#soiled flannels | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

msookyspooky · 7 months

Text

Goin' Hunting

You've been running from Bo all around Ambrose for the last hour...And he finally catches you in the woods.

Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader • CNC • Dubcon • S/M • Master/Submissive • Primal Play • Outdoor Sex • Rough Penetration VP • Fingering • Humiliation • Domination • Degredation • Praise Kink • Later; Established Relationship and Brat Dynamic from Reader

No Word Count. Not proofread.

Your heart pounded as you sprinted to the woods. God damn it, you were so close! So fucking close to escaping.

Gasping for air, legs aching, knees weak and stumbling as you kept running...You heard a long...Low... Whistle...Somewhere behind you in the woods.

You froze, plastering yourself up against a tree. Sweat was dripping down your face and into your eyes as you blinked it away. It was pitch black outside except for a Quarter Moon. Bryer bushes scrapped exposed skin except for your jeans and flannel. It was October in Ambrose...Still warm for Louisiana but there was a damp heaviness in the air that made a chill ghost over your skin.

"C'mon out, darlin'....Ya ain't gettin' away. Ya know this...YER JUS' MAKIN' IT HARDER ON YERSELF!" He yelled out with both amusement and frustration lacing his thick Southern Accent. He was a predator. Through and through. He looked at you not like a human but like some scared little rabbit running from him.

You knew what he'd do if he caught you.

You covered your mouth, eyes wide to try and not say anything. Trying not to whimper as your eyes darted to the side.

He was in blue coveralls and that hat that read sweetbird 69. His tall broad shouldered frame crept past your tree and you felt your heart drop out. Trembling with anxiety as he looked around and looked the other way before huffing to himself and walking away from back where he came.

You felt your shoulders untense as you finally took a tiny, quiet breath you were holding. Slowly releasing your mouth and waiting a few moments. You snuck a peek seeing he wasn't there. He must have went back to the road or to Ambrose to hunt for you.

You took the risk to make a run for it. Lester! If you could get to the road, if he saw you, he could get you out of here and you could win this.

You shoved off the tree taking off before releasing a scream when you got tackled to the ground.

"GOTCHYA!"

You struggled and he slammed you down with a grin. "Shh, shhhh." He told you as you fought him. Trying to crawl away from under him with fistfuls of leaves and soil in your fingers as he just grabbed you by your thighs and dragged you back to him.

"I don't think so, honey." He growled out and with a slight grunt flipped you onto your back where you had even less leverage.

"Get the fuck off me!" You yelled, teeth gritted as you tried shoving him off. "Motherfucker, get off!!"

He just chuckled at your attempts to shove his big self. He was well over 6'1, probably close to or was 180 lbs of muscle mostly and had an aggression in him that just spurred him on.

He grabbed your jaw and squished your cheeks. "Shhh...Shh, it's okay. It's over now. Ya aint gotta fight no more."

You kept struggling, grunts and cries escaping you as you screamed.

"Go ahead! Scream all ya want, sweetheart. Yer gonna be doin' plenty of it tonight...Ain't nobody around to hear ya." He mused with a sadistic smirk.

You tried to use your hand to shove him off by his face and he just grabbed both your wrist and jerked them down. Pinning them to your sides. Your heart hammered, your body trembled, a tingling went through your whole body at realizing just how strong he was. No matter your strength, he was stronger and had the upperhand...He could do whatever he wanted and you were helpless.

He smiled down at you. A bit of sweat curling his hair near his forehead as he caught his breath a bit from chasing you. "Yer a fun one, ain't ya?" He shoved you down more as you flinched with wide eyes. "Gave me quite a workout chasin' yer fine ass all over town. But I won. And now? I think I deserve a prize for winnin'."

He came foreward and tried to kiss you and you tried to bite him. He just laughed heartily in amusement at you. "Biting are we? I didn't take you for a feral dog...More like a sweet lil toy I get to use...Is that what you are? My toy I get to use?"

"Fuck you!"

"Don't you worry bout that. Imma do plenty of it out here." He retorted with a dark chuckle.

"You'll never get away with this! You don't have to do this, I won't tell, please!" You tried to reason as you felt him switch your wrist so he had you by one hand, pinned over your head. The other large hand of his roamed with that black and silver ring reflecting off the moon every so often. You could see his veins in his hand as he jerked at your belt and you whimpered and shook your head.

"Hey." He sternly told you before his voice became sweet and mocking once more. "You're gonna be a good lil thing for me, ain't ya? It'll only hurt for a lil bit. Jus' a few minutes of pain, nothin' too bad. I'll be done before ya know it."

He unsnapped your belt with one hand and worked on the button of your jeans as you fought and struggled in a panic. "N-No! No, don't-"

He cut you off by shhing you again. His blue eyes gleaming down at you with his pupils dilated. A sick smirk on his face. He was enjoying seeing you almost in tears, seeing you scared, feeling you fight him. He was a sadist, that was for sure.

You screamed and used your last bit of strength to knee him in the lower side as hard as you could. He grunted as you got away. But just enough to get a foot away before he grabbed you while you both were still on the ground.

He shoved you into a sitting position against the base of a tree. "Now, why ya fightin' for? Yer jus' makin it worse on yerself!...That knee kinda hurt, sweetheart. " He grinned that lopsided grin of his with his brows furrowed a bit. "The more ya fight, the worse its gonna get. I was gonna go easy on ya but now? I think you need tore up a lil bit. Need those sexy thighs to have some bruises even a few welts on that nice ass too-" He smacked the side of your ass through your jeans with a smirk. "I think you can handle it."

You stared at him with wide eyes as he held you by the throat up against the tree. On his knees while you sat. Everytime you raised an arm he squeezed tight enough to make your vision blurred. Once your arms fell to your sides he loosened it just enough to let you get tiny breaths of air. "Good...tha's a good toy for me."

You had tears in your eyes, gasping for air, sweat dripping off you as you could do nothing now. He was in control and he knew it. You felt small, helpless, vulnerable.

You whimpered with a cut off cry as you felt his calloused fingers dip into your jeans and feel your pussy. Running along the outers lips and just barely dipping in.

He pulled his hand out with a giant grin and a laugh at how wet you were. Coating his fingers in long slick trails of wetness from...The excitement? Adrenaline? Your body just reacting to this situation? Either way, you jerked your head away with shame.

"Ain't that jus' beautiful... It's like you know jus' how to turn yerself on...." He ripped your jeans off and then ripped at that flannel to expose you more. "I think yer startin' to like this, baby...Do you like this? Do you like knowing I can take whatever I want from your body and you can't do nothin' to stop it? Ya like the rush of fightin' an' runnin' from me?"

You furiously shook your head and gasped when you felt his thumb make rough circles over your clit. Jolting and trying to squirm away with no where to go. He used his hand to jerk your head to look at him while he kept rubbing your now hardening clit. "Ah, ah. Yer gonna look at me and tell me how much this is turning you on."

You shook your head with his fingers still digging into your jaw. You grit your teeth trying to ignore the heat pooling in your lower abdomen. "No...No, I don't."

He smirked. "Really? That why yer pussys so wet?" He jeered. "Now...Say it."

You refused stubbornly and he pinched your clit lightly hood and all. Your back arched and jolted in pain and pleasure at the same time. But the pain was a bit more as he did it again harder this time as you forced out with shut clenched eyes. "I enjoy it!"

He chuckled and gently rubbed soothing circles over your aching clit. "There ya go...Oh sweetheart. That is so sensitive! I can't wait to make ya scream for me." He grabbed your chin roughly again and forced you to look at him while he rubbed you there.

You tried so hard not to give him the satisfaction of seeing your body betray you. But your brows rose up and your mouth parted as he smeared some wetness over your clit and used two calloused fingers to rub underneath and all around your aching bundle of nerves.

He smirked that lopsided toothy grin at you. "I don't know about you, Sweetheart, but my bodies tellin' me to take somethin' from this lil situation...What's yer body tellin' you?"

You whisper to him, face hot and tears in your lashes. "P-Please, don't."

A dark brow rose as his fingers dipped down lower. "Yer beggin'? Funny, I don't remember askin'. Ya need to realize somethin' here, darlin'...I'M in charge. Not you. And I don't remember askin' for permission or askin' if you wanted this...This is allll for me."

"P-Please-"

"Hush." He jeered, seeming to get short with you as his thick masculine digit barely went in before he took it out and did two. Your mouthed opened in a shaky gasp as he kept talking. "Now we're gonna do this my way. You just need t' shut up and let me enjoy this moment without all that bitchin'."

His fingers stretched you but there wasn't too much resistance with how wet you were. Just a short moment of discomfort with the sudden stretch before he started curling his fingers and twisting them up into that cushioned frontal wall. The man was the devil.

You couldn't even contain the whimpering moan as he kept a firm grip on your chin so he could see your face at all times.

"Oh God, don't." You softly moan out as he just picked up the pace on your already adrenaline high turned on body.

"I don't think ya get it, darlin'...This is happening one way or another. Here in Ambrose, yer gonna learn what I say goes and if I want to make yer body get an ounce of pleasure before I have my fun then that's jus' how it'll be...Just relax." He cooed the last part with an evil smirk.

This wasn't for your benefit. He just loved forcing it out of you. Loved seeing the shame on your face as your own body betrays you.

You released a sobbing sort of moan. He leaned forward. "Just...Give in Sweetheart." He chuckled and got closer to whisper in your ear. "I'm sure you'll enjoy yerself. Jus' let it feel good."

His fingers kept doing that upward tickling motion on your g spot as your thighs started to quiver. A gasp escaped you as he kept coaxing you with his fingers and his words to cum.

He grinned when you moaned louder, feeling your inner muscles clench his fingers a bit as that heated started pooling in you. "Oh, no more fight in ya, huh? Where did that fiesty lil fighter go?" He pulled his fingers out as you whined in protest. So close you could almost taste it. "Oh so you liked that. Well you ain't enjoying nothin' without me." He started undoing the fly on his coveralls.

You tried to have some resistance. Some form of pride left as you felt tears running down your cheeks and you numbly shook your head. In a pleading tone. "No."

He sternly told you in a half sneer half smirk. "I don't remember askin' you a damn thing about what you wanted." He pulled himself out. Hard as can be and even leaking a bit as he pumped his cock a few times "Whaddya think this dance is for? Yer in Ambrose now. This is what we do to sexy lil things like you that get in over their head."

He grabbed your arms and pushed in. Your head reeled back and...God damn...He felt...Good. He shouldn't! But his was such a perfect size and shape to you in your nervous, excited, fearful and turned on body. You could feel a second hearbeat in your clit and your inner walls ached. They ached so bad from his teasing that the stretch felt like much needed itch that had to be stratched. It hurt a little at how forceful he pushed in but it hurt so good at the same time as your head snapped back and your hips bucked at the sudden intrusion with a strangled cry from your lips.

He chuckled, not moving for only a few seconds. Grinning in pure sadistic pleasure. "Oh you like that, don't ya?" He pulled out thrust forward with a harsh grunt while gripping your hair; forcing you to look at him. "If I remember correctly, this whole thing!-" He thrust harshly again as you saw stars and felt a deep aching soreness in your lower abdomen that hurt but fuck it was a good hurt. The type of pain that was easily overlooked for the building pleasure you were feeling. "-Started from you trying to fight me so hard!" He grunted again through clenched teeth as he thrust hard into you, this time it hit deep and you cried in pain a little. "Well how you like it now, huh? Ya like it rough?"

You tried to bite your lip and shake your head and then the bastard switched it up. Pulling out halfway and doing short but fast trusts right on your g spot and you groaned low in your throat. He laughed at that.

"Oh yes you do, darlin'. All that fighting in the beginning? You just wanted me to get this out of your system." He kept thrusting grunting a bit as he leaned in and nibbled at your ear. "You like it when I'm in charge. Yer just too shy to admit it."

You gasp and tremble as that thrusting is so damn firm and hard and fast and the fucker angled his hips upward. He knew what he was doing as you felt your inner muscles involuntarily clench around him.

"There we go, beautiful. Now ya ain't thinkin' bout it s' hard." He raised your chin to look at him. "Ya don't wanna ruin this moment. Cause this might be the best moment of whatever time you got left...So just enjoy the ride." He let go of your chin and shoved your thighs upward while thrusting deeper and fadter. "Oooh fuck, baby...Shit." He grunted out with a tiny moan himself as he went hard in you.

Your eyes rolled back and a tiny grunt of 'no', 'please', 'I can't' escaped you every thrust as your inner muscles betrayed you. Starting to do a milking motion around his cock on their own as he moaned a bit.

"Oh, that's it. S' good for me...It's alright, sweetheart. Nobody has to know ya like this. This can be yer dirty lil secret."

"I d-don't." You forced out not even believing it yourself as your face screwed up in pleasure the deeper he went.

"Hah, there's that face again." He grunted out with a slight smirk. Sweating and face flushed as he drove into you. "Ya can't hide it, darlin'. I can see it in yer eyes. I know you like this. Your sweet pussy keeps suckin' me in...Sopping wet....Urgh!" He groaned when you involuntarily clenched and it made his face screw up into a sneer as he pounded you on the forest floor against the base of that tree. He jerked your head back by your hair. "You love this. It's why I can make ya do anything. You're mine in Ambrose. You do what I say and you love it or learn t' love it."

"Noo-" You moaned out feeling yourself getting closer as tears kept pricking your eyes.

"Yes!" He laughed out through a moan while his blue eyes stared into yours. "You're doin' such a good job of makin' this fun for me. What a good toy you are, fightin' me and actin' like you don't like it. Yer goddamn pathetic, darlin'. A filthy, naughty lil liar whose pussy is betrayin' em."

You trembled, high pitched cries escaping you. "Yess-" You shook yourself realizing with shame you just said that. "No." You gasped.

He grinned while he kept thrusting a spot you seemed to like. "Yeah, ya like it. I think this whole chase was jus' you puttin' up some walls so you didn't look so desperate...You're so pathetic darlin'. Don't try to fake it. You love this. Maybe I'll keep ya around a lil longer and walk ya around Ambrose on a leash? Show anyone and everyone what a good pet I can make you be...You'll get addicted to this, sweetie...Good lil whore-"

You couldn't contain it any longer as those wonderful tingles and seering heat just washed over you. You hung your head back and yelled out in orgasmic bliss as he kept fucking you. He was right, you did scream. You couldn't even hold it back and you didn't want to. This was too damn animalistic and primal and wrong not to cry out.

He stuttered his hips a bit at how hard your pussy was clenching him as your hips bucked. "Fuckin' shit, honey." He gasped out. As soon as you calmed down and your muscles where just contracting every so often he huffed with a smirk. "Ooh you are such a lil freak, darlin! I haven't had one like you in too damn long. Maybe I was wrong...You're not pathetic, yer disgusting. Yer body doesn't lie as much as yer mouth does." He leered with a sadistic grin as he panted while thrusting.

You laid there satisfied. The adrenaline gone...The game over as you gave him a lazy smirk while he kept thrusting.

He looked a bit perplexed while moving slower in you. "What's that face for? Ya finally ready to admit yer nothin' but a naughty toy for me?"

You grinned and leaned forward to kiss his nose. He completely stopped thrusting. Looking with wide eyes and a faint tinge to his face before giving you a wry smirk. "Hey, jus' cause the games over for you don't mean it is for me....Stop bein' sweet, damn it."

You chuckled, blissed out on cloud nine. God Damn that was the type of orgasm that...You need a nap, a drink, a cigarette. Fuck. All you could do was with tear streaked cheeks and watery eyes and a heated face just give him that dumb satisfied grin.

He thrust a few more times before you decided to help a bit. Tired of the game and wanting your lover to hurry up so you could go shower and cuddle in bed all night. You used those inner muscles to clench and unclench while swiveling your hips the best way you could. He gasped out. "Hey! Heey, I'm in charge!... Urgh, fuckin' damn it YN!" He screwed his face shut and groaned low in his throat as he thrusted a few more times before panting and staying in one spot. "...Shit....Uh fuck." He panted out before looking back up at you. Giving you an annoyed look.

"...We'll have to think of a better punishment for you. Yer too damn freaky and I'm gonna have to be creative. Yer such a bad lil thing." He finally cracked a smile himself.

You were out of subspace. The chase and fighting and roleplay was over as you huffed with a coy smile. "I am not."

He pulled out of you and just held you for a moment. "Oh, yes you are. It's okay to be naughty jus' don't be so stubborn bout it." He looked at you before kissing your forehead with a sigh. "But it does make it more fun. You're such a perfect toy...Still gotta make you work for it though."

I scoffed. "Why?"

He smirked down at you. "Cause you'll be the most spoiled brat if I let you get whatever you want whenever you want. You're insatiable. I'll never get anything done around here!"

"Oh no, spoiling me? How awful." You chuckled and he smiled fondly down at you in return.

He stared down at you, using his thumb to caress your cheek. This was...It was interesting. You WERE a victim...You and him bonded during your time in that room. What started out as a supposed Master/Slave dynamic quickly became something more the more he got to know you. He fought it hard but after a while he couldn't deny his caring for you. You were that missing piece. It helped your inner freak matched his. You brought out his sadism to the point he rarely got other victims. You were too fun. And he brought out that side of you that wanted to be dominated and taken care of. This chade thing was your idea after you taunted him he was gonna get too tired to chase victims eventually anyways. All it took was a 'wanna bet?' and that predatory sadistic look in his eyes and you took off in both fear and glee making him work for it the last hour. You playing like you hated it and fighting him was all part of the game.

"What?" You asked as he gazed down at you.

"...Thinking how much I hate you. How damn soft you've made me." He had his hand around your throat. "Should've killed ya months ago. Ain't never let a toy get this comfortable."

You knew he was bluffing as you gazed up at him with soft eyes. You quickly found a look that made him weak and you pulled it out when you really needed it. His eye twitched in irritation as he kissed you. "Damn you..."

