Tumgik
#sorry i don't know your exact title!
vixstarria · 3 months
Text
Missionary with the lights off
We're back in Act 1 again! I swear I'll start moving forward now that I'm playing the game again, after this.
Astarion x Tav, Astarion x F!Reader
18+, blood drinking, fluff to smut, porn with plot, PIV
Pst, don't let the title mislead you too much
Approx. 1,800 words
You woke up in Astarion's tent.  
Last night had been… unusual. Something you said had soured the mood for anything sexual. Instead you stayed up talking late into the night. You hadn't even taken your clothes off.  
You'd never spent the whole night together before, always opting to make your way back to your respective tents eventually, after your nocturnal activities, but then again you’d spent those previous nights opening your legs more so than your heart. Something had now shifted a little.  
The last thing you remembered was drifting off with your face nuzzled into his neck as he draped an arm over you, having hugged him on a whim and finding yourself not wanting to let go. What you saw now was completely contrary to that memory, as you found yourself lying on your side, with Astarion's head pressed against your chest, right over your heart, both arms holding you close. He must have moved himself while you were asleep. 
He looked perfectly at peace. It was actually adorable, seeing the prickly rogue like this.  
You reached out to softly run your hand over his disarrayed curls, when he also stirred. 
“Hello, darling,” you purred, copying his habitual greeting for you. 
Astarion was startled, suddenly jolting up. He seemed momentarily disoriented, taking in you and his surroundings for a few moments before comprehension returned to his eyes.  
“Are you alright..?” you asked. “I know it's first thing in the morning, but surely I don't look that disturbing.” 
“Yes, sorry… I just… I can’t remember the last time I woke up next to someone,” he said finally. 
“The night at the clearing..?” you offered. 
“I didn’t sleep that night,” he admitted. “And now there's a woman in my tent and I don't know what to do. ...Ahah..! Refresh my memory, what is the protocol? Do I need to make you breakfast?” he joked. 
“I’m sure Gale’s already working on that,” you grinned. 
Astarion laid back down next to you, propped up on an elbow. He gave you an odd half-smile with a slight frown, his eyes narrowed. Not unkindly, but rather a bit… awkwardly. You wondered what he was thinking. 
You ignored the odd look, and instead your eyes wandered up to survey his bedhead. No trace of pomade was left in his hair, instead some of it was standing on end, while other, longer strands started to fall over his eyes as he leaned on his hand, watching you.  
“What is going on here..?” you laughed, reaching out to brush his hair out of his eyes. He leaned into your hand as you ran your fingers through his hair, shutting his eyes, his lips widening into a genuine smile. He reminded you of a cat that was enjoying a head scratch.  
“I don't have the slightest idea, darling,” he drawled. “But I guess you have to die after all, now that you've seen it.” 
“You are a horrible flirt, you know, and I don't mean that in a good way." 
“It works on you, doesn't it?” he shrugged, grinning and leaning in for a kiss.  
“Hmm, but returning to breakfast,” you said, breaking the kiss as his lips slowly made their way down to your neck. “What about you? Fancy a nibble?” 
“If it's on offer…” Astarion purred, continuing his way down. He knew your body entirely too well at this point. His lips lingered on the exact spot that made your breath shudder, sending a wave of shivers all through you. “Where..?” 
“Right there,” you breathed.  
“Oh? You want me to leave my mark on you, right where everyone can see..?” he murmured, continuing to kiss your neck. You usually offered him your wrist.  
“It’s not like they don’t already know what we’ve been doing, so sure, mark me...” you replied. “Mark me as yours,” you added in a hoarse whisper.  
Once the words were out you wondered if it was too much, but Astarion clearly liked the idea. He liked it a lot, judging by the soft growl he let out, as he continued to trail his lips along your neck, searching for just the right spot. You knew he'd found it, you remembered where he's bitten you before, but instead of going in for a bite he toyed with you, leaving slow, deliberate licks, until you released a small moan, and only then sank his fangs in you, lightly grinding his hips into yours as he did.  
Something about a vampire's bite made it quite unlike anything else. It started off as a sharp, icy chill, gradually spreading and melting into something that stung the way an itch strings right before you scratch it, multiplied tenfold. The only way to relieve that stinging sensation was to give into it, more and more. The area bitten remained tender and sensitive in the most erogenous way for a long time after the bite itself. The whole experience was inherently erotic, no matter where the bite was. 
You understood why this was fetishised. You also understood how people happily allowed themselves to be bled dry.  
Astarion continued to grind against you, slowly, his erection evident. This was nothing new and didn't necessarily mean anything - you’ve joked before that any blood he drank went straight to his dick before going anywhere else – which is why you usually did this privately, even when he drank from your wrist.  
However, this time, you really didn't want it to just be casual. You didn't think he did either, the way he was breathing. One of your hands was caught in his hair at the back of his head, the other trailed down to his hips, squeezing, as he grinded into you harder, making you crave more.  
And then it was over and you felt a profound sense of disappointment and loss, as Astarion gave your neck a few final licks and broke away from you, lifting his body from yours. The only contact that remained between you two was your eyes, as he gave you an unwavering look of barely contained lust.  
The aching need between your legs had become unbearable.  
One heartbeat... Two... Three... 
Astarion’s lips crashed into yours.  
Suddenly, without a single word, you found yourselves tearing at each other’s pants in an urgent rush to remove them.  
Curse them, you thought. You would start sleeping in a nightgown, if you managed to find one. Or naked. Or steal Astarion’s shirt. 
You thought you recognised some elvish curses as Astarion snarled, struggling to pull your pants off without lifting his body from you, biting your lip as you managed to twist and free one leg, the other pant leg left danging at your knee. 
All the while, you’d been tearing at the lacing on Astarion’s pants, managing to undo it just enough to slide them low enough to release his pulsing cock. 
You didn’t even bother with your shirts. You had a burning, ravenous hunger, and it had to be sated. Immediately.  
You tugged on Astarion’s cock, impatiently guiding it towards your throbbing pussy. You had no time or eagerness or wish for any teasing or foreplay, only a carnal, animalistic need. You’d barely aligned Astarion’s dick with your entrance when he plunged himself into you, fully, with another swear through gritted teeth.  
Finally, you felt complete.  
There was no rhythm, decency or finesse to what followed, the only way you could describe it was mindless, feral rutting. You dug your fingers into his hips, trying to bring him closer, deeper, moaning as his tongue writhed against yours. He couldn’t be close enough - even had you melded into one you would still want more of him. 
You spread your legs wide, angling your hips so his body hit your exposed clit with every thrust, and bucked into him, desperately. He changed his thrusts to a more rolling motion, rubbing into you.  
“Yes... Like that...” you barely managed. 
There was a commotion, a loud clanking, crashing sound and some yelling outside. 
“Astarion!” you heard Wyll’s voice just outside the tent, shortly after.  
"Fuck,” Astarion growled under his breath. “Three minutes!” he shouted. 
Three minutes? Then again, you didn’t think you were going to last even another minute. 
Astarion covered your mouth with his hand as his hips continued to relentlessly grind you into the floor of his tent. Your whimpers grew more drawn out until your body stilled before breaking into tremors emanating from your hips, as he continued to fuck you. You were holding on to his back for dear life, bringing your legs up to wrap tightly around his hips, moaning into his hand as you came. 
Immediately, he changed his rolling thrusts to something frantic, grabbing your hand and bringing it over your head, and catching your knee at his elbow and bringing it up with his other arm. He buried his face in your neck, moaning, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, until he slammed his hips into you with a final groan, his cock twitching as he spilled inside you. 
“Astarion! This is urgent!” you heard Wyll again.  
“He’s coming!” you yelled, exasperated, before you realised what you’d said.  
Your words were greeted with a momentary silence, then the sound of Karlach laughing somewhat off in the distance.  
Astarion was also laughing into your neck, his shoulders shaking even as he delivered his final thrusts. 
“That was-” he panted between laughter, “the sloppiest... most unimaginative... objectively worst sex I've ever had.” 
“And subjectively..?” you asked, also starting to laugh as you came off the sudden high that had overtaken you.  
“I wouldn’t mind waking up to something like that every day for the rest of my life,” he said, lifting his head and looking at you. 
“That can be arranged,” you purred. 
There was that little frown again, as he cocked an eyebrow at you.  
“We could always die today,” you shrugged. 
“Funny...” he said. “Anyway... Good luck with this giant mess I left between your legs. I better go see what is so godsdamn important.” 
Bonus scene: 
“What do you mean, I’m the only adult here that knows how to manage a needle and thread?! And how do you even rip a bag of holding..?!” 
“Astarion, our fate is in your hands.” 
“No, you can carry your own shit from here on. I’m fine with just my weapons and the clothes on my back.” 
“We need you, Astarion!” 
“At least get rid of all the junk, what do we need a dozen goblin scimitars for, they’re not even worth anything!” 
“Save us, Astarion!” 
“Rotten carrots, rusty tongs... Is that literally just a rock?” 
“Save us, 239-year-old vampire that can sew!”  
Sigh... Astarion observed the torn bag with a resigned look.  
“...Would you mind mending Clive as well, while you’ve got the kit out..? He’s been through hell and back. And looks it.” 
“Yes, Karlach, I’ll fix up your teddy bear too...” 
~~~~~ 
Mark me as yours - fic re the following day
I have a whole series with these two, check it out
AO3
3K notes · View notes
theteasetwrites · 1 year
Text
Daddy's Home | Part 1
❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 5 (Alexandria) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT (18+)—oral sex (male receiving), dominant-ish Daryl, doggystyle, so much dirty talk, like one tiny spank (just a little one), mutual masturbation, vaginal fingering, oh yeah and DADDY KINK, language ❧ Word Count: 4.3k
❧ Summary: When Daryl comes back home from a week away, he doesn't want to sleep. He just wants you.
❧ A/N: Ok so yes I know the title is ridiculous, but like... what else was I gonna call this oneshot ok? Anyway, here's some major daddy kink. Like a lot of daddy kink. Daryl is just daddy. Sorry but he is. I can't explain it. Actually, yes I can. He's a protector, a provider, a big softie. He's a daddy, and I don't even have daddy issues but just let me have this. Goodbye I am never showing my face here again. <;3 Also I simply cannot get over how hot he is in this gif holy mother of god.
Tumblr media
The quiet was nice, late nights in Alexandria, gentle summer breeze prickling at your skin. It was nice to leave your bedroom window open through the night. Daryl hated it, always going on about how someone could climb the trellis outside your window and sneak in while you slept, but when he was gone, you’d indulge yourself in that one simple luxury.
When he told you that he was Alexandria’s newest recruiter, you knew you’d be in for some lonely nights ahead. Still, you also knew Daryl was the best man for the job—you’d seen him bring dozens of people to the prison, providing them shelter while expecting nothing in return, and then going out the next morning to do it all over again. That was when he wasn’t going out on his hunts to find food for everyone, often bringing home the biggest deer you’d ever seen, until he’d do it again next week, and bring home an even bigger one.
Yes, there was no doubt about it—Daryl knew what he was doing out there, but it didn’t stop you from worrying about him. Missing him. So while the quiet was, indeed, nice, you still could not get used to being alone, in this perfect little suburban townhouse, waiting. 
Your waiting became so monotonous, sitting up in your bed and reading another old Agatha Christie novel, that you decided, at length, to migrate downstairs, the living room. When Daryl would come home, you thought, you’d greet him right away. That was how much you were anticipating his arrival. 
One week was nothing, really, but it was the longest you’d been apart since knowing each other, and with the world the way it was, a lot could happen in seven days. A lot of bad, bad things. 
So you flicked on the lamp, snuggled yourself into a knitted blanket, and curled up on the sofa, book in hand as you let out a quiet huff. “Daryl…” you said to yourself, scanning your book to relocate the exact sentence where you left off. “Where are you, you big meatball.”
Your nervous jitters only worsened with the passing hour, your legs shaking involuntarily, your finger tapping on the edge of the book, your toes wiggling nonstop. All you needed was the sound of that bike, that big, stupid bike. That would ease your fretful heart. Well, what would really make you happy was seeing that man of yours, no doubt in need of a shower, but still, your man nonetheless. 
Speak of the Devil, as they say, and he doth appear.
It started out as just a distant hum, perking your ears and making your spine straighten in anticipation. Still frozen, you listened intently. A rumble, now, mechanical and getting louder with each second your heart began to beat faster. At one fateful moment, the roar of the makeshift machine was at its highest volume, and before you could even stand, a bright beam of white light shone through the blinds of the front window. 
All at once, the light and the rumble ceased, punctuated by a low huff, followed by an exasperated grunt. Heavy footsteps plodded along in a familiar pattern—you even recognized the sound of his no doubt mud-caked boots scraping against the edge of the steps leading to the front porch. You could only hope that this time, he’d take the extra precaution of removing his boots before he stepped over the threshold. 
There was a spring in your step, you wrapping the terry cloth fabric of your robe over your chest as you flitted towards the front door. Finally, you stood just a few feet back, your eyes transfixed on the shiny bronze doorknob. Inevitably, a wide grin made your cheeks swell until they almost ached, but the wait was worth it. 
When he came through the door, his head was hanging low, until he felt your presence. Lifting his gaze, he met your great big smile with a smaller one, though the movement of his body betrayed him. The door shut with a strong thud, just before he stepped forward to let his crossbow fall from his shoulder. With a soft grunt under his breath, he buried his nose in the warmth of your shoulder, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. 
For a good while, he stayed like that, only taking in the sensory relief you provided him—your faint scent of rose, your softness, your tender chuckle as your hands rubbed in vertical motions up and down his aching back. Despite the rigidity of his tired muscles, he melted into you, letting himself bask in the comfort you provided him. To hold him like this was nothing short of a ritual between you two, whenever you were apart for long enough to begin missing each other to the point of near grief. 
A man like Daryl—who’d been through so much as he had, who’d seen so much and had still so much room in his heart to give of himself to others—deserved to be held the way you held him. Few people in this world had a heart as big as him, though he did not show it in ways most people would recognize. He showed it in acts of service, in providing for people who could not provide for themselves, in the ones he loved safe. It was what you always adored about him: how he gave of himself, and expected nothing in return. 
“Hey, there, tough guy.” Daryl buried his face deeper into you, now snug in the crook of your neck, where he caught the scent of your perfume, applied much earlier in the day, yet still lingering sweetly. Though you adored how much he clung to you, you longed so much to see his face. Your hands grabbed a hold of either side of his head to lift his gaze to yours. 
As usual, his disheveled hair hung low over his forehead, obscuring one of your favorite features of his—his eyes. Between strips of tattered brown curtains, you could make out the blue-grey hue of his irises. Pushing them back, you smiled again at those deep-set pools of silvery cobalt blue. You always found their mystery to be intriguing. 
“How are you?” you asked, though you knew from the state of him that he must’ve been exhausted. He hadn’t even muttered a word, and yet the more prominent than usual bags under his eyes spoke for him. “You must be tired, hon. Let’s get you in bed.”
But as you turned towards the staircase, a firm grip pulled you back by the wrist, until you were in his arms now, laughing at his sudden burst of energy. Despite your amusement, he did not smile, only looked at you with a heavy, dark gaze, and a lick of his lips.
In your surprise, you hadn’t even noticed that both of his hands were now wrapped around each wrist, so tight that you nearly feared he’d cut off your circulation. 
Something was wrong, had to have been. You’d never seen him so… intense. Of course, Daryl could often be intense, when he was angry especially, but this wasn’t that. Anger was something you could recognize in Daryl. He’d never directed it towards you, but you knew it, and this was something different. 
“Are… are you feeling okay, sweetie?”
Silence, just that gaze holding you hostage, and a heat rising from his body that you could’ve sworn caused a bead of sweat to form on your brow. 
Now he was scaring you. 
“Daryl?” 
Your voice tempted him further. If only you knew just how much he missed you, how much he needed you. A week was too long. A week without you, a week without your touch, a week without your sweet, dulcet voice. And oh, how that voice awoke in him a terrible burning, a conflagration of deadly proportions, a fire that could only be extinguished by the one he loved. 
Entranced by his stare, you hadn’t noticed that he had you pinned against the wall, his strong, heaving chest keeping you there. 
And when he pressed himself against you, you knew. It was obvious, the way he nearly thrusted into you. 
When you realized what he wanted, you felt a wave of relief wash over you: he needed you just as much as you had needed him the past week. From the night he left, you’d not stopped thinking of him, and when you’d turn in your bed to feel for him, and he wasn’t there, the ache for him only worsened. 
There was no way in Hell, though, you were going to initiate sex when he got home. You knew he’d be tired, and a good night’s rest was what he needed before you even thought of asking him to make love to you, but now, with that wild look in his eyes, that hungry snarl in his lip, that flare in his nostrils, that beating of his heart… 
“Oh,” you sighed, your teeth biting back your lower lip as your eyes trailed up and down his body. With your hands finally free, you ran them up his arms, letting them settle on the broad, firm shoulders you loved so much. 
For just a moment, he leaned forward, forehead and tip of his nose meeting yours. With his hardening cock beginning to dig between your thighs, and his vaguely tobacco tinged musk tickling your senses, you could only utter one word. 
A soft, nearly whimpering mewl: “Daddy.”
By the time he got you to the sofa, each of you were already panting, hands moving relentlessly as you both clawed for any part of each other’s body you could get your hands on. Your mouths worked tirelessly, tongues spinning sloppily around the other’s in your haste to finally have each other again. 
When you successfully removed his leather angel-winged vest, you worked on unbuttoning his black shirt, but his hands stopped you. 
