walk in with Ganyu and Keqing you're in shock. How did you get inside your favorite game? Meeting your characters was possible now so you won't complain!

The Qixing take good care of you when you first wake up. There are a bunch of new clothes to choose from, and while you're grateful for so many clothes, you stick to choosing one outfit.

When learning that you're God!Reader you're so shocked, because why would you be a god?

When you get hungry you don't need to cook. Within minutes someone else is prepping the best meals for you, providing you food until your appetite has left. No longer do you need to worry about money either. Teyvat will gift you everything you need,

You're still getting used to this luxury, yet you keep accepting the gifts Childe brings you. Each one is personally chosen by the Tsaritsa, and sent from Snezhnaya to Liyue. Childe is a harbinger carrying out his duties as a diplomat, yet when you accept the gifts he can't help but be selfish and believe that your smile is meant for him, instead of the Tsaritsa.

During your stay in Liyue, you'd continuously get spoiled by the Qixing. If you tell them your concerns about money, they would reassure you that the mora is well spent. Ningguang would keep sending you the best outfits, hand-tailored with the highest materials just for you to wear.

When you meet Zhongli he too would show up with something valuable. He doesn't have money, yet he always has something to give to you. He ends up telling its history as well, keeping you for himself as the two of you share tea.

Xingqui as representative of the Feiyun Commerce Guild and practitioner of the Guhua Clan would visit you as well. Amongst the gifts of the Guild is his own book. He considers it a personal gift for you.

When you head to Mondstadt, the Acting Grand Master Jean would request that the big clans in Mondstadt send representatives to give you their welcoming gifts.

The Adepti would express their gratitude for your presence. Their gifts might not be as 'expensive' as Ningguang's but hold more meaning. You'd probably end up with some relic Xiao gifts you for protection.

Diluc would give you a few of his finest bottles of wine and would make room at the Dawn Winery should you request to stay over.

The Lawrence clan had some disagreements but at last, Jean had asked Eula to represent their clan. She'd be nervous, not wanting to offend you with her words. When you finally arrive you would tell Eula that meeting her was the best gift. She'd start to stutter and fumble over her words after that.

Later in Inazuma, you'd be welcomed by Ayato and Ayaka from the Yashiro Commission. As Cultural representatives, they'd make sure your welcome is as spectacular as can be. Thoma would be there as well, following the orders that Ayato gives him.

There are some members of the Knights of Favonius that would go out of their way to welcome you. Yet Kaeya, Lisa, and Albedo were the only ones who got to spend time alone with you.

The Tenryou Commission would be there as well. Not interacting with you but focusing on your safety. Kujou Sara would lead this department. If you choose to personally thank her for her hard work she'd act as if it was a normal thing to do, yet from the inside she's screaming because you gave her your attention.

When you arrive at the Tenshukaku you meet Ei, who came out of the Plane of Euthymia to personally greet you. She wants everything to be perfect and requests you to start wearing inazuman clothes.

Overall you'd get spoiled everywhere. You might need some time to get used to it but they will never stop loving you.

849 notes · View notes

tehriel · 1 year

Text

Commissioned (Terzo x Reader x Sodo)

It is completely finished!

Blurb

Reader is afab nonbinary.

Against your better judgment, you take on a portrait commission with suspicious beginnings. You are an atheist thrust into the world of Satanism as you meet and paint for the earth's most charming antipope. Will you walk away with your worldview untainted? Or will your little chats with Papa Emeritus the Third leave you changed forever? And what of his ghouls~? —Who is that in your motel window your first night in town?

This fic likes cheeky banter, discourse and character driven plot. It's an extremely slow burn featuring Terzo, Sodo—and a little Swiss. It’s about 110k words to get lost in~

You can find the piece here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44321002/chapters/111461152

Below is the first chapter! I hope you like it :3

Chapter 1 - A message from the clergy

[Message from the clergy]

Dear ______

I am writing regarding a one-on-one portrait our clergy would like to commission. I am attaching a calendar. Would these dates suit you?

In his name,

Sister Imperator

Ahoy!

Sister Imperator, thank you for your interest in my work. I have attached a pricing sheet. If pricing is okay with you, then we talk about dates.

-_______

[Message from the clergy]

Dear ______

We have seen your work, and we want you regardless of cost. Do any of these dates suffice?

In his name,

Sister Imperator

Thank you for getting back to me so promptly, Sister.

I recently had my schedule cleared, actually. Any of those dates should suffice. Depending on size, I will need two to four separate sessions with the model, rounding up to about 10 hours for a small piece going upwards of 18 hours in person for bigger. It's all in my pricing guide.

If it is interstate, I will need lodging. It is my personal preference that I do not stay with you in your home, of course. And finally, I would like half up front and half once the painting is completed.

If these conditions meet your expectations, I have attached my contract.

-_______

[Message from the clergy]

Dear _____

We look forward to meeting you at the Mountview Cathedral next week.

In his name,

Sister Imperator

***

Fuck. It was a drive. It was a whole long ass drive with hours to contemplate just how many red flags you ignored in taking the job. It’s not like you had a choice; you needed the pay. You didn't want to admit it, but you also needed to get out of state.

‘Sister Imperator’ had been weirdly pushy and lightning quick to respond—you had to hard ignore the alarm bells ringing. It was difficult, almost as if your right ear had developed tinnitus as some physical manifestation of alarm. There was a low tuning-fork hum reading over each email.

You thought you might scare the sister off with your prices; most people saw your work online and how effortless it seems in your time-lapse videos and happily told you to go to hell after seeing your prices. Making those videos look effortless took a lot of time, practice, student loans and editing. Then there were the travel expenses. People just don't do sit-in portraiture anymore. And for a good reason, you would have to be a little insane to pick it up.