You kissed him chaste and sweet before telling him pleasantly. "You love me."

I tiny smile tried tugging his lips. "I tolerate you." He lost the smile, sighed, then just let it come back again. "...I do care for ya quite a bit though, honey. I ain't felt like this in too damn long."

"Sounds like love but you're too stubborn. C'mon, say it. 'I love you'."

"Glad to hear you admit it, brat." He huffed in bemusement while giving mock anger. "You ain't in charge here."

"Come oonnn, it's just us in the woods! Ain't like you haven't said it before. " You teased softly.

He groaned, rolling his eyes and acting more annoyed then you knew he was. "Fine. I love ya, ya fuckin' pain in the ass....Should've left the glue on yer mouth when I had you tied to that chair." He sighed with a slight smirk. "Come on. Let's go home." He helped you up. His body language of steadying you and his eyes roaming over you to make sure he didn't hurt you as much as normal victims; betrayed him. You were so tempted to retort 'something something...Body's not lying as much as your mouth does-" But you relented. Getting your pants back on.

You flinched when moving.

He looked pleased with himself. "Sore?" All before looking at you tenderly. That look reserved only on rare occasions for you. "C'mon, baby. Let's get you home...This was fun."

You let him lead you, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you.

You finally said once you got out of the woods. "I almost made it to the road. You know the rules...If Lester or some car picks me up to lead me back to Ambrose? I'm in charge. You will be MY toy for a change."

He let out a hearty laugh. "That ain't happened yet and it ain't gonna."

You gave him a determined smirk. "Wanna bet?"

"Are you challenging me? Yer gonna lose, darlin'. Remember your place...But fine. Jus' cause I know I'll win. How bout we do this again tomorrow night if you can walk properly."

You chuckled. A bit sore but too satisfied to care. "You're on, Bo...What collar do you wanna wear when I win?"

He smacked your ass while walking with an amused chuckle. Clearly not thinking you could win. "Oh shut up. I'm just gonna make that punishment even worse next time, smart ass." But he pulled you close and bent down to kiss your forehead as you both walked the empty Ambrose streets back to the house.

#Here my children. I have brought food. 🤲#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair imagine #bo sinclair #bo sinclair house of wax #house of wax 2005 #bo sinclair smut #afab reader #afab reader smut #house of wax imagine #how 2005 #how imagine #house of wax (2005)#house of wax imagines

654 notes · View notes

yeosbbm · 7 months

Text

All cuz of peaches.

Smut | MDNI

starring: ranch cowboy! mingi x ex city girl! reader

genre: country, strangers to fuckers, porn with barely any plot 😭

summary: after becoming bored with the city you moved into your friends seonghwa and soobin’s peach farm in the countryside, however a lust filled attraction towards your neighbor Song Mingi down the hill has filled your thoughts. after letting your horniness get the best of you, he decides to give you what you want.

warnings/prevs: Readers a pervert..Mingi likes it though, Masturbation, Unprotected piv, Breeding, One case of impact play, Begging, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Sweet talk/names (if I’m missing anything else let me know).

A/N: Y’all honestly this work is more experimental and based off of a thought I’ve had if anything so this work may be off the wall and a bit…😭 but enjoy if you do ! Push it pt.2 soon to be released !!

Adjusting to country life wasn’t easy but it was definitely enriching. You moved into a peach farm and ranch with your buddies who’ve owned it since last summer. Soobin and Seonghwa. You decided that life in the city was monotonous and you couldn’t handle the cold, loud and superficial ambience of it all. So one day, you packed your things and decided to move in with them. The past 5 months have been easy so far, all you really do is pitch in with the farm animals and collect the peaches when it’s in season. Since living here, your mind feels so much clearer.

However, there is one thing that has been consuming your thoughts. You three’s neighbor Song Mingi. His farm and woodshed was down the hill from your trio. His presence wasn’t new to you because he was friends with Hwa and Soob, but your attraction towards him makes everyday you see him feel new. He comes by you and the boys house and farm all the time to trade goods or to just hangout for drinks.

And he’s referred to you with the same name since you’ve moved in. “City Girl.” Obvious cause for the nickname but you’re shocked he’d have it stuck for so long.

You couldn’t deny the want for this man. He was so handsome and had a resounding appeal. Even though he had this magnetism that drew you in further and further; you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to him one on one. You felt you could only talk to him when he’s invited in by Hwa or you 3 are invited over to his ranch.

Soon you planned to go for it and invite him over yourself. But you had things to do until then….

You went out to the peach trees and began disposing of the ones who ripened too fast and became rotting mounds of peach flesh. You dumped them into the compost bin and then got ready to pick as many peaches as your crate could take for today. You picked and picked while the crate was finally halfway filled with them. However something caught your eye.

Today, Mingi was out in his own field. His hat still on but flannel unbuttoned, while his jeans hung low on his hips letting you see [almost] intimate parts of him. Your eyes are caught on his body, you can’t even view the vegetation and and lush field scenery behind him. He continues to dig his produce from his garden, piercing the fertile soil with his shovel…

You were beginning to get hot and bothered by the sight. His sun kissed tan and sweat sheened body moving in ways that make you feel aroused. The way his pants are hanging by his hips, you imagine him pulling them down and exposing his cock. You imagine the size…you imagine his large tall body over you while making you take all his inches.

Despite your conscious yelling no, you sit by the peach tree you were picking at and brought your hand to your cunt. You begin with soft presses and teases before adding circles to your clit. Your breathing is unsteady, you can’t help yourself..

The thoughts begin to be more vivid..his thrust, his voice talking you through the whole ordeal…how his hard working hands adorned with long fingers would feel pressing and curling against your walls. Your fingers are quick on your clit and your final thought brings you over the edge..the idea of him breeding you full. You cum and get your breathing and thoughts back on track.

What the fuck did I just do.

The realization rushes over you and the shock of you being this down bad sinks in. You adjust yourself and grab the crate of peaches you picked and made your way back home.

It was the next day and since Seonghwa and Soobin had to leave for a produce market deal you decided to be productive. You washed and peeled all the peaches you got from the day before, cleaned up the house, fed the chickens and took the goat out the stable to go feed and roam in the pasture until evening.

After all the hard work you wanted to do something simple for yourself and something out of your hard work. A peach cobbler. You baked it for an hour and took it out to see it with a beautiful crispy brown crust and perfectly soft baked peaches underneath. The only problem was that Seonghwa and Soobin left so you’re stuck here to enjoy it by yourself.

However you remember, Mingi is just down the hill. You put on a form fitting flannel and a nice skirt and shoes and lock up the ranch before you head by Mingis ranch house to asks if he’d like to indulge in the pie with you. Luckily, his woodshed was open and he was organizing his logs of wood and his tools.

“Hey Mingi !” He looks up from his tasks and his eyes lock on you like a target. He immediately stops what he’s doing and straightens himself as he stands. You fully walk in and close the woodshed door to get rid of the beaming hot sun.

“Hey city girl, what do you need.” He will never let the nickname go you think to yourself.

“Well I made a pie earlier and it’s still nice and fresh and I wanted to know if you wanted to come over and have a slice.” You’ve never really interacted with Mingi one on one, the nerves and his stare makes you bite your lip.

“Really.” Mingi is starting to eye you and look you up and down.

“Of course really, Soobin and Seonghwa aren’t here so who else will I share with.”

He begins walking towards you. “That’s all you want from me?” You look around and begin to notice how his own shirt was gone and belt was unbuckled. “Yea..just wanted to know...” Your eyes struggle to not stray from his face and drift down how torso. He gets closer, you can smell his cologne and musk from working in the heat. “You sure there’s nothing else you want…some sweet little secret you’re keeping from me.”

Mingi corners you in the woodshed. You’re backed up against a wooden table he made himself. He rubs his hands on the top of your thighs, he looks like he’s about to eat you alive. He whispers. “I know what you did yesterday…it was quite the show,,” He knows. He knows that you laid there and touched yourself to the sight of him. You couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“What do you want me to do to you city girl..”. Mingi slowly unbuttons the fitted flannel you have on. “Touch me,, I want you to touch me.” The way you seem desperate for him makes him lose patience and rip the shirt apart, causing some buttons to pop out. He removes your bra with one hand alone and as soon as your tits are free he brings one in his mouth. Sucking and nipping at them while pawing you everywhere else.

He finally backs away and sees your tits glistening and nipples hardened. He groans at the sight and practical rips your skirt and panties away. He parts your legs and sees your aching cunt wet with arousal waiting for him. He cups his hand and places it over your heat and licks the shell of your ear, before he says “Look at all this sweetness you’ve left for me darling.” Your body is crumbling, you just want him to touch you already. “Min put your fingers inside.” Mingi tilts his head and gives a sly smile.

“Tsk tsk tsk..you city girls always forget your manners..” You can’t with the games and formalities. You begin to whine “Mingi stop playing around.. fuck me.” Mingi slaps the inside of your thigh causing you to moan in both pain and arousal. “Let’s try that again but with some country charm.” He shoved two of his long fingers in your cunt making your hips lift a bit and a moan leave your lips. His fingers are filling you good, but he won’t move or curl them causing you to be limited in your pleasure.

“I’m not moving a damn thing until you ask me nicely.” Your eyes are watering, how are you being edged but you haven’t even reached the brink of cumming yet. You toss your pride away, “ Min I need your fingers so bad please fuck me with them please.”

“Mmm I’d make you say more but let me spoil the city girl for saying please.” He begins pumping his fingers in you and curling them at the right gummy spot. Soon his fingers speed up and he slips another in, making you moan and drool on display for him. “Mm baby’s so full with my hands alone.” You whine yes yes yes’s and can’t turn away from watching his fingers wet with your slick slide in and out.

He feels your cunt twitch and clench, he can see that you’re already close, he pulls his fingers out. You’re snapped back into reality and already on the verge of begging for his fingers back. He slides down his jeans and frees his cock from his boxers. He pumps his dick a few times before laying you back. He takes your legs and bends them to where you cunt is fully exposed. He takes a small lick and then deep dives in tonguing your heat and playing quickly with your clit.

Your legs are beginning to shake. He’s lapping at your cunt and making quick turns to suck and bring his tongue around your clit. “You taste better than any peach you’ve picked.” You couldn’t even properly register the compliment from how fucked out you were. He takes a few more minutes eating your pussy like a starved man before he comes back up to kiss you.

After his lips finally split from yours in a deep muted voice he asks, “You’ve got a rubber ?” You shake your head no but you refuse to let this fantasy go unfinished. “I’m clean, I’m on the pill…just breed me I don’t care I just want your cock.” Mingi just can’t resist you in the state you’re in, he kisses your forehead before he lines his cock to your entrance and rams it in.

One of your legs are wrapped around his waist while the other is hiked up against his shoulder. Your cunt feels so full, but there’s barely any pain despite being split open. The pleasure rolls up from your cunt up into your lower abdomen. Mingi can’t deny how he feels either, the pressure of your walls clamping on his dick has him in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

He can barely control himself, his cock is just drilling you and you can’t do anything but take it and soak it all in. “Min it’s so good, don’t stop.” Mingi cracks a quick smirk before rolling his hips to make the thrust more deeper and intense. “Oh yea ?…is it what you pictured…is it better than fucking yourself with your fingers ?.”

Soon he only holds on to your calves and raises them but slows down his thrust, despite slowing down, his thrust seem harsh and as if his dick just reached a new space in you. “Show me…show me how you touched yourself when watching me.” You weakly bring your hand to your clit and begin pressing quick circles on it until your hips start to stutter and lift. “Finish on me city girl, get me all wet.” He hits you with one last deep thrust.

You cum all over his cock and as soon as you do he spurts his hot seed throughout your walls. You’re both panting messes and mingi sits you up. He passes his water flask to you and watches as you drink in a hurry from exhaustion caused thirst. When you pass it back he takes a swig from it himself.

He holds you and gets a rag wiping off your sweat, kissing you on top of your head and massaging your shoulder blades.

“Let’s go eat that peach cobbler you were talking about.”

502 notes · View notes

guacamoleroll · 2 months

Text

— ᴘᴇʀ ᴛᴇ ᴇ ᴘᴇʀ ᴍᴇ ɴᴇʟ ᴄɪᴇʟᴏ · ꜰʏᴏᴅᴏʀ ᴅᴏꜱᴛᴏᴇᴠꜱᴋʏ

content. gn!reader. based on a request. forehead kisses, flirting, slight character study, possible inaccurate depictions of italy, teasing, slight suggestive themes (towards the middle), soft!fyodor, translation at the end. muse-typical metaphors. not proofread. 1.7k+ words.

author's note. this was so fun to write! a very delicate balance of sweetness and humor, along with the slightest dashes of spice and angst. thanks to @rusmii for descending from the heavens to remind me of "love in portofino." i had it playing on repeat <3

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

It was difficult to describe the issues that arose from you and your lover's hectic schedules, at least to others. How would you ever begin to explain it—he's a terrorist dead-set on the eradication of sin from your world, and sometimes that doesn't mesh with your nine-to-five career. Yeah, that would be well-received at brunch. But it was your reality, and for the most part, you made it work.

Simple meals served between stints of scheming in his office; convoluted stories discussed amongst infrequent breaks in your living room. Both of you were aware that a relationship would not be easy, but you made it work. It wasn't for lack of trying on his part; however, you knew he disguised his desire to be close underneath a mask of perfection, pretending it was solely for your benefit. Sure.

So, to your surprise, a pamphlet appeared on your nightstand. You scanned the cover with scrambled thoughts—its glossed sheen describing the wonders of Rome—and when you inevitably arrived in his office to question its sudden appearance, he simply stated that he 'required a visit to the country' and that he knew you'd be interested in joining him.

To most, he's an enigma, but you read him like an open book. There was no use in pointing out his scheme, so instead, you settled into the idea of a vacation, joyfully assisting in any help he needed booking the trip—you had been to the city before and often spoke of your wish to return someday, which had seemingly caught his notice. He placed you in charge of specific details of the itinerary—smaller stops on your preset route, the transportation, restaurants for lunch—though he noticeably had already planned many of the larger events.

And that's how you arrived here. Rome, Italy. It was as luminous as you left it. You traded in your everyday attire for breathy linen and flowy cotton, allowing the Mediterranean sun to dance across your skin. Your ebony-haired lover was not far behind in fashion, a stark difference from the heavy wools and flannels of his motherland, which you had forced him to leave back in Yokohama so as not to worsen his already weakened constitution.

The brilliant city held a beauty incomparable, its streets nestled with centuries of history that went beyond books, laid to rest underneath soil and entombed in stone. Even Fyodor, with many years of travel under his belt, couldn't help but admire the manmade structures of a bygone era, which reached like beacons of human ingenuity into the firmament.

It had been ages since you explored the streets, and it was better now that you had a partner to hold your hand, hopping from place to place as you took in every destination with a new perspective. And in your exploration, you prayed Fyodor would find a connection with some kind of sight, with anything at all. He was a man so distant from mankind that you couldn't help but fret over his self-made isolation.

You were both exhausted—you had been on your feet for hours, and even though he tried to conceal it, you'd be foolish not to notice the slouch of his back as he tried to fight off sleep. He struck you with a knowing look whenever you cooed at him, forcing you to advert your eyes straight out onto the road as you scanned for the vehicle that was supposed to take you to the hotel.

Half an hour passed—nothing. You started to get worried.

"We've been scammed," he said, beating you to the punch as he stood from his seat on the sidewalk. You filled in his place, slumping against a wall as you hid your face in shame—one of the few tasks he had charged you with, and you had managed to mess it up!

He let out a breathy chuckle, patting the back of your head like he were comforting a scolded child. "We'll simply get a taxi."

You groaned, your stomach twisting at the sensation of your own incompetency, before allowing yourself to peek between your fingers to look out into the open world—and that was when you spotted it. A quaint shop with a flickering sign and a handful of mopeds slumped over outside. Fyodor's gaze followed yours, his brows furrowing as he found the target of your ire.

"Absolutely not."

But you had already grabbed onto his hand and pulled him out into the street, with surprisingly little resistance from him as he allowed himself to surrender to your will.

"You haven't experienced everything Rome has to offer," you hummed with a noticeable smirk, tilting your head to gaze at him between your lashes in a mocking attempt to sway his favor. "Come onnnn, Федечка."

He huffed, although his normal stoicism held an unmistakable look of fondness. "Ты маленькая гадюка."

You didn't need a translator to understand the meaning behind his words, heart filled with an almost sadistic joy as you approached the older gentleman that was running the shop. He seemed equally as amused as you were once he deciphered the situation, trading cash for keys as you skipped out the door.

Fyodor had planted himself onto the Vespa's seat without complaint, though you could not help his striking resemblance to a child on a bike that was far too small for them. He had his legs propped at an awkward angle to keep them from scraping against the ground, and the subtle twitch of his brow told you everything you needed to know.

You, on the other hand, were more than comfortable enough to settle between his legs, leaning against his chest as you reveled in the rare domesticality of the moment. That was until two arms decided to slither around your waist, a span of warm breath prickling your skin.

"You're quite brazen for someone that fell right within my grasp," he cooed, his voice dropping into that velvety, sadistically sweet tone that never failed to make you melt.

The bastard had planned this on purpose—he had reviewed your travel plans beforehand, including the transportation company. Much like you could read him, he knew your story from cover to cover, often reading over every page like his favorite novel. And he knew the best ways to make you squirm, his hand snaking up your side, brushing the sensitive divots of exposed skin as it made its way around your throat, giving the slightest but most lingering of squeezes.

That was until you unintentionally floored the gas pedal, propelling you both onto the street—luckily, there wasn't too much traffic at this hour. Despite the rush of the sudden acceleration, you had found that your heart returned to its normal pace as you moved with a rhythm within the twists and turns. You zipped past various sights, most of which were the most enjoyable, in your opinion—a glimpse into the lives of those who occupied these homes. There was a comfort in the consistency. People had passed and left, but the atmosphere remained the same, passed with care through every generation.

