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viviennevermillion · 10 months

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love languages

✧ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: hsr debut post, hope this does well. i'm only at chapter 2 part 1 so pls bare we me. (gn!reader), aeons can walk among mortals for this

✧ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: bloom in the dark — emorie

✧ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ: blade, dan heng, jing yuan, luocha, march 7th, nanook, yaoshi

✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: some angst & hint at character death in blade's because i'm still figuring out how to write anything but angst for a character whose main objective is that he wants to die, i had way too much fun making the aeons eldritch

✧ giving: gifts

As much as Blade loved you, as much as he treasured the memories he shared with you and as much as he'd hate to cause you pain or grief; you were all too familiar with his predicament. You had been ever since you agreed to stay by his side, to love him for as long as you had together. That was the price you'd pay for loving a man who considered himself dead in spirits already. A shell of who he once was.

Part of him felt guilty for indulging you; how could he call himself yours when he'd take the exit from his cursed immortality if it presented itself before him tomorrow? How could he promise you his heart if he couldn't promise you a future?

He knew there was a chance he might outlive you by centuries. He knew there was a chance he'd say goodbye to you in a month. Still, you were willing to be with him, through all the uncertainty.

So he gifts you things to remember him by, should he part from you too soon for your liking. Some of them were expensive; after all he had more than enough life behind him to no longer be bound by material limits. Some of them were simple trinkets or flowers he preserved using glycerine. All of them held meaning but the overarching message was: "We were born in different times. If it were for the natural order of things, we never would have even met. I've been suffering since long before I met you. And yet, curiously, despite all; I treasure every moment I had with you. I'm glad to have loved you."

✧ receiving: physical touch

One thing Blade would have never expected when he met you; but was more than glad to realize, was that you could make him forget his anger and pain, even if it was for just a while; even if it always inevitably returned.

He loved falling asleep in your arms. It was the closest thing to the peace and salvation he craved that he could currently have. For just a few hours, he was content. He had forgotten what that felt like.

He loved the feeling of your fingers carding through his long, dark hair. And you loved the smile you so rarely saw on his face when you did this. Blade's breathing would calm and he'd nuzzle your neck as he was being held in your arms.

Blade also loves waking up in the middle of the night, feeling you shift in bed beside him and pressing a few lazy kisses to his lips before he fell back asleep.

He loves the way you tend to his scars, how you seem to wash the pain off his body with your caring touch; despite feeling guilty for how he has made you worry again. You'd end up disinfecting and bandaging his wounds and sometimes he had to chuckle at how you treated him as if he was fragile, despite having likely seen more hardships than you could ever imagine.

✧ giving: acts of service

Dan Heng doesn't really know how to express his love for you at first so he defaults to helping you out however he can.

He helps you with little jobs around the Astral Express and loves to team up with you for any missions or chores that fall on both of your plates.

Especially with all the knowledge he gathered from the archives and basically living in there; he's more than ready to help you figure out any mysteries you encounter on your journey with the Astral Express.

If he needs to explain anything to you or answer a question you have about stuff like the Aeons or any factions you encountered, he'll often pull you onto his lap at the desk and show you important info about it in a book or online. "I hope I could answer your questions. Did this help you?", he then asks you, looking into your eyes. "Yup!", you shoot him a smile and give him a quick kiss to the lips which leaves him blushing and just staring at you for a while.

"Hey, Astral Express to Dan Heng, you still there?", you chuckle and wave your hand in front of his eyes. He just blinks like, twice and then picks you up bridal style: "Come on, let's figure out that task Himeko gave you." He's just trying to distract from the fact that you flustered him.

Sometimes he tries to cook for you. The emphasis is on tries. You'll walk into the train kitchen and he'll be there stirring something in the frying pan and glancing at a recipe. "What are you doing there, love?", you ask and kiss his cheek. "I'm making lunch for you", he states and you hug him. "Aww, that's so sweet of you!", you press a few appreciative kisses to his lips, "wait why does it smell burnt?" "What-"

✧ receiving: quality time

Dan Heng is what we call 'a good listener'. He's not the best conversationalist but he likes to hear you talk and he remembers stuff you told him that even you have forgotten about until he one day just brings it up out of nowhere.

He loves to spend the time between trailblazing expeditions just hanging out with you. You check your phone and receive a text from him like "Hey, want to come over to my room? 🫀"

"?" "March told me that I should add a heart to my messages to make you feel more loved. Did I not do it correctly?" "Dan Heng, sweetie, no..."

You enter his room and he has made you two cups of coffee, the only thing he's actually good at "cooking". The two of you have decided to watch a movie and lay down on Dan Heng's mattress. "I can feel the bones in my back snapping in half, how do you sleep on this?", you raise your eyebrow. "I don't think it's that bad", he mumbles, seeming lost in thought.

While watching the movie, he has his arms wrapped around you. His only opinion about it is "it was good".

Also enjoys playing board games with you, specifically card games. You're pretty equally matched so there's no telling who wins this round. When he wins, you ask him what he wants as a reward and he just gives you a soft smile and tells you a kiss will do.

✧ giving: physical touch

Jing Yuan is a fairly affectionate man behind closed doors. He doesn't leave for work without giving you as many goodbye kisses as you want and doesn't let go of you throughout the whole night while he sleeps. You could get up and grab a glass of water from the kitchen, as soon as you return, Jing Yuan wraps his arms around you once more; even when he's in deep sleep.

He enjoys just sitting idly with you, both of you doing your own things and he's just holding your hand or has a hand resting on your thigh. He also loves when you lean your head on his shoulder and as soon as he feels you do that, he turns his head to place a kiss on your forehead.

Sometimes you'll be reading a book while sitting between his legs and he ends up pressing multiple kisses to your cheek or trailing them down your neck. He smiles against your skin everytime he does this. He's not always seeking to touch you but he has his clingy 10 minutes where he wants attention and sometimes that happens to interfere with whatever it is you're doing at the current moment.

Most of the time you can't resist indulging him and just kissing him for a while, burying your hands in his hair or cupping his cheeks gently.

✧ receiving: quality time

Jing Yuan loves those days on the Xianzhou Luofu that are so peaceful that he gets to spend the entire day with you. You decide to take a nap during noon, falling asleep in his arms, listening to his steady heartbeat. You feel Jing Yuan press a few soft kisses to your forehead while you're dozing off.

When you awake, he's no longer next to you. You get up and find him in the kitchen, preparing a late lunch for the two of you. You wrap your arms around his waist from behind and glance at the frying pan to see him fry some eggs.

You hear a chirping sound and fish a small finch out of your boyfriend's hair. "Don't worry you, we're not grilling your brethren", you whisper softly and put the bird on the windowsill, "fly free, my little friend." The bird lifts off. You raise an eyebrow at Jing Yuan. "Was this the last one?"

He chuckles. "Should be." This at least gives him an excuse to take a bath with you and maybe you'll volunteer to wash his hair. He loves the feeling of your fingers brushing through his hair and just relaxing and letting you pamper him. "You know, if that's what you want, you can just ask right?", you remind him, "you don't need to call your woodland friends for help." Jing Yuan just laughs and gently guides your chin closer to his face so he can kiss you softly.

He enjoys playing chess against you, though you tend to suggest to play a die-based game instead so you can win by having good luck, because Jing Yuan has several centuries of chess practice under his belt. "You know that still doesn't mean you'll win", he watches you unpack the Ludo game with an amused expression. "I have good luck, I got you after all", you say confidently. "Well I've heard an old saying from a distant planet that when you luck out in love it means you have bad luck when it comes to games", he argues and crosses his arms with a smile on his face. You roll your eyes and he responds by kissing your lips.

Sometimes he watches you play chess against Yanqing. "Does it hurt to lose to an 8 year old?", he teases you. "Silence, Jing Yuan, you taught him this stuff." Your lover lets out a laugh. "And yet he still has so much to learn before he can beat me."

✧ giving: words of affirmation

When Luocha loves you, he doesn't hesitate to tell you. After all, his companion in the coffin consistently reminds him that life is short and he better have no regrets, should misfortune strike him tomorrow. Luocha adores you and in his mind, there's nothing stopping him from letting you know.

He's also a bit of a smooth-talker to you and you only. He never gets overbearing with his flirting, but you can expect a few cheesy compliments followed by a kiss to your hand. He'll pick you up for your date, takes your hand in his and leads it to his lips. "You're as beautiful today as the first time I saw you", he smiles and whispers against your skin.

Getting together with Luocha could take ages if you insist in knowing why he's being so suspicious first; but once you do he's ironically an open book for you. He has shared his greatest secret with you and you've given your hearts to one another, so why should he hold back now from telling you what's on his mind?

Sometimes his words are on the nose, such as cupping your cheeks and telling you that he loves you with all his heart or that he wants you to traverse the stars with him from now on. Sometimes the love he has for you is put into telling you how he remembers certain areas around the Xianzhou Luofu as "that place where you surprised me with a bouquet of flowers when we met up for tea" or "that shop where you almost made the coffin fall over". You learn with time that there are a lot of things he associates with you and your memories together.

✧ receiving: physical touch

Luocha loves your affections. He's the least grumpy man ever in the morning. You could wake him up at 3am for kisses and he'd be down for it. He loves when he wakes up and the first thing he feels is your lips on his cheeks or your fingers running through his long blond hair or your fingertips drawing circles on his bare shoulders.

He pulls you into his chest and you can hear his heartbeat while he holds you close. He lifts your chin up and his lips meet yours before he even opens his eyes. He kisses you softly, his tongue circling around yours as he tries to pull you even closer. "Good morning, my love", his voice sounds raspy before he presses a kiss to your cheek.

Luocha loves to take a walk through the city and hold your hand in his while doing so. He doesn't say it but he definitely melts if you stop your walk for a minute just to give him a hug or kiss him gently.

One time you get caught in the rain and Luocha finds shelter for the two of you under a secluded pavillion. You are cold so he wraps his jacket around you and holds you in his arms until the skies clear. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Are you still cold, my dear?", his voice sounds so soft and he gently squeezes your shoulder. You shake your head. He lets out a chuckle. "That's good, then", he replies before resting his head on top of yours and closing his eyes for a while.

He enjoys resting his head in your lap while you run your fingers through his hair. You might be busy with something else, not noticing how he smiles up at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen (you are). He eventually closes his eyes and rests his cheek against your stomach.

✧ giving: words of affirmation

March 7th talks quite a lot, especially if you were to ask Dan Heng about it. So if she's in love with you; her feelings are bound to slip out with her words. It wasn't hard for you to become aware of her crush on you because she just accidentally blurted it out one day. She was so happy when you told her you felt the same; even if this conversation was the furthest thing from planned.

March loves to explore the civilizations you travel to on the Astral Express and buying lots of souvenirs and clothes from there. So sometimes she'll drag you from shop to shop and often finds things she thinks would look good on you. No matter if you're wearing a fancy suit / dress or a 5 credit neon green "I survived the Belabogeyman attack" shirt from a shady souvenir shop, she hypes you up like you're on the front cover of a popular magazin.

"Aw look, you're so cute", she squeals and hugs you from the side, trying and failing to lift you up. There's at least 5 people in the shop staring at you and the shopkeeper glares at March, silently reminding her to keep her voice at an acceptable volume for a public building. "Oops... sorry", she cringes slightly and then turns to you again with a bright smile, "you should totally get this!"

Everytime you enter her room after a trip you find a new photo you took together on her wall. "Look at your smile on this one", she holds one of them up, "it makes me happy whenever I look at it."

Dan Heng told her to stop talking about you all the time so now she talks with you about you.

Definitely tells you she loves you plenty of times.

✧ receiving: gifts

March loves gifts. She's the kind of person who can't wait to open her birthday presents so you guys have to hide them from her every year; preferably somewhere where she can't reach or won't find them.

So when she receives gifts from you for no special occasion, she's gushing so much.

She loves flowers and chocolates. She definitely has a sweet tooth but will still share the chocolates with you. She is very interested in the meaning of the flowers you gift to her so if you can tell her about that, she'll be all the more happy. She loves romantic gestures like this. She has mostly read about them in romance novels and she's more than thrilled to finally receive them herself.

March also adores jewelry, whether you bought something for her or crafted it yourself. She'll wear it everyday and she's very proud whenever someone asks about it.

She posts about the gifts she receives in her status online as well. She'll be like "y/n got me this! 💓💓💓"

She dm's the pictures to Dan Heng as well and he leaves her on read.

When you gift her something, she gives you a hug and a kiss on the cheek before opening it. Once she opened it, she smiles at you brightly and kisses you on the lips. "Thank you so much for this!", she takes your hand into hers and squeezes it.

Receiving gifts from you makes her so happy. But being loved by you makes you feel like every day is her birthday either way. And for you, every day was March 7th.

✧ giving: quality time

Loving an Aeon wasn't the easiest endeavor. Especially not Nanook. But somehow you had touched the destructive god's heart and for the first time since they became what they were today, there was a life they wanted to treasure and protect.

They don't understand much about the human world as it was today, having mostly spent their time on a different plane of existence. It was only when they connected with you and took an interest in you; that they decided to walk among them for a while, to be able to spend time with you. At first their bitterness became apparent every day they spent with you, only scoffing at the people they saw going about their daily life and the things that they had built; which all would be wiped away by destruction if Nanook were to have their way.

But you took that as a challenge. You wanted to see if you could find something they liked about life, unaware that you had become that very phenomenon.

You made it your favorite pastime to show them all sorts of things from the material world and see their reaction to them. "What do you think of this painting?", you ask them, holding up a work of art you got from a market. "I'm not too fond of the sound it makes and the cosmic essence it depicts", they respond with a deadpan expression and you just look at them in confusion, "right, I forgot you can only perceive three dimensions."

Nanook, despite not letting it show, enjoys spending time with you; even though it could be challenging sometimes considering they were an Aeon and you were not. Sometimes they would ask you about things you couldn't see and other times they struggled to discern what things they saw you could pass through and which ones you considered "a wall".

✧ receiving: physical touch

Nanook loves your touch, much as they would like you to never notice that. They're not used to any physical sensations so they're very sensitive. They're unable to form coherent sentences when you so much as press a kiss to their lips. According to them it was very difficult to convey their thoughts in your way of speech when you were "trying to overwhelm them like this"

Giving Nanook affection also proved to be a challenge in more ways than one. The first time you tried to rest your head on their chest, your cheek touched the golden essence flowing out of them and you could perceive what you could only describe as the worst sensory overload anyone has ever experienced; a colorful mix of incoherent screaming and the faint sound of explosions; the feeling of all-encompassing despair and grief.

"What was THAT?", you stared at Nanook in shock, panting. "The entirety of traces left behind by destroyed worlds and ending lives from at least the last couple millenia", they answered very casually. You sighed and held your head, now suffering from a migraine. "At least it doesn't disintegrate me", you took a deep breath and started rummaging through your closet. "Only if I want it to", Nanook explained. "Charming", you whisper to yourself in a sarcastic way and toss them a shirt, "put this on."

Kisses are such a novelty to them. They're like "what was that?"

"Affection." "Do it again."

One time you pressed several kisses to their shoulder and Nanook just slow-blinked at you for like 5 minutes, before resting their head on your shoulder.

✧ giving: gifts

Yaoshi loves to bestow "blessings" upon you. Though, you have to teach them at first what you would consider an acceptable present.

The first one is immortality if you want it. Yaoshi would love nothing more than for you to be by their side forever.

Their next attempts at gift-giving left you feeling a little lost. They manifest before you, excitedly grabbing your cheeks and your waist and your shoulders with their hands and pulling you into a kiss. "My dearest, I made you a creature", they exclaim and reveal a Frankenstein-esque abomination the size of a volleyball. You can't quite discern what it actually is but it looks like an abstract mixture of a hamster, frog and a dragon. "Uh...thank you?", you try to be as polite as possible, unsure what to do with the creature as it spits a smaller version of itself onto your bedroom floor and then disintegrates. "It reincarnates out of itself", Yaoshi explains. "I can see that", you nod with wide eyes, patting Yaoshi's head.

One day, Yaoshi guides your spaceship to a distant location. "This is a planet I renovated for you", they join you as you land and explain their thoughts behind all the different new kinds of flowers they created specifically for you. "You're my greatest inspiration", they kiss your cheek and wrap their arms around you.

You eventually sit them down and calmly explain to them that one planet is more than enough and that you definitely do not need another creature. You teach them about your customs of giving gifts and they listen attentively. Maybe a bouquet of flowers would do next time.

✧ receiving: quality time

Yaoshi wants you to stay by their side forever. They perceive the passage of time very differently from you, yet they treasure and vividly remember every second by your side. Your bond of love is a sacred one in their eyes and they want to feel as close as possible to you.

They especially love talking to you and learning about your experiences that are so vastly different from their own. Despite being so intertwined with life itself; Yaoshi learns so much about life just from being with you. They never would have imagined you could give them so many new perspectives on the universe just by sharing your thoughts and beliefs with them.

Yaoshi always listens to you attentively and you see a sense of childlike wonder in their eyes when you speak about the way you experience the world, the things you value and the memories you treasure.

"Isn't it marvelous; how we see the world through such different lenses and are entirely different entities, yet we love each other so deeply and unconditionally", their voice sounds soft as they pull you onto their lap, holding you with their six arms and planting kisses on the back of your neck repeatedly.

Unlike Nanook, Yaoshi is very clingy. Quality Time with you always involves touching you in some way, be it kissing you repeatedly or holding you tightly within their embrace. Sometimes they sing you to sleep with a gentle voice, running their fingertips over your shoulder.

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cross-crye · 10 days

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𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔰

summary: twst & hsr charas with different soulmate au prompts that i think would fit them

incl: azul ashengrotto, idia shroud, malleus draconia, lilia vanrouge, aventurine, blade, jing yuan, sunday

wc: 0.9k

a/n: after an absolutely horrific year i'm finally back to writing!! got half a lifetime's worth of lore in what is essentially 2/3 of a school year lol. but hey at least i got some new lore, so what better way to celebrate that then writing abt my fave au?

monochrome vision

Even the most powerful of beings weren't immune to the effects of the passage of time. After spending such a longevous existence in solitude, enduring loss after loss at every step of the way, he becomes resigned to the notion of forever living in a grey-scale world. Perhaps he wasn’t meant for such luxuries. Perhaps he was one of the unlucky few who was condemned to a live barren of companionship and deeper meaning. He could only wonder in the late hours of the night, or in the lonely moments trapped within his own mind while sitting at his desk: ‘Just what sins have I committed in a past life in order to earn this karma?’ Imagine his surprise upon upon realising that perhaps he wasn’t fated for eternal despair and desolation, and that perhaps, he himself had a chance to experience true joy. As colours bloomed in front of his eyes for the first time in his life, one so long others would struggle to count it, all he could think was that perhaps it had truly all been worth it as he gazed at you, forever ingraining the details of your visage deep inside his memory, to be forever treasured as the face of his saviour.

lilia vanrogue; jing yuan

matching tattoos

Wearing long sleeves, covering up despite the less than optimal weather for such attire, developing and maintaining a preference for the indoors as soon as the temperatures start to rise; anything to keep that damned mark hidden away. If nobody sees it, it doesn’t exist. If nobody can spot it and remark a similarity, then its not there. As long as he can keep hiding the mark, he can keep denying the existence of his soulmate. To bear a curse such as his is an already horrific fate, he couldn’t allow himself burden anyone else with it. It was like a plague, it would only continue to spread and affect others, drag them down to the depths of despair; and for what? He couldn’t let his feeble desire for companionship be the reason somebody else lost their humanity. Yet when he found himself doubting his philosophy after bandaging your cut shoulder blades (curtsy of having fallen into a thorny thicket on your earlier walk that he begrudgingly joined you on) Spotting the familiar mark on you was something he hadn’t ever expected. His companion and dear friend had been his soulmate all along, a shocking revelation which had caused him to impulsively lift his own sleeves and point to the matching pair.

blade, idia shroud

interacting within dreams

That’s what you were to him, a dream. Something he could only long for and yearn with the entirety of his soul yet fail to reach every time he tried. Despite not having even see your face due to the dream’s magic, your presence was deeply ingrained in his heart. He had envisioned you so many times, imagined what you’d look like, wondering if you’d look as beautiful as you sounded. You would overtake every waking moment, for his dreams were no longer enough, he would daydream about you, and play your voice in his mind on loop, all he desired was to suffocate in your presence and truly surround him in a way his dreams of you never could. He memorised everything about you, from what you mentioned to eat for breakfast to your aspirations and moral philosophy. If simply thinking of you hard enough would have brought you to life, you would have been born anew countless times. He could only live on in a prison of longing of his own making, every moment increasing his desperation to finally meet you and escape his mediocre existence. His obsession ran so deep he could perfectly render your voice in his head and hear you talk to him of thinks you hadn’t yet said. He thought he’d finally driven himself mad with yearning, hearing your voice while awake even when he hadn’t been the one to picture it, only to turn to see you for the first time, the image of perfection that even he couldn’t have dreamt, finally complete.

malleus draconia, sunday

countdown until first meeting

The little wristwatch was what kept him going, seeing the numbers go down was his motivation to go on, giving himself a purpose despite his lack of one in others’ eyes. Knowing that out there there was somebody who could truly understand him, who could see his worth and achievements in light of his struggle. Early on he had been victim of the critique and ridicule, but the hope of one person’s existence in contrary to this fuelled him to keep going. To strive to be better, to do something better with the unfortunate cards he was dealt. What worth other’s pinned on him no longer mattered, and as long as the ever-changing numbers on his wrist would continue to decrease he’d continue to prove the world wrong about their initial perception of him. All his life’s work amounted to this, the fateful meeting with who was supposed to be his one true love. As he continued down the winding streets of the town he could only anxiously stare at his wrist, taking note of the handful of hours left. His distracted state however, lead to him making the wrong turn and the counter adjust itself, not even letting him take in the shock of seeing that it had now only read a couple of seconds as he immediately collided into somebody, gripping the stranger’s shoulders to maintain his stability. Neither of you processed the beeping sound of your timers as you gazed in each other eye’s awestruck at finally meeting your soulmate.

aventurine, azul ashengrotto

no reposting, stealing, copying, translating my works or feeding them to AI

reblogs, comments and likes are all highly appreciated

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cinnamonmilf · 2 months

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⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ rapid eye movement

summary: you meet ellie in a dream

cw: reader mentions she is an english lit major if u don't like it imagine she said it was the major of your choice, flirty friendship but no dating yet (repost from old account)

BEFORE YOU READ!!!:

WHY BOYCOTT TLOU PALESTINE LINKS DAILY CLICK

"Before you speak don't move 'cause i don't wanna wakeup"

The bright light was making it hard to keep your eyes open, not a single cloud in sight. It was a beautiful place, there was no denying that. Spring had always been your favorite season: leafy trees, blooming flowers, green grass and sunny days. If spring was a place, this would be it.

You decided to explore it, feeling the soft breeze on your skin. There was a big meadow, with a beautiful forest next to it. The bushy green trees complimenting the flowery field. There was something about this place that was so peaceful. Like you were the only person in the world and everything worked for you, rather than against you.

It would be a shame to leave so soon, so you take a seat in between the flowers and take everything in. How could a place so beautiful exist?

Your tranquil state is quickly interrupted by the sound of the grass and dirt being step on. You turn your head to see who the culprit is: a freckley auburnette with big green eyes and, for lack of a better adjective, an angelic face. You were prepared to snap at whoever had taken the sweet blissful state away from you, but after seeing her there was no way.

She doesn't say a word. She sits next to you. You'd usually not even consider just letting a random stranger make their way to you and sit next to you but this felt different. Saying that you had never met this girl before was an understatement, yet it felt like seeing an old friend.

Her presence was warm and pleasant, you felt safe.

"If you are interrupting my moment shouldn't i at least know your name?" you ask her with a playful grin.

"Fair enough. I'm Ellie." She chuckles.

You tell her your name and she nods in acknowledgement.

"We haven't met, have we?" you inquire.

"Not that I'm aware, but it-"

"It feels like it," you complete her sentence before she can, earning a smile from her.

"Well, l've never seen you around here. Think I'd remember a pretty face like yours," she says will a smirk on her face. You scoff in response, finding her antics amusing.

"It's my first time here," you explain.

"Hmm, when you'd get here?"

"What?" You ask with a puzzled face. And suddenly you realize you can't remember how long you'd been here, let alone how you got here.

Before she can even answer your question you wake up by the obnoxious sound of your alarm.

7:00 a.m.

The dream was uneventful, to say the least, but there's something about it that makes you think about it over and over again throughout the day. It was one of those dreams that bring you unexplainable comfort, like a tender embrace, like feeling like a kid again, like feeling some sense of home in there.

And, well, of course there was Ellie. You kept trying to think if you'd seen her before. Her face plagued your thoughts the most. You'd never seen anyone like her, you'd never met anyone like her.

Something about her made you feel like you could spend hours and hours with her and still crave her company. It was ridiculous, you'd spend time how long with her? Fifteen minutes? And yet, you'd never felt that way with anyone before.