Most people had you paint from photos, which was fine and a staple for your income. But meeting a person and painting them, knowing a facade of them, and there are many facades to a person—just hit differently. And the job came with such an eccentric clientele; you'd painted a man who wanted to pose in a suit made of squirrels, a woman and her five Pekingese all in matching attire. Once, your commission was gifted to an old person to be painted amongst the forest they had saved. They had wanted to be seen as a fairy. It was beautiful. That all seemed so far away now.

You glanced at a sticker pasted in the window of the gas station. It was going to be one of those kinds of towns. It read, ‘they will rise again.’ Crucifix and all. You adjusted the enamel pronouns pin on your lapel. Both the sticker and your pin said ‘they’; maybe these people would be open-minded kind of rise again.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I use the key to your bathroom? The door said to ask,” your voice came out shitty and meek. You were just tired.

“Rightio,” the gas attendant was an older man. He was chewing something—surely not tobacco. He passed over the key; it had a hefty wooden tag to save anyone from making off with it. “You got gas?”

“Uh yeah, number 3, thanks.” You put the key in your pocket and felt his eyes dip to your chest.

“Oh.” He said, as in, ‘oh, you’re one of those’. So it would be like that. “Here you are. Gas is on me, kid.”

Or maybe it wouldn’t be like that? Nope, he handed you a pamphlet that said ‘Mountview holy trinity’. “Oh.” You said, as in, ‘oh, you’re giving me a pamphlet on a religion that could probably hate me.’ “Thank you very much—I am actually painting for a church in town, so that’s..” you didn’t need to tell him your whole thing, but you had, and you were.

“Not that damned cathedral,” he eyed you warily.

“No, I don’t think so, no….” you waved off. Yes, that one, whatever that meant. You knew Catholics and Christians were not really into each other, but you’d thought most of the vitriol had been lost to history. Then again, you were beginning to think this town might have been stuck in history, like a mosquito in amber. You watched him chew. “Cool, I’ll, uh, see about this.” You pointed to the key. “Thank you again for the gas.”

The worst part of the entire interaction was coming back to him after your stop to the bathroom. You had to return the key and inform him that someone had overflowed the toilet.

***

You had to tilt your head to take in all of the cathedral. Something was off about it; maybe it was darker than you were used to, most cathedrals were gothic, but this was gothic in italics. It was jagged and waiting.. for something. Or maybe there was something off about all churches with inflated infrastructure. Maybe you should have 'inflated’ your prices. You binned the thought as soon as you had it; money and asking for it… made your skin crawl sometimes. The pricing sheet asked for the money for you, so you did not have to.

You rubbed your right ear as it had decided to start ringing again.

“You must be ______,” came a call from the entrance while you were wrapped in the tallness of it all. She was an older woman, her hair greying and pulled back. She had the shape of a kindly woman but with something cold creeping into her smile.

You felt your car keys in your hand. You could still deny your name and drive as many hours as it took to return home. You could shake a pride flag at the church’s face and run for the hills. You squeezed the keys for grounding before slowly delivering them to your pocket. “I am,” you heard yourself say. It'd been a while since you used your voice; why did you think it would be deeper? Commanding? Noticeable. You cleared your throat. “Yes, are you Sister…” fuck, you had forgotten her name from the emails. Super professional of you.

“Sister Imperator, yes, it's a pleasure to meet you. Come, follow me; I'll take you to Papa.”

You were about to thumb over to your shitty van where all your supplies were hiding, 'I need to set up, where can I…’ and/or 'I've been driving for hours and would like to know where I'm staying so that I can freshen up,’ all died in your throat as the woman turned around. You had no choice but to follow her into the building.

“Is ‘Papa’ the person whom I will be painting?” You asked, catching up, absently shining the ‘they/them’ pin on your overalls. Saying ‘Papa’ as a full-grown human being clenched something within you—and not in a super good way.

“Yes, Papa Emeritus the third, he ascended to the ranks of Papa as of last year and has not yet had a portrait painted for the hall.”

You heard most of what she had said, only then noting the Italian accent. You admittedly spent more of your time openly gawking at the ceiling, then gawking at the stained glass windows and the paintings. Did they have the right painter? You had confidence in your work, but these were named artists, named. Masterworks. You made a ‘ffff’ fizzling sound as you held back swearing in a holy place.

Holy place. The iconography only then caught up with you. That was a lot of cloven hooves for a holy place. “That's nice,” is all you thought to say faintly. ‘That's nice he ascended to the highest of high unholy ranks, good for that guy.’ A kind of peace came with the satanic-ness of it all. At least you could flap all your favourite pride flags, and no one would bat an eye. Would they?

“Yes, I understand our ways might not be for everyone, but I hope you will give him your utmost respect, regardless.”

Your head snapped back from scrutinising passing satanic depictions for signs of gayness. “I am always professional regarding belief systems; it will not affect the outcome of my work.” ‘Unless you somehow turn out to be a nazi,’ You added silently.

“Good, good.” She seemed to smile genuinely before the cold crept back into her face, sending a chill to your spine, “This is his office here. He knows to expect you. I hope together you'll make something beautiful for our church.”

Why did everything she had to say creep you out like that? “I will do my best to do that,” you nodded and held yourself back from using a thumbs-up to secure the awkwardness.