And then, your eyes caught onto something, and the muscles of your fingers instinctively flexed against the handlebars. The arms around your waist squeezed you when you began to tilt the moped steadily to the right.

"Don't—"

But you chose to do it anyway, slipping into a narrow sidestreet. You tried not to burst out in laughter at Fyodor's dumbstruck expression through the wing mirror, wishing to capture this moment in a frame somehow. Who knew that all it took to shut the mouth of the destructive mastermind Demon Fyodor Dostoevsky was a trip on a potentially dangerous vehicle?

You had recognized the pathway as a detour to an infamous part of the city—a perfect view of the Tiber River. It was difficult not to divert your path straight into the water when you funneled out into the road, the setting sun drawing a picturesque scene that could not be replicated, even if you returned to the same spot at the same time. There would never be another moment like this again. That sweet breeze parted the sky, both cradling and revitalizing you.

You crept onto a safe spot to park the moped and jumped off to rush to the edge of a bridge that overlooked the entire river, leaning against the railing while being careful not to tip your body over the side. The water sparkled and flickered from the rays of the dying light, twinkling as creatures rested underneath its surface. It enveloped you in an atmosphere of complete calm as if you and Fyodor were the only ones to exist in the world.

Speaking of.

His eyes had drifted toward a view completely different from yours, at least in aspects of physicality. You may have admired a sunset as the peak of fleeting beauty, but you seemed completely unaware that you encompassed every aspect of such a celestial entity, yet in such a strikingly ethereal way. He had seen many sunsets many times, much like he had seen many humans—unique and fascinating in their own way, but not always beautiful. But then, you crashed into his life, and he knew it was always intended for you to remain at his side. Much rarer than a sunset, much more precious.

He would take your life into his hands, ones stained in blood and sin, and unlike all the others he held within his grasp, he would nurture it—cherish it. Like a blossoming flower, he intended to care for you, an invaluable treasure.

He had already found the sight he had been searching for.

"Look!" you exclaimed, practically bouncing as you pointed toward the swaths of fluffed clouds that embellished the sky. "Isn't it gorgeous!"

You didn't even notice the slip of his mask as he joined by your side, brushing a kiss against your temple as he eyed the blooming excitement on your cheeks with your grin. The wind swept through in another attempt to swaddle you, letting the fresh smell of water brush through the folds of your clothes and the tresses of your hair. You turned your gaze to Fyodor, laughter caught in your throat as your eyes peered into his—locked onto you with an almost unnoticeable but most genuine of smiles.

"It truly is."

федечка = fedechka ты маленькая гадюка = you little viper

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @aureatchi @betweensinners @lovedazai @osameowdazai @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @fedyascoffin @squigglewigglewoo @kelperspelt @miloofc @s1eepybunny @dazaisms @deepseafragments @ajaxism @himikoslove @little-miss-chaoss @justcallmesakira

#muse's anthology ‧₊˚ ⋅#request: @dearhoney-31 .ᐟ #starring: fyodor .ೃ࿐#gn!reader #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader

153 notes · View notes

frannyzooey · 1 year

Text

Short Days, Long Nights: 3

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Mature, some angst

A/N: This chapter made me doubt everything, so thank you to @mourningbirds1 and @the-ginger-hedge-witch — you know all you’ve done for me with this one, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough. ❤️

—

Flecks of dirt mingling with his sweat, beads of salt tickle Joel’s scalp, and he takes a break for a moment, pushing the shovel into the loose soil. Raking his fingers through his hair with a scratch, he grabs the hem of his cotton thermal to wipe his face and brings it up, swiping away the evidence of his hard labor.

When you walk out of the cabin with the next batch of plants in your hands, he sees your eyes slide over him and the subtle halt in your step makes him drop the shirt back down.

Head down, using his foot to force the shovel into the ground, he speaks.

“That it?”

“Yea.” Kneeling in front of him, you carefully work the delicate seedling from the pot you started it in into the cup of your hand while he watches. Studying the trench he’s dug for a moment, the crumbling dirt and tender root structure is cradled in your palm.

“Here?” you ask, looking up.

The tilt of your chin upwards has him momentarily speechless, your eyes earnest and trusting and the position you’re in has him beginning to harden.

Jesus, you’re beautiful.

In a wholesome, sweet way: a way he knows is just for him, because while he’s used to seeing you closed off and hard for others, he’s never seen this much openness on your face. The idea of it being for him alone makes him thicken enough that he clears his throat, angling his body away as he answers you.

“Yea. That should be good.”

Your tongue slides along your lower lip in concentration as you bend forward to carve out a spot for the plant; first one, then another and then the last one placed in the soil with a firm press of your fingers around the base.

“Done,” you state, giving it one more pat for good measure. “ Just gotta put up the fencing for the rabbits, and we should be good.”

He’s assembled it already, pieced together a makeshift barrier with some stakes and chicken wire he found in a shed next to the cabin, and it’s clear as he bends to drive the sharpened wood into the ground that he knows what he is doing. Clear too, in the construction of it all, that this is something he knows. His moves are efficient, the two of you working in companionable silence until he’s satisfied it’s secure.

He stands up straight with a low groan, his fingers digging into the base of his spine through his shirt, his flannel stripped off long ago and tossed into the grass.

“I’m gonna go wash off,” he says, pointing at the creek with a jerk of his head, and you dust the moist soil from your hands, wiping them on your pants. Standing, you carefully step out of the garden, and he’s got his hand out to help you, your own smaller one placed in it for a moment.

“Sounds good.” Gathering the pots, you head back inside, and when you turn back at the last moment with a casual “call me if you need me,” he almost laughs.

Almost, the sound dying in his throat as his jaw flexes instead.

Submerging himself in the creek, the water isn’t nearly warm enough for his liking but it’s refreshing all the same.

It strips away the dirt and the sweat, sliding over his bare skin as he forces himself under the gentle current and he floats there for a moment, relishing the pressurized muffle of silence around him.

His hand reaches down between his legs, tempted to give himself relief with the picture of your upturned face still in his mind, but he doesn’t. Instead he holds it there, tightening his fist around himself with a firm squeeze in order to will the bright, strongly centered need away. Popping up with a splash, he focuses instead on scrubbing his body with the bar of soap he brought down.

Using it to wash everything including his hair, he climbs out of the creek and towels off, slipping his jeans and a fresh t-shirt back on. The cotton clings to his damp skin, darkening along his spine, and he sits down on the bank, deciding against putting his socks and boots back on. His gun lying beside him in the grass, he rests his forearms on his knees and digs his toes into the cool ground under his feet. Grass slips against his skin, tearing up in chunks and listening to the birds chirp around him, he lets his head fall back and closes his eyes.

The sun shining bright on his face, the beams heat his chilled skin and he can’t remember the last time he’s done anything like this. Can’t remember the last time he’s done anything like what he’s been doing these last few weeks.

Abandoned when you first found it, the cabin now reeks of domestication and he finds himself simultaneously pulling against it, while unconsciously settling in. The tension that’s filled his muscles for the last ten years as a means of survival: though beginning to loosen in moments like these, it still wraps around his lungs sometimes. Still creeps up on him in the night by appearing in his dreams or grips him out of nowhere when he gets up in the middle of the night just to check that you’re okay.

Everytime he does it is a reminder of the last time he woke in the night to check on someone: a small bundle swaddled in a pink blanket; a sprawled form draped half off her first big girl bed; a tucked ball of preteen.

His fingers seek out his watch, absentmindedly circling the face and he stays there, sitting in the sun.

Hiding in your bedroom and staring at a book with pages you aren’t absorbing, you try not to think about him in the water. You had been in the kitchen, wandering aimlessly into the living room and ended up forcing yourself into your bedroom so you wouldn’t be tempted to peek out the window.

The words blur and shift in front of your eyes, a daydream taking root instead and eventually deciding you’d given him ample time for privacy, you grab your own towel and walk out to the deck.

Heading down to the water, you keep your eyes on him.

His back faces you, the thin material of his shirt stretched taut across his shoulders outlining every muscle in his back, every strong dip and plane. You see a sliver of his skin, a solid, firm slice peeking just below the hem and you come to stand next to him, dropping your towel down on the grass.

He greets you, keeping his eyes shut.

“Nice out,” he says lowly. “Warm.”

In the bright light of the afternoon, you can see clearly the handsomeness of his features and with his eyes closed, you feel braver in your study. His eyes lined, his skin tanned with age, a permanent frown itched between his brows. Gray threads throughout his beard, gathering at the corners of his jaw and peppering lightly through his mustache and along his temples, and without his expression set into his usual sternness, he looks younger.

His mouth is plush and relaxed, his curls a drying halo around his head as they flutter gently in the breeze. You imagine kneeling down to silently straddle his lap, thinking about what his eyes would look like when they opened to find you there. Dark, the brown bleeding into the black, just like they looked like this afternoon as you were gardening.

Wandering down to the edge of the creek, you carefully dip your toe in and with your thin thermal pants rolled up to your knees and your top covered with a tank top, you wade into the creek. When it gets to your thighs, you let out a hiss and looking back at him with an expression of shocked disbelief, you find him watching you.

“You took a bath in this? It’s freezing.”

“I never said the water was warm,” he replies, the quirk of a smile under his mustache.

“A little heads up woulda been nice,” you murmur begrudgingly and he says nothing, shrugging instead, amused.

Knowing that a slow wade in is more pa inful than just taking a leap, you give in and dive forward, staying under the water for a moment until you come up with a shout.

“Jesus Christ!” you cry out, wiping the water from your face and he laughs, a sound that makes you automatically smile because it’s the first time you’ve heard it.

You force yourself to stay in, the water lapping around your shoulders, and pretty soon the sharp cold mellows into something you can stand. Letting your body float in the gentle current, you bring your feet off the bottom and swim closer to the bank.

“Wanna come back in and join me?” you ask, bobbing in the water.

“After that?” He shakes his head. “No thanks. I already punished myself enough for today.”

You shrug, letting yourself fall back and you float on top of the water for a moment, looking up at the sky. You can feel his eyes on you; the image of them so dark still in your mind. A bird flies overhead, your eyes tracking it until it’s out of sight and standing, you face him to walk slowly through the water.

“Feels good,” you make conversation, your head down as you drag your toes through the soft sand. You watch it kick up and swirl around your legs, goosebumps pebbling your shoulders with the water line around your waist. Your comment met with silence, you look up and he’s giving you a hard stare, his eyes dazed.

“You doin’ okay over there?” you call out to him, shifting backwards in the water to submerge yourself again. “You look –”

And then you’re gone, slipping under the surface.

Forcing yourself to stay under, you hear the muffled, stern clip of his voice from the bank, again when he yells your name louder and then a loud splash when he jumps in. Diving under, his arms extend out and find you immediately in the dark water, his grip tight and unyielding as he drags you to the surface. Coming up with a sputter, you’re laughing, wiping the water from your face and opening your eyes, the laugh quietly dies when you see how concerned he looks.

“Gotcha,” you whisper.

There is a beat where he doesn’t say anything, the frown that disappeared earlier back and deeper than ever as he looks down at you, and you are about to apologize when his eyes flash with a mischievousness you’ve never seen on his face before.

“You little shit,” he breathes out.

The tension in his body suddenly leaving, you shriek when he lifts his legs beneath him and lets you both drop down into the water, your limbs reflexively winding around him. You push off the bottom and he joins you, a deep breath in before he’s guiding you backwards under the surface again and you force him down with you, wrestling to keep him there. His hand shifts from the middle of your back down to the curve of your ass, pressing you against him and your arms wrap tight around his neck, holding on.

Popping back up, you’re both breathing heavily with matching grins, and you expect him to let go…but he doesn’t. Instead, his hands stay right where they are and you squeeze your thighs around his waist, his body solid and flush against yours. You feel the soft give of his stomach against your core and it takes everything you have not to squirm against it.

“Feels good, right?” you ask him, reaching up to wipe away a drop of water sliding down towards his eye, and he keeps his gaze on you, nodding.

“Yea, it’s not too bad when you get used to it.”

Wanting nothing more than to lean in and press your mouth to his, you resist, not wanting to give him a reason to pull away.

“When’s the last time you went swimming like this?” you ask instead.

He thinks for a moment, his eyebrow raising. “I don’t even know. I’ve gone to wash myself, but I haven’t done this since –” he stops, his face shifting into something more solemn that he pulls himself out of just as fast. “It’s been a while. What about you?”

You’re sitting on his thighs in the water, your bodies gently turning in a circle as you stay submerged to your shoulders and you shrug.

“I can’t even remember. Maybe when I was little, or something?” You’re quiet for a moment while he studies your face; your bodies dancing in the current. “I’ve missed it. Doing something just for…the fun of it.”

Your fingers brush against the wet cotton of his shirt, one of them tentatively slipping under the neckline to touch his firm skin and giving him time to stop you, you bring your eyes to his. “What do you miss?”

He doesn’t answer right away, but you don’t expect him to. His fingers flex involuntarily underneath you, splaying wide over the plush curve of your ass and you think his face betrays what he misses, especially when his eyes drop to your mouth - which makes his answer all the more surprising when he says it.

“Barbeque,” he replies seriously. “Really good barbeque.”

The answer makes you laugh for a moment, if only to relieve the tension swirling in your belly. “God, me too.”

You imagine he must actually know what he’s talking about, with that accent. Southern barbeque is no joke. Or rather, was.

“What about you?” he asks, and the answer is ready on your tongue.

“Music. Movies.”

He nods in agreement. “Movies. I loved those.”

“Maybe we could reenact one,” you suggest, teasing him and you start to laugh when you see his frown return. “You know, see how much we can remember of our favorite ones? Write the lines down and see if we can —”

He’s already pushing away from you, something you resist with a dig of your fingers into his shoulders and it makes you laugh even more.

“Oh come on,” you coax him as he shakes his head. He tugs you closer, lifting you higher up around his waist and turns to walk out of the creek.

“It’ll be fun! Let’s –”

You’re cut off when he dumps you into the water next to him, your limbs trying to right themselves and when you come up he’s already climbing up the bank, his clothes molded to his body. Your mouth goes dry, your lips slightly parted and he bends to grab the soap he was using earlier, tossing it in your direction with a splash.

“Wash up,” he says, grabbing his own damp towel from the grass and then his rifle. Slinging the strap over his shoulder, he starts to walk back up to the cabin, and you grin at the way you can see him shaking his head at himself.

—

It’s late, when you hear it.

Curled up on the couch with a book in your hand, his mumbling drifts down the hall from his bedroom. Sleep thick, his drawl deeper than it usually is, you listen to him for a moment and when it tapers off, you go back to reading. The lantern’s light flickers over the page, the papery brush of you turning it the only sound in the room and when he suddenly shouts, you startle with a jump.

“Tommy! Tommy help!”

Bolting off the couch, you rush down the hallway and push without thought through his doorway that’s stopped you so many times. He’s there, thrashing in his sheets, fighting an enemy you can’t see.

“No, no. Come on baby girl,” he mumbles again. The neckline of his shirt is drenched and dark with sweat, his face twisted in a grimace. “No. No.”

On the last no, his voice catches in a sob and you kneel on the bed, grasping his shoulder to shake him awake. “Joel. Joel. Wake up.”

The second you touch him, he’s up in an instant — his eyes wide open and full of sorrow and rage, his body reacting on instinct. His hand clamps around your wrist with a painful grip, the other twisting in the thin cotton of your shirt to tug you close and he looks furious, drawing in ragged breaths.

You freeze in his hold and wait until he slowly softens in recognition, letting you go. He draws back, forcing distance between the two of you.

“Sorry,” he mutters, pushing himself up to sit against the headboard. The heels of his hands dig into his eyes for a moment and you sit down on the edge of the bed.

“You okay?” You venture quietly.

“Yea,” he says, looking down at his knees. His face is stuck in a troubled frown, like he’s still in his head. “Yea, I’m — just a dream.”

You stay with him for a moment, waiting to see if maybe he’ll start talking, but when he won’t meet your eyes, you stand. When you get to the door, you stop and look back.

“I’ll be out here if you need me, okay?”

He rolls onto his side, facing away from you and saying nothing, nods.

–

Not being able to sleep, you hear him get out of bed early the next morning and watch him pass your doorway. The door opens as he walks outside to use the bathroom and lying there, you wonder if you should bring up the nightmare.

Another plank laid down on this tentative bridge of closeness between the two of you, he seemed more relaxed yesterday in the water. The first time he’s ever mentioned or ventured to discuss the past without immediately shutting you down with a silent, stern look, the memory gives you enough confidence to bring it up when you eventually get out of bed, wandering into the kitchen.

He’s there, already dressed and prepping for the day and when you greet him, he replies while staying turned away from you.

Tugging your blanket around your shoulders for fortification, you wait a moment before speaking.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

Rolling your eyes at his back, you continue. “About last night. About the dream you had.” His shoulders tense under the worn flannel, but you push forward. “Seemed like a bad one. Worse than I’ve seen you have anyway, since we’ve been together.”

He turns, his face closed off and tight, his hands busy shoving supplies into his pack. “It was nothing. I barely remember it.”

You hesitate, biting your bottom lip. “You seem kinda bothered about it this morning. Or bothered by something, anyway.” Trying to meet his eye, he resolutely keeps his own down. “We all have them, Joel. It might be good –”

“Just leave it okay?” he cuts you off harshly, looking up. “It was just a dream. Didn’t mean anything, so we don’t have to talk about it.”

His posture squared off and stiff and his jaw set with a clench, his tone brooks no room for argument. This conversation is effectively over as far as he is concerned and you look at the old Joel in front of you, the one you first met so long ago.