Alas, it was a dream. Just a dream. She was just a beautiful entity your psyche had created. Maybe your brain knew it's what you craved and was cruel enough to give it to you in the dream realm, only to get it taken away.

You realized it was useless to dwell on your dreams, so you ended up putting the thought of Ellie aside and continuing your day.

That was, until nighttime.

The warm ambience surrounded you once again and before you could take it all in, you heard that raspy voice that had been echoing in your mind all day.

"You left yesterday," she said.

"Had to go to school." You giggle at her frowny face. She rolled her eyes at you.

"Yeah, well, I didn't get to ask anything about you." And damn her flirty tone because it made you weak in the knees.

"What do you wanna know?"

"Just tell me about you." She shrugged.

"Well, I'm 21, I'm in college, I like cats, reading, animals in general, l like the color green and...I'm pretty boring, don't have much more to tell you.” You chuckle.

"I like green too."

"Really? That's your take on what i said?" You laugh.

"What was I supposed to say?" She protests with a laugh.

"Whatever," you roll your eyes at her now. "What about you?"

"Well, I'm 22, I'm also in college, I like space, science, comics," she tells you, not really sure what else to add on to the list.

"Space?"

"Yeah, like, planets and stars and Nasa and shit."

"Nice, is that your major?" you inquire further.

"Yeah, astrophysics.."

"Just how smart are you?" You ask. Frankly, surprised by the girl.

"Shut up." She laughs. "What about you?"

"English Lit." You explain.

"Suits you."

"Is that good?"

"Yeah, it's good." She responds with that cocky smile that you have grown to love in a couple minutes.

She had a sort of charm you hadn't really seen elsewhere. It was quite boyish and youthful. She had you a little mesmerized. It was quite stupid, considering you barely knew her, but it was true.

"Do you-" and before she could finish her question, you were once again sucked out of your dream.

You groan in annoyance. Annoyed from being woken up, but mostly by the cold morning air reminding you once again that she wasn't real.

Your brain was creative, you'd give it that. Astrophysics is something you didn't even know you could come up with.

You do the whole thing again. Get up, brush your teeth, go to school, try to pay attention to school even when you all could think of were Ellie's freckles and her peachy lips and her pretty dark lashes and the way she had a bun this time, rather than the half-up half-down hairstyle she had last time. Also, about the fact that she was going to ask you something. What was she going to ask you? You could only hope you'd be blessed tonight once more and be able to dream of her.

And so as the sun came down you prepared yourself to go to sleep.

"Please let me dream of her," you thought to yourself. Pleading your subconscious mind.

You don't know when you finally fell asleep, but you were once again in the forest you had began to grow fond of.

"You have a tendency of leaving mid conversation."

There she was.

You turned to face her, "I don't really control it, you know?" You laugh.

"Yeah yeah, whatever."

"What were you going to ask me yesterday?" You ask as you softly kick her foot with yours, an affectionate gesture.

She looks down at your feet, pleased by it. Did the smirk ever leave her face or was it permanently there?

"I was asking if you have a boyfriend."

"Boyfriend? Ew no."

She laughs at your frowned eyebrows and your disgusted face.

"So you like girls?"

"Why? Are you gonna ask me out?"

You'd later cringe at your own question once awake. How on earth was she supposed to take you out?

"Maybe." She said nonchalantly.

"Right. Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Not to worry, all yours."

"You are kind of cocky, do you know that?"

"Oh, come on, you like it."

"Do I, now?" You ask with an incredulous chortle.

"I mean, you do get nervous every time, so l'd say so." She shrugged.

You could immediately feel your cheeks heating up. How could a girl make you lose your composure so easily.

"You are so annoying," you said, to which she just laughed.

Night became favorite time of the day from then on. All you did was repeat the cycle everyday: wakeup irritated, hope your day passed as quick as possible (not without reminiscing of your dream all day long), and go to sleep in hopes of dreaming of her again. And again.

And again. Which, to your surprise, you did. Every single night you dreamt of her.

Somehow your dreams went from feeling like minutes with Ellie, to feeling like a hours. In which you talked about everything.

She was the most fascinating person you'd ever encountered. She was smart as hell, funny, kind and of course, had that little cockiness that never really left her side. Which -she was right- you did really like.

Your dreams had always been quite vivid, but you had never appreciated it until now. You were able to really examine her face, hear her voice clearly, see the detail on her tattoo. You'd feel her hand against yours when you walked around the place, or her hair on your fingers as you raked them through her hair when she'd lied on your lap. Nonetheless, it was always accompanied by that soft and warm glow that came with the dream. You could only imagine how much more you’d cherish it all in real life.

And that was the problem. You were completely and absolutely enamored by a girl in a dream. A girl that didn't even exist. But how could you go on with your life knowing you'd never find anyone like her, knowing the perfect girl for you was nowhere to be found?

Life started seeming unappealing to you. Taking class, hanging out with friends, going out. None of it made sense. All you could think of all day long was the night. Every single hour you spend awake seemed like one more hour of you and Ellie being apart. It was eating you alive and you were allowing it.

As dusk arrived you went straight to bed and let yourself fall into a deep slumber.

Your favorite girl was there, waiting for you. You went to hug her. Ellie hugged you back, allowing herself to relax into your arms.

"Missed you," you whispered.

"You say that everyday," she chuckled.

"I miss you everyday," you giggled in response.

She took your hand and the two of you began your stroll. Admiring the trees, the lustrous pond, the flowers. It never got old.

Today you were telling Ellie about school. You mentioned how you'd lost interest lately, not really bothering enough to commit to your studies as you used to.

"Why's that?" She asked.

"I don't know. I don't really care about much lately. Not school, not my friends, not reading." It mildly concerned Ellie, but she didn't say anything.

"You must care about something," she said as she nudged your shoulder.

"I care about being here with you." You shrugged.

"Yeah, but, something else." She insisted.

You shook your head. You didn't want to lie to Ellie. She was the one person you could talk to. And the truth was that she was the only thing to seem worthy of your attention as of late. "I just wanna be here with you all the time."

"It doesn't work like that, doll," she cooed as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You felt a tear trail down your cheek, one that Ellie was quick to gently wipe off with her thumb.

She held you for the rest of your time together.

The next morning you slowly opened your eyes, trying to adjust to the change in lightening. You didn't feel vexed like every other day.

You had a tight knot on your chest that you couldn't explain. A fast-growing affliction that wasn't usually there.

After that night, you never dreamed of Ellie again.

It had been three months since you had last seen her. The first few weeks were pure agony.

There was a lot of crying and screaming involved. You were confused and angry and miserable. There was no way to fix it and you didn't even know what you were feeling.

There was no one you could talk to either. What were you supposed to say? That you fell for someone in a dream and now you couldn't deal with the fact that your brain wouldn't let you dream of her anymore?

You kept going to sleep every night hopeful of seeing her again, but it was completely useless. You eventually gave up, realizing it wasn't going to happen.

You were forced to resume your life. You focused yourself on studying, hanging out with your friends, going back to your beloved books. Everything was starting to go back to normal. And yet, there was not a single day where you didn't think of her.

You were headed to your favorite café. Wanting to get some studying done and leaving your apartment for a little bit. As you finally arrived, you settled on your favorite table, put your headphones on and got to work.

Truthfully, your table was a mess. Your computer open, books everywhere and sticky notes all over the place. But it helped you get the work done and that's what mattered most.

After a couple hours you decided to pack everything up and make your way back home, sleep finally sneaking its way up to you.

As you were walking out the door you heard steps hot on your trail.

"Hey, you left this."

Your turned around to see who the familiar voice belonged to. She was handing you a notebook, one you must've missed in the midst of your mess.

As you moved your eyes up to thank the kind stranger, you were met with those two piercing eyes that hadn't been able to leave your mind. The short haired girl with auburn hair, freckles and button nose was standing right in front of you, in the flesh.

It was Ellie.

a/n: hi this is a repost from my old account :) i’ll repost part 2 in a couple days and while i write part 3. hopefully it doesn’t flop massively

taglist @fleshunger @elsbunny222 @whore4abby

#works 𝜗ϱ #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #ellie fluff #ellie williams fluff #ellie x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n #wlw #lesbian #ellie williams fanfic

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rainydaydreamsideblog · 1 month

Text

(The Maze Runner) Imagine: He Protects You

It can be dangerous, especially for the only girl in the Glade.

Warnings: Guys being creeps in the Glade (nothing graphic), bullying, the Maze, danger.

. . .Thomas. . .

It’s a beautiful evening in the Glade. You’re walking straight along the treeline on your way to run a final errand for Alby at the end of the day. The sun is no longer visible, as it already descended far enough to be blocked by the walls.

Suddenly, you get the creeps. It was hard to explain, but you feel goosebumps bloom along your skin, and you get the distinct feeling that you’re not alone. The lovely glow of the bonfire is in your field of vision, but it’s so far away. It’s where most of the guys are gathered. You can hear their distant whoops and hollers, reminding you that help is far away too.

A twig snaps, and your suspicions are confirmed. There’s a figure following several feet behind you, lurking in the shadows cast from the trees above.

So, you veer off your original path to draw closer to the homestead where there would hopefully be someone who hadn’t made it to the bonfire yet. Whoever it was must have caught on to what you were doing because they instantly pick up their pace. You begin to hurry, increasing your speed so that they can’t catch you before you make it to what you hope will be a haven of safety.

Your heart is pounding, and your chest heaving with panicked breaths as you finally make it to the homestead.

“Hello?” you call frantically.

Suddenly, Thomas appears. He sees your nervous state immediately, his hand taking yours. But then his eyes lock onto something behind you, and he moves right past you to intercept your pursuer, effectively blocking them from you.

“What’s going on?” he demands. Your follower is frozen to the spot, stuttering, failing miserably to offer up some sort of explanation. Thomas steps forward, towering over the guy. It’s plain to see that he is furious. His forearms flex and his jaw is clenched. You can hear his angry breaths as he speaks again. “That’s what I thought. Now, get out of here.”

As soon as the guy is gone, Thomas turns around to face you. His close presence eases your fearful state when he steps into your space, filling your nose with his scent. “You okay?” he asks gently.

You manage a nod.

“We’re going to tell Alby right away. This isn’t going to happen to you again. Come here…” He carefully pulls you into his arms for an embrace, as if you’ll break apart if he’s too sudden. You bury your face in his chest, breathing a sigh of relief. His heartbeat is close to your ears, like a lullaby.

“Thank you…” you whispered.

. . . Newt . . .

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The teasing, the taunts… The inability of certain individuals to just leave you alone. Ever since you’d rejected him, Allan had made it his life’s mission to make your existence in the Glade all the more difficult.

Most recently, he had purposely bumped into you at lunchtime so that your meal was spilled all over your clothes and onto the ground. Resources were limited in the Glade. It was understood that wastefulness wouldn’t be tolerated. You couldn’t afford to lose food or have clothing ruined. Fortunately, your clothes would be fine after a wash, but the discarded food was a different story.

You dab at your tank top with a washcloth and pause to look at your reflection in the mirror. It was all too easy to recall how quickly you’d reached your limit after Allan’s ridiculous ploy. Your face is still wet from crying, eyes puffy, and lips parted as you took deep breaths.

There’s no use crying over spilled milk, you thought. Or in my case, spilled lunch.

After composing yourself, you decide it’s time to go back out there and face the music. You toss the damp rag aside and march determinedly out of the empty washroom. To your surprise, you smack right into another individual coming in. You instantly recognize the blonde hair and grumbles of complaint as he reels from the collision.

“Oi, shank, watch where you’re going-” Newt quickly realizes it’s you and clamps his mouth shut, extending his hands to each of your shoulders to steady you gently. He takes in the sight of your tear-stained face with his eyes showing clear concern. “Hey, what’s gotten into you?”

“Oh, just… Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Newt looks far from convinced, and you lower your gaze. He’s about to inquire further, but a familiar voice sounds from outside the washroom.

“Hey, _______!” Allan calls tauntingly, making you freeze up. “How’s it going in there?”

Newt’s eyes instantly flash, and his face scrunches up anger. You can hardly believe it when Allan continues.

“Sorry about my clumsiness earlier. Maybe I can make it up to you. Come on out before I go in there!”

Newt can’t contain himself anymore. He turns on his heel and heads out of the washroom, and you follow behind just to see the look on Allan’s face when he realizes he’s been caught.

It is so worth it. Allan’s stupid grin falls hard into a look of horror as the Second-in-Command approaches him furiously. He doesn’t lay a hand on him, but he looks like he’s awfully close when he jabs a pointer finger in his direction.

“If I ever catch you bothering her, or even breathing in her general direction again, you’ll be a permanent Slopper for the rest of your time here in the Glade. Do you understand, shank?”

Allan nods quickly, and doesn’t even wait to be dismissed. He just hurries away, leaving you and Newt both standing there watching him flee.

“Coward,” he mumbles. Then, Newt turns to you, resting a hand on your arm in a comforting gesture. “I mean it, you know. He’ll never bother you again.”

. . . Minho . . .

It’s hard not to panic when you glance up and can no longer see the sun above you. It’s the end of the day, and you’re nearly out of time. The lightning pain that shoots through your ankle suddenly just becomes too much. You lean against one of the ivy-covered walls and exhale.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” you say aloud, and the words weigh heavily on you. You mentally scold yourself. You can’t afford to think that way. A Runner knows better. With a wince, you continue limping on your way. It’s not that the exit from the Maze isn’t close. If memory serves you right (which it did), it wasn’t too far at all… but at your pace, it would take a lot of effort and some good luck to get you back in time.

Just when you are about to give up again, you hear footsteps rapidly approaching. Your first thought is that perhaps your cowardly companion had a change of heart, but the footsteps didn’t match.

“Hello?” you call.

“_________!” Minho’s voice responds, and your heart swells with hope. You aren’t out of the woods just yet, but your chances were much better with help. Minho nearly slides to a stop in front of you, instantly taking your arm and putting it around his broad shoulders to help you up. There is no time to stop and compare notes, so you update him as he begins helping you back along the path.

“I sprained my ankle.” You hold onto Minho like he’s your lifeline as you push through the pain to keep up with his pace. He’s right to go so fast. Time is running out.

“Where’s Derek?” he asks with a grunt.

“He…he left me,” you gasp in pain. “I think he was worried he wouldn’t make it out in time if he helped me.”

Minho goes quiet for a moment, and you can practically feel the anger rolling off him in waves. His eyes are focused straight ahead at the path, and he huffs. Finally, he bites out a sarcastic comment. “I think it’s safe to say that he’s getting demoted from being a Runner.”

You keep talking, trying to distract the both of you from the familiar groan of the Maze walls shifting. “Why did you come out here?”

“Because it was getting late in the day, and no one had seen you,” he pants. “Usually, you check in with me right away. I knew something had to be wrong.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

You continue limping with all your might toward the gate, feeling your heart jump, as the walls on either side begin their agonizingly slow crawl to a close. There’s a small group standing on the other side, ushering you both out anxiously. It was mostly Keepers, a select few who had been informed of the problem by Minho.

The two of you fell onto the green grass, gasping for breath, while the others surrounded you. Alby knelt down beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder. You just let yourself breathe, tears welling up in your eyes from relief.

“So it’s true?” Gally questioned, brows raised. “Derek left her in there.” “Yes,” Minho replied, sitting up. “And he will face the consequences.” He looked over at you, finally catching his breath. “You’re safe now.”

. . . Gally . . .

James had been haunting your steps for far too long. He was always there, always hanging around, and sometimes showing up at the most alarming of instances. What could be done about it? It wasn’t as if he’d taken severe enough action to warrant disciplinary measures, you thought. He was only ever seen staring at you, smirking, and just being an all-around jerk at times.

This time, he’d snatched your tools away from your working station while your back was turned. After uncovering a particularly tough old root, you turned around to get a spade to chop it up, only to see that your things were gone.

A few laughs caught your attention, and you glanced over to see James and one of his shadows standing there, staring at you from several feet away. You couldn’t say for certain, but it seemed like they had something to do with your missing tools.

So, now you’re debating with yourself on the best course of action. Do you ignore him and try to rustle up some extra tools from Newt or Zart? Or do you bother to give this shank the attention he’s so desperately seeking to get your stuff back?

You don’t really like the latter option. Frankly, James gives you the creeps. The last thing you want is to play his little game… But every minute that you spend deliberating is wasted time that could be put towards helping the Glade.

As much as you despise indulging him, you find yourself marching right over to his work area. Both James and his minion are laughing in amusement, shoving each other at the sight of you approaching.

“Do you know where my tools went?” you ask, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I might,” James replies cryptically. “And I might be willing to strike up a bargain for that information.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “What could you possibly want?”

“Ohh, I don’t know…Perhaps a kiss will do.”

You make a face as the disgust hits you. “Seriously?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“Yeah, that’s going to be a ‘no’ for me.” You wave off the concept, turning around. You decided that your best bet is to find some spare tools. This just wasn’t worth all the trouble. Just as you start to leave, James comes running around to block you.

“Hey now, I didn’t say you could go.”

“Yeah, you might want to think about his offer,” James’ lackey said from behind you. The two of them close in, and you clench your fists in preparation to fight. If you make enough commotion, you’re sure that someone will notice and come to your aid.

You give him one last chance. “Let me pass.”

“Come on, just one kiss. Unless you want more than one after that-” to your relief, James is cut off by a new voice interjecting.

“What’s going on here?” The three of you turn to see Gally standing there, sweating from whatever project he was working on,with dirt and wood shavings on his clothes. His expression looks expectant as he waits for an explanation, though his tall and bulky form makes him appear positively dangerous as he stares the two guys down with his hands resting on his hips.

“I, uh.. We…” They break off in stutters and fumbled words.

“I’m fairly certain they have my tools,” you say, and Gally’s famous arched brows raise at the two guys in disbelief.

“Is that so?” As Gally walks forward, he plants his palms harshly on James’ shoulder, shoving him clear out of the way. James stumbles unceremoniously, almost falling straight into the grass. Gally walks over to the bench and pauses. He picks up a bundle of leather and tosses it to you, the tools rattling inside. “Are those yours?”

You recognize it immediately. “Yes, these are the ones.”

“You shanks had better never even speak to her again. Understand?” He stares at each of them pointedly with all the authority of a Keeper, and they both nod. With that, Gally walks up to you and ushers you away with a warm, gentle hand on your back protectively.

“Your timing was impeccable,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

“They won’t bother you again. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I think you already have,” you chuckle.

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skeletonsloverockcandy · 29 days

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Man, each year I get to it, I love the May 5th entry and what it means. I take something new from it each time. Like last year I noticed the sacrifices and efforts the Driver and the other passengers made to try and save Jonathan, a stranger to them, by showing up early, by giving him gifts, by blessing him, despite the danger that puts them in. Especially when Dracula, as the driver, points it out to the Driver of the first coach, what he was trying to do, and scares him by pointing out what he said (despite it being heard far out of normal earshot and over the sound of horses galloping).

This year though, I notice that, but I see some of the smaller details too. Like how the mountains are full of blooming fruit trees, and how we are so used to the “gothic” aesthetic we almost forget it’s Spring. How Jonathan takes notice and comfort in the view, despite the growing unease he feels because of the people around him. He is trying to distract himself from how scared he’s getting based on their warnings. Warding him from the Evil Eye.

"No, no," he said; "you must not walk here; the dogs are too fierce"; and then he added, with what he evidently meant for grim pleasantry—for he looked round to catch the approving smile of the rest—"and you may have enough of such matters before you go to sleep."

I also take notice of this from the driver, as it’s almost a morbid gallows humor that he clearly knows to expect the wolves, and knowing what happens later, I’m sure the people here have a horrible fear of them, knowing what Dracula can do…and what he does to that poor mother later.

There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the heavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though the mountain range had separated two atmospheres, and that now we had got into the thunderous one.

We also get here what might be our first indication that the Count can control the weather to an extent.

They were driven by a tall man, with a long brown beard and a great black hat, which seemed to hide his face from us.

All I can imagine is Dracula in a fake beard now lol.

"You are early to-night, my friend." The man stammered in reply:—

"The English Herr was in a hurry," to which the stranger replied:—

"That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend; I know too much, and my horses are swift."

But God, this must have been terrifying for the driver and the passengers. What would Dracula do to punish them for trying to escape him? Would he dare make an example in front of the Englishman right now, or would he grant them mercy to say nothing else as Jonathan is unsuspectingly led to his doom, so they think.

"Denn die Todten reiten schnell"— ("For the dead travel fast.")

The strange driver evidently heard the words, for he looked up with a gleaming smile.

It feels like they’re all in on some sick joke that they know the punchline to, but Jonathan doesn’t, so with the dramatic irony, it feels like we the readers are the same peasants, trying to do anything to save or warn Jonathan but it’s already too late.

I also notice how quickly Dracula tries to shift the power dynamic with Jonathan, and have him doubt his sanity so soon, and he’s not even in the castle yet.

He drives him in circles to try and disorient Jonathan and make him feel even more lost, also keeping him out for far later and making Jonathan question if he’s dreaming or if what he’s seeing is real. I’d also bet more than anything that wine he offer Jonathan on the coach that Jonathan didn’t end up taking was drugged. Because it’s far easier to disorient an unconscious passenger in the dark than it is to disorient a conscious passenger. But he still does a pretty darn good job.

Then there’s the blue flames, which Jonathan doesn’t know how to react to as they seem supernatural and he doesn’t know how to rationalize it yet, so he takes it as if he’s dreaming.

This gave me a sort of shock, for I suppose the general superstition about midnight was increased by my recent experiences. I waited with a sick feeling of suspense.

Jonathan also has already felt the fear and nerves associated with the supernatural and superstition after what all of the townsfolk have told him, and later he tries to brush this off and rationalize again, try not to get too scared, but a part of him already realizes something is wrong.

Then a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far down the road—a long, agonised wailing, as if from fear.

I also want to point this out, as it’s right before the wolves surround the coach, but it’s the second time a “dog” has been mentioned howling in the night, and with this evidence, I bet Dracula uses the wolves as a threat to keep the peasants and townsfolk in line, as he can’t munch down on everyone. But it shows how powerful he is and what a threat he poses. I wonder who the wolves kill in the night.

Also how Jonathan, as an Englishman where there were no more native wolves, can’t even imagine that’s what they were and thinks they are dogs.

And it makes sense now that earlier when Jonathan was getting out his good ol’ polyglot dictionary, how the two words mean the same thing.

"vrolok" and "vlkoslak"—both of which mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that is either were-wolf or vampire.

As Dracula, as we see later, can transform into a wolf himself, and so there is probably less distinction between the two in this culture than we have tried to establish in the modern day.

Once there appeared a strange optical effect: when he stood between me and the flame he did not obstruct it, for I could see its ghostly flicker all the same.

Ah, I wonder if this is an early indication that Dracula cannot be depicted through traditional means? Like how he can’t be seen in the mirror. Certain lights just, pass through him.

I shouted and beat the side of the calèche, hoping by the noise to scare the wolves from that side, so as to give him a chance of reaching the trap.

We also see Jonathan taking an active and proactive approach, in this manner trying to be helpful and aid his (what he assumes human) driver. With these sorts of actions already, I can see signs of the man who will pick up a shovel to try and do what needs to be done. Who takes a knife and vows action, not hesitating.

He is polite right now, he’s on business. He doesn’t know what’s coming. But regardless, that person is still in him, and he’s capable of taking great action and doing great things for the sake of survival and doing what he thinks is right.

And Dracula commanding the wolves to stop as the driver, and the cloud passing overhead, I feel is like a subtle display of power and threat to Jonathan. He’s still playing pretend, but when Jonathan does figure out he was the coach the whole time, and he plays coy, the Count knows Jonathan will remember this threat, and it feels that much more sinister.

Jonathan still questions and thinks he fell asleep, as he doesn’t see how he’d have missed the approach of the castle otherwise, but I think he was awake because it was dark, and the count was intentionally taking him a winding and confusing path under a lot of fear. Though if he did fall asleep, I’m that much more terrified about how Dracula was driving him about, now secure in the knowledge that Jonathan would be thoroughly isolated and lost.

And the thing that nearly gives Dracula away twice as the driver is the strength of his grip on Jonathan’s hand, also lacing a subtle threat.

through these frowning walls and dark window openings it was not likely that my voice could penetrate.

Well this is just scary knowing how trapped Jonathan becomes later, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear the outside world, and how the outside world might not be able to hear him, and how he’s already acknowledging that.

The time I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and fears crowding upon me. What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of people? What sort of grim adventure was it on which I had embarked?

He already is expressing doubts and fears, he isn’t ignorant of what situation he might be in, and it’s only later when he tries to rationalize with the count and is given the comforts manipulation of food and sleep, that he tries to dismiss these fears and take the Count at his word.

Was this a customary incident in the life of a solicitor's clerk sent out to explain the purchase of a London estate to a foreigner? Solicitor's clerk! Mina would not like that. Solicitor—for just before leaving London I got word that my examination was successful; and I am now a full-blown solicitor!