“I will find you before our mass to give you the directions to your motel,” she nodded and began walking away. “Again, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

You could read people well; maybe she couldn't. You were shitting yourself, being left in the dead centre of an unknown church, about to bother the head of the said church, without backup. “Pleasure meeting you right back,” you grinned nonetheless with your super normal situation. It's called masking, baby~

Her clipped footsteps began disappearing down the stone-tiled hallway. When silence fell, you could really take in the surrounding church ambience. Yep, it was a church. The incense smelt of something in your childhood. The eyes of statues and portraits looked down on you as if they knew you were not supposed to be there.

You blinked at the aged wooden door; it was detailed with a plaque that read ‘Papa Emeritus III’. This was the most uncomfortable opening commission you've ever been through, and one guy wanted to show off his dead arachnid collection to you. Maybe it was more of a tie then? You swore quietly to yourself before you knocked on the door. The hollow knuckle-on-wood sound gave you flashbacks of a principal's office.

“Not on a mass night,” came a slow answer and a slight groan.

You folded your arms and frowned at what that could mean. Outwardly you looked like a person annoyed by the woodgrain of a door.

“I feel you judging me, Sister,” his voice was an ashy sound. “My days before mass are my own, si?”

What does an unholy minister do a day before mass? Some search answers in your mind come up lewd, and others come up sadistic. You look up and down the hallway for Sister Imperator. Then and there, you were a child lost in a supermarket. You sighed softly and remembered you were an adult in an adult situation. “Sorry, I'm an artist—your, uh, Sister said you were expecting me.”

“You’re sorry you’re an artist?” Came the voice on the other side of the door.

“Eh, I have my days,” you shrug.

The ashy voice on the over side of the wood seemed to enjoy that, with a huff of laughter.

He had a nice laugh, smoky. Maybe painting this ‘Papa’ guy wouldn’t be so bad.

“Give me but a moment, artist. I have to make myself, eh, decent.”

Lewd. Definitely lewd; that's what satanic priests do before mass. “Oh, sure, good. Yep.” You stepped far away from the door to give him privacy. “Take uh, your time.” You did not feel like painting someone half way through the job. Standing so long for a painting while being irritable and unsatisfied does not a good portrait make.

You turned on your heel. You went for your AirPods, played something thrashy to mimic the surroundings, and began treating the area as you would a gallery. Ahead you saw the dancing sunshine of windswept branches through stained glass. You stepped into the light and let the colours paint you in rainbows. The lead lighting portrayed an angelic person with arms around a small boy. It could have passed for any religion—save for the smeared Latin and small horns on the child’s forehead.

“Are you supposed to be here?”

“Cheezus, chrimany!” You flinched, pulling a bud from your ear. A shorter masculine figure had suddenly appeared in your peripherals. His voice was marred by the fabric and metallic devil’s mask he wore. The mask must have been a church thing—were you supposed to be masked?

The green eyes behind the mask squinted in amusement.

“Were you just waiting to do that or..?”

He shook his head innocently, “are you supposed to be here?” He asked again.

“I really don’t know at this stage, is anyone supposed to be anywhere?” You pulled a straight face, and he tilted his head slightly, “I’m painting a ‘Papa’(?) or supposed to be. You're not him, right?”

The figure dressed formally in all black and suspenders shook his head slowly. He had a lean figure, kind of like a short, straight stick. It was a nice stick.

You appreciated him for a moment, figuring out his shapes and lines before you realised what you were doing and grimaced to yourself. You did that often. Intimidated by the shiny mask, you hid in humour, “And you,” you gesture around, “you supposed to be here? If not, I could keep a secret,” you winked and tried to be playful.

“I am supposed to be here,” he answered, not entirely playing into your shenanigans.

“Ah,” you nod sagely. You looked around, realising your new companion wanted to stay and watch you. “So this you then?” You point at the horned baby in the led lighting and back to his horned mask.

He smiled then, not that you could see his lips, only hear it in his, “no.”

“Oh?” You arch a brow and point to the blackened scripture, “says right here, this be the baby who would sneak up on people admiring its own depiction.” You tapped the glass like you knew what you were talking about. As if you were not just wasting time. As if you weren’t waiting for your satanic portrait model to finish fucking maybe nine people in the room down the hall.

The devil saddled closer to you with a sly look, “So you read the dead language?”

“It's not dead; it's right there.”

He huffed slightly. “What is your name? For the registry.”

“I was supposed to sign in?” You frowned.

“You were signed in, whether you know it or not, which means you're protected while you're here.”

Protected from…? You bit your lips together; why did he seem more sinister than before? “_____ ______,” you replied, trying to read what lay beyond the mask. “And yours? Something in the old language? Something with no vowels and a couple hissing noises?”

“Sodomiser,” there was a slight growl in his throat.

You nodded profoundly, “Oh, like, you just put that right out there, huh?” That was like calling yourself by your kinks, ‘hey, I'm buttstuff’ or ‘hey, I'm one of those pink flamingos you find on front lawns.’ Could happen. “Did I pass your registration, uh, Mr Sodomiser?”

The red light of the window glinted in the mask as he nodded, and you were suddenly captivated by the reflection. It would be interesting to paint, but the lighting was fleeting. Taking that moment in paint would be impossible. And you were then aware of how close he lingered; if he wasn't wearing a mask, would you have let him so close? He seemed to want to scare you, and you weren't impenetrable, but masks didn't scare you. It was what lay underneath that was genuinely terrifying. Wait, was he sniffing you? “Call me Sodo.”

“Can do,” you rapidly turned back to the window and shoved your hands back into your overalls, suddenly self-conscious about how a drive like that would leave you smelling. “Uh, am I supposed to be wearing one of those?” You figured to ask while watching the leaves shift in the wind before gesturing to where his mask had been moments ago but was then missing. You looked around curiously; the guy had just… vanished.