“I’m gonna go check out the area.” He says, buckling the straps on his backpack. “See what we’re workin’ with. Scout around, make sure no one else has figured out we’re here.” He slings the strap over his shoulder, grabbing his rifle off the counter and you move to join him.

“Okay, let me just get my stuff.”

Stopping you with a frown, he shakes his head in frustration. “No. You’re gonna stay here. I’m gonna go alone.”

“Why? Don’t you think I should come with? We always go together.”

“Not today.” He walks towards the door, his footfalls heavy in his boots and you automatically follow him. “Just stay here, okay? I’ll be back tonight. Maybe tomorrow morning if –”

“Tomorrow morning?” you ask, panic rising in your throat.

Insecurities flood into your tone and your mind: this because you pushed him about the dream. This is because of the lake. This is because of the way you forced him to stay here when he didn’t want to, and now he’s getting tired of entertaining whatever this is and he’s going to leave. He’s going to say he’s coming back, but he won’t. He’ll keep going and you’ll be left here alone and –

“Wait. Just wait for me to get my stuff. I don’t –” You scramble for words, anxiety choking you when he steps outside.

“Joel!”

He doesn’t stop and doesn’t look back either, and trying not to cry, you slump against the frame still wrapped in your blanket and watch him go.

The overgrown path that led to the cabin in the first place also leads away from it, continuing on into the forest and he follows it, his gut telling him to go back.

He hates that he left like that.

Not trusting himself to leave if he met your eyes, he forced himself not to answer or turn around when you called for him but it doesn’t matter in the end, because he sees them nonetheless.

He sees your face when he scans for any sign of life while walking, hears the panic in your voice with every step he takes. Worries about you being left alone when he finds another abandoned cabin in the woods three miles from your own. He approaches it the same way he did yours, tearing the tarp off the back to let himself inside and crawling in through the window, he wonders if this used to be resort property with the way these places are preserved.

Taking his time, he combs through every one of the rooms, grabbing what he deems to have use: rain jackets, first aid supplies, as much food as he can cram in his pack before he finds a bag in the kitchen to hold more. Early afternoon turns into late, the sun settling into the horizon and the entire time, he feels the remnants of his dream.

He does remember it, though he would never admit that to you. It’s the same one he has all the time, only her face has started to blur into your face, though the outcome stays the same. He wakes up frantic and panting, his hands grasping the ghost of something he’s lost and he can’t decide if he wants to burn the world in his rage or sob because he’s failed.

The dream he had last night the worst he’s had in a while, everything was covered in shadows and sorrow, slices of time merging and blending together. Your face in that garden and then in his bed, your body arching underneath his. Your back as you walked in front of him in the forest, a punch of fear in his gut at the echo of gunshots as you hit the ground. Those same shots but the world tilting, and then he held a much smaller, limp body in his arms.

Still raw, he had felt trapped when you asked him about the dream, the kitchen walls closing in as the image of her lifeless in his arms grew more real and vivid by the minute and needing to leave, the attachment he’s allowed you to form made him panic even more. Clear in your voice when you begged for him to stay, the crushing pressure of someone depending on him had settled in his chest, the weight of it making it hard to breathe.

The pain that he’s spent years burying, now uncovered and overturned, brought to the surface.

He remembered that kind of love.

The kind that swirled heavy in his chest, the kind that flooded it until he thought he would burst. So similar to the physical feeling of being overwhelmed and afraid, the feeling had long ago become synonymous with fear with him — but hadn’t that always been the case?

Fear, because you have so much more to lose?

He needed to go for a lot of reasons — to gather more supplies where he could, to ensure there were no threats out there that he couldn’t see, but he also needed to get some fucking space so he could think about anything but your questions and the way you look at him and your eyes in the dark and your body molded to his in the water, your breasts in that tank top –

He’s felt it, your interest and god — god, he wants so much to press his mouth against yours and take. Trying so hard all this time to resist his urges, you had gotten in that lake right in front of him and he couldn't help himself. Allowed himself the pleasure of holding onto you in the most innocent way possible if only for a moment, just to slake his endless thirst.

He couldn’t stop staring.

Your bare, fresh face. The hardened buds of your nipples through your thin tank top.

He imagined the way they would drag against the flat of his tongue, wanted them to peak for another reason besides cold. He wanted to suck on them, press a kiss to each one, pinch them gently to see what your reaction would be, flick his tongue –

No.

Not only do you deserve more than just the release he clearly needs, but you are too young and naive to ever let it be just that. No, you’d attach something more meaningful to it, and that’s not something he wants. That’s not something he’s capable of.

Heavy with new found loot as he makes his way back through the dusk, he thinks about everything you’ve been doing the past few weeks in a different, new light. He wanted to prepare you, but now he sees it for what it really is: the two of you are playing house, and it’s been a long fucking time since he’s done that with anybody.

Dark when he finally returns, a single window glows with the inviting light of a low lit lantern. He carefully avoids the traps, stepping around them in the darkness and letting himself in, he frowns when you don’t immediately greet him.

The living room is silent and empty, his heart picking up in his chest as his mind conjures the idea that you aren’t there, but his body immediately rejects it. He can feel your presence, being tuned into its exact frequency for a while.

Setting his pack and rifle down, he walks down the hallway to your bedroom and finding it empty, he turns to see you curled up in his own. Tucked into a ball on his side, your face is buried in his pillow, your body hidden under his blanket and he stands there for a moment, looking.

Clearly wanting him too, he could take his boots off and climb in behind you. Curl his body around yours and take you into his arms. Press his face into your hair and share your warmth. Sleep…or not.

You would let him.

You want him to, and wanting nothing more himself, he walks back into the living room. Turning out the light you left burning for him, he stretches out on the couch and lies there, awake.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #tlou fanfiction

929 notes · View notes

piratefishmama · 11 months

Text

Nest | Part 2

A Steddie A/B/O ficlet

The welcome packet was a scripted welcome delivered so robotically that Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, it eased the tension, it did its job. It was also an informative tour of the room. The room wasn’t large by any means, the facility was underfunded, it wasn’t a five star hotel, it wasn’t even a three star hotel.

The room was around the size of a single-sized bedroom, with an ensuite bathroom attached with a bath/shower combo, and a toilet and sink. It had closet space, cupboards, a fold away bed, a few lamps, and a fridge to keep food fresh during the week.

Basic didn’t even begin to cover it. It was what was in the cupboards that made all the difference.

“Holy shit… that’s… that's a lot of blankets.”

“Hah, yeah, this is the soft furnishings cupboard, this is where you’ll find the basics for building the structure of a nest, pillows, blankets, there’s a fluffy rug in there for the base, have you… built a nest before?”

“I’m an omega dude, of course I’ve built a nest. But uh… it’s… it probably wouldn’t really… count I guess… it’s not—I’m not the best at it? The structure never really… stays.” It was a mess. It was an organised mess, that’s what Eddies nests tended to be. Just a big pile of stuff arranged in a sort of circle in his bedroom that just looked like he was adding to the mess that was already there.

Intentionally throwing his and his packs clothes on the floor in a sort of shape basically.

“There’s no ‘counting’ when building a nest, Eddie. A nest is unique to the omega, if yours is of the funhouse variety then it’s the funhouse variety, we can work with that.” He’d never been one for a perfectly perfect nest either, the magazines that boasted the perfect circular nest with perfectly tucked in walls and blankets artfully strewn and folded to create some kind of haven of comfort, it was all too artificial.

There was no personality in them. It was obvious at least several omegas at a time had built each of those nests and not one of those omegas would be fully comfortable in any of the end results.

“…We?”

“Yeah, we… if you want, I can help build it with you. Sometimes it helps to strengthen the trust between us and our patients to build the nests together” trust was important. “Sort of… mind-fucks the omega part of that brain of yours into thinking we’re mates, to be perfectly honest.”

“…Mates build nests together?” Hesitance, curiosity but seeped in hesitance, like he wasn’t sure if he should be asking, common for inexperienced Omegas.

“Mhm, sometimes. Sometimes the Omega can want to do it all themselves though, would you pref-”

“Help me.” Eddie had never had anyone to help him with a nest. His uncle stayed out of his way, didn’t want to even attempt to throw his hat into that chaotic ring, and while Eddie had always claimed that he was fine on his own… there was always just a lingering part of himself that wanted someone there to help him.

Someone to help him tuck in blankets properly, someone to help him find the perfect spot for the pillow he’d stolen from Jeff, or the flannel Gareth had given him, someone to help him find the perfect spot for that one oversized sweater he’d pilfered from Frank, or find a safe spot for the stupid graphic tee he’d snagged from his youngest pup, Henderson where it wouldn’t get soiled by activities.

He wanted someone there.

“Okay” it was that easy. Steve Harrington, of all the Alphas in Hawkins, was going to help him build a nest. Holy shit, thanks Gareth. Best wingman ever. “But first, the rest of the tour. That door there leads to an ensuite bathroom, it’s not big but it’ll do, the bed is fold away for space saving purposes, aaaaand—” He led Eddie over to another cupboard, lower to the ground and easily within reach of the open space on the floor where a nest could be built. “The contents of this cupboard will only be useful to you during the final stages of your heat, but it’s good to familiarize yourself with it and make your choices early so as to not overestimate what you can take in the moment while out of your mind.”

He crouched down and opened one of the doors, expecting the choked little sound Eddie made as he revealed what was inside. Heat aids. Ranging from small, to extra extra-large. All with knots. The small one's knot being about the size of his own fist.

“I don’t need to know what you pick, it’s none of my business, I wont be in the room when you use them. But it’s good to know which ones you want while coherent and lock away the others because a heat-broke mind will go for the biggest thing there to fill the ache and it’ll hurt you if you’re unprepared.” If he had no experience he meant.

An Omega, unlike what porn may suggest. Was not built to take something massive on the first go right out of the gate. Yes, they had ample amounts of slick, they self-lubricated enough to not need artificial lubricant, but stretch was still a thing that’d happen, and tearing was also a thing that could happen.

“…What would you suggest with what you know?” With what was on the clipboard.

“Have you used a heat aid before?”

“W-well, yeah I mean-pfft who hasn’t—of course I’ve use—”

“Eddie.”

“Shit’s expensive okay? I live in a trailer park for fucks sake, the only reason I can be here is cause my heat brain has become a danger to my own and others health. Not everyone can afford some fancy schman—” it was no longer optional for him, he had to have help. Steve was up, he was up on his feet and oh, oh now he understood the need for an alpha.

He got it.

The second that scent filled his senses, he got it.

Cinnamon, hot chocolate spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg, a warm log burning fire, and that voice, that soft crooning voice “easy… easy, it’s okay, Eddie, it’s okay, can I touch you?” He nodded, half expecting hands on his face or something but no, Steve kept it to his arms, his touch gentle, but grounding, those soft hazel eyes of his damn near hypnotic when mixed with that scent, all that building anxiety and stress just drifting away with each exhale “it’s okay to not have used one before, they’re not accessible for everyone, I know” his heats must have sucked.

“I’m older than you, Steve… it’s pathetic, I can’t even get laid by a fake dick…”

Steve couldn’t stop the little laugh even if he tried, just a soft little burst of laughter, thankfully… Eddie smiled over it. Just a little smile, a curve at the corner of his lips but it counted. His scent was levelling out, it counted. “Well, we’ll fix that this week, wont we?” Oh god they would, he’d fix it that week.

After that heat, he’d no longer feel the ache of a first stretch. Would he even remember it? Heat brains were so out of it he probably wouldn’t. Didn’t know if that was for the best or not. “…Should I have tried… y’know… to get laid before it came to this?”

“That’s not my place to say, Eddie, people go at their own pace. Think of it this way—” Eddie was honestly bracing himself for a sports metaphor or some shit, something he wouldn’t understand, and yet— “would you rather have a long, lengthy, slow paced campaign with intriguing twists, fun NPC’s, and unexpected turns, or a one shot that lasts ten minutes cause everyone rushed past all your cool little traps and NPC’s to reach the climax?”

“…Did you just D&D analogy me?” With accurate terminology?

“I did do that yes. Well?” He’d soaked up a lot while keeping Gareth company, the guy talked! Steve found it interesting. Eddie found that deeply attractive. Dammit Steve.

“…Lengthy campaign.”

“That’s what I thought. Now pick a heat aid and we’ll lock up the rest, professionally speaking, I suggest the small to medium. Small to start with to ease the stretch, but it won’t be enough to keep you satisfied, medium will do the trick for the long haul.” It was actually kind of impressive how nonchalant he was about it all. But Eddie supposed he did work there. That was his job.

Eddie would have probably spontaneously combusted by now if not for Steve pumping that calming cinnamon scent into the air.

“The long haul” Eddie parroted with a little grin

“Hey, that shit usually lasts the longest, you don’t wanna be stuck with a tiny heat aid for the entirety of it, I won’t be coming in to help you.” He was entirely on his own for that.

“Will that be okay though…?” Eddie picked out the two Steve suggested, the small being about the size of a coke can, while the medium held a little more length and girth to it. “If I’m—if we’re tricking the omega brain into thinking you’re my mate, wouldn’t I be freaking out if you’re not there for that bit?” Steve clicked the cupboard shut and latched it.

“You’ll have a weighted blanket that sort of matches my weight, it’ll have my scent all over it. That’s the best we can do. We’re not allowed in the room during that stage, hell even the cameras get turned off for your privacy.” Cameras off, of course nobody would be allowed in, anyone could take advantage with the cameras off “A female Beta will check on you regularly to make sure you’re eating and getting enough liquids, but for both your safety, and ours, Alphas can’t be in the room. I dont even get access to your door key when that stage hits, only a Beta can have access. But I will be there for the come down, I promise.”

“…The come down?”

“Ehh… kind of like aftercare, all the soft stuff you’ll be craving after all that intensity.” That made sense.

“W-What if I hurt the Beta that checks on me? I almost hurt Wayne, I’d definitely hurt a stranger.” A very valid point, he’d ask Robin what the protocol for that was, she’d know the specifics.

“We’ll make it work, Eddie… that’s what we do here, we’ll make it okay for you” that touch was back, gentle, he held Eddie’s biceps, thumbs pressing gentle circles into the fabric of his sleeves, Gareth was right. Steve was perfect, reassuring, and his calming scent? A dream. “You’ll be okay, you’re gonna get through this week, and everything will be okay.” It’d be okay, everything would be okay. “Now… how about we get started on your nest?”

Steve had no idea how much he needed dimples in his life, before a huge beaming grin introduced them to him. Good lord that was a smile.

He knew Eddie was all kinds of loud and theatrical from school, knew he laughed, he smiled, he lived his life in a way that he enjoyed regardless of what others thought of him, but… god that was a smile.

“You get the rug, I’ll get the pillows!” And he was off. Excitement replacing anxiety, a bundle of wild energy begging to be chased, and Alphas were nothing if not excellent at chasing Omegas, especially ones as cute as Eddie.

Part 4

#PirateWrites #NestFiclet #Steddie #CW: A/B/O #No Upside Down AU #Omegaverse #Omega!Eddie Munson #Alpha!Steve Harrington

1K notes · View notes

bits-and-babs · 1 year

Note

This is only the first of what I hope will not be too many, but here we go! 🗝 Joel Miller + Country cowbow aesthetic. Because why not?! <3

⋆ 𝐎𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖

CountryCowboy!Joel Miller x f!Reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: soft af, made my heart ache, playful flirting, literally such southern stereotypes written by an English Woman. Dry humping. 18+ ya nasties!

summary: Retired Rodeo-Cowboy Joel Miller settles down on his ranch with his number one fan.

joel masterlist I| main masterlist |I follower celebration I| ask |I

“They’re more hassle than they’re worth, y’know?”

A smile pulls at the edges of your mouth the moment his complaints reach your ears. His gruff voice drips with sarcasm, but you keep your eyes on the horses that prance around the paddock. They lift their hooves with synchronised grace, performing a dance as they clopped across the dried soil.

“That may be,” you muse, brushing your palms over the planks of wood that contained the mares. They’re beautiful beasts, their coats shining beneath the sunshine that the rim of your Stetson shields your face from. “But they’re mighty fine.”

The mocking southern accent you respond with has Joel pushing his elbow into your side.

“Hey!” You burst into a fit of giggles, the laughter bubbling from your throat before you’re able to suppress it. When you look up, Joel’s face is flat, that typical ‘Clint Eastwood Stand-off’ vibe that he always emanates, but his eyes betray him. There’s amusement swirling in his deep tan-leather irises.

Joel rests his palms on the wood, too, casting his gaze over the field. He’s handsome like this, you think, the dying gilded sunshine painting his face golden. It’s clearly crawled under his skin, cheeks glowing a subtle pink with sunburn and making the greys of his beard starker amongst the brown. His matching salt and pepper hair is windswept from working all day in the summer breeze.

It’s ridiculous, you think. All these years together, travelling to rodeos and spending most of your time hiding behind your fingers when he wrestled steers, you still felt the butterflies erupt in your stomach when you looked at him. He’d since hung up his bulldogging boots, ‘far too old to be wrangling bullocks’, and had taken up a much quieter life breeding horses for racing.

“You know,” Joel smirks, not bothering to look at you when he teases you, “You’re always talkin’ ‘bout how pretty they are but spend all your time lookin’ at me.”

“Shut up,” you scoff, tearing your eyes away from him and folding your arms across your chest with an indignant huff. The rumbles of a chuckle reach your ears, and you can feel your cheeks heat up.

“It ain’t so bad, you know,” he speaks softly, trying to ease your embarrassment, “It’s nice to know an old man’s still got it.”

You can’t stay mad at him for very long. That southern charm that effortlessly and unknowingly bleeds through each word works its way between your ribs and lassoes your heart with such ease. Again, you find yourself smiling, turning to look at him again. He’s unable to smother the grin that’s threatening to stretch across his lips, the edges of his mouth twitching.