Okay, this is just really cute. Mina said You passed the Bar, you Deserve to call yourself a Solicitor Jonathan <3

Also explains a lot that Jonathan is a fresh faced baby lawyer who just passed the bar and needs this assignment. He’s probably hoping that after this pay day he can marry Mina and have enough for them to start making a life together. Also says a lot for Dracula’s strategy to him to get someone young, inexperienced, and unfamiliar with the area, who might be seen as “expendable” so that Jonathan’s sudden “disappearance” might go unremarked by those in charge (though Mina would notice).

I began to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see if I were awake. It all seemed like a horrible nightmare to me, and I expected that I should suddenly awake, and find myself at home, with the dawn struggling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt in the morning after a day of overwork. But my flesh answered the pinching test, and my eyes were not to be deceived. I was indeed awake and among the Carpathians. All I could do now was to be patient, and to wait the coming of the morning.

Again, those early signs of doubt and fear from Jonathan, showing his unease already at the situation. We did not deserve to be clowning on him so much when this book club first started. It’s not his fault he’s not genre aware 😔 I’m sorry Jonathan.

And when Drac does show up to open the door:

"Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!" He made no motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone.

I wonder if he’s like that because he needs to be invited into places to be there, so if it’s almost like a supernatural hold of importance for him to offer the same thing. Almost like a subtle joke or curse with the knowledge that after Jonathan enters, he won’t be allowed to leave of his own will

holding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed as cold as ice—more like the hand of a dead than a living man.

I also like how all the clues are there, and since Jonathan has written them down and taken note of them, the expression on them must be some of the things he’s piercing together about his own fears as well that he’s afraid to voice aloud or in his journal, because if he voices his suspicions, they might become more real to him.

The strength of the handshake was so much akin to that which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that for a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I was speaking

See? He knows what’s up, he’s just afraid to say it.

I also didn’t pick up that Jonathan’s room is octagonal for some reason. I wonder if there’s any reason for that or symbolism with the 8 sides?

Also the letter from Mr. Hawkin’s feels very ominous in retrospect knowing what’s coming and how Dracula will treat Jonathan:

"I must regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a constant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for some time to come; but I am happy to say I can send a sufficient substitute, one in whom I have every possible confidence. He is a young man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown into manhood in my service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you will during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all matters."

I feel like Dracula knew to take advantage of that, and also this feels like him basically reading the menu for an ideal victim once his business is said and done, so I get shivers, brrrrr.

Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine; but seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that they were rather coarse—broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal.

I also like that while Jonathan is describing Dracula, he notice his hands. And I am also struck with how little it is brought up that he has hair on his palms, and I can see the more wolf-like nature of this vampire mythology. I wonder if Bram Stoker intended for werewolves and vampires to be the same thing in his novel? They are certainly compared and have similar powers and weaknesses, so it’s possible I guess.

Also Dracula has corpse-breath lol. Nasty.

I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There seemed a strange stillness over everything; but as I listened I heard as if from down below in the valley the howling of many wolves.

Ah ha! Also the first foreshadowing we get for the importance of dawn and dusk in the novel, as we know later how important timing becomes for our protagonists, so seeing its affects already make me smile at the recognition of the signs so early.

"Listen to them—the children of the night. What music they make!" Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, he added:—

"Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter."

And ah, an iconic line. Though I just get second hand angry and uncomfortable at Dracula’s insistence that he’s a “hunter” 🤢. God I just hate him haha.

I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!

And literally Day 1 of being in the castle and Jonathan is already questioning his sanity and piecing things together he’s afraid to even voice in his journal. This is the second time in as many days he has already wished that those around him find this journal and laments should anything bad happen to him. It creates the impression of one who knows they’re walking into danger but must go on anyway.

But I love Jonathan so much, and I definitely really like the May 5th entry, and it does so much work to set up what happens later.

#dracula daily #dracula #Dracula daily may 5 #Dracula may 5th #jonathan harker #count dracula #re: dracula #dracula meta #my post #original post #Skele talks #skele talks Dracula #long post #skele analysis #Dracula analysis #mina murray #mina harker

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cordeliawhohung · 2 months

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Soft Spot - Part 3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part thirteen of "soft spot"

taglist | playlist | dissection links

you're so used to the teeth that they don't even hurt anymore

warnings: childhood trauma, mentions of past abuse, mentions of past torture, threats and unkind language

wc: 4.4k

Some part of you always knew you’d see him again, but you never imagined it would be like that.

In your pitiful daydreams, you always envisioned things would be darker; scarier, even. You’d find him again in some dim corner where he would trap you and would lurk and stare until he was ready to pounce. In the version of yourself in your daydreams, you were stronger. You knew exactly what to say, how to convey how you felt, but most importantly, he would pay. He would pay for every single transgression he wrought upon you and your mother. You would never have to see him again. But it was wrong. You weren’t supposed to run into him there. Not on a perfect day like that.

It would have been a perfect day.

The warmth of the sun on your skin, the laughter of everyone around you; you had every right to enjoy that day. To bask in the beauty of the trees with their singing, fluttering leaves, and to soak up the fragrance of tulips and freshly trimmed grass. But behind it all, there was always something lurking. A second layer you hadn’t yet exposed. The rotting carcass of a bird nestled by the trunk of a tree. Musty hot car exhaust from the street on the other side of the park. A man too angry for his own good and his daughter petrified on the bench.

The smell of cigarettes.

Your eyes had no choice but to stay glued onto the man in front of you. So many years had gone by, and though his age caught up to him, that unbridled rage that festered within him was painfully distinct. It was his eyes, it always was. You could see every thought and intention that came to fruition in his thoughts, and though he smiled, you knew none of it was good. It alerted some primal instinct in the back of your mind that screamed at you to run, to fight. All you could do was place your hands on your stomach and hope Simon would return soon.

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” The words flew out of your mouth of their own volition, like some sort of ghost had taken control of your body and given you the strength to say them.

Your father snorted as he took a step closer to you, and you had no choice but to watch him sink down into the seat next to you. His movements were slow, frail even. There was something wrong with him, as if he rotted from the inside out. Perhaps all his wrongdoings had finally caught up with him, and you took an odd sort of comfort in the thought he looked too sick to properly hurt anyone other than himself.

“Haven’t seen each other in years and you have nothing to say? Bullshit.” He coughed. It sounded wet, and you could make out the sticky sounds of it clinging in the back of his throat. “Though, the last time we talked you didn’t have anything to say to me but a threat.”

He was right. A threat. A promise. Maybe both. Whatever it was, you had meant every word of it at the time when you said you would kill him if he ever hit you again. That felt like forever ago. Some other lifetime. Really, you were surprised he even remembered it at all. No, of course he remembered it. He would always remember the worst parts of you; the parts of you he could twist and use against you.

“I still mean it,” you said.

It was an empty promise. You knew that, and he knew that too.

“Sure thing, darling,” he said with a chuckle. “You’ll do a whole lot of damage in… this state.”

No surprise bloomed in your chest at his comment, but disgust did. Having to see that vile man again was already bad enough, but seeing him while you were pregnant was a different form of degradation. It felt violating to be perceived in such a disgusting way, especially by the man who fathered you. Him seeing your mother pregnant hadn’t pulled on his heartstrings to save her from the terrible fate of his fury, and it certainly wouldn’t save you.

“So, who’s the dad? Some rich American? Surprised to see you back here after you ran off to play school girl in the States,” he sneered.

“You don’t have the right to ask that,” you snapped.

“Don’t I?” he challenged. “You’re my daughter.”

“I’m nothing of yours.”

A heavy sigh left your father’s lips as he adjusted his position on the bench. You hadn’t moved an inch since he approached you, and even your son seemed to know well enough to stay dormant inside of you.

“You always have to be difficult,” your father huffed.

“What the fuck do you want?” you bit. Intense eyes landed on the pathetic figure next to you, and you found your hands balling into fists in your lap. “We haven't spoken for years, and you think it’s okay to just stroll up to me in the damn park for a conversation?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said with a glare. “Remember, you were the one who cut contact with me, not the other way around, darling.”

“Because you are a piece of shit, and you know it,” you retorted. “You’ve never been useful for a goddamn thing in your entire life. You beat my mother, beat me, and then left her to die when she got sick like she was a fucking toy you were tired of playing with. All that shit and you think you have any right to talk to me? To approach me and act like nothing happened?”

“Don’t raise your voice at me, girl,” your father warned. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re knocked up, you don’t get to speak to me like that.”

You weren’t sure what made your body move the way it did, but suddenly you were on your feet with your back facing him. Everything happened of its own accord. The way your feet moved along the pavement. How your heart thundered in your chest so violently you swore it would break your ribs. A sense of self preservation consumed your body and its senses as it did its best to get you away from the threat of your father. You were in no shape to fight, and you couldn’t afford to freeze, so you took flight.

But you had never been very good at getting away.

The brutal cycle of getting caught continued in the same way it always had; with a hand around your wrist. Your father’s grip was just as unforgiving as Bukin’s had been, and the same as Eric before him. Just like all the other times, you turned to face the aggressor with a bewildered glare on your face, incapable of holding back neither your fear nor your anger.

“How long do you think you can keep running? Huh? Before your legs stop working? Before someone breaks them?” he asked, his tone all but demanding an answer from you.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Truly?” you questioned.

“I’m your fuckin’ father,” he retorted.

Hot breath fanned across your face and you could almost taste the rancid tobacco leftover in his lungs. It was enough to make your stomach turn, and with the anxiety pooling in your stomach you nearly puked, but you held strong as you wiggled your wrist out of his grasp.

“You are nothing to me. Not my father, not my family; nothing,” you spat. “I know you’ve got it in that thick skull of yours that you have some odd ownership over me because you fathered me, but that’s where our relationship ends. Do you understand me? I’ve lived my life fine without you. I’ll continue without you. I’ll have this kid that you’ll see no part of. I’ll get the life I always deserved while you die, alone and unloved, and nobody will fucking miss you at all.”

A heavy silence weighed on your shoulders as you watched your father’s face morph in front of you. He was always an angry man, but his true nature was something your nightmares could never quite capture. They could never paint the twitch of his lips or the flexing of his jaw, or the way his fingers buzzed with anticipation. Your fuzzy childhood memories paled in comparison to the real, unbridled enjoyment your father experienced when instilling fear and pain in someone.

Maybe that’s why you never learned. Not because violence wasn’t a good teacher, but because you could never remember just how bad it hurt. Not until you were there in the maw of the beast.

Whatever you thought was there lurking in your father’s features vanished faster than it had formed. Your father’s eyes scanned every inch of your scowl and you watched them light up with something sinister and wicked the moment they landed on the corner of your lip. A grin replaced the anger on his face as he took in the sight of that unsightly scar that still plagued the corner of your lips even after all those years, and you almost flinched. As his quiet and sour chuckle sounded, you knew exactly what he thought. He hadn’t given you that scar, which meant you had never truly escaped trouble as much as you wanted to pretend you did.

But you did. You climbed away from that life, fought tooth and nail just to live without violence, and you made it. Each night you were able to go to bed in the arms of a man who had never once caused you harm. In the mornings you would wake up to fresh air and a chaste kiss before you ever even slithered out from underneath the covers. The only bruises that tainted your skin were ones caused by unseen table corners, not the fists of an angry man.

Yet you knew he would never believe you. Abusers always had to come out victorious, even if that meant dipping their mind into their own delusions. You would sooner turn to dust and bone before your words would ever reach him, and he seemed to hold himself with pride over that fact.

He chuckled again, louder that time, and looked down at the ground for a short moment as he shook his head. His eyes landed on you again with humor before he shrugged. “Keep telling yourself that, darling.”

A large hand settled on your stomach as you felt a looming presence gently pull you away from the monster of your childhood. You didn’t even have to look up at the figure to know it was Simon; you knew him by touch alone. Your body did not untense at all even with him there, and the distilled anger was palpable on your husband. Dark eyes glared at your father, who hardly bothered to look Simon up and down.

All it would take would be one word. Something to anger your father, to get him to lose his judgment, to get him to lunge. A vile, dormant anger inside of you wanted to. Wanted to goad your father into attacking just to watch what Simon would do. You’d seen what he was capable of. Watched him break a beast’s arm and stomp on it just to feel the bone crunch under his boot. It was so easy for him to pull that trigger and end the life of a man simply for calling you darling. If only he knew half the things your father had said to you.

How much would he have to bleed to make it feel better? How many bones would have to break? Would it ever be enough? Could more violence ever satiate the need for revenge that stowed itself away inside of you? Did that make you just like your father? Did you even care? No, it would never be enough. There was no penance he could offer you that wouldn’t just turn your stomach sour.

He would get his turn. One day. If you were lucky, you would never even hear of it.

“I never want to see or hear from you again. I mean it,” you said as your eyes locked on him.

Your father’s eyes flickered up to Simon, where he finally seemed to understand the weight of the situation. He was old; a stupid drunk with nothing to fight with but a decayed body and rotten core — something Simon could shatter in an instant. Perhaps he finally realized he didn’t have as much power over his little girl like he thought he did, or maybe his self preservation instincts kicked in, but your father finally took a step back with a shrug.

“Whatever you want,” he said.

It wasn’t until you were halfway back to the car that you realized Simon tried to grab your attention. Your name fell from his lips hushed and even, yet no matter how hard he tried it was impossible for him to mask the worry it was drenched with. His pace was slow compared to usual, but then again it wasn’t like you could move as fast as you would have liked. You wanted to run — run to the edge of the world and never look back, yet you were so painfully present on earth.

“Sweetheart, slow down,” Simon said, trying to calm you.

“I’m fine.”

Those were the first words you were able to choke out, and you hadn’t realized how tight your throat felt until you said them. Still, you continued to push ahead, chest heaving with anxiety as you got closer to Simon’s car. All you wanted to do was go home. It seemed that’s all you ever wanted to do.

“Who was that?” Simon then asked, still trying to pull answers from you.

“Your father-in-law.”

There was no need for further explanation. Simon was well aware of the horrors you had to fight when you were a kid. A storm swirled in your mind so violently even he could feel the raging wind, and rather than try and fruitlessly fight it off, he chose to weather the storm with you instead.

The ride home was a blur with your thoughts so full to the brim yet simultaneously empty. Numb. It had been a long while since you had felt that way, and it didn’t wane until Simon unlocked the door to the flat where you pitifully shuffled over to the couch. Boo beat Simon to your side, and he instantly attempted to climb up on top of your stomach as if it were a perch and not where your child rested inside of you. You wanted to smile at him, but all you could manage was a quivering bottom lip.

“Sweetheart,” Simon tried again as you pushed your overly zealous cat off your lap. “Talk to me.”

Instead of sinking into the cushion next to you, he crouched on the floor where his hands quickly found yours. Every nerve in your body felt fried, too hot for you to exist properly. It traversed up your body in painful waves until the pressure built up so much behind your eyes you swore they would burst from your skull.

“I hate him,” you said, voice trembling. “I hate him so much. It’s been years and- and he shows up now? When everything is good? Wh- When I’m like this?”

You paused for a moment as the rush of hormones nearly suffocated you. Eyes overflowed with tears as you sniffled back the snot that started to run in your nose. You wanted to take your hands out of Simon’s in order to rub at your eyes, but his thumb running along your knuckles was too comforting for you to deprive yourself of that feeling.

“And I want him to pay. For everything. For all the years of bullshit he put mum and I through. But it feels so far out of reach because no matter what it’s not good enough. I just hate feeling like this, so fucking useless.”

Simon’s hands moved up from your hands, across your arms, along your shoulders, and all the way up until he cupped your cheeks in his hands. Everything felt heavy, yet he held your head high as he shifted closer to you.

“I know it’s hard. It’s never easy running into monsters like him,” he said. “But he’s never gonna see you again. Never layin’ a fuckin’ hand on you either.”

“It’s not that, it’s just… he makes me feel like a kid and I hate it,” you said in a near whisper.

“I know,” Simon shushed as he moved up to sit on the couch next to you. His arms wrapped around your body as he drew you as close to his chest as your body could comfortably contort. His warmth was all consuming, settling your frayed nerves as his hand traced along your waist. “I know.”

His chin rested on the top of your head while you did your best to calm your breathing into something more manageable. That simple action — breathing — had already grown to be so difficult those days with the extra weight on your diaphragm, but the crushing feeling of being reduced into nothing but a scared little girl again was unbearable.

“Family is bullshit, anyway,” Simon suddenly chirped. “Don’t have to keep anyone around that you don’t want. Could just be me and you, if you want. You, me, and our boy.”

Our boy. Those words had your tears falling harder than they did before. Having a child wouldn’t fix all your problems, and you were very much aware of that fact. Children weren’t supposed to be the glue that mended old wounds, like so many people wished they would be. Yet still, an odd sort of excitement flickered at the thought that you could one day erase it all. Erase all the parts of your life, and replace it with something truly worth living for.

Like Simon.

Like your son.

The prospect of no longer being your father’s daughter was an exciting one. Maybe your unfortunate conversation with him had been the universe’s way of getting you to say goodbye, though you could have very well done without one. Either way, none of it mattered. It was done. You would have a child to fuss over before long, and you didn’t need thoughts of a sour old man ruining that joy.

You didn’t even think of your father that night as you and Simon settled in for bed. There was too much love to enjoy in the warmth of his arms as he held you close to his chest that there was no room for anything else. Simon’s hands roamed your stomach, as they often did those days, where they settled at the top of your abdomen as if waiting for a good kick. For a moment, everything was still as Boo curled up against your legs with a quiet purr, and a smile curled your lips as you felt Simon’s lips press against the back of your neck.

Except, no matter how good things got, you always seemed to end up back in that basement. Some days it was difficult to tell if you left a piece of yourself there, or if a piece of it had clung to you even after so many years. Either way, it didn’t change the fact you stood in that room with its pale lilac walls that were still just as empty and bare as the first day you woke up in that cursed place.

However, several items were missing from their usual spot in that room. There was no door to the bathroom in which you spent so many hours hiding in, or the bed with the quilt you had spent half a day bleeding into. In fact, an entire wall had all but vanished, giving you the perfect view of the ocean with its salty waves. A comforting freshness lingered in the air rather than the rotten scent of iron, and for the first time in years, you didn’t feel scared.

“He’s so handsome.”

An old rocking chair creaked in the center of the room as your mother sat rocking a bundle of blankets in her arms. The back of her head faced you as her attention was soaked up by something else, something new, and your wavering feet shuffled closer to her.

“Who?” you asked, attempting to peer over her shoulder.

“My grandson,” she replied with a chuckle.

Impatient eyes peered over your mothers shoulder as you tried to steal a glance at the baby boy, yet no matter what angle you tried to get, his face always seemed to be obscured by the blanket. He was so quiet, so much so that the waves crashing on the shore just beyond that missing wall drowned out each quiet whine and sigh.

“He looks so much like you,” your mother cooed. “Good thing, too. I was worried he’d get Simon’s nose.”

You laughed, and it was strange. You never thought you’d be laughing in that basement.

“Simon’s got a fine nose,” you defended.

“Oh, I’m sure he does. Underneath all the scar tissue, anyway,” your mother teased.

Your laughter sounded in harmonious unison as she finally looked away from your son and up at you. Her eyes shined brighter than any other time you could remember in your dreams. She looked so real it was almost like you could reach out and hug her again like you used to when you were a kid.

“Can I see him?” you asked.

“Not yet. Just let me have this for a moment. You’ll see him soon enough,” she replied.

She paused as her bottom lip began to tremble.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

“What for?” you asked.

“Everything.”

There was no need to ask for further explanation; it was written in her face. Despite everything that had happened to you throughout your life, there was the indomitable will to survive, even if that just meant more suffering. After so many years, your suffering finally bore fruit. You no longer had to go to sleep wondering if you’d wake up to shattered porcelain on the floor. Unlike her, you had escaped.

That’s all she had ever wanted for you — for someone to take care of you.

Your mother’s attention wandered back to the missing wall in front of her, and your gaze followed. Fluffy clouds billowed along the horizon, and seagulls danced in the sky together while they sang to one another. That ocean was brighter than you had remembered it, like the sun had finally peeked through the clouds.

“I think it’s time for you to go home,” she said.

“Home?” you repeated.

She nodded. “You don’t need to keep coming here anymore.”

She was right. You were tired of that basement. Tired of the memories that haunted you from time to time. They would always be with you in some way, but you couldn’t wait to drown them with new memories. Better memories.

There was no need for a goodbye, as you had said them years ago to that wretched place. Instead, your feet trudged forward until carpet turned into grass. Cold wind moved freely around your body as it beckoned you closer to the crashing waves on the sandy shore. When your feet got close enough to the water that it nearly kissed your toes, you turned around only to find the house, and its terrible basement, had vanished.

That was the last time you ever looked back.

Searing hot pain ripped through your body when you woke up. It rippled all throughout your abdomen in a wave so vicious it took your breath away. Boo, who had been by your feet when you had fallen asleep, pawed at your face as he purred and bashed his head against yours. The pain left you nearly incapacitated for a moment until the wave eventually waned, and it was only then that you were able to slowly push yourself up so that you sat with your legs over the side of the bed.

Sticky sweat clung to your body with little remorse for your comfort, and you tried your best to calm your racing heart with a steady breath. In some poor attempt to assist you, Boo pawed at your aching stomach with an annoyed meow. You gently pushed him away, only for him to whine. Simon grunted, half awake yet still irked by the creature’s impressively loud demands for attention.

Simon didn’t fully wake up until a second wave of pain hit you, and you were unable to hold back the squeaky wince that it forced out of you. The bed shook as Simon’s hulking frame tore the blankets off of his body and scooted so that he sat next to you. His hand rested firmly against your back, yet he almost retracted when he felt your muscles tense and nearly tear with the strength of your contractions. Had it not been for the little human in your womb blocking your way, you were certain you would’ve been doubled over in pain.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. What do you need?” Simon urged.

It was impossible to get any words out with the intensity of it all, and for a moment the only thing you could do was pant sharply as you tried to keep yourself from hyperventilating. You leaned your head to the side where it rested on Simon’s shoulder while your teeth nearly shattered as your jaw clenched. Eventually, the pain diminished once more, allowing your brain to clear just long enough to form a proper thought.

“He’s coming,” you panted. Your hand reached up to wipe the sweat from your upper lip, and your entire body shuddered with a sigh. “Fuck, we gotta- gotta go.”

“Okay, yeah,” Simon said.

He slipped off of the bed to stand in front of you, hands quickly capturing yours in his. His voice was calm and even, and not even his grip trembled as he helped you to your feet. Simon was always strong. Never one to show when he was nervous. But even then, you swore you could feel his racing heart pulse in his fingertips.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #f!reader #soft spot

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 8 months

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the wall between us

kinktober, day sixteen

a/n: ...yeah, this one is weird, but also kinda wild

summary: pov, you live in a cult where there is an impregnation ritual on your 18th birthday

warnings: steve harrington x reader, smut, cult au (they are both members), cult leader!jim hopper, weird birthday impregnation ritual, public sex, fem gloryhole, breed kink, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, forbidden romance

word count: 773

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

“Always a blessed day when a flower blooms and becomes ready to expand on our wonderful family,” you heard Jim, your charismatic and adorn leader boast from the other side of the thin wooden wall, “now, gentlemen, let us bow our heads and pray, please, grant me the power to deduce who will bless this girl with a babe….” after a moment of dead silence, Hopper broke it with a loud, “ah! I can see it!” the others in the audience rumbled as he finally revealed, “it is you!”

“Me, sire?” a voice in the crowd cut through, sounding completely taken aback.

“Yes, you bear the seed she needs, my child,” his proclamation prompted the other members to cheer loudly as you heard footsteps near.

Laying on your back, legs resting up against the wall, you felt a gust of wind kiss your bottom that stuck out of the meticulous cut-out, indicating that a person had stepped up.

“Hi,” he greeted in a hushed tone, the crowd still bustling from behind him.

“Hello,” your fingers apprehensively fiddled with the fabric of your white dress, crumbled and gathered at your waist.

“Uh, happy birthday.”

“Oh,” you blinked a second, surprised by his demeanour, “thank you.”

“Can I ask you something?” his low voice was clear, though his touch hadn’t found you yet.

“Sure.”

“Are you nervous?”

“A little, yeah,” you gnawed at your bottom lip, “I’ve just waited for this for a very long time… are you?”

“I know I shouldn’t be, but he’s just never picked me before, so…” he admitted, staying quiet a moment before checking, “is it alright if I begin?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” you rushed to say, adrenalin pumping through your veins. You sucked in a sharp breath as you felt his touch ghost over your skin, just your hip, the exposed part of you that was the furthest away from your core. Your fingers tightened their grip on your dress as his gentle touch slowly fluttered closer to your presented pussy, “is it strange that I wish I could see you?”

“Not at all,” he nearly chuckled, “I feel the same way,” his broad thumb came up to brush over your glistening folds, his touch staying ever so light as he tickled your clit.

