#a little prize for those who look through the tags

[can-one-twst]

Yes, Riddle Rosehearts did in fact curse Jane Halden Foole.

The real question is what the curse entailed for poor Jane.

(A little extra tidbit, this happends before Riddle overblots, and from what you can see Halden's pen had quite a bit of blot as well.)

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #riddle #riddle rosehearts #halden #jane halden foole #halden foole #halden lore #lore comic #lore #oc lore #my art #a little prize for those who look through the tags #this is very much inspired by that owl house scene between eda and lilith #i’ll let you wonder what type of monster halden turns into #I have another drawing in the works about these two

[nexusnyx]

moment's silence

#NightSkyChallenge: Prompt 7 — The night I lost a bet. [“You know what this means, don’t you?”] [6.6k]

— Summary: Joel has no idea why Bill gifts him with the book. Had he rambled about you that much? It seemed impossible—to be fair, but surely there were other things besides your name on his tongue. Besides how much you love your books and care for them. Besides how much he's learned since he met you because of them.

Either way, the book means you lost the bet. Joel cares for very little since Outbreak day, but this—oh, this he took it to heart. You'd lost, and he intended on collecting his prize.

— A/n: Canon-divergence; Reader and Tess met Joel at the same time, and all three became a tight-knit unit. | 🏷️ Tags & warnings⚠️: explicit mature content, minors DNI; age gap, mentions of canon-typical violence, confessions, touch starved, dry humping, oral sex (m receiving), slow & deep sex, but also rough sex?, dirty talk, little spoon Joel.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤmasterlist | read on ao3

All he can think about when he sees the bookshelf is your words, even if they were spoken on a whim years ago.

"There's no fucking way you can find a classic in good conditions anymore—not even Joel 'I can find anything' Miller is immune to decay and years of nature taking over. They're all gone, Joel. I just have to accept it. I bet there's not a single one that hasn't been wrecked by either people's ignorance or fucking mold eating every single page."

He remembered those words as clear as the day's first rays of light.

Not because of them, precisely. Because of what came after. He had blurted, "Bet what?" out of sheer instinct, only for you to reply with:

"Anything."

Maybe you were being metaphorical at the time, but Joel took it seriously. He outreached his hand for you to shake. "I'll take that bet."

If he never found a book, nothing would change.

If he won, on the other hand. Well—there's something Joel's been wanting from you for a long, long time.

That's why when he enters Bill's house for the first time, Joel stops dead in his tracks on the corridor leading to the kitchen.

You'd been to the house before with him and Tess.

Just like him, you had stood outside the whole time while Tess and Frank went about their rambles and deals. You, Joel, and Bill were all cut out from the same cloth—death stares etched onto your faces as if you were marble, grumbled conversation that came up here and there between long sips of wine.

Neither you nor Joel had been inside yet.

It's the third time he visits, first one without you, and he sees it—

Bookshelf.

One of Bill's doors is open on the way to the kitchen revealing what used to be an office but now looks more like a symbiosis of an atelier and library. It's — nice, Joel guesses.

It's not his thing.

Books — those are your thing.

Joel has no idea what connects you to the pages, but he knows it runs deeper than just academic pleasure, or snobbiness (an assumption made by many who met you).

It's as if whatever elements existed within paper, inked with words that strung together beautiful stories — it moved you.

Joel was entranced by the way you were able to quote several passages.

Few things remained that were worthy of admiration, or interest. He easily placed your small and precious book collection high above on his list.

That, and your ability to bring those stories to life somehow.

"Are you a reader?" Bill's voice is expected — Joel heard his steps approaching and stopping behind him when he did.

He scanned all the shelves, so he looks back to answer Bill. "Not really. Tess never mentioned who's the little Librarian between us? Our reader's absent today."

"If my, uh... —

If mine... if they brought strangers into our situation... I wouldn't be happy either."

"Oh. Well. They seem to listen to you as well as mine listens to me."

"I hope she feels better soon." Bill says the words and they sound so real. Spoken freely, not through gritted teeth or accompanied by his usual stiff shoulders.

Joel's hands rested on his hips. "Yeah." He hated this part — with Bill and Frank it was harder to not talk about things. He was pretty sure Bill didn't even like him, just like Joel didn't like him that much, but they saw each other. Understood one another. "Yeah, me too."

"The medicine you gave — it helped." That came out through gritted teeth. Joel held back from smiling at the unspoken admission—you sold me real shit. It's saving my partner. Thanks. "Frank's talking about — lavender. Herb garden and all. God."

Joel snickers and they exchange a look. "Good luck with that."

"I'll definitely need it." Bill's hands pat his sides, and Joel recognizes his motion before bolting out of a conversation. "Feel free to look at them," he waves a hand in direction of the shelf before leaving Joel there alone.

He does look.

One by one, Joel checks the titles because if you were here, that's what you'd do, and "when in doubt, always do what you must".

He hated that your words stuck to his brain so easily.

They were sticky like honey, which also resembled your voice. Or maybe that was only the way he heard it — Joel enjoyed listening to you talk.

"When in doubt, always do what you must" came after he left behind some supplies in order to help during a run, and you'd gotten mad at him for the first time.

It was then that Joel noticed how fucking tough you were.

Complete the mission. Help when you can. Do what you must.

If he was here already, he might as well read all the titles. Who knew how long he'd last? If he'd be here again, or if you would?

When his eyes land on Frankenstein, Joel knows he hit the jackpot.

That's when the memory of your bet sparks behind his eyelids, and he's cursed with the way you smiled that day.

Anything.

There was something Joel wanted, badly.

He cut out his own permission to want anything that strayed from finding Tommy again, getting clues to somehow discover a way to find his brother, get him back, but you planted the seed in his subconscious by simply existing — he was powerless to stop it.

One second, you and Tess walked into his life.

The next, he had on one side a best friend who cursed as much as him and on the other a menace who popped into his subconscious state, giving him dreams for the first time in years.

You two brought back a sense of humanity into his day-to-day life.

In return, Joel tried his best to do good for both of you.

Keep you safe however he could. Slip extra ration cards into your stack so you could more.

Small things like that — things that he later realized were only the seeds for the want that blossomed.

Joel wanted you out of the smuggling business.

He wanted you to be safe.

It was fucking ridiculous.

Your hand never missed the trigger timing — if there was anyone around the neighborhoods he lived more skilled in knives than you, he'd eat his own hand, and you were clever.

Quick, sharp, rational.

Despite all of that, he hated the sight of your back whenever a deal had them going outside.

Every time he saw a pistol or any other weapon in your hands, he wanted to throw it away as hard as he could.

And here he was, facing Frankenstein.

Anything.

Fuck. Joel hated how he hesitated.

If it belonged to anyone else, his hands would've already made the book meet the secret parts of his backpack, but he couldn't do this to contacts so good like Frank and Bill.

He couldn't fuck up this one.

Shit.

(Maybe he did like the two men, after all. Just a little.)

Joel has no idea why Bill gifts him the book.

One minute they're sitting alone drinking scotch while Tess and Frank finish up the trade and the next, they're talking about old hobbies they regretted not paying more attention to. Conversing like two normal people. Like Tess and Frank do, only without all the niceness and excitement.

At one point, Bill asks, "Did you see anything you liked?"

It takes a second for Joel to realize he's talking about the room and the shelf. Joel shakes his head. "Wasn't a big fan of readin'." A lie, he thinks. "Even that's a stretch. I — probably should've done it more now that I think about it."

Bill's answer is a hum. "Yeah. Lots of things I wish I should've done. Properly. Piano's one of them."

Joel eyes the item in the room. He recalls you and Tess talking about how Frank was lucky to know an instrument. "Frank's good at it, though?"

"He was rustier when he arrived, but yeah — he's doing good now."

Joel admires that. Some things are probably talent, he figures. "Practice's everything. 's why I feel bad for people whose thing was, like, artsy. Y'know?" He lists you and Frank as examples. "They ain't got means to do what they really love now."

That's when Bill shares that Frank paints. Piano and drawn, painted art — that was nice. Frank probably missed a lot of things.

If what you said was true and artists withered without their art like some plants did without sun or water, then he must be sad nowadays.

The new information sparks up a memory. The abandoned art supply on Canbose with 5th Street — was it possible there were some there?

Joel kept the doubts to himself so as to not spark any hopes of things he'd fail to deliver, but the real surprise is that he and Bill have their first conversation there.

It's a nice one.

Joel loathes that his brain comes up with the knowing looks both you and Tess would give him and Bill if either of you saw the way the two men can converse so easily once the guns are gone.

Bill's — he's okay.

Rough around the edges, sure, but in polished, sturdy ways.

He's also a little box of Pandora.

The last thing Joel could expect was being called aside by Bill before he leaves with Tess, only to find him hiding behind the door waiting for him with a furtive air in his stance, as if there could be any secrets that they'd keep from theirs.

Bill extends the copy of Frankenstein without meeting Joel's eyes. "Here." He all but shoves it into Joel's hands, and then nods. "It's the one you kept touching."

There's no reason to play bargain or pretend this is a gift he's too humble to accept.

He does as he's told, thanks Bill with a long nod, and walks out.

It does beat at his mind on the walk back to the QZ, though—had he rambled about you that much?

It seemed impossible—to be fair, he always managed to keep the conversation away from himself, but surely there were other things besides your name on his tongue. Besides how much you love your books and care for them. Besides how much he's learned since he met you because of them.

Either way, the book means you lost the bet.

Joel cares for very little since Outbreak day, but this—oh, this he took it to heart. You'd lost, and he intended on collecting his prize.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤTWO DAYS LATER

The smell of your apartment envelops him every time.

Everything's open.

You keep plants hung in several places on your wall, and they're all so tall and green. Big, imponent, and your habit of walking through the place and touching one of them, sometimes going as far as plucking a leaf or petal out of them—the air suddenly turned into myrrh, lavender, eucalyptus.

Joel wished he smelled nothing other than here.

"Heard you were feelin' better," Joel says as soon as he has eyes on you.

There's more color on your cheeks. When you smile, Joel sees it reach your eyes even if it remains small in your lips. "Still feel like shit, though."

Tongue sharp as ever, then.

He chuckles and walks in as you move aside in invitation, gaze checking through the apartment as he takes off his shoes.

Joel always pays attention to everything that surrounds you.

While you ask about the trades you missed, he takes note of the spotless state of everything around him. Stainless windows, shiny floor, a sharp citrus scent lingering even around you.

Stress cleaning — check.

"Did you finish the food I gave ya?"

"Of course," you answer. Joel's happy to hear that — you ate very little on the first day you got sick, and he gave you some of his food to make sure you ate.

The two of you take a sit in the kitchen, and as you talk about work, he analyzes you better.

You had your most comfortable clothes on. They came from a box he found not long ago that was your size exactly; the shirt has wet stains on your chest, and your wet hair tells him you felt good enough today for the first time in a while.

Good enough to gather the patience to wash your hair in the sink.

"Don't mind Inoctus, you know he says that shit about the Fireflies all the time. I ain't gonna argue with him again," Joel waves a hand, and then gets to the part he wanted to talk about. "Never mind him, though — did Tess tell you about what Bill and Frank found for us? What Frank fixed?"

"No, not yet."

Excellent. "We've got some good news. Oh — and before I forget. D'you think that art supply on Canbose still has some supplies left?"

"The one that intersects with the 5th?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know. I don't see why it wouldn't have," you shrug your shoulders. "It's close enough to the QZ for it not be completely raided and I don't see who would prioritize stealing art supplies in the middle of everything." It made sense to Joel, and he felt a rare sense of giddiness tingling. "Why?"

He leans back on the chair. "Frank's a painter."

"No way."

Joel grins — you understood him. "Yes, way."

"Fucking hell. Is there anything he doesn't do?"

He laughs. "I know. I felt the same way."

"He plays the piano, he should be obliged by law to stick to that cool thing."

Joel likes it when you're feeling a little petty — the scrunch on your nose is adorable. He wants to pinch it between his fingers, even if he never did. "Anyway..." He shares the other updates about the trip to their house without you, then talks about the people who contacted him — the ones that gave him any trouble are your expertise, and Joel loves the set on your brows when you're listening.

He has no idea how someone who looks so precious can have such a wicked mind.

"She looks so — I don't know. Not this ingenious. Mean. How the fuck does someone who's always hummin' songs under her breath can intimate grown-ass man?"

"You're the only fucker who thinks she looks like an angel, Joel."

"Nah, we both know that's a lie."

"No, you're just delusional. If anyone thinks she looks angelic you better bet they're comparing her to Lucifer."

Was he? Delusional.

Tess always made him feel like he was faced with a Truth Mirror whenever he opened his big mouth around her.

After a couple of hours, you've already cooked some things — with the little help he could offer — for the both of you, taken notes of the people you need to talk to.

Joel realizes that time passes only when you.

Outside of your presence, it's all a snowball. Stale.

"Ah, shit." You get up in a rush.

"What?"

"Almost lost the time for my pills again," you mutter under your breath.

"You really need a watch." From where he sits at your kitchen table he can see your profile — the roll of your eyes. He huffs in disbelief, ignoring the feeling of his mouth tugging in the corners.

After you take your med, you sit on the couch and find his gaze from across the room. "Clean the table for me?"

Joel never says no to you.

Not for lack of want — fucking god must know how many times he's craved saying it, enunciating each letter with gusto. No.

It never came out.

He cleans the table thinking about how much he's delaying it.

The book's inside his duffel bag that remained next to your door all this time, but it weighs on his back somehow.

He did more than just clean the table as he tried pushing down the little mean jabs his mind took at itself.

You can't force her to stay outta business.

She ain't never listened to a soul in her life—who are you to tell her what to do?

Once every while, you would venture into Joel's personal space and place a finger where his brows pinched together. The first time it happened, the effect had been immediate—Joel was so shocked by the act that his whole face relaxed; not his body, though. His body froze, and he had stood there in a perfect portrayal of a statue.

You do that when he sits on the couch.

Your presence is so damn familiar to him that even lost in his own mind, he finds his way through the maze. He sits by your side, leans back, and drops his head on the couch.

When he feels your finger touching his frown, Joel opens his eyes.

"What's bothering you?" Your finger leaves, and he misses it.

Joel turns his head to the side. "Nothin'." He likes the way the color's back to your cheeks. A week on anti-inflammatory meds made you a little gray, and nothing about you was dull.

"You're a shit liar," you say.