“Ah, you must be my eh, little painter,” came a voice through a mist of incense from down the hall. “Sorry about that… uhh…” he ended up shrugging.

“Oh.” Was all you had to say. As in, ‘‘oh’, that's what a Papa of a satanic clergy looks like.’ He was not much taller than the masked man that had just left you, but the popey hat did lend to height. He was dressed rather popey all over, with a long, dark cloak patterned religiously. He had a simplistic skull face paint; it was fresh, and you could only imagine how it looked moments ago. “Yes, I'm ______.” You offered a professional handshake—people liked those.

“I'm Papa Emeritus, the congregation calls me Papa, so please, call me Papa.” He took your hand in his in a way you weren't expecting, lifting it to his lips. You only then noticed his heterochromia as he captured your eyes in his, one eye stark white and the other shifted green to hazel in the rainbow bath of the window.

“Oh, okay,” not missing a beat, you took his leather-clad hand and bowed to kiss the back of it.

He lightly cocked his head as you returned his hand back to him.

“Thought we were just…people don’t return the kiss?”

“No, not usually.”

You nod slowly, “it doesn't seem fair though. Was it… nice anyway? Or are you more give than take? I'm sorry, I'm not sure how to act. I've done religious portraiture, sure, but….”

“Does our church scare you?” He raised his chin and bored into you with his white iris. “It’s not often Sister looks outside the congregation for hire.” His Italian accent brought a musicality to his words.

“Scared? Not really, but you seem….” You gestured around, “like a Pope? Like a lot bigger of a deal than I am qualified for. That’s a big deal,” you point to the elaborate painting your painting would supposedly share a wall with, “that looks like a huge deal,” you address the window. “Just look how I talk, that’s not really.. this..” you floundered with your hands again.

“Big deal, eh?” He relaxed and shrugged a little, “Sister usually knows what she likes, and she likes you, but you are correct; this is a huge deal,” some of his words sounded like growls. It wasn’t temperament, it was animal. His robes billowed as he stepped to take in the stained glass beside you, “do you know the story of Archon the fallen?”

You shook your head and looked up into the eyes of the angel. You couldn't place gender upon them, which was comforting somehow.

“It is said that after the bible age, prophets became obsolete. Who would believe them after all, hum?” He raised a brow at you, his hands clasped behind his back.

You looked away shyly; you didn't mean to oppose his belief system, but you don't get to choose what you believe in, and for you, it was nothing.

“We have newer stories from a war waged between heaven and hell in the after. In this one, the archangel Archon fell to protect what hell believed would be their next weapon. A prince of hell. Atmos.”

“Weapon… That’s a kid.”

Papa Emeritus smiled slightly, “Archon felt the same; as a testament to free will above all else, Archon saw the child their people were fighting to kill and found him blameless. The child was yet to be any kind of weapon. Archon believed no one decides our future so they saved and hid Atmos. Granted him free will to become a weapon or not, and for it, their wings were stripped. Archon stands for the ultimate rebellion, that fate is a lie.” He growled the word ‘lie’ in a way that ran through your gut.

“Mmm, that doesn't seem so scary,” you said softly, looking into the angel’s face for a new perspective.

Papa turned, and you shared a look. You saw a shimmer of the facade you would paint.

Then you blinked, “but I somehow have to create a painting that can share a wall with that.” you flailed a hand at only the most incredible stained glass window ever.

“I am telling you, if Sister thinks you are able, you are more than able. Come, I know a place where you can set up.”

***

“So how would you like to be seen, P-papa?” you stumbled with his name because, honestly, it didn't want to come out of your lips.

His makeup skewed as he quirked his brow at your slip-up. You’d already had him move through poses and had taken photos for him to see. Your mirror was set up, your canvas… The room you were set into was a study—you think. There was a desk, an eclectic collection of skulls and bones, bookcases and an ornate chair. Taken from behind the desk, the chair was something akin to a throne.

“I am unsure what you mean, caro Pittore.” He leaned against the desk beside you and was peering at your phone. He seemed to know how to pose for a picture, but a painting was different; you had to be comfortable with no intricate hand gestures you could not hold for hours. Definitely no arms out.

“Suppose it's for your clergy. How do you want them to see you, powerful, infallible?” You skip past photos taken early on where it seemed he wanted to claw at you through the camera with the golden-tipped fingernails attached to every finger of his leather gloves.

“A storyteller?” you asked simultaneously as he said, “fuckable.”

“What did you say?” He asked.

“I said storyteller, you told me a story out there, I know it's not your whole being, but it's the facade I have of you, and it was nice… I think I know what you said, but run that by me again.”

“I said, fuckable,” he admitted, “inviting, you know? This is a house of sin, si? I want to invite sin.”

You slowly looked up at him from your phone. And blinked. “You want me to paint you a calling card?”

He smiled slowly. “Non?” He said in a particular way that meant he very much wanted you to paint a calling card.

“I can do it,” you suppose, “now how fuckable are we going? I've painted boudoir before, never a religious figure but, first time for everything.” You sat upon the throne and made a boudoir pose. “oh, or this…” you showed off your buns riding the throne backward and looking back at the mirror in your super attractive stained overalls. “Ooo, ahhh, so fabulous.”

“Okay, okay, I see,” Papa chuckled. “Take a couple steps back, a storyteller, huh? You said it is a facade? I’ve been called alotta things, but not storyteller. Books are more the cardinals thing.”