Just then, you heard a heavy pair of boots come near, “come on, son,” you heard Jim whisper into the man’s ear, “you haven’t got all day,” a threatening aura laced his tone, “complete the ritual,” a callused hand suddenly crept over your skin, “look,” and without warning, a finger plunged into you causing you to gasp, “she’s practically begging for you to pump her full,” momentarily curving his digit, he tickled a spot inside of you that made you shiver, “don’t make me pick somebody else,” though his controlling touch then faltered, parting ways by swiftly landing a sharp slap across your bottom, a hushed yelp bubbling from your lips.

“I’m sorry, sire,” the man quickly apologised, hastily rushing to bury himself in you.

Turning his attention back towards the crowd, Jim then roared, “and the ceremony has officially begun!” boisterous cheers promptly erupted, “soon we will be blessed with more abundance!”

Keeping his voice low, you heard the man whisper as he bucked into you, “I’m sorry, I really wanted to do this differently, take our time…”

“It’s alright,” you breathed, “it’s how it's done…” your whole body rocked with each of his efforts to fulfil his duty. Planting your palm on the wood parting you two, where you presumed his visage was, you couldn’t help but imagine what he looked like… exactly the way his hips snapped into you… had his hair fluttered down to obscure his vision? Was he looking at you and you alone? Because if he looked anything like how he sounded or how he felt, then you couldn’t even begin to comprehend what that could mean, but what you did know was that it enticed you in a way you’d never felt before, “…maybe one day we’ll meet again and there won’t be a wall between us. Will you show me then how you had wished to do it?”

With a low and strangled moan, you felt him twitch inside of you and his movements quickly slow as he filled you up.

“What’s your name?” he asked breathlessly.

“Y/n,” you felt your heart flutter as you stared at the wall, “and yours?”

“Steve,” he whispered, his touch warm as his fingers fluttered over your goosebump-ridden flesh, “I’ll find you, Y/n. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but I promise I won’t stop till I do.”

#lea’s writing #kinktober 2023 #steve harrington smut #jim hopper smut #stranger things smut #steve harrington x reader #dark!jim hopper #stranger things imagine #dark!steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #cult leader!jim hopper #cult member!steve harrington

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slaybestieslay946 · 3 months

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Dream Girl

Summary: Paul has dreamt of a girl all his life, and when he reaches Arrakis, he finally discovers her to be the assistant to Dr Liet Kynes.

Pairing: Paul Atreides x Fremen!OC

Word count: 2500

Warnings: Slight mentions of violence, pretentious writing style.

A/N: just need to get this out because im so obsessed with him its becoming unhealthy. hope anyone reading enjoys and has a nice day! You never know i might add chapters if i feel like it lmao.

Paul had seen her in his dreams many times over the years. She had been with him throughout it all, from the cradle until now, as he began to bloom into adulthood.

He’d never thought he’d really see her in front of his eyes. Over the years he’d dismissed her as a mere fantasy; the leftovers of a child’s overactive imagination. Blue eyes that couldn’t quite be real, and a beauty that only existed in daydreams.

Yet, here she was, standing stoic beside the ‘judge of the change’, surveying the approaching group with those piercing blue eyes. Paul had to remind himself to breathe before he collapsed from lack of oxygen.

“My Lord Duke.” The older woman greeted his father, bowing her head, and so did the dream-girl, except the fire in her eyes never faded.

“Dr Kynes. Thank you for agreeing to take us out.”

“The pleasure is all mine, sire. This is my apprentice and pilot, Nami.”

Duke Leto acknowledged the dream-girl, no, Nami, with a quick nod. She responded in kind.

“Now,” Kynes began, “We must check your stillsuits-” The two women stepped forward in sync to aid the group, but were stopped by Gurney’s blades at their necks.

Paul couldn’t help but admire the way she didn’t flinch as a blade was held to her throat, merely raising her chin in defiance. Few would have the gall to glare at the soldier in such a way.

“Gurney, no need. Let them work.” The Duke asserted, and Gurney lowered his sword, albeit rather begrudgingly.

They then approached the group of outworlders to adjust their suits. Paul had to force himself to breathe normally as Nami approached him and the two locked eyes. He quickly tore his gaze away from hers, as she began to check his suit was on correctly.

All the while, Kynes was going on a long and probably very interesting spiel about stillsuits and their benefits, but he found it very hard to concentrate when he was face to face with the girl he had been dreaming about all his life.

“You’ve worn a stillsuit before?” Nami suddenly asked, inspecting some of the straps on the front.

“No, this is my first time.”

“Hm,” She cocked her head in confusion, “Your boots are fashioned slip-fast at the ankles. Who taught you to do that?”

“Just seemed like the right way.” He said, trying to work out what was going on inside her head.

Their exchange had now caught the attention of the rest of the group, and Nami turned to Kynes, muttering a few words in a different language, shaking her head slightly.

It took Paul a few moments to realise that they were speaking in the language of the fremen.

“You’re fremen.” He said plainly, like it had been obvious the whole time.

“We are accepted in both sietch and village, yes.” Nami said, nodding.

Before he could ask anymore questions, Kynes began to lead them to the aircraft, explaining that they would be travelling to the nearest harvesting field north of Arrakeen.

The group all entered one of the small aircraft, and Paul watched as Nami began to sit in the pilot's chair, but was stopped by his father.

“If you don’t mind, Nami, I’d like to pilot.” He said, with an almost childlike smile upon his face. Paul remembered his fathers admission that he had once wished to be a pilot himself.

“Of course, my lord.” She bowed her head, and shuffled over to the co-pilot’s seat.

The group all strapped themselves into their seats, grabbing a headset and preparing for take off.

Duke Leto soon began to press several buttons, and Paul’s dream-girl followed suit, adjusting switches here and there. The Duke soon pulled up off the ground and turned in a near-perfect manoeuvre that left his co-pilot impressed.

“You’re a pilot?” She asked.

“Yes I was, in my youth. It has been many years though.” He smiled, regarding the desert beneath him in what looked like wonder.

“You are very talented.” Nami complimented simply, and Paul watched as a newfound respect bled into her eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of yearning for her to look at him in the same way. With respect earned by his own deeds, rather than the kind that stemmed from a generations old name.

Kynes then began her narration as they moved over dunes, towards the spice fields. Paul chipped in here and there with a question or two for her.

“Why don’t they just shield the crawlers?” He asked, looking down at the desert below, where one of the crawlers was moving. Was this the desert power his father had been talking about?

“Shields are a death sentence in the desert.” Nami chipped in, turning her head momentarily to look at Paul, who tore his face away in embarrassment when he felt a slight heat rise to his cheeks.

“Yes,” Kynes continued for her apprentice, “It attracts the worms and drives them into a killing frenzy.”

“Is that one of the worms?” His father asked, pointing at a vague cloud of dust on the horizon.

Kynes picked up a pair of binoculars from her lap and peered into them for a moment, before answering, “That’s a worm alright. And a big one. Nami, call it in for me?”

“On it.” She replied, and began speaking into the headset in various codes, asking for any carriers in the area.

It didn’t take long for one to appear, and it began making its way to the crawler below. Paul watched in awe as it made its descent. He knew spice harvesting was dangerous, and of course accommodations had to be made, but the technology used was truly fascinating. How was that tiny carrier going to lift that enormous crawler?

He would, unfortunately, never find out. Because as the carrier attempted to attach itself, one of the arms snapped. Suddenly an influx of frenzied shouts came over the radio in confusion, as Kynes chipped in to explain the situation.

The Duke then snapped into action.

“How many men on that crawler?”

“A crew of 21.” Kynes replied.

“Our ships can only take 6 each. That leaves 3 men.” Paul added.

“We’ll find a way.” His father responded, flicking a switch before dropping into a nosedive, the other two ships following suit behind him.

Soon, they were landing just beside the crawlers, and unbuckling themselves from their seats inside the aircraft. Paul was the first up and moving.

“The shield generators should weigh about the same as a few men.” Paul said, waiting for Gurney to finish undoing his seatbelt.

“Good idea,” Gurney said, “I’ll toss them out, go instruct the men.” He said, patting the younger boy on the shoulder as he moved to get rid of the shields, Paul slipping past him and onto the sand below.

As he dropped onto the sand of the desert for the first time, he couldn’t help but pause. Something about his boots on the ground felt natural, and as he looked down at the swathe of gold, he had never felt more at home.

What snapped him into action again was the thud of a shield generator falling from the aircraft, and then Paul was moving, running towards the groups of men coming out of the crawler.

“7 over there, 7 over there, move!!” He shouted, pointing to the various aircraft waiting for them and waving them over.

And then a cloud of sand engulfed him.

Paul quickly brought his mask to his face and shut his eyes, trying to ignore the stinging pain of millions of grains of sand hitting him. And then suddenly everything around him seemed to still, and he brought his mask down away from his face, opening his eyes.

He was surrounded by a cloud of dust, and he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face.

Paul took a deep breath in, feeling the way his nostrils tingled as he inhaled, and noticing the sparkle of the dust around him.

He wasn’t standing in dust, but spice.

Before his eyes the real world melted away, and he was overtaken by visions. Visions of violence, death, the dunes of Arrakis, a blade, and finally Nami’s face, blue-blue eyes staring into his own.

Then she began to cry, tears streaming down her face. The face that had seemed so stoic in the real world was not so in his vision.

Then his vision began to return, and through the haze of spice he heard something familiar, before realising what it was.

“I recognise your footsteps old man…” Paul whispered, jolting awake as Gurney clapped him on the shoulder, hauling him to his feet.

“C’mon!” He shouted, glancing to the side. Paul followed his gaze, and was immediately spurred into action as he saw the fast approaching sandworm.

Immediately he was sprinting towards the aircraft, locking eyes with his father through the windshield as he began to take off, spinning so the open door was facing them.

And there she was.

Gurney was the first to reach her, and she quickly hauled him up into the aircraft, pushing him in while not taking her eyes off Paul.

“Atreides!” She shouted, holding out her hand for him to take, evident concern in her eyes.

He pumped his legs faster than he thought possible, catching up with the aircraft and grabbing her hand, watching as the sandworm emerged from the very place he had been kneeling, overtaken by visions.

Eventually he pulled himself away from the sight of the desert, clambering up the ramp towards Nami, who quickly shut the door behind him.

“Thank you.” Paul said to her, still slightly breathless.

“No problem.” She replied, dusting a few grains off his shoulder before returning to her seat beside the Duke, slipping on her headset and reporting their re-entry into general airspace.

Paul moved back to his seat just behind her, trying to ignore his fathers angry gaze, as well as quell the aggressive beating of his heart. Their trip had been more eventful than he thought.

Soon the aircraft was landing, and Paul stood to get up, wanting to get away from one of his fathers lectures, but not before saying goodbye to Nami.

“Thank you, again.” He said, quickly.

She smiled this time, her face softening ever so slightly, “Take care, Paul Atreides. I pray we meet again.”

He nodded, unable to form words in response as his tongue had grown heavy in his mouth. And then he ran away, jumping out of the aircraft as quickly as he could before he blurted out anything stupid.

Paul whipped around taking in the sudden appearance of so many Fremen around him and his mother. They must have seen them running from the sandworm.

“Do not run. You will only waste precious water.” A man said from above him. He seemed to be a leader. Upon closer inspection, Paul realised it was Stilgar, the man who his father had received.

“Stilgar? Do you remember me? You came before my fathers council.”

“Ah, yes. The Atreides boy.”

“Stop wasting time, we need their water!” A cry came from above, and as Paul looked up, he saw a man, and beside him, his dream-girl.

“Quiet Jamis. You know we cannot harm him. He is Atreides. Besides,” Nami jumped down from one of the ledges to stand beside Stilgar, “I will vouch for him.”

Objections erupted from the rest of the Fremen, but her eyes remained locked with Paul’s. Stilgar quickly jumped in to quiet them.

“That is fine. The boy is young, he can still learn our ways. However, the woman cannot.” He declared, and Paul looked to Stilgar in horror, moving backwards to stand in front of his mother protectively. Although, it was mostly meaningless, as he knew his mother could protect herself perfectly well.

“She’s too old to learn?” He asked, his voice harsh.

“Atreides…” Nami said softly, almost like a warning not to push further.

But he didn’t have to, as the Fremen were already drawing their knives, and Stilgar was removing the outer layer of cloth he was wearing. And then, his mother was leaping out from behind him, and she and Stilgar became locked in battle.

Paul took the opportunity to gain the upperhand, climbing up to a higher ledge and stealing a maula pistol from one of the Fremen warriors, but not before shooting Nami an apologetic glance.

As he looked back down, he saw that his mother had made quick work of the Fremen leader, holding his own blade to his throat. Nevertheless, he activated the pistol and kept it pointed at one of the nearby Fremen.

“Peace, woman. You did not tell me you were a weirding woman and a fighter.” He sighed.

“Our conversation ran short.” She snapped, not letting go of him.

“Peace. I judged you too hastily.”

Jessica then released Stilgar, handing him back his blade, meanwhile Paul lowered his pistol.

“The woman is under my charge until we reach sietch Tabr. Nami, are you still willing to vouch for the boy?”

“Yes.” She said firmly, and the rest of the Fremen sighed, making a cutting notion on the top of their wrists with their blades, before sheathing them.

Once that was done, Stilgar began climbing up the ledge to approach Paul, holding out a hand for the maula pistol.

“Come now. You will get your own when you have earned it.” He said, and the younger man sighed, returning the weapon to him, albeit begrudgingly.

That was when ‘Jamis’ decided to chip into the proceedings once more.

“I will not have them.”

“Jamis, I have spoken,” Stilgar said, “Be still.”

“You talk like a leader, but the strongest leads. She bested you. I invoke the Amtal.”

Paul’s mother stiffened beside him, and although he did not yet know what that meant, he knew it did not bode well.

“Jamis, you may not challenge her-”

“Then who will fight in her place?”

“Jamis,” Nami piped up, “Do not do this, the night is fading.”

“Then the sun will witness this death, Nami. Where is her champion?”

Paul now understood what was going on, and if anyone was going to fight for his mother it would be him.

He stepped out from behind Stilgar, and walked towards Jamis in the way he had been taught to as a Duke’s son, back straight, head held high.

“I accept her champion.”

Stilgar sighed as Jamis brushed past them, but soon followed suit. As did the rest of the Fremen, his mother included, until it was only him and Nami left.

“So, we meet again, Atreides.” She smiled, her voice slightly teasing.

“Mhm. I see you’ve been praying.” Paul smirked, hoping to get the upper hand over her.

“Have you not?” She asked in faux shock, and it sent Paul spinning, because although he had not been praying, he had dreamt of her every night since he last saw her.

“Besides,” Nami continued, not noticing his sudden flush, “I am beginning to regret my prayers. You are causing trouble already.”

“It’s in my nature.”

“Evidently. Now, come along, you have a duel to prepare for. Jamis is a good fighter, if you try hard you may just die with honour.” She declared, a wry smile on her face as she turned on her heel and led him further into the rocks of the desert.

#x reader #paul atredies x reader #paul atreides x you #dune part two #paul atreides #dune movie #dune #dune part 2 #fanfic #writing

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 2 years

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PAPARAZZI- P.B PARKER

Pairing: Dark! Perv! Peter x Innocent! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 9.3k

Summary: as the outgoing, spontaneous cheerleader of the school, you arent too familiar with quieter people, such as peter parker. he sure is familiar with you though. soon, the photos and obsessions give him the courage to talk to you, which leads into his darker desires coming true.

WARNING. THIS CONTAINS DARKER CONTENT, SUCH AS STALKING AND MANIUPLATION. READ WITH CAUTION.

Warnings: SMUT, stalking, public masturbation, stealing of panties, masturbation with panties, booze and drugs mentioned, swearing, maniplation/ slight gaslighting, pet names, heavy praise kink, size kink, daddy kink, overstimulation, corruption/ innocent kink, teasing/ playing with reader through panties, panties used as gag, mocking, taking pictures of reader while asleep, mentions of diff sex postitions, spanking, plugs and collars, mirror sex etc

“i'm your biggest fan, i'll follow you until you love me- papa-paparazzi baby, there's no other superstar, you know that i'll be... your papa-paparazzi” - paparazzi, lady gaga

One of the first words you had ever said to Peter Parker had been a lie.

A white one, something small and one that you had believed.

But not him.

He knew it was a lie that had slipped from your lips, clear as day as he snapped the photo with his Nikon. I’m not very photogenic.

Those were the words of warning you gave him as he asked for a photo of you for the yearbook, a shy smile blooming across your face as he insisted.

No one is ever un-photogenic. It's the photographer that can make it that way. he had reassured, flexing his bicep as he ran his fingers nervously through his hair.

Those weren't the words he wanted to say, but they’d have to do. What he really wanted to say, the truthful answer was probably not something your innocent, soft persona was ready to hear yet.

You are the most captivating person I’ve ever seen, and I look at your beautiful body any chance I can get without seeming like a full-on weirdo, imagining what you look like under those clothes. So yes, you are photogenic. Very, very photogenic.

That would have to wait until a much later date, when you knew him better. When you would understand how photogenic you were, because he’d make you understand.

“Peter?” you asked shyly, drawing his attention back to the present moment, breaking him from his trance about how your legs would look slung across his shoulders as he pounded into you.

You knew his name. God, wait until you were moaning it.

“Yea, yea sorry, just got distracted.” he smiled, making you giggle as he brought the camera up to face, eyes staring you down through the viewfinder as he snapped the picture of you smiling by the football field.

A cheerleader in her natural element.

“Thanks Y/N.” he nodded, turning to walk off, to stalk you from the bleachers- as he always did. But you stopped him, your gentle voice captivating him as you asked the most mindboggling question he had ever heard.

“You, you know my name?” you asked shyly, and he fought the urge to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor, to have his eyes boggle out of his head like a cartoon character.

Of course, he knew your name. Every person in Queens knew your name, the shining star.

“Course.” he shrugged, watching as you fidgeted with the hem of your short little cheer skirt, the one he imagined flipping up so many times as he’d pound into you from behind in the changeroom, holding your head up by your hair so you could see how beautiful you looked drunk on his cock in the mirror.

“Oh! Hey, you're in my chemistry arent you? Mr. Johnson's class?”

He died. He had died, and gone to heaven.

“Y-yeah. I sit-”

“At the back of the class. Back right corner.” you smiled, head whipping back as you heard your friends from the squad call your name, waving you over to the center field. You laughed at his reaction, the pure look of amazement in his eyes as he stared at you, his face in shock.

“I’ll see you around, ‘k Parker? Let me know if you need more pictures.” you waved, your hair flipping behind your shoulder as you trotted off to their beck and calls.

He somehow urged his legs to move, although he wanted nothing more than to remain frozen to the spot, the sweet smell of your perfume and shampoo lingering in the air from your close proximity making him hazy and irrational.

Let me know if you need more photos.

He bit his lip, knawing on it with his teeth as he made his way back over behind the bleachers, a spot he often occupied. It was perfect for a photographer, a spot where he could see everything and anyone, but no one could see him.

You were a sweetheart to offer that up to him, but there was one thing you didn't fully know.

He already took advantage of that offer, much before you said anything about it.

Peter had photos of you everywhere.

And by everywhere, he meant everywhere.

Photos of you pinned up on the walls in his room. Photos of you he taped in his physics notebook, his math binders, even a photo of you in his wallet.

They were all candids of course, as he’d often spend his time taking pictures of you when you were clueless. Those were always the best ones though, where you'd look so innocent and carefree in those little skirts and knee-high socks, a soft smile always on your face.

You were a sweet, innocent little ray of sunshine. One he wanted to corrupt.

And he knew, deep down it was wrong, oh so very wrong. But how could he not think of you that way? It was impossible to keep those thoughts at bay, thoughts of all the ways he would ruin you, making you beg on your knees for him.

For any part of him, for him to do anything to you. You would be so easy that way, so moldable in his hands.

Obedient.

The sound of your gentle laughter sent his gaze towards your body once more, a lion stalking a lamb as he took in your legs hungrily, currently spread into the splits as you stretched.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, the way he would ruin you. You’d look so pretty with his cum dripping put your quivering cunt, his fingers smearing it across your thighs. He’d cum on your stomach and feed it to you, or he’d finish across your face- and you’d take it like a good girl.

He groaned softly, palming himself through his jeans, the fabric suddenly tight and uncomfortable as he watched you.

Pictures weren't enough today. Pictures weren't nearly enough, with the way your skin gleaned in the afternoon sun, your pink little cotton panties peaking at him as you bent down to finish your stretching, still talking to one of your friends about helping out at the animal shelter later this week.

God, you were so perfect. So sweet, and gentle.. and well, his.

At least in Peter's mind.

Before he could fully comprehend what he was doing, need took over as he quickly unzipped his jeans, pulling out his hardened cock, throbbing and gleaming with precum. He moaned as he pumped himself tp the sight of you, imagining all the places he would take you- whether you liked it or not.

In his bed. Over the counters. On his desk. In the chemistry labs. Hell, even here, under the bleachers where he stood, currently jerking himself off like you were a live playboy magazine.

Head thrown back in pleasure, he bit his lip down hard enough to taste the coppery, sweet tang of blood. It was only when he heard the whistle and the sound of the coach's voice he realized exactly what he was doing.

This was wrong. This was very wrong. Fuck Parker, you’re acting like a fucking virgin. Can't even keep it in your pants until you get home?

Not with you, he couldn't. But he really had no option, knowing so many people would be with you. Didn’t mean he couldn't snap a few more pictures though.

One or two wouldn't hurt, right?

After zipping his jeans back up, he quickly grabbed his camera, positioning it so he could see you perfectly. Your hair shimmered in the sun, a little halo placed around your frame as you looked to your friend.

He didn’t know if he wanted to braid it for you after a long, hot shower, or if he wanted to tug on it so hard you cried. After a few pictures, many including your thighs in that short little skirt he adored, he hurried out from his hiding spot, back onto the gravel path.

He was in a rush not because he was worried he’d run into you again.

Oh, that’d be the dream.

He was rushing because there was an entire corkboard that waited for him in his room, filled to the brim with pictures of you. And it was either he came in his pants to the sound of your voice, or too many, many photos of you.

Peter would take the safe option.

For now- at least.

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“Peter?”

Your mellow voice rang out, clear as windchimes on a breezy summer's day- snapping him up from his thoughts. Of you, again.

He looked up from his notes, ones that he hadn't really been reading, but ones he had been mindlessly glancing at so Mr. Johnson wouldn't demand to know why he’d be staring off into space.

He couldn't really say “Sorry Mr. Johnson, I was just daydreaming about using a vibrator on Y/N until she started crying, begging and drooling because I made her into an incoherent mess!”

That would not slide with him. The bell was about to ring, and he wasn't expecting you to show up as a pre-class gift. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn't happy about it.

Very, very happy.

“Y/N hey! What's up?”

He wanted to smack himself in the face. What's up?! You really just said what's up?!

“Nothing much... Um- I was just wondering something.”

Your fingers were wrapped around your arm, rubbing it up and down as you fidgeted in lace with your feet. You were nervous.

“What were you wondering?” he murmured, and he’d be damned if he said he didnt find your shyness towards him adorable. Everything you did was adorable.

“You can totally say no if you want, I don't want you to feel like you have to or anything-”

“Hey. Breathe. Just tell me.” he smiled softly, urging you to take a deep breath, and start from the beginning. The heat rising to your cheeks was making you fidget even more, feeling as if he could sense it from miles away.

But you had to spit it out. If you didnt, you’d never hear the end of it from your nagging thoughts that liked to plague you wherever you went.

“I overheard Mr. Johnson telling Mrs. Marly that we’re doing a lab later this week. He’ll probably go over it today, I just wanted to ask.. would you be my partner? You’re really, really smart. And I wanted to get to know you better.” you gushed, words tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them.

Peter wanted to pinch himself. He wanted to slap himself silly, because there is no way in hell you just asked him that.

Was he dreaming? He was definitely dreaming.

“Peter?” His shock kept him from saying exactly what he wanted to say right away. “Like I said, you don't have too, I can ask someon-”

“Yes. Of course I’ll be your partner.” he nodded, cheeks turning pink as the skirt you had on today, the soft, pastel pink just aching for his fingers to run across the seams, to flip it up to expose yourself to him.

You rubbed your lips together, lipgloss shimmering as the morning sun shown through the windows, the bell ringing profusely like an alarm for the sun to break from the clouds.

It was strawberry lipgloss. He watched you put it on at your locker this morning, and he wanted nothing more than to taste it.

“Oh, thank you so much! If you brainstorm anything in class today, slip it in my gym locker. I have cheer practice after school, but all the girls are normally out of the change room by 2:45. If no one sees you go in there, you should be fine.” you giggled, watching as students began to sit down in their seats, Mr. Johnson finalizing his notes for the class as he started to write out the date at the top of the whiteboard.

“May I?” you asked, pointing at his pen that was scattered with his papers across his desk. Peter nodded, and you picked up the pen, leaning over towards him as you scribbled your locker number and combination across the blank sheet of paper he had pulled out before you had showed up.