“Need your mouth,” he said. 
Leaning back on the sofa with a low grunt, he began unbuckling his belt, while you slotted yourself between his legs, hands massaging his clothed thighs, thick and flexing against your palm. 
When his cock sprang out of its confines, you’d already stripped yourself of your underwear and your robe. In only a transparent silk nightgown, your hips swayed instinctively as you watched his hand begin to stroke himself, up and down the long, thick shaft you’d come to know and love so much. 
“Come ‘ere.” His hands reached out to grab either side of your head, bringing you down to his cock. Panting lips began to drool a bead of saliva down the side of his growing erection. Knowing what he wanted, of course, you took the reddened, swelling tip into your mouth, much to his immediate relief.
“Fuck.” As your mouth slid a little lower, your hand wrapped around the base of his cock. His grip on your hair tightened as his head fell back on the arm of the sofa, a soft breath of your name on his lips. 
Returning to watch you, he lifted your hair into a makeshift ponytail, tilting his head to get a better look at you, your eyes fluttering up to meet his gaze.
“Pretty angel.” Even just the utterance of that affectionate pet name made you feel an overwhelming need to touch yourself. With your free hand, you lifted your nightgown to slot your fingers between warm, velvety folds of aching flesh. “Ya look so good like this… Suckin’ on Daddy’s cock.”
It was somewhat of a tradition now, using that phrase, though only in the context of sex, in your most private, intimate moments. It was silly, you knew it, and he knew it, too, but you both found it excruciatingly sexy all the same. It was sacred in that you’d probably die of embarrassment if anyone else besides Daryl knew of your little… kink.
But neither of you could quite help it, you adoring his strong, protective nature, and him just finding it so alluringly sinful. Guilty pleasure type of thing, with emphasis on pleasure.
And besides, his dirty talk was sex all on its own. 
As your mouth took him in progressively deeper, your fingers moved faster, increasing the friction against your sensitive spot, then slowly dipping down into the embrace of your entrance. 
Not only could he admire your mouth, and your sweet soft moans, but he could watch your fingers enter you, your hand shaking as you penetrated yourself to match the rhythm you knew he liked when he had his cock in you.
“Love when you fuck yourself like that.” He only wished he was the one doing it. “You thinkin’ of me?”
Well, it was hard not to think of him, with his cock in your mouth. 
Taking the opportunity to catch your breath, you answered him. “Yes, Daddy.”
His hands pulled you back down onto his cock, your lips forced open by his tip. “Just don’t make yourself come,” he said. “That’s for me.”
Yes, Daddy. 
Sliding over your tongue, his cock dug deeper, towards the back of your mouth. Going down on him was always a bit of a challenge, given just how big he was, but the weight of him inside you, wherever that may be, was far more rewarding. And when you got to feel that little twitch, his cock moving all on its own as it begged for release… It only made you suck harder, sliding your mouth up and down, taking him in deeper until you were nearly gagging. 
But he liked that, the sound of you struggling just a little to take all of him. Daryl was a sensitive man, yes, but he was still a man—proud of his big cock, even if he was insecure in most other areas. At least he was big, and at least he knew how to use it. 
With his hand on the back of your head, firm, but still gentle enough to let you up if you needed it, he pushed you down just a bit more, hearing your gag become more guttural, more strangled. It did not hurt, though. It only turned you on, your fingers curling inside you to tickle that special spot, and your other hand fondling his balls, tightly drawn to the underside of the base of his cock. 
For several moments, the only sounds coming from either of you were your strained groans, his slipping from between his agape lips, yours muffled by his length filling your entire mouth. Between those sounds of pleasure were the sloppy squelches of your lips soaking him with your saliva. You were always so messy when you went down on him, but how could you not be? His cock provided you no room to lick up your drool, stuffing you until your spit had nowhere else to go but down his veiny, hard length.
Of course, he’d have to tease you about it, how sloppy you were. “Messy girl,” he said, his hand gripping your hair to pull back your bangs. You fluttered your eyes open to meet his, and you were greeted by his crooked smile, with just a sliver of those shiny teeth showing. “Gettin’ Daddy all wet, huh? Nice and wet so I can fuck you good.”
Yes, Daddy.
Eyes rolling back slightly, he bucked his hips up with a jolt, your sucking beginning to tip him over the edge. Just in time, too, for your hand was getting tired of rubbing, and you needed him to finish you off.
“F-fuck, angel. Imma need ya to get that pussy ready for me.”
Whatever he wanted, you’d give him. After all, you were his good girl. Always his good girl. You couldn’t think of a time you’d ever been a bad girl for him. Daddy deserved his good girl.
Yes, you were a good girl, but you could still be… needy.
“Oh, Daddy.” Now straddling his waist, your fingers went straight for the first button on his shirt. “Want you.” He loved when you whined, just a little, and when you were so needy for him that you couldn’t quite make out a completely proper sentence. “Want your shirt off.”
He let you undo just a few buttons, exposing the hairs on his chest that drove you crazy, made you want to feel those wiry hairs between your pursed lips as you trailed your kisses all over his broad chest, made so strong and big by all the manual labor he did, and that heavy crossbow he always used. 
That very same strength pulled at your wrists, then raised you up only to lay you down, sprawled out on the other side of the couch. Now he hovered over you, the tip of his cock hanging down to be tickled by the fabric of your blush pink nightie. He always liked pink on you, matched the color of your cheeks when he talked so dirty to you, made you feel like a whore, but not in a disrespectful way. Never in a disrespectful way.
Besides, you knew you were more than that to him. You knew he loved you. Two years together, through some of the most abject pain and suffering imaginable, would do that. But in moments like this, it felt good to be just his personal whore, whom he happened to love very, very much.
Tenderness blossomed between your lips and his, where he kissed you so deeply, so sweetly. And yet, you still clawed at his shirt, your fingers begging for him to let you see his gorgeous body, after so long away from him.
“Shit,” he laughed into your mouth. Sitting up, he began to undo the rest of the buttons, then peeled off his shirt with his chest puffed up, clearly a bit cocky. When your hands shot up to grasp at his pecs, the faded ink of the tattoo above his left nipple having taunted you, he chuckled again.
“Daddy,” you laughed back, your voice a drawn out, dramaticized whine. “Come on.” 
Now you were testing him, and he held back the rest of his laughter to put on a stern, domineering face. “Hey, now. Be a good girl.”
He felt your thighs squeeze together underneath him, and your hips jolting upwards. He knew what you wanted, and he’d give it to you, but this position wasn’t quite right. 
With a breathy grunt, he grabbed you by your waist, flipping you over, then lifting your bottom until it was sticking out at just the right angle. Lifting your nightie, he licked his lips to watch you move your hips from side to side, as if to taunt him. 
“Cute little ass,” he practically cooed. Leaning over you, his chest pressed firmly to your back, he nuzzled his nose against your pillowy cheek. All the while, you felt his hand slide between your now nearly dripping wet folds. Eyes closed softly, you hummed a soft whimper at the feeling. His hands were always different from yours, so much bigger, stronger, rougher. You’d never felt a touch quite like his, and part of it was because he touched you with such tenderness, even if he tried to manhandle you a little. He was still always gentle, somehow.
In the most honeyed, silky, yet scratchy, voice, he rasped in a whisper, “Did ya miss me, angel?” 
“Yes… Daddy, I missed you so, so much.”
“Mm, I missed you, too. So much.”
Finally, you felt his tip just barely graze your hole. Not only was he torturing you, he was torturing himself, but he loved it. He needed it, otherwise he was sure his peak of pleasure would go away just as fast as it would come. With you, in this moment, he needed to prolong the desire as much as he could. He could feel it coming soon, though, that tensing in his muscles, that tingling in the pit of his stomach, that twitching that made his cock seem to bounce against your folds on its own accord. 
As he slid further into you, you felt his lips find the back of your neck, where he left little kisses the more he sank into you. It felt so good to feel him again, that fullness. It was a feeling only he could give you, his unique way of moving, his cock fitting so perfectly inside you. 
Underneath your nightgown, his hands found your breasts. Tense, strong fingers curled like claws at the soft tissue. Even in his dreams, of which he had many while he was away, he could not recreate that texture—that pillowy soft flesh swelling against his fingers. And the inside of you, the warmth and tightness that hugged his cock and accepted him with each pass, in and out. 
Soon, he leaned back to watch your body envelope his, the shiny, milky coating of your arousal making it easier to slip in and out of you, his hips thrusting in ever increasing speed.
“Daddy…” 
God, he loved being called that. Much more than he should’ve. But, then again, he’d probably find you sexy even if you were calling him “dickhead.” He really didn’t mind, as long as you were calling him something. 
“Mm, angel… Daddy’s here now, sweetheart.” He delivered a harder, stronger thrust, pulling a loud, strangled moan out from deep inside of you. “That feel good?”
“Fuck, yes!” 
As if to praise you, he delivered just a small, weak slap to your bum. That was about as hard as he was willing to spank you, given how much he hated the idea of hurting you, but he knew you liked it, and he liked it, too, the clench of your body from the slap making him jolt forward. 
“Takin’ it good… Real good.”
With one hand still squeezing your breast, the other now drawing tight circles over your clit, he made your lips tremble and your muscles tighten as you began to approach the height of pleasure. You could feel it, just on the brink of release. And he felt it, too, which was why he pulled himself out of you, flipping you over again like a ragdoll. 
You were startled when he pulled you down by your ankles, until you were closer to him. He gave his fingers a good, long lick, then let them sink into you, where his cock had left you stretched wide open and dripping wet. 
Three fingers. Three thick, strong fingers, curling up inside you, making you writhe and groan as your hands shot up to grasp at his shoulders. Through half-lidded eyes, you watched his neck bulge with the strain of trying to keep himself from coming, and it only aroused you more—those muscles flexing and throbbing and burning underneath hot, sweat-dripping skin, tanned by days on end out in the sun. 
What he needed so badly was his own release, after so long of working so hard out there, risking his life for the good of Alexandria. As his forearm and biceps flexed with every push of his fingers inside of you, his chest heaved harder and harder, while you reached between your legs to find his cock. With your hand pulling on his length, and your walls clenching around his fingers as your release reached a tipping point, you both would soon be giving each other much needed relief. 
“Daddy,” you sighed, tugging harder on his cock as frustration overtook you. The closer you got to orgasm, the more you couldn’t wait any longer. “Make me come… I wanna come.”
“Ah, angel… I’m gonna come, too.”
Just moments later, you tensed and gasped and writhed and moaned, rocking your hips upward as his fingers stayed inside you, squeezed by your contracting walls. “Oh, Daddy!”
He leaned forward to lay on top of you, his sturdy weight keeping you in place as you rode out your high, soaking his fingers with your arousal. The heat of your cheek seemed to burn his lips as he kissed you there, then rubbed his button nose in delicate circles to soothe you. “Yeah… Daddy’s got ya, sweetheart.”
With your hand still tugging on him, he gasped a heavy breath, spilling out over you right then and there, his hips thrusting into your hand in desperate, sloppy motions. The orgasm was so strong that he lost his composure for a moment, his head falling into your chest as he groaned your name, over and over and over again. 
And now he freed his hand, using it to rub up and down the sides of your torso, your skin like fine silk under his worn, calloused fingers. In his hair were your hands, massaging his scalp the way you knew he liked, until he lifted his head to offer you a gentle smile. 
“Mm, I’ll never get tired of that.”
You tilted your head with a wide grin. “I didn’t think you’d want to do it tonight. I thought you’d be exhausted.”
He breathed a low huff before rolling over onto his side. You did the same, letting him hold you with his chest pressed firmly to your back. There wasn’t much room on that tiny couch, but you made it work. After all, even if you were in bed upstairs, you’d probably still be this close to each other, clinging for dear life, never wanting to be separated again, though you knew someday you’d have to.
“I am,” he said. “Just… I dunno, needed you, s’all.” Observant as he was, he took notice of your shivering, and reached back to grab the knitted blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch. He covered the both of you, then tucked his chin into your shoulder, where it seemed to fit perfectly. “Missed ya so much, could hardly stand bein’ without you.”
Even now, after you thought you’d be used to his sweet words, he still had a way of sending those butterflies aflutter. “Well, now you’re back home.”
That sounded so good to him—back home.
~
Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!
Masterlist
Part 2 (coming soon)
2K notes · View notes
suzukiblu · 7 months
Text
Fic concept! AKA another soulmate AU. Working title: "kidnapping your soulmate for fun and profit".
Tim meets Superboy--Robin meets Superboy--and it goes, like . . . fine, he guesses. It's fine. They fight Metallo and Poison Ivy and don't die, though Superboy kinda looked like he wanted to when the kryptonite ring was happening to him.
Tim is a thorough little Bat-bastard, of course, so the day after all that goes down, he breaks into Cadmus. Well--breaks into their system, anyway. He figures knowing more about Superboy for the inevitable next time they meet up won't hurt, considering. Fully understanding potential allies' capabilities is--
There's photos in Superboy's file.
This would be completely irrelevant to everything, if those photos weren't specifically of Superboy's soulmark, which is so invasive and offensive that Tim feels kind of sick.
And also if that soulmark weren't the exact same one that showed up on him a few months back.
Well . . . okay, that's a . . . thing.
Tim has several sexuality crisises at once, then remembers platonic soulmates exist. But also he immediately had the sexuality crisises instead of ever thinking of platonic soulmates as being an option, which does not bode well for the "platonic"-ness of this particular soulmark.
Well, that's a whole thing now, he guesses.
Then he remembers that Poison Ivy kissed and mind-controlled Superboy. And also that Superboy, like, lives with his manager. His creepy, not very responsible, easily-blackmail-able manager. And also just . . . everything else he knows about the guy's life. Everything. All at once.
Tim has several more crisises and then calls Dick Grayson to freak out on him.
Tim: Is it ethical to kidnap your own soulmate and does that even matter if they're not legally a person and so you couldn't actually be charged for anything anyway? I mean, B can't get mad at me for doing it if the courts can't get me for doing it, right?
Dick: I'm sorry, Superboy's not legally a person?
Tim: Nope! Which neither Cadmus nor the sleazebag selling his likeness for a living has in any way tried to correct, for the record. Technically he's classified as intellectual property, but Cadmus forfeited legal possession when Superman turned up alive again, presumably to avoid Superman ever finding out that they'd had said legal possession, so technically if I went and kidnapped him it'd be more like . . . salvage, maybe? Like, in the eyes of the law, I mean.
Dick: Yeah, okay, in that case kidnapping your own soulmate might be less an ethics question and more a moral obligation.
Anyway, Nightwing-assured Tim immediately grabs his go-bag and goes to Hawaii to make his kidnapping plans. Like, he's just gonna start soft-planning something, nothing concrete yet. Obviously it's going to take a lot of work to get a cocky half-Kryptonian teenage clone with authority issues and an inflated ego kidnapped by a lone Robin, and--
Five minutes later "normal civilian" Tim Drake meets Superboy on the street after a supervillain attack and Superboy's soulmark is just on full display where his suit's ripped.
And a Bat knows when to take a perfectly-presented opportunity, obviously. He still can't actually kidnap Superboy yet, but he can tell him they're soulmates as a "civilian" and then--
Five minutes after that, Tim's on a plane back to Gotham with a perfectly agreeable and actually much more chill than he was when they were fighting supervillains together Superboy, and just does not understand his life at all.
Also maybe he should've, like . . . called Bruce about the apparently very ride-or-die Kryptonian that he's currently moving into his city? Just . . . at some point . . . ? Possibly?
Whoops.
619 notes · View notes
sqiim · 14 days
Text
they keep on watchin’
(mdni)
gallagher x reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
warnings: real uncle!gallagher, incest!!!!, uncle - niece incest, minor breeding kink, perv!gallagher, unsafe sex, no y/n, p in v, fingering, multiple orgasms, gallagher being an alcoholic, gallagher is a sleazebag, age gap (reader is in her 20s, gallagher is in his 40s), spanking, fem!reader, praise, dd:dne, sub!reader
a/n: THIS IS REAL INCEST, NOT STEPCEST!!! shoutout to @hakuhub bcs they gave soms good suggestions on some dialogue (and also they were very excited about this so i hope i've delivered).
remember that no one is forcing you to read this!!! don't like, don't read. i don't use the 'tw incest' tag as it means my fic will not get as much reach as others, so if you don't like this, please block me/ignore this post
title is from gimme more by britney spears
wc: 3.5k
Tumblr media Tumblr media
He can't believe he's doing this. He's a busy man, high up in the ranks ‘n all and an damn good mixologist. Busy should be his middle name, and alcoholic his last name, but that's besides the point.
Last time Gallagher agreed to anything his brother proposed, he got his ass kicked into next week. For what? Even to this day he doesn't know, but he reckons he got beat up for being mistaken for his brother.
Should be in the past now, but those guys who beat him up surely knew how to pack a punch. He's got fucking war wounds.
At least the ladies like them.
Anyway, despite the fact that his brother gets him into more than shit situations, it's his brother for fucks sake. Family and all, gotta keep close to them.
Well, he says this, but as he's stood by your front door being reintroduced to you after at least over a decade, it's a jarring experience. Not sure if it's really worth it or not.
You're still his little niece that he remembers, a kid with spunk and fire for adventure, curiosity brimming in your eyes. Now it's just mellow and curves for days.
Well, mellow is harsh. You're older, calmed down a lot more since he last saw you obviously. You've just got a pretty smile on your face, and he's sure you got that from your mother.
And your body is a lot more grown up now. You're in twenties (if his memory serves him right), and you certainly look it. Your tits are nice, and just from the curve of your hips, he's sure you've got a nice ass too.