You stop posing, “Yeah, it comes with the job, right? You stand up before mass and tell a proverb, tell what you see in it, add a dash of charisma, and make it alluring; I can’t paint all of you; of course, I can only paint what I see. People are diamonds, multifaceted; this will be one facet or façade—of you.” And you had just gone on a passion rant in front of a new client. You internally grimaced.

He looked into the middle distance in ponder before responding, “I like alluring,” he admitted.

You realised you were just putting on your usual act for your client to make them feel at ease in the space, but he was really looking at you. You realised how you were sitting, realised the silence and moved more meekly away from the throne. “Then take a seat, Papa; make sure you're comfortable.” His eyes were on yours as he passed. His warm shoulder slightly brushed yours as he took his throne. At first, he was just sitting, then looking in the mirror, he arranged his robes, shifting his legs apart to rest a hand on his thigh and lean back in his chair.

“What do you think, caro pittore? Does it say, eh, let Papa tell you a story? Is it alluring? Hmm?”

You felt your ears go pink, “Yes, all of those, but this hand,” the one not welcoming the viewer to his thigh, “it's not really—” He touched it to his chin, and you shook your head, then he touched a finger to his mouth, “still… oooo, skull.” You hurried over and picked up a very human skull. “Something with this.” You passed it over, and he held it in one palm. “Oh, I saw this piece on Pinterest where there was a rosary coming out of it, not that we have to physically do that; I can add that later. But it means I can draw attention to your… ‘not-crucifix’(?)”

“Grucifix,” he quietly corrected, eyes following you around the room as you inspected for props.

“Oh, you learn something new every day… uh, is this important?” Sat on a tall bookshelf was a helmet like the one the man in the hallway had been wearing. You shifted a wall-riding ladder to get a better look.

“It's one of the masks our ghouls wear.”

“Does it seem like something you want to be portrayed with?” You moved your head to watch the sheen before taking it down towards Papa. You wanted to paint the colours of the stained glass window in it.

“I know what to do with it,” You were hyper-aware of his movements as he took his hand away from his thigh and received the mask from you to put it beneath his boot before replacing his hand.

“Uh, not a fan of ‘ghouls’? What are they about anyway? I met…..” you then pulled a straight face knowing what you had to say, “I met ‘Sodo’ in the hallway earlier.”

“I hope he, eh, played nice? I love my ghouls, and sometimes, they love being stepped on. They’re something like the church’s protectors; some help lead our rituals.”

Your brain was left behind when he admitted to stepping on ghouls. “Oh, good. Good, good, good, good, good. Yeah, he played.” You supposed.

“Sodo is… how to put.. eh uno stronzo corto--small and fucking angry,” he laughed sympathetically.

You hadn’t quite got angry from Sodo, maybe a bit cold. You snapped more photos on your phone and were reviewing them when you felt Papa come in close behind to look. He was quite a curious man. For some reason, the incense peeling off his body didn't seem stuffy when it often did for you. You could also smell the leather of his gloves.

“You, uh, like this pose?” He asked about the one your brain decided to stutter on, his voice lower with proximity.

“Yeah,” your voice was faint before returning to yourself, “yes, the background and the lighting just need some adjustment. In the afternoons, we should get some nice lighting through that window; I'll bring some diffusers.. maybe something coloured to mimic the stained glass outside.” You looked up and found him staring at you with his mismatched eyes.

You paused.

He paused.

“I should…”

“You should…”

You weren't about to be caught in another spider’s web. “I should grab my equipment. You’re going to be stuck in that chair for a while… go, you know,” you gestured about, “whatever you need to do, give me an hour or so,” you nodded and gave Papa a sparkly thumbs up.

“hmm, I wasn’t wholly thrilled about Sister making this appointment, but uh, it seems I am changing my mind.”

“Good, we like a willing participant,” you said with all your sparkly masking ignoring the mood he was trying to set. Keep up the energy, keep up the image, keep up the unthreatening. Hide your teeth. Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it :3

109 notes · View notes

namelessokami · 6 months

Text

I have to make a guide for my technical writing class final, right now we're in the research phase. So I need as many people as possible to tell me what they either want to know or wish they knew. Once I finish I can make a public version for anyone to use.

Quick note: I am not going to include a portfolio guide as there are already many excellent resources out there and they change based on the types of work you are looking for. This is general freelance work on social media.

Even if you don't answer, please reblog! I need a decent reach to see what I should include! :)

#art #commissions #poll #research poll #idk what tags are good for this

30 notes · View notes

copiousloverofcopia · 2 years

Text

When You Wake Up

Terzo Fluff trade (SFW) for the amazing @inf3stissumam 💗

-Terzo x Reader

-reader is not described and no particular pronouns used so everyone can enjoy a self insert ☺️

Also available on AO3. Asks and requests are open. For Commission hit me up (on that site that looks like a heart mug, user copiousloverofcopia)!

Hope you all like it 😊

The room is pitch black and quiet, and the peaceful embrace of silence having finally overcome you. As the night settled in, you had fallen asleep waiting. It had been a very long week while Terzo was out traveling to promote the band’s upcoming tour.

For months leading up to this recent trip, you were always by this side. Every practice, every meeting, every argument between him and Secondo about how things should go–all of it. You grew accustomed to being on his arm through it all. The memories of him belting out lyrics to his new songs as he serenaded you in your bedroom were your constant companions while he was away. You were ever so proud of him.

The new album was something he worked so hard on, his need to prove himself to his family and the church weregreat. He had poured his soul into it. Terzo was so excited to share it with the world. To show them that Papa Emeritus the Third was a man of virtuosity and charisma. Your Papa was someone worthy of their admiration.