He tried so hard not to look, he really did. But when you were leaned over, your shirt exposing the tops of your breasts so close to him- it was impossible not to peek. They looked so pretty and perky, your little gold necklace swinging in front of him, tempting him.

He wanted nothing more than to mark them up, to suck on your nipples until you were so flustered you couldn't do anything but moan his name, and tug at his hair.

The honeyed smell of your perfume was gripping him by the throat, clouding his senses and making his head go fuzzy.

He wanted you so bad it hurt.

“ See ya round.” you whispered, setting his pen down as you gave him a little wink, scurrying back to your seat on the other side of the room.

Oh, he’d be seeing you alright. He’d be seeing you a whole lot.

Mr. Johnson's voice was tuned out as his brain turned the sound off like a radio dial, as he was only focused on you. Peter looked down at the little heart you had left next to your elegant scribbles of writing, the numbers slightly tilted on an angle, loopy numbers filling the left hand corner of his page.

He had never seen anyone write like that, and he adored it. What he adored even more though, was that you had left an extra set of numbers for him.

Your phone number.

He couldn't help but glance over at you, head down in your notes as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, listening to the teacher as if he were a preacher in a cult.

You were so pretty when you were focused.

Peter knew he probably shouldn't be on his phone, especially because he knew Mr. Johnson was about to start talking about the labs you had overheard earlier that day, but he didn't care. He already spent all his classes daydreaming about you, especially this class- so what would it hurt?

His thumbs flew across the keyboard under the desk, hitting send before he could re-think his decision.

Unknown Number: So… you come here often?

You looked down at your phone, fidgeting with the pink, sparkly case with a smile. It was Peter. Your heart pounded in your chest at the text, the sheer dorkiness of it making you want to giggle.

He was charming, a little shy and quiet. But that's what made you gravitate towards him, his mellow aura inviting, yet mysterious.

You liked it. You liked it a whole lot.

You: Sadly… yes. You?

Peter: I tend to show up when the girl I want to show up does. I have nothing to look at when she's not.

You smiled, cheeks heating (as they typically did) when he was involved. You had a school girl crush on him, and he’d be blind as a bat if he didnt see it from miles away. Kilometers. Especially with those glasses he always wore, which he always adjusted on his pretty nose.

You: What's this mystery girls name?

Peter:....

Peter: Bunny. And Bunny is now going to be good and pay attention to the lecture, cause she has a thesis she needs to think about.

Bunny.

You tugged on your lower, glossy lip with your teeth, the slight pain a delicious distraction from what was happening between your leg as you clenched them together tightly.

The sound of your foot lightly tapping the tile was nearly as fast as the professor's words as he spewed them out at lightning speed, causing your notes to be frantic and rushed.

The last thing you wanted was to not have any material to give back to Peter during this project. You had your fair share of partners who did nothing in group assignments, and it made your blood boil.

The fact Peter was nice enough to even let you work with him was beyond kind already- the last thing you wanted to be was unprepared. Before you knew it, the bell had rang, its shrill noise breaking the silence and tension so thick in the air you could cut it with a knife.

It made you jump, heartbeat racing as you quickly packed up your things, his rambling no longer making sense in your mind as he yelled out the homework for this weekend to the kids already scurrying down the hall.

“Have fun at cheer tonight bunny.” the soft voice called, words tickling the shell of your ear as Peter's hand touched your lower back, his skin brushing yours as he scooted by you to head towards the door.

“Thanks.” was all you could squeak out, watching as he sent a little smile and wave your way, long stride carrying him down the halls as he propped his earbuds in to tune out the rest of the world.

Something you think you wanted to do with him sometime.

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Peter felt like a pervert. An absolute, full-on pervert.

There is a system set in place for perverted things, one that he had created in his head. Level one was taking pictures of you, level two being jerking off to those said pictures. Level three was jerking off to you, in person- without your awareness.

But this, this broke the scale. At least in his books.

This was something typical movie perverts would do, something the audience would watch, perhaps maybe cover their children's eyes while they gawked. He stood at the entrance to the girls change room, the only sound preoccupying the space the humming of the janitor out of view down the hall, and the buzz of the fluorescences.

No one lingered among the lockers, he had made sure of that. It was 2:50pm, and he was still chicken shit.

Peter Parker was scared.

Not scared of you walking in, or anyone else really for that matter. You had granted him permission after all, and it's not like anyone was stripping down currently.

He was scared of himself. Of his own urges.

Finally, he’d be in your personal space. Your personal, personal space. He knew it was wrong to rummage through your stuff, but the thought of your undergarments being so close to him, and quite literally his for the taking made him horny.

Hornier than he had been all damn day, which was saying a lot.

Horny enough to have yet again, irrational decisions cloud his judgement, making him storm into the locker room like a man on a mission. Skimming over the numbers, he finally found yours, lighting up like he had won the jackpot.

Memorizing the combination you had written down for him, he unlocked your locker, the metal creaking slightly as he pried it open.

It was so… you. So, so very you.

Innocent and soft, little pictures of you and your friends put up with pink washi tape, your cheer schedule scribbled with dates and hearts. He smiled at the Hello Kitty stickers you placed near the back as he slid the papers in your bag, making a mental note to bring that up in a conversation later.

It was when the papers were fully tucked away did he realize what he was touching.

Lace.

His mouth went dry, palms beginning to sweat as his fingers wrapped around the flimsy fabric, tugging it out into view.

Bingo.

The scrap of the pink lace thong was enough to have him keening, and he brought his nose to it, inhaling deeply. It smelt sweet, the wet patch you had left still staining the undergarment.

The fact you had worn this all day, when you had talked to him in class, when you had rubbed your thighs together eagerly…

“Fuck.” he murmured gently, bringing the pink fabric down to the very prominent bulge in his jeans, rubbing it against his oner with a sigh. His party was soon crashed though, the sound of voices growing louder as they entered the changeroom.

Shutting the locker as quickly (and as quietly) as he possibly could, he darted out of sight behind another row, praying to every god in the universe no one would come this way.

“Yea, Y/N told me she was going to Daryl's party tomorrow night. She’s supposed to help me pick out what to wear.” a light, cheery voice called from in front of him, the sound of the locker opening make his heart drop as another set of footsteps followed behind the mystery person.

Daryl? As in Daryl Whites? This was a very, very bad idea for you.

Peter had noticed the way Daryl had been eyeing you up lately, like you were a piece of fresh meat at the butcher's. He’d be dammed if he let you anywhere near that scumbag.

“What do think she’ll wear though?” another voice replied, the sound of a water bottle being squeezed filling the air as the locker clanged shut again.

“Hopefully something slutty. I can't be the only whore at this party! I swear sometimes-” The voices muddled out as they exited the changeroom, the door swinging shut behind them as the coach's whistle blew.

Peter let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the soft whoosh of air a sigh of relief. Slipping the panties in his back pocket, he made his way out of the changeroom, to go mentally prepare himself.

It now appeared he had a party to go to tomorrow night.

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“Oh goddd-” he gritted out between clenched teeth, the lacey thong rubbing across his hardened cock making it harder and harder to keep a grip of sanity in the present moment.

Jerking himself off with your underwear was his new favorite thing, the dozens of photos of you looking over at him a sweet touch. He couldn't stop thinking of you, when he was making dinner, when he was in the shower, when he was doing laundry.

It was always, always you.

It was only in these sweet moments, in the haven of his bedroom could act on these sinful thoughts, when everyone was asleep.

Because he was loud. But how was he supposed to stay quiet, when all he could think about was fucking you senseless?

You’d be so good for him. So eager to please. He had never heard you say no to anything or anyone a day in your life. Maybe it was wrong of him, but he wanted to use that to his advantage.

You were such a quiet, innocent thing and Peter wanted to corrupt you. He wanted to ruin you. Until all you could think about was his cock, his touch, his taste. The taste of his lips, the taste of his cum down your throat mixed with your tears and salvia as he used you like the pretty little fleshlight you were.

He’d have to train you first of course, using his fingers so slowly coax you open- get you used to him. Peter wasn't that cruel. But he couldn't wait to be cruel when you’d tease him, and he’d have to teach you a lesson. When he’d happily listen to the sound of your bell jingle from the collar he’d put on you as he’d drap you acros his knee, your body jolting with each spank.

Your cries would sound so pretty as he’d play with the tail in your ass between the spakings.

The thought of you sprawled out across his lap and crying sent him over the edge, head lolling back as he finished with a moan. His cum coated your panties, already stained from the previous night.

He knew the logical thing was to wash it and slip it back into your locker when you weren't present, but at the same time- he didn't want to.

Yes, he’d give them back, but he wanted you to wear them with the gentle reminder of him. Slipping those panties up over those beautiful legs of yours, just to have his dried cum used as a pillow for your cunt drove him insane.

So did the thought of seeing you tomorrow night, in a little party outfit. He felt like those girls in the changeroom wondering what you'd be wearing to the get-together, except he was thinking about it for a totally different reason.

How easy it’d be to get you out of it.

With a sigh, he stared out the window from his room to the city sprawled outside, at the twinkling lights and people milling on the avenue. This city never slept, and neither did he.

Daryl's house was only a few blocks down from his apartment, his family lucky enough to snag a townhouse in the bustling streets of Queens.

Peter hated parties, he was much more content to stay in his room and work on new inventions, or to smoke a blunt and read a book on the fire escape that so happened to conveniently be outside his window.

But if you were going, he needed to be there. To make sure you would be okay, or at least that's what he kept telling himself.

Not because he was borderline obsessed with you and needed to be in your presence nearly all the time because you were a drug he was addicted to, a feeling he could never shake from his bones. When you were too drunk to function, or high out of your mind he’d take you home.

Home- to his apartment, because you’d be in no condition to go back to your place, your father would throw a fit once he found out what his perfect little angel had really done.

He’d take care of you, keeping you warm and safe as you’d fight a stupid hangover.

Everything would go according to plan. He was sure of it.

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Everything did not go according to plan.

You would go to the party with Macey and Jessica, have an amazing time, drink to the point you were a little drunk, and go home.

That was the plan.

You would play games like beer pong with Daryl, despite not really liking him, but you'd have to be a good guest. But instead, you were very, very sober. In someones bedroom, on the verge of crying.

You didn’t really want to come here.

You knew you would regret it the second you stepped foot in the door, but you came anyways for your friends sake.

It will be so much fun! they had insisted as they fixed up your mascara in the vanity mirror an hour prior. Yeah. So much fun my ASS.

You didn't know whose room you were in, but it surely couldn't be Daryls. It was much to clean for that, too prim and proper. A guest bedroom then. A perfect bedroom for you- his guest, to sit in and hold back tears, being too overstimulated and anxious to actually enjoy yourself.

Picking at your dress, the skin-tight baby blue fabric making you feel claustrophobic, you listened to the muffled sound of some shitty pop song, the bass loud enough to rattle the floorboards under your feet.

You thought of Peter as you peered over into the full body mirror, taking in your body as you watched the tears fall. You wondered what he was doing, if he was having a better time than you were.

God you hoped so.

Peter would be able to brighten your mood, as he often did without even realizing it. You wished he were here. But this place, this “party” wasn't a scene for the man you had taken interest in over these past few weeks. He seemed like the type to hate this environment, as much as you secretly did.

So why the hell was he standing in the doorway, his messy hair poking out at you as he creaked it open slowly?

“Peter?” was all you could let out, in a state of shock that your prayers had been answered. Wiping the stray tears away with a sniffle, you stood as he made his way in the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Are you okay?” he asked, ignoring your curiosity as he walked over to you slowly, worry etched on his face as clear as day. You swallowed, fighting the urge not to break out in a sobbing fit.

No, I’m not okay. I want to go home. So badly.

“I’m fine. Just.. needed a break from the crowds I guess.” you murmured, watching as he sat down next to you on the bed, patting the spot where you previously sat, bedsheets ruffled. “This not really your scene?” he asked, in which you only responded with a nod, your teeth seeming stuck to your lower lip as you bit down.

“Yea me either. I don't really know how it's anyone scene to be honest. It's just a lot of loud guys sloshing beer over everyone and terrible music that makes my ears bleed.”

You laughed at this, warmth blooming in yur chest as he smiled. “Like seriously. I’m not a medical professional, but something is definitely wrong with my ears after hearing that shitty ass song that's been looped like- three times already. You can probably see blood.” he joked, hand snaking over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, your gaze meeting his pitiful one as he smiled gently.

He looked so pretty tonight, in that blue shirt you always adored. It brought out the colour of his eyes, which looked so pretty with the glasses he wore.

He always looked so pretty. Pretty eyes, pretty hair, pretty muscles that seemed to strain behind the fabric. Pretty fingers and arm veins that you could see so clearly as he slid your hair out of your face, so he could see you better.

“No blood... yet. I can't promise that later on though.” you teased, fighting the urge not to fall into this man's lap and curl up like a kitten, bawling your eyes out because of how overstimulated you were from the party down below.

Peter must have sensed this, this tidal wave of anxiety that was desperately trying to be freed from the dam you had built up. Giving your hand a reassuring squeeze, he sighed.

As if he were tired of this too.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he murmured tenderly, making your heart race. You had heard those words from many guys before, drunk and trying to get in your pants. You had always politely declined, having no interest in “getting out of there”.

But with Peter, it was gentle.

He was worried for you, and wanted to make sure you were safe. Comfortable. He wanted to get you out of this place he knew you hated, to sweep in and be your prince charming.

And you gladly let him.

“Please. I’ll text my friends I’ve headed out when we can somehow find a way out of that maze of people.”

“Let's get out of this jungle, Indiana Jones.”

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You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding once you and Peter managed to find yourselves on the empty sidewalks, the music now just a dull hum under the fluorescent street lights.

It was like swimming against the tide filtering through the lingering bodies of the crowd, everyone too drunk to understand you were trying to leave the party, not stay in it.

The smell of beer and cheap booze was now gone, the air clear enough you didn't see smoke floating in it as you walked with Peter.

You didn’t really know where you were going. You just wanted out.

You couldn't go home, as you told your parents you were staying over at Mindy's house for the night. They were too lost in arguing or drinking to really bother calling her parents to make sure you stayed there.

So you mindlessly walked the streets of Queens with Peter, listening to nothing but the pounds of sirens wail and traffic speed by, and your heels clicking on the pavement below. They didn’t seem to do much next to Peter, as he continued to tower over you.

You felt like a kid next to him with how.. well- large he was. He wasn't “jacked” by any means, but he had muscles. A solid weight to him, and height too.

It was this observation that got you asking a question you had always secretly wanted to ask, the emptiness of the streets giving you the confidence to speak it.

“Why don't you play basketball Peter? You have a really nice build for it. Like.. really nice. You’d be amazing on the team.” He looked over at you, eyebrow raised in amusement. “Are you flirting with me bunny?”

You looked away, wanting nothing more than to hide in an alleyway, and spend the rest of your days there. You got so flustered around Peter.

“N-no. I mean yes! I don't know.” you stuttered, making matters worse for yourself. He seemed to think it was cute though, laughing as he nudged your arm with his own.

“You have a really nice build too bunny. Especially tonight. I was meaning to tell you earlier, but ya know- timing. You look really pretty.”

Well if that didn’t make your heart flutter like a hummingbird.

“And to answer your question, I don't play basketball because it's not interesting to me. I have other things to occupy my time with.”

“Like photography?” you asked eagerly, genuinely curious. He smiled. “Like photography. And science, I like building things in my spare time.”

And I like thinking of you. All the time. And taking pictures of you, and admiring those photos as hobby, because I am so in love with you, and you don't even realize it. But no, just photography and science. Of course.

“That's so cool! I’ve always wanted to make a robot or something interesting.” you gushed, more and more drawn to this man by the minute.

You felt his hand slip down to rest on your lower back, touch comforting as the chill night's breeze slithered through the air, coiling around the hairs on your arms like snakes.

He was warm, his body smelling like cinnamon and fresh coffee grounds. You liked it. You liked it so much you barely realized as he guided you up the steps, leading to double doors to an apartment complex, one you knew he had been in so many times before.

He punched in a keycode like it was second nature, never breaking eye contact as he watched your lips move, not really hearing the words that came out of them.

You couldn't care less where he was taking you, too entranced with Peter to pay any mind. He could be leading you down to the seventh pit of hell for all you knew, and you wouldn't give a shit.

As long as he was there, doing that little nose scrunch he did when he was concentrated, or running his fingers through his hair, just to have it fall in his face a meer seconds later, you'd stay.

You'd do anything he asked of you.

And he knew this, and he’d be damned if he didn’t pull the strings a little bit. You were so easy, a glass puppet he could use, and play with.

His puppet. His toy.

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“My aunts gone for the weekend, so I figured you’d be okay with staying here for a bit.” he said, shutting the door behind him, watching as you surveyed the quant space.

The sound of the deadbolt clicking into place made you flinch, breaking the pattern of your steady breathing. You looked over at him, a sly grin on his face as he let the chain slide into place, flicking on more light to illuminate the space.

It was adorable here.

Little knick-knacks scattered across the bookshelves filled to the brim with old hardcovers, houseplants and vines overspilling the space. It looked like Peter and his family actually lived here.

They had made it a home, and had made it their own, unlike the other people you knew- who looked like they lived in an IKEA showroom.

You smiled as you slid off your shoes, little frilly socks a soft cushion against the old hardwood as you padded over to a framed photo of a woman no later than her late thirties with a younger, smiling Peter.

“That's my aunt.” he nodded at the frame, making his way over to the kitchen, tossing the keys up on the island, watching you intently.

“She's beautiful.” you exclaimed setting the frame back down as you followed Peter over to the couch. His arm slung around the back cushions, resting there almost as if it were an invitation. He drummed his fingers to the silent song that played through the speakers of his mind, brushing against your shoulder softly as you sat down beside him.

You made no move to shy away from him, despite your inner monologue screaming at you to run under his bed and hide like a frightened little child because you felt your brain turning to mush the closer you sat to him, the more you inhaled his comforting scent that had you seeing double.

“What.. um what should we do?” you squeaked out, his gaze cool and collected, despite the reply that ran through his head like a script.

We should fuck. And I mean fuck. Doggy, but in a mirror so I can see your pretty face when you cum, and you can see how well we go together, how well you take me despite being a tight lil thing. Maybe I can stuff your- now my panties in your mouth for good measure.

“Whatever you want to do, bunny.” he raised his eyebrows, making you strum your fingers against your lower lip in thought.

“Hmm. That's a lot of responsibility, I don't think I can handle that.” you giggled, hand coming down to adjust your dress as your legs tucked neatly underneath you. To prevent him from seeing what he really wanted to see, but little did you know he’d already seen it.

Many times.

“Too much responsibility for your lil brain hm? Need me to make decisions?” he teased, making you gulp, his words affected you more then they should have.

He was teasing, a little joke about how indecisive you were. You were extremely, and everyone knew it.

So why did you feel a wetness pool into your panties at the words that slipped out as smooth and sweet as honey, your thighs clenching as he smirked at you?

A nod was all you could muster, fueling the fire behind his eyes even more, adding wood to the embers. “Not really good at making decisions.” you confessed, shuffling in your seat.

It was hot in here. Like really, really hot. Unnessicalarly hot.

Sweat clung to you like dew drops as your breath quickened, his presence so near it made you feel sick. In the best way possible. Peter made you feel like a frightened little lamb, grazing in a little meadow filled with little wildflowers and butterflies- leading you into a slaughterhouse.

That slaughterhouse was filled with your desires, your wants and needs that you had suppressed and pushed down for so long because you were scared.

Despite what some people thought you were inexperienced.

You barely ever touched yourself, and had never let anyone else touch you like that. So yes, you were frightened. You were vulnerable, because Peter had opened up these urges again. Had sprung the cap free from the bottle, your innocence leaking free.

“Wha- what are you doing?” you whispered, voice as quiet as a mouse's footsteps as you felt his hand creep down to rush against your bare thigh, goosebumps rising in his wake.

“Making the decision for you.” he smiled softly, though his eyes were nothing but soft. They were hungry.

“What decision?” you gulped, tempted to close your thighs around his fingers that gripped your flesh, soft and delicate.

It felt good. It felt so, so good and he had barely even touched you. But this was your first time actually hanging out, and this was wrong.

This was my first time hanging out with her and I was taking advantage of her. Because she was so easy to manipulate. Because she was just so, so sweet and good.

His hand pried your legs apart ever so slightly, a little whimper escaping your lips that you prayed would get past him.

It didn’t though, of course. Nothing ever did.

A soft, gentle noise spurred him on, his knuckles running up and down the eighth of your thigh, his touch warm against your skin.

“The one you were too scared to make. The one you want, deep down, that your baby brain can't comprehend.”

Your eyes widened, hand grabbing his wrist as he adjusted his posture to suddenly tower over you, pushing you back against the cushions. Your head hit the armrest with a little oof, a moan getting caught in your throat at the contact.

“Peter-”

“Don't ‘Peter’ me.” he cooed, as if he were talking to a baby kitten, hand stroking your cheek.

“I can smell you, bunny. So sweet, bet you taste so delicious. You can't fight it, your body wants it. I know what your body needs. I know what you need.” he urged, knowing his words had you wrapped in a chokehold.

You were about to be KOed by him, body falling to the mat without you even realizing it.

“You do?” you asked, naive.

Curious.

Because of course Peter knew more than you, of course he understood what was going on with you. He understood these funny feelings that seemed to bubble in your stomach, consuming you whole.

“Of course I do, bunny. You have to trust me, trust is key in a relationship. In any relationship. I would never hurt you, don't you know that?”

Except he wasn't hurting you. He was hurting your innocence. Not that you were fully aware of that, of course.

“But, we’ve never hung out before this and I just.. I don't want you to think I’m taking advantage of you.” you murmured softy, breath quickening as his thumb neared your lips, tugging on the lower one with his thumb.

He wanted to laugh. Oh gosh, you were really like a little fawn.

“You’d never take advantage of me bunny, not ever. I would just be such a bad person if I didn’t help with those funny feelings I know you have right now.” he tilted his head, mock sympathy etched on his face like a carved marble statue.

“I don't know what they really are, I’ve never really-”

“You don't have to know. You shouldn't know, anything right now. Let me know, for you.” he insisted, dragging his thumb to smear your lipgloss, the sparkles stained on him like a brand.

His eyes never lingered from yours as he smeared the gloss across his lower lip, his tongue darting out to taste. “Mmm strawberry.” he grinned wickedly, making you giggle softly.

But he knew that already.

“It’s my favorite.” you whispered as his hand hiked up your dress, chest rising and falling quickly as he unwrapped you like a present on Christmas morning. Your head lolled to the side, leather caressing your cheek as Peter traced a slightly calloused finger down your abdomen, teasing you.

“Aren't you precious?” he murmured to himself, as if you were a test subject, and he was recording notes on how each touch, each taste affected you. He wanted to capture a picture of you in this moment, frame it and hang it perfectly center in his room.

This one, this one would take the prize.

The way you looked right now, so eager, yet confused spurred him on more than he thought was possible- doe eyes wide and mouth slightly parted as little gasps escaped you.

“Feels funny-” you moaned, the feeling of electrical shocks coursing through your limbs the closer he inches to your clothed cunt.

“Shh, shh I know. I know, but you gotta trust me bunny. Trust me. Trust daddy- yea?” he shushed, hand cupping your mound, making your hips buck up with a start.

“Oh godd-” you cried, Peter's fingers gently tapping the wet spot that had overtaken your panties, your slick smearing on his skin as he grinned.

“Such a messy girl aren’t you? Virgins always are. So easy to get wet.”

You didn't know how he knew you were a virgin, and quite frankly- you didn't care. Mr. Bear would disagree with Peter, your slick across his fur the odd time a key indicator of that.

But going against your stuffed teddy didnt nearly feel as good as this.

Nothing did.

His fingers began to rub little circles across your clit, the feeling of pleasure so startling and overwhelming that your hand snaked down to grab his wrist with such urgency you feared you had hurt him. Eyes wide, you whimpered.

“I can't- we can't-”

“Yes, we can. I know it feels funny but you gotta stay still and take it. Be a good girl.” he growled, voice husky and consumed with lust as he continued to play you like an instrument, fingers reading each cord your body demanded from the staff.

“See, there we go bunny! Just sit there and take it like my pretty lil dolly.” he praised you softly as your hips attempted to still, your legs starting to shake from the overstimulation.

It was too much. Too, too much.

Before you even realized what you were doing, you felt your thumb slip into your mouth- a coping mechanism you had used when your brain was turning fuzzy and cloudy, like a mirror fogging up during a shower.

Vulnerability. He was teasing you into submission, into regression.

“Awh poor baby. Feels so good, doesn't it bunny? You look so pathetic for me.” he cooed, a mock pout etched on his face as he pinched your inner thigh, making you squeal as you felt the elastic in your stomach snap, gushing all over his hand.

It was pure bliss, the way you sounded, your moans and little breathless gasps of pleasure driving him up the wall. The way you were absentmindedly grinding into his hand, the cushions of his palm bumping into your clit as he brought you down from your high had the seams of your innocent breaking, your body taking the pleasure it needed.