He scoffs. "No, I'm not."

"You really are, though," you argue, fighting a smile. "And just so you know, your accent gets thicker the harder you try."

At that, he frowns. "No, it doesn't—" and fuck, he hears it. How the fuck did you notice that? His frown deepens, and you chuckle at him. "You pay attention to the strangest fuckin' things." It's said in the same gruff way he says most things, but there's enough admiration underneath it that you hear it for what it is.

"And thank god for that — it's what's kept me alive. Us alive," you snort, giving yourself the credit you're due for once.

In the end, he blurts it out. "I found it."

"Found what?" you ask, truly confused at the abrupt change.

"Something you told me I couldn't."

"That's... oddly vague," you reply. "I name a lot of things you can't find. You seem to think you have superpowers."

"No powers. Just talent." He shrugs, and gets up to retrieve the book. "What's the one thing you told me there was 'no fucking way' I could find?"

The second it takes for your brain to connect the dots is the time Joel needs to find the copy in his bag.

Joel sees your eyes dropping to it when he turns around. Widening. Freezing that way. Your lips parting only a couple of inches as your jaw slowly drops.

He sits with more satisfaction on your couch than he's sat anywhere in a long time.

The book falls with a soft thud between your bodies.

All the space he puts between you two is replaced by it —

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein.

"You know what this means, don't you?" he asks.

When you look up, Joel's caught off guard.

The moisture in your eyes shines under the light coming from your kitchen. Joel's throat becomes restricted by an invisible force, and his eyes sting in response to the sight.

"What the fuck, Joel?" your hands pick up the book with a reverence that makes his skin tingle. "Where... how —" both times you start, then stop. "My god." He just watches. You turn the book around, eyeing every millimeter. "This is real," you mutter. He's aware you're not even talking to him at this point. "Have you—" you look up at him, and he feels special enough, "have you opened it? Are the pages—it's whole?"

The way you breathe out the word.

A reverence. So sacred.

Joel might as well consider the bet paid if he wasn't so far gone on what he wants.

Kind of.

"It's whole," he confirms.

Joel almost opens up his mouth to make a teasing remark. Ask if you'd like to be left alone with it, maybe. Instead, he lets you examine it to your heart's will, which takes a while.

He's always comfortable in the silence with you.

That's when he started realizing the trouble he was in.

When he came over just to sit at the same table as you. Have dinner in silence while you cleaned your guns. Sometimes, he'd imagine a bottle of scotch would make the two of you end up in whispered conversations under the dim, yellowish lights of your place, but it never happened.

Joel's too much of a coward to let his guard down with you.

He wouldn't be able to do what he did with the others — a sweet release in the dark; an impersonal match of bodies, mingled in sweat and joined in more ways than it should seem possible, but never looking each other in the eye.

You looked him straight into his soul when you spoke to him. Every time.

"This means... you won the bet," you say.

Joel blinks out of his thoughts. "Sure does."

"So." You put the book down gently on your lap, then gaze at him, eyes piercing into his. "What d'you want?"

Tough question. Joel felt the tingle that never left his skin covering him from head to toe. His throat constricts around the words — his body starts to heat up. He shakes his head, and is overwhelmed by how the air seems to charge between you both. He licks his lips, and says.

Like a coward, his eyes fall on Frankenstein before he speaks.

"Can't have what I want." The naked truth. What's the point of lying to you, anyway? You're a shit liar. "So I'll ask for a close second," he adds quickly. Something magnetic pulls at him, and he looks up — a mistake. Fucking mistake—you never looked at him this way. Is that red on your cheeks? "I — uh; I want a voucher. A veto power."

You blink, utterly confused. "What?"

"A veto power over you." It's the closest he could think of on his way here. Some kind of power, since Joel has no right to demand anything from you. "On a decision. I—If you said you're comin' on a mission, for example. I could say 'no. Veto.' and that'd be it. No arguments. I want a veto card over you. Just one."

You stare at him for a few seconds, and Joel can almost see the engines in your brain turning.

Joel sometimes feels you're more than just yourself. The eyes on your head see far beyond what's in front of them, and he feels naked quite often when in front of you.

"Just tell me what you want," you say.

Can't have what I want, he told you. He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter."

"How would you know?"

"I just do," he argues.

"Maybe you're wrong."

"I'm not!" The storm swirls and lifts him from the couch. Joel turns his back to you, overcome by the reality of it all. "I know I'm not. There isn't—what I want is impossible. There's no such thing anymore. It ain't like the books, or finding fucking chocolate or—it ain't. I wanted you safe. How fuckin' stupid is that—" he chokes on air, gasping around the words. "There's no safe anymore." Softer, and lower, it comes out again. "There's no safe."

Most of the time, Joel's control is kept on a tight leash. His hands have a vicious grip around it because if he loosens it, it'll run off.

His hands are shaking now. He should turn back to face you, to see if he's just said too much or fucked it up somehow, but—you get up. He hears the squeaking of the couch and your steps approaching.

Then, as slowly as you approached him when you first met, he feels it:

Your hands slide around his middle. Your palms spread across his back and contour his waist, and you're hugging him—you hug him from behind, and Joel's chest expands with the air that your presence brings.

"Joel." You hug tighter. He can feel your upper body pressed against his back, and his hands come up to rest on top of yours, shaking as they are. He wants to speak up, but you beat him to it. "I thought I was going crazy, Joel."

Crazy? He is going crazy. You're wrapped around him and the world is yet to implode; Joel feels a knot in his throat that wasn't there before. "Why?"

It hits him — the answer.

Before you're able to say it hits him in the chest, because your hands grip him by the ribcages but not with force; all your fingers need to do is apply gentle pressure on him and Joel feels that you want him to move, so he lets you.

You spin him inside your hold, and Joel goes willingly.

When he's turned and facing you, the answer is there, all over your face.

Your hands stay on his back, but your eyes are searching on every inch of his face for any sign, for anything to deter you from what you want to do.

Joel sees it. He is delusional.

"I want the impossible too," you say. It comes out in a soft whisper, and Joel mentally curses all the moments of silence between you two where he felt the air as palpable as you inside his arms right now. When you looked at him, almost through him, and he turned a blind eye to it in fear that it was exactly what he wanted and craved for. "Is it — too much?"

He's incapable of answering.

His hands come up to your face, and he fits his palm on the set of your jar, where his thumb can touch your cheeks.

You melt to the touch, eyes closing along the way.

All those times you two shared a laugh and a look, and the silence hung in the air as your eyes were unable to leave each other — this. It could've been this.

"Tell me to stop and I will," is all he can say before he dives.

Joel meets you underwater.

The same way you're drowning in his hands with all of your weight supported on his body, Joel submerges as his mouth meets your kiss.

It's a waiting game — you were waiting for the moment he'd realize, he thinks.

Joel may be out of touch with reality itself, but some things can pierce through different dimensions.

Raw things never fail to elicit the strongest form of feeling and your desire pulls him under—real, demanding.

Although he remembers being a vocal partner in bed, he has no words or taunting remarks for you—he'd rather kiss.

Your mouth parts so eagerly for him that Joel wants to shut up.

He has you shutting up, moaning in his mouth as his tongue slides on yours. His fingers grip tighter on your hair. Your arms cling to him, then both of them let go to wrap around his shoulders instead, and Joel feels the despair as you climb up higher, as you press your body harder against him.

He understands it. Empathizes, even — he's feeling it on him the same way.

Your desperate, wet kisses rekindle connections long lost in his brain.

Joel remembers the desperate and insane horniness of youth when hormones mix with inexperience and everything feels new and like a raw, open nerve.

This tastes like those moments.

It'd been so long since Joel was touched and your hands start a mapping of his body that start to get him drunk.

It hits him that it's you. He's kissing you, and you're kissing back with so much force that he has no air, there's no air in his lungs—

He pulls back, gasping, and feels your nails digging into his scalp. The moan scratches the back of his throat and Joel only notices his eyes are still closed when your forehead touches his and your breath starts mingling with his.

Opening his eyes is a blessing. And a curse, most likely.

Seeing your mouth swollen and puffy makes him greedy.

Then — "Are you stopping?" you ask. Hoarse voice. Breathless. "I didn't tell you to stop," you add, whining.

Joel picks you up in one motion, and the laughter that bubbles out of your chest reminds him that you're light — you're the ghost that pops up in his dreams shining with the pink hue of sundown and you're the hope of his mornings, the scent of coffee and pages and herbs that make him feel like this earth could still have a sense of home even if he denies that fact, gritting his teeth at the fact the world still goes on.

He pins you against the nearest wall. One without a shelf, or furniture.

With you pressed against the wall, he has better support. He can trace your thighs with his palm, can get his hands underneath your cotton shorts, your blouse.

"Are you trying to kill me?" you ask him. Your head hits the wall behind you, and Joel looks up to see you watching him as he maps you. You visibly swallow when your gazes meet, and Joel wants to say so fucking much, but nothing comes out at first.

All he wants is to make the pink on your lips become permanent.

He wants to rip every item of clothing on you with his hands, and wants to —

"Joel," you lean forward, capturing his lips in a kiss and stealing all the images he had of you pinned on your own wooden floor, cheeks pressed against it as he took you from behind.

When your tongue meets his, Joel feels something snapping.

He growls into the kiss, both of his hands groping your asscheeks as he desperately grinds his hips against your body.

This kiss is even better than the first, even if it kills all of his oxygen faster.

Joel never kissed like this. Not this messy, this wet and sloppy mess of need, and dry humping, and swallowing your moans only to have them be echoed back to you when you grind your hips down in the perfect way—

When he pulls back for air this time, Joel grips your head by the hair, making a fistful at your nape.

"This is not just now, is it?" he asks. His own voice sounds like sandpaper and pure lust, and he's not even beginning.

"No, no," you shake your head. "I need you, Joel."

"Fuckin' hell," he has more to say, but now he needs you naked. "'m gonna take off your clothes. Then I'm gonna eat your pussy 'cause I've thought about it too many fuckin' times." Your jaw falls open at him, and Joel smiles despite himself. "Yeah. You gonna let me, baby? Hm?"

Your only answer is to nod desperately, grinding against him as your eyes close.

Joel's in heaven. "Did I win what I want?" he asks.

"What?"

"My veto," he pulls you away from the wall and starts carrying you to your bedroom. "I still want it. Can't have the impossible but I can have a veto."

You laugh as he kicks your door open. "You want a fucking veto? Joel, all you have to do is hold me by the chin and say 'no' or 'yes' and I'd do it. It's that simple. Always have been. " You grab his face between your hands and pierce him with those All Seeing Eyes. "I'll give you your veto, if that's what you want." You kiss his lips, sighing softly. "'m sorry I can't promise you I'll be safe, but I can promise I'll try."

Joel knows he's about to do something that can't be taken back when he lies you down.

He nods just so you know he understood, but the knot's formed again and if he speaks, Joel will cry — the words wouldn't come out anyway, even if he wants to say them.

Joel's unsure if they haven't been burned out of his tongue.

He takes off your clothes one by one. Ironic for someone who wanted them ripped to pieces not a minute ago, but to have you laid in front of him soothes the desperation somehow.

His plans get interrupted, though, because once you're naked and all of his brain is mushed into nothing but skin skin you you touch touch touch, you stop him from kneeling down at the edge of the bed with a touch and one request, "You too?" your gaze is so open and vulnerable that his hands go to his shirt. "No — lemme. Please."

Joel does, and you do the same to him, taking his clothes off one by one.

When you drop to his knees in front of him, Joel is powerless.

He's too stunned to say or do anything but look.

Even his hands that itch to touch only manage to do so when they're flying for some support so his knees don't buckle and he falls — you grab his cock by the base with one hand, look up until his eyes are locked on yours, and then licks a wet stripe from his balls to the tip.

Then you do it again, and again, until Joel's coated in saliva, and you can suck around the tip, swallowing him down in one go.

He grips your hair for life support, cursing under his breath.

Joel's vocal about how much you're fucking killing him.

You go at it slowly, which is even more torture, but he gets it. He remembers you talking about not being with a person for the longest time. How it made no difference for you to have the physical or not because the attraction wasn't there unless there something underneath it — for someone who's out of practice, you must have the knowledge.

Your tongue runs on the sensitive skin between the dick and his balls, your mouth suctions when it's taking him down and when you start bobbing your head, using your hand to cover the parts your mouth can't reach, Joel has to physically pull you back.

"Stop, stop —" his hand on your hair pulls you back, and Joel curses again when you whine at having to let go. "'m gonna fuck you, baby, it's okay, 's okay," he gets you up by the neck, and is kissing you right after.

That's how he falls in bed with you — with his cock leaking pre-cum, his back already coated in sweat and your mouth tasting like him.

Joel eases the fall with his hand, not wanting to crush you with his weight. He wants to eat you out — Joel wants to bury his face in you, but when he makes a move to go down, your legs clamp around his waist and your head starts shaking.

You pull back from his kiss, "No — later, you can do that later, just — please," you guide your hand between your bodies to hold him and guide his cock to your entrance. "Waited too long, Joel."

I need you, Joel.

"Wait, wait — " it'll be over too fast if he sees you all the time. Joel has an idea. "A position that's better for you first. I wanna see you too, but I want you to feel good. Turn around for me."

"You want me on all fours?"

"No," he shakes his head. "Just turn around."

You obey him, and Joel grabs one of your pillows to push under your waist. You rest your cheek on the one under your head, and he positions himself first before crowding your space with his head on the crook of your neck.

He dips his fingers in first, spreading your wetness all over you before lining up.

It's sinful how good the position is.

He fills you up, bottoming all the way out. Joel's thick, but not too long, and he knows this angle is as good for you as it is for him. "Feels good?" he asks in your ear.

Your only response is his name.

"Is that a yes?" he pulls all the way out, and slams it back in, wanting to feel the drag. Wanting to feel your walls clamping around him. How you open up to accommodate all of him. "'Cause you feel like — fuckin' heaven, baby — louder, say it louder —"

"Feels amazing, Joel," you cry.

He knows it does. Joel hasn't felt anything remotely close to pleasure in a long time, so this might be too much, he might be in danger of growing an addiction, but he's past caring.

He drags it out.

Joel wanted to fuck you senseless a while ago, but now all he wants is to stay buried in the tight and warm haven of your cunt until you're both too spent to move a muscle. "'m gonna stay — all fuckin' night — inside you, baby — hm, whaddaya think?"