“You’re not an old man,” you promise, reaching your hand across the small space between you. You hook your finger under the metal of his belt buckle and pull him towards you with a grin. He arches a brow at you pointedly, and you shrug with a grin. “Mhm, okay, maybe you’re a little old.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirks, watching you smooth your hands over his hips and waist.

“The kind of old that makes a man even more handsome,” you promise him, unable to look him in the eyes and choosing instead to drag your eyes over the tanned skin that glistens with sweat just beyond the collar of his flannel, “You age like whiskey, Joel.”

“Jack Daniels or Southern Comfort?” He asks, and you can feel his gaze dancing across your face, burning into your mouth and tracing your lips.

“Mhmm…” you hum softly, finally braving his stare and looking up at him. His eyes are dark with a rich need, hungering for your lips on his. “Redbreast.”

He can’t stand it anymore, you think, leaning down suddenly to press his lips to yours. They’re slightly dry from the heat, and you can taste the salt of his sweat. His body heards you against the fence, his work-worn hands dragging over your thighs and hips with a delicious hum that pools arousal between your thighs.

“Joel,” you breathe into his mouth. It comes out a little more desperate than you’d like, a little needier, but Joel doesn’t complain. His hands are hoisting you up, settled just beneath your ass, so your legs wrap around him.

“These fuckin’ jeans,” he huffs, frustrated when he lightly slaps your ass. Again, you’re laughing, knowing he hates them. They hug your figure just right, too tricky to get off in a hurry. “Just gonna have to make do, aren’t I?”

You’re unable to question him, to ask what he means, because he’s immediately grinding his hips against your own in a way that adds just the right amount of pressure to your clit through the seam of your jeans. Fuck, he’s rock hard beneath you, clearly turned on by your ridiculous teasing and the way you melted at the sight of him.

He swallows your moans with heated kisses, tongue dragging against your own. Fuck, his hands are squeezing at the flesh of your ass through the denim, enjoying the handfuls he steals.

It’s deliberate. The slow, heavy arcs of his hips when he grinds into you, focusing all the pressure on your clit with expertise only he could offer. He’d mapped out your body after all these years, the peaks and troughs of your structure memorised like the landscape of his ranch. Joel knew every pleasure point of your body, how to work them to his advantage and to your detriment.

“Fuck,” you whine softly, feeling him smirk into your shared kiss. Leaning your head back, you sigh when he pulls his lips across your jugular, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your pulse.

“Kiss your mother with that mouth, Darlin’?” He questions you, and you answer with a pointed, open-palm slap against his shoulder. He chuckles again, but responds with another heavy drag of his hips.

“Ohfu-“ you choke out, tears welling in your eyes. He just ruins you, just picks you apart and puts you together again so that all you can think about is the throbbing arousal that shoots up your spine.

“You gonna give it to me, Darlin’? Come on, Sugar. Come on,” he whispers to you, that gravelly tone sparking something honey-sweet inside of you. It’s not the lighting crack that he usually produces. No, it pours through you like molasses, slow and rolling and dripping between your thighs. A soft, drawn-out moan of Joel’s name pushes its way from your lips, and he praises you as your thighs squeeze him tight.

“Mhmm, Good Girl,” he hums, planting kisses along your jaw with a grin. “Don’t think I’ll have to work hard to wrangle you into bed, will I?”

He doesn’t.

END

1K notes · View notes

ametrictonofaudacity · 1 year

Note

yandere platonic supes I am BEGGIBG, there’s not enough yandere platonic Superman I am starved for content, blease

Yes absolutely!!! I am also starved for Yan platonic Superman, so we would get along well!!

Shout out to @blughxreader and @anxiousnerdwritings for so much of my inspiration, and if you like yandere dc works, you should check them out!!

Yandere Platonic Superman x GN! Reader

Warning: This is a yandere work, and as such, has themes of obsession and captivity! Because this is Superman, it’s a much milder work than usual!

“Hey! How was your day?” Warm, almost inhumanly hot, arms, wrap you up into a tight hug, and you blink in shock. You hadn’t even heard him get home, much less approach, and although it makes your heart race, you feel your nerves begin to settle.

“Good! I got to work on the garden I’ve been wanting to start.” You motion to the freshly filled earth, the hard dirt clods having been broken up. “Still have to mix the gardening soil in, and the fertilizer.”

“You did really good! I think we should head inside though, you’re starting to look a little parched.” You sigh, but nod, brushing the sweaty hair out of your face. Mr. Kent beams, stepping back from the hug, ruffling your hair gently. You try to ignore the way your heart leaps into your throat, or his concerned glance.

“So what about you? How’d your day go?” You mumble, trekking up to the tiny farm house in the distance. Mr.Kent keeps pace easily, the wind tugging gently on his red cape.

“It was good! There wasn’t much for me to do today, although one of the supports on the Golden Gate Bridge gave out. Me and few other heroes got that sorted fairly quickly, and no one got hurt.” You knew, logically, that he accomplished more in one day than teams upon teams of first responders could ever manage in a week, but being confronted with the knowledge caused a strange sort of dissonance. He had always just been Mr. Kent. Nice, a bit clumsy, willing to help you and your folks when you needed it. Always wearing a button up or sometimes a flannel when he visited, with the strange sort of softness to his accent that you knew happened when someone moved to the city. You hadn’t known him well, but had been close enough to invite him for Thanksgiving when you had heard he wasn’t spending it with his family.

Maybe that was your mistake. Maybe you wouldn’t be here, on a plot of land in the middle of nowhere, if you had just let him stay lonely.

You blink when you realize the farmhouse is much closer.

“I’ll get changed and make us some dinner, okay?” A hand smooths over your hair, and you smile. If he was cooking dinner, that meant you had time to shower, and get the dirt and grime off you.

“Okay.” You murmur, and he beams, the screen door closing behind the both of you. “I’m not allowed to use the stove anyways.” You mutter after him. You know he hears you, but he doesn’t respond, the door to his room closing behind him.

You take your time showering, and changing into the soft, clean pajamas that he had bought you so long ago they were beginning to wear, and gray at the cuffs. He would wait for you to eat, you knew, and he never pestered you unless he was worried about your safety. Which was pretty often, admittedly, but he had been getting better about not constantly fretting.

“Hey, kiddo! I made your favorite.” He grins, and the smell of warm food drifts up, making your stomach growl hungrily. He presses the plate into your hands. “Figured we could do something special, since today’s such a special day.”

You frown, tilting your head, even as you tried to remember. There weren’t any calendars in the house, and the only passing of time you were aware of most times was the rising of the sun.

“It is?” You question, taking a bite of your food. It melts on your tongue, and you glance at the rest of the house, frowning.

Your stomach drops when you realize. There’s four perfectly wrapped presents on the small coffee table in front of the couch, and a cake from your favorite bakery. There’s also a pie, which you know was made by Ma Kent.

You look back. Mr. Kent looks almost sad, and when he speaks, his voice is gentle, sympathetic.

“It’s your birthday, kiddo. I was thinking, since you’ve been so good lately, we could do something special.”

“Like what?” Your voice cracks, but he doesn’t say anything. You don’t know if your grateful or not.

“Well, I know you’ve been working really hard in that garden of yours. And since you’ve been so good lately, I was thinking we could go to visit a greenhouse! Spend a couple days out and about, so you can get out of the farmhouse every once and while.”

You stare. You hadn’t been allowed off the property in.. months. Five, nearly six. The prospect was exhilarating. And terrifying.

“Really?! When are we going?” You try not to sound to excited, but you must fail, because he chuckles.

“Easy there, slow your roll. We’ll be going at the end of the week. Now, finish your food so we can open presents, yeah?”

The food is tasteless after that. It’s good, sure, but that pales in comparison to how your heart hammers with adrenaline and excitement. You were finally, finally getting off the property! And if you couldn’t escape then, you could escape later, and maybe even go home.

Soon, you’re both finished eating, and he herds you to the couch, pulling out a camera from its case. It’s an expensive digital one, the one you know he used for work.

“You know you can just use your phone camera, right?” You point out, and he chuckles.

“Call me old fashioned. Let me get it set up, and then cake and presents.” It takes him less than a minute to set it up, the motions experienced and practiced. “You ready?”

You nod. He lights the candles on the small bakery cake.

It’s the strangest birthday you’ve ever had. Mr. Kent is the only one singing the birthday song, and you’ve always had a large family with a lot of siblings. When you blow out the candles, he doesn’t let you eat the frosting off them, instead plucking them off and setting them on a ceramic plate.

Your presents are odd, too. You were used to useless, impartial presents. This wasn’t that. He had gotten you the dvd copy of your favorite TV series, a set of hardback books, a new outfit, and a telescope, all neatly wrapped in blue wrapping paper.

“The outfit is for when we go out.” He explains, watching as you unfold the blue button up. “We’re going to be visiting Lois, so I figured you would want to look nice.”

Your heart skitters in your chest, unsure. You hadn’t met Ms. Lane yet, he had always insisted you weren’t ready, but now not only were you leaving the property but you would also be meeting his wife.

“I do. Thank you.” You finally murmur, and he wraps you up into another hug, holding you a moment longer than he usually did.

“Of course. Why don’t you try some of your cake and I’ll clean this up, yeah?”

You watch as he cleans up, nibbling on the sweet treat, and when he is finally done, he sets aside all of your presents, putting in the dvd. You shift on the couch, used to this old routine, and when he sits on the couch, curl up next to him, letting him wrap his arms around you and bury his nose in your hair with a smile.

456 notes · View notes

rustedhearts · 8 months

Text

melancholy (steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: autumns with steve were distinctly blue and melancholy.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ main masterlist

tags: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, very short, very sad. more of a ficlet.

✶ recommended listening: (dream) by salvia palth & both sides now by joni mitchell

small town connecticut. october 1991.

A wave of thunder roared through the bedroom. A lick of lightning, a slash of white light, shuttered over the bedspread. From the window, left open a crack, a gust of cool air howled through. Beneath the blankets, your body gave a shiver—reaching to pull the cotton shields over your head.

"Honey," he called from somewhere under the blankets. "You left the window open again."

Nose buried in the down feathers of your pillow, you hummed absently. Dug in a little further. Felt the weight of his hand over your waist, slipping through the groove. Expected, comforting, welcome. Against the splashing patters of rain, the whooshing shuffle of his body against the sheets. The damp grass and soiled leaves, the earthen concoction of soil and rain—interrupted by his vetiver musk and a hint of something like bonfire smoke, all toasted to warmth by sleep.

His hair, always softer than yours, hazelnut-brown and growing past his ears, glided against your cheek. As did his mouth, grazing like seeking sustenance in the dark—until the familiar cushion of your mouth, roughened by the briskness of autumn, touched his own. He pressed firmly, bottom lip jutting between your own, tongue lazily sweeping in hello. He kissed until you rolled away from the pillow, and into him.

When he was satisfied with the taste of you on his mouth, he pulled away and shuffled against the mattress. "I'll close it."

His figure, tall and lean, scarcely clothed in dark colors, moved through the blueness of the room. A deep, indigo blue—Joni Mitchell blue, melancholic blue, a blue only October allowed. When he turned in the blue light, streaked over his face paled by the colder months, he was grinning.

"Morning," he soothed.

Partially concealed by the pile of fabrics and colors that made up your bed, he caught only the raise of your brows and crinkle of your eyes—but he knew you were smiling, too.

"Morning, honey."

Four feet—two bare, two flannel-plaid-clad—padded over the hardwood. Wandered over the cold bathroom tile, stained with a rouge mistake near the sink. Shuffled into the kitchen, stopping before the coffee maker to fumble through caffeine assembly. Pattered to the toaster, where two pieces of wheat toast came away crisp and black. Tapped a mindless beat before the stove, where four eggs fried up still runny.

They came together, half socked and half bare, at the small, round wooden table. Toes knocking, ankles sliding, one pair warming the other's foolish forgetfulness as the apartment collected a sharp chill. He burnt the toast and you undercooked the eggs, but neither said a word as forks shoveled and scraped until the dishware was clean.

"You ready to go?" he asked you over the rim of his coffee mug, oatmeal-colored and speckled—purchased at Goodwill for 99 cents five Octobers ago.

You swallowed down your last charcoal bite of crunchy bread. "Almost. Have to do some cleaning up."

You cleared the table, wiped it clean with a damp rag. The sink freed of dishes, the counter clear of crumbs. The windows greyed with the light of storm clouds. It wouldn't let up today. Over the patter of rain, his soft clattering in the bedroom sounded like music. Flipping through records, fluttering through books, ghosting through hangers, spritzing cologne from a pressurized can. He came through the kitchen in a navy blue knitted sweater, dark and padded around his arms; a pair of Levis hugged his backside just perfectly.

As you pulled the rubber dish gloves from your hands, snapping and squeaking with sudsy water, he watched, leaning against the fridge. The watch on his wrist caught a streak of silvery light.

"Ready now?"

You padded over, perching on tip-toes to kiss his chin. Arms winding around his torso, breath taking him and all his cleanness in. "Almost. Shower first."

The hiss of the shower stream convoluted with the rain, melding together until one was difficult to discern from the other. But over the stomp of water, on the other side of the tiled wall and through the whiteness of the shower curtain, his maneuvering persisted. Rummaging and rumbling, drawers rolling closed, hands patting pillows, perfume bottles being straightened after being knocked down by hands moving too quick to slow down.

Wrapped in just a pale, fluffy pink towel, dripping beads of warm water across the floor, emitting steam from a stream set too high on hot—he watched you from the sofa, a book perched between his hands, as you strode into the closet. Flicked through hangers, lips pursing and nose scrunching at every distasteful option.

He placed his book face-down against the tattered cushion of the couch before returning to the bedroom. The top drawer of the dresser hummed open, clunked back closed.

"Here, honey," he cooed, holding out a bundle of deep green wool.

It smelled like him as it went over your head. It felt like being held beneath the blinding white and neon red of a movie theater sign on a cold November night while you waited for your friends. It felt like curling up on the couch when the days were too long, and the warmest, coziest place in the world was his lap, pressed against his thigh. It felt like the first time he met your parents at Thanksgiving dinner, full of bloated bellies and the stench of meat clinging to your hair and his hands for hours. The candied sweetness of a day through town when you were supposed to be at college, but the weather was too brisk and the trees were too vibrant to waste, and his propositions were not easily ignored.

The jeans were yours, the boots you pulled on, too—but the socks stuffed beneath the stiff leather were his. Plucked from his drawer when he wandered back to the living room to his book. Unfurled from their rumpled ball, plucked free of hair and lint, squished down at the calves to fit snugly around your ankles.

Your perfume and his cologne came to a symphony of scents that you only associated with home. The blueness of the living room deepened in all your stalling, and when you came to stand in the doorway, dressed in half his clothes, an ache like hunger festered in your chest.

He smiled again, overwhelmed with adoration, and snapped his book shut. "Ready now?"

You nodded. He stood, the old springs of the cushion weeping with relief of removed weight. His boots clunked over the carpet, flat and thin and found on the side of the road in a pile of garbage. A road trip to New York in the dead of summer.

He placed his hands on your cheeks and pulled you close. In the center of the living room, as the rain trickled down the windowsill and filled the room with earthen sour, he kissed you. Sweet, tender, full of aching mouths like all his kisses were. His slender, pulsing fingers buried their way into the hair gathered at the nape of your neck; his thumbs pressed at the underside of your jaw, right where your heart sang just for him. The melody in your bones swept into a crescendo until he pulled away.

Even then, under his hazel-speckled eyes and long, straight-bridged nose, it couldn't stop crying for him.

"Come on," he murmured, a softness gracing his face. "It's time."

You kept the radio off in the car, let the ping of rain on the windshield soothe the drive. His hand cupped over your denim thigh, tapping aimlessly at the occasional stoplight. And the blueness gathered in the car, too. A deep, bruised blue that curdled your blood like spoiled milk. A blue that felt like drowning. A blue that burned if you peered for too long, like the hottest flame on a gas stove burner.

The tires crunched over gravel and flattened down slick grass. Slipped through the sludge and soup of mud. You carefully put the gear in park when you reached the edge of the road. The engine dinged as your seatbelt slipped back against the door, and ceased only when you yanked the keys from the ignition to slip them in your pocket. In the backseat, he left a sturdy raincoat for days like today. You pulled it over your head and zipped it to your chin before stepping out.

The walk was just down the hill and up another to the right. Winding through grey stone monuments, careful of crushing windblown and rain-wilted flowers and tokens of affection as you went. Hands tucked into the warmth and dryness of your pockets, you watched your feet collect wet soil and mark their way through a familiar path. The rain began to slant sideways, beating against the canvas of your raincoat and covered ears with gentle fury.

And despite the wetness and the messiness of the earth, you sank down to the ground when you reached the end of your journey. Flat on your butt, legs tucked into each other with every intention to stay. From your pocket, a tightly-closed silver thermos of steaming coffee, swiped on the way out of the house.

You placed it on the gleaming silver stone and swiped away the blades of grass and yellow leaves that came to say hello.

"I made it, Stevie," you told him, sighing into the cold.

Thunder grumbled through the clouds, married with another lick of white lightning. You smiled, easing into the wisps of wind seeping through the raincoat hood. Coldness kissed your cheeks and numbed your nose. The scent of him under your coat felt as precious and rare and holy as he did when he was still around.

Though Steve said his goodbye, you'd never stop coming to say your hellos.

218 notes · View notes

mourntheantagonist · 2 months

Text

Yay!! My fic for the 2023 Harringrove BigBang (@bigbangharringrove) with gorgeous art by @disterra!!

Rating: M

Content Warnings: disordered eating, mentions of torture, fatphobia, references to child abuse, depictions of anxiety

Chapter 1: Prologue

“Hold on, baby you’re losing it”

If someone had told Billy a year ago that he would be happy to be back in Hawkins, he would have laughed in their face. He would have told them all about his plans to run off to California the second he had the chance, tossing in a couple choice words on his opinion of their quaint little town in the center of nowhere. And yet, there he was kneeling in the grass of an open field where the helicopter landed, placing his hands into the great American soil, sobbing in utter relief.