The pleasure it deserved.

“There we go, good girl. Such a good, good girl.”

You had made a mess- everywhere.

God, you were embarrassed.

“M’so sorry.” you gasped, in shock you had came that hard from his touch alone. “Don't apologize bunny, your body needed that. You've been denying her of it for so, so long and you need to learn your lesson.” he tsked, fingers tickling you as they wrapped around the flimsy waistband, tugging the lace down past your thighs.

It was as if you wanted to get fucked. As if you wanted to be used. And he’d be damned if he didn’t indulge you.

“What lesson?” you questioned, a flutter of anxiousness laced in your voice as the cool air hit your exposed cunt, your clit throbbing from the stimulation it had just received.

Your poor cunt was all swollen and puffy. Oh well.

“You need to give your pretty little body what it wants, what it needs. Stop denying me. But don't worry-” he smiled cruelly, the sound of his belt jangling made you shiver with anticipation, a ball of arousal mixed with flurries of anxious butterflies churning in your stomach.

“Daddy's here now, to help you. Say ah” You obeyed, feeling as if you had no choice but to part your lips wide. The image above you was pure sin, Peter's eyes as black as the night sky as he stuffed the panties in your mouth, making you choke on a gasp.

You sputtered as the sweet, salty taste hit your tongue, a muffled cry threatening to burst from your lips as is thoughts raced. This was all he had ever wanted, and now that he was finally getting it?

He felt on fire.

He felt as he would simply perish from the insides, flame charring the blood that roared in his ears as he overshadowed you. The desire that coursed through him was inhumane- animalistic as he stroked away a stray tear with his thumb, the hint of fear blending with the desire in your eyes giving all the information he needed to know.

You were scared. You didn’t know what you wanted. He had to teach you. To train you.

“We’d be so perfect together- ya know.” he hushed, cutting off your plea of a jumble between ‘please and his name. The dress bunched up slipped off you with ease as he guided it over your head, pinning your arms up helplessly.

“You’d be my little doll. Mine to- Hey, hey eyes up here.” he warned, making your eyes flicker back up to meet his as he spread your legs even further.

You whined. He just smiled.

“Mine to dress up and play with, cause you're such a good girl bunny.” he hummed, head thrown back in pleasure as he entered you, your nails scratching his skin as you wailed making him even harder.

You were just what he dreamed of. So tight, and wet and warm-

Your eyes rolled back at his words, his mindless, endless rambling distracting you from the burn in your belly as he sank into you deeper. He wasn't even all the way in yet.

Oh, you were fucked.

“G-god dammit bunny your little cunts grippin me. Can’t- can't think when you're this pretty for me.” he moaned, his cock brushing against your walls as he slowly stretched you, despite his body telling him to ram into you so hard you passed out.

He wasn't that cruel. Yet.

It was hard to breathe with the gag stuffed in your mouth, your vocal cords scratching as you moaned into the soaking fabric that was now also covered in your spit.

You were lightheaded from the stimulation, pleasure blurring from pain as you clung onto the sound of his sweet voice.

“Shh, shh sweet girl I know, I know it's so much isn't it? But you're handling it so well. Look at me all up in your guts hmm?” You looked down, the outline of his cock in your abdomen making you hiccup as he pressed on it gently.

All you could do was sit and squirm as he used you, slowly rocking into you with each whisper of praise that left his lips, making you feel dirty.

This was filthy. This was dirty, and wrong. But you loved it. You loved the way he was making you feel, the way he knew what was best for you. If Peter said your body needed this, then it did.

No room for further discussion.

“Mghm” was all you could murmur, body shaking as you came around him, vision white with bliss. You were floating among the cosmos, feeling as if you had taken a hit from Daryl's weed at the party earlier.

It was euphoric, the way this man had made you feel without even trying. Without making you do anything.

No, you let him take the reins. You had seen things in the movies before, where the girls tended to give and give to make the man happy. This wasn't with Peter.

He was the giver.

He gave you pleasure, but the pleasure he gave you was so good he had to take some from himself as well. He couldn't explain to you how good he felt in words, so he showed you.

Pounded into you, slow and deep. Made you feel each thrust, each kiss, each lick of his tongue against your cheeks as he cleaned the salty tears.

“God baby bunny you made such a mess over me hm? Creamed my cock dry. Guess it's only fair I finish inside you, stuff you nice n deep for your first time…”

A rub of your clit and the sound of his whine was the last thing you heard before the lights went out.

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Peter was still in a state of shock.

He felt as if he was walking on air, a ghost as he floated around the apartment.

This was real. This was very, very real.

Any one of his hundreds of fantasies, any images that scattered across in his mind like camera flashes couldn't compare to how exquisite you were.

How good you felt.

He knew the second you had looked at him with those wide doe eyes, with such innocence he was done for. He couldn't contain himself anymore.

Peter had given you every last drop of his cum, stuffing it in your sensitive cunt with his fingers. He couldn't let a single drop go to waste. He had been dreaming about it for too long.

The rise and fall of your chest brought him back down to some form of reality, realizing what exactly had happened. He had ruined you. Taken your innocence.

It was his now. His possession. Just like how you soon be.

Hands running through his hair, he smiled at your passed out figure, taking the panties out of your mouth.

He’d be keeping these, as well as your other ones. A collection, he decided.

A new hobby.

Peter made his way over to the bathroom, warming up a soft washcloth with warm water. He wasn't sure what kind of lotion you liked, although he often smelt vanilla on you. It was one of his favorite scents.

He’d be sure to pick some up tomorrow, but for now- his lotion would have to do. A gentle whistle sounded from his lips as he nudged his bedroom door open, a picture of your smiling figure greeting him as he switched on the bedside light.

The fact he didn’t even need any pictures tonight made him smile. He had you. Right where he wanted you.

There was a pep in his step as he snagged you a sweater, a soft blanket (that smelled of him, he obviously made sure of this, he wasn't stupid) and a glass of water from the kitchen before making his way back to you.

You were still passed out among the cushions, goosebumps rising on your skin as he neared. “Sleepy lil kitty.” he sang softly, flicking your nose gently. He was met with a soft snore, making him shake his head in amusement.

He really did fuck you dumb, and then into sleep didn’t he?

You were so beautiful. That's all he could think of, peering down at you. He had always thought you were beautiful, through the lens of his camera.

But up close and personal, where he could see each little dimple, each mark and ridge, he thought you were breathtaking.

I’m not very photogenic. Those words were utter bullshit.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had made his way back down the hall- stumbling back into his room. Grabbing his polaroid camera after half jumping into some boxers and pj pants- he gravitated down the darkened hall back to you.

His angel. His bunny.

The flash reflected across your body as he snapped the photo, the whirling of the camera not making you move an inch as you remained in slumber.

Peter would make you feel photogenic. He would make you feel beautiful, make you feel like the most stunning model in the entire universe every day- if you let him.

But let's be honest here, you really wouldn't have much of a choice, now would you?

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melancholyhigh · 11 months

Note

Request (only if you want to ofc): Can you write Leon Kennedy pulling you over but like instead of fining you he's like "I have another way of solving this debt of yours" *wink* *wink*

i love this request sm

ft. cop!leon x fem!reader

synopsis. officer kennedy is a very considerate man.

content. smut. 1.6k words. power imbalance, unprotected p in v, fingering, spanking, exhibitionism, use of the term 'sir'.

note. thank you for the request anon, i hope you enjoy! exams are almost over so i'll get to more of your requests soon <33

masterlist. inbox. comments & reblogs are highly appreciated !!

You watch the blue and red flash of the cop car through the side mirror of your vehicle. The God-awful siren screeching is enough to sour your already shitty mood.

Pulling over to the side of the road, you contemplate how to get your ass out of this problem. You couldn’t afford a ticket right now. Your student debt is enough of a financial crisis.

There’s a knock on the glass, and you roll your window down. You hoped the officer would understand your situation and give you a break.

“Do you have any idea how fast you were going, ma’am?” A smooth yet authoritative voice questioned.

You always hated that question. How were you even supposed to answer it?

You finally glance up at the officer with an unamused look, noticing his pretty blue eyes trail along your body. He’s probably trying to figure out if you’re under the influence.

He notices your lack of response before continuing, “You were going a 100 in a 75. I’m going to have to–”

“C’mon, officer.” You cut off his statement with desperation, gripping the steering wheel in frustration. “There has to be another way. I- I can’t afford to pay off anything right now. I’ll do anything, I swear.”

It was your fault you got into this predicament, but you weren’t ready to accept that yet.

He's observing you again, weighing his options. He clicks his tongue but agrees.

“Anything? I think I have another way you can make up for it,” he says, a sly smirk on his lips.

“Really!? Thank you so much, sir!” You say excitedly, a smile blooming on your face. “What do you have in mind?”

“Would you mind exiting your car?”

You feel nervous but comply, stepping out of your car.

You stand tall, straightening your back as you look at the brooding officer. His eyes are on you again, but there’s something else in his gaze while he watches you from top to bottom. He takes in your outfit, the tight mini skirt and top that leaves little to the imagination.

You’re staring right back at him. You couldn’t deny that he looks attractive. The blue cotton shirt hugs his fit figure, and the blonde wisps of hair frame his gorgeous face. You always did like a man in uniform.

“So how will I avoid the dent in my bank account? Officer…” You trail on.

“Officer Leon Kennedy.” He says, stepping closer to you. “I’m gonna make sure you won’t be reckless on the road again.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the sudden proximity, but you don’t mind. You also don’t miss the look the officer gives you like you’re his favourite meal, ready to be ravaged.

“How are you gonna do that, Officer Kennedy?” You ask, looking up at him innocently, playing into it.

“I’m going to punish you. Is that okay with you, ma’am?”

Your face feels warm at his words, but you nod. The warmth moves through your body and to your core.

“You have to tell me, miss.” He softly grips your jaw, making you look up at him. His thumb pulls at your bottom lip. You can’t believe you’re about to fuck a police officer in public to avoid being fined.

“It's okay.” You manage to get out. He squeezes your cheeks, your lips jutting out.

“Sir or Officer Kennedy. You get that baby?” He states, letting go of your face when you mumbled a quiet yes, sir. You’re looking up at him again, awaiting what he will do next.

“Bend over, ma’am. Over the hood of your car.” He instructs you, his voice laced with authority, and your pussy pulses with need.

You’re quick to listen to his every word. On your elbows and palms, flat against the hood of your car, supporting your body weight. One of his hands rests on your hips while the other is trailing down to the hem of your skirt. He bunches the fabric up, and you gasp softly at the cold air nipping at your skin.

You hear a faint fuck not before both of his are on your ass, squeezing the soft flesh. His hand moves to your panties, and you’ve probably soaked through them. He presses his thick fingers on the dampened spot.

“I think you’re enjoying this punishment too much, baby.” He mutters, gliding his fingers along your panties, barely enough stimulation on your clit.

“Fuck, please,” you whine softly. Hands come into contact with the flesh of your ass with a loud sound, and a whimper softly escapes the back of your throat. The pain which resonates with the slap turns into pleasure, and you involuntarily squeeze your thighs together.

“Please, sir.” He mocks you as he soothes the tender area. You want to roll your eyes, but instead, you relent, repeating his words with need.

“I don’t know. Will you behave for me, miss?”

“Yes, sir.” You whine. “I– I’ll be good for you.”

You hear him chuckle behind you, but he pulls your panties to the side, marvelling at your dripping cunt. His digits glide along your drooling pussy, coating it in your slick. He pulls his fingers back, and you hear him sucking on them with a loud groan.

“You taste so good, ma’am.”

You don’t have time to appreciate his kind words before his fingers work on your throbbing clit. You gasp at the sudden attention, and Officer Kennedy takes an opportunity to push his finger inside you.

Loud whines leave you as you fall apart on the Officer’s finger. He adds another digit, pumping them into your pussy. His movements are deliberate, curling into your cunt as he tries to edge you, keeping you from coming.

“Good girls get to come,” he had said.

You’re so close to coming for what feel’s like the 10th time — he pulls away from you. You huff in annoyance.

There’s another slap on your raw ass, and you can’t help but moan. Each noise you make goes straight to Leon’s cock.

“Please, sir, fuck me.” You’re almost sobbing from being robbed of another orgasm. Your thigh’s trembling, and your lips quiver as you plead to the Officer.

“Only because you’ve been so good for me, baby.”

You hear the soft clicking of his belt as he unbuckles it and pushes his boxer down to expose his aching cock. You so badly want to turn your head back to look at it.

One of his hands is on the curve of your back, pushing you forward on the hood of your car as the other guides his dick along your slit, bumping your clit. The tip of his cock enters your cunt, and you whine aloud.

He’s slowly moving into your tight, huffing as he does so. He isn’t even entirely in, but he’s already stretching you wide.

He’s wholly inside of you, your ass flushed to his pelvis. His cock is so fat you wish you could’ve seen it before it's inside of you. You’re grateful he’s prepped you with his fingers despite the teasing.

He leans forward, your back pressed against his chest, and his breath fans your ear. You clench around him, and he groans.

He starts moving in and out of your sloppy pussy, and your arousal coats his cock with each movement. You push for hips back, eager to finally come.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when the tip of his cock kisses the spot that makes you see stars. Your moans grow in volume and amount.

“Sh– Shit. You want everyone to know how much of a slut you are, huh? How much you love to be fucked dumb by an officer?” He huffs into your ear, punctuating each word with the thrust of his hips.

You’re full-on sobbing due to the assaulting pace of his cock on your g-spot. He squeezes your hips roughly, letting out soft moans into your ear as the velvety walls of your cunt squeeze him tight.

You’re so close. The knot formed in your tummy is so tight, ready to snap.

“Can I come, sir?” You plead, teary-eyed. Your nails attempting to dig into the hood of your car. You hope it doesn't dent as he fucks you.

“Come, baby. Let everyone know who’s fucking you so good.” He groans. You know there isn’t anyone here for miles, but the thought still has you clenching around his cock.

Leon moves one of his hands to your clit, rubbing circles on the sensitive bud. Your cunt gushes as you come undone, pulsing around his fat cock, which still persistently ruts into you.

“Where d’you want my cum, ma’am?” He pants. It now hits that he still doesn’t know your name. That doesn’t change the fact you want him to come in you.

“Come inside me, sir.”

You hear him gasp before he comes, spilling his hot seeds inside your tight cunt.

He pulls out of you, placing back your panties on and pulling your skirt down before fixing himself back into his pants.

With shaking legs, you turn around to face Officer Kennedy, his cum spilling from your panties and down your thighs. You look up at him through eyelashes, clumped together from tears. He holds you by your waist as you try to balance yourself.

His face is flushed pink, and the blonde wisps of hair stick to his sweat-slicked forehead. He clears his throat, continuing,

“I think you might have to pay an extra fine.”

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil #leon x reader #leon smut #resident evil smut #re4 smut #leon x you #leon kennedy x you #re4 x you #re4 #re4 x reader #smut #✩‧₊˚ fics #✩‧₊˚ requests

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seungmoonandstars · 4 months

Text

©¹¹ᵒⁿˡʸ

Kim Seungmin/female reader

wc: ~3.3k

rating: explicit/18+/some fluff ಇ

comments: mindless -sort of edited- sex filled continuation of the first part of co-worker Seungmin and noona boss~

・ ⠄⠂⋆ ・ ⠄

“Minnie...Minniiieee”

You hear the muffled hmm tickle your ear and it’s enough to get you wet already. He nuzzles so hard into your neck, nipping at the marks already blooming on your neck and chest.

“Down pup”

He stops and looks at you with glossy eyes, big and black. Bottom lip sticking out a little. Without another word, he sits back against the couch and rubs a daring finger across your thigh.

“No touching” you tell him, but not smirking is impossible.

“No?”

You nod. He mimics you. But when you straddle him, he almost grabs.

He stops himself, no, and shuts his eyes. Just as he goes to speak again, your mouth closes around his and kisses. Now he really struggles with his hands. This is new for him—kissing and not touching. What is he supposed to do with them? For his own sanity, he shoves his arms behind his back and laces his fingers together.

“Look at you...” you pull away and push him back against the couch. “That was fast.”

Seungmin opens his eyes and looks down at the thick imprint of his dick showing through.

The shorts he threw on to make dinner didn’t leave much to the imagination, and you were distracted by the soft movements between his legs the entire time.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Seungmin asks. The big smirk on his face can’t mask his hesitant eyes and pounding heart. There may have been a hint of attitude in there, but he’s not sure where it came from.

“Are you gonna be a brat for me this time, pup?”

His heart races faster. Face flushes even more. He can feel the nervous heat moving through his limbs and into his dick. It was only an hour ago that he fucked you, and he shouldn’t be this painfully hard yet. But he is, and it’s such a good ache, and he feels like he might explode as soon as you touch him.

Very slowly, he pulls his arms out from behind his back, and again he slides a finger over your thigh. Maybe he does want to be a brat if it means he can touch you.

“Nooo,” his gaze lingers on your thighs as they close around him, little by little. He grabs some flesh and squeezes—kneads his fingers into it. Then the other hand grabs the other thigh.

“Okay, you can touch...a little...” you raise yourself up as his hands move to your outer thighs—he kneads and squeezes—and then to your ass to do the same.

Seungmin leans in to kiss your hip, “so soft,” he bites and grazes his teeth across the delicate skin, then squeezes even harder as he pulls you down onto his lap.

“I could suffocate you with these.”

“Promise?”

“You’re full of surprises, pup,” your hands slide from his shoulders and wrap around his neck, “what else do you like?” fingers squeeze, very lightly, and then slide back down to his chest.

“I like...” he bucks up until the stretched fabric of his shorts hits you, “I like you.” Seungmin grabs the back of your neck and pulls you in, kisses you, pushes his tongue in and slides it around your mouth. He’s not ready for the sting across his cheek when you slap him, but he just smirks and leans back, “...you have too many clothes on.”

“Take them off then, since you wanna be so handsy.”

“Can I?” He asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer before grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it up and over your head.

You set your hands on either side of him, grip the couch, look down at the red mark on his cheek and run your thumb across it.

Seungmin leans into your touch and kisses your wrist, and he slowly works his way up your arm. It’s so sweet and soft and loving that you almost forget what you’re doing.

“You’re not very good at this.”

He grunts when you sit yourself on his lap and tug at the waistband of his shorts. He doesn’t seem concerned with what he isn’t good at—now he just wants his dick free. But he asks...

“Hm, what’s that?” He watches eagerly as you take him in his hand and stroke. He whines a little. Flashes his eyes up at you. Leans back.

“Being bad.”

“Do you want me to be bad?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

His fingers slide beneath your underwear and touch, gathering up your arousal, ghosting over your clit and getting a desperate sound out of you.

“Don’t tease, pup...please—“

A finger slides in and he fucks you slowly, deeply. He knows where to reach for and he smiles as you grind on him. “Sounds...so good,” he licks his lips and speeds up, “you’re so wet for me,” a second finger slips in.

“Take them off...please Minnie”

“I will...I will after you come for me”

He pulls at your underwear even more, but they remain on, squeezing tight around your hips as you force yourself against his touch.

“You want it...hm?” His free hand grabs for you and guides you as you bounce up and down on his lap, roll your hips into him. He can focus on your clit now. And he does, and he does it well...and then he stops.

“No, no...I’m so close”

“I know"

Seungmin pushes in harder, presses and touches you just right.

You throw your head back and stare at the ceiling. And then you feel his lips on your neck, kissing and biting again, making new marks and bruising the old ones even more. It hurts, and it feels so good, and it makes your orgasm so intense you can’t hold yourself up anymore—you collapse onto him, arms tight around his shoulders, and Seungmin holds you against his body until you’re still.

Everything stops, and you’re out of synch, ragged breathing is the only sound in the room. Seungmin pulls his hand free, and before you can say a word, he’s grabbing you and laying you down on your back.

One of the soft throw pillows is placed under your head, and he looks down at you...gets close enough to kiss, “good girl.”

He slides your underwear down your legs, opens your thighs, and the cool air hits you and makes you squirm. The warmth of his mouth is welcome, but your overworked clit can’t handle his tongue right now—you need a little more time

You try to push him away, but Seungmin doesn’t let you move. He hooks both arms around your hips to hold them still, and kisses softly, “let me...please.” His cheek rests against your thigh and he looks up at you.

“You only had one, pup...let me take care of you”

“I will”

More warm kisses trail along your thigh and hip, then to your stomach.

“Still a tease”

“You were fighting me a second ago.” He’s on your clit again, mouth open, tongue soft.

A shiver runs through you. You have no doubt he can make you come again, but you can’t take your eyes off the bulge in his shorts. You grab a handful of hair and tug, “climb up here, sweetie...don’t make me beg again.”

This time he listens. He kisses his way up your stomach and chest, carefully brushes over the marks on your neck, and then pecks at your lips. “I like it...” he says between kisses, “when you beg.”

“You’re worth begging for”

“I am?” he nuzzles his face against yours.

“Yeah, but my mouth could be doing more important things.”

“Oh?”

Seungmin gets up on his knees. His palm slides roughly down his cock, and you catch a glimpse of the tip as you rise.

“Sit”

He falls back on his ass and lets one leg fall to the side, pulls a little at his shorts. They’re barely holding him in now—you feel him, squeeze and stroke, tug a little at the fabric. He sighs and moves his hips, wanting more now, but you take your time.

The bedroom was dark, and you didn’t get to take him in like you can now...all of him. His tight stomach—he’s pulling at his shirt and wiggling out of it, flexing and twisting. His nipples, pink like his lips, and soft when you bend down to put your mouth on them.

He groans and moves against your hand.

You turn your attention back to him, and your fingers wrap around him. He’s big, and now you just want stretched open—you need to ride him and come on his dick again...but first, he needs all of your attention.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice is soft, and when you look at him, his eyes are big and...well, he’s giving you puppy eyes. Seungmin is making you melt again, and he isn’t even trying.

“Nothing, pup...” you stroke him, lick around the delicate skin of his head, clean off the pre-cum starting to drip, “just wondering how you’re gonna fit.”

He laughs, and it turns into a groan when you take him in your mouth. “Ooh, ah that’s...fuck.”

“Good?”

“Oh yeah,” his legs open up more and he can’t help but push himself in, “so good,” he whines.

Both hands hold him and stroke, you suck him in and try not to go too hard. At least not yet. He hits the back of your throat and, “...you gonna make me come like this?” runs a hand down your back.

You answer with a hum and moan, force yourself down a little more, relax, grip his thighs. It’s hard to breathe in this position, and with his dick in the way. But you can’t go further, so you pull back, slowly, licking hard, and you leave a messy trail of spit as you go.

“Yeah you will”

Goosebumps jump up all over you, and you can’t help but smile as your lips graze over him. His voice is so effortlessly sexy and gentle, and it makes you want him even more. You take him in again—stroke him, drag your tongue up his shaft...

“Right there,” his hips jump up when your tongue hits below his head, “please.”

“Please?” you lick it, stroke upward and let your thumb slide over it, “this spot right here?” The gentle circles you make get his hips moving again.

“Mmm...yes”

He falls back a little more and groans when your tongue hits him again. You kiss, and wrap your lips around him, focus your tongue on his sweet spot. Seungmin’s sounds like he could come, and when your hand starts working him again, he whines and runs his fingers through your hair, his hand slides down the back of your neck to squeeze. It runs slowly down your spine and back up again.

You peek up at him—he looks drunk. He looks like he’s trying to hold on as long as possible, and it’s not working well. A smile tugs at his lips when he finds your eyes, and he sighs.

“I’m gonna come”

You smile around him and wait, keeping your pace steady, and your tongue light. His cock twitches in your hand, and the grip on your neck tightens as he holds you steady and fills your mouth.

It hits the back of your throat, and you close your mouth around him until his hips stop...then swallow.

Seungmin falls back on the couch and sighs, but you don’t crawl on top of him. Not yet. First you take him in your mouth again—all of him this time, soft and sensitive. You want to see if he squirms for you, and he does.

“Get up here,” he whines and runs his legs over your side, “come kiss me.”

First you tuck him back into his shorts....grab his shirt and pull it over your head.

“Are you gonna steal that?”

“Maybe.” Now you crawl up and kiss him, “it smells good.”

A phone buzzes on the coffee table. Seungmin’s phone.

“That’s the first interruption we got all night. Who is it...one of your mean friends?”

Seungmin laughs, “yeah it’s Changbin.”

“What does he want?”

“He wants me to go out and get drinks with him and...everyone.” He starts typing a reply. “Oh...he asked me an hour ago. Now he’s mad that I didn’t reply.”

“Hopefully some of them are nice.”

“They are”

“Are you gonna go?”

“I’m gonna stay here with you. Besides, it’s late,” Seungmin pulls you tight against him and closes his eyes. “I’m a little sleepy. And we both work in the morning.”

“You’re sleepy, pup? Time to shower and have a drink and get cozy in bed.”

“That sounds very nice.”