"Yes, please—"

"God, I love — that's all you can say to me."

"Don't stop," you cry out louder.

"I won't." He couldn't.

He doesn't want to. He doesn't.

Joel thrusts into you slow, measured and deep, until the heat in his groin is climbing like your nails digging at his sides. He loses count of how many times he sucks on your shoulders, how many bite marks you must have on your neck, of how many single-worded compliments he spills in your ears as he fucks the words out of you.

When you beg to cum, Joel flips you over and hoists your leg higher so he can go in deeper, and he fucks you the way you've been begging him to — crying around his fingers for harder, and faster, Joel, please, please, I'm not gonna break —

He gives it to you like both of you have been dying to receive, and when your legs start shaking around him and his name drops from your lips in a scream, Joel pulls out, coating your stomach in the hot strings of his cum.

He doesn't collapse on top of you, which is a miracle.

He does lay strategically next to you in order to avoid his own mess until he's able to feel his legs again.

Your fingers thread his hair during that time.

The spasms of your legs make him smile, and the little hums that leave you without you even realizing make Joel float on his bliss.

When he comes back to himself, he gets up to get a warm towel. He cleans you both, just enough so sleeping is okay. He pulls up the duvet and puts you underneath it before climbing under as well.

When he lays, Joel expects you to turn around;

Instead, you wrap around him in octopus style, and whisper, "Turn around."

He obeys, and is rewarded by you spooning him.

Joel thinks he might be dreaming.

"Are you gonna be here tomorrow?" you ask after a while.

Your bodies are as tangled as they can be. Your hands caress the hairs on his chest and your breath is on his neck, and still, you are stared he'll leave.

"D'you want scrambled eggs or you prefer the toast?" he replies.

There's a kiss on his neck. Another on his shoulder. He grabs one of your hand to pull it to his lips, and kisses it.

"Scrambled."

"'kay. Where d'you keep your sugar? I can never find it."

"I'll show you tomorrow," you kiss his shoulder, and squeeze his body. "Joel?"

"Yeah, baby?"

He can feel your smile because your lips are on his skin. He's gonna use that more, he thinks. "I might wake up rubbing myself all over you," you whisper.

He laughs. "Fine by me."

🏷️ @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeia — @earthtocharlene — @levylovegood — @lavenderhhze — @gracie7209 — @waywardwolfbonklight — @shadytalething — @sanzusmile —@yesimwriting — @celestialstar111 💖

⚠️ if anyone being tagged would like to not be, just let me know in my inbox (which you can also use to talk to me about all the appeals of Joel Miller with his hair slicked back, you know... or what you thought of this one.. just saying... <3

#usernexusnyx #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller drabble #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #nightskychallenge #joel miller fanfiction

[munsonslove]

Five Times (part one: 1-3)

(18+ only)

summary: A stressful day at work leads to Eddie promising to make you cum over and over until your head is empty.

wordcount: 4.7k

tags/warnings: fem!sub!reader, dom!Eddie, established relationship, smut, dumbification, degradation, praise kink, choking, spitting in mouth, hair pulling, biting, squirting, overstim, dacryphilia, fingering (fem receiving), oral (fem receiving), he’s kinda mean in this but like in a you want him to be a lil mean to you way not like he’s an actual asshole way

a/n: listen. i’ve had a very stressful year and the idea of just being allowed to be dumb and not have to worry about anything is very appealing. part 2 with more smut to come...

Today marked the one month anniversary since your (well deserved) promotion. You could finally say with confidence that your career was more than just taking notes and getting coffee for those in higher up positions. Still, this growth came with hard work, late nights, stress, and snide remarks from the men at the office who chalked your success up to low cut shirts worn around the boss. Which is ridiculous cause you’re not even sure that man had ever seen your clavicle, much less any cleavage.

Thankfully, this stress subsided by your wonderful relationship. Although Eddie loved and respected you, he knew that sometimes the responsibilities of adult life weighed on you like a million tons. He genuinely thought you were one of the smartest and most impressive people he’s ever met, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give you what you needed. And what you needed was an escape from the overthinking and worrying- permission to turn your brain off and give yourself over to pleasure. 

There was a tell you subconsciously gave when your psyche craved that escape: when you pass through the entranceway of your shared home and Eddie comes to welcome you at the door, instead of greeting him with a smile and hug, you simply keep your arms limp at your sides as you collapse into him and bury your face in his neck.

That’s precisely how your arrival happened this evening, and Eddie wasted no time in wrapping his arms around you as he tenderly kissed your temple and led you to the bedroom. Along the way, he spoke no words as he helped you strip yourself of the restricting uniform of your day to day life. Heels are abandoned at the front door, a few feet from them a discarded blazer, then a little farther down the hallway was a crumpled pile of nylon that was once stockings. 

Now inside the room, Eddie sat you down on the edge of the mattress as his nimble fingers undid the buttons of your blouse and unhooked your slightly-too-tight underwire bra. Once your top half was completely bare, you laid back and lifted your hips up so that he could slide your skirt and panties down your legs in one quick motion.

As you settled into bed and got comfortable, Eddie tossed the worn clothes to the side and looked down at you with dark eyes. After flashing a crooked grin, he climbed onto the bed and rested on his knees. Kneeling before you, he starts laughing quietly.

“Well, well, well,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “Look at this pretty little prize I have all to myself.”

He didn’t permit any talking yet, so you remain silent. Instead, you laid there in anticipation while waiting impatiently for his next move. His calloused fingers leave goosebumps in their wake as he trails them from your belly button to your waist. When they reach the end of their journey, his hands suddenly grip with determination as he moves you how he pleases. Your body is pliant and powerless while he arranges you the way he needs you to be, something that he is glaringly proud about.

“You’re tired of pretending, aren’t you? Pretending you’re not my mindless little doll?” he murmurs with a smirk, and your thighs instinctively twitch to shut from the wave of arousal his tone sends through you. “Well, I doubt I could fuck the stupid out of you, but I can try.”

His assured, unwavering certainty was soul shattering. What once was hesitant enthusiasm is now teetering on full blown alarm when memories flood your brain of your doting boyfriend nearly bruising your pelvis from the valor he exhibited in washing away your bad days with orgasms. That turning in your stomach only heightened your senses, pulling feeble whimpers out of you with embarrassingly minimal contact. 

“My pretty girl,” he tutted with a mischievous lilt. “Need me to turn that brain off, huh? How about you let me play with you?”

You nod in response as the butterflies in your stomach turn violent and almost make you feel sick. Finally, all thoughts of whether or not paperwork was filled out correctly and filed in the right places are gone, and the only thing you can think of is Eddie’s burning hot touch on your skin.

“Wha’sa matter? Can’t use your big girl words?” he asks, slurring a bit as the lust clouds his senses. “That’s alright, I’ll do all the talking. Just focus on turning off that brain,” his voice is now growing low and raspy, and you feel his fingers twitching on your waist as he resists the itch to touch you. “That’s what you’re best at, isn’t it? Being my sweet, dumb girl. The only thing you’re good at is being a drooly little mess for me.”

What he’s saying should be demeaning, but it only makes you more turned on. His grip loosens as his fingernails scratch their way down toward your center. When he reaches your mound, just above your slickened lips, he slows down. Obviously, he wants to make you desperate enough that he can watch you squirm.

“Nnngh,” you whine, exasperated. “Eddie, please…”

“Needy fucking slut,” he chastises, but his eyes reveal more amusement than authority. He has to hold back the huff of laughter that threatens its way up his throat as he continues. “You’re gonna wait like the good girl I know you are. You wanna know how I know?”

Your eyebrows pinch together as you try to not cry from the frustration, and you make a small humming noise while shrugging your shoulders.

“Because,” he starts as his fingers finally make contact with your aching cunt. They slide easily along your folds, causing a choked gasp in reaction from you. “Only good girls have wet pussies like this. That’s my proof- good girls have wet, dripping pussies. And you’re always dripping for me, aren’t you, princess?”

“Mhm,” you agree as your legs open wider. The amount of concentration it takes to not buck your hips into his touch is overwhelming, but you manage to bear it. “Oh, please Eds. Need it so bad.”

“I know you do, sweetheart,” he cooed patronizingly, leaving one short peck between your furrowed brows. “But do you deserve it?”

Your toes are starting to cramp by the force they’re curling in with. “I- I think I-“

“You don’t think, you obey,” he corrects sternly, cutting off your stuttering. “You’re a brainless toy for me to use, don’t you know that?”

“Yes, yes I know,” you moan while nodding your head harder, hoping that your compliance will make him want to speed up his process.

Your plan succeeds, but not as much as you’d ideally hope. Eddie’s curious touches migrate from skimming up and down your slit to rubbing at the very top, effectively granting your clit just enough pressure to have you wanting more. A few stray tears fall from their ducts out of relief, and velvet soft lips wipe the moisture away before you even detected it. The rough pad of his middle finger glides smoothly around the bud thanks to your wetness- pushing it up, down, and side to side with ease. His other hand is pressed flat against the inside of your thigh, both holding your legs open and occasionally caressing comfortingly.

“This cute little button needed some attention, did it? Are you happy now? Done being a whiny fucking brat?” he asks, chuckling mockingly. You’re writhing and sighing, almost too distracted to respond, but you do manage to nod your head. Eddie’s not satisfied with your wordless answer.

“Getting dumber already?” he goes on to add, and his hand freezes between your legs. “I asked you a question, silly girl.” Though trying to portray total control, you can tell he’s suppressing a smile.

“Y- yes!” you supply shakily, your stutter making your panic apparent. “I’m s- sorry. I’m done being a br- brat.”

Eddie tsks three times, as if scolding a pet. The implication of that has you shuddering once again. His hand continues its ministrations. “And what do we say, hmm?”

“Thank you!” you gasp out as his pressure and speed both increase. “Oh, thank you.” Your calves tremble, despite how still you’re trying to keep them. 

“God, look how messy this little hole is for me. She’s fucking begging for my fingers. I think she’s gonna cum real fast, how ‘bout you?” he asks, his eyes glazing over as he languidly strokes your sensitive clit. “Stay still now, baby.”

But it’s impossible to not squirm as Eddie pinches and rolls the nub between his fingers. He’s ruthless and tooth-rottingly sweet all at once. You wriggle in his hold, your muscles jerking of their own accord, rutting your hips into his expert touch. Weight pushes you deeper into the mattress, forcing you to still- per his previous instructions.

“I know, princess, I know,” he comforts. “It’s hard to follow orders when your brain is so empty. Just keep those pretty eyes on me. You can at least do that, can’t you?”

You fight to not let your heavy eyelids flutter shut. It’s a struggle, but Eddie’s eyes being laser focused on yours makes it slightly easier. As he continues rubbing your clit so perfectly, his other hand moves to cradle your jaw. His thick thumb frees your bottom lip from where it was trapped between your teeth, and breaks the barrier into your more than willing mouth. He presses down on your tongue, just far back enough to slightly trigger your gag reflex but careful to not cause too much discomfort. Then his hand retreats, breaking the trance that had you fixated on his hypnotic gaze. 

You whimper a weak protest as your tongue extends over your chin and attempts to follow his fingers. This effort brings your head a couple inches off the pillow, only to have it slammed back down when he unexpectedly grabs your throat. The cool metal of his rings are a stark contrast to your heated skin. With his palm now pushing into your windpipe, you let out a puff of air in shock and wrap your hands around his wrists. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t breathe?” he asks, but the way he says it suggests that he doesn’t actually care. He’s clearly enjoying the way you’re currently clawing at his forearm.

You try to plead for mercy, but can’t find the power to form a sentence beyond weak gasps for air. All you can do is try to blink away the blur in your vision as your head gets hazier and hazier.

He responds with a merciless laugh, then loosens his grip just enough to allow oxygen to enter your lungs once more before leaning forward and spitting into your still open mouth without warning. The force of it hits your tongue and causes his spit to splatter onto the roof of your mouth. You can’t help the volume of the broken moan that involuntarily leaves you. You also can’t help the way your hips buck up- making his fingers slip from your clit, which only turns your satisfied groan into a distressed whine.

“Poor thing,” he hums while putting on a faux-sympathetic pout, his lower lip jutting out sarcastically and his eyebrows upturning. 

He leans down to gently kiss your cheek, so light and quick that you barely even feel it. All you can focus on is his weight on top of you, chest pressed to yours with his arm wedged in between so that he can continue lazily toying with your clit, much to your relief. Eddie’s nose trails along your cheekbone until his hot, humid breath is tickling your ear. Lips move against your earlobe as he whispers his next words.

“Do you even realize how fucking pathetic you look right now?” he asks. “You probably don’t care though. Too much of a desperate fucking slut. Say it.”

“I’m a desperate slut,” you immediately comply.

The hand being used to lightly choke you breaks contact for a moment, only long enough for Eddie to push himself up onto his knees, before returning to its place on your neck. From there, he can comfortably look down at you while he continues to squeeze your neck and bring you closer to orgasm.

He grins at you like he’s proud, eyes wet and sentimental. It almost sounds loving the way he says, “That’s right. My desperate slut.”

Everything’s gone fuzzy. Any outside stimulant other than the man on top of you can’t reach your senses. It was like the two of you were covered in a heavy blanket, instead of being in the cool open air of your shared bedroom. The rest of the world felt so distant- a million miles away- that you couldn’t even remember any of the stresses that were previously bothering you. The pressure Eddie is applying to your throat isn’t tight enough to drastically affect your airflow anymore, so he and you both know that this is just the natural effect he has on you.

“Are you there so soon? I’ve already rubbed your mind away?” He sounds almost disappointed as he shakes his head disapprovingly. “We just started. Why do you have to be such a greedy whore?”

You know he’s just playing into his role. You know he doesn’t really mean it, and that he’s only trying to help ease you more into the headspace you crave so badly. But still, you feel the overwhelming urge to do whatever it takes for him to call you a good girl.

“I’m sorry. I can hold it,” you try to assure, without being entirely sure that it’s the truth. The tightness in your stomach is growing at an alarming rate.

“Don’t bother,” he tells you, sarcastically exaggerating a bored sigh. “What, you didn’t think I was gonna let you off that easy, did you? Surely even you aren’t that dumb.” His face leans dangerously close to yours as he emphasizes that last ‘you’, and his voice turns low and threatening. “I’m gonna make you cum a minimum of five times tonight, might as well get one over with now.”