So when he told you he would be leaving soon, it had come as no surprise, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. There would be more nights like this. Terzo would only be home a few short days before the tour would begin. You were going to have to get used to the emptiness in the bed the two of you shared.

Without you knowing it a couple more hours had passed and you were out like a light, laying in bed. You were awakened by the sound of your books, you had used to distract yourself, tumbling off the side to the floor. The noise startled you, making you flinch. “Oh no, I am sorry I woke you. I was trying my best to let you sleep.” Terzo said, his hand resting gently on your shoulder.

The sound of his voice in the darkness, soft and musical, like the gentle strum of a guitar–intoxicating. It brought you such relief knowing he was finally home. "I am sorry I am so late, the ghouls were a handful getting through airport security….it was a lot, I won't bore you with the details–Omega may have bitten someone, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, my love, again I am sorry to have awakened you.

“It’s ok, I must have fallen asleep waiting–” you began, Terzo's brows furrowing at your words.

“Waiting? Tesoro, I told you not to wait up for me.” he sighed, turning the lamp on the bedside table on. Terzo smiled, seeing you laying there, the dimly lit room illuminating your shape under the sheets. He climbed over you to place the gentlest of kisses on your forehead. Deeply inhaling as he did, the scent of your shampoo filling his nose for the first time in days. He was just as happy to see you. He laid down, nestled up next to you beneath the covers, his elbow bent and his head resting in his hand.

“I know you said not to, but I couldn’t help it. How am I going to get through this? I can’t stand it. Every second that has passed without you herethese last few days has been torture. How am I going to make it through an entire tour?” you asked him, your eyes glossing over with unshed tears.

“It is not forever, tesoro. I will be home after a few weeks. You know I will always come home to you.” he reassured you. You smiled back at him, knowing he meant every word that left his lips. His word had always been his bond and for you of all people, his candor fully on display.

“I know.” you sniffled, him pressing his lips into a tight smile. He could tell it was hard on you. It wasn’t the same for him, not because he didn’t long for you just as much as you did him, but because he would get so engrossed in his commitments to Ghost and to the Ministry that he didn’t get the luxury of dwelling on anything else. He pulled you closer to him in the bed, holding you in his arms.

He was warm and you could hear his heart beating within his chest. A crescendo, sounding off as you nuzzled closer to him. His embrace was unlike any other. You melted into those strong arms holding you and the softness of his lips, as he gently kissed the bare skin of your shoulder, flooded you with happiness.

His chest hair tickled your nose, Terzo chuckled watching the sensation making you twitch. You giggled right along with him, the tender moment between the two of you sending your heart soaring. He brought his fingertips up to your jawline, pulling you to face him. He wanted you to look into his mismatched eyes, to see the sincerity in the words he would begin to speak.

“Listen to me. I want you to know something…you're ready to listen, si?" He asked you. His tone was reassuring, making you feel comforted and protected. In his arms you were safe.

"Uh huh." you agreed, smiling at him through your tears. He smiled back, wiping them from your cheek, his fingers grazing along the side of your face.

"I adore you above all things, tesoro. There is nothing that could keep me from coming home to you. My entire world is right here in this room." he vowed, his soulful eyes staring deeply into yours.

“I just want to be with you, please stay here with me as long as you can. I'm so afraid to fall asleep. What if I fall asleep and wake up to you being gone–gone all over again. I need more time with you.” you cried.

Terzo had been trying hard not to, but your undying love and devotion to him in your eyes along with how beautiful you were took over. He kissed you fully on your lips–pure serenity the feeling of him there. The moment, a bit bitter sweet, but one you were grateful to have. When you pulled away to face him once more you were overcome with emotion. You buried your face into the crook of his shoulder and his embrace surrounded you.

“Shhhh…that is not going to happen. You rest now, tesoro, I will be here when you wake up.”

#terzo #terzo x reader #ghost fluff #sfw #nongender specific reader #ghost fan fics #ghost #papa iii #papa emeritus iii #ao3 writer #ao3 #ren writes

571 notes · View notes

sunnyrealist · 4 months

Text

Chapter 21: Melting and Melding

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Chapter Background and Summary: Sebastian and Kate are definitely a couple now. He asked if she'd like to accompany on him on a weeklong trip to the Highlands, since she will soon be on her summer holiday and he will have a rare week off of work. They decide to go on a date in Hogsmeade that night, thinking it might be fun to see the village so lively with all of the students celebrating the end of term.

Pairing: Aged-up, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x female OC (Kate Mayflower)

Content warnings: Dirty thoughts, trauma. In general, this story is rated 18+, so MNDI!

Art credit goes to Giselsann. Check her out if you're looking to commission some fan art @giselsann-opencommissions!

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3 (link is posted below). Any kind of constructive feedback would be greatly appreciated. A comment, like, or Kudos would make my day!

Chapter 21: Melting and Melding

Their lips finally separating, both Sebastian and Kate slowly open their eyes again.

“I’ll see you very soon,” Kate tells him. “And don’t dress too formally. It will be casual in the village tonight.”

Sebastian goes in for another kiss because he just cannot help himself. Then, he holds her gently to his body. “I love you, Kate.”

“Love you, too,” she murmurs. “Bring clothes for tomorrow, alright?” There’s a glimmer in her eye when she smiles.

“Yes,” he replies, grinning as he understands exactly what she is implying. He finally lets her go. “Yes, I will.”

Kate opens the door for him, which Sebastian had swiftly repaired after their official house tour. It had concluded in the living room, where the shattered stained glass covered the floor just a few steps away in the foyer. It had been forgotten since the night before - they had been rather busy.