He felt a hand on his back, Chief Hopper, who somehow wound up in the same Russian prison—locked up, starved, and forced into physical labor…tortured…Billy didn’t know why he was there too, and he didn’t ask. He wouldn’t want to talk too much about what happened to himself there either.

Hopper had rubbed slow circles into his back, standing beside him and staring into the sun resting just above the horizon, feeling the heat hit their faces. “Feels good huh?” Hopper asked.

Billy allowed his eyes to fall shut, taking in all of the warmth, feeling his frostbitten fingers and toes begin to wake up out of dormancy. He didn’t say anything, he just sat there, basking and breathing.

“It’s good to be back home.” Hopper said, and Billy felt no need to correct him, not at that moment. Hawkins may not have been the place he considered his home—far from it—but he was more than happy to be there. His opinion on the place hadn’t changed, it still was a far cry from sunny skies and sandy beaches, but it was warm and familiar and it did feel a little bit like home in a way—but that could have just been the freedom talking.

“Yeah.” Billy said, wiping the snot from his nose into his oversized flannel sleeve, “It’s good.”

“Come on you two,” it was Joyce’s voice, the tiny woman and mother of the two Byers kids who somehow managed to break him and Hopper out of a maximum security prison across international borders. It was safe to say Billy would do anything she told him to do, if only to avoid getting a taste of whatever wrath she used to get them out of there. “It’s time you boys get a good meal.”

read the rest on ao3

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #mandi writes tresh #harringrove bigbang

106 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 7 months

Note

Hiii! Maybe you can write something with reader having like 20 plants in her dorm. Like a plant mom!

Thanks for requesting :)

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 979 words

“This isn’t gonna work,” you scold, nudging the spout of your watering can carefully between leaves to the center of the pot. “I gave you the prime sun spot, and you’re still gonna wilt on me? That’s just ungrateful, Phin.”

There’s a knock on the door, and do a once-over of your room before going to meet Eddie at the door. He’d let you know he’d be coming by to pick up the flannel he’d lent you the other night (you’re disappointed you don’t get to keep it, though you haven’t let him know that), but he hasn’t been in your dorm before; you always wait outside when he’s supposed to be picking you up. Thankfully, you’d remembered to put away the folded laundry on your bed, and your space is looking decently tidy.

“Hey.” Your grin is already in place as you open the door, your dopamine centers responding to Eddie’s presence the same as they respond to the aroma of cookies in the oven or your favorite song coming on the radio.

“Hey, you.” Eddie’s smiling too, peering around you to see into your room. “Who’re you talking to?”

“No one.” You open the door all the way to show him, and Eddie’s eyes go wide enough to show white all the way around his irises. “Just Phin.”

“You…you have a fucking jungle in here.” Eddie’s gawping, seeming unable to focus on any one plant as his gaze skims your room. You suppose it probably would look like a bit much if you weren’t used to it. You’ve got greenery lining your windowsill, pots taking up half your desk, vines drooping down from your shelves. You’ve had to put a few on the floor too, since the only other surfaces in the room don’t get enough sun. All in all, it’s a lot of green in not a ton of space. Eddie seems at a loss for words, but then his eyebrows twitch towards each other and he blinks. “Wait, who’s Phin?”

“Phineas,” you explain, gently touching the leaf of your baby pothos. You’d propagated him from a giant one you’ve had for years, but he’s struggling a bit as he roots in his new soil.

Eddie’s looking at you like you’re a marvel now too. “They have names? You talk to them?”

“Of course they have names. And talking is supposed to help them grow.” You soften your voice just slightly, throwing a cautious look at Dorothy over on your shelf. “Though I sometimes wonder if some of them are more introverted than others. Some of my spider plants don’t seem to appreciate it.”

Eddie grins in that familiar toothy way that makes you wonder if he’s going to tease you, but his voice is warm and sweet as honeyed tea when he says, “Well shit, sweetheart, I didn’t know I was coming over to meet so many of your friends. I would’ve dressed better.”

You laugh, gesturing for him to follow as you go sit on your bed. “I wouldn’t worry about it, I don’t think they can even tell us apart. Which is a shame, because I devote so much care to them and they wouldn’t know me from Adam, but oh well.” You let your gaze skim over Eddie as he gets comfy beside you, laying down on his side and propping one head on his hand. He’s got on another flannel, under which is a Black Sabbath t-shirt. His jeans are faded, with a stain that looks suspiciously like chocolate just above the knee, and his hair is taking well to the lack of humidity in the chilly season, curls bouncy and defined. “You look nice anyway, so.”

Little lines spread like cartoonish rays of sunshine from the outer corners of Eddie’s eyes. “Daww, thanks, sweet thing. Sure you’re not just buttering me up so you can keep my shirt?”

You look to where you’ve left it, washed and folded primly on your desk. “I’m not,” you promise wistfully, “but…if that would work on you, I can start.”

Eddie takes your hand and begins tracing the lines of your palm absentmindedly. “You can have it. I mostly just wanted to see you. And I got to meet the roommates, so double bonus.” Your heart swells like a hot air balloon, big and warm and buoyant in your chest. Eddie turns your hand over, stroking gently at the skin below your knuckle. “What happened here?”

You lean over to see, laying down next to him with your shoulder pressed against his bicep as he runs his thumb over a tiny cut on your middle finger. “Oh, that was Willie.” You nod towards the cactus on the edge of your desk. “He scraped me while I was moving him to a bigger pot.”

Eddie glares in the cactus’ direction. “Little fucker,” he grumbles, kissing your finger lightly. “You can’t let these guys push you around, babe. You’re too good, you’ll take care of them no matter what. I think I’m gonna have to start coming around more to lay down the law.”

You don’t think of your plants as nearly so villainous as Eddie paints them, but you’re not going to argue against his being in your room more often. You tilt your head until it hits his shoulder. “If you think so,” you say noncommittally.

“I do,” he confirms, turning your hand back over and bringing it to lay on his chest, both of his clasped over it protectively. “You’re my best girl, you know? I can’t let you be bullied by a bunch of leafy assholes.”

“They’re generally nice to me.” You smile against his shoulder, and Eddie’s kiss is a gentle pressure on the top of your head.

“For now, sweetheart, but they’ve got you surrounded. Think I’d better stick around for a while, just to keep an eye on things.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x self insert #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fandom

150 notes · View notes

morrirylet · 17 days

Text

post zombie apocalypses stenbrough save me save me save me post zombie apocalypses stenbrough

stanley is one of the main reasons why the losers are alive, because he's smart and actually knows A LOT about survival thanks to being a scout. he is in charge of scouting in general and also he's the one who finds a proper place for a camp, because he knows where to place it right so the losers could have access to drinkable water, usable soil, and also a good camp should be well hidden yet you should be able to see your enemy from a distance stanley isn't a fighter, the only infected he's killed in ~5 years were his own parents. the others know how it's affected him so they never push him to be violent, usually stan stays at the camp and does gardening/laundry or helps eddie (they're kinda nurses for the whole camp), he also tries to make the camp feel more like home for everyone, but mostly for himself. he really clings to the old life and he grabs every opportunity he can to keep his fantasy alive. stanley does little things like clean his shoes or fill his planner or paint richie/bill's nails or make his and bill's bed, as if it matters. stanley tries very hard to forget all the nightmares they've been though, but it's really hard stan thinks about death a lot. it's hard not to think about it when you have to deal with it every day. he thinks of himself as the weakest and he's very afraid of letting everyone down. his ocd is getting worse as well as his depression. he is very grateful to the others for looking after him yet he still feels like a burden stanley finds comfort in wearing bill's old flannels as close to his skin as possible. he has lost weight and his beauty sleep from stress. beverly cuts his hair the way it used to be because it comforts him too. he wears a compass on his belt and never lets go of his star of david necklace

bill doesn't have any special skills to help his friends with the camp, but he does know how to keep the spirit up. he's the leader of this group and he tries to help with the planning, he and stanley are on the look out a lot, bill also goes hunting with mike or scavenging with beverly, and he helps ben with finding resources/building stuff. he's not afraid of zombies anymore and he's always ready to blow off some steam by killing infected bill has a lot of stress and anxiety. he worries about stanley a lot, and he's gotten into the habit of doing little "normal" things because they make stanley happier. bill is turning gray from the stress, and he also has a few bald spots on the back of his head. bill sleeps more than he should. he always has his little notebook with him because he's still writing stories, and stanley loves them a lot it's not that bill doesn't miss their old life, he just doesn't think about it anymore, he misses it but he doesn't mourn it because he sees what's going on around him, but he tries not to be hard on stanley because he knows stan needs more time bill stopped cutting his hair almost at the beginning of the virus because there were bigger problems than finding a hair band. he is very insecure about losing his hair. it's not like he talks about it with anyone but stanley. bill really, really likes it when stan braids his hair, it comforts him a lot

bill has become overprotective of the losers, but especially of stanley. they're always together when bill's in camp and they're always very close, they're always holding hands or sitting on each other's laps or hugging each other in any way possible or crossing legs, it's like they need living proof that they're both here. bill is very overprotective, like a mama bear kind of overprotective, and it didn't occur to him until eddie told him one day that he was acting like eddie's mother. he tries to be less intense, but it seems like it comforts stanley too they got "married" a few nights after they found richie. of course it's not legally official or anything like that. it was the first time stan told bill that he couldn't handle everything was going on, and bill promised him that they would make it no matter what. they are both wearing heart necklaces and their rings that they stole from one of the shops

they have lots of things to identify each other if they need to, like matching necklaces and rings, but they also have secret markers, like a piece of cloth on bill's leg or little hand-drawn hearts on stanley's arms

my comfort boysssss 🥺🤲

#zombie losers au #rylet being funny #bill denbrough #it #stanbrough #stanley uris #it fandom #it headcanons #mike hanlon #stenbrough #stanley x bill #it 2017 #it 2019 #losers club #it stephen king

49 notes · View notes

cinnamongorll · 4 months

Text

a fragile line - chapter 20

read on ao3 (111K words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 3.4k

Chapter 20: 'No Sound But The Wind'

Joel’s POV:

“Get her on the table, now.”

Joel staggered towards the metal surface elevated in the middle of the room; his steps were quick, brutal, and unrelenting. He cradled Juliet against his chest with a gentleness that warred with the fury etched in every fine line on his face.

When he reached the table he stopped, towering over it, reluctant to let go of the woman in his arms. Joel couldn’t get the smell of burning flesh out of his nose. It lingered in the air, choking him with every breath. He heard Ethan shout another command, urging him to lay Juliet’s broken body on the medic’s table. But Joel was getting sick of Ethan’s orders, and he had vowed to keep Juliet safe. He couldn’t let go of her. He couldn’t lose the reassurance of her shallow breaths against his chest.

“Joel! Put her down, we’re running out of time,” begged Ethan.

Joel’s eyes cut to Ethan standing over the metal table with gloves and a stack of gauze. He was right, they didn’t have long. Any minute now someone was going to find the three bodies they left at the armoury or stumble across the mess left at Juliet’s house. But how could he let her go? He would protect her, he would keep her from any more suffering.

Joel knew that he was being selfish, allowing his caveman instincts to control him, but he was still high on adrenaline and that burning rush through his bloodstream told him to hold tight to Juliet and kill anyone who dared take her from him.

Finally, Joel's gaze pointed downwards and he flinched.

He caught sight of the dried blood crusted around her ear and the bruises blossoming on her jaw. Then his eyes dropped lower and he was reminded of the blood that drowned her entire torso, soaking her flannel. Joel tightened his grip, pulling Juliet a bit closer to his chest.

Then his eyes moved to his own hands. Blood coated them so brutally that there was no hint of the tanned skin beneath. Joel flexed his fingers and felt the strain of his fractured knuckles. They were the hands that killed Juliet’s father, they were the hands that protected Juliet; saved her. But they were also the hands that brought her here, that fought infected and raiders across the country to bring her to her own personal hell.

Joel finally released the choked breath caught in his throat and allowed Ethan’s voice to tune back into his mind. He leaned down and rested Juliet on the cold metal surface of the examination table, but he didn’t step back. Joel rested a hand on her shoulder as Ethan rushed around him.

His eyes didn’t leave Juliet’s face. She hadn’t woken yet and terror surrounded Joel’s heart at the thought of never again seeing the warmth of her brown eyes. His hand on her shoulder began to tremble and Joel dipped his gaze to her chest as he concentrated on counting her slow breaths.

Joel watched as Ethan cut open her soiled shirt. Each slice of the knife revealed more of the horror that etched Juliet’s skin. Joel felt his other hand curl against the metal table, demonstrating his excruciating rage. His breaths were fast and heavy.

He wished he had taken longer with Elijah, dragged out his torture, relished in it more. Joel’s rage was a vicious thing. It was always there, lingering under his skin, building until it eventually found its release. And Joel’s fury had burned for a long, long time before his fist finally met Elijah’s face. Joel poured months of frustration, months of fear, months of pure blazing rage into each punch.

With every hit, the image of Juliet’s motionless body flashed white across his vision, fueling his assault. All Joel could focus on was killing, ending the life that had ended Juliet’s. But when he saw the brand on her stomach, Joel wished he had taken his time with Elijah.

Joel’s mind returned to the present when Ethan poured some liquid over Juliet’s wound and he was forced to watch as her skin hissed and blistered. Joel’s head shot up, his eyes wild as he found Ethan’s returning gaze.

“I’m cleaning it,” Ethan reassured.

Joel had no words to vocalise the threats that crawled up his throat and coated his tongue. His mind was entirely consumed by the woman lying on the table. If Joel were to speak right now, he was sure he would start yelling. Joel didn’t think he’d be able to stop.

Instead, Joel threatened Ethan with his murderous stare, following his every movement as he cleaned and dressed Juliet’s wound. Ethan’s hands started to tremble under the weight of Joel’s savage attention.

Minutes crawled by. Joel’s hand didn’t leave Juliet’s shoulder. Without realising, his bloodstained thumb had started to rub across a bare patch of skin near her neck. It moved in soothing circles as Joel unconsciously savoured the feeling of her warm skin, reminding him that she was still alive, that she was still with him.

Just as Ethan was pressing the bandage against her wound, the office door swung open, revealing the bartender from only hours ago. Joel twisted around, shielding Juliet’s unconscious body with his own.

The bartender was out of breath, bending forward to rest his hands on his thighs as he gasped. Joel caught Ethan’s eyes before his gaze returned to the bartender. The man was standing straight again, running his hand through his sweat soaked hair.

“What did you do?” he demanded through deep breaths, staring at Joel.

Joel shifted to cover more of Juliet’s body but the bartender caught his movement. He shot Joel a shocked look then stepped closer. Joel instantly reached for the shotgun still hanging from his shoulder, a clear warning to stay away from the woman behind him.

The bartender raised his hands and Joel eased his grip, allowing the gun to fall from his shoulder again.

“I saved her,” Joel ground out, the first words he’d uttered since the basement. His voice was low and flat, entirely devoid of feeling. Joel felt no guilt over his actions, only a deep, brutal fear for Juliet.

The bartender’s gaze found Ethan, standing behind the table, his hand hovered over the fresh bandage which now covered almost the entirety of Juliet’s stomach. Ethan nodded to the bartender, his chin dipping solemnly. “Elijah’s dead,” he announced in a quiet voice.

The bartender's whole body flinched as his eyes cut to Joel again. He didn’t look angry, just shocked. But that shock transformed into horror when he finally noticed Juliet’s wounds. The man’s eyes filled with tears as he took slow, shaky steps towards them. Joel allowed it this time, having assessed that the bartender held no hostility towards them.

“Juliet,” the bartender gasped out with a cry.

“She’s alive,” Ethan responded quickly.

“Barely,” Joel cut in, his hand moving to his gun. “We need to get her outta here.”

The bartender swallowed before meeting Joel’s dark eyes. “They found the bodies in the armoury,” he stated. “A group was headed towards Elijah’s house when I left, if they don’t know he’s dead already, they will soon.”

Joel nodded, having expected this. “Anyone still at the armoury?” he asked, curling his fingers around his gun, ignoring the pain blazing across his knuckles.

“No,” the bartender replied, shaking his head. “A few of them took the bodies and the rest left to go find Elijah.”

Joel scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Idiots,” he muttered under his breath. Then he turned, checking for another rise and fall of Juliet’s chest before he caught Ethan’s questioning stare.

“Can you run?” Joel asked as he moved to slide a hand under Juliet’s neck.

“What? We can’t just leave like this,” Ethan protested, rounding the table.

Joel pinned him with a lethal stare before reaching his other hand under Juliet’s knees and lifting her to his chest. For a split second, with the feel of Juliet’s body against his own, Joel released a breath of relief.

“Stop” Ethan demanded, his gaze cut between Joel and the bartender. “She’s not fit to travel, I’ve only bandaged the burn. We have no idea what other injuries she might have.”

Joel physically flinched at his words, then the anger started to build beneath his skin again. “That’s why I’m gettin’ her out this fuckin' town,” Joel growled, pushing past Ethan and the bartender as he stalked towards open door with Juliet pressed against his chest.

Out in the night air, Joel’s pace started to quicken, heading in the direction of the armoury. There were more guns, more ammo, and most importantly, there was a truck to get them out of the town. Fear and anger fueled his stride as he tucked Juliet closer to his chest. He didn’t look back, not to see if Ethan had stayed in the medic’s office or if he had started to follow them.

Joel would leave Ethan in a heartbeat. Joel had Juliet; she was all he needed to be able to leave. Ethan was the reason Juliet was forced back to this mess.

Joel’s own guilt always lessened when he placed the blame on someone else.