And with that guarantee, you feel the dam break. He never even got around to fingering you, but you had a suspicion that that was next on the list. Rough kneading at your breast and lips once again attaching themself to your pulse point is what tipped you off that he had finally released your throat. Your head was thrown back- giving his mouth easy access- and your knees bent as your thighs squeezed together tight, trapping him there. Though, the quiet sound of your breathy moans and beauty of your scrunched up face made him want to stay there forever, so he personally wouldn’t describe it as ‘trapped’. 

“Good girl,” he growls, sounding crazed and cruel. “Look so cute like this. Sound so cute too. Like a fucking pathetic slut.”

His left hand began pinching at your nipples while the right’s movement on your clit remained throughout the duration of your climax, not ending until teary begging for him to stop alerted him to your overstimulation. He decided to allow you a moment to breathe, but only briefly. As your chest rises and deflates rapidly, your earlier suspicion proved true. Eddie’s vow of at least five orgasms was no empty promise, it was an oath. His middle finger slid eagerly down your puffy lips until reaching your entrance, where you promptly stopped him.

“Eddie, wait!” you exclaim, pushing his still determined hands away and attempting to cover your mound with your own. “I can’t cum again so soon!”

He outright scoffs at that, finally tearing his attention away from the area you’re pointlessly failing to defend to stare at you incredulously. “Now princess, we both know that’s not true. Who are you trying to fool?”

To an outsider this might seem mean, but you know that one utterance of your safeword would have Eddie’s dominance melting away in an instant. Truthfully, his dedication to ruin you with a second orgasm so closely followed by the first only excited you more- something that is no secret to him. You were still nervous about what he was going to do to you though, and this was made apparent from the way you crossed one ankle over the other- effectively shielding yourself from his touch.

“Aw, is someone shy?” he asked, feigning sympathy. You nod, but it’s ineffective at changing his mind. “I don’t care. Spread your legs.”

You didn’t set out to follow his order so willingly. His brash way of speaking had your body moving without any input from your brain, shifting each ankle to opposite sides of the mattress and baring yourself to him unabashedly despite your inner modesty.

“You’re mean,” you complained with an exaggerated frown, downplaying the rush of wanting that soared through you.

“Yeah?” he snickered as his hand returned to its spot between your legs, coating the slick from your previous orgasm on his fingers before forcing them deep inside you all at once. “Well you’re wet.”

Without warning, the two middle fingers of his right hand bury themselves to the hilt before curling upward, expertly finding their favorite spot inside you within seconds. The small band on his ring finger pushed past the threshold of your opening, entering into you. It was insultingly obvious the way you could differentiate the cool, smooth metal from his warm, rough skin. You could even feel the ridge where bare skin now became shielded by silver jewelry. That bump and the sensations it caused on your sensitive inner walls were so addicting. The intensity was almost too much to brave, but after all this time you trusted Eddie to know your limits even better than you did. 

His free hand finds purchase on your waist, holding firmly as if to silently instruct you to stay still. Whispered curses slip through your gritted teeth, and they only slightly assist you in enduring the direct targeting of your g-spot. While you couldn’t see his expression, you had a feeling the sight of you wiping away the water pooling at your eyes was only stirring Eddie more.

“Keep crying,” he says, trying to sound intimidating but unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. “Not that it’ll get you anywhere, but you look real pretty crying under me.”

“Please, please I wanna-“ you start, only to be interrupted by your own abrupt gasp when he begins moving. He’s pumping in and out of you at a pace that- while not slow- he’s well aware won’t be enough.

“Christ, do you hear yourself? ‘P-p-p-please,” he mocks, mimicking your expression. His condescending tone lacked any compassion, despite the grin that betrayed his features afterwards.

“Please, Eddie,” you try again, hoping that he’ll hear your overwhelming lust and take pity. “I wanna cum on your cock.”

“Oh? What happened to ‘I can’t cum again’, hm?” he asks. He does seem to feel a little sorry for his teasing, however, seeing as he hastens to what he’s discovered in the past to be the perfect tempo for you. “You’ll get my cock when I say you can have my cock and you’ll be grateful.”

All you’re able to do is nod in agreement, being far too weakened to fight back anymore. Eddie’s perfect aim has his fingers finding your g-spot with each forward lunge of his arm, and it’s barreling you toward another orgasm far too quickly. The muscles in your neck move involuntarily, and you steal one last glance at your lover before your head is thrown back completely. He’s watching you, eyes wide with adoration- which would fill your heart if past experiences didn’t tell you that meant for a very long night (and a very sore morning). 

The crown of your skull is flat on the pillow beneath your head as a long guttural groan escapes from somewhere deep within. Your fated second climax of the night shows no remorse, stealing all the breath from your lungs and leaving your legs shaking. Eddie also lacks remorse, his fingers never losing speed as your walls clench around them. Arousal gushed over his hand and onto the sheets, leaving a sticky mess that you were too gone to care about. His comforting touch settles over your spasming diaphragm in an halfhearted attempt to help calm you after you start to thrash, but the way he drags your orgasm out with quite a few more thrusts than necessary proves how much he is enjoying this.

“There you go, princess,” he purrs. “Feel all of it, you deserve it.”

It was like your body had become too tight, cramping your stomach from the strong contractions. Simultaneously, it was also as if you were exploding out of your goosebump-littered skin. While somewhat sensing the strain of your vocal chords, you couldn't recognize the voice echoing profanity throughout the room. All you could manage to focus on was the sound of Eddie coaxing you through your comedown, his usual baritone barely audible as he shushed you and stroked your hair.

“Catch your breath baby, nice and slow. We’re not done yet,” he murmured softly, the devious glint in his eyes returning when his promise sent an obvious shiver down your spine.

“Such a good little slut,” he praised, “Probably have no idea how fucking hard you’re making me right now. Don’t have much ideas about anything, really, other than how bad you wanna be fucked stupid.”

“So bad,” you agreed, barely able to comprehend what was being said to you. “So, so bad.”

Confusion floods you when he rolls his eyes at your response. There’s a quiet muttering coming from his moving lips, something sounding like ‘... -proving my point,’ but you’re too caught up in the way he closes the distance between his and your mouths.

Time stills as you allow his kiss to absorb you and melt your mind. You’re not sure exactly how long it took until he determined that you were ready for more, but you suspected that he was purposely granting you time to recover before enacting his next course of action (ever the gentleman no matter how inexplicably turned on him disrespecting you made you feel). He kissed you breathless until that ache in your bones returned, the need for him coming back in full force. After what could have been minutes or hours, Eddie parted from your still desperate body.

He pushed himself off of you leisurely before positioning you horizontally across the bed. Hands sank into the dip of your waist, seizing both sides of your torso and dragging your pelvis to the very edge of the mattress. Then, he fell to his knees on the carpet and hooked your legs over his shoulders. His arms wrap around from the underside of your thighs, holding them in place and leaving no room for resistance. Now that he had you exactly how he wanted you, he mouthed at the delicate skin of your inner thighs- gentle nips and kisses to the left before switching and unexpectedly biting down on the flesh of the right. You yelp at the unexpected sting, and though he was careful not to draw blood, there will surely be a darkened mark replicating the shape of his canines there the next day.

“Is my girl ready for number three?” he asks, smiling up at you looking entirely too sure of himself, yet somehow remaining endearing. “Gonna drain what little is left inside that pretty head. Gonna make you lose some IQ points.”

You’re now completely engulfed in euphoria, the natural high from an overproduction of hormones in your brain is incomparable to any substance you’ve sampled before. While still distracted trying to control your smiling in this loopy state, Eddie takes the opportunity to catch you by surprise. He licks a long stripe up your glistening sex, spanning from your leaking hole to your swollen clit.

Ditzy giggles are interrupted by a choked gasp, and the bed sheets loosen from the corners when your hands grasp at them and pull. This reaction produces a smirk from the man between your legs. You feel his lips stretch wide, the movement slightly lifting your clitoral hood and allowing access for his teeth to scrape against the sensitive bundle of nerves underneath. It’s too much, and you instinctively try to scoot backwards, only to be reminded that he’s holding you in place. Though obviously aware of your attempts to escape his busy mouth, he shows no signal that he plans to ease up. 

His technique shifts from long flat licks into stiffening the very tip of his tongue and flicking it back and forth over your clit. He keeps this up until you’re squirming under him, only to relax his tongue once more and allow the muscle to melt against your center. It’s messy and uncalculated, and you can feel his drool dripping down over your ass and wetting the sheets even more. You’re not surprised the simple act of eating you out has Eddie salivating, he’s been obsessed with getting his mouth on you whenever possible since the beginning of your relationship. In fact, for those first few months, it was pretty much a guarantee that he would cum in his pants like a teenager anytime he gave you head.

Like a psychic, Eddie moves away from your clit right as the build up begins. But before you can whine any complaints, he starts fucking his tongue in and out of your hole. When you look down at him through hooded eyes you’re almost shocked at the sight of him completely engrossed in your pussy, his cheeks covered in your wetness with eyes screwed shut. The underside of his nose and his chin press harshly against you as he tries to push his tongue out as far as it’ll go.

He’s moaning into you, clearly enjoying the taste. For a brief moment you feel slightly jealous, wishing to have him in your mouth as well. You forget all envy, however, when he pushes further into you and shakes his head left to right, the vibrations from his moans present as ever.

The force with which his fingers dig into your flesh is sure to bruise the fat of your thighs, but you don’t notice the burn it’s causing until after being released. He looks up at you through his lashes and you watch as his tongue leaves your hole. With a devilish glare, he spits harshly directly on your clit before returning to licking and sucking it, the entire time his eyes never moving from your face. One arm unwraps itself from around your thigh so that he can extend out his pointer and middle fingers before plunging them into you. The other hand disappears to where your eyes can’t follow- but given how his moans picked up in ferocity, you were certain about what he was doing. Not only did his palming of himself make him louder, but it had his tongue pulsating against you and shoving you further over the edge to your orgasm. 

All hope of lasting longer was lost when he curled his fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion, forgoing fucking them in and out to instead massage the spongy spot inside you. This, coupled with the way his lips were now focused on suckling your clit, had you tugging at his curls while you yelled out in pleasure.

This many orgasms so quickly after one another was slightly painful, but in a confusing way that only made you crave him inside you even more. Using your grip on his hair to yank him off of you, you sit up to see him on his knees with a crazed look in his eyes. His entire lower face from his nose down was glistening with the combination of your cum and his drool, and the sheets beneath where you sat didn’t feel any dryer.

“God, baby,” he groans, his voice completely wrecked with lust, “please tell me you don’t need a minute, cause I’m about to bust right now.”

Now that you’re not laying down, you’re able to peer over the edge of the mattress and see his hand at work, rubbing harshly over the zipper of his jeans to try and offer any sense of relief.

“I’m ready, Eds,” you pant out while nodding, still needing to catch your breath.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things fanfic #stranger things smut

[bucknastysbabe]

✾ Happy Bday To A Sweet Lil Kit Named Liv ✾

Therefore I present to you:

♕ The Brother F**king Incest Spectacular ♕

For u bb @fairysluna

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW: incest, non/con|||dub/con, degrading language, bastard hating, DAERON IS AGED UP!!!!Greens won AU, Jace’s sister reader, gang bang, so much Incest, cunnilingus, sloppy seconds, double penetration, oral sex, pnv!sex, erotic crying, humiliation, Daeron is actually scared but likes her so they run off and be happy duh, Aemond and Aegon are Insane, multiple orgasms, rough sex, m/m/m/f, Jace is broken, why is there kinda angst? Idk

A/N: I don’t tend to lean toward non-con but the brother fucking incest spectacular had been brewed so read the warnings!

“Little Lord Strong,” Aemond sneered from the lofty bed, looking down with a haughty look on his sharp features. Jace squirmed and hissed at the one-eyed prick. His dear sister was pinned between Aemond’s lean legs, face red and teary.

Daeron was quiet, a terrified look on his face as he watched the scene.

Aegon, ever the deviant, palmed himself through his breeches, other hand petting Jace’s poor sister’s hair. He was grinning wildly, violet eyes fervent with glee. He giggled as his younger brother prattled on. Aemond cocked his head towards his siblings and said, “Well. You know what they say about bastards. Lustful, devious sort. I bet she’ll open up like a Lyseni pillow girl.”

Jace barked, “Fuck you! All of you are the deviants! Defiling my maiden sister for what?”

Aegon snorted, “She’s a lovely vixen, we won and you didn’t. Therefore we get our war prizes. Wanted to see what your cunt of a mother was so infatuated by a house as shite as the Strongs.” Jace grimaced and squirmed under his bindings, chest aching at the mention of his true father. The one who had taught him to be a man. He didn’t feel much like one.

Aegon yanked back her hair and got a good look at doe brown eyes, watery with tears, lips swollen more-so than usual. She pled, “Please, please, I cannot help being o-of this nature. Have mercy my king, have mercy!” The giddiness of Aegon’s face morphed into anger.

He hissed in her face, spittle flying, “Did your lovely mother and the rogue cunt give my children mercy?”

She wailed in sorrow, apologizing for something she had nothing to do with. Aemond was wielding the Valyrian ceremonial knife, pointing it towards Jacaerys. He sniffed, “Yes, Lord Strong, was there mercy when your dead brother took my eye, slaughtered my kin, set the kingdom aflame for a seat that belonged to us trueborn?”

Jacaerys remained silent, fidgeting in his bonds, trying to find a way out. There was murder and kinslaying on both sides. The bastard thought he was justified for little Luke. Jace was angry and humiliated. Tears fell down his darkened cheeks. Daeron spoke up, a soft lilt to the youngest brother’s tone.

“You won’t get out of those. Learned the best knots down on the docks of Oldtown. Best if you just sat back and let it get on with. Customary,” he nervously looked to the elder blondes, “Customary right?”

Aegon popped up from his spewing of vitriol, laughing as he reached for more Arbor Red, “Yes, darling Daeron, customary to make sure any dragon blood gets more seed. We have to repopulate. Sorry you must get the leftover bitch as wife.”

Aemond shrugged, “She’s pretty. Had a Strong bitch in Harrenhal, witchy sort, but couldn’t trust a wench that played with magicks.” He began to take off his loose blouse, exposing pale scarred skin, lean and toned. Daeron was stockier, like Aegon but if the eldest didn’t overindulge. The king was a juxtaposition of tight burns and soft overfed flesh. Never a warrior, Jace knew that much.