He blatantly ignores the fact that you're his niece. His only justification is that it's been a slight dry spell, with the being busy and the alcohol flowing through his system on most days.
If he had the chance, he'd fuck any good looking humam he sees. He's got standards.
Tits are tits, ass is ass, pussy is pussy. He's not fussy, he loves women, loves everything about them, especially their assets. He'll preach about loving women until the day he dies.
“Gallagher,” His brother stares at him, more like a glare, but Gallagher's good at ignoring people's emotions. Comes with the job of being an alcoholic. Did he mention he was an alcoholic? “Take good care of her.”
“‘Course.” Giving his brother a firm nod, he clasps his hand in his, a firm handshake before his brother sets off.
He can't remember the exact details, something about a work trip his brother simply cannot refuse to attend. To be fair, he doesn't even know what job he works.
Details, details. He's more worried about the next case he's got slave over rather than what his brother's occupation is.
“Uncle.” Your voice is soft, less squeaky than when you were a kid that's for sure. Quite quiet as well, clearly you're uncomfortable. You probably don't even remember him, and now he's got to look after you for a couple weeks.
Yeah, he gets it. Hell, he'd definitely feel the same way if he were you.
Gallagher rubs his stubble, realising that he's not responded to you. “Sorry kiddo- spaced out there for a sec.”
Awkwardness rings in the air, and you don't help that fact when you make your own awkward laugh. “That's alright.” You then gesture to the kitchen. “Do you want anything to drink? Tea? Coffee?”
A scoff, because Jesus, when was the last time he had a normal drink besides water and alcohol? He knows his liver gets closer and closer to kicking the bucket each day, but still.
“You got anything stronger, sweetheart?”
It's been a few days since he's been here, and it's been pretty easy going. You mainly keep to yourself as you're probably still feeling nervous around him (to which, he tries not to take some offence to, is he that scary looking?)
But everything else is oddly fine. Slightly unsettling about how smooth sailing everything's going but at this point, he's not complaining.
Gallagher, feeling particularly nice today, decided to make lunch for the both of you. It's also an apology meal after he got blackout drunk on the first night he was here.
He's already bound to the sofa anyway, but he can get loud and difficult to deal with. Didn't deliberately try to get that drunk, especially how nervous you are around him, but he probably didn't account for the dregs that were already in his system.
“Uncle?” Must've smelt the food, he reckons. He's a connoisseur at making food, kind of has to be anyway, living on his own and eating shit food is no way for a king to live.
“Made some food- hope ya like it.” Dishing it up, he pushes the plate to you with a crooked smile. And that's when he actually looks at you.
Pink is a bold colour, it's the first thing that hits his eyes when he looks at you. He thought you might have grown out of that colour, but he guesses not.
And a skirt too, his lucky fucking day. He can't say he isn't staring at your tits, but they look extra supple in that shirt.
Shit, is he really that desperate? Eye-fucking his niece because no one wants him because he either is too drunk to fuck anyone or too busy, ‘cause you know, busy is his middle name.
Seems you haven't noticed his staring, but you give him a sweet smile after taking a couple bites. “Thank you, it tastes really good.” It's earnest, he can tell through the thickness of it in your voice.
“No worries kiddo.” His hand flexes, reaching up and ruffling your head. He doesn't know why he does it, doesn't even know why he calls you kiddo, maybe it's because you're family.
Or maybe because he's old, wrinkles threatening his features while you glow in youth. You're a college student now for god's sake, you'd obviously be young, especially compared to him.
He tries not to read in-between the lines.
Either way, you give him a gentle smile. Even after he messes up your hair, you're still polite. How the hell did his brother raise such a good kid?
His brother must've been made in a petri dish with his kind of behaviour. Gallagher must've taken all the good behaviour genes, whereas his brother took whatever leftovers he had. Sometimes he wonders how he got a hot wife and hot kids with the way he is.
Whatever happened to natural selection?
It doesn't matter anyway, one day at his old age, he'll settle down like his brother. One day, he hopes. If not, then the only companion he'll have is cheap booze.
After the lunch interaction, you don't speak to each other for the rest of the day. Same old keeping yourself to yourself. You only come down for dinner and make polite conversation, and all he does is stare.
He's a simple man, he knows this.
Currently though, it's late. Last time he checked, it's two hours into a new day, and he's watching crappy television with a can of beer in his hand.
He thought he might relax, especially because he's been catching up on paperwork. Not even babysitting can make him escape work. Too much to do and not enough time.
“Uncle?” Your voice is like a lightning bolt, one that's quick to register in his brain despite his inebriated state, his head whipping ‘round to take a look at you.
Relaxing into his seat, he takes in your full appearance. It's a fairly warm night, so you're only in a very baggy shirt, so baggy that he doesn't know if you've got just panties on or if you've got sleeping shorts on.
He hopes for the former, and he'll be luckier if you have nothing on underneath. He can tell you haven't got a bra on, your nipples already peeking through.
“Hey sweetheart.” It comes out a little gravelly, maybe a hint of a drawl as well, but he's hoping you won't notice his partially wasted form. “What's the matter?”
Fiddling with your nails, you gaze down at your hands and timidly mumble under your breath. Gallagher's ears aren't as good as they used to be, so he can barely even tell if you've even said anything.
“What's with the shy act? Here I was thinkin’ we were getting along nicely.” That much is true, he hoped that you'd cosied up to him a bit more, but now he feels like it's gone backwards.
But that's when you look up, and you've got tears watering in your eyes. “‘m sorry I just- I had a nightmare and-” You pause, sniffling a little. “I don't wanna be alone right now.”
Now, Gallagher can explain many things. He's a security officer, he should know everything about everyone, all for the job. But he couldn't give a single good reason as to why his trousers are tightening.
He's borderline drunk for fucks sake, he shouldn't be getting hard that quick. Well, he hopes it's only hard hard, makes it less noticeable.
Gallagher smiles at you, beckoning you to come toward him with his hand, to which you do. That nearly goes straight to his dick too, but he's trying to ignore what is in his trousers for at least two seconds. “Sit down, sweetheart.”
You look like a deer in headlights, but you do as he says anyway, sitting so close to him that a faint smell of your perfume reaches his nose and your thighs are mushed together.
Gallagher slings his arm around you, pulling your body close for a hug. Usually, he would be less forthright, but everyone likes a hug when they're sad, and you don't even complain either, in fact, you lean into his touch.
“S'alright now,” He pauses, and before even he knows it, he's got a hand on your bare thigh, stroking it gently. “Just relax with me.”
It feels like your eyes are burning holes into his hand, like you've gone rigid, but in his head, you're soft and pliable.
The two of you stay silent after that, and Gallagher has to pat himself on the back because he's such a good uncle, and he's being good by not letting his hand wander.
Well, as soon as the thought crosses his mind, his hand stills on your upper thigh, just shy of the hem of your shirt, before it slips underneath.
Warm is one word to describe you, flushed with heat underneath the thin shirt, but he's not complaining. You're also not wearing any underwear.
A slight surprise, one that's very welcome to him.
You're no longer looking at him, now at the television with such rapture. Like you're trying to ignore the fact that your uncle's hand is going to your pussy. And you like it.
Nudging your legs apart, his finger runs along your clit from your hole, then back down once again. Practically drenched, he thinks his fingers have gone wrinkly already from how wet you are.
Leaning in close to your ear, he mumbles gently. “This all for me, baby?”
That's when you finally look at him, and that's when he realises that your practically panting like a dog, pupils dilated like you're on a high, and it's exhilarating. “Uh-huh…”
He adds another finger to his ministrations on your pussy, rubbing a couple tight circles before sinking one finger into your hole, and that's when you gasp, especially when he curls his finger.
“Spread ‘em more f'me.” Not even a please, must've forgotten his manners. Gallagher's drunk, he has an excuse either way. But you do as you're told, spreading your legs as wide as you can, and you even lift your shirt for him to see your cunt.
“So pretty.” His finger curls inside of you, a hum of a moan slipping through your lips as you slip your eyelids shut in a pleasure filled haze. “Gonna make you cum just on my finger.”
Seems that you were really pent up, or you're just extremely sensitive or his fingers are that akin to magic, because you're already clutching his thigh and spilling out gentle moans.
“So fuckin’ easy- c'mon, get ‘em wet.” Feeling around a bit more, he evokes your release, making you clamp down on his finger to the point where he's vaguely worried you're going to cut the circulation off.
“Oh my- fuck-” It's breathless, borderline whorish coming out of your mouth, a hint of a moan in your voice leaves little to the imagination.
However, his finger hasn't stopped its ministrations, in fact, Gallagher's added another finger, curling in you and immediately jabbing at that soft spot.
Not even getting a chance to calm down from your peak, you gasp for air like you're drowning, still clutching onto his thigh so hard he's sure you've probably taken a chunk out of it already.
Considering he's made of muscle, he's impressed with some of the strength you've got.
“Uncle- I-” The call of his title is like a bucket of ice cold water mercilessly poured on him, but it doesn't hinder him from his original task.
Yeah, he's got his fingers knuckles deep in his niece's pussy, so what? In for a penny, in for a pound.
“What?” He says it quite loudly, he actually winces at it as well, but you don't seem to mind, especially because you're bucking your hips into his palm. “Use your words sweetheart.”
“I- I think I'm gonna- gonna cum-” Your voice tightens, much like how your cunt is over his fingers now that you're cumming on them.
Your juices pool into the sofa, sinking down and marking their claim. It gives the furniture proof of the sin he's committed.
Pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, Gallagher slowly pulls his fingers out once your legs stop shaking, enraptured by the clear yet viscous liquid that still leaves a connection between his fingers and your cunt, even if they've left your hole.
“Open wide, baby.” Hovering just shy of your lips, you open your mouth wide to welcome his fingers in, licking and sucking them clean.
A lazy grin swoops his lips, very clearly pleased with the sight before him. “Fuck- shoulda come here sooner, gotta nice little mouth on you.”
Your eyes gaze up at him, piercing into him coyly. Reminds him how fucking hard he is, like his dick is going to suffocate in his trousers.
Yanking his fingers out from your mouth, Gallagher sloppily undoes his fly and pulls his cock out. Tries to not take the gasp of surprise you let out when you see it to heart, but his ego is low enough to believe it.
Seems like you know what you're doing, as you're already straddling him, hovering over his cock and lining him up.
You bottom down on him slowly, a hum of approval slipping through his lips as you slide him in.
“Uncle- hand-” Seems like the art of coherent conversation is lost on you, and Gallagher wouldn't be lying if he said it wasn't sweet.
He's not quite sure what you're insinuating, but he lifts his hand up, watching you grab it and immediately shove his fingers down your throat.
That's when you start rolling your hips, whining and drooling over his fingers like they were the most amazing thing to have in your mouth.
Gallagher's free hand clenches your side, guiding your hips gently, before slipping his fingers out of your warm mouth to have a firm grip on you. “That's it sweetheart, doin’ a perfect job.”
Eyes pinched shut and lips gently parted, you continue to lazily roll your hips, your face slightly screwing up from the delight his cock was giving you.
“Gods- wish you were my baby,” He pauses, lifting your hips up only to send them down again, eliciting a groan from him. “Coulda had you all the time.”
You keep a steady pace of raising your hips up and down, though it's slow and brutal, and although it feels nice, he can't help but want to feel more.
Slipping off your top, he presses his face in your chest, latching a nipple between his teeth to tug on and another to his hand to fondle and squeeze ruthlessly.
After receding, he moves to the other, efficiently sharing his brutal bite on your nipples to give you that extra pleasure. And also because he loves tits.
Finally pulling away from your chest, his hands leave your hips for both of them to pinch and twist your nipples, making your breath hitch far too many times. “Fuckin’ beautiful tits- love ‘em.”
Although Gallagher is a drunken man and quite likes you doing some of the work, he still uses his strength to lift you up and press you almost face down into the sofa, just so he's got a nice view of your ass as he fucks you.
He slowly slips his cock back in you, and it's so fucking easy to with how wet you are.
He's also tempted to give you extra bonus points for clenching around him as he bottoms out. “Y'like that?”
“Yeah- love it uncle-” It's a whine spilling from your lips as he starts thrusting his hips with sloppy vigour.
“Thought you were a nice girl.” A smack to your ass, and his hands lay there squeezing them and guiding your hips to meet with his. “Whaddya say to uncle Gallagher?”
“Thank you! Thankyouthankyou-'' It's a train of spit pooling on the sofa as you go dumb, dumb on the feeling of him hitting all the right spots in you.
At least you're not that lost to not be clenching around him.
“Perfect girl- got me hooked already.” Gallagher's fucked so much pussy he couldn't even count it on both of his hands, but yours was so deliciously tight, he couldn't compare it to anyone else.
Another smack, followed by a few more land on your ass, echoing through the house. “Gonna make your ass red fuckin’ raw- everytime you sit down, you're gonna remember my cock.”
Landing a few more harsh hits, and he can already tell it's going to bruise badly, which is more than fine by him, and he's sure you would've made a complaint as of now if you didn't like it.
He'll make it up to you in the morning either way.
Running a free hand through his hair just to get it out of his eyes, he focused on his cock coming in and out of you, groaning at the feeling being amplified merely by looking at it.
“Think- think I'm gonna cum- I-” Stumbling on your words, Gallagher heeds your warning, leaning forward slightly so his hand can reach underneath to your clit to rub tight circles in.
He's sure he can feel that knot waiting to break in him, but he's too hooked on making you cum to really notice it.
Clenching around him, you cry out your orgasm, hips jolting up and down his cock as your legs tremble and quiver from the release.
“Take it sweetheart- fill you up to the brim, and you're gonna like it.” He starts to really fuck into, feeling much more sober.
“I- not on protection-” It's small, one tired and gasped out just because of the searing overstimulation gifted to you.
“Shit- really?” The right thing to do would be to pull out, but something in his head, or maybe just being delusional, tells him to cum in you.
“Shit- might knock you up.” The thought makes him edge that bit closer to his release, which is already tethering the brink. “‘m gonna fuckin’- gonna breed you-”
You cry out, seemingly already close to cumming again. “Please- really want it-”
“Yeah?” Breathlessly spoken, he starts to rub your clit again, because he thinks that you deserve to cum once more before him. “I'll give it to you, baby.”
For once, he's glad he drank so much.
As you clamber out your final release, he joins you almost straight after, your hips stuttering again and his slowly down exponentially, oozing out those last drops of cum in you.
Gallagher moves to pull out, but you protest, mumbling it out. “Keep it in- please-”
All he does is chuckle and shake his head, manhandling you so you're now sat back on his lap, your back against his chest.
His hands roam around your body gently, caressing each bit of your skin, before a hand reaches your jaw, pulling it to the side so you face him.
Pressing your lips gently together, he grins into the kiss, before pulling away not long after to dot kisses all over your face.
“If you're hoping for round two, you might have to wait awhile.” His voice is far more gravelly than he had realised, must've been the exertions he's put on it as well as his body.
But all you do is grace him with a dreamy grin back at him, your hand absently grazing his stubble. “Mhm…”
Chuckling again, he takes your hand, and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “Besides- we've still got a whole week and a bit left, don't we?”
197 notes · View notes
kinanabinks · 8 months
Text
to gild a lily
Part Two: Just a Bite
Tumblr media
18+ | minors dni
Lilywood's leader is easily the most charming man you've met, which makes it all the more easier for you to say yes to all his suggestions, no matter what they are.
Content Warning: Cult Leader!Steve Rogers x Reader, mature themes, mention of a wounded animal, mention of blood, hard drug use, sexual language, dub!con (sexual acts while under the influence of drugs), handjob, fingering, cheating.
Part One
Tumblr media
"These are fucking delicious," You moan as you bite into May's lemon bar, before your eyes widen. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry for cursing."
Steve chuckles softly as he turns into a country road. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart," He says lowly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.
Sitting up, you bite your lip, not wanting to offend him but still curious about the rules May and Happy mentioned. "I know that this month is sacred to you guys - I'm guessing no cursing is one of the rules?" You wonder.
"It's a small rule," He replies before shooting you a wink. "And small rules are made to be broken."
His calm, casual nature takes you by surprise. You were expecting the mayor, or whatever his title is, to be a little more high strung, but Steve isn't anything like the controlling patriarch you thought he would be.
Looking out the window, you take in the gorgeous views of the midday sun above the grassy hills. "This town is beautiful," You sigh wistfully, comparing it to the rough, polluted city you call home with a grimace.
"It is," He agrees. "I'm proud of my home."
You turn to face him and ask, "Were you born here?"
"Yes, I was," Steve confirms. "Lilywood is all I've ever known. Don't get me wrong; I've travelled and seen the world, but nothing compares. What about you, little one? Where have you come from?"
"Uh, Florida. Miami, to be exact," You reveal.
"Ah. That old place," He says with a smile. "I bet you don't get views like this out there, do you?"
"Definitely not," You reply with a soft laugh. "The beaches are nice, though."
"I bet they are," Steve mumbles, turning his head to look at you. "What do you do for work?"
"I'm a tour guide," You tell him. "It's a lot of fun, but also a lot of socializing. I'm happy to be away from it for a couple of weeks."
"Commendable work," He says, and you feel an odd sense of pride from his approval. "Is that full time? Do you freelance, or...?"
"Oh yeah, I choose when I work so it's great," You say with a smile. "I can take days off whenever, pick up extra shifts if I need to. It works out perfectly."