Sebastian doesn’t budge but simply gazes at her for a minute. “You’re so beautiful - you know that?” He pauses, watching her blush. “I still can’t believe you’re mine.” The light from a cloudless sky brightens around her yellow hair, almost like a halo. He reaches up and brushes a few strands of hair behind her ear. “You’re my sun.” He leans in close - close enough for her to feel his breath on her ear, and then he softly presses his lips to hers again. Whispering, he tells her, “I don’t want to leave you for even a minute.”

Kate chuckles quietly. “I don’t want that either, but I think you could use a change of clothes. And perhaps a shower. No offense.” She smiles. “Even I need some time to do the same.”

“Alright,” he finally concedes. “I’ll see you at thirty past five.” He steps outside.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow,” she quotes, wondering if he’ll understand the reference to the famous muggle play. It certainly feels like the balcony scene at the moment. Sebastian grins but shows no recognition. There will be plenty of time in the future to introduce him to Shakespeare, she thinks.

Sebastian turns around once more and waves before apparating away.

Sighing, Kate closes the door and heads into her bedroom. There’s so much to do in such a small amount of time. The sheets absolutely must be washed after what happened this morning. She’ll need to shower, hurry through her beauty routine, choose clothing, and more. She sits for a moment on the chair in her room and determines an efficient plan.

The grandfather clock loudly chimes five times, causing Kate’s heart rate to increase. She quickly pats the last of the cream on her face, then rushes out of the bathroom stark naked and scurries to the closet in her bedroom.

This will be the most difficult task of all - choosing a dress. It can’t be too fancy. Which flatters her best? Is there a certain color she should pick? She ultimately decides to stick with yellow, her favorite color - the one that Sebastian associates with her. She grabs a golden dress with blue polka dots scattered throughout and pale blue leaves adorning the top of the bodice. If she adds a blue ribbon to her hair, it will come together perfectly.

Throwing the frock on her bed - which still doesn’t have freshly laundered sheets as they are still hanging in the backyard - she goes to her dresser and fishes out a blue ribbon. Rushing back into the bathroom, she styles her hair half-up, half-down, tying the ribbon into a bow to secure a tiny ponytail.

Lingerie is an easy choice. A pale blue corset and lacy knickers with dainty little bows match her dress just right. Examining herself in the floor-length mirror, she admires her choice as she strings up the corset, lacing it as tightly as is comfortable. Her arse is mostly exposed, as the underwear doesn’t provide much coverage there. He’ll love that, she thinks, smirking to herself and reminiscing about their morning activities, when he grasped her cheeks hard and panted loudly as she rode him.

Just as she buttons up the bodice of her dress, there is a knock at the door. Shit! He’s early! She has no choice but to rush to open the door. Barefoot, her feet plod across the wooden floor.

The moment Kate opens the door, Sebastian steps in and pulls her into a kiss that leaves her breathless.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against her ear. “I know I’m early. I couldn’t stand waiting around…”

“It’s alright,” she replies softly, then pulls back to look at him.

Sebastian’s short chestnut hair is mostly slicked back, much more kempt than usual. He wears a white collared shirt under a brown vest and suspenders, which, considering the warmth of the day, is just right.

“You look very handsome, my moon,” she praises him, not hesitating to use her nickname for him; it’s beginning to become natural, easy.

“And gods, you look gorgeous, my sun,” he remarks, staring at her openly.

“So… I’m… I’m not quite ready yet,” she says, scrunching up her nose with a twinge of anxiety. “I still need to put on a few more things, and I never got the sheets off of the line in the back. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not your fault. It’s mine. I just… I can’t help myself when it comes to you. I knew the risk when I arrived early. I don’t mind waiting - or helping, if you’d like. Do you want me to get the sheets?” he asks, hoping to be of service.

Kate smiles, seeming surprised yet delighted. “Erm… yes! Yes, please… if you don’t mind.” She hands Sebastian the basket and watches him head back outside.

Realizing she has only a short amount of time before he comes back with the sheets, she dashes into her bedroom again, rustling through her dresser for blue stockings, pulling them on quickly and attaching them to her panties.

Sebastian returns, emerging into the bedroom with a smile and a full basket as Kate slips her boots on.

“Shall we fix up the bed?” he inquires, taking the bottom sheet out and handing her one side of the crisp white fabric.

Together, they put the bed back together, just like a married couple. The comparison doesn’t escape Kate’s notice.

Grasping the bouquet of sunflowers Sebastian immediately purchased the moment they stepped into Hogsmeade, Kate grins excitedly at all the hustle and bustle in town tonight. She meets Sebastian’s eyes.

“Thank you for dinner,” Kate says gratefully. “It was nice to not have to cook tonight.”

“Of course,” Sebastian replies. “I want to treat you so much more, though. Whatever your heart desires - just say the word. But for now, let’s get something sweet.”

He ushers her into Honeydukes as the sun begins to set. The lanterns in the village are beginning to light up.

Inside, the sweets shop is filled with students desperate for one last taste of their favorite sweets before it is too late. Kate waves as one of her seventh year student helpers from the library approaches, looking between her and Sebastian curiously and mischievously.

“So, is this the boyfriend you’re always daydreaming about, Miss Mayflower?” she asks, giggling. Then she quickly turns to address Sebastian. “She’s always staring into space and smiling, you know.”

“Hortensia!” Kate shouts, blushing furiously.

The student simply smirks and rushes away, calling out, “See you on Monday!”

Sebastian simply laughs as Kate huffs and puffs in disbelief.