Jace watched in agony as the boys divested their clothing. He sister wept and shook on the mattress, begging Daeron now. The youngest looked guilty, mouthing, “I’m sorry.” Aegon smacked the Prince from behind the head and chided, “This is your whore for tonight. Quit being the pansy.”

Daeron grumbled back, staring with flushed cheeks. Aemond pulled her ass up roughly, spreading tanned thighs, shapely from dragon riding. Jacaerys howled, “You accursed demon!” The one-eye hummed, “I’ve heard worse, Strong. Enjoy the show.”

Aegon was at full mast, eagerly stroking his thick cock, “As the king I get to fuck those pretty lips,” he smirked, “Aemond you can get her cunt. Daeron it’s either her ass or wait your turn. Feel her up a little, I don’t know.” Daeron’s lilac eyes bounced around the scene, pupils blowing at her gorgeous body, full breasts hanging below, obscene lips covered in drool.

“Go on Daeron, she’s drier than the Boneway,” Aemond frowned. Jace could hand the bastard that, he couldn’t bear to watch her be torn to shreds. Daeron’s body came closer to hers, a calloused hand tentatively rubbing her soft skin, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. She relaxed a smidgeon, nervous eyes peeking around. The brunette had pretty lashes.

The daring himself murmured, “I shan’t treat you like this my lady, we’ll go back to Old Town. J-just feel me and the sensations. Please. Please.”

She whimpered quietly at Daeron engaged her in a gentle kiss, his hand finally coming to knead and tweak her pretty tits. “This isn’t amateur hour, back off, acting like Florian and Jonquil.” Aeg snatched her jaw and ordered, “Open, bastard whore.” She did so, shaking as Aegon dropped his spit into her mouth, easing his thick cockhead into the warm opening.

“That’s better, fuck,” Aegon moaned, eyes lolled. Aemond waited patiently, while he grinned at Jace. He mused, “So easy, so pliable. That’s why your mother liked it. Wanted to control everything, the bitch.” Jace gritted back, “Your mother was a stone cold bitch and we all knew it!”

The Velaryon fumed with anger, eyes flickering to where Aegon was moaning with delight, Daeron caressing and kissing on her smooth skin. His cheeks reddened at where his thoughts were going. Merely a Targaryen instinct— inclination for the blood.

Daeron’s insistent kissing and licking had the princess biting off whines around Aegon’s cock. The king laughed, “Ah, there she is, little slut loves it after all.” Aemond played with her other entrance, feeling wetness begin to gather and dribble delightfully. He backed up and motioned towards the youngest.

“Actually, I want her wetter. Use your tongue Daeron.” Aegon giggled with glee at the idea, Jace groaned, and Daeron swallowed heavily.

He shuffled to her slit, pale eyes boggled at her most private part. His thumb slid through the moistened entrance, cock jumping in surprise. Daeron held up his thumb and suckled the essence off, eyelashes fluttering as he moaned.

“She taste s-sweet, hm?,” Aegon panted. He wouldn’t last long. Never did by all rumors and accounts. The slick noises of her mouth and Aegon’s lurid chattering was making Daeron grow impossibly hot under his skin. He grabbed handfuls of her pert ass and licked at her pretty petals, grinding into the bed.

“Seven hells— the mouth on this one!,” he giggled, “Lick at that bud Daeron, raa-right at the top, make her squeal and slick up.” The youngest did so, suckling on the hooded bud above her opening, inhaling her perfect natural scent. She squirmed and shook, crying out around Aegon. Daeron didn’t stop, intoxicated by his beautiful niece’s noises. She arched her back helplessly, whining.

Aegon gasped and pulled at her thick brown locks, shoving his cock deep into her throat— met with no resistance. He threw his short curls back, belly bouncing, lips agape. The king cried out, “Fuuuuck yess!” Jace saw his uncle’s balls draw tight and he emptied down her once pristine throat. He closed his eyes and whimpered, willing away the indecent thoughts. He could hear her coughing in the background.

Aegon, fuck dumb and lazy, pillowed himself back. He halfassedly gestured for Aemond to have her mouth. The lean man smirked as having her from this angle meant he could torture Jacaerys more. Daeron was busy exploring her, sticking fingers in and lapping excitedly.

“Slow down, you’ll blow before you get your cock in her cunny,” Aegon snorted.

Aemond easily got access, the Princess obediently opening her mouth, eyes far away and hazy. Cum was still wetting her chin, mixed with drool. Aemond wiped it away with the nearest cloth, finding a distaste to be so close to Aegon’s glob of spend. He tilted her head up so the taller Targaryen could ease his long cock down her throat.

“Stick your dick in already, she’s wetter than the Greenblood,” Aegon snapped, greedily gulping wine. He shouted, “Isn’t this just wonderful Jace! Maybe we’ll cut your cock off and make you a handmaiden to this lovely girl.” Jace whimpered, utterly broken and confused. He was so hard it hurt, yet everything disgusted him.

Daeron held his cock, lilac eyes focused on her hole, dipping the tip in, before getting shoved further by one of her frantic hands. Aemond laughed, “Mm! She likes you. We’ll all have to take a test filling her cunt up. Make sure the seed takes.”

The youngest brother’s vision grew blurry as he registered the delicious feeling surrounding his cock. It was better than anything he had tried on himself. She was warm, tight, and pulsing around Daeron’s member. He gripped her hips and fucked wildly, groaning and panting her name.

“Should have taken his virgin ass to the brothels in Old Town when we visited.”

“All the more fun, two little virgins, isn’t that right Lord Strong?,” Aemond jabbed in glee. Jace let out an agonized moan, his balls aching and full. His sister’s gorgeous cries and debauched frame was making him feel insane. Aegon’s nonsensical laugh broke through the haze, making Jace more ashamed…more aroused.

Daeron panted and laid kisses up her back, breathlessly praising, “Oh you feel so good, tell me what to do, please?” Aemond, snapping his hips into the Velaryon’s mouth jeered, “Listen to what the wretch had to say, touch her button.”

Aegon slurred, already stroking his cock again, “When she comes, s’like heaven, milking ya’ cock.”

Daeron reached around to settle between them, circling around her swollen nub, feeling her cunt pulse and hearing excited keening. He pinched and pulled harder, the cries turning into little whimpers as she drew tighter and tighter around him. Daeron felt his eyes crossing at the pressure, fucking harder in a last effort.

Aemond pinched a bouncing teat of hers and ordered, “Come now, Strong slut. Serve your superiors.” He pulled out and watched the scene, on his haunches. The brunette was wailing and crying Daeron’s name. “Oh Gods please, don’t stop, f-fa-feels s’good! What’s- oh my- happening?”

Jace never wished he could be freed more than now, eyes glued to her twitching body, plump lips shining in the dull light. His cock was leaking profusely, needing an outlet for his swollen sac. Daeron gasped as she gushed all over his cock, sniveling and sucking in breath. Tears leaked down her gorgeous face.

The youngest Targaryen just sat in a daze, her throbbing pussy hitting him with wave of wave of ecstasy, his cock unloading all he could have carried into her womb. He selfishly hoped his seed would take, so that his wife’s child was truly his. He kissed and rubbed on her until Aegon cast him aside, laughing, “My turn, lover boy.”

Daeron’s eyes flickered to Jace, whining softly with a red face. His cock had soaked the front of his small clothes, huge member swollen and needy. Gods, the depravity. He absently wondered if the girl was supposed to be Jace’s if it weren’t for the twins.

Aegon was a lazy fuck, making the girl get on top of him and ride and ride until her shaky legs gave out. The king smacked her ass roughly, barking, “You can do better than that with all that dragon riding. Lazy whore.” She whimpered and bounced harder, squeezing Aegon’s soft midsection tight. He moaned, “Soooo much better. Good little bitch.”

He filled her up next with a sloppy finish, leaving some on her belly and legs, proposing, “Since Jace is so needy, we should make him clean her up.” Aemond seemed to love that idea, eagerly fucking her into the soft bed, her legs thrown high up his long body.

He bit and sucked a collar of markings around her neck, snarling, “You belong to us now, no black, no-ngh, fucking greens, just the Targaryens.” She whimpered, “Yes, yes, I belong to you, the rightful family.” Aemond smacked her around some more, around the ass and thighs. He pumped with long strokes, powerful and measured.

Daeron was taking notes. Because she was heaving and clawing his shoulders, mewling when he’d plunge into her ruined cunt. Blood had already dried on the bed. Aegon crawled over and pointed her wet eyes to Jace.

“You want brother dearest to clean you up after? Lick your sore cunny up, coddle you? Or Daeron?”

She scrunched her face up, obviously distressed. Jace whined pathetically, “Sister, sister please, let me, let me?” He was humping the air now, utterly broken and debauched. Aemond smacked her cheek none-to-hard and smarted, “Your king asked you a question!”

She wailed out, “Both! Need both! Gods please! Mmmm!” Aemond’s one eye rolled up at her releasing yet again. She still had some in her, coating his long cock with the gorgeous essence. The long haired prince pumped her for the final time full of his cum, slapping her ass another time for good measure. She shivered and cried, Daeron already to the rescue.

Who knew such a powerful fighter had such a weak heart. Aegon laid back like a cat who got the cream, watching Jacaerys sob and shiver. He’d cum. The evidence was sticky and soaking his small clothes. The princess took one look and begged, “C-can he join? Lick me up like you said my liege?”

Aegon shrugged, “Aemond and I will watch for safety. Can’t believe Lord Strong came in his small clothes watching his sister get fucked by the enemies. I thought we were fucked up.”

“Like you’ll do shite you oaf,” Aemond muttered as he slit the ropes binding Jace. The brunette stumbled to his sister, squatting between her soaked cunt. It was still a bit stretched, puffy and oozing copious amounts of ‘dragonseed’. He began to cry in shame as he cleaned her up.

Daeron softly murmured, “I’ll take good care of her, you’ve been good. So good.” Jace blushed and kept licking, eating up his sister’s sighs of pleasure, Daeron’s long fingers in his dark hair. What a fucking mess this was.

Aegon and Aemond merely laughed like devilish imps. Sadists. “Oh she’ll take the seed alright, she better or we do this again,” he tapped his chin, “We can’t taint her bastardized blood further, so just licking cunny for you dear nephew.”

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #READ TAGS PLS #velaryon reader #jacaerys x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #Daeron targaryen x reader

[thesamoanqueen]

Hold me

Warnings: 16+

A/N: finally joining the seven paragraph thursday challenge, tagged by @dreamsinfocus @joannasteez. Its just one shot about my kink hope y'all like it, addio~

It was the way they caressed her neck, insinuating themselves between curls, gently rubbing that portion of caramel skin behind her ear until their movement and his breathing lulled her to sleep. They held and protected her, as if wanting to prevent someone from stealing her during the night, taking her away, away from the warmth and security that only them, only him, could give. They were an almost childish reassurance, simple and good in the true, profound essence of that word, there to cherish and love her in the most banal and undervalued gesture a human being could have made. A certainty that was never missing, unexpected, always, everywhere, requests or not.

It was the feeling of them on the small of her back, to guide, not force, accompanying her through any moment, letting her know that he was there, behind her, covering and supporting when she could find a way herself. It was seeing them open doors, move obstacles, take anything before her mouth could even bother to ask, to offer, serve and provide. Almost bodyless, ghosts in her peripheral vision, supporting actors who in her mind had stolen the prize from whatever great broken promise every nobody shouted before in her face.

It was the strength they showed by keeping her upright when she bent like a tightrope walker on her heels, acting as her anchor and then softening as soon as her strength returned. The ardor with which they held her soft hips, encouraging the obscene movement of her body in the ecstasy of pleasure, the dangerous, frightening possession with which they tightened around her throat, suffocating moans, grabbing, slapping, claiming every portion inside her wet folds and even outside. The heat, crave, with which they burned on her skin, between her lips, on her thighs wrapped around his solid body, against her chest shaken by tremors and prayers. Rough, arrogant, confident and hungry.

And the imaginary circles they drew on that bare finger, the one he always kissed with persistence, commitment, not one by chance, that one, without explanations because they didn’t need them. And she had pretended to don’t understand, not to see, to ignore, keep her feet on the solid ground and reality, but sometimes they pulled her up physically, like a little dreamy girl, like something more special, promising and she ended up looking for them as air in her lungs. No shadow of the past could stand a chance against those fingers, those hands that she had fallen madly in love with.

Them and not just them, she admitted at least to herself, because in her own words she couldn't - not yet - but she hoped to make up for that lack with the same tenacity that those fingers showed in keeping her anchored there, with him.

- You're stuck with me...- she heard Roman laugh, forcing her to raise her head, moving away her dark eyes from their irremediably linked hands, tearing a dangerous, uncontrollable smile from her lips that he ended up miming too.

- God help you - and his grip got tighter, holding her there in that lovely trap, always.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyyaanna @reignsangel444 @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @claymorexpunisher @keybladeofsteel @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @love-islike-abomb @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @reignsx @reigns-central-blog @kianaleani @daguenoire @extra-11 @thedonsfactory @snowpanda18 @brattyfics @mzv11 @romanreignseater @joannasteez @2baddies2furious @vebner37 @depressedneedingrevenge @cyberdejos2 @usosthetics @mahi-wayy @jxtina-86 @harmshake @southerngirl41 @blkbutterfly816 @spritelucozade

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns oneshot #roman reigns one shot #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x you #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns x y/n #roman reigns x female reader #wwe fanfiction #wwe fic

[red-dead-sakharine]

Bring your devil to the circus

Raphael x Tav/Reader tags: gn!Tav, soft grumpy raphael, humor, fluff, tiny bit hurt/comfort

Who needs the orphic hammer, when you can negotiate a much sweeter deal? This is a silly idea that popped into my head, and I'm making y'all suffer through it as well.

"Done." you put the quill down, and Raphael immediately made the contract vanish - to his House of Hope, no doubt - the ink barely dry yet.

"A pleasure, little mouse. I daresay this was quite the bargain. Had I known of your proclivities, I would've--"

"Come!" you didn't even let him finish. He was just puffing hot air right now, and you just - could - not - wait - to get your part of the deal. Grabbing his wrist, you yoinked him after yourself out the door, dragging him down the stairs through Sharess' caress with glee.

He grumbled to himself but followed your lead. After all, he had agreed to this deal - although he was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake. There weren't any loopholes he might've overlooked, right? No, no, there couldn't be. He wrote the damn contract himself, after all!