"Wow. You know, being in control of your own life like that, of your own time? That's freedom. That's living," Steve says. "And that's exactly the kind of culture we cultivate here in Lilywood." He takes another turn down a country road. "We get our fair share of visitors, and a lot of them see me, my role as leader here, and they assume I'm controlling. As if I, a simple man, could have the capacity to control over almost a hundred adults. They think we live this way because the people of Lilywood are ruled by me, but that's not true. All I ever want is for my people to be empowered. To have their own free will, their own sense of being."
You nod, completely entranced by the man. "Absolutely. And those people are wrong. I could tell that May and Happy absolutely adore you, and that's a testament to your leadership."
He turns to you, smiling warmly. "I appreciate that, little one," He utters, looking deeply into your eyes. Before you can blink, the car slams into something heavy, making you scream. You lurch forward, but thankfully your seatbelt stops you from flying into the windscreen.
"Shit!" You exclaim, breathing heavily as Steve immediately stops the car.
"You okay?" He asks calmly, waiting until you nod before undoing his seatbelt. "Stay here."
You watch as he leaves the truck, stepping out and walking over to the side of the road. Unable to quell your curiosity, you get out of the car as quietly as you can, nervously walking around to the front until you see what he hit.
A deer lays at Steve's feet, wounded and bleeding. You can't help but gasp, heartbroken for it. Steve crouches down, places his hand against the deer's chest, silently waiting for a few moments before turning his head to the side. "She's alive," He says, bringing you some relief. Standing back up, he turns to you with a grave look on his face. "But she's in pain. I need to end her suffering."
"No!" You gasp, shaking your head. "There must be something we can do-"
"It's too late for her," Steve cuts you off sternly.
"She's still breathing, isn't she?" You retort. "We can't give up on her yet. Isn't there a vet in this town, or something?"
He remains silent for a few moments, staring at you while seemingly deep in thought. Finally, he lets out a huff. "I know where we can take her," He sighs, filling you with relief.
You step forward to offer your assistance in getting the deer in the back of the truck, but Steve manages to lift her up and carry her all by himself. Though it's a traumatic situation, you can't help but note how strong he is. He barely breaks a sweat as he lays her down in the back, a firm look on his face that sends a shiver down your spine.
He nods towards the truck and says, "Get in."
Tumblr media
Pearl Coyne's cabin is deep in the Lilywood forest. Surrounded by huge trees, it sits large in front of a lake, where fish jump up and glide down the rocky stream. The inside of her home is small, but by no means empty. Every surface has something shiny sitting on it, and every wall is covered in pictures and paintings from ceiling to floor. Trinkets fill the shelves and glass cabinets, and there's a strong smell of lavender wafting in from one of the back rooms.
"You're not allergic to anything, are you? Any spices, or plants?" She asks you with a frown while pulling up her glasses from her chest where they hang from a chain up to the bridge of her nose, looking you up and down. Her red hair is messy, with several different sized plaits hanging down, some with beads and others with feathers woven in. She's dressed in multicolored layers, with an emerald green cotton dress on top of an array of shirts. Around her neck is a necklace just like May's and Happy's, but Pearl has a gold bead on hers like the ones on Steve's. Something about her aura makes you feel safe; the same way you feel around Steve. When you shake your head no, her smile widens. "Wonderful. I won't have to worry about my incense or other ingredients troubling you."
"Pearl, the deer," Steve reminds her curtly, his forehead creased with stress.
"Yes, yes, I'm going!" Pearl exclaims with a small grin. "Don't you worry, Steven; Maxine will be just fine."
You note that she seems very comfortable around him; she isn't afraid of insulting him or being impolite, whereas May and Happy were terrified of doing so. You also note that she's named all the deer in Lilywood and can somehow recognise them, or at least the one Steve hit.
"Now, you two make yourselves at home. This may take a while," She says, giving you a nod before walking into the back room where Steve lay the deer down onto a large steel table which made it seem like this happens often. Her jewellery makes a soft jingling sound while she moves, until she's out of sight.
"Pearl's the best healer in Lilywood," Steve tells you, before holding his hand out to you. "Come. Let us, as she instructed, make ourselves at home."
It should feel odd for you to be holding a strange man's hand, but it only feels natural for him to guide you through to a small room. Two couches sit opposite each other and a table is between them, covered in paraphernalia that doesn't look entirely legal.
"She creates all her own medicine, using pure, Lilywood-grown ingredients," He informs you while you look around the room. Something tells you it isn't exactly painkillers and cough syrup she sells.
Steve watches you while you walk around, looking at the oddities that fill the room. One shelf is stacked with small bottles of a clear liquid, and it's above a glass cabinet which holds more bottles of different colored liquids. They're each labeled, but only with a single image. Some have an image of an animal on them, while others have flowers and trees. Against another wall is a bookshelf filled with books and magazines, none of which you recognize the title or authors of.
"You're a curious little creature, aren't you?" Steve asks you from where he's leaning against the only bare bit of wall. A smile plays on his lips, and you can't help but mirror it.
"I've never seen anything like this place," You admit, feeling foolish for saying it. "I'm used to minimalism, and... white walls."
"Ah, yes, the city: where they claim culture lives," He says teasingly, shaking his head. "I've been in those kinds of homes. The white paint, the grey furniture, the lack of spirit... it's nauseating. Suffocating. There's no space to be, you know?"
"I know exactly what you mean," You say, nodding. "There's no character in those houses. No personality."
Steve nods, walking over to a shelf which holds small black bottles. "Come here, little one," He utters, waiting for you to join him before continuing. "Have you ever felt alive? I mean, truly alive? Like every single nerve in your body is being stimulated, all at once? Like you're entirely awake, fully conscious?"
You take in his query and think about it before answering him. "I had a near-death experience when I was seventeen. It was summer, me and my friends were diving off a cliff. A few of the guys were already down at the bottom when it was my turn. I hesitated a little, and one of the girls got impatient, so she decided to push me off. The whole way down, I thought that was it. I was too close to the rocks," You recount the story, able to see it in your mind. "I somehow landed in the water. One of the guys that was already down there said my head was millimeters away from hitting the rocks and splitting open. But when I emerged from the water, I wasn't angry at the girl for pushing me, or scared at all. It was exhilarating. I just felt..."
"Alive," Steve finishes with a whisper. You nod. Without another word, he walks over to the coffee table and reaches into what you thought was a pot of potpourri, but most definitely isn't. He beckons you over with his free hand, waiting until you reach him before holding out his offering.
You look down at the mushroom in his fingers and raise a brow. "Is that...?"
"This, sweetheart, is your key to feeling alive again," He claims.
"I don't know," You sigh. "I don't typically get high before midday."
"Trust me, Y/N, this will be an experience like no other," He assures you with a glint in his eye. "Just a bite. Here; I'll go first."
Watching him take a bite makes your skin tingle. When he holds the rest out to you, you feel you have no choice but to take it. And so, you do. Why not? Seeing as he seemed so blasé about taking it, they're probably not that strong. Parting your lips, you allow him to place the fungus on your tongue, and you then begin to slowly chew it.
"That's it," Steve says with a smile. "Now, sit down, and relax. Let me know if you need any water."
Ten minutes pass - or has it been an hour? - and you feel like you're out of your body. You feel numb and detached, but simultaneously as though you're feeling everything at once.
"You okay?" Steve asks from his seat next to you, his voice deeper than usual. Turning to face him, you see a purple mist around him, and you can't help but laugh.
"I... I'm high," You utter, suddenly very aware of your breathing.
"Relax," Steve mumbles. "It'll take a few minutes, and then - bliss."
Almost immediately, you feel the room swirl around you. You hear a thousand different conversations between you and Steve, and you aren't sure which, if any of them, actually happen. Your body feels light but you feel like you're sinking into the couch. For a moment, you get a rush of paranoia - are you dying? Will you ever feel normal again?
"Hey," His voice enters your mind like a gust of wind. When Steve puts his arm around your shoulders, you feel a sudden spark. Taking in a deep breath, you feel more like yourself again, and you're entirely relieved.
"Thank you," You breathe out, looking up into his eyes. "For being so kind. And... for making me feel safe."
"I make you feel safe?" He asks lowly, stroking your cheek.
"You do," You admit. "I think it's your aura. I can see it, you know. It's purple."
"Ain't that something?" He mumbles with a deep chuckle that vibrates against your body.
A few more moments pass, and then you feel it. A burning in your core. A heat between your legs. In an instant, you're taken over by pure, unrelenting lust.
"Shit," You whisper, resting your hand on his abs.
"Are you okay there, little one?" Steve asks you, placing his hand on your head and gently stroking your hair. With a shiver, you let a mewl, desperation filling you.
"I... I want you, Sir," You say lowly, lowering your hand to his crotch. Feeling him harden, you smile. "I'm so horny."
Steve sighs and takes your hand, moving it onto his thigh. "Now, sweetheart, I know May explained the rules of this sacred month to you. We are not to give into our weaknesses, no matter how badly we want to."
"Please," You whimper, moving closer to him until you're almost on his lap. "I saw you with May earlier. Are you and her having an affair?" Suddenly, you gasp. "Do you fuck all the women here? Are you that kind of leader?"
Laughing softly, he shakes his head. "It's not like that at all. We're very open here in Lilywood. I believe that touch is the most beautiful of our senses," He states, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. "Touching, feeling, getting to know each other. That's how we build bonds."
"Touching," You repeat with a slow nod, before bringing your hand back onto his crotch. "So, let me touch you."
His eyes lock onto yours. "Go ahead, sweetheart," Is all he says, and then he watches. Watches as you unzip his pants and reach into them, rubbing your hand over his hard, throbbing cock. Your heart's beating hard and your stomach flips as you slip your hand beneath his boxers, feeling the flesh of his cock against your palm. Steve clenches his jaw, resting his head back against the couch while you slowly, gently begin to stroke his shaft, up and down, up and down, up and down.
"That's it," He mumbles as his eyes flutter shut. Knowing that you're making him feel good makes your legs squeeze together. Nothing about this feels wrong. It's as though you and Steve are on another planet, all alone, where nothing and nobody else exists.
"Does that feel good, Sir?" You ask him, feeding off his pleasure as it floats in the air and envelops you.
"So good, sweetheart," He groans, placing his big hand on your thigh and gently stroking it. Slowly, he slides his hand under the waistband of your pants and you take in a sharp breath as he starts touching you, circling your clit with his finger.
A wanton moan leaves your mouth, and you don't care if Pearl hears. The effects of the shrooms intensify your pleasure, and you feel your vision blur. "That feels amazing," You hear yourself say, though you aren't sure whether it's out loud or not.
"Don't stop," Steve mumbles into your ear, pushing his finger into your entrance. Your hips buck up as you whimper, fucking yourself on his finger while stroking his dick faster. The two of you moan in unison with your hands down each other's pants. Steve presses several kisses to your neck, making you shiver.
Just as he promised, you feel as though every single nerve in your body is being stimulated. The fire burns from your core and spreads to the tips of your fingers, like a gentle electric current soaring through your veins.
You warn him that you're close, begging him not to stop. You can't be sure that you said the words out loud, but he seems to have understood either way.
"That's it, sweetheart," His warm voice slithers past your ears. "Let go."
Best orgasm ever doesn't even begin to cover it. It doesn't even feel like an orgasm. You can only compare it to that feeling you got that day by the cliffside when you were 17. A rush of adrenaline courses through your veins. It's both icy cold and fiery hot, making your eyes roll back.
With a shiver, you return to yourself and let out a shaky shudder. Your heart pounds and every inch of your skin is tingling with the afterglow. It takes you a few seconds to notice the warm liquid on your hand, and you look down to see Steve's cum coating your skin. His head falls into your neck as he lets out a low groan, his voice vibrating through you.
"Fuck," You whimper, letting go of his semi-hard cock.
Steve lifts up his head and raises a brow, a weak smirk on his lips. "Bad girl," He mutters lowly. "No cursing."
The buzz from the shroom hasn't worn off in the slightest. With a content sigh, you rest your head back against the couch, turning it to face him. You reach out to gently stroke your fingers against his bead necklace. "I want a necklace like that," You mumble. "But I don't want boring white beads like everyone else, I want gold ones like yours."
The corner of his mouth pulls up in a slight smirk. "Don't worry, little one," He begins with his low, smooth voice, leaning forward to brush your hair back. "I'm gonna cover you in gold, from head to toe."
And as he looks deeply into your eyes, you show no signs of sobering up, and don't even think once about where Joaquín is.
Tumblr media
thank you for reading :) if you want to know when i update next, follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifications.
if you'd like to support me further than a reblog, please consider buying me a kofi!
644 notes · View notes
which-item-poll · 2 months
Text
Heya! I post daily polls featuring items from various websites and ask "which item would you rather own?" Pretty simple!
MY OFFICIAL TIKTOK (WIP)
Tumblr media
I got inspiration from other gimmick blogs such as @apolladay @haveyoueatenthisfood @haveyouwatchedthiscartoon @haveyoureadthiscomic-poll @haveyoudrankthis @haveyouplayedthisirlgame-poll @haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll @haveyouheardthispodcast @haveyouheardthisband @haveyoureadthismanga-poll @myheroacademia-polls @spicypolls @thisthat-ortheother @doyoulikethisfont @doyoulikethissong-poll @haveyouplayedthisirlgame-poll @haveyouplayedthisgame @haveyoueatenthisfood @haveyoueatenthis @haveyouheardthisband @incognitopolls @pokesmashorpokepass @oc-smashorpass
(reblogs are appreciated!!)
Tumblr media
Important information:
- I just post whatever I find on the internet. You might notice a lot of Sanrio/kawaii stuff and that’s just because I’m obsessed. Sorry lmao.
- There won't ever be a "neither" option, if the poll doesn't apply to you, vote randomly or just scroll!
- My queue is set to 10-25 posts a day & it's running from 8am until 10pm! (EST)
- If an item/design that I've posted is stolen or has been proven to be a scam, PLEASE LET ME KNOW AND I'LL EITHER CREDIT THE ARTIST OR DELETE IT! (I will need proof though)
- Please do not come here to create drama...i literally just want to make polls🤠👍
- Anon hate or ""criticism"" won't be responded to. I've seen the hate that other poll blogs get for nitpicky reasons and I won't be responding to any. Touch grass.
- NO POLITICS
- All the items are the EXACT ones you'd be owning, so try to take their color/style/utility and other factors into your decision!
- I do not accept links if you're on anon!
- I delete asks a lot (like an hour-ish after answering) because I dont like to flood my blog with non-polls, but i still wanna answer as many questions as I can! So if you send an ask, just be aware that it might not be up for too long.
Tumblr media
- The websites will be in the tags & I will always credit Etsy/Redbubble/indie sellers! If you want to promote your store DON'T HESITATE TO ASK, I WILL POST A POLL WITH YOUR DESIRED ITEMS!
(Alternatively if you're an Etsy/redbubble/Indie seller that I've posted and you don't want your items up on here do not hesitate to contact me & I will remove it ASAP!)
Disclaimer: The reason why I don't ask indie stores directly if I can post their items beforehand is simply because I don't have the time. Imo I don't think it's necessary either, no store has asked me to take a poll down so far.
Tumblr media
HOW TO SUBMIT ITEMS:
[OPEN]
Use the submission tool on my blog to submit stuff!
- Use the EXACT same format that I use
- Copy & paste the item titles directly from the website
- Make sure that the prices aren't in frame
- The pictures must be as high quality as possible, or I will skip them
- If you're submitting Etsy or Redbubble items, make sure the 2 items are from the same seller!!
- Put the website in the tags or in the description
- Submit on mobile only, desktop doesn't work
Need more help? Use this post as reference!
Tumblr media
RECOMMEND ME WEBSITES:
Suggest me websites here!
Sites that have already been suggested
Main blog: @moonlightaugust
Tumblr media
^Last divider done by @prettypixels-love ^
209 notes · View notes
spiderfunkz · 6 months
Text
Tumblr media
✧.* LADYBUG & BUGBOY.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
— summary : peter realizes that he is in love with you.
— word count : 0,7k
— warnings : fluff, tiny bit of angst, fem!reader, petnames (ladybug), peter teasing reader & reader teasing peter back, childhood friends to lovers.
a/n : his brown doe eyes literally make me WANT TO SCREAMMMMMM!! he's so skrunkly, he's so pookie, he's so😭😭😭😭☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ also this is so messy sorry.
Tumblr media
the cold autumn wind blew as leaves start to dance outside your window. you smile, flipping through the photo book titled 'y/n and peter's adventures'. you realize that you share so many memories with peter, you two basically grew up next to each other.
"ooh! how about this one? do you remember that?" you point to the picture of you and peter on halloween night. you were posing with the biggest smile on your face and peter was doing the same.
"halloween, i remember." he nodded. "was that the halloween where you cried because one house ran out of kitkats?" you asked, laughing as your mind replays the memory. peter nods again.
you kept smiling as your mind continues to replay the memories you had together. you look across your room and spot your beat-up converses, which reminded you of when peter taught you how to do bunnyloops.
you turn and look at the band poster you had up, which reminded you of when peter introduced you to it. you quietly chuckled as you remember when aunt may told peter to quiet down one afternoon because she couldn't hear the oven go 'ding!' which led to her muffins being burnt.
you continue to flip through the pages, observing each photo.
"oh my god, look!" you gasp. it was a picture of 4 year-old you kissing 4 year-old peter on the cheek, he has the biggest smile, his cheeks were red, and you could hear aunt may and uncle ben's laugh behind it.
you squint to see the small writing - it reads 'valentine's day'.