But Joel knew that Juliet cared for Ethan, enough to sacrifice her life and freedom for him. So, when Joel began to hear footsteps running to catch up with him, he didn’t let his anger win. He just allowed Ethan to follow as they raced across the grass towards their ticket out.

……………………………………………………………..

Juliet’s POV:

Juliet could hear voices.

They were definitely male voices but it sounded like they were underwater. Everything sounded distorted. There was a ringing that echoed in her ears and a rumbling that shook her body. She tried to open her eyes but her eyelids wouldn’t move, not even to twitch in response to her brain’s firm instructions.

Before Juliet could begin to panic, another wave of unconsciousness washed over her.

………………………………………………….

“Take the next left,” a voice said.

Juliet heard the words this time, they still sounded strange but they were legible. There was something familiar about the voice but Juliet couldn’t place it. It made her feel younger, safe, comfortable. She could hear the crinkle of paper moving, Juliet assumed it was a map.

She must be in a car.

“Yeah? If you wanna get us killed. I’m goin’ straight,” another voice argued back. This one was older, deeper, darker. Juliet recognised it too, except this voice sent a pulse of warmth through her. This voice was angry and almost frightening but it made Juliet desperate to wake up and find the man who sent the chill down her spine.

She didn’t get a chance because, soon after, the voices faded and the darkness returned.

…………………………………………………………

When Juliet awoke again, the car had stopped.

Her eyes blinked open but the darkness remained. Had she lost her vision? Was it night? The multitude of questions started to seep into Juliet’s, still fuzzy, mind.

The voices were gone, there was no sound but the wind striking against the vehicle.

Juliet started to blink rapidly as her heart rate picked up. Where was she? Why was it so dark? Why was her stomach starting to burn?

A fierce pain began to consume her torso, extending down to her ankles, across to her wrists and then up to the entire left side of her face. Soon, Juliet’s entire body was engulfed in an inferno of agony.

Her breaths came quicker as the panic set in. She couldn’t remember what had happened, why she was in so much pain or why she was alone in a vehicle. There was no space in her mind to begin untangling those thoughts. Her pain consumed everything. Every breath was agony, her stomach contracted as a vicious blaze continued to burn across her skin.

Juliet started to moan, quietly at first, then, as the pain grew, her cries got louder. Tears started to leak from the corner of her eyes, dripping down onto the seats she lay across. A sob choked out of her and Juliet gasped out a quiet cry for help.

As the plea left her mouth, the car door behind her head flew open. Juliet blinked through tears, attempting to see who now stood above her. From the position she lay in, the figure was upside down, holding a torch. Juliet realised it was a man, but she couldn’t see his face.

Juliet began to thrash and cry louder, begging her weak muscles to move. She had to do something, get out of her vulnerable position. Fear consumed the pain in her body.

Then, the man’s voice cut through her terror and Juliet instantly stilled.

“Shh. It’s alright, you’re with me,” he soothed.

The man brought the torch forward and his face was illuminated in a warm yellow glow. Juliet gasped and another sob released through her clenched jaw.

“Joel?” she cried. Juliet’s body sagged in relief as the hot tears continued to pour from her eyes. For a second, she forgot about the pain and focused entirely on Joel’s dark eyes. He stared down at her with his permanent scowl, his jaw was rock hard and his mouth was pressed into a tight line. But his eyes were soft and glossy, watching her with a mixture of shock and a look she couldn’t quite place.

“It’s me. You’re with me,” Joel repeated, his voice rough.

Juliet nodded through sobs but the tilt of her head caused a wave of dizziness to attack her and she stilled all movements, breathing heavy.

“Don’t move,” Joel ordered and shot a look behind him.

“What happened?” Juliet whispered. Her memories still escaped her, she couldn’t remember anything beyond Joel.

Through the torchlight, Juliet watched a muscle jump in Joel’s jaw as his gaze returned to her. “Don’t think just now,” he commanded, his voice like steel.

Juliet’s mouth began to dry. Something was very wrong. That underwater feeling started to return but she didn’t feel like she would pass out again, instead Juliet felt her mind drift away. Without intending to, she disobeyed Joel’s order as flashes of her memories began to return.

Juliet remembered, with a flinch, returning home to her father.

She remembered, with a sickening churn of her stomach, the chair in the basement.

She remembered that her father had taken Ethan from her, turned him against her.

She remembered the slap of the bible against her face.

Then… she remembered the hot poker.

And the smell of burning flesh.

Her burning flesh.

Nausea washed over her and Juliet felt herself shift, struggling to sit up. The consumption of her memories had dulled the pain a little. Her body felt so far away. Juliet was still trapped in her past.

Strong hands captured her struggling limbs, lifting her to a seated position. A rough hand caught her head before it rolled to the side. A calloused thumb brushed over her cheek.

Juliet opened her eyes into Joel’s. He looked at her with unrestrained terror, his stare wide and intense. But his touch was gentle and his body, now seated beside her, was warm.

“It hurts, Joel,” Juliet whispered as her teeth caught her trembling bottom lip in an attempt to stop another sob from escaping. She wasn’t sure herself if she meant the pain in her body or the agony in her mind.

The crease between Joel’s eyebrows deepened and his eyes dropped to her bloodied lips.

“I know, baby,” he murmured in a low voice as his thumb moved to brush over her mouth, gently releasing her bottom lip from the grip of her teeth.

For a long moment, they stared at each other and everything else fell away. Juliet forgot about the pain, she forgot about her past, she forgot about her questions. All she could focus on was the look in Joel’s eyes and the creases on his forehead she was so desperate to soothe. His eyes were wide and open, his expression was defenceless. Juliet could see every ripple of terror, hope and anger glide across his face.

Juliet opened her mouth, words waited on her tongue. Joel followed the movement with his thumb, refusing to leave her lips without his touch.

But before Juliet could speak, the door to her right opened and the shutters fell on Joel’s face once more. Juliet turned her head, fear gripping her, and her gaze instantly met green eyes she knew all too well. Green eyes which had once been her symbol of hope. Green eyes she thought she would never see again.

Ethan.

Juliet screamed.

“No, no, no,” she began to cry as she frantically pressed herself against Joel. No, this couldn’t be happening. Her father had taken Ethan from her. Her father had turned him against her. He was here to take her back to him.

That underwater feeling began to consume her again. Juliet’s memory was hazy and her mind was still ravaged by pain and confusion. But she remembered what her father had said, she remembered what he had done to Ethan, the loyal follower he had turned him into.

Elijah had threatened her with Ethan and she had learned never to take her father’s threats lightly.

In the murky waters of her mind, Juliet was terrified of Ethan.

“Juliet?” Ethan asked frantically, his eyes wide and his brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Before Ethan could lean in any closer towards her, a figure suddenly slammed him against the side of the car, shaking the entire vehicle.

Juliet realised, with a shocked gasp, that the figure was Joel. She hadn’t even noticed he had left her side. Juliet’s thoughts were so scattered, her mind was floating away from her, all she could remember was the soul crushing sadness etched with despair when she had heard of Ethan’s fate. But she wouldn’t let Ethan bring her back to her father, she wouldn’t go through that again.

As her mind started to focus again, she began to hear Joel and Ethan. Joel had him pinned to the car, an arm against his throat.

“What did you do to her?” Joel growled.

“Nothing! Nothing, I swear,” Ethan croaked out, struggling against Joel’s grip.

Their voices grew quieter and Juliet couldn’t hear them anymore, but she watched Joel loosen his grip on Ethan and dart his eyes towards her.

After a moment, she listened closer and Juliet was able to make out their harsh words.

“Elijah must have said something to her, tried to convince her I was on his side,” Ethan ground out, practically spitting at Joel. “I told you he tried to turn me against her, get me to join his cause but his brainwashing didn’t work, I swear it.”

Joel took a step back but his eyes didn’t leave Ethan’s face, the wind swirled around them, blowing through Joel’s hair. He looked conflicted, his lips pursed and his jaw clenched with indecision.

Juliet didn’t know what to make of what she heard. Everything was still so fuzzy, she couldn’t remember everything that had happened in the basement. There were only flashes of horror that blinded her as they attacked her mind. She needed answers, she had to know what was going on.

Juliet squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, attempting to clear her head enough to make sense of Joel and Ethan’s conversation. Her fear of Ethan had begun to ease. Maybe he was telling the truth, maybe her father had lied to her. Maybe Ethan hadn’t changed.

She blinked and felt tears settle on her eyelashes. Juliet was so tired, and everything hurt. She just wanted to return to that black nothingness, but she fought against it, desperate to hear more.

“Why’d he tell her that? What was his goal?” Joel demanded as he ran a hand over his jaw.

“Fear, submission, intimidation. I don’t fucking know. All I know is that Elijah loved to play games with Juliet. He had her so messed up in the head,” Ethan explained, his voice desperate.

Ethan began to turn towards her but stopped himself, sighing quietly, then he dropped his voice lower.

“The man is dead and he’s still playing his fucked up mind games with her,” he murmured, his voice thick with sympathy.

Juliet choked out a strangled gasp. If she had enough power in her arms, she would have covered her face, dug the heels of her palms into her eyes until she saw stars.

Her father… dead?

She was thankful for the cushioned seat that caught her head when the darkness consumed her once more.

________________________________

@amyispxnk @shotgun-shelby @http-paprika

#joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller x female oc #joel miller hbo #joel miller fanfic #joel miller angst #joel miller fic #joel miller #ao3 fanfic #pedro pascal #joel tlou #tlou #tlou hbo #Spotify

60 notes · View notes

anlian-aishang · 6 months

Text

Vampire!Levi & Cunnilingus

Tags: levi x reader, smut, cunnilingus, period sex, blood, reader is propped against the wall, modern AU, college party, alcohol mention, fem!reader Word count: 2200 A/N: Thank you @bluebellhairpin for putting on the incredible Friday Night Bash! Had too much fun with this event 🖤 A/N2: Wrote a similar fic here if you are interested 🖤

You supposed it was only natural.

At this age, motivation was a scarce resource. The burlier men donned flannel and jeans and called themselves lumberjacks. Any girl could become any cat with enough black eyeliner.

Levi was the only vampire here, yet his costume seemed to take no more effort than anyone else’s. If anything, he was born a natural. Thin brows and slivered eyes. Jet black hair and moonlit skin. Fangs just barely curtained by red lips. Simultaneously, somehow the most convincing yet the most casually constructed.

He noticed, you did too, the utter contrast that your roles conveyed. Levi was dressed head to toe in black, sparing only the white cravat tucked beneath his chin. You, on the other hand, had whipped all the white out from your closet and feigned yourself an angel. In his eyes, you weren’t feigning. House party vape could be reimagined as clouds, a heavenly background to your character. It made you shine through the swarm of sweaty brats. You were one of a handful who was neither spilling their drink nor coughing it up. In the middle of the room, a wallflower, staring down at her virgin spirit and clutching it in two hands.

White tights hugged your legs. Blank sheer skirt hardly hid that contour. Long sleeves for the cold Halloween night, the layers beneath had compounded to caress your curves. You were covered from top to bottom. Still, Levi could read you like a book. Hard cover. Soft cover. Levi clenched his teeth and growled.

You looked lonely as ever, tugged in contradictory directions of yearning: begging for someone to start the conversation for you, praying that no one would notice you, imagining meeting a guy here, thinking up excuses to ditch this party early. Your desires, Levi saw them, and he longed to fill all of them.

His hands began to twitch, irritated that his thoughts were getting too sentimental for his liking. Indeed, when his thirst neared such dangerous levels, he found composure harder to retain. Nails curled against the glass highball: is she really the one?

The one he had traversed miles for. The one he had craved for the past several days. A scent and taste he needed so badly, Levi would suffer a college party for it. After all, that was why he was here. He clutched his head with his hand, silk glove smooth against his forehead. Bangs pushed to the sides, he held that grip and released a heavy sigh. At first, he thought he had done well to pinpoint it to one apartment building, even better to one apartment unit. Only once he ascended the staircase, heard the blaring music and saw the glaring lights, did he realize that the hardest part of this search was yet to come. Over a hundred people here. Half of them potential subjects. All he could do was stand idle and observe feverishly: who was the source?

Already, the bias was brewing for you, it was why his pupils were particularly quick to snap at the sudden drop of red that soiled your pristine outfit. Your inner thigh. Levi blinked harshly, but that trickle did not fade. Better yet, it tracked along the inner seam of your pantyhose: blotting, darkening.

Toes curled against the soles of his leather shoes. Calves strained to dilute his pace as he began to gravitate towards you. From your perspective, strobe flashes of red made his approach play like a slideshow. Before you could discern who he was and what he was doing, the room would turn black again. Suddenly, he was only inches away, steady eyes met your widened ones.

“H’Hey,” Inside of his gloves, Levi pinched the inside of his palm. The attempt to ground himself did not defeat his stutter. “I thought -” a clear of his throat, “- thought I should let you know…” Levi leaned in, his lips to your ear.

His breath was cold on your skin. Beneath your blouse and in the wake of his chill, you felt your nipples peak against the fabric - even more so when he whispered, “You’re bleeding.”

On your gasp, you nearly choked. Levi found it adorable how you immediately, instinctively, brought your hand between your legs. Shameful was your expression. Shameless were your actions. Beneath your skirt, you palmed around, frantically feeling for proof of his claim. Three fingers to the slip of your panties were quickly soaked. With your gaze deadset in shock then panic, Levi allowed himself a lick of his lips.

You turned over your shoulder to examine your backside, inadvertently revealing it to him as well. A teardrop of crimson just below your spine, having seeped through your underwear, tights, and skirt, Levi was hyper-aware of how wet you must have been in order to achieve those levels of penetration. The thought, the image, of your skin slickened in syrup made his pants turn tight.

His erection surged further when you beckoned him towards the stairway. “Maybe you could help me find a change of clothes?”

An invitation.

"And help me out of these ones?"

Though watching you bleed through this outfit would be a fantasy for the millennium, he felt his levels dripping to empty. He needed it. Your blood in him. Now.

But his needs were far from your mind. It was one of the only reasons your roommates had convinced you to allow them to host this get-together in the first place. You can’t sleep with guys if you don’t meet some guys. They had made it their mission to help you find someone, and it didn’t even have to be an eternal someone - though Levi Ackerman happened to be. Someone to show you a good time, to help you unwind a little. Of course, you would not settle for a trash bag, but a man who was willing to display such honesty and no disgust about the symptoms of your period - he had to be a good one, and he wasn’t hard on the eyes either.

Your expectations had been low, perhaps a little too low. Least of all nights did you expect a booze-filled Halloween party to be the night that you brought a guy up to your room. Flinging open the door, you were met with violent whiplash: why the hell didn’t I clean?!

Chocolate bar wrappers on the floor. Midol on the nightstand. A box of overnight pads at the foot of the bed. Triple-thick tampons in a plastic bag that hung around the other side of your door handle. Worst of all, blood-stained underwear that had sorely missed the hamper and instead carpeted your floor.

“Oh my god, I’m - I’m so sorry!” You darted into the room and tried to fling the evidence out of sight. Obviously, Levi had just been deathly upfront about noticing your period. Yet, you were mortified, back turned to him and hurling apologies, “This - This is not very sexy, I know.”

Levi could only shake his head and clench his teeth. You had that all wrong. He would take this menstruation-riddled bedroom over a honeymoon suite any night. Silent footsteps brought his front to your back, his palm to your waist, “Just leave it,” Levi exhaled, his voice teetered on moaning, “and leave yourself to me.”

His arousal solid and warm against your blood-soaked backside, your enamor spiked: not only cool about this time of the month, but hot for it. You ground yourself against his member, satisfied with his length, you reached your hand to his neck and pulled him close. “Undress me, Levi.”

You were the only one who viewed this as a one-night stand. If anything, Levi hoped that you would live with him forever, that you would continue to flow, and that he could spend eternity swallowing you down. However, the haste in his movements implied that the two of you shared that one-night fervor. Nails scraped down your hips as he yanked your bloodied tights to your feet. Instead of taking them off, he used the excess length to make knots around your ankles, binding your legs into a loop.

With inhuman strength and alarming speed, Levi had you in his arms and slammed against your bedroom wall before you could summon the breath to screech. Levi slipped himself within the cage of your legs. Backs of your knees to his shoulders. Heels dug into his nape. Your sex dwindled tantalizingly close to his mouth.

Holy hell, you gasped, no man had ever had you like this before. By this point, you had learned that period sex was a rarity, receiving head during that time of the month - an impossibility. Instead, Levi dove straight in, unlike any of the rest.

And oh, were you spot-on about that. Levi Ackerman was no man. His skills were no act. The hair, the outfit, the fangs no occasion. This was his truest self: out of this world. He was grateful for the holiday, the one day of the year that his vest, slacks, and perfectly polished shoes would stand out. Levi admired the red lights of the party, making everyone’s irises match his giveaway shade. The greatest obstacle - the invitation, the consent - you had granted before he even had to ask. All tells he had fretted over, you made yourself perfectly blind to them. As your sex bled right before his eyes, he could only chuckle and admit, “so fucking pathetic.”

Perhaps he was projecting. He had not even tasted you yet, had not even stripped you free, and already, he felt he was on the edge. His tip swelled against the cold metal belt buckle. Black pants hid the damp that precum had created. For a second, his mind flickered: which one of you was more wet? The answer came to him, though, by a glob of blood that dripped from your core and onto his white cravat.

Looking down, you were horrified. Mouth fell agape, an utter loss for words. Levi made up for your shortcomings as his sentiment flowed freely.

“Oh? What’s this? Having a hard time containing yourself?” At his waist, his arousal made a mockingly timed rise.

His teasing pricked your skin, each capillary blazed in embarrassment. You could not bear to make eye contact, instead, glued to his pristine white cloth that you had forever tainted. Years of experience, you knew those stains did not come out.