Out of the door and up the street you went, still keeping his wrist in your clutches. He had fallen into pace, though he still tried to free his arm every now and again, but your grip was iron. The mischief on your mind was just too good.

"I am quite capable to walk on my own, little mouse." there was a warning in the way he said those last two words, but you ignored it. He had agreed to play along for 24 hours, and by the gods you would make the most of it. You had - both - insisted on putting in a clause preventing abuse, injury, and the like, but most other activities where fair game. If you wanted him to play on a seesaw, he would have to comply.

As you approached the entrance to the circus, realization dawned in Raphael, "Oh no. No!" You giggled, keeping your iron grip on his wrist. "You will not make me go to the damn circus!" "Oh, I very much will!" you turned to look at him, grinning from ear-to-ear. He looked like he wanted to protest but decided differently. He was bound by contract after all. Instead he gave you the darkest of glares, "Had I known what kind of a heinous sadist you are, I wouldn't have agreed to this." You just laughed gleefully, and approached the bouncer with his ghoul at the gate.

The ghoul, Benji, took one long sniff and started shouting, with a claw pointed at Raphael, "STINKY! SMELLS OF EGGS!"

You could feel Raphael vibrate with annoyance and barely contained rage, so you gave him a little pat on the arm with your free hand, "There, there. It's just a stupid ghoul."

"BENJI NO STUPID! THIS ONE'S STINKY!"

You were sure, the deep growl Raphael produced, could be felt through the ground.

Benji's human handler gave a nervous chuckle, "Oh well, smelling a bit funny isn't a crime. Come on in! Welcome to the Circus of the Last Days!" You could practically feel the annoyance radiating from Raphael as you dragged him through the gates.

"Look, it's not that bad." you tried to calm him down at least a little bit, "I promise, if a clown tries to boop your nose, I'll let you incinerate him." He groaned, but you could feel him grow a little less rigid, "How kind and utterly unheroic of you. And here I thought you were a committed do-gooder." "I have my limits. Clowns are one." you replied flatly, and it actually made Raphael give an amused snort. "Maybe there is hope for you yet, little mouse." He took a deep breath, letting his gaze wander over the dreadful place he found himself in, "Now what, pray tell, do you want me to do here?"

You gave him an impish grin, "First we'll go spin the wheel!" He rolled his eyes, as you dragged him forward, your hand still firmly clutching his wrist.

"WILL THE WHEEL OF WONDERS DUB YOU WORTHY? COME - SEE!" you heard the djinni yell as you made you way towards him, "BEHOLD - AKABI'S WHEEL OF WONDERS. SPIN TO WIN PRIZES BEYOND YOUR TINY MORTAL IMAGINATION." "YES, WE WANT TO SPIN THE WHEEL!" you yelled back, and you could hear Raphael's hand smack against his forehead as he facepalmed next to you. "AHA! FIRST YOU MUST PAY!" You looked expectantly at Raphael, who eventually looked up from his facepalming, his eyes finding yours. Then his expression slowly changed from an unspoken 'what?' to a glower, "Surely, you do not expect me to pay for this nonsense, little mouse." "Of course! You're the gentleman here, I'm just a mouse." you grinned at him, and you could see his jaw muscles clench. Grumbling and muttering curses in infernal, he dished out the money, so you could spin the wheel.

"LET US SEE IF YOU HAVE LUCK'S FAVOUR." Akabi barked, and the wheel spun. You side-eyed Raphael, who was watching the wheel and the djinni intently. When it landed on a blank, he scoffed, "I'm not surprised a djinni would stoop to rigging a game of luck. But this is just pathetic." "You would accuse me, Akabi: Destroyer of Planes - of cheating?" the djinni had lowered the volume to indoor voice for the first time you've seen, and it gave you such a kick to know that Raphael was the cause. You finally relaxed your iron grip on his wrist and instead slid your hand down to interlock your fingers with his - though he did not reciprocate, he also did not pull away. "I'm only pointing out the obvious, 'destroyer of planes'," Raphael managed to make the title sound like an insult, "Wouldn't it be such a shame, if everyone knew what a fraud you are. And pathetic on top, having to rely on a magic ring for your trickery." He scoffed.

You could see the djinni grow angry, and began to wonder who would win in a fight between the two. "How about you give my companion here one of your prizes and we'll just move on?" Raphael offered, and the djinni seemed annoyed but caved, "FINE! CONGRATULATIONS, MORTAL!" he chucked a ring at you, which you barely managed to catch with your free hand, "NOW BEGONE, MEWLING CURD!"

You grinned, and gently tugged Raphael away from the disgruntled djinni. It didn't take much to sense the ring was enchanted - you would let Gale have a look at it later, and pocketed it. This was never about any prizes after all. "That was brilliant!" you beamed at Raphael, who only gave you a sideways glance in return. But you could still see the slight smirk that was tugging on his lips. He sighed theatrically, "I'll admit, it was entertaining to put the puffed up windbag into its place." "I knew you'd enjoy yourself here." you replied with a grin, as you started wandering towards your next target, still holding the devil's uncaring hand. "Now, don't exaggerate - this entire place is still revolting to me." he wrinkled his nose, and you rolled your eyes.

You approached the dryad entertaining a small crowd on her wooden dais, and you could feel Raphael lag behind a little. You held his hand tighter - he still didn't reciprocate - and pulled him gently forward. "It's a dryad." he stated, as if this would deter you from your course. "I can see that." you replied simply. "Boring, plant-loving creatures. What could you possible want from one?" "You'll see." you dragged him up the stairs towards the wood-skinned woman, and you could all but feel Raphael's bored annoyance as he was contractually obligated to follow along.

"You return to me, stira. Have you brought the one you spoke of?" the dryad, Zethino, greeted you. Raphael gave you a look - something between anger and curiosity, but you deliberately avoided looking at him directly, instead focusing on Zethino, "I have. Can we do the thing?" "What thing?" Raphael cut in, tone harsh. "You were not told?" Zethino's melodic voice offered a stark contrast to Raphael's. "Told what?" The dryad looked at you and you held up your free hand, "It's a surprise?" you offered as a flimsy explanation. She looked back at Raphael, her eyes wandering over him, then back to you, "Stira, he is not what he seems." "Oh, I'm well aware." you assured her, "That's not a problem for you, is it?" She cocked her head slightly, looking between you two, "Not for me, no." "Okay great! Let's do the thing then." you tried to hurry this along, before the devil popped a blood vessel. "What. Thing." he asked again; his tone more menacing now.

"I will look into your hearts and see if your bond is strong." the dryad's melodic voice explained, and Raphael's brow furrowed, his eyes wandering from you to her now, "'Our bond'?" he echoed in confusion, and you tugged slightly on his hand, that you were still holding. He looked down to the joined appendages, then up to you, then to the dryad, then back to you. You've never seen a man this confused. "Let's just start." you stage-whispered, and the dryad smiled. "Close your eyes. Be still as stone to earth, and remember to breathe." she instructed with her melodic voice.

You did as asked. Technically, Raphael was obligated to play along - the contract made sure of that - so you hoped it would work.

"I see you." you heard the dryad muse, "Know you. But do you know each other?" You heard Raphael scoff. As you opened your eyes, you found yourself standing in front of a log, crossing a small creek, with a waterfall in the background. Raphael was on the other side, looking wholly unimpressed.

"Listen. Think. Raphael, the devil in disguise, what does he most desire in this world?" the dryad asked you in her singsong voice. You clicked your tongue, "Easy. The crown of Karsus, so he can stick it to his father Mephistopheles." Raphael raised a surprised brow, "How do you know who my father is?" "I asked Yurgir, why he was so afraid of a cambion, before I talked him into killing himself." you explained with a grin, and stepped onto the log. Raphael didn't say anything in response, but judging by his expression, he was impressed.

Zethino turned to Raphael, "And Tav, the unexpected hero. What drives them in their journey?" The disguised cambion snorted, "Low hanging fruit. Get rid of the tadpole, and make people happy along the way." He sounded dismissive, as if it was a damnable flaw of yours, but the fact that he knew it off the cuff like that, made you grin. "Quite right. Spreading a bit of happiness never hurt." you smiled. He scoffed. The dryad pushed him gently a few steps onto the log.

She turned to you again, "Your bond hums in tune. There is sunshine, but there is also rain. What does Raphael loathe?" You cocked your head a little and looked at him, thinking for a moment before you responded, "Chaotic, untidy disorder, and bad manners!" Raphael narrowed his eyes, "It's true. There are many things about your world that I loathe. Chattering children, litters of kittens, the noise, and the chaos of it all." You smiled and stepped forward, "You and me, both." He raised a brow and looked like he wanted to question that statement, but Zethino cut him off.

"And what does Tav despise the most?" Raphael looked at the dryad, then to you, "People who hurt dogs." You had to laugh, "It's true! There's nothing more deserving of punishment in the hells, than hitting a dog. But, how did you figure that one out?" Raphael brushed his nails on his doublet, looking as non-chelant as can be, "Oh, I just heard the Sword Coast Couriers are missing a kennel master." he looked at you with an impish grin that oozed approval. Likely more of your method, than your defence of animals though. And it was true. After seeing how the lady at the kennels had treated her dogs, and raised a hand to Scratch when you brought him by, it wasn't a hard decision to drive dagger through her eye. Raphael took a step closer.

"Your bond beats in pleasure. It is an honor to behold." the dryad sang, "But does it hold in darkness still? What is Raphael's deepest shame?" You could see the fiend's brow furrow, and heard him mutter something about stupid questions. The waterfall was too noisy to make out his exact words, as you regarded him for a bit, while pondering. He crossed his arms and stared down at the water while he waited. You had an inkling what the answer was, but you weren't sure if it was something you should say out loud. But in the end, you figured you came up with the right words, so you responded, "Being a cambion and not a true devil. But--" You could see the change in his expression, from grumpy to... alarm? to anger. And his gaze turned on you, burning hot. You held up a hand in a calming gesture, "--but I don't think it has to be. He's the most devilish devil I can imagine. And he'll always be a true devil to me." You offered a smile. It was genuine, and heartfelt, and honest. You meant every word of it, and you hoped he was able to see that. His eyes grew a bit softer, but you couldn't quite interpret his expression, and he didn't say anything. He did make a small gesture though, signalling for you to step closer. And so you did.

The dryad, perhaps wisely, did not comment on what was said and instead continued, "One more question remains, we move back into the sun - what was Tav's greatest joy?" You could practically feel Raphael's gaze rake over you, while he pondered. His arms were still crossed, but he lifted one hand now to rub his chin in thought. He hummed before he eventually offered a response, "Signing my contract." You couldn't prevent a wide grin from growing on your face, "I can think of a few other joyous moments in my life, but I'll admit, that was one of them." Raphael smirked and stepped closer, dropping his arms to his sides.

You stood in front of each other now, and you held his gaze. Looking into those big brown eyes of his. Smiling eyes.

"I press my finger to your bond and find a hidden shield - unrecognized yet, but impenetrable if embraced. It is... beautiful." Zethino mused in her melodic voice, and the meadow around you vanished - replaced with the circus again. "Go in peace, seedlings, and follow your hearts. The most unusual bond I have been graced to witness - it will be just as strong as it is strange."

"Thank you." you managed to say, and took Raphael's hand again to drag him away from the dais. You interlocked your fingers with his once more, and this time he closed his hand around yours, too.

#bg3 #raphael #fanfiction #extraplanar circus #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #fluff #humor #this got a lot longer than I intended #circus of the last days #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #baldur's gate 3 raphael #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael the cambion #rds #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3

[the-nobody-tournament]

tired of tournaments where the well-known characters always win?

well guess what? in this tournament, NO ONE knows the contestants! not even me, the one running the show! all we've got is these little one-note descriptions that look like someone was trying to brainstorm some ocs, but stopped after a single trait or trope!

...huh? what's that?

well folks! apparently, even our contestants themselves don't have any more information about themselves! so what do you say we give them a hand with that? after every round of eliminations, a form will open for each remaining contestant where people can suggest an additional trait for them! the top ten suggestions for each will be put into an inter-poll (not interpol, FUCK the police) where our followers can vote on what gets added to who! the further a contestant gets in the tournament, the more developed they will become!

as for the grand prize, for the contestant that grows above all the others, what else would we give them but a name? that's right! the victor of our little nobody tournament will no longer be a nobody!

there are a few ground rules to keep in mind, of course!

these are nobodies! that means they don't have any links to any existing media! don't send in "firebender" as a trait, or it'll just get ignored! instead, try something media-agnostic like "controls fire!"

i don't want to see any trait submissions that have to do with pedophilia, incest, -isms, cults, or a contestant being an abuser.

fanart and interpretations of characters during the course of the contest are more than welcome! you can tag them with "#nobody tournament 2023" and i'll be sure to reblog! do keep in mind of course that other people won't necessarily see the characters the same way you do, and it's possible that future traits might contradict your original headcanons.

all characters generated by this tournament are the collective property of tumblr, and are free for anyone to do anything with, though i'd appreciate it if you linked back to the tournament so more people can discover it! and whatever you do, i definitely want to see it!

you can view the results of the elimination thus far and those of the trait selection at the provided links! check the #intros tag or the directory to see all the contestants, and you can keep an eye on the bracket at this link!

right now, we're starting off round 3's eliminations!

look through #creations or #headcanons to see things people have made for the tournament! need help or advice for writing a contestant? check #resources or send a request to be tagged under #open questions!

tumblr user @magistius has also put together a fan doc tracking the tournament! you can find a link to the post about it right here!

#nobody tournament 2023 #tournament #tournaments

[neoarchipelago]

Madripoor High (Part 1)

A/N: ok so hum... First part of something new... I have no idea for a title so please throw some ideas in the comments... Yes i have added a little hint of marvel but it is not in the marvel universe! I just love Madripoor. I kinda have the tittle 'Madripoor High' in mind but I'm not sure... Don't even know if I'll keep this going just... Let me know in the comments. Also edited this on my phone... Kinda sucky, I'll put it back correctly if I do keep it going.

Warnings: sexual talk, weapons etc.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Cars passing by and people walking to their destinations. The busy city boomed around you, muffled by the headphones on your head. Your music blocked the chaos of London. You enjoyed London. You found it beautiful. Amongst all the countries you've been to… and that list was quite long, you enjoyed the weather. Exactly. The gloomy, rainy weather. The black umbrella shielding you from the crystal droplets as you walked to a small cafe. You were greeted as you entered, dropping your shield at the entrance before taking place at a table in a corner far from others.