“I would like to make you come ooone mooore time...but there’s always tomorrow morning.”

⸻

“We have time,” you glance at his smirking face in the passenger seat. “We do. I’m the boss and I have the keys.”

“If you say so...” Seungmin looks at his phone, “we’re already on track to be 15 minutes late.”

“Order the coffee and I’ll get us there at 8:15.”

“What do you have to grab at your apartment?”

“Clean underwear...and a turtleneck.”

“I thought we were gonna show everyone your marks.” He pretends to frown, and his eyes soften and it makes you want to pull over and kiss him.

“We will. Nothing will cover all of this.”

“Sorry, I got a little carried away,” he smiles and covers his face with his phone. “Same thing you had yesterday?”

“Did you get carried away? You seemed pretty tame to me, pup.”

His giggle is so musical and genuine. “Compared to you, yeah...I guess I was. But...”

“But what?

He shakes his head and smiles. His face pinks up as he gets his words together in his head, “I’m not very experienced, sooo...” He sits up and turns even more red, “I mean, you obviously know what you’re doing.”

You almost don’t hear him, he says it so softly. “So you’re not a slut? That’s alright, we can...not be sluts together then.”

“Um, I mean when you heard them say that, it’s because I had to make up stories to get them off my back.”

It takes you a second to really grasp what he’s saying, and you try not to have a gut reaction. But what he just said can’t be what you think he said. There is no possible way—you would have known, and he wouldn’t have been so effortlessly good last night.

Luckily, you stop at a red light and have a chance to look at his red face. “How many made up stories?”

There’s silence for a few beats. Not awkward, but still a little heavy.

“All of them.”

Now you feel yourself heating up and turning pink. “You expect me to believe that last night was your first time, pup?” You shake your head and immediately regret your response. Why would he lie to you about being a virgin? “You’re a...you were? Everything? Even the head?”

He smiles, hesitantly, and nods. His eyes are glued to his phone screen.

“Baby, you’ve never had your dick sucked before last night?”

His nod turns into a shake.

“I don’t understand. Minnie, I’ve had guys for their first time before, and they were not like you.”

He shrugs, “I just tried my best. I was so nervous.”

“No way, you were so confident. But now I see why you were such a good little puppy.”

“Yeah, I liked that.”

You take his hand and look at it, examine his pretty fingers, run your thumb over his knuckles. Then you bring it to your lips and kiss.

“You helped,” he smiles. “You made me feel very comfortable.”

“Good, that makes me feel better about it.” You look at him again, up and down, “it’s hard to imagine you not constantly getting hit on at work. How often do you have numbers slipped to you while you help someone build their pc?”

“I get flirted with a lot, and I’ve almost gotten there a few times...but, I always back out, or don’t call them. Or I ghost them because I get so nervous.”

“And all those numbers are perfect for your stories." "Yes, and I just don’t correct them when they assume.”

He sighs so deeply and so loudly you can’t help but look at him again. The phone is still a few inches from his face as he types away. “All ordered,” he smiles again and you relax.

“Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

“I wanted to, but everything started moving so quickly, and I wanted it...wanted you, so badly. I didn’t wanna ruin the mood and spoil everything.”

“You wouldn’t have spoiled anything, pup. I would have loved taking care of you either way.”

“Maybe you can teach me something next time.”

“Should we take a break or would you like to spend the night at my apartment?”

“No, I’d like to spend the night.”

⸻

As soon as the store opens, you lose track of him. It’s probably for the best, though, because there is actually work that needs to be done, and can’t focus if he’s in your line of sight.

Eventually, you do hear him. He’s talking sweetly to a customer, a female customer, about her laptop. Seungmin sounds professional, but he’s naturally kind and helpful, so whether or not he is flirting isn’t the question—he just sounds flirty.

Just this morning he told you it happens often, but it’s the first time in you’ve been here to witness it. You desperately want to walk by and see what she looks like, but you don’t want him to know you’re there, and you don’t want him to think you’re jealous of something so silly. But she sounds cute, and she probably is.

The only thing you can do is walk away.

Changbin finds you when you do. He smirks, and his eyes immediately land on the skin that your sweater doesn’t cover.

“Hey boss...” he quickly looks back to you, “am I good to go to lunch?”

You nod and look around him as Seungmin finally appears. The customer is nowhere in sight, and he’s grinning. Changbin walks off, and Seungmin takes his spot in front of you.

“There you are...you’ve been so busy being a good employee,” you look around before sneaking a hand to his ass and squeezing. “Did you get a number?”

“Yes. Well no, she asked for mine and I—“

His phone buzzes, and your stomach drops, because for a very brief second, you assume he did give her his number, and she’s already texting him. You wouldn’t blame her.

“Oh,” you stare down at his phone as he opens the text.

“No, I didn’t give it to her. She seemed really offended when I told her no thank you.” He laughs when he finally reads the text, and he holds up his phone so you can see it.

Seungie buddy, look at her neck! Sorry about your luck, but someone else is already hitting that ̄\_(ツ)_/ ̄

“Aw, I’m sorry Seungie.” You smile at him, relieved and amused at your jealousy...and Changbin’s obliviousness. “Should we let him think you missed out?”

“I think he’ll eventually figure it out on his own, especially if he asks me about it. But I don’t want you to get in trouble if anyone finds out.”

“Don’t worry about me. But we can be smart...go to the coffee shop when our shift is over, and I’ll pick you up there.”

“Is it alright if we pick some things up at my apartment? I know it’s far—“

“Of course we can. We should’ve thought ahead anyway. You get what you need, I’ll order us dinner...”

Seungmin takes a few subconscious steps forward, and soon, he’s right in your face. You can smell the coffee on his breath. You want to kiss him, and you could, because nobody is here, but you hold back.

“...and uh, we’ll figure it out from there.”

#kim seungmin #skz seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin x y/n #kim seungmin x you #seungmin x reader #seungmin x you #seungmin x y/n #kim seungmin fluff #kim seungmin smut #kim seungmin fanfic #skz smut #skz x you #stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut

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himbocoups · 11 months

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˗ˋˏ Epistolary Yearning ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only

synopsis: a series of letters, speckled with notes of budding romance and longing, exchanged between a newly married couple separated by seas and the ongoing war the emperor sent his commander to end.

pairing: duke!lsm x reader (gn afab)

genre: epistolary form, historical fantasy, romance | smut

tags: arranged marriage, mentions of a war, dk and yn accidentally invent the concept of planes, two people very much falling in love | degrading, fingering, guided play, honey play, marking, mirror play, pet names, praise, pussy slapping, riding, spitting, squirting…

wc: 5.13k

message from nu: fueled by my love for historical, fantasy, and isekai manhuas. big thank you to my beta readers (@heartkyeom, @aceofvernons, and @multi-kpop-fanfics) for reading when I was playing with the format of this fic + @junkissed with helping out with the syntax for this one very confusing line I wrote. also summoning @onlyseokmins bc I told her I'd tag her once duke!dk was finished <3

himbocoups's masterlist

Letter One - YN

My Lord,

How are you? I hope your trip is going as smoothly as planned.

It has been a while since I last heard from you. As Summer comes to a fading end, Autumn threatens to wash the foliage to hues of brown and auburn. And I sit at the library nook beside the window, taking quill to parchment against the cover of a heavily bound book and scratching against blank pages before I can muster the courage to write to you. I do sincerely apologize if this attempt seems strange.

Though I pity our brief time together, the only things I familiarized myself with are your scintillant eyes. Maybe instead of feeling as dull as the color of nature, I’ll think about how the color is reminiscent of your eyes. Eyes, these beautiful jewels seem to reflect the light through your smile. I can’t help but imagine myself as the last person to see them every night as I lay beside you as we drift off into slumber. Would it be too forward of me to say that the thought of growing fond of you, not just your eyes, is slowly appealing more and more to me?

However, I do have hesitations as I am left alone to roam these lonely halls in a place so unfamiliar to me. It would be a pity shall I reach familiarity with my surroundings before I become familiar with you. Or even worse, to have you forget your familiarity with me.

Please be safe for me. Hurry home soon.

Letter Two - DK

My Jewel,

For someone who longs for familiarity, you need not create even more distance between us through formalities. And my love, you need not refer to me as your Lord. Love is all I ask for, as love is what you will always be to me. Albeit, I do find it disheartening to read that you think of me so lowly. I could never forget someone as precious as you, even if you do not believe in your preciousness.

Nevertheless, I, too, pity the brevity of our time together. Marriage agreed upon through an exchanging of letters by our guardians, now our marriage follows suit in the epistolary form. Yet no descriptive access through penmanship could ever grant the feeling that blossomed inside me and continues to bloom since I first laid my eyes upon you. And on the eve of the third week of our matrimony, I was whisked away to end the war. I do sincerely apologize for my absence.

On this rocking ship, all I can do is stare into the swirling sea in search of a passing merchant ship with letters to deliver. The birds that soar above me seem to provoke me with their independence, cawing in hearty guffaw at the fact that this poor man can never take flight at any moment back into his lover’s arms - where he feels most at home.

Maybe we should take giant birds instead of ships, soaring in the skies and reaching our destination in an instant. How wondrous that would be.

But I am an equally lonesome Commander among his squadron, a man who keeps the first letter from his lover in the pocket against his breast and his wedding band around his neck. Just thinking about how you were thinking about me while writing that letter, still thinking about me, conciliates any disarray in my mind. And I promise you that I will make you feel loved for the rest of your life, even if our love is only budding.

I will lead my men well. Then I will lead myself home. To you.

Letter Three - YN

My Dokyeom (If it is fine to refer to you in this way),

I do have to admit to my shyness, how my face flushed with heat when you referred to me as your beloved. Your “love”…my goodness, our servants nearly called the doctor over when they saw my state of awe. Although, I do apologize if the language in my initial letter seemed blunt or made you feel even a hint of sadness that I accidentally made you for a man with a cold demeanor.

You wrote: “Maybe we should take giant birds instead of ships, soaring in the skies and reaching our destination in an instant” in our last exchange. What a preposterous idea! But what a new discovery to find that you are as funny as you are charming. Shall we commission a local alchemist to create potions that magnify tiny sparrows to large ships? Or shall I ditch my archery lessons in exchange for nights in your magnificent library, scouring the archives with the hope to find a recipe to an enlarging potion hidden in a romance novel?

Oh, how I wish everything could be as easy as depicted in romance novels or that one Opera we went to watch. Days consume me on end. Not in the way in which I consume much of my leisure time by staying in the places we frequented in our time together, but in the way in which time passes by so slowly it feels like the concept of time is consuming me instead. I wish it were you who were consuming me even though I do feel it through your love. Because I, too, keep your letter near me. And I trace over the areas your quill indented the parchment, so much that I sometimes end up smudging the dried ink with my hand.

I do miss you...even more when everything around me reminds me of you. Because you, who makes silly promises about a budding romance, will also be the receiver of my elementary promise about my slowly collecting love for you.

P.S. They are close to finishing our portraits. I have yet to decide where they are to be hung.

Letter Four - DK

My Love,

My Seokmin. Seok. Min. Mine. Beloved. Love. Dearest. Husband. Equal. Anything but Duke, Lord, Commander, or Dokyeom is welcome. How I wish for the day I get to hear my name leave your lips through a soft murmur, laughter, greeting, whisper, and mayhaps even a whine.

Honeymoon was cut short by my trip across the sea. We are finally on land. In front of me is a crackling campfire whose glow conceals the redness of my cheeks, dappled with jubilance from reading your last letter.

My dearest shy and humble lover whose metaphoric propositions of love are anything but reticent, I have annotated my favorite portions and circled words that I replay in my mind as a source of comfort. However, like what you did with your quotation of my imaginary bird ship, I must reference a few nuances in your letter that I find interesting. Particularly, I find that you must be careful in formatting your syntax, my beloved — for your way of language is enough to drive a sane man mad. Just think of me: a sane man before I had you and now a man slowly falling madly in love with you.

Referring back to how time achingly consumes you, your “I wish it were you who were consuming me. Although I do feel it through your love” causes me to quiver in a way that is only shared between two lovers. I am a man whose honeymoon was interrupted by the king’s call, a man who is weeks without his lover, a man who has needs - desires. And your need for me to consume you? I can only pluck it out of context.

If everything around you reminds you of me, then I must tell you that I hope your reminder does not make you suffer as how I suffer. My love, do you know how painful it was to lay in my bed while the ship continually rocked back and forth? It was reminiscent of our second week together when you decided to mount me in bed, your beautiful opalescent undergarment covering an action so lewd that it could never be named in public. Yet I was a man on a ship with his aching cock in his hand, imagining his newly beloved on top of him who squeezes him tightly as they ride his lap.

No hand could ever replace the fervor of having you rock me, leaning forward to kiss me down my naked chest while sucking and licking the thin area of skin right above my collarbone. How warmly your walls enveloped my own, squeezing and contrasting with every glide you make. I couldn’t help but twitch in you, trying to hold in my selfishness by grabbing onto your thighs - kneading and feeling the skin fill the areas between my fingers. But you bounced on my lap like a bunny in heat, causing my hands to trail further upwards until they lay on your ass…I wanted to worship you by turning myself into a throne, a marble stand so others could be in awe of you for centuries to come.

Mouth unable to talk, your kitten drooled onto my lap and coated the surface with liquid lust while you whimpered as I praised you for treating me so well. I scooped the syrup from the maple tap and brought it to my mouth to suck; even now I can still feel your sweet syrup rest on my tongue and swirl in my mouth. Yet there I was on that boat, losing my mind with my hand on my tap. Bed sheets soaked with my sweat, I could only imagine that it was your sweat-glistened skin that stuck against mine. It was but a shame, and still is but a shame, that the image of you collapsed against my chest with exhaustion when your thighs trembled with such a quake only exists as a memory. How long would it take for me to turn the memory of me looping my arms around your back and pushing your upper body against mine, feeling you build and crash through a scream, into our reality?

The land is no better than the sea. Truly, it must be treason to think such impure thoughts while riding on my finest stallion to head to our base. I am a Commander, a Duke for God’s sake. But the bouncing, the clopping - oh, beloved, my skin pricked with heat so much that I thought bandits were ambushing us. The pain I felt while I waited for my swelling to go down - I am utterly embarrassed to admit I almost released while riding in front of my men.

How I wish I could come running back home to you. Shall I single-handedly overturn the monarchy so we can be equal partners to the throne? So that we can be rulers who need not leave our estate? Just give me the word, and the empire will be yours. Then I would never need to leave your side. That I guarantee.

P.S. Hang the portrait wherever you please. Perhaps the ballroom so I would always be with you during the night of the balls.

Letter Five - YN

My King,

How mad of you to write such vulgarities, to suggest usurping the throne only if it means being able to stay with me. You are a Commander. You are a Duke. You are one of the King’s men. Do you not fear the inevitable consequences that you would face should your letter be opened by anybody other than myself? Do you not fear what would happen to you if your lust-driven joke was wrongly taken for treason? I must say that despite everything, I found myself dipping a finger into your words and listening to my juices sing your letter like lyrics.

Your words comforted my ache at my core, skillfully fighting fire with fire to extinguish my burning forest. However, if you were to turn into a mere object – a chair, a throne, a stand – I would never be satisfied in your worship. ‘Tis true that I would like to be worshiped by you like the first time your palm cupped my face in private confinement under the shade of the gazebo in the garden. With nobody around us, your face softened to reveal the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. Earnest eyes flittered to and fro as you studied me in awe and whispered words of praise. Up until then, I never even knew you could worship a person such as me. Yet, you, a mere stranger I met a few hours ago, placed a kiss upon my lips as soft as the petals on the flowers that surrounded us.

If worshipping me means an inanimate you, I don’t think there would be anybody who could worship me with such sincerity and reason as you do…and I quite like the animate you even if the animate you screamed at the bug upon your sleeve. I couldn’t stop laughing then. And when you looked back at me with those bashful eyes, I knew this would be a marriage filled with laughter.

Laughter, as I have recently learned, doesn’t only exist jovially. No. Reading your comment about my syntax, I almost erupted in a peal of sinister laughter. My poor lover with his cock in his hand and his quill in his other and his attempt to warn someone with such an extensive educational background about their syntax…you are too pure for this world. Should it make you feel better in any way, I have also thought about you in ways such a person in my stature should never.

The other day when I was particularly distracted by the particular “unease” that had been building inside me, I accidentally launched a practice arrow into the wind. Chasing it, I happened upon our agriculture stables where the young workers sit and milk our cows. I swear, I must have been in such a delusional state to feel such a rush just from watching the motion of our cows getting milked that I ran off to the kitchens without picking up my stray arrow.

Can you believe it, my dear? Have you been thinking of me differently since I admitted to almost leaking when I saw the cows getting milked? Would you think of me even differently if I told you I thought of you while talking to our ice sculptors? If you can quench my thirst on my loneliest days, I can only imagine what taking you in paired with ice would feel like for both you and me.

Mayhaps, we should convene in the kitchen at night after the bell strikes twelve when all of our kitchen staff have retired. I want to kiss you with cherry-stained lips, watching tint transfer onto yours as I play with the seed of the fruit in my mouth while I wait for our cups of tea to steep. Kissing, I hope, would act as an analgesic for your painfully sleepless nights. Still, I find it abstruse that a kind, gentle, and good man like you would live such a cathartic life as a commander. Enerverated in every way as I am, I can only offer a somnolent kiss in hopes of luring you to sleep before your tea can fully steep.

“What is a man without his honey,” you would say. Then I would ask you to specify what type of honey you are referring to.

You would reply with this cheekiness in your voice while your lips pull into a wide smile, “the syrup.” If I’m not wrong, you would peck the top of my head while you reach over me to grab the jar that the cook keeps at the counter for you to easily access. Because the man with a honeyed siren voice that often procures lullabies for me to fall asleep also has a taste for the pollinators’ syrup.

As you can tell…we are not simple people. We are not a regular couple. We have exchanged letters for longer than we have physically been together. So when I tell you to close your eyes to try to find your honey, would you? If I blindfolded you with a kitchen towel and told you to search for the dab of honey I swatched on my body, could you do it? Would you go to the lengths just to search for the honey to your tea?

Would you use your nose and sniff along my skin, searching for the floral and fruity aroma? Gently picking up my arm and bringing it to your nose, would you gently guide your nose along the surface of my skin in a position so intimate that you feel my arm hairs tickle the tip of your nose? Would you guide your nose upwards along my arm until you arrive at my collarbone, sniffing and docilely licking areas you think to be as sweet as honey?

Imploring you in your reconnoiter, I must keep quiet as I watch you blindly explore every groove of the topography of my body. I imagine myself tilting my head towards the side to allow you access to the side of my neck, sharply breathing in as you nose the area in which I am the most sensitive. I see you hesitate for a second before planting your supple lips against the skin as if to sample before making a decision. To your surprise, what coats your lips in a sticky and sweet amber gloss is the honey I placed on my neck slowly trailing towards my collarbone. And I watch you intently as you lick it off your lips, leaving a translucent liquid sheen.

Affected by a magnetic lure, you would somehow find yourself in front of me, your head positioned right above the slowly trailing bead of honey. It starts with a lick, hot tongue against cold skin. I can’t help but feel how the bumpy texture of your tongue cleans and pulls its way up my neck. After the hot saliva hits cold air, you take off the kitchen towel and look at me like a puppy waiting for its owner.

“Such a good boy,” I murmur as I take the towel from your hand and wrap it around the nape of your neck to pull you in closer. “How does it taste?”

What is more, is that I hope that in that moment my heart is not the only one that is beating as fast as how a hummingbird flaps its wings. My greedy husband, you back me against the kitchen island until you are pressed firmly against me as I watch and feel you bite and suck a garden of flowers across my neck and chest. Your large hands find themselves around my thighs, kneading and squeezing them so much that the fabric of my night clothes bunch in the palm of your hands. So I maneuver your hands around my waist, and you spin me around and bend me against that counter so I can feel you push yourself against me.

“Be good for me,” you would command while undressing me.

Then I would feel it, hands spreading my legs and fingers prying my ass apart, and then your warm and flat tongue against my kitten. One single lick would make my knees buckle. But you eating me out from behind, the way you knead my ass while you take your time swirling your tongue against my lips and lapping up my juices would make me come in an instant. Your tongue presses against my nub while your nose digs itself into my opening almost to the point where you’re fucking me with the tip of your nose, yet it is me who begs for air. And you keep my liquid on your tongue as you rise from your knees to pull my head back until I’m looking at you and your swollen and burgundy lips with my head tilted backward.

And you pry my mouth open with your hand and watch me catch that sweet honey on the tip of my tongue.

My dear, I am much too hot to even think about what comes after you let go of my jaw. My tenses in this letter are all mixed up because I’m so caught up in my delusions that I mistake dreams for reality. I feel ashamed to revert to such elementary composition when I am clouded by lust. But in this sensory game of wits, who do you think would win — the explorer or the explored?

P.S. I’ve had our painting temporarily hung in our dining room as I cannot even bring myself to think about the possibility of hosting a ball without you. The great ballroom has been collecting dust since the first month you left for the war. Besides, invitations to the first ball of the season have long been sent out. I attended and made some acquaintances. Are you proud of me? Are you missing me as much as I am missing you?

Letter Six - DK

My Sweet,

Loneliness is when you are trapped by your stillness while everything around you splits into two and crumbles. And you are stuck in the open space of where everything once was, you in your bubble of muteness as the world crashes and breaks in a cacophonous roar. The feeling that engulfed me during these past few months was beyond my description of loneliness. So with a happy heart, I am telling you that the war is over. I’m coming home soon to hold you in my arms, to show you what this world that surrounds you is truly like — delicate and with the warmth of a glowing morning Sun that promises juvenescent Springs until the end of time.

Regarding your question about the potential winner of the sensory game you described in your last letter, whether I am the person exploring or explored, I know I would always be the victor as only a true victor can call you “his.” My sweet love, I hope to stick by your side as long as I prefer honey in my tea and you by my side when I sleep.

However, with a slightly interruptive transition, I have a few requests regarding the contents of your postscript. That is:

One, I am wholly and with every fiber of my mind, soul, and body proud of you. You, my shyest lover who sought friendship in your moments of loneliness, I love you so. Yet I find myself utterly in distress that I cannot co-host our tea parties until later should you hold one in a few days. Our estate is boring, and it must be tiring seeing the same things and people every day for the past few months. I urge you to go out more and explore so I can come home to plentiful stories told in your voice. I want to fall asleep to your descriptions so I can dream of how you see the world around you.

Two, of course, I am missing you. Even if I were a few yards away from you, I would still miss you. I am currently bothering our treasurer in regards to spending the rest of our budget on a winter wonderland in which we would freeze the entire world so I could easily and quickly sled back home like a seal off an iceberg. However, our treasurer is insistent on saving the budget for lodging, travel, and sustenance. I, for one, think I am right.

Three, I think this might be my last letter in a while as when this stack of parchments finally reaches you, I would almost be home. So I am struggling between keeping this short and straight to the point or long and thoroughly eloquent with everything that I want to write and say to you. Instead of coming to a conclusion by myself, I bid you farewell until we meet again with this set of instructions within my set of requests for you. I’m sorry if the format of my letter makes it very hard for you to read. Like how you described your delusions, I often find myself alone at night imagining you by my side so much that I feel your physical presence next to me.

Four, as for our portrait in our dining room, I must ask you to perform a favor for me as I have not seen the finished painting myself. It is a test regarding the “likeness” of our portraits that can only be performed by yourself. When you wish to perform the test before I arrive, please excuse all our staff who stay by your side during dinner and ask to eat alone. Should they give you looks, please say that it was requested by me.

When you are alone, I need you to get into a position in which you can look at yourself through the large mirror that is mounted above the low mantle towards the end of the dining room table. I assume our portrait is hung on the wall at the other side of the dining room table, am I right? If you move the plates and sit on the table, you should be able to look at both your entire body and our portrait through the mirror. Do not worry about making a mess my dear.

Perhaps this test may be a little lewd for a dinner setting. But after your proposed rendezvous in the kitchen in your last letter, I suppose this test would be nothing to you.

Look at yourself in the mirror. Can you imagine me behind you, slowly kissing down your neck as I undress you while the candlelights flicker beside us? Our shadows cast against the walls that surround us tell the story of two lovers slowly conjoining into one. And I sit you against the front of my naked body, bending your legs and positioning them so you can see all of you through the mirror.

My love, can you see your lips unfold into a beautiful bloom, leaking with its sweet nectar for your man to taste? The sweet nectar, the glistening substitute to the honey our staff brought alongside our dinner rolls, rolls off the flower and soaks the tablecloth beneath you. Tonight I am not doing anything except revel in your beauty like a man awestruck by something so exquisite that he cannot do anything but stare.

I want you to imagine that the same me in the portrait is the me you imagine to be behind you, the very me who writes this letter and instructs you on how to pleasure yourself for the night. Suck on your own fingers, my darling. Bring your fingers to your lips, and let me see the way you ready yourself before the pleasure comes. Because what I want is for you to fuck yourself well for me so that after you’ve squirted all over the dining table your pussy continues to throb so much that you confuse it for your beating heart.