Levi had a way.

Slowly, his tongue slid over his bottom lip and dragged along the silk threads. One strong, deliberate swipe had erased your DNA from the garment. In the throes of midnight, your eyes struggled to be sure, but Levi himself knew. At the first taste of your blood, he was sparked with revival.

“Mmm,” Levi hummed, “tastes good.” For now, he withheld: even better than I anticipated.

Though neither his hunger nor thirst were yet satiated. Not until you were sucked bone-dry, not until your pussy ran clear. Eating you out, he snuck occasional glances to affirm you were not at those milestones. In his frame of mind, rather, he had not yet brought you to them.

Levi was the kind to savor the taste, but there was little indication of that on this cold autumn night. The motions of his tongue were swift. His slurping was delectably crude, coating his throat and coaxing out even more dirty talk. His canines grazed your most sensitive spots. You thought to ask him to take his fangs off, but in the end, realized you adored them. Good thing, they were irremovable.

Not one drop of you made it past that cravat. Most of your mess had been clotted by his skin. A red stripe ran down his face as he brought his whole front to the middle of your battle. Sweet metal. Saccharine iron. A salted cocktail. That was your drink - one he guzzled. When you asked for his fingers, he would religiously lick them clean.

Your muscles had grown weak, having lost count of how many times you had climaxed thus far. He had kept you in ignorant, mutually selfish bliss for god knows how long. It was only when you reached your arm towards him, combing through his hair and petting his head, that you realized how drained you were. Hardly able to speak, faint and incoherent, “You like that, huh? Like that, Levi?”

Through drenched bangs, he gazed up to meet your eye contact. So fucked-out, you paid no mind to the scarlet of his stare. “It’s like you can’t get enough.”

Cruelly timed, he felt your ridges start to clench around his face again. Nonchalant, he spoke into you as you began to cum again. “Makes two of us, then.”

Words seemed to make rhythm with your waves, and each one, you swore was better than the last. Tilting your head back against the wall, you arched yourself further into him, “F’Fuck, Levi!!”

How did he - in just one night - manage to do you like this?

Little did you know, it was not just one night, but an entire lifetime that he had been waiting, anticipating, preparing for this moment. You would remember this encounter as a night that you happened to cross paths with the man of your dreams. Levi saw it a very different way, no chance happening: the evening that he had scoured enough of this goddamned earth. A tale of lifeblood: the clean freak to your mess, monthly or otherwise.

Kinktober Year 3 Masterlist

#levi #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #smut #specials #anlian writes #my writing #alias's #friday night bash 2023

70 notes · View notes

bagofbonesmp3 · 5 months

Text

transcribing cam's reaction to the Pedro pascal as mr. fantastic news since I can't post the voice note:

"Why the fuck are they doing another one? Cuz this is going to be the the what the third time in our lifetime? When invisible girl had her tits out that was the last one that was ever gonna get asses in theaters. He's a fucking Star Wars guy. He's a fucking last of us guy and they're putting him in the fucking... even if you take away the flannel he looks like he needs to be chopping wood not looking into a fucking microscope. He looks rugged, looks like he is in the dirt in the soil and again the picture here is not helping. but even in other photos when he's in his little gay ass faggot sweaters he belongs in the kitchen or in the woods [coughing] and nothing in between. oh my god isn't he short too? how are you gonna have a Mr fantastic that is what, 5'11? scrap the project."

#yo.txt

65 notes · View notes

gccdlittlegirl · 19 days

Text

❝ 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞 ❞

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚠𝚘

🔞, m4tz, yandere!hongjoong, themes of jealousy, intense love and possession, top!hongjoong, bottom!seonghwa

TRIGGER WARNINGS: discussions of past SA (emotional effects, not a physical depiction). Discussion of sex work and emotional self harm.

WC: 2642

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Seonghwa was an enigma, Hongjoong decided.

He’d been allured by the spark in Seonghwa’s eyes: the wolfish gleam that screamed power, command, sex. Hongjoong wasn’t scared of commitment, exactly, but he was scared of responsibility. He didn’t want to make the first move, to deal with the consequences of a failure…he didn’t want to order his own dinner, to talk to the waiter, to drive the car, to have his partner’s life in his hands, clutching the wheel with feral desperation with every anxious turn.

And Seonghwa took that away—and he did it so gloriously, so automatically, so instinctively. He paid for their meal without asking Hongjoong for input, like he’d never worried about money in his life. He drove them around almost aggressively, lane hopping to get to the restaurant. He was so forward with everything he did.

But now? Reaching over the seat, sucking Hongjoong’s lips off, his hands slipped dangerously under the waist of Hongjoong’s flannel, fingers bunched in his shirt…

Seonghwa was not in control.

He lifted his face, Hongjoong catching a desperate breath from under him, and his eyes were glassy. Shy. Coy. His hand remained tangled in fabric, and he swirled his first two fingers around Hongjoong’s waist. Below him, the boy shivered, skin ablaze.

“Was that okay?” Seonghwa’s voice was whispered and low.

Hongjoong slowly blinked. His head spun behind his eyes. The car could’ve been freezing…or burning hot.

The first (and last) time that he’d been with another man, Hongjoong had left the motel feeling soiled and used. He’d left his house on a whim when he was way too young to have downloaded a dating app, way too young to understand the consequences of his actions, and way too young to realize that trauma wasn’t worth the “experience” of adulthood. Wasn’t worth the story he could tell his friends later. That night, he hadn’t been comfortable with the speed, hadn’t been comfortable with the position, hadn’t been comfortable with the degradation, and hadn’t been comfortable sharing that he wasn’t comfortable. He’d been afraid of the bigger man on top of him—afraid of the predation in his eyes.

But that was Hongjoong’s type—he usually liked assertive men, confident men, dominant men. He’d always grown crushes on the tall ones, cried alone as he masturbated to the most wolfish celebrities he could find. He thought it was hot.

Except in bed.

Since that night, he had never let himself look for anyone again, too afraid that the first domineering personality he met would take it all too quickly again, would try to push him down again, would teeter the boundaries of comfort that Hongjoong was too shy to voice.

But not with Seonghwa. Not with the wolf peeking from under the sparkly pink sheep’s clothing.

He would never let someone else push him down again. This time, he’d be the one on the top. He’d be the one with the power. He’d be the one with the control. And he’d fucking enjoy it.

And so would Seonghwa.

“Is that even a fucking question?”

He spoke with his full voice. Whether someone else was in the parking lot or not, the windows had long since fogged. Hongjoong’s eyes were glued to the face of his partner, the pitiful puppy dog eyes that he’d relied on so faithfully earlier.

He raised a hand to Seonghwa’s face, tracing his jawline and rubbing his thumb across the boy’s lip. Seonghwa gulped, and Hongjoong felt the vibrations in his throat. Hongjoong studied him for a moment.

His hairline was already dripping in sweat, and his quick breaths visibly lifted his chest. In. Out. In. Out.

“Take your shirt off. Will you?” Hongjoong added the last part instinctively, raising his brows to seek an answer.

Seonghwa nodded at him enthusiastically, pulling onto his own seat to undo the buttons of his suit. Hongjoong took the opportunity to plug his phone into the AUX cord, scanning for the playlist from Yunho’s Spotify that he knew was curated for sex. He gave a cursory scroll through the songs, just to be sure nothing weird was on it, and pressed shuffle.

When he looked back, Seonghwa was leaning his back into the driver seat, head up and eyes closed. His skin was slick with sweat despite the goosebumps on his head, his dark nipples pebbled. His skin was taut, clear. He had more muscle mass than his slim form revealed from under his clothes. In the steamy shadow of the red-leather interior car, he looked like a Gericault painting—dark and deep, chiseled with light. Hongjoong swallowed.

“Back seat.”

Seonghwa nodded, climbing beside Hongjoong past the center console. Hongjoong pressed his hand to the boy’s skin as he passed, anxious to touch some part of him.

When he followed, Seonghwa was laid down on the back row of seats, legs spread and foot tapping. Hongjoong crawled on top of him, placing his arm under the boy’s back to keep him steady and pressing their lip together once more.

This time, it was heated. Desperate. Hongjoong setting the pace, ravenously reaching for his partner’s lips like he was reviving him, like he was Snow White and he’d die without Hongjoong’s touch.

As they kissed, Seonghwa’s small moans got louder and higher pitched. He bucked his hips, and Hongjoong pressed his hands against his inner thighs to hold him down.

“No, bunny. Can I call you bunny?” Hongjoong breathed, his voice deep but sweet.

Seonghwa grabbed for the top of his trousers, and Hongjoong knew they must be getting uncomfortably tight. It amused him.

“Yes, yes please—“

“Daddy.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good, bunny. Let me move your hands for you, okay? Patience is a virtue, my love.”

Hongjoong moved Seonghwa’s hands from his crotch, pinning them above his head with one lazy clawed hand. Seonghwa made a noise between a gasp and a moan, and the tilt of his head exposed his neck for Hongjoong. Behind them, a husky Arctic Monkeys song muffled its way through the speakers.

Hongjoong licked from his clavicle up to the top of Seonghwa’s throat, sucking hickeys into his jawline. Seonghwa moaned again, and Hongjoong chuckled against his skin.

“Don’t stop making noise, bunny,” He spoke against Seonghwa’s throat, “I like hearing you squirm.”

Seonghwa complied, going to buck his hips again, but he couldn’t move through Hongjoong’s straddle.

“Quiet those hips, bunny, you have to be patient for daddy.”

Hongjoong kept his voice at an airy, innocent tone, contrasting with his assertive words. He liked the play of dominance—sure, he was shy, but that didn’t mean he was weak.

Hongjoong didn’t want to stop hearing Seonghwa’s moans, so he left his lips alone, trailing back down his neck with kisses all the way to his clavicle. His skin was burning to the touch, and the curves of his body caught the faint glint of the street lights that made it through the fogged windows. Hongjoong kissed along the boy’s collarbone, desperate to breathe in every inch of Seonghwa that he could. He reeled himself back, holding a level of complacency for the sake of the dominant show.

“What’s wrong? You confused by daddy’s simple commands? Is silence too complex for your cute little mouth to understand?”

But he wanted to absorb Seonghwa’s flesh into his own. He wanted to hold him forever. Never let him go. Bow to him like some battered puppy, hide him under his bed.

Hongjoong kissed down his bunny’s tummy, pressing into his soft abdomen, glazed with sweat. He wanted to set the world on fire for Seonghwa. Light a city on fire and scrawl a poem for him in the ashes. He’d dedicate it, For my Bunny. He reached the end of the boy’s torso, licking a stripe down to the button of his jeans.

Hongjoong reached for Seonghwa’s button, looking up at him for approval. Seonghwa nodded yes. He popped open his trousers, zipped them down, pulled them off. Palmed his hard dick through his black boxer briefs. Listened to his cute little bunny’s soft moan.

Some of the lights from outside the car had turned off, and Hongjoong knew the restaurant had closed. The thought of people walking into the parking lot, seeing a strange car, hearing the grunts and groans from inside it….

Made Hongjoong harder.

He usually didn’t want people to know the intimacies of his life unless he had carefully vetted them first: deemed them safe. His safe list of people included his older brother and Yunho, respectively. But he wouldn’t mind being seen here—in the most intimate state a man could be in—so long as the world could shine down on him and Seonghwa.

A couple of closing coworkers seeing a steamy Miata and gossiping in the morning about the sexy patrons meant nothing compared to the stardust and snowstorms and silent cacophony of—

“Seonghwa—“

Hongjoong broke character, but for a moment he didn’t care. Seonghwa lifted his hips in response, and Hongjoong pulled at his waistband, removing his last garment and uncovering the slick cock from inside it, pressed stiff against Seonghwa’s soft tummy.

The lazy spackling of hairs along Seonghwa’s stomach led down between his legs, and Hongjoong reached for his bunny’s hands, gripping them together once more as he reached down and kissed along the base of his cock. He licked circles around the tip, eyes bolted open as he tried in vain to catch a glimpse of Seonghwa’s beautiful face through the dim street lights. When his eyes adjusted, he saw his partner’s head and eyes rolled back, spit dribbling from the corners of his mouth.

“Look at me, bun” Hongjoong commanded, finding his sense of control.

As Hongjoong slowly engulfed Seonghwa’s penis, their eyes interlocked. He kept a slow and steady pace with it, occasionally using his tongue in that one spot underneath the shaft that he’d read about before in the privacy of his own sheets.

Before meeting Seonghwa. Before realizing how much was possible.

Before trusting that he could do this.

From the speakers, Cinnamon Girl by Lana del Rey began, and the first three notes of the piano had Hongjoong closing his eyes and halting a bit. The song accompanied no memories, but held a nostalgia so melancholy, so heavy…Hongjoong couldn’t hold it.

He snapped out of it, holding his pace as he stroked the bottom half of Seonghwa’s penis with his hand. Letting the song continue against his better judgement.

There’s things I want to say to you, but I’ll just let you live. Like if you hold me without hurting me, you’ll be the first who ever did.

And before he knew it, Hongjoong was crying.

He inhaled sharply, pulling away from Seonghwa and holding his face, his body, his soul, ohmygodohmygodohmygod. He had to stop crying. He couldn’t burden Seonghwa with this—

“Hongjoong?” Seonghwa reached out to him, “Hongjoong, are you okay? Did I hurt you? What-“

“No—it—“ Hongjoong softly gasped through each word—“It’s not that I just—“

“Look, if you’re not ready to do this I don’t want you to be—“

“I’m just a stupid virgin, okay? Except for…except for when I was fucking…”

Spit it out.

“when I was—when I didn’t want it. Okay?”

Seonghwa stared at him, eyes wide with realization. He started to open his mouth, but Hongjoong cut him off.

“And I didn’t want it and I didn’t know that until I was already doing it with him and I was stupid and I was fucking young and I couldn’t even cum in my own room alone for a fucking year and I hated myself and I hated my

body and I thought I was fucking broken—“ He gasped for a breath—“because I didn’t want anyone else to know anything about me and I was rude to everyone so they all would leave me alone and I thought I’d be alone forever and I was determined to not let anyone!! Touch me again!!!”

At this point, the song had almost ended, and Hongjoong was screaming into his own hands for consolation. But he didn’t care. They were alone, it was just Seonghwa, and he didn’t care.

“And then I spend a couple fucking hours with you and I want you to swallow me whole, Seonghwa, I want you to know everything about me and I want to hear my name coming from your mouth like a prayer or never hear it again and I’m fucking choking in it! I want to punch myself ‘cause I never thought I’d get this weak and I’m fucking drowning!”

“Hongjoong, I would never hurt you.” Seonghwa reached to grab Hongjoong’s hand, pressing his cheek into the shoulder of his flannel, he himself still as physically exposed as Hongjoong felt inside. “And I know saying that doesn’t mean shit, but…you know, I lied about my job earlier. With the sushi.”

Seonghwa huffed an awkward laugh, reaching on the floor beneath him and cavalierly throwing a piece of black fabric between his legs.

“I do work late. I work at a law firm, too, but…I’m a sex worker.”

Hongjoong wanted to cry more, but he didn’t think that was possible. Had this been a bid for money? Was Seonghwa playing him this entire time? Was the reservation already made because—

“And I know how that sounds, but this has nothing to do with work, okay? I want you, Hongjoong. Carnally. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I just couldn’t bare the thought of having to say it because I never wanted to do it and I was reeled in by my friend because my other job is an internship and I needed to make ends meet. But…”

The room stalled for a minute, the next song a slower classical piece in some minor key that set the tone into oblivion.

“But it’s more than just the money. When I sleep with a stranger, feel the dopamine rush and leave with no consequences after an hour of mindless banal sex, do you realize how much I hate myself?”

Seonghwa smiled as he spoke, looking Hongjoong in the eye, but it was a bleak, ironic smile.

“I never thought anyone in their right mind would want someone like me. Someone who a million hands have touched—even when I know I don’t truly want them to, even when I know I fuel myself off of self hatred and I don’t know why I’m such a pathetic mindless dog, but I wanted it to be different with you. It is different. With you…”

He breathed, slow and steady, and Hongjoong clutched his hands once more, mirroring their actions from before but with Hongjoong feeling far from dominant.

“I want you to like me. For the first time, I actually really care. And I dressed up today and danced around my room like a teenage girl…and I let you on top of me because I wanted to..to feel empowered with your touch. Not use it to batter myself more. I wanted to peel open my heart for you and let you eat it from my bloodied hands.”

They sat for a moment, silent, embracing.

“And now I am realizing,” Seonghwa spoke again in a whisper, “That maybe I am not worth your devotion.”

Hongjoong looked up at him, shocked.

“That maybe I want you for my own self gain. For my own happiness. That maybe you were an opportunity. That maybe I do deserve to be a dog at your feet—“

Hongjoong cut him off.

“Seonghwa…oh god, we’re both so fucking stupid.”

Hongjoong smiled, throwing his head back incredulously, and Seonghwa looked back at him, nonplussed.

“I feel guilty for trusting you and you feel guilty for being happy with me? Are those not just the definition of love?”

Seonghwa slowly began chuckling through his tears, putting his head down on Hongjoong’s lap.

“We’re sitting here sobbing and shit,” Hongjoong continued, his smile turning back into tears, though they were comfortable tears now. “Please hold me.”

For a moment, they sat, the silence caressing them as they leaned into each other, each head on the other’s shoulder. No one bigger than the other, taller than the other, stronger than the other. Holding equal space. Holding equal power.

And Hongjoong wanted him. And he was not going to let himself sabotage it.

// …well, that was a lot more cathartic to write than I thought it would be 😊

Here’s a more positive note from our lovely side chick Yunho. Take it as a peace offering.

Tag: @mingtinysworld

#ateez smut #seonghwa x hongjoong #seonghwa smut #seongjoong #hongjoong smut #kpop smut

26 notes · View notes