Your coat was removed, your backpack opened to free your laptop. The nice waitress walked to you after several minutes, asking for your order.

"I'd like a hazelnut cappuccino and… the crumble please" you answered with a smile.

As she walked away you looked around, the almost empty cafe was quiet, the few people chatting or working. You smirked, turning to your laptop you went to check for your payment. You smiled as you watched the enormous figure in your credit account. Yes. Credit. Because in the underground, money is important, but credits… Those are so much more valuable. The Madripoor currency.

Sighing, you let yourself lean back on the sofa chair, crossing your arms. You were proud. After everything you've gone through, you have managed to become one of the most prized citizens of Madripoor. The hard work you've put in has paid off, the contracts have piled up, the price tag always climbing up. Your speciality? Tracking. To get into details, it was hacking. Now you mostly used it to track down targets for big mean people who always have something against another big mean one. You were good. You were the fucking best. So yes. You were proud, even if you had no one to be proud of you.

Cup placed in front of you, you were taken out of your daydream. You smiled up, thanking the waitress, closing your laptop and pushing it to the side to bring your little treats closer to you. Contract over, now you were free until you accepted the next one. It would fall quite fast, yes, but you thought you might get some rest. Go back to Madripoor, to Hightown, and rest.

You took a bite of the crumble, feeling the sweetness of it making you relax. You thought you might go shopping once you'd got back. Maybe you'd stay in and play, watch some movies. Maybe you'd go to Downtown…

A soft buzz captured your attention. You grabbed your phone, looking at the screen. Someone was calling. No one called. Very few… barely anyone had this number. It was used for emergencies only and it had been a year and half since it rang. You frowned. It foreshadowed something entirely different than a break. You sighed. Curiosity eating at you. Before it was too late you answered.

"Hello?"

"Tracker."

You frowned. A woman's voice. A woman who knew your screen name. Only people from Madripoor knew it. Or people extremely close to Madripoor.

"Be quick." You said.

"You were never patient muñeca."

Muñeca. Doll. In Spanish. You sighed, closing your eyes.

"Valeria, you fucking bitch, I thought you were in jail."

"I was. I got out. Then that cabron de Alejandro trapped me."

You smirked. Alejandro. You haven't met the man, but by the amount of times she had complained about him, it's like you knew him already. A little voice was heard behind her, notifying you that she wasn't alone in that call.

"Where are you calling me from?"

"A military base. I need your help."

"No."

"You didn't listen."

"Go on I'm listening."

"We need help to find-"

"No."

She sighed. Helping her? It was already risky. You could. You could get her out and free her but she'd get herself into trouble again. Helping the military? You? Tangled in the deepest roots of criminality? It was the stupidest thing to ask of you.

"Come on. You love a challenge. And I have one just for you."

"It doesn't matter if I love a challenge. You're on high speaker aren't you?"

"Well-"

"Of course you are. They wouldn't let you call anyone without supervision. They know who I am? They know what I do?"

"They do." She said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"So what's going to happen? I help and then what? They got pretty little pink handcuffs for me?"

"Well you can ask the skull face to put them on. Or the ADHD Scot." She answered even more amusedly.

"Valeria… what?" You asked confused.

"Come on. It'll be very interesting. I know you're curious. And this… is like tracking a sin cara."

"A no face?"

Damn. She might succeed to make you interested. But she might be bluffing as well.

"Yes. We need to find Echo."

"Echo? The scientist working for various cartel's and Mafia bosses? The man that no one has ever met or even seen?" You asked, irony dripping from your tongue.

"Are you skeptical?"

"Echo doesn't exist. It's a stupid invention from some idiots to sell products at a higher price. You're wasting my time. Goodbye and good luck Valeria" You rolled your eyes.

"I have proof."

You froze. Proof? Now curiosity prickled your skin. What kind of proof? How did they get it?

"Hello?"

"Shut up. I'm thinking."

She chuckled on the other side.

"We've heard that your work is based on contracts. We'd like to offer you a contract." A voice rang.

The raspy voice was soft but commanding. A man, probably in his 40's. He sounded calm, determined.

"And who might you be?" You asked, taking a sip of your cappuccino who was growing cold.

"I'm Captain John Price."

A captain. Fair enough.

"What kind of contract?"

"You help us, we find Echo, we neutralize him and get Intel. You get immunity on this mission and after your part is done, you have 24 hours to vanish."

You thought about the question. Finding Echo. Might be the golden contract for you. Not that you needed it. But this… this was a challenge. Not the boring easy tracks that you had to do. You knew how even the high table of Madripoor was starting to get annoyed about this intriguing character. Countering rules in Hightown and Downtown. This might be an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. You looked around you, at the calm cafe. Fuck… you might not get that break after all. You closed your eyes, preparing yourself to accept a deal you might regret.

"48 hours. Full immunity from the moment I step into your base until the end of the contract. I do things my way. You get your guy, your Intel. That's it. I'm not getting in the middle of the cartel's and other big brainless gorillas." You stated.

"Fine." You heard after a few pending seconds.

"Alright. I'll think about it." You finished.

"Didn't you just agree?" Another voice rang.

This time it was more… alive. The Scottish accent meant it was one of the men Valeria had mentioned.

"I'll agree when you'll receive the contract. I have to check something before I agree. I'll contact you and travel to you. Don't worry, you'll get an answer in the next few hours." You explained, opening your laptop.

"Should we send you a location? An email?" Another voice again. British accent but cute voice.

"No. I know where you are. I know how to contact you. I'll do so when the time's come."

"How?" The Scottish voice echoed in your ear.

"Oh… she'll have no problem with it." Valeria answered.

"See you soon." You concluded, hanging up.

Entering the base was easy. The new recruits keeping the gates were easily distracted. You infiltrated the base, making sure to deviate the cameras and stealing a 'visitor' badge.

You walked around, white wool shirt, black shorts with tights. Thigh high socks over your tights and comfy running shoes. Your black backpack and phone in hand. Sometimes, the best way to hide is to get attention… especially from men. You'd feel the looks, the way they were directed to your thick thighs, or neck, in plain view as you had pulled your hair back.

You were chubby, not exactly thin, tummy showing and chubby cheeks. At least, that was what was usually romanticized, the thighs, ass and boobs being overly sexualized. You wanted to roll your eyes. But eventually sometimes, men or women easily fall for it.

You took your time to walk around, discovering the grounds, the badge often being watched by what seemed to be higher ups. You'd fain innocence and bat your lashes when getting caught in places you shouldn't be, before letting them turn their backs and walking straight to where you wanted to. You weren't exactly wanting to be hidden right now. You were good at it. Hiding. But right now you wanted to explore.

The contract had been sent, signed and sent. You had gotten a chance to engage with the high table who agreed to such a contract. You didn't really need their approval. But you didn't want your place in Madripoor to be compromised by working with 'the good guys'. Not only did the high table saw no problem in it but they greatly appreciated you going after Echo. You were right, the character was definitely getting on their nerves, the echoes of him creating some ruckus in downtown.

You walked around a huge warehouse, military gear sprawled around. Most were used for training. You heard some noise not too far, deciding to hide behind big wooden shipping boxes. Voices echoed through the big place. You tried not to look too much. If you can see them, they can see you. You'd rather use your other senses to localize them. You only took one glance at two men standing back to you near a table full of items. One was overly talking while the other one rummaged through what seemed to be his gear bag. The man talking had a mohawk. It made you smile. The other one… was obviously wearing something over his head, but with their backs turned to you, you couldn't make out any more details.

The light reflected into the shinny blade of a combat knife. You blinked, almost hypnotized by it. You wanted it. The two men walked away, still babbling. You waited a few minutes before stepping out of your hiding place, going straight for the bag. You opened it, looking through the different things, looking for the pretty black mat combat knife. You almost jumped in place when you found it, taking the thingy with you before skipping back to your little exploration. This time, in a much more concealed way.

You watched, you spied. You wanted to understand how the base worked before letting yourself meet your contractors. Above the training ground, higher up in some kind of level that was used to put away all the training mats and other training things. It was the perfect spot to look over the training grounds, inside of the warehouse. You watched the men fight each other. It was almost entertaining. Your eyes caught the mohawk boy again, teasing another man. The boy with a cap seemed to joyfully indulge in whatever he was saying.

They looked next to them, a big figure stepping into view. You frowned. The man's face was veiled with a mask, a skull… it wasn't printed. Was it a real skull? You put two and two together, now realizing this was the owner of the combat knife. You chuckled to yourself. As he stopped into the training ring, young recruits palling, your interest peaked.

Thirsty minutes passed by in a flash. You watched in amusement and almost in awe how the mountain of a man threw around the soldiers. He was strong. Fast. You could hear him scold every wrong move of the poor soldiers who faced him. He seemed to look around swiftly every time he had a break.

You stretched, feeling your limbs getting sore from sitting here watching the show. You blinked, watching down again, telling yourself that you should get going.

Eyes. Dark eyes. Looking straight at you. Your breath caught in your throat, a cold wave running through you. His gaze was cold looking up through the mask. You immediately rushed back behind something to hide. How? How?! You wore nothing shiny. You made sure that nothing could reflect light. You were hiding perfectly. How?!

You wanted to take another glance but it was too dangerous. You decided to get moving, your position now compromised. You hopped around to reach ground level. You skipped your way into an empty part of the warehouse. You remained as silent as possible, making sure that even your steps were inaudible. After twenty long minutes you allowed yourself to breathe. Maybe he hadn't seen you in the darkness and you were fine. It had been three hours that you were on base, and you were getting slightly hungry. Perhaps you'd get a snack before finally meeting the contractors.

You looked around, trying to figure which way out could lead you to a building where there was food. The empty warehouse only seemed to echo the voices of soldiers outside, barely audible and muffled. You grabbed your phone, walking towards a back door. Maybe you'd get off base to eat and then come back. You were craving pizza, perhaps-

You slammed against a wall. Not exactly a wall. A wall of a man. You looked up. Eyes falling into a skull mask. Shit. Something told you. That playing innocent. Batting your lashes, won't help with this one. You took a step back, his brows furrowing. You both froze for a split second, tension giving you goosebumps before you reacted the only way your brain could at the moment. You ran.

Throughout the warehouse, jumping over gear, boxes and other stuff that you didn't mind to look at. Why were you running? You were supposed to have immunity. But he didn't know who you were. Not yet. The sound of his heavy boots was the only thing you could hear. Shit the man was swift. He was fast and nimble. You parkoured your way to the back door, almost reaching it until you were tackled against a wall. The shock made you wince, cursing out. You were stuck. Stuck in between a wall, and a strong body. Unfortunately you had both run to a dark corner of the warehouse. You could barely see his eyes in the darkness. You were panting.

He shared your gaze. Eyes never leaving yours. The darkness of them made you shiver. It was odd. That tingly feeling all over you. You barely realized how your wrists were pinned above your head, in his large hand. Didn't even notice his other hand… around your throat. He wasn't applying pressure. He was securing you in place, warning you. You were trapped. You have been trapped very often at the beginning of your… career. However, it had never made you feel like this. Small. Hunted. Like a prey under the claws of a predator. There was no ego, no dumb boy trying to prove something. He had chased you down on instinct, caught you in a primal way. Honestly. It was hot. Thrilling.

"Who are you?" His deep voice said.

Shit… even his voice was hot. Putting your new kink aside, you frowned, gaining back some composure.

"Santa Claus." You let out ironically.

The hand around your throat squeezed menacingly. You gasped. He remained silent awaiting your new answer.

"I.. I'm a visitor." You tried, maybe the innocent act would work.

He pulled on your wrists, having you on your toes now. A last warning.

"T..tracker…" you mumbled.

He seemed in thought for a few seconds before releasing the pressure on your neck and wrists, but keeping them in his hold.

"How did you get in?" He questioned.

Ah yes… the usual interrogation.

"The young boys at the entrance are easily distracted…" you mumbled again.

You weren't pissed. You weren't exactly pouting… maybe a bit. You weren't expecting to be caught, or to be put in your place. You weren't expecting to be under someone's hold like this. You looked away.

"You armed?" He asked.

"I have my phone. It's the only weapon I need." You said, keeping the combat knife a little secret. Mostly because you wanted to keep it and he won't let you. He straightened himself, towering over you.

"I'm going to let you go. You better behave." He warned.

God.. you wanted to brat. You wanted to anger him and test him. You rolled your eyes at him, as the hand holding your wrists released. However the other remained on your throat. You frowned looking up at him, as your hands wrapped around his wrist. He stepped closer to you, eyes never leaving yours. Now what was he doing? He said he was letting you go…

Eyes widening, you felt the other hand roam your waist. You tried to push him away but he squeezed at your throat keeping you in place, your hands flying to his chest to fist in shirt. The hand traveled to your sides, down your back, then back to your side to finally reach your thighs.

"S..stop!" You let out, blushing.

"Breathe… I'm checking for weapons." He said in a chuckle.

He frowned, his hand meeting the handle of… shit. The combat knife was tucked into the back of your shorts, hidden by your shirt. You closed your eyes as he pulled it out.

"No weapons huh? You're already-" he stopped looking at the handle. "That's my fucking knife. You stole it?"

"I borrowed it. Sharing is caring right? We're on the same team…" you answered with a smile.

He put away his knife before spinning you around, bringing your back to his chest. How the hell did he move so fast?! How did he manage to pin your wrists behind you… and HANDCUFF YOU?

"Hey! Where's my immunity?" You complained.

"I'm not arresting you."

"You're handcuffing me to satisfy a kink?" You teased him in a bitter tone.

"I'm keeping you from stealing again. And I'm taking you to Price."

"Who?"

No answer, he simply pulled you forward, holding your wrists behind your back. Well. Wasn't this the perfect start to a contract?

#fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon ghost riley smut #captain price #simon riley #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #ghost smut

[fanaticsnail]

WIP Wednesday (Friday)

Thank you @rorywritesjunk for the tag. I am so looking forward to the Howl's Au you're doing!

Here is a cut from the next installment of Doffy's pollen I've been working on for the past little while. If there's something on my WIP list you're curious about, I'm happy to give a little snippet of what I've been chipping away at.