"may said you look like you were head over heels for me in this." you could recall the exact moment.
peter nods, but you don't notice that.
what you do notice is that peter has been awfully quiet this entire time.
actually,
he's been awfully quiet this entire week. you try to remember anything he has said earlier today, but nothing pops up. did you even see him in school today?
you also realize that he hasn't tried to text or call you recently. i mean, he doesn't have to do any of that. but, maybe you were just expecting something from him, you know?
"you've been acting really off recently, peter." you say, breaking the awkward silence.
he hesitates. you can tell.
you wait for his response, but he doesn't seem like he's gonna reply. so you shrug it off and continue flipping through the photo book.
"i think it's because i'm in love with you."
whatever you were expecting from him. it was not that.
you pause. "don't. joke about that."
"what? did i almost get you?" he laughs. and suddenly he's back to being peter from last week.
"that's not funny!" you throw a pillow at him.
"aww, you're blushing." peter teases. "don't rub it in now." you reply, hiding your face in the photo book.
"you're the one who won't make eye contact with me." — "yeah. 'cause you're hard to look at. especially after whatever you just pulled there."
"did you just call me ugly?"
"wow. now you're putting words in my mouth. you're manipulative too, why would i want to look at you?"
"just say you like looking at me. don't be so stubborn." he continues to tease you.
but you have to admit, he does have the prettiest eyes you have ever seen.
"how can you just say these things so easily?" you question, looking up from the photobook.
"what if i can say it because it's true?".
you blink.
"i feel so bad for gwen and harry. they must have a hard time dealing with you."
harry and gwen have been peter's closest friends since middle school, and peter's only other friends.
"you're the only one i'm like this with."
"so what? you're really in love with me?" you can't tell if this is some sick joke peter's doing, or if he's actually serious.
"absolutely. head. over. heels."
"so, you wouldn't mind if i do this?" you held his hand. "what? hold my hand? you already do that in the hallways so you wouldn't get lost."
you nod, "but you're blushing."
peter face was blank. his cheeks grew red.
"you there? you talk so confidently for someone who can't do the same things you tease me with."
"... you're. terrible."
"you were actually being serious?"
"terribly serious, ladybug."
"ladybug?"
"you'll get it."
Tumblr media
348 notes · View notes
lucysgraybird · 1 month
Text
you, whom my soul loves
pairing: billy the kid x reader
warnings: none
a/n: babys first x reader fic! hope it's not awful. im p sure the title is a rephrasing of song of solomon 3:4 but my memory ....it may fail me
This fine Saturday morning sees you and Billy in the town general store. He's taking care of things for the farm, and you're poking around some of the other goods the store has to offer, having completed your list. 
"Billy, c’mere a moment,” you say, turning your head to look at your husband.
Billy does so, abandoning his inspection of plow teeth to join you by the bolts of fabric tucked in the corner of the store.
"You need a new dress?” He brushes his hand against the small of your back. Just briefly, just enough to satisfy that need you know he has to touch you. If it were appropriate, he would never let go of your hand.
"No, silly, you need a new shirt."
"No I don't." He noses at your temple, buries a kiss in your hairline.
"Your church shirt is wearin’ at the shoulders and wrists again, and I've mended it ‘bout as many times as it's worth. Pick out a fabric."
"I'd wear anything, you know that." His arm snakes around you, tugging you into his side. You laugh.
"Honey, focus. I want you to have something you like."
"I do," he murmurs, and squeezes your waist. 
"Billy!"
"Okay, fine, fine. I'm sorry." He reaches out with his free arm and pulls down a bolt of blue-and-white striped fabric. "What about this?"
You twist away, just barely, and hold the cloth against his chest. 
"Real pretty, especially with your eyes. And it's wool, so it'll hold you through the winter."
There's a flash of pride on his face at your praise, at having done just the right thing. "'kay. I need to finish up with the farm equipment, if you wanna come help with that."
"I'm goin’ to go by the post office and mail my letter, but I'll be back if I'm done before you are."
You're not, because the postmaster is chatty and you're chattier, but Billy meets you outside with a promise that he asked about the right amount of fabric to buy and a chaste kiss. It is a moment in a sea of moments, a Saturday among hundreds of Saturdays that have looked the exact same and always will. It is love in routine and in reliability: when you turn, he will always be there with a hand to hold and a shoulder to lean on. When he offers those things, you will always accept.
203 notes · View notes
diagonal-queen · 28 days
Note
Your blog is very safe, me thinks. Very comfort, if that makes sense lol. I have a request, feel free to ignore this but I can't help but to wonder what a few BSD men would be like with a very mature/maternal and responsible s/o who tends to put themsleves last and burn themselves out (preferably fem, as I am an older sister who has taken on the role of caregiver and project HEAVILY) I'd like to see Fyodor, Poe, Ranpo and Jouno. (You can throw in anyone else if you want)
BSD boys with a self-sacrificing girlfriend
Tumblr media Tumblr media
♡ pairing: Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Edgar Allan Poe, Ranpo Edogawa, Saigiku Jouno x fem!Reader
♡ synopsis: How are they with a caring and self-sacrificing girlfriend?
♡ cw: Swearing, use of fem titles, she/her pronouns, mentions of stress and burnout.
note: Thank you for the sweet message anon <3 it's truly a shame that you and i are the exact same person who have experienced the exact same burden of raising children we didn't choose to have. but i've moved out now so i'm free!! come live with me queen tf we're besties now. apologies for errors and I hope you enjoy x
Tumblr media
Fyodor:
Fyodor is a trad man. I'm sure he has some weird beliefs about how women are supposed to have some normalised feminine traits, but this is too much even for him.
It really pains him to see you be so selfless, truly. Though he admires your kindness and patience, he just wants you to be content. He wants you to be comfortable.
Does he enjoy having what is basically a personal maid around? Yes, yes he does. Does he feel guilty for feeling that? No. But does he recognise that your current self-sacrificing routine is unhealthy? YES HE DOES.
So...he simply does not make you do anything at all. If you want to do something for him that's on you.
If you want to do something for someone *else*, he probably won't really let you. Unless it's like family or something, then he understands, but no, you're not helping that random child get their kite unstuck from that tree no matter how much you want to, myshka.
Fyodor absolutely doesn't involve you in his work. He knows that'll only stress you out more, and that's the last thing you need. As such he keeps you away from his coworkers (especially Mykola. Sorry Mykola lovers)
He comes to value his time spent relaxing with you, because he also acknowledges that he could use a break every now and then as well. There's nothing quite as comforting to him as lounging around alongside you- you don't have to be talking or even doing the same thing, as long as you're there together.
Listen, Fyodor does care about you, and he values your health and wants you to be relaxed and uncaring as much as is possible. But if you, his sweet woman, wants to make him a cup of tea, who is he to turn you down?
Poe:
I don't know exactly how to explain Poe here. Just hear me out
He is genuinely so like stressed and anguished about your lack of self-preservation in favour of caring about others. He constantly thinks about it and writes tragic poems about it and shit
Like he's like 'my love......she does not see herself as i do, as a beautiful star....with every act of kindness her light dims ever so slightly...until she's reduced to nothing.........the irony of the good deeds of man..............;-;'
HE'S SO SAD OKAY HE LOVES YOU SO MUCH AND WANTS TO SEE YOU RELAX FOR ONCE
He will go all out in his attempts to make you feel calm and comfortable and happy. Oh he will buy you SO many presents it's disgusting. He will rent out whole restaurants and like even theme parks and shit if that's your thing. He'll stop at no lengths to give you some respite, and it's honestly quite sweet
All that being said, he does love that you're so attentive and caring about Karl. He's definitely watched you play with him and then started blushing super hard because the word 'parents' suddenly crossed his mind and now he's thinking about children and aaaaaa
ABSOLUTELY writes a scenario in which you can relax. Whatever you want- an empty beach, a forest, a liminal space, he'll write it all for you, and gift you the book so you can go there whenever you want :>
He's basically a sugar daddy, except you're in an actual relationship and it's not all about the money. Your boyfriend just happens to be loaded as fuck
At the end of the day, Poe is such a hypocrite because he himself is such a workaholic that he practically lets it consume him, too!
You're both absolute messes. Drink some water and sleep for god's sake. And for the love of all things good take care of each other.
Ranpo:
Bro knows exactly what's up. Sorry, he's got you all figured out fr
That doesn't mean he won't let you baby him though. At first. He'll just let you, along with everyone else, clean up after him and buy him shit
BUT soon, soon he realises that this behaviour is rather detrimental to your health. He sees the circles under your eyes, he notices these things. And he's like '...oh shit'
Ranpo doesn't have any shame or reservations. He straight up confronts you about it. 'Why don't you ever take care of yourself?' And he's not playing around this time
And no matter what your excuse is, he's like 'not good enough. We're going to get ice cream RIGHT NOW and you're going to talk to me about this. Now lead me to the ice cream parlour immediately'
(I may or may not be paraphrasing this particular quote)
The point is that he presents you an avenue to open up about your struggles, stress and psyche. And he really does want to help- the fact that he gets ice cream out of this is just a bonus
From here on out he'll keep an eye out for you. Every time you find yourself getting overworked or burning out he'll make you take a break. This could be a nap or sending you home or a surprise outing- anything to get your mind off work and people.
Ranpo is a stickler for the rules, sure, but he's also lazy as shit. Any time he doesn't feel like working, you're now not allowed to work either. You have to hang out with him or else (he'll be a little sad)
He doesn't necessarily introduce any...permanent solutions to your predicament, but he does have you looking forward to your couples-down time each day, and that's something!
Over time, you do learn to balance yourself and external responsibilities. And he will absolutely be taking credit for it lmao
Jouno:
Jouno is very...self-important, we'll say. Not like, completely selfish or anything, but very much tends to prioritise his own opinions and time and such.
You make him do a complete reassessment and breakdown of all of his thoughts and beliefs he's built up over the course of his lifetime
/j but really, you're unbelievably different from him. You're both willing to put yourself in danger or wear yourselves down, but *you* don't have anatomical medical adjustments that practically make you invincible.
Jouno wants to protect you- and he's not willing to negotiate. He's not letting anyone hurt you, even if on accident. He's especially not willing to let anybody take advantage of your generous nature, which is probably more likely anyway.
He's such a scary dog actually (lol get it?? get it cause he's one of the Hunting Dogs? DO YOU GET IT-) he'll accompany you anywhere if you ask him to.
When he wants to do something for you, he will do it. You're not lifting a finger miss girl
Like he really will take care of you! When he's off work, of course. His job is kind of important, but you best believe you're getting pampered when Jouno is off the clock.
My mans is romantic as FUCK: cooking you nice dinners, reading to you before bed, massages, cuddles- as well as engaging in your interests alongside you of course
He just thinks it's so cute to see you engrossed in something that YOU enjoy, and will encourage your down time
Jouno is gonna make sure that you take care of yourself too, because when he's not around, who better to look after anybody than you? That's the most important thing to him.
Tumblr media
taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fyodorhatr, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl, @kokoenjiandco, @pinkiipeachiikeen
144 notes · View notes
heartfullofleeches · 10 months
Note
Sorry just asked about the fast food reader (if tumblr didnt eat it) but what would happen if fast food reader was pulled into the ball pit yan’s pocket dimension
"Sleep....Rest..."
Work was hell. A bus full of suspiciously clad individuals held up the already hectic lunch rush, awhile the mascot attempted to braid your hair as you managed the register. As if matters couldn't get worse, the ice cream machine had unlease a slurry of thawed cream at your coworker for kicking its side when it refused to dispense ice cream for them. With so many new hires, it's hard to keep up on who knows that machine wouldn't allow any hands on it besides yours and who didn't. The flood was catastrophic. You had to wheel yourself around the kitchen using the Janitor's cart which was - actually pretty fun, but navigating around the sunken body within the river didn't share that same thrill.
At the end of the chaos, all you wanted to do was go home so you could curse the domino effect of evolution that eventually resulted to you getting this job, but you couldn't go anywhere without a trip to the ball pit first. Those hands had the touch and grace of God on your joints and muscles - a statement likely truer than you'd like to think about. If someone asked you why you kept this job they would probably be your first answer. Besides trying to play sneaky and dragging under a few times, they were the most useful of the entities claiming this location, and you, as their territory. There was always a part of you that did wonder - a lingering thought in the back of your mind.
What would happen if you went down there?-
Seems the day you'd find out as come at last.
"You're tired... don't fight us anymore..."
After the day you've had, your body is about as useful as a wet paper towel. The ball pit's hands lower your ailing husk into their plastic prison; nimble fingers and palms jutting the exact points that weight you down. You feel defenseless in their embrace. They meticulously knead your stress away and with it goes your will to fight as the dingy ceiling lights disappear in the sea of colorful balls. You can feel them drag you further down between each palpitation, but you had neither the strength nor the broom to free yourself. Was there even anything you could do at this point if you did? You weren't sure if you could wrestle yourself out of so many hands. It seemed like there were a dozen more than you remembered; pulling your weightless self through the sea of plastic and forgot memories.
"We will treat you with the care that you deserve.. Our idol. Our love. Close your eyes and rest."
Your head breaks the surface - and everything goes dark.
-
When you wake, everything appears normal. From the checkered titles around you, you're laying on the floor of the play place - surrounded by balls. Nothing unusual there. It's when you sit up that you notice something to be...off. There are other items amongst the orbs. Happy meal toys, wallets, jewelry, IDs. You pick up the closest to you. The missing persons flyers get swapped out pretty quickly, but you always remember the face that was once there - when no one else could.
"Do you prefer silver or gold?"
You look around for the source of the voice. A pale arms extends from the figures equally as pearl robes. You can't see their face. You couldn't see much of anything that was a couple inches from your face. Unable to stand on your own, you take their hand. It's uncharacteristically cold. On your feet, you can see a basket in their other arm - full of discarded belongings scattered across the ground.
"Where am I?..."
"Home....for now. We've been stuck here for eons, a pocket between your world and the next. Come, we can talk more once we get out. Stick close to me and if you hear anything, hold your breath. We are never alone here"
The figure moves your hand to their shoulder and begins walking. You follow behind, praying your eyes to adjust enough to peal a layer of darkness. Whispers and intangible mutterings sworn from all corners. They pause - briefly as the figure bends down to pick something up and either place it into their basket or inspect it more closely. There comes a time when you hear paper tearing or glass shattering, but it's hard to locate where they're coming from. Soft light emits from the exit doors as you approach.
"run."
The doors fly open. Squeezing your hand from instinct, you find that you are alone - and that the play area is no longer the same. You're in the forest behind the restaurant; skies block out by a sea of mass manufactured balls. There's something in the distance. A writhing, pale mass it takes your mind a minute to process. Hands. Hundreds of white limbs all tearing and fighting over the spilled contents of that same wicker basket you saw before. They raise family photos and handheld mirrors into the centers of their horde; a single, calm hand in the storm ripping the objects free. It turns them over in its palm before raising it height above its body. Torso, shoulders - there's something in there and its eating the lost memories. A torn photo falls at your feet. It's the manager that tried to fire you your first week.
"... They're still here. Everyone's that's gotten lost in that pit. Their bodies were lost as soon as they came, but their spirits still hunt for what's let of them so they can be remember. So they can go home... Just like I want to."
A hand meets your cheek, followed by another at your waist. They're everywhere - swarming.
"If you're curious if you're dead, don't be. You are still of body and mind, as I could never eat the one who's made this purgatory tolerable. Please, allow me to hold you just a little longer and I will send you back. I want to look at you with these tired eyes and to know peace. Please, accept me."
The god reaches its hand out to you. It reeks of blood, and is stained with their tears. You take it - and there you are back laying on the play area floor.
648 notes · View notes
wellgoslowly · 10 months
Note
Hello! I was wondering if I can get a request please. The reader works for Lockwood and Co but she has the complete opposite personality of what Lockwood has (ex: reader is more of listener rather than a talker and when she is around new people she is more on the quiet side until she gets comfortable around them) and Lockwood falls for the reader. Thank you!
Ain't a Life a Many Splendored Thing?
Tumblr media
a/n: a bit of a shorter post but I think I might make it into a series!! I loved this prompt and I loved writing it sm!!! it's not much but I didn't want to write more before knowing if yall would want a part 2 :) also yes the title is from hello hello by elton john from the hit movie gnomeo and juliet.
pairing: lockwood x fem!reader
word count: 1.4k
warnings: none :)
tags: @hufflepuff1619 (thank you for the request!) @oblivious-idiot @tangledinlove @ikeasupremacy @givemea-dam-break @neewtmas [if u guys want to be put on a tag list just lmk in the comments!!! also if i missed anyone im sorry!!!!]
Tumblr media
The moment that you stepped into 35 Portland Row for your interview, it was obvious to everyone that Lockwood was a goner.
You two were clearly exact opposites- where he was confident and cocky, you seemed more reserved and humble. Where he was reckless, you seemed calculated and exact. And it was now evident that while he found it natural to talk in order to prevent awkward silences around new people (especially those whom he found to be very attractive), you were perfectly comfortable with listening to him ramble.
“And right up here is the attic.” He was saying now as the two of you climbed up the creaking stairs. “You've met Lucy, obviously- this is her room. And yours as well, if you choose to live here.” He watched you take in the room, filled with Lucy's drawings and scarce decorations on the walls, your eyes lingering on the small bed hastily shoved in the corner. He looked at you with apprehension, admittedly a little worried that you would turn to him and say that you'd changed your mind and reject the employment offer.