There’s quite a line at the ice cream counter. They finally manage to order a hot fudge sundae to share after fifteen minutes of waiting. Sebastian carries it outside while gently grasping Kate’s hand, using his shoulder to open the door for her.

Luckily, a pair of students are vacating a small table just as they step outside. Dusk has fallen, and the string lights provide a rather romantic atmosphere.

“Oh, bollocks,” Sebastian frowns as they sit down, quite displeased. “I just realized I forgot to ask for an extra spoon.”

He gets up, ready to brave the Honeydukes crowd again, but Kate reaches across the table and gently pushes him back down to sit. “Don’t worry - we can just share the spoon, Sebastian. We planned to share this sundae anyway, right?”

Kate giggles as Sebastian feeds her the first bite of the sundae, and then laughs as she takes the spoon and does the same for him. The joy of magical ice cream is that it doesn’t melt for some time, so they’re able to just sit and enjoy themselves, chatting and people watching, instead of hurriedly shoveling it down.

“What kinds of things did you do in Hogsmeade when you were a student?” Kate asks Sebastian, amused by the antics of the students of varied ages passing by them. They’ve seen a lot in the half hour they’ve sat outside - couples letting go of their inhibitions in public, first years skipping down the street happily, some fourth years setting off fireworks, and lots of drunken seventh years - some laughing, some absolutely bawling, realizing that this is truly the end of their carefree days before saying goodbye to their friends and entering the workforce.

Sebastian sits back and smiles, going through his memories. “When my sister was well, we would go to the Three Broomsticks with our friend Ominis and get butterbeers. It was a great stress reliever. Sirona was great fun to talk to. She had the best stories and could brighten anyone’s day. Sometimes she’d give us a free round.” He takes a bite of ice cream, letting it melt in his mouth while he considers what else to share. “When Anne got sick, I usually shopped for things that might help her. I bought a shrivelfig here once, in hopes it might alleviate some of her pain for at least a little while. I had to special order it.” After a moment, a big grin comes over his face. “Did you know… that another student and I once took down a troll here in town?”

Kate coughs, shocked. “What?!”

“It’s true!” he laughs. “My friend Ruby was new to the school, and I brought her to town to get supplies. There’s… well, there’s really a lot more to the story, but to keep it short, a troll got into town and was wreaking havoc. Officer Singer was nowhere to be found - what a useless woman - so we took it upon ourselves to help. You wouldn’t believe all of the nice things the shopkeepers gave us afterwards.” He chuckles. “I felt so damn proud.”

“That’s madness!” Kate exclaims. “Nothing like that ever happened to me! And thankfully so!” She chuckles, then takes another spoonful of ice cream and becomes more thoughtful. “So… how are your friends these days? Ominis and Ruby?”

Sebastian looks down, not speaking for a few moments. When he does, he’s quiet - very difficult to hear. “I don’t know.”

“Surely you'd keep in touch if they were your best friends…” Kate suggests.

He shakes his head, frowning and looking distressed. “No. No, I haven’t.” The conversation has clearly taken a serious turn. “I… I don’t think they even know I’m out of Azkaban. It’s for the best.”

Kate feels hurt for him. “How could that be for the best? Sebastian, I’m sure they still care about you…”

He sighs. “All I did was make their lives worse. I’d hate to- to do it again. To d-disappoint them again.” His voice breaks.

“Worse? That can’t possibly be true, Sebastian.” She takes his hand.

“You don’t understand,” he replies softly. “My fifth year - I- I wasn’t myself. Things got so bad, Kate. The moment I got my hands on that bloody ancient relic, it was over. Our lives were destroyed because of me.”

Kate’s eyes are trained on her lap. “But before that… you were great friends. At least with Ominis - didn’t he live with your family?”

Sebastian nods, looking away.

“I just don’t know how you can believe you’ll disappoint everyone,” she replies sadly. “I mean, if you really think that, then why start a relationship with me?” Kate scoots her chair close to him, putting her hand under his chin and having him face her. “You know the truth. Sebastian, you’ve changed. You’re not an angry, reckless boy anymore. You’re a man who has had a lot of time to reflect. You’ve learned from your mistakes and want to do better. To do good. And I love you for it.”

He doesn’t respond but faintly smiles for a brief moment.

“You should reach out to them,” Kate suggests gently. “At least give them the choice of whether to correspond or meet up with you again.”

Sebastian sighs, and after several moments, he replies, “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know. I’ve just spent so long thinking they must hate me. I’ve never considered otherwise. I’ve thought that for many years now. I… I need some time to think about it.”

She nods and kisses his freckled cheek. Kate sits directly next to him quietly, holding his hand until the rest of the sundae melts and all that’s left is soup. Sebastian spends the time silently considering where his old friends might be and what they might be doing. Perhaps Ominis had been forced into an arranged marriage with a cousin by now. Maybe he’d even have children - as much as he didn’t want to produce any more Gaunts. And Ruby - who knows? She could be anywhere, doing anything with her powerful and rare ancient magic. Maybe she finally found some answers to her endless questions. He hopes so. He wishes them both well.

Eventually, it grows dark. Crickets begin to chirp.

Kate finally breaks the silence. “Let’s have fun the rest of the night, yeah?” She stands up, pulling Sebastian with her. “I’m sure the traveling band has started playing by now. Shall we find them?”

He suddenly slides his arms around her and hugs her tightly. “Thank you. For understanding that I needed a minute there.” When he lets her loose, he says, “Yes, let’s go on. I’d like to dance with the woman I love.” He kisses the top of her head and allows her to lead the way.

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x oc #post azkaban sebastian #hufflepuff x slytherin #aged up sebastian

19 notes · View notes