Play Stupid Games, Win Stupid Prizes: Doflamingo x Reader Part 2

Synopsis: You've been invited to a soiree at the World Government HQ at the request of your friend, Maria, who is attending with her latest beau, Bogard. Doflamingo intentionally didn't ask you to attend on his arm, and is attempting to make you jealous by bringing two of his concubines with him. You decide to 'get even' by suggesting Sir Crocodile aid you in making him jealous in return.

Word Count: 460 (Just a snippet of a larger fic)

Context: You and Doflamingo have a love-hate relationship. He loves you, you hate him. He tried to drug you with the dust of the lust plant, only for your drinking glasses to be swapped at the last minute. He was in need of a reprieve and coerced you to "help him out". You did, but it doesn't make you hate him any less.

What to expect in this next installment: Drinking, jealous Doflamingo, sloppy drunk Doflamingo, pathetic Doflamingo, kissing Sir Crocodile, enjoying the company of Sir Crocodile, Doflamingo cornering you in a private room....

“Sir Crocodile,” you arch your back further on the bar and look up at him through your eyelashes, “Would you be up for a little game?” He arches his brow up, placing his cigar in his teeth before breathing in a gulping lungfull of sour smoke.

“Up to no good again are you?” He asked, the cool rumble of his voice shaking your spine in joyful anticipation. You nodded, subtle enough not to draw attention away from Doflamingo as he continued consuming his concubines’ mouths vigorously. “State your terms,” Sir Crocodile asked with a light purr.

“An exchange, sir,” you cocked your head, playfully biting your lip as you hummed at him, “I’ll buy you a glass of anything you want, if you would grant me a single kiss.” Sir Crocodile’s interest peaked, his eyes widening ever so slightly as you continued your suggestion. 

“Doflamingo is attempting to make me jealous,” you noted, prompting Crocodile to look at him from the corner of his eye, “And I simply do not care.” Crocodile hummed in thought, enjoying another deep drag from his cigar, nodding at you to resume your explanation. 

“I don’t want him, and I need him to know I don’t want him,” you confessed as Crocodile placed his cigar in the steel tray beside him, “I would rather chew glass than endure his attention a moment longer, so I thought perhaps if I were to enjoy the attention of another,” you drew up your index and middle fingers on the bar, playfully walking the digits atop the mahogany surface, “He might leave me in peace.” 

“And I was the easier mark to make between all those here present?” Sir Crocodile hunched down to your level, looking deeply into your eyes with his stalking orbs. 

“Not at all, sir,” you smirked, eyes darting between his with flirtatious mischief, “I chose you because I thought, one: Sir Crocodile would likely need something interesting to cure his boredom amongst the marines and fellow warlords,” you inched your fingers ever closer to his golden hook, looking down at it while you hovered your fingertips over the metallic surface, “And, two: Sir Crocodile is the most handsome man in this room, and it would be an absolute delight to hold his attention, even if naught for a moment.” 

A slow chuckle emitted from deep within his throat, his eyes falling half-lidded as his smile grew wider and more playful beneath his scarred cheeks. 

“A single drink for a single kiss,” he confirmed with a curt nod, his right hand collecting yours from atop his hook and pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “Or a bottle of my choosing, and you would be more than welcome to continue singing my praises atop my knee for the night, Princess.”

#one piece #x reader #snippet #doflamingo #donquixote doflamingo #sir crocodile #op sir crocodile #wip roundup

[ceruleancattail]

Divided Love

Azul x Reader

The wheels on the trolley go round and round. Spinning on its axis, squeaking like a little mouse. You lean to your side, twisting the trolley through displays of various household items.

A shopping trip to IKEA for the Mostro Lounge wasn’t something on your agenda for the day. Yet Azul did personally request for your assistance. Who were you to turn him down?

Azul trails behind you, casually flipping over price tags. His face was an open book, oddly enough. You would expect a shrewd businessman to have a poker face at all times.

Maybe it’s because he’s technically taking a break, away from all the contracts and deals he orchestrates within the walls of Night Raven College. Perhaps he’s a little weary of keeping his emotions concealed within his mind, shut away by lock and key.

Maybe it’s because you’re with him. You’ve noticed him being a little more honest, when matters concern you. Consulting you more often, whenever something arises. No matter how trivial the issue seems.

Just yesterday, he sought you out. Asking you to drop by after class to sample some deserts Mostro Lounge was considering for the menu. Coincidently, they happened to be treats you favoured.

How odd.

Humming to yourself, you sneak a glance at Azul’s face. Watching those silver curls of hair sway with his every step. The steel frame of his glasses twinkle like starlight under the store’s lighting. It’s easy to tell what he feels about each piece of furniture, based on his expressions.

You’ve seen his eyebrows shoot up into his fringe more then once, tongue clicking away. Displeasure with the pricing of that particular item.

When he frowns slightly, creases lining his brow, Azul’s considering whether the item would fit in with the rest of the decor of the Lounge. After all, there’s a rather prevalent theme for all the decor within Mostro Lounge.

A smile tugging at your lips, you let your gaze wander. Darting over multicoloured cushions and chairs, they land on a little corner of the store. Rows of plush toys line the shelves, sinking into each other. Their fur soft, glimmering under the store’s lighting. As the toys were coaxing you closer.

Immediately, you lengthened your stride, making a beeline for the little cuties. A bear, looking rather satisfied with his belly. A golden retriever, with its tongue lolling out happily. Yet the prize of the collection beckoned to you, waving each one of its eight arms.

An huge yellow octopus, eight arms dangling off the very edge of the shelf. It had big, black eyes that just seemed filled with kindness. Something about that gaze went straight into your heart, warming the cockles within.

Gingerly, you pluck one off the shelf. Clutching it to your chest, you wrap your fingers around one tentacle. Flicking your wrist, the tendril waves at Azul.

Azul raises an eyebrow, shooting you a look of disbelief.

“Really?”

Huffing, you tug the octopus closer. Doing your best to stifle a giggle, as the plush melted into your chest. Soft as fresh snow, yet there was a certain firmness to it as well. The perfect companion for cuddles.

You plop it into the trolley, beaming at the yellow critter.

“I’m taking it!”

Heaving a sigh, Azul jabs at the octopus with his fingers. Lower lip jutting out every so slightly in a pout, a faint pink dusted over his cheeks. He picks it up, giving the octopus a once over.

“Any… particular reason for purchasing this animal, specially?”

Tripping over his words, Azul’s gaze found itself meeting yours. There was a certain emotion behind his eyes you found hard to describe. A tender look, as soft as a bruise. Longing behind those eyes as grey as mist.

Your cheeks grow warm, skin blazing alive in a inferno. Reaching over to Azul, you swipe the octopus from him. Burying your face into its oversized noggin, praying that Azul saw nothing on your face.

Desperately trying to keep a sense of cool, despite the way your heart seemed intent of bursting out of your chest.

“I… I like octopuses.”

A weight on your palm. Gently, Azul guides your hand away from the octopus. Carefully interlocking his fingers in between yours, palm flat against your palm. A heartbeat, pulsing into your skin.

A rather flustered beat, doing its best to keep up.

Azul’s cheeks were tinted pink, ears a scarlet red. His grip tightens, as he takes a step closer. Forehead pressing against yours, his breath wafting over your lips ever so tantalisingly.

“Just ‘Like’, my dear?”

Your heart skipped a beat, plunging straight into overdrive. Thundering against your rib cage, crashing against the walls of flesh that kept it constrained.

“Love.”

The word slipped out all by itself, hanging in the air.

“ I love… I love them.”

A light, airy chuckle. Bringing your hand up, Azul presses a light kiss into your knuckles. His lips were soft, gliding across the back of your palm. A slow, passionate affair. The way he kissed was little awkward, but no one could accuse him of not being a gentleman.

His gaze flickered up to you once more, a light twinkling within those misty grey eyes.

“Just them?

How about this octopus in particular, hm?”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Azul Ashengrotto #Azul Ashengrotto x reader #Azul x reader #Azul #lucky potion🔷 #I WANTED TO GET THAT PLUSHIE SO BAD #I NEEDED IT #IT WAS SO CUTE AND AND AND #UGRH #I didn’t get it in the end #but WAIT FOR ME #I’LL BE BACK!!!!

[picardsims]

Picardsims' 3k CAS Challenge

Sooooo I hit 3000 followers!! In order to celebrate, I invite everyone to participate in my little CAS challenge/contest!!!

Rules: Pick an apartment with a backstory that speaks to you (or multiple) and make a sim/family (your pick on whether you want to make the whole family or just one sim) who could live there. CC allowed, anything is allowed really. In two weeks (so, 22nd of April) I'll pick 3 of my favorites to get a prize! If you win, you can tell me any 3 build-buy items and I'll make them for you! (deco, unless it's something I 100% know how to make functional :>) In order for me to see it use the tag #picardsims3k (and tag me!! I'll see it sooner probably but I'll look at everything in the tag promise) Without further ado:

Apartment #1: Ro Kaya 62/1

Sims: 2 This apartment belongs to an elderly… couple? Two friends? Nobody knows and they're too scared to ask. You can find the tenants of this apartment in the hallway or on their balcony, keeping tabs on the neighborhood. Nothing gets past them. If you get on their good side, you will get invited for tea and get treated to fascinating stories from the past.

Apartment #2: Ro Kaya 62/2

Sims: 5 Is there enough space in this apartment for this married couple, their twins and their toddler? Definitely not. However, they just finished renovating it when they got pregnant (may or may not have been an accident), so it's not like they're going to move now… How long can the parents survive sharing their bedroom with their little one?

Apartment #3: Ro Kaya 62/3

Sims: 1 Their whole life, this Sim has wanted to be an artist. That didn't sit right with their straightlaced doctor parents, who refused to support them through art school. On impulse they moved to Tomarang and befriended a local painter, who allowed them to stay in their old apartment. Now that they're an award-winning graphic designer, their parents are finally trying to reconnect. Will they let them back in? Or is their chosen family the only one in their heart?

Apartment #4: Ro Kaya 64/1

Sims: 2 A single father raising a teenage daughter… What could go wrong? He's obsessed with plants, she loves gaming with her friends. She's mad he keeps putting plants in her room, he's mad she keeps putting laundry on the floor. However, no matter how hard they fight, there's nothing a midnight session of making pancakes together cannot fix.

Apartment #5: Ro Kaya 64/2

Sims: 2 After their grandmother passed, moving into her apartment was a dream come true for this Sim. Not so much for their partner. You see, grandma ran a very popular bakery, and they're supposed to inherit the business — sounds great, except they don't like baking all that much. One partner whose entire life has revolved around cakes and cookies, one partner who only uses the oven to make frozen pizza — can they handle the challenge? Or will their relationship crumble like bread with too much flour?

Apartment #6: Ro Kaya 64/3

Sims: 5 Two couples and one single person, this apartment sure is crowded. However, when you're just starting college, that doesn't sound all that bad — the rent is low, and there's always someone to party with! However, they'll soon learn it's not all loud music and cheap drinks — there's a line for the bathroom and you're never sure whose turn it is to vacuum (not yours though, that's for sure).

Remember: the tag is #picardsims3k, the deadline for the prize is 22nd of April (feel free to keep it going longer though!) and I'm incredibly thankful for each and every person who follows me (I am not kidding though dm me pictures of those pets I know you have them)

Enjoy! kotpicard

#picardsims3k #sims 4 #cas challenge #ts4 #simblr #sims 4 cas #sims 4 cas challenge

[draguta]

.a court of fate and fortune | thirty-seven.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: | book two | lovers separated, powers that won't be controlled, a doomed wedding. with the threat of war looming over prythian, lucien, Y/N, tamlin, and rhysand's inner circle must scramble to find allies and prepare themselves for what is to come. but Y/N only has one aim; to find her way back to lucien, and protect him at all costs.

chapter warnings: canon level violence, death

chapter word count: 2318

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please remember to reblog, like, and share a comment if you enjoy this series - it is always appreciated by writers to see their hard work valued.

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BATTLE OF VELARIS

Rita’s eyes slid to you as you hurtled toward the four soldiers surrounding her, but it wasn’t fear that you felt in that moment, as reflected in Rita’s eyes. Rather, it was surety that ran through your veins, determination that pumped throughout your body as if it was always meant to have been there. You had fought before - fought for your life, fought to train, to become stronger - but it was nothing like that moment. In that moment, it was almost as if you were born to do this, to be the defender of those more innocent than you, those who had never committed the sins that you yourself had.

Your feet skidded on the blood-slick stones as you brought the knife in your right hand up, slicing through the right lumbar of the soldier closest to you, the small size of the knife making it easy to slip up under his armour to cut through his skin. The soldier cried out in pain as your knife came back wet and red with his blood. Your hair, damp with sweat, flicked across your face as your head turned just in time to see the blade aimed right for your throat; it wasn’t difficult to dodge it, a move that you and Silas had practised countless times.

The movements you made were slick and smooth, carefully executed strikes and blows with such precision that it would make both your old and new tutors proud. There was a soldier on all sides of you, from left to right, in front and behind. You were surrounded, encircled by enemies that wanted nothing more than your head on the end of their sword as a prize to return to their vicious king.

Each and every blow struck against your knives, sparks flying from the metal as they clanged together. You ducked and dodged every attempt made by the four soldiers, slicing endless jabs at each of them as they circled you, a dance where the leader was outnumbered, but knew every step by heart. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face, one of maniacal clarity; this was everything you had been waiting for, a chance to prove yourself.

“I never would have expected such flawless swordsmanship from the Spring Court sister.” The voice was rough and gravelly, enough to pull you momentarily away from the fight you had found yourself in, quick enough that you didn’t miss the sword aimed for your abdomen, deflected with graceful ease, but with enough counted seconds to catch glimpse of what was taking place behind you.

Rita’s eyes were resolutely wide, determined but fogged with panic and fear. The old dented metal of an ancient-looking dagger was pointed into the soft flesh below her jaw, enough to draw a drop of blood from the column of her throat.

“Is this what they were teaching you in the fields, hmm?” The soldier holding the dagger spoke, his grip on Rita’s arm pinching her tighter, to the point that the skin surrounding his fingers was turning a ghostly white. His yellowing grin seemed to glow eerily from amongst his thin lips, coated in a sheen of scarlet blood as he cocked his head to one side, eyes trained on you. “Did your little trainer never teach you that it’s usually those you’re trying to protect that become your greatest weakness.”

No, Silas had never taught you that. But Azriel had. Time and time again he had drilled into you that your first priority should be making sure any innocents made it to safety - you cursed yourself for forgetting what