Instead, you turned to him with a slight smile on your face and said, “Is it ok with Lucy? If I stay here?” Instantly, Lockwood was filled with relief. “It was her idea, actually.” He said softly, watching you nod in understanding. “Alright then.” You said, a sense of finality in your voice. Lockwood smiled and watched as you walked to set the small bag of belongings you had taken to your interview on top of your new bed. “I'll leave you to it, then. Dinner should be ready soon.” He said to you. You didn't respond, but Lockwood wasn't worried- he knew exactly what your soft smile was meant to convey.
------
“Lockwood, I just- I don't know if she fits here.” It had been only 3 days after you had officially joined Lockwood & Co., but Lockwood wasn't necessarily surprised by the remark George threw him from across the table that morning. You and Lucy were asleep, still tired after facing an infuriating ambush from a large cluster of Type Ones while on a Type Two case.
“What do you mean, George?” Lockwood asked as he took a sip of his tea. “I mean, she's just so quiet. She never speaks, and when she does it's either in one word responses or a couple phrases- even then, she mostly only ever talks to you. I'm just worried about how well she'll be able to communicate in the future.” George explained, his hands moving wildly about.
“You haven't seen her in the field, George- she's brilliant. Her sight is comparable to mine, and her touch… it's like Lucy with her Listening. Yes, she's a bit… reserved, but I'm sure she just needs to warm up to us, is all.” Lockwood smiled at his friend as he took another sip of tea, peeling open the front page of a new issue of True Hauntings.
“Don't think I didn't notice how you avoided the comment about how she only seems to talk to you.” George grumbled, taking a bite out of a piece of toast. Lockwood didn't look up from the text on the page in front of him as he mumbled a soft “I don't know what you're talking about.” George scoffed in response, starting to say something that sounded a lot like “you're clearly gone for her, why do I even try”, when you walked in, hair amess and blinking sleep out of your eyes.
The kitchen fell into immediate silence, George's face flushing in embarrassment as you looked at him, your expression unreadable. “If you're going to talk about me, you could at least do it while I'm around.” Lockwood looked up at that as he didn't notice you silently entering the kitchen. He took in your sleep-addled state and the look of fear in George's eyes. And then you were softly smiling. “I was joking, sorry. Didn't mean to scare you.” You said before sitting down next to Lockwood.
George snorted. “I think that's the most you've said to me the entire time you've been here.” George said, apparently taking your joke to heart. Lockwood softly kicked George under the table, but you just laughed a little.
Deciding to change the subject, Lockwood turned to you with a smile. “I'm sorry for him. What he meant to say was good morning. Would you like some tea?” You smiled at Lockwood, and he was hit with the thought that it mightve been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. “Yes, please.” You responded. Lockwood nodded, getting up to turn the kettle on once more.
The morning passed like that- you and George softly trading barbs with one another, Lockwood making you your tea and toast, and Lucy stumbling in once you were almost done with breakfast and mumbling a “gmornin” to you and the boys. Soon, the discussion turned from an easygoing conversation over breakfast and lapsed into a more serious discussion as Lockwood started explaining the cases that you all had scheduled for that night.
You and Lockwood would be going out to a house that was reported to contain a Type Two and a couple Type Ones, George would be staying home to do some research for a bigger case the four of you had coming up the next week (he had also gotten injured a couple of days ago and his wound hadn't fully healed), and Lucy would be going to an office afflicted by a couple Type Ones.
Lockwood had been too busy dishing out the information for the night's events to realize that you hadn't been talking. It was only after Lucy and George had nodded in understanding and set out to set their own respective tasks- Lucy heading down to the basement and George getting ready to go to the Archives- when Lockwood looked to you and realized that you had been drawing on the Thinking Cloth the entire time.
He leaned over slightly, watching as you drew a small landscape on a tiny piece of empty space with a green pen that Lockwood wasn't sure he had ever seen before. He smiled as you drew, watching the concentration on your face. “Did you hear the cases for tonight?” He asked softly, watching the quirk at the corner of your lips.
“George is doing research, Lucy's got a couple of Type Ones, and you and me have got the Type Two.” You clicked your pen, signaling that you were finished with your drawing, and then you turned to look at Lockwood. “How'd I do?” You asked softly. “With the cases, or the drawing?” You shrugged, a look in your eyes that told him “both.” He smiled. “Excellent.” He whispered, making you smile.
Eventually, the two of you migrated from the kitchen to the library. Lockwood sat in his favorite armchair, surveying a stack of recent magazines as he decided which one to read first. You left the room quickly, and Lockwood frowned at your departure as he settled into the chair with a week old gossip rag.
But as quickly as you left, you had returned, a book in your hand as you sat down in the chair next to Lockwood. You two sat there for a while, Lockwood taking breaks to explain to you different London Society news while you happily listened and Lockwood smiling to himself every time you reached a point in your book that made you laugh or make some sort of exclamation of disbelief.
He was content, he realized, to just sit there and exist by your side. While he normally felt the need to make his presence known, to charm and impress anyone he might’ve just met, he found that he was very happy to just sit and read with you.
An hour or so later, Lockwood decided that he wanted to go down to the basement and get some training in before the case that night. He was about to ask you if you'd care to join before he noticed that you had fallen asleep, arms curled around your legs and head laying peacefully against the cushioning of the chair. He smiled as he closed his magazine, getting up slowly and draping a blanket over you without a sound.
As Lockwood walked out of the library, he realized that George had been right. Not about you not fitting in- no, you had definitely proven George wrong. Instead, he was forced to admit that George might've been right about Lockwood being gone for you.
hehehe thanks for reading!!! I just put in my 2 weeks at my soul sucking part time job so I'll hopefully have more motivation to work on these hehe!!! I'll also be making a masterlist very soon- I've been meaning to do that for a while
also if yall want a part 2, pls lmk! I loved writing this and I think I could do a lot more w it hehehehe. anywhom if you've read this far, thank you for reading!!! love u!
mwah, linnie
441 notes · View notes
hundredandsix · 10 months
Text
spiderman!ellie
I saw this TikTok and I'm having thoughts. I feel like I've had a revelation because Ellie and Andrew Garfield's Peter Parker give off the exact same energy. Dorky losers who are somehow simultaneously cool, especially when they're in their element. They even look similar. And they both have hot gfs. Oh, sorry. I should say they both had hot gfs.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Just imagine Ellie being confident and goofy when she's in the suit, but then when she actually has to see you face-to-face, she gets all blushy and nervous. The angst! College!Ellie?? Joel as Aunt May?? And her doing the little spidey pose!
I'm actually disintegrating. Someone help.
I'll be posting what could potentially be the start of a spiderman!ellie series very soon. In the meantime, here's a sneak peek ;)
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. It's just-I forgot my phone and I..."
You stop in your tracks after taking a better look at her. She's cute. Her face is covered in a constellation of freckles, and her eyes are the same shade of green as the Nirvana t-shirt beneath her flannel. From this side, you can see the piece of soft, auburn hair that's fallen from her up-do. Your hand twitches forward, as if to push it back where it belongs.
But that's not all you realize. You've seen her before. You're sure of it, but you can't seem to place where. Those green eyes. It would be hard to forget being under their scrutiny.
She's still gathering her notes, but there are so many papers that she's crumpling them all. Your hands reach over to pull hers away, and you begin to place the papers in a neat stack.
You don't miss the sharp inhale she takes when your hand grazes hers. She reaches over to begin storing the chemicals of whatever project she's working on. Her nervous energy is rubbing off on you, and you feel your heart start to race.
She's the first to break the silence.
"No, God, please don't apologize. I didn't mean to... never mind."
Her mind seems to be following your train of thought because she says, "You're in Huxley's Gen Chem, right? Are you..." she pauses, eyes turning up in thought, "Y/N?"
"Yeah, that's me! I knew you looked familiar. You're in there helping sometimes, right? What's your name again?"
She quirks an eyebrow. "You don't know my name?"
You think she's teasing, but you can't be sure. The apples of your cheeks heat up under her gaze. The room feels too hot, like a sweltering July afternoon.
"No, I know your name. I just wanna know if you know your name?" you say, the corner of your mouth turning up.
She lets out a shaky laugh and pulls her bag out from under the desk. Taking the stack of papers from your hands, she shoves them into the front pocket.
"Ellie," she says.
You motion for her to keep going. There are a million girls named Ellie in New York.
"Sorry," she says, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. "Williams. Ellie Williams."
"Okay, good. Just had to make sure."
She nods. In the split second you look away, she manages to clear the rest of her supplies from the table.
All that's left is a single sheet of paper on the floor that she missed. You reach down to grab it, and Ellie's eyes widen. She shoots down to the floor to grab it before you can, but you don't miss the comically large letters titling the page.
Web Fluid Version 3.01
"Web fluid?" you let out a laugh. "Are you Spiderman or something?"
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
366 notes · View notes
oliviajdjarin · 1 year
Text
Joel Miller: Marked Me Like a Bloodstain
Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (afab; she/her)
Excerpt: "Wait," you whispered, "let go."
He did, and you laid him down flat on his back before leaning down on his middle and pressing a soft kiss to the scar. You traced it again, sketching designs of stars and infinity signs around it.
"I'm sorry you went through that," you whispered, and kissed it again, "but I'm glad you're here."
He kept eye contact with you as you did this, and although he'd never admit it, a slight mist lined his eyes. "Me too, baby. Me too."
Warnings: all fluff, Joel's insecure (what's new), descriptions of blood and getting impaled (also what's new), kissing, references to oral sex, major descriptions of scars, please think before you read.
A/N: title feel familiar to anyone else? (I made this title before the breakup rumors I'm so sorry)
Word Count: 1.5k
Pedro Masterlist
If you'd like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3
(Gif credit to owner)
Tumblr media
The rise and fall of Joel's chest was even underneath your cheek, but the rhythm of his heart was not. With each drag of your nail across his sternum, pecks, and stomach, his heart would escalate and cascade, in perfect tempo with your fingertips. It was like a song, it never ceased to follow, and you couldn't help but smile into his warm skin after a particularly apparent inflation.
A flush of heat on his neck told you he noticed too.
"Somethin' funny," he asked with a chuckle, causing you to only giggle louder into his neck.
"Yes,' you whispered against his pulse point, pecking it slightly.
“I ain’t even gonna try to play it off," he replied, "your fingers are drivin' me nuts."
You placed your free hand on his scruff-dusted cheek and pulled his pouty lips to yours, making him groan delectably as his pointer finger continued its task of tracing over any and every inch of your exposed back.
You were never going to leave his bed.
Your nude body was warm against his own--a mix of the warm meal the two of you had shared and the slowly cooling summer night--as he kissed you back. Usually, on a night like this, you would taste each other until the sun rose, and do it once more for good measure, but not tonight.
Tonight was a jewel, an artifact, a golden crown. It was one of the rare nights that all Joel wanted to do was lie next to you, talk about anything and everything, and just be.
You pulled away and pecked his nose before tucking yourself back into his chest, sighing with relief, but never removing your eyes from his face. These nights were your favorites, purely because you could stare at him endlessly, and memorize him enough that, even in your old age, you would still be able to picture every detail of his face.
The sharpness of his jaw, the streaks of grey in his dark brown hair, the patchiness of his stubble, the exact arch of his nose, the slight wooden hint in his scent, and the drips of honey in his eyes when the setting sun hit them just right.
Naked, in every sense of the word. Your addiction to it would surely be the death of you.
Your fingers continued their mission to feel every part of him as you stared up at him, and he stared down at you, likely committing every bit of you to memory the same way you were for him. You couldn't deny the flood of warmth that bloomed across your chest at the thought.
Your fingers continued their mission to feel every speck of skin on Joel Miller as they traveled lower and lower, and no matter how many nights you had done this, felt as much of him as you could, Joel always stiffened up when you did. Always. And this time was no different.
You had found that words never seemed to help him shred himself of his insecurities, no matter how poetic the prayers that fell from your lips.
It's me, Joel, only me.
Please, don't hide from me, baby.
I love you. Let me know you.
Nothing. It was when your lips were used for other purposes that Joel's body began to meld into the mattress.
As your fingers traced every mole, mark from the sun, freckle, and scar, your lips pressed a kiss onto his chest, bicep, neck, and face, alternating between them all. He exhaled, finally letting go, as his eyes fluttered shut.
"I love you," he whispered, eyes still closed but lips parted in rhapsody, "I love you."
You didn't respond with your words, only another kiss.
His deep breaths filled the air as your fingers made their way down, down, down to his lower stomach. They made it to the two moles above his belly button, one of your favorite places to admire on him, but as they made their way further and further to his left side, the muscles on his abdomen began to tighten, and his breaths shallowed.
You removed your lips from his collarbone at the feeling. "Joel--"
"No," he whispered huskily, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he said, "Keep goin'."
You nodded, and he pressed kiss after kiss to your hairline as your fingertips went from soft skin to a long stretch of indented, deeply textured skin. It was wide, and rugged, and old. You felt over every inch of it, noting how it felt deeper towards the center, but more soft on the edges.
You propped yourself up slightly to look at it; its stretch across his abdomen, its darkened tone, and how it was slightly raised from the rest of his tanned skin.
It was the biggest scar you had ever seen on his body, and in your life.
"How have I--" you began, looking back at his solemn face, "--how have I never noticed this before?"
"I never let you," he responded, his tone full of both disappointment and relief, "never wanted you to see it."
You couldn't help the tears that lined your eyes as you asked, "What happened?"
And he told you. Every detail. How it felt when the pipe entered his body, how it felt pushed up against his organs, and how it felt coming out. He described everything from that point on as hazed and muffled, except for the look of fear in Ellie's dark eyes.
"That's what kept me walking," he said, wiping the tears from your cheekbones as he spoke quietly, "her eyes. Her need for my heart to keep beatin'."
He described the next few months as dream-like, like he never really knew when he was awake or not, unaware what was real or figments of his imagination.
"It was hell," he said, "but she stayed with me through it all, and she's the reason I'm alive."
You nodded, understanding that in order to keep himself sane, he had to focus on Ellie's role in it, not his own.
Still, you couldn't hold your tongue as you said, "I'm sorry you had to go through that."
He shook his head at your tears and kissed your forehead once again. "S'alright, got some of the best sleep of my life."
You laughed breathily into his chest as he held you close, once again running his hands up and down your naked back as he did. He exhaled deeply, like he had finally gotten a heavy weight off of his chest, and you pressed a kiss to the middle of his sternum.
But you weren't done yet.
"Wait," you whispered, "let go."
He did, and you laid him down flat on his back before leaning down on his middle and pressing a soft kiss to the scar. You traced it again, sketching designs of stars and infinity signs around it.
"I'm sorry you went through that," you whispered, and kissed it again, "but I'm glad you're here."
He kept eye contact with you as you did this, and although he'd never admit it, a slight mist lined his eyes. "Me too, baby. Me too."
You laid down on top of him, completely letting your body weight onto his, and tucked yourself into his neck once again. You always loved how well it fit there. His hands went up into your hair to massage your scalp, and you practically hummed.
"I don't mind bein' scarred," he said into your hair after a few beats of silence, "means I'm still survivin', and that means I'm still with you."
You smiled against him, and the unique silence of understanding between two people who know each other better than anyone else was the only thing that filled the room. These moments, this silence, was priceless.
"Besides," Joel said suddenly, carving through the silence huskily, "marks are good, means it meant something."
You nodded, murmuring a small "mhm" as you did. Your eyes were beginning to grow heavy, and the depth of his voice was only lulling you more.
"You've marked me, in a way," he said against your face, and your eyebrows came together in confusion.
"Yeah, not in a scar way though," he said, and brought your hand to his beating chest, "but just as permanent. More like in a...a bloodstain way--a good bloodstain--in here. You've marked my heart with it."
Your eyes met his own, and it didn't take you thirty seconds before you both started laughing in perfect symphony.
"A 'good bloodstain'," you said through your laughter, feeling a tear drip onto your face once more, "I never took you for a poet, Miller."
"Well, I ain't," he said in reply, his face beginning to flush, "that's why that was so terrible."
Through the both of your smiles you were still able to kiss him, whispering against his lips, "I know what you meant."
Because you did. You had marked each other, internally, in a way that could never be removed, and as you kissed him one last time before falling asleep wrapped in warmth and love, you couldn't help but agree with him.
Tag list: (if you'd like to be added please let me know!)
@leahkenobi @untitledarea @avengersfan25 @lexloon​ @aninnai @darling-murdock @daphne-turner @ellesvoid
484 notes · View notes
kisakis-boyfriend · 5 months
Text
Kinktober Day 31: Aftercare
Tumblr media
Pairings: Izana x reader
Warnings: Male!reader, hard dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!Izana, rough sex, spanking, brat taming, lots of fluff and love
Genre/Format: Smut; Oneshot
Prompt List by: starsandskies 🧡
Please check my blog title to verify whether requests are closed or not! Thank you!