Don’t be shy. Bring your soaked fingers to your folds, and trace along the lines of the petals. Look at how they seemingly open and close as your stomach jerks in reaction. Slowly rub yourself up and down, coaxing that beautiful sigh that I know too well out of your mouth. Feel the pads of your finger mix with your juices, slipping easily and making your hand glide smoother.

Are you looking at me through the mirror? Are you begging me to instruct you in other ways to satisfy your lust? Do you want to rub your pearl and flick it with your finger in a way that makes you clench and collapse?

What is it, honey? Are you whining for me to make you feel good? But this is your guided session. Don’t you see yourself through the mirror, so pathetic looking that you would do anything that I tell you to do? Then take that same hand you used to tease yourself and slap your pussy for me. Bring the hand back and bring it down on your pussy quickly and with so much might that the sound of palm against tender skin echoes throughout the empty dining room.

Don’t you feel pathetic? Getting off from you slapping your own pussy? Doesn’t it please you and make feel so dirty at the same time? When you’re striking your palm against your pussy over and over as your other hand unconsciously reaches upwards to knead your sore nipple, are you looking at yourself through the mirror? Are you still imagining me sitting behind you on our dining table, whispering and taunting you as you attempt to come undone? If your head is not completely clouded with lust, when that pussy is throbbing with such pain and pleasure, you will take your finger to your entrance and insert it slowly so you feel your warm and wet insides slowly swallow your finger the further in it goes.

Let your mouth hang open as you plug yourself with another finger. Fill the lonely dining room with your sweet moans for me. Listen to your kitten squelch and leak the more you pump yourself so that a warm and hot feeling grows in your stomach, making you clench your body tighter and tighter. Scissor your fingers, and fill up that empty space where my cock usually rests. When you release, pull out your fingers as you come on the tablecloth and look at the cream I miss the most.

You’re so perfect, you know that? You’d look even more perfect when you’re on your knees with your fingers underneath you and inside of you. Bounce for me my sweet, ride your own fingers as if you’re riding me. Massage yourself with your other hand, grabbing and kneading your breasts and your nipples as I do for you. Can you see yourself through the mirror more clearly when you’re in this position? Do you see how messy and needy you look while you’re pathetically riding your own fingers? Do you wish they were mine? Do you wish they were my thighs?

Open your eyes for me as you reach another wave of ecstasy. Look at me in the eyes, the man painted next to your glowing figure as you reach your last high. I know you can do it. Scream my name if you love me, and squirt as if your pussy was crying for the man you love.

Turn your head around when you’ve caught your breath. Look at our portrait. Do you see how I’m smiling at you?

I’m proud of you, my love. Thank you for holding on for so long. I’ll be home soon.

P.S. I love you.

#svthub #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #dk smut #seokmin smut #dk x reader #seokmin x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #dk imagines #seokmin imagines #✏️ ━ himbocoups

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silverinkbottle · 4 months

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Cover me in flowers..or glitter?

Summary: What's an Overlord to do after dealing with a shitty day of downed networks. Come home and bitch about it of course.

Word Count:4.5K

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Velvette x F!Sphynx!Reader

Warnings: Sexual content ahead. Female oral sex. Foul language (it's Velvette, I got to) references to drug use and self harm. 18+ only!

A/N:Hello dearest readers! Here is the promised Velvette x Reader fic I managed to spin for yall. It was extremely fun to dive into the more 'true' side of Velvette as we have seen during her private moments with the other Vees. Taking off the 'mask' as #THATBITCH. Is it too soft? Maybe? But all the same, enjoy!

Side Note: My REQUESTS are open and I am determined to tackle each of the colorful Hazbin cast in some form. It can be X Reader or not! Let me see what I can spin up! enjoy!

Hell was a fucked up place. Like watching your neighbor get devoured by a roving pack of cannibals sort of daily occurrence. Murder and mayhem went hand in hand. Yet, somehow that rush of adrenaline was preferred to your current situation. Buried under a mound of blankets, winter clothes and anything else to make a nest in as you sulked in the depths of fabric. Spoiled, you had gotten spoiled since Velvette took you in. A thin little stray that happened to fall into the satin lap of luxury. All because you intrigued the Overlord one day. Your powers wreaking havoc on Vox’s spy network of technology as you blipped in and out of existence. However, that talent came with certain limitations rapidly draining your energy if you stepped ‘out’ for too long. It wasn’t long before you had been cornered by an irate Vox and a few select underlings, the technomancer screeching about a raging headache over the phone.

Vox wanted your head, Valentino wanted your body to break on camera and Velvette, well she found you fascinating. Cameras flashed in your face as soon she met you, provoking the question on social media. Who was Hell’s Cheshire? A thief, a backstabber and all other lovely connotations. Eventually, the youngest Overlord settled on something else entirely, a useful tool for her arsenal of networks. Able to slip in and out unnoticed if you chose so and entirely willing to come at the ring of bell. Most of the time.

Your phone had been buzzing non stop since Hell went back online after Vox’s tantrum. You couldn’t imagine the headache that Velvette had to sort out for hours after. Patching up rumors and demolishing negative news with a flick of her fingers. It was fascinating watching her work from home as data zipped across the screen in a dazzling display of lights. Pushing trends for Voxtek, doxxing competition with scathing inbox drops and above all keeping her own social media red hot. Your distaste for that particular task was evident as you dodged the socialite’s flashing phone at all hours. The Overlord’s photo album was like a riddle of segmented body parts. A flash of your stomach getting inked with a fresh bloom of daisies, followed by a blurred hand reaching out to take the offending object.

There was a quiet ding of the penthouse elevator as the pile of clothes shifted an inch with your movement. Moving a scarf out of the way, you now had the perfect vantage to see Velvette streaming as soon as she left the elevator with a bright smile.

“Apologies about the little system update to the electrical grid lovelies. As you can see we are now back online! Please reset your Voxbox if further problems continue. We here at Voxtek hope to continue providing our best quality service.” Her voice was sugary sweet as your ears flicked waiting to hear the break in her act.

Five.

The small melodic beep as the stream ended.

Four.

The defiant click of the phone shutting.

Three.

A sigh.

Two.

The smallest click of heels against the floor as Velvette walked towards the couch.

One.

The delightful stream of profanity that was screamed into a pillow.

“THAT MOTHER FUCKING TWAT GOT HIS KNICKERS IN A TWIST ALL BECAUSE OF THE OLD FUCK BEING BACK. KNOCKED OUT THE SYSTEMS AND HIMSELF FOR THREE HOURS. DOES HE HAVE ANY IDEA HOW I HAD TO MANAGE THAT MESS” Velvette’s yowl bounced around the penthouse as you could almost see the steam coming off her head.

“Babes, are you listening to ME!” Velvette shrieked at your cloth fortress of solitude as you reached your hand out in a supportive thumbs up. It wasn’t enough as you hear the distinct sound of glass shattering as something heavy had been launched at the elevator’s glass door. It dinged in submission as Velvette let out another shriek of rage.

Now was the time to intervene before she grabbed another object to destroy as you hastily shot your hand out to grab her by the wrist. Her expression twisted in surprise as she was pulled into your pillowy sanctuary. A low purr rumbled in your chest as her floral perfume curled around you. Her heartbeat thudded against you as your cat-like pupils dilated from the close contact as she heaved a heavy sigh before curling under your chin. Now an air of calm floated about the shelter as darkness and your rumbling purr enveloped the enclosed space.

“Hello, you. Seems like you had a hard day.” You muttered as Velvette exhaled through her teeth as if you couldn’t have chosen the most delicate word for it. No, you knew from her more colorful vocabulary she had far more words to describe it.

“And what did you do? Take cat-naps through the entire shitshow? Must have been nice.” Velvette said tartly as you lightly carted your sharp nails through her hair. You didn’t want to pick a fight, not if she was already so burnt out from the affairs of the day.

“I spent my time building this after the power went out. Can’t stand the cold you know.” You hummed. Velvette rolled her eyes as she knew better than most that you needed climate control to be comfortable. It was a myth that Hell was boiling inferno. Even if it was, your plane shifting seemed to keep an icy grip on your soul as if wanting to drag down with it instead of allowing you to leave.

“Oh, the poor lamb, what a hardship.” Velvette’s words would have cut through the hardiest of steel, but for you, the dripping sarcasm rolled off your back with a nonchalant shrug. You did hiss in protest as she cruelly kicked off a stabilizing pillow from the stack. It all came down in a slow tumble as your arms curled around Velvette who let out a protesting whine. She was taking away your source of heat, she better be willing to provide her body heat as a compromise.

“You’re hopeless. You know that.” Velvette muttered as a faint smile ticked over your features. What happened to that wry stray Demon that evaded the Vees for months. Forcing them to ‘old’ and ‘outdated’ methods of tracking in person. All because your talent piqued their interest.

“Hm. I wouldn’t say that. I managed to keep you here.” You muttered as Velvette’s lips met yours. Gentle, soft, a silent reprieve from the madness of the world outside. Pain flicked from your ears as her fingers prodded the latest piercing at the tip of the pale ear. The cat-like features were a delicious irony from your death. Drowned in a sack like a litter of unwanted kittens. All because you had owed a drug dealer a bit too much, well, stole, thumbed the cops at him. Nasty business it was as it took months for you not to flinch at the sound of running water.

Unfortunately, keeping up your hygiene is more important compared to other demons. Your skin itches like it was swarmed by mosquitoes if you let the practice get away from you. A fucking Sphynx’s skin accompanied a bare tail and fuzzed ears. If it weren’t for the benefits of your stealth, you would have gone mad a long time ago. Much to Velvette’s fashion distaste, you preferred full body coverage of sweaters, dress suits and the like. Anything to keep your sensitive skin from the outside world.

“Testing a new experiment again? Velvette questioned as your pierced ear flicked irritated as her sharp nail ran over the reddened skin. A low hum answered her question as you gently redirected her probing hands to the edge of your sweater. Her gentle smile turned a tick towards feral as her hands slipped under the fabric, nails dragging over the sensitive skin of your stomach. It was almost a sheer reflex as your back arched underneath her touch, a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure at her touch.

“Off. I want to see.” Velvette barked as her impatient hands pulled at the fabric, easing it over your head with a single pull. Your body was a canvas for ink from piercing black to bursts of bright colors. Inky flowers planted in your fleshy parchment as Velvette’s eyes flicked over older works, trying to find the newest flower in the garden. A small singular tulip curled around your third right rib as her nail tapped it as you confirmed with a nod at her guess.

“Seems like a bit too purple, babes.” Velvette critiqued as a sigh escaped you. It had been far too long since either of you had seen the thing, but of course she remembered them as a dull little thing.

“If you insist, mistress of gardens.” You retorted with a grin. Velvette soon collapsed into a fit of giggles as you and her had shared plenty of woes about your pasts. Neither of you could grow anything green worth shit. All it took was a single glance for the flourishing flower to turn brittle and lifeless the next day. While you seemed to be overwatering or underwatering, memory turned into mush as soon as you got your fix.

Now in your afterlife, only the tattoo artist’s needle plucked away at your skin. Contaminating the sensitive pigment in an array of colors. It did seem to help or was it merely a placebo effect. Regardless, it was an interesting pastime to have as Velvette was more than willing to start off sketches or chime in about color patterns. What would you do after the canvas was full? Well, there was more than one way to skin a cat. The regenerative properties of Sinners were infamous after all.

“I know that look. We aren’t trying that yet.” Velvette protested as she jabbed a pointed nail into your cheek. A weary sigh escaped you as your past issues with your skin didn’t need to rear its head back into the quiet moment. The look of horror and shock on her face when she discovered you in the midst of flashback, sharp nails digging into the flesh of your arm. Dragging it down to tear through skin and muscle. Pain grounded you, you weren’t stuck in that bag, lungs bursting, wanting one more gasp of air that never came.

“I am sure one of the geniuses at Voxtek would be able to figure out some sort of anesthesia process” You proposed as Velvette’s smile flickered to a frown. Right, work was a touchy subject as you cupped her pouting cheeks with a gentle kiss to her forehead. Your tail elegantly twisting out her reach as you stood up from the couch, leaving her sulking against the cushions with a huff.

“I’ll run us a bath? We can use one of those glittery bath bomb monstrosities you insisted on buying last week.” You proposed as you turned the corner into the master bedroom, rolling your eyes at the loud squeal of joy that echoed after you. Double oak doors lead to the grand bathroom as numerous skin care products littered both sides of the countertop. Serums, lotions and the like, your nose wrinkled as something lilac had been spilled earlier in the morning.

It was sheer reflex for you to suck in air through your teeth as you turned the brass knobs on the jacuzzi-like tube. At least your hands shook less as you eased off your sweater. Your tail swished in warning as you heard the faintest click of the camera. Velvette and her fucking photos as you held out your hand in a silent request.

“It isn’t a bad shot, Lette. “ You praised as she smugly smiled at your approval. The cream background of the bathroom title, stark green of sweater and the pale gray of your skin. All drew the viewer's eye to the bramble of crimson roses and sharp thorns encircling your upper back. From brambles, pale forget-me-nots caressed the side of your breast, tiny yellow pea flowers branching off downward. Most importantly, your face was covered by the fabric of the sweater being pulled over your back. You liked to keep what privacy you could when it came to living with the social media Overlord.

“I did threaten to sew Valentino’s mouth shut after that comment he left last time.”

“Oh, aren't you sweet.” You cooed as her jealous streak ran as deep as the river Styx. She got to post you in all states of dishevelment with your approval. It sent gossipers into a frenzy trying to deduce who the Overlord’s lover was. All while Velvette dropped several keywords into each post about this product or that. Sex sold afterall, it was something she and the pimp moth agreed upon.

“He did speak to me about copycat videos though. Just to stir up a little tizzy with the clientele.” Velvette yawned as you rolled your eyes at the notion. Tattoos were unique from each stroke and you paid your artist an extraordinary privacy fee to keep the designs private. Now, it would be amusing to see Velvette pitch a fit in the pimp’s private studio as she critiqued each little ‘paint job’ on the copycats. Did Valentino want to make you look like a cheap fucking whore. Velvette wouldn’t let that stand as expenses and delays piled up around theoretical productions that made the moth demon’s head spin.

“Oh, now that is just cruel, love.” You teased as Velvette smiled wickedly before rummaging in one of the lower cabinets beneath the sink. Clapping her hands together as she presented her find as your ears went flat in displeasure. Oh, it was going to be a glittery mess as she ‘accidentally’ dropped the orb into the warm water.

“You know I would be running for the hills if it was any other day.” You grumbled as she flashed you a bright grin before reaching for the button of your slacks. Carefully stepping out the attire, you skittishly kept out of reach of her groping hands.

“Yes, I touched up my thighs. You don’t need to guess that.” You scoffed as Velvette’s gaze flickered over the pristine white petals of the moon flower. It’s dark vines crawling up your upper thighs as its flowering bud bloomed over your navel. Right above the soft curls of your sex.

“So, I don’t get to touch it?” Velvette pouted softly

“Not with your kit on, I don’t need another lecture on what water and other fluids can do to the material.” You tutted as you spun your finger around in a silent suggestion for her to turn around. Buttons, so many fucking buttons started from her tailbone to the back of her neck as you diligently undid the snaps with practiced patience. There wasn’t a need to rush as you could see goosebumps prickle down tanned skin as a single finger brushed over her spine.

“Oh fuck this-”

“Lette, don’t you dar-”

Your warning was an absolute failure as her arms curled around your waist, sending both of you tumbling into the vast bath. Your eyes turned into thin slits as you emerged from the water, trying to keep your breathing at slow and even pace. The gentle ripple of water as your tail lashed about with irritation as Velvette leaned comfortably against the ramp-like edge of the bath.

“Oh, you look like some sort of garden fairy, Babes, very aesthetic.” Velvette cooed as you glanced down at your soaked form. Glitter, so much fucking glitter stuck to your tattoos, your hair, and you didn’t dare ask where else it clung to.

“I hate it. I am throwing out all those damn bath bombs as soon as your back is turned.” You threatened as Velvette scoffed at the seriousness of your tone. Her finger crooked asking you to come closer as you did with a huff.

“This is going to take forever to get off.” You hissed as Velvette’s body gleamed with the fragments of glitter. Your thumb gently rubbing over her lower lip as the sparkle refused to give way to the gentle pressure.

“So, you better get to work then.” Velvette teased as she leaned further back against the cool surface, her eyes dilating as your fingers ran over a dusky nipple. Pretty little things, round and firm, but no larger than the center of your palm. The softest cooing sound slipped from her lips as the rough surface of your tongue dragged over the center of her left breast. For what felt like the hundredth time in a row, the tantalizing idea of little glimmering bar bells drifted lazily through your mind.

“You know. It would amplify-”

“It would limit my looks, babes. No. Once again. Ah fuck, do that swirling thing again.” Velvette’s protest shifted into a whine as your tongue twisted against her pert nipple. Her legs all but curled around your wet and glittery form as if it would bring you any closer. You could feel her heartbeat thud under your finger twists as it stuttered when your sharp canines dragged over the edge of her breast. Her plait form softened with each touch as the stress of the day melted away from her.

This was your Velvette. Brash, crude with an unbreakable will of steel, but at the same time, she all but melted under your attention. Until you chipped away at the sharp exterior to reveal the quiet creature beneath the rampant demands of her work. Her lips parting as her tongue curled over your fingertips. Goosebumps curled over her form as the cool saliva traced down her stomach, brushing aside the little fluff of curls as her legs twitched from the first contact with her clit.

“I can be extraordinarily convincing.” You muttered against her lips as you kissed into her smirk. Her mouth opened in a quiet pant as friction dragged over her clit. Slow measured strokes as you wanted to draw her out like a taut string. At least at first before you sent her galloping over the edge as her fingers dragged through your scalp when your toying flickered counterclockwise.

“Don’t do that.” Velvette hissed as you winked cheekily before reverting back to the same pattern. Of all things, she liked your touch in a consistent motion as she could feel each bump in her road to the ultimate goal.

“Hey, no, wait-” Velvette let out a small yelp of protest as you slid her further back onto the edge of the tub. A mere inch away from falling as her legs spread further apart trying to brace herself on the inside of the tub. You brushed against her cunt’s curl as cat-like eyes blinked lazily up at her. A silent request that was answered as her hand slid over the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

The little bundle of nerves felt like something different every time. The little ridges engorging in an endless unrecognizable pattern as your tongue swiped against it. Your own excitement rising as Velvette’s sharp nails felt prickly against your sensitive neck. Her delighted cry when your attention shifted a little to the left, the scent of her fluids lingered on your face as her orgasm built. The involuntary shudder of her thighs around your face as your hand slid up her stomach feeling it snap back and forth like a bow string.

“Close, close, close-” Velvette’s words turned into a quiet chant as her voice reached a new octave as your lips sealed around the throbbing nerves. The harsher pressure was all that was needed to topple the last bit of restraint as her insides burst with white hot heat. Your tongue brushed over her core to taste the almost sweet nectar as she weakly tried to protest with a wave of her hand.

Oh, she was out of it as her legs went flat against the tub. Her hormone flooded mind , breaking the chain of command to her muscles as she let out the smallest of cries as gravity took over. You could only watch in surprise as she fell backwards out of the bath, head first as her crumpled form shuddered with surprised giggles.

“Shit, sorry, I-” Your apology was cut off by her sweet kiss, her perfumed hair falling in your face as she deepened the kiss. All it took was the smallest shove like a stalk in the breeze to allow her to crawl into your lap. Glitter be damned, nothing could interrupt the moment as wet skin felt like silk against you.

All except the telltale chirping of Velvette’s phone as it obviously sang out it’s little song.

“Fuck, don’t-” You protested as Velvette scrambled off you with a new sense of urgency. Her shining backside dripped water as she clawed at a towel with exasperation upon seeing the caller id on the glowing screen. The telltale jabs of her fingers as she typed a scathing text, only for a chirp to follow moments later.

“MOTHERFUCKER, NOW. HE WANTS-”

“Bath is over, I am guessing.” You deadpanned as Velvette’s agitated expression flickered like a dancing flame as you swept past her with a single kiss on her pouting cheek. Despite your clothing restrictions, somehow your closet always seemed close to bursting as you idly ran your fingers over the dark blue cloth of a suit. Freezing as damp hands slid along your waist, Velvette’s lips gentle against the back of your neck in a silent apology.

“It happens Lette, I get it.” You hummed as you could her lips twitch from a pout to a smile against your skin.

“A tie is a must, babes. How about that red one?” She proposed as she waved you aside to do what she did best. Making you absolutely stunning for the entire Pride ring to fry their brains over and then some cells for good measure. Her fingers were gentle as she smoothed out the collar of your blouse before buttoning the suit jacket with a satisfied pat.

“Studs or small hoops, you think?” You asked as Velvette’s gaze blinked up from her phone for a moment before holding up a single finger. The golden studs it was then as you knew there wasn’t going to be a word out of her until she returned to the office. The blue glow of the screen was impossible to ignore as you strained your neck to try and make sense of the rapid flicker of data. The strength of her taps increases with each swipe and view as her left cheek twitches in silent irritation.

It wasn’t at your conspicuous spying, no it was about the absolutely shoddy camera work of the source. Like it was filmed on a flip phone for Hell’s sake as you could make out the barest minimum of details in the footage. A massive red building, hazy smoke and something else that flickered like disjointed images.

“Was..that a wall?”

“Yes.”

“And what the fuck is zipping across the screen like sooty tumbleweeds.”

“A fucking headache. That’s what.” Velvette growled as the ride to the office remained quiet after that. Your polished Oxford’s tip brushing comfortingly over her bare ankle as the motor of the limo broke through the small clicks of the keyboard. Oh, she was pissed as you couldn’t help but count the beat of her heels on the floor as she threw open the conference doors.

“NOW WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON. I WAS DOING THINGS.” Velvette demanded as you leaned against the door as a silent shadow. The coffee cup near Vox threatened to topple over when Velvette’s fist struck the table as her answers didn’t come as fast as the texts she sent.

“Don’t get yourself all worked up, babydoll. Seems like those things are willing to wait.” Valentino grinned as you could all but feel his scrutinizing gaze see through you like you weren’t dressed in a three piece suit, undershirt and another camisole for good measure. Or was it the flickering sheen of glitter on your throat. Its’ sparkle defiantly pierces the dark seeds of the sunflower’s center, its pale yellow petals dragging over your jugular.

“Not important.” Velvette snapped as Valentino chuckled through an exhale of smoke as he gestured the cigarette holder towards Vox who’s fingers steepled together with a twitch of impatience.

“So, as you can guess, our little loser of a spy was caught out-”

“The fucking failure failing, call me shocked.” Velvette deadpanned as she waltzed in one of the free chairs, immediately placing her feet on the desk with a cool expression. Oh, she was pulling out all the stops to irritate Vox as you quickly hid your smile behind a cough.

“Yes. But we still need surveillance on that flophouse of a hotel. Fucking prick made it clear that he wasn’t going to let something on the inside in terms of video feed. Gave me a fucking headache when I tried to-”

“Yes, yes, we know the Radio Demon seems to have sixth sense for you. Aren’t you special?” Velvette jabbed as Vox’s expression shifted from neutral to stiffening irritation. Her painted nails clicked against the firm metal of the desk as her smirk crawled onto her features.

Waiting. She was waiting for the control freak’s nerves to settle. Before dragging the proverbial dagger over his heart as Vox fixed his perfectly straight type.

“We need-”

“Not the correct word, darling.” Velvette sang out as Valentino let out a dry chuckle as there was a glitch in Vox’s screen for a split second. She intended to make this as painful as possible as your ears twitched in anticipation.

“Please have her-” The first word was spat like acid as Vox’s screen twisted in your direction. Almost uncomfortably slow as you waggled your fingers at the compromising overlord.

“Observe the hotel from the streets while we come up with a better plan.” Vox growled as Velvette clapped her hands together in childish glee as if she were a spoiled child being given a new toy.

“Done.” Velvette chirped as her arm craned up with her phone. Snapping a selfie of her, with the piercing red edge of your tie in the background. #Takeyourbabestoworkday #Voxtech #IWIN, the post hit the ground running as you approached the table, arm resting atop the chair with a casual posture.

“Not done.” You retorted

“But-”

“No more glitter bath bombs. Shit is sticking to my tongue like sand” You muttered as Velvette rolled her eyes but nodded all the same.

“Give me twenty-four hours then.” Your words came out like a slow haze as the cool sensation washed over your body. The first time it happened you thought you were dying again, but now it just felt like sinking into a cool bath. Within a blink of the eye, only the three Overlords remained.

“So, what exactly were you doing before this?” Valentino quiered with a lecherous grin as Velvette plucks a larger fragment of glitter from her hair with a scoff.

If he could only imagine.

#hazbin hotel x reader #x reader #x reader fic #velvette x reader #hazbin hotel velvette #silverinkwrites

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