Tumblr media
It was around noon and you were innocently reaching for a plate in a cabinet from your kitchen when his arm entered your vision, sneaking up on you and reaching for the exact same thing that you were. Izana was shorter than you so he had to really press against you to grab what he needed, lightly grinding against your ass in the process
The gesture was certainly on purpose as Izana winked at you while turning to walk back out of the room, his bratty attitude on display for the nth day in a row. You had already cut him a lot of slack with lighter punishments than usual and more warnings than he probably deserved...and this little stunt was the straw that finally broke your patience
Tumblr media
Promptly stomping after him, you grabbed Izana's shoulder and spun him around to face you. He looked at you as if he had no idea why you could possibly be pissed right now, feigning innocence as his head tilted to the side quizzically. “You've been rather bold lately, haven't you, dear?” You said sarcastically. The grip on his shoulder becoming tighter with every passing minute
“I don't know what you're talking about~ ” Was the coy answer that rolled off of Izana's tongue, a lie coated in honey that he was hoping you'd fall for. But you had already made up your mind that enough was enough, if you didn't give him a real punishment then he'd never learn and that brattiness would only get worse
Fingers slowly tightened around Izana's tender throat while you spit back, “Yes you fucking do, brat. And I'm getting tired of your cocky attitude.” The glare that you shot at him sent a chill down his spine, goosebumps quickly rising to his skin's surface when Izana realized that he'd gone too far this time. You weren't kidding, you were actually going to punish him for real this time. No gentle spanking or making him suck you off while his hands were tied, whatever you had in mind was going to be intense; he could feel it in his gut
“I've been way too easy on you lately, Izana. I think you need a real punishment, hm?” Your suggestion caused him to gulp, lightly wrapping his fingers around your wrist as your grip tightened, blocking the air flow to his lungs even more. “Strip. Now.”
His mouth opened to protest, but Izana was swiftly cut off by another squeeze around his throat. The hint was obvious enough, he should do what he was fucking told or the punishment would just get worse. So he did, attempting to cover up the nervousness as best as he could, though you're usually pretty perceptive when it comes to him...so you probably already picked up on your partner's true emotions...and you were probably enjoying this right now, grinning as you watched his trembling hands grasp the bottom of his shirt and toss it on the floor
“Now bend over the counter.” Your icy tone made Izana practically shake with every new command, the authority dripping off of every word really did something for him... “I said bend the fuck over.” You yelled while harshly pushing Izana onto the hard surface, a yelp escaping him when bare skin met cold granite. “Spread em.” Was your next command, kicking his feet apart when he didn't move fast enough for your liking. One hand was firmly pressing Izana's head against the counter painfully while you barked another order at your bratty baby, eliciting a tiny sob from him already
“Ow...I-I'm sorry...I won't act like a brat anymore. Promise...” Izana tried to bargain, but you weren't having any of it. Swiftly undoing your belt and sliding your pants down until your cock was free and poking his inner thigh, which earned a little jolt from your boy. “Please baby...I said sorry...”
-
A shrill moan was ripped from Izana as your thick cock rammed his tight ass, the rough pace you'd set caused his earrings to jingle while they hit the countertop repeatedly. He clawed at the hard surface that he'd been pinned to desperately, begging for a break or for you to slow down at least...his third orgasm approaching while your dick pushed against his prostate, milking him fucking dry while your grunts filled his ears
And after another minute or two, he creamed on your cock again, shooting another round of his milky white liquid onto the floor while you impaled him with your dick. Bruises already blooming on his hips from the way your fingers dug into them; an impossibly tight death grip that eliminated any chance of his escape. Even though Izana had basically collapsed from exhaustion, you kept thrusting like an animal while you chased your own release. Using a heavy hand to silence the brat's whining by pushing his face into the counter, finally painting his warm insides with your cum while his legs shook. A dry orgasm hit Izana from the way you slammed your hips into his, emptying the last drops of cum into his sloppy hole before pulling out to admire your work
Izana's legs were practically jelly after the rough fuck, unable to even hold him up anymore. The only thing preventing him from slipping off of the counter and falling onto the floor was your hand still tangled in his silver hair tightly. You smirked at the pitiful sight before you; Izana drooling on the hard surface dumbly, babbling nonstop imsorryimsorryimsorry's until you shushed him, wiping away a tear with your thumb
“Did you learn your lesson this time?” You asked, trailing your fingers along his spine while he nodded frantically. Pleased with his response, a soft smile graced your lips while you released your grip of his hair. Allowing the poor boy to move his head freely now as he stretched his neck. A delicate hold on his hips prevented Izana from falling as you rubbed the sensitive skin apologetically, your gaze softening while you switched into aftercare mode
Immediately, you asked him if he was ok while you helped him straighten up and turn to face you. Your arms snaked around Izana's waist as you pulled him against you, cooing praise after praise while he leaned into your warmth. “It's ok, baby, we're all done. You can relax now.”
“If you're not too sleepy, will you let me take care of you?” Those words immediately caused Izana to perk up, humming as he nodded a ‘yes’ happily. After placing another kiss on the top of his head, you guided your darling to the bathroom and began preparing a nice bath for the two of you. Carefully making sure the water was hot but not scalding, adding a bit of Izana's favorite scented bubble bath and mixing it in before pulling out your softest towels and placing them on the counter for afterwards
“There. It should be ready now, watch your step.” You said, taking Izana's hand and helping him settle in before you climbed in behind him. Both of you immediately relaxed upon sitting in the warm water, sighing at the pleasurable feeling from the enveloping warmth. Izana leaned back against your chest, smiling as your arms wrapped around him protectively
The way you held him close had already calmed him down significantly. The kisses repeatedly placed on his shoulders helped a bit too, if the content giggling from him was any evidence of this fact. Your hands soothed over Izana's pretty brown skin, trailing your fingers over the places where it hurt the most while you whispered your love for him into his ears. “Love you so much, Zana...you were so good for me.”
Izana wanted nothing more than to remain in your embrace forever, alas...you did have to get out of the water eventually...unless you wanted to completely shrivel up, that is. Your boyfriend pouted the entire time you drained the tub and stepped out to wrap yourself in a towel, even though you were about to pamper him like the king he was. The less-than-60-seconds that you weren't hugging his sore body were just awful...
But you really had no problems allowing him this clinginess, especially after being so rough with your darling. He deserved a bit of extra spoiling every now and then anyways
So you treated Izana as if he were a delicate flower tonight; drying him off with gentle pats, making sure you were extra gentle around any bruised areas. Applying a calming scented lotion to his gorgeous skin with all the care in the world while his eyes fluttered closed from your ministrations. Of course you worked in a few kisses during your treatment, connecting his soft lips to yours while your hands rested on his shoulders. And once you had finished with all of that, you pulled him out into the bedroom to dress him in something extra comfy
Slipping one of your shirts over his head and sighing as your scent flooded his nostrils, Izana smiled while he watched you get ready for bed as well. After you had slipped into something comfortable too you crawled into bed with your beloved, letting him cuddle up with you however he wanted to. A content sigh left him as his fingers curled into your shirt tightly, as if he thought you were going to leave him
“Comfy?” You questioned, carding your hands through Izana's soft hair and lightly scratching his scalp. The comforting gesture began to slowly lull your darling to sleep, not before he yawned an ‘mhm’ to your question though. Drifting away soon after in the comfort of your embrace
Your eyes slowly grew heavier while Izana's breathing lulled you into a content slumber as well, mumbling ‘I love you’s in between sleepy kisses to the crown of his head
Tumblr media
Reblogs are extremely appreciated <3
Tagging: @steadybreadbluebird @6kabuki
224 notes · View notes
sqiim · 3 days
Text
line up in line (is all i remember)
mdni
leon kennedy x reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
warnings: band au, fake dating au, fem!reader, cocky leon, ooc leon, p in v, oral (f + m receiving), ooc chris, established relationship near the end, praise, pet names, set in the 90s
a/n: incredibly self indulgent of me bcs it's based on blur vs oasis.... anyway made leon a whore in this no joke i regret little
title is from line up by elastica
wc: 4.5k
Tumblr media
“Okay- we're ready!”
An unknown woman gets in shot, quickly perfecting those last minute touches on you, before dipping out of frame once again.
“So, how do you feel about your number one single?”
“It's great- really, I feel very grateful.” Your eyes dart to the camera that zooms in on your face, a bashful smile coating your face at the realisation. “I mean, the um- the whole band feels very grateful too.”
The interviewer cocks the back of her head only slightly in frame. “You must feel like you've won the battle, no?”
A look of confusion spreads across your face. “I'm sorry?”
“The war between you and the band STARS?”
The camera zooms in further in on your face, and another look of embarrassment coats your eyes, but your face shows something akin to annoyance. “Well, we won number one, sure, but I don't think that band has got anything to do with it.”
“Yeah,” The interviewer pauses, a sigh passing from her lips. “But you've beaten them.”
“We have, yes.” Frustration ebbs in your features. “If you really want me to rub it in on how fucking undefeated we are, we played a gig in Budapest in a venue that holds ten thousand people- we sold out five nights in a row for the exact same place.”
A stretch of silence is shared between the two of you.
“Can we move on now, please?”
“Sure.” The interviewer flips through her clipboard, before pausing again. “Do you and the band have high hopes for the new album?”
“Sure we do, we try not to half-ass anything, otherwise what's the point of aiming for number one?”
“What do you think of being beaten?”
Leon grins at the interviewer, one shred of any coyness and full of mischief. “Straight to the point, huh sweetheart?”
His bandmate, Chris, takes a drag out of his cigarette. “Answer the fucking question, Leon.”
Said man gives a strange look to Chris, one borne of incredulousness. “Well- okay- it's not ideal, I mean, shit- who likes getting beaten?”
“Not wrong there.” The interviewer flips to another card, illegible words scrawled on the card. “Do you think you'll be able to chart for the new album?”
“If we don't, I'll be fucking pissed.” Chris gets out of his chair, throwing his cigarette to the ground. “Fuck this interview- I don't wanna hear shit about that fucking band-”
The camera cuts to an apologetic looking Leon, and the faint trembles of farewells and gratitude, before the camera cuts completely.
“What a dickhead.” Your bandmate lets out, taking a wheeze out of their cigarette, before blowing the smoke to let it dissipate in the air. “All muscle ‘n that and he whines like a fuckin’ baby. Bastard.”
You hum in acknowledgement more than agreement, stuffing your hands in your pockets with a scrunched up expression on your face as the bitter wind bit your skin.
A harsh contrast to the blaring sun in the sky.
“Leon looked like he didn't even give a fuck.” The stench of more cigarette smoke brushed past you, and the urge to mould your expression into one of disgust was there. “Then again, he probably wants to fuck the interviewer.”
You stifle a snort, a quick glance to your bandmate, then to the scenery of your garden that you're situated in. “He'll fuck anything with a pulse.”
You'd know that all too well, Leon Kennedy’s notorious for adultery.
“The man is insatiable.” Your bandmate finishes off, killing the fire burning through the ash with a flick to the ground and a stomp, crushing and burying it further into the concrete. “I wonder if he'll actually settle down.”
You smile to yourself, the corners of your eyes crinkling. “You'll be surprised.”
All you've earned is a peculiar glance from them.
“Get a load of this guy.” A drawl to the ears, but Leon's not all that bothered by the snide comment, he only cares about the big guy smoking in the corner of the room with a substantial frown on his face. “Chris’ nearly gone through the fucking packet.”
A sneer covers Chris’ face, and both Leon and Claire have to stifle a grin and a laugh. “C'mon- he's gonna stink the room out.”
The two walk in silence, going outside and around the back of the studio to stand outside together, feeling the fresh air fill their lungs, rather than the black tar from the cigarettes.
Claire sighs, taking in the fresh air with a heavy breath and a hand grazing her already perfect haid. “Hear about that Budapest thing?”
“I did- alright for some, isn't it?” Shoving his hands in his pocket, he leans against the wall, uncaring off the scuffs it lays on his jacket. “Fuckin’ hope it's not mentioned to Chris.”
A sound of agreement slips from her lips, then a half grin alongside a scrunched up side glance is directed at him. “Well- how you gonna tell him now then? Fucker might bite your head off.”
“I'm not gonna tell him,” A pregnant pause, then Leon looks at Claire with a matching grin, pushing himself off the wall. “The tabloids will.”
Leon doesn't do relationships. There's a reason for doing things the way he does, obviously. Why be in a relationship when you've got groupies who'll kiss the gravel you'll walk on? Every gig is a picking ground to find a lucky fan who he'll fuck.
Relationships practically spells commitment, and he's already got a band he's tied to by the wrists, why should he stick around for a relationship as well?
Suppose he's now got to kiss the days of freedom goodbye, and welcome a wealth of new beginnings as he sits in your living room.
“Paper's fresh.” You toss it on your coffee table. It's wooden, a stark difference to the glass one he has at home. Your reasoning was that it's a pain to clean, fingermarks and such ruin the classiness of it.
He can't disagree with the sentiment.
The newspaper reads a picture, one of Leon kissing you, and it's rather filthy actually. “Don't think they got my best angle.” Which is true, his hair looks a little windswept, but nothing could be done about mother nature. But they've even captured the hand he's got on your ass. Perfect.
He doesn't bother reading the title, knowing it'll be some corny title that'll make his eyes roll. Hottest couple of the nighties would obviously be a cracking title because whenever he's in a relationship, he'd make it hot.
“Probably didn't get mine either, but we're eating each other's faces,” You huff, running a hand through your hair. “I don't think it's the sort of thing to look pretty in- more erotic I suppose.”
Can't argue with that logic, but still. Leon is supposed to ooze sex appeal, the pretty boy up on walls in girl's bedrooms. He's sure they're all crying out with jealousy now that he's no longer up for grabs.
Makes his ego swell more than he thought it could.
“How long are we doin’ this for?” It was mentioned in that meeting, the one you two had in some dingy downtown bar in exchange for some privacy, but he was too busy admiring your tits.
You stay quiet for a moment, before plopping yourself down on a seat opposite him, and he tries to ignore the way your tits bounce. He's been out of the game for a month, what else is he supposed to do? “Until I break it off or until the paps get bored shitless of us.”
That could be ages, ages without being the whore he's used to, which is commitment. He's already disgusted. “Obsessed with me already sugartits?”
The name certainly throws you off, just as he had hoped, but you recover quickly from it. “Obsessed with challenging you on keeping your dick to yourself.” You tut at him, and somehow he's back with his mother. “I'm surprised you don't get paid for how many people you fuck weekly.”
With that, Leon laughs, because yeah, you're right. Besides, his dick is a thing of beauty, many women go down to their knees at the sight of it obviously. “Can I fuck you at least?”
A scoff as well of a roll of your eyes, but you don't follow it with an answer. Well, that is the case until you give him a smile. “We are dating, aren't we?”
The answer does surprise him somehow. He had a feeling that you'd say no, or maybe back away and tell him he has to now follow a life of chastity, how boring. “Why do you look so surprised?”
Seems like he wasn't able to mask it, but he shrugs at you, a lazy grin swept on his face. “I figured you'd say no.”
You hold in the temptation to scoff, and instead narrow your eyes at him, placing him under scrutiny. Can't say he doesn't enjoy it, or that would be lying. “I have needs too, Kennedy.”
“Oh, that reminds me-” You get up, and Leon's got half of the mind to get up also, until you're stood beside him. “Can I suck your dick please?”
Blunt, but you asked nicely, so he supposes it could be excused. It actually catches him off guard and makes his throat a little dry. Forthright women are terrifying. “Obsessed with my dick instead, sweetheart?”
“No,” You pause, now getting on your knees and in-between his thighs, hands already pawing his zip down. “It is because if I bruise my knees, I'll get a rumour mill going and I've got a photoshoot to go to.”
His dick comes out of the confines of his trousers, laying flaccid in your hand, and for once, he actually feel embarrassed about it. “I- I'm soft-”
“I can tell.” You kitten lick the tip, then starts pressing open mouthed kisses to slick his cock in spit, before you start jerking him off. “I'm surprised your dick isn't permanently flaccid from how much you use it- you sure it isn't broken?”
“Shut up and suck my dick, woman.” Leon's got half the mind to shove you down his dick, but it's still soft, and would defeat the whole point of it. He's a grower, okay?
“Okay floppy dick.” You do as you're told anyway, sucking him off diligently without another word, but he can tell you want to rip him a new one.
Leon also has half the mind to not let you suck his dick for that comment as well, but when you pull off and start sucking his balls, he knows keeping his mouth shut was the best idea.
You even try to take both of his balls in your mouth, drool already pooling around your mouth and dripping down your chin. Seems you like it sloppy.
“Shit-” He wants to know where you learnt to worship dick and balls the way you do. Either he's been getting mediocre head from groupies all this time, or you are just that good, but he praises that tongue you've got on you.
Because he's such a gentleman, he ushers you off his dick and tucks your hair out of your face, kneading a hand through it so he has a grip on you. “Mind if I face fuck you?”
You nod. “I'll blow your mind Kennedy.” Yeah, he's sure you'll blow his dick off too.
He taps the tip against your lips, enforcing the appearance of an incredulous look on your face, before you pry open your lips and encase his dick.
If Leon wasn't hard before, he most certainly is now. Your throat gagging on his dick, clenching and constricting around it entices him to pleasure he's not been graced with in a long time.
“Get it nice and sloppy, baby.” Hands clench at his thighs, a weight and a dig to keep him on Earth. “Gonna make you unable to fuckin’ speak.”
That's when you decide to glance up at him, a challenge brewing in your eyes, and how could he say no to such a thing?
“You fucking asked for it.” Thick strings of spit paint your chin and his dick as well as snot dribbling from your nose. His hand moving your head up and down at a consistent rate, and he's sure you're desperate for air.
But you don't tap his thigh, not even for a breather. You take it, and continue to do so until he nears his peak.
And when he's near, Leon doesn't wanna cum down your throat, moreso on your face or his stomach. However, you force your head down until your lips touch the hilt, and you swallow.
“I'm gonna- I'll cum in your mouth-” Mind blowing head gives him the inability to give good dirty talk, so instead he pulls your head back just so you're midway on his dick, and he spills into your mouth.
Your hand jerks off the part of his dick that's no longer in your mouth as he cums in your mouth, and this only stops when Leon starts whining.
“You don't have to-” Oh, you swallowed. When it comes to first time head, he tries to be a gentleman. He doesn't like making girls swallow his sperm, but it seems like you don't mind.
You scramble to your feet, and he can tell you're panting, though it's slightly subtle. “Spitters are quitters.”
With that, you wipe your face clean of spit with the back of your hand and leave Leon blissed out in your living room. “Don't forget my spare key on the coffee table.”
All Leon can muster is a distant hum of recognition, and the realisation that you can still talk pretty well.
The fake dating wasn't your idea, you swear on it. It was moreso Claire's idea.
See, you and Claire had been somewhat secret friends, especially when it came to the whole rivalry between your bands. What a thing that turned out to be.
The two of you weren't originally rivals, once again it was the paparazzi spurring up a good story in order for a nice juicy paycheck.
Many a time have interviewers tried to spur something on, but you do little to entertain the idea. Just to seem more sensible than the disorderly band.
Thought you're certain that they didn't anticipate that Chris Redfield would be as aggressive as shown in papers.
He's punched more journalists than fingers on both of yours and Claire's hands combined. You're surprised that not a single lawsuit is in sight.
Those muscles surely are no joke, maybe they scare lawyers or whatever well away.
Even so, you and Claire became friends despite the animosity swelling up, as well as the idea of fake dating to become a reality.
The release of new E.Ps were imminent, and who doesn't like reaching number one? More attention to the two bands going head to head.
It was to the suggestion of Claire that you'd go with Leon in the fake dating journey, considering all the other bandmates took the rivalry far too seriously.
As well as Leon being the sex icon.
Which leads you to where you are currently, with Leon sitting on his toilet, face dripping with blood.
“This whole thing was a shockingly shit idea.” Your hand grips his chin, forcing him to look at you as you gently clean his face up. “Whoever came up with it should've been beat too.”
A laugh huffs out of you, a soft grin spreading your lips as you dab the cotton ball on his cuts and bruises. “Would you still say that if I told you it was Claire?”
Silence, and a glance away from you was all that you needed to get your answer from him. “You care about her a lot- Claire I mean.”
It's not a prying question, more of an endearing and gentle remark, and thankfully, it's not taken in any other way. “How can I not?”
Leon's answer rings true to your ears, so you say nothing to dispute it, and instead brush some of his locs away to clean a cut. “Chris really did a number on you.”
“Uh-huh.” It's said without skipping a beat, one that spoke of ‘yeah, no shit’. “At least I didn't hit back- I'm being the bigger person.”
“Well done for being mature- I'm sure you restrained yourself extremely well.” You try to ignore the way his eyes lighten up a little, despite your voice retaining a hint of sarcasm.
Although you're sure he takes it as a joke, Leon still plays along. “Does it mean I get a reward?”
A sigh, and whatever you were doing to clean his face momentarily pauses, your hands drooping only slightly. “Like what? I swear if it's drugs Kennedy, then you can fuck right off-”
“-Will you sit on my face please?”
Your face gapes, and although the offer is a lovely one, you still can't help but narrow your eyes at him. “You got beat up by Chris because we're da- fake dating, and you want me to sit on your face?”
He nods, and you shake your head. “You're addicted to sex, I think.”
Leon shakes his head, a grin growing on his face. “No- addicted to pussy, two very different things.”
A scoff, and you even screw up your nose at him, but you give him a big grin. “At least you asked nicely. How do you wanna do it though?”
The question soon leads to you clutching onto your headboard, your pussy just hovering above Leon's mouth.
His hands wrap around to your thighs, pulling you down forcefully so you're properly seated on his face, allowing him to spit and lick at your clit.
“Oh- Leon-” Looking down at him, you admire how he fully immerses himself, nose bumping and rubbing against your clit as his tongue starts thrusting in and out of you. “Like that- please-”
A smack to your ass makes you jolt, a gasp escaping your lips, followed by a gentle moan barely scraping past your lips.
Your free hand moves to thread into his hair and grip on it, rutting your hips against his face as you feel slick pooling down into it.
Leon lets out a muffled groan, leaving another smack to your ass, although you don't jolt this time, and instead buck your pussy into his face, his nose now roughly nudging against you.
Continuing to roll your hips, you feel yourself bite your bottom lip, hyper fixated on making yourself cum as slick drips down into his mouth.
You're vaguely aware that Leon needs to breathe, though because you're so hellbent on cumming, the fact is ignored as you clench around his tongue uselessly as you reach your climax.
“‘m gonna cum- Leon-” With the utterance of his name, your hole spasms around his tongue as he gobbles up your release like it's the last sip of water in a suffocating desert.
Vaguely aware of your shaky legs, you lift yourself off of his mouth, and you yelp at the sudden attack on your ass again. “One more.”
The man sounds drunk, but you can't help but say yes, and return to sitting on his face again.
The clicks of cameras ring true in the background, flashes and shouts accompanying the noise as the camera pans to you and Leon.
“Excuse me!” The interviewer beckons the two over, and you lead Leon by the hand to the man, a grin on both of your faces. “You two look lovely tonight, can we get a few questions?”
The camera cuts to the two of you again, a nod coming from you as the interviewer hovers a microphone just shy of his lips. “So- how did you two get it on?”
A blush coats your cheeks, and Leon can sense your embarrassment, so he leans forward to answer the question. “Thank Claire- they were friends since before the whole rivalry shit- suppose you can piece together the rest.”
“How long have you two been dating then?” The interviewer more than shouts into their faces as the cheers of an audience and more camera clicking fills the air.
You decide to answer the question, smiling gently at the interviewer. “Just over a month, we kept it a secret, you see.”
“But Leon was flirting with women at that time.” It's more than a question than a statement. “And he's said in previous interviews that he has no interest in a relationship.”
You lean forward again, Leon still having a smile on his face, but it slightly resembled a grimace. “Our relationship was a secret- everything had to appear as normal so nobody would suspect anything.”
Leon nods, now taking over on speaking. “And I changed my mind about dating- I've had bad relationships in the past, but I had enough not sticking to one girl.”
The interviewer seems to mirror Leon's previous facial expression, but he continues with the questions anyway. “Does Leon's adventurous sex life bother you?”
You shake your head and shrug your shoulders. “Why should it bother me? I think how he used to spend his time before me is up to him- as long as he's loyal I don't care.”
With that, you press a kiss to your partner’s cheek, to which it is then followed up with Leon pressing a forceful kiss to your lips, and gasps echo around the camera.
“Fuck me- Leon-” You lazily move up and down his cock, heavy and deep hitting within you as his hands grip at your ass.
A groan cracks out from his throat, the feeling of your clenching walls mean much to the pleasure receptors flashing in his head, and mean a lot to his dick too.
As soon as you got back from the event, you'd stripped your clothes off and wanted to sleep. But Leon had a better idea.
That on camera kiss turned a coil in him, and he's sure both of your faces will be on the front page, to which he did shove his tongue down your throat, and your healing knees were very visible in the dress that you wore.
“That's it, pretty girl.” You're a star, one that belongs on stage, one that belongs on the red carpet and one that belongs on his dick. Leon only lets the best ride his cock. “Pussy's fuckin’ sucking me in.”
His hands start to massage your tits, earning an appreciative moan from you, pinching your nipples slightly before moving away from them to return back to their original position, not before slapping your ass harshly.
The roll of your hips is slow, yet enticing. It leaves him addicted, leaves him smacking your ass and you leaning down to press another kiss to his lips.
“I can't- please- '' The whine spills out from your lips, your hands clutching the dress shirt he still has on, you now lifting your hips up and down at a hastened pace.
His hands assist you, loud yet harsh slapping sounds echoing around the room, as well as sounds of delight coming from the two of you.
Leon grumbles out a groan as you start clenching around him, your release convulsing around his dick, wetting it and his balls.
Surprisingly, you don't stop moving your hips, and you don't until Leon's huffing out a faint warning. “G'nna fill you up nicely.”
Leon soon feels his balls tighten, following him spilling inside you, and he doesn't even think, let alone wish to pull out.
The two of you catch your breaths in silence, and it's only then you break it. “Go out with me.”
Leon's got half the mind to shove you off him, but you push yourself up so you're sat up, letting his softening cock sit in you. “What?”
“I mean- be in a relationship with me.” You sniffle, fiddling with the edges of his dress shirt as you dare not to look away (Leon wishes you would.)
He gives you that incredulous look, one that shows how utterly baffled he is. “We're already in one.”
A shake of your head, and that's when you snap your gaze away from him, finding the corner of his room much more appealing. “We aren't in a real one.”
With those words, he understands what you're getting at. All he knows how to do is laugh, so he lets out one. “You- wait- you like me?”
“Yeah, I-I've had to suffice with your floppy dick for the past fucking month- why wouldn't I?” Ouch, the floppy dick dig again? It's really starting to hurt his feelings.
“Can you stop with the floppy-” The look you give him shuts him up, you're a terrifying woman when you want to be. Makes him lick his lips and fumble on his words, truly. “I don't do relationships-”
“Liar-” An interruption, and he can't help but narrow his brows at you. How dare you cut him off. “You do our fake one just fine.”
“That's different-”
“-Is it? Because you-”
“-Will you stop interrupting me?”
The short argument ends, and it leaves Leon sitting up and leaning on a hand to keep himself up, his other running a hand through his hair.
Silence, and a pleading look sends a sigh barrelling down from his lips. “Okay, I'll do it, but I swear-”
A kiss seals the deal, and Leon merely has a fleeting thought that he's sealed his life away or something. That is until you roll your hips and break the kiss. “Round two?”
He only answers with a kiss and turning your positions so your back is on the bed. “You must love my dick.”
You laugh, though it's punched out of you with a hard thrust, and even Leon can't help but moan at it considering his still slightly sensitive dick.
“Surprised it's not broken yet-” Another thrust, and that's when you finally shut up.
Chris and Claire are at the centre of the camera, although Claire looks rather uncomfortable.
“Thank you both for joining us today.” A shake in the interviewer's voice is all too obvious, and the shake in her hand is slight. “So- how have you been?”
“Fine.” A short answer, gruff and rushed from the large man.
“Could be better.” Claire starts, then she nudges Chris. “Mister Grump over here hasn't given me a break since the lovely couple-”
“-Mention them one more time and I'll break something.”
The interview goes silent, though Claire only laughs and rests easy with a cheesy grin perking up on her face. “He'll get over it.”
The room goes quiet, and even through the screen, the emotion of bafflement is shared.
194 notes · View notes
midmourn · 5 months
Text
traitor
Tumblr media
title traitor
pairing lee jeno x gender neutral!reader
summary you know what jeno is doing behind your back, but you kept quiet anyways so you could keep him. guess it didn't really matter in the end, because he still betrayed you.
warnings angst, mentions of cheating, jeno's like an asshole but he believes he's not, brief mentions of loved one dying
word count 1,450
author's note sorry jeno ... and the rest of dream when i make theirs. please give me feedback, it encourages me to continue writing !! reposting from my old blog.
Tumblr media
"Stop staring," Haechan murmured over your shoulder, making you sigh as you stabbed your fork into your meat. "They'll notice."
"And he'll, what? Come to confront me?" You snort, rolling your eyes as you tear your gaze away from the happy couple. "Like hell. I wish." You bring a piece of meat up to your mouth and angrily chew, "I just don't understand! It's been two weeks since we broke up, and he's already dating someone else?" Haechan stayed quiet as he played with his food, knowing it'd be best just to let you get your feelings out. "How the hell do you fall in love with someone else in two weeks?! It's just not possible."
"You know," he said quietly, and that was all he had to say to make you go quiet.
Yes. You knew.
You don't know how they met, Jeno would never tell you. All you knew was that just one day, she showed up in his life and he was completely enamored by her. You weren't a fool, you could tell by the way he said her name and the way his eyes shined whenever she somehow showed up at the same place you two were at.
"So you're going to hang out with her?" You ask, eyebrows raised at the dark-haired boy in front of you. He slowly swallowed his food and nodded, not offering more than that. But you had to dig more into it. You needed more information. "Just her?"
"Other people will be there, too," he said dismissively, but you weren't done.
"Anyone I know?" You hummed, tilting your head as you took a sip of your drink. You feigned calmness, but you and him both knew that the anger was boiling in your veins, waiting. And waiting.
"Maybe," Jeno sighed, setting down his fork. "But it's totally cool, right? 'Cause her and I are just friends." Friends ... That's what they all say, Jeno. Does he truly think you’re stupid?
You stared at him unnervingly, before saying, "Right." If that's what you want me to believe, you remarked in your head.
"He'll never know," you murmured out of nowhere to Haechan. He tilted his head at you, so you continued. "He thinks he didn’t do anything wrong by not cheating on me, but does it really count when he was still talking to her during our relationship?"
Haechan didn't respond.
"Are you serious?" You shouted, a laugh escaping your lips after. You run your hands down your shirt, shaking your head as you gritted your teeth. Jeno stood a bit before you, eyes down on the floor. "You're really ditching our date to go comfort her?"
"She's upset, Y/N," he said quietly. "And we're friends."
"The stupid bitch doesn't have any other friends than you?" You questioned loudly. "Seriously? She has to take my boyfriend away from me on our date night? Jeno, I've barely seen you all week because of her!"
"Don't be paranoid," Jeno's jaw clenched. "Nothing is happening between us, I promise."
You stayed silent for a moment before saying, "I didn't say there was."
Jeno's head lifted up from the floor to stare at you silently.
The silence was air constricting, but you didn't say anything and merely turned away to walk out of his apartment. Just like you thought, he didn't stop you.
The first time you cried over Jeno was right after the break-up before it turned into seething anger. It was the worst pain you had ever felt in your life, especially because you knew it was for her. And it was because of you, not because of him like he said. 'It's not you, it's me,' were the exact words he said. The cliche words everyone said while breaking up. You couldn't even believe he had the audacity to say it to your face.
The second time you cried over Jeno was now.
"Oh, God," Haechan sighed, wrapping his arm around you and trying to steer you away from the drinks, "Let's go."
"What?" You frowned, digging your heels into the ground as you tried to continue filling your drink up, "Why? Let me finish my drink, Haechan."
"Y/N," he whined like a child before looking over your shoulder and hurriedly saying, "Jeno and his girlfriend are coming over here! Let's—"
"Hey." You tensed slowly, eyes slowly moving up to look in front of you despite the two being on your right side. He couldn't have waited until you had left? Who the hell did he think he was? You clicked your tongue before stepping back and turning to face them, Haechan being dragged with you since his arm was still around your shoulder.
Jeno had a sweet smile on his face, but you knew how he really was. And what he really was here for. His arm was wrapped around her waist, you still had no idea what her name was. Or maybe you did and just blocked it out of your memory. You probably did. The girl seemed clueless of the situation, but maybe she was just a really good actress. So were you.
"Hi," you said slowly, raising an eyebrow. "Sorry, we'll get out of your way. We're finished, anyway." At your words, Haechan turned the two of you around to walk away and join your other friends at the other side of the party, but Jeno spoke up again.
"No, no, it's cool," he chuckled slightly and you gritted your teeth, eyes roaming around. "I also wanted to talk to you, since— you know, we haven't really spoke and you blocked me on everything so—"
"Then maybe you should get the hint," Haechan sighed, turning around without you to face Jeno. "Like, seriously? They blocked you on everything and you're still here trying to talk to them?"
"I just—"
"It doesn't matter what you wanted," you huffed, turning around and glaring at him. The girl looked between the three of you like it was a tennis ball match. "I don't want to talk to you, that's why I blocked you, Lee Jeno."
"Y/N," he chuckled uneasily, shifting on his feet and his arm fell from around the girl's waist. "We—"
"I don't care," you shrugged, taking a sip of your drink, "We broke up, you're in the past, so let's leave it at that, alright?" You sent them both a sweet smile before tugging on Haechan's arm to follow you to the opposite side of the party. You didn't stop walking until you knew they could no longer see you.
"Wow," Haechan whispered in amazement, "That was so cool of you, Y/N Y/L/N!" He looked over his shoulder to see if he could see them before turning back to you. "You're seriously such a good actor, I—" He paused, blinking at you. Your head was down, staring at the ground and he blinked again. "Y/N? Are you okay?”
"No," you whispered, inhaling and exhaling. "No, I'm not okay."
Haechan didn't wait before taking your drink and setting it on the ground before pulling you into a hug, his head resting on your shoulder. His hug was warm and comforting, full of love but it still didn't help the Jeno shaped hole in your heart. Your hands clutched at the shirt of his back, shuddering breaths leaving your body and tears slipping down your face.
"I hate him," you gasped between breaths, squeezing your eyes shut as the tears continued to fall. Your heart painfully clenched in your chest and all you wanted to do was reach into your chest and tear out your heart. You wished it was possible. "I hate him! How could he do this to me? After— after everything? I loved him when he was a fucking asshole to everyone! I defended him and helped him when he couldn't even—" You stopped talking, resting your head on Haechan's body. "I wish we never met."
Haechan didn't say anything, simply squeezed his arms around your waist and let you cry your heart out. It was for the best, as always, to let you speak your thoughts and let you cry. He knew you had always been one to hold in your emotions until you just couldn't take it anymore, it happened when your grandmother died and you never cried about it or talked about her anymore. You did the exact same thing when Jeno broke up with you.
"I hate him," you murmured into his shirt as you shook your head to yourself. "I hate him so much— he's a damn, damn— traitor!"
"I know," he sighed, resting his cheek on the side of your head. "I know."
Tumblr media
sour series masterlist. masterlist. rules.
230 notes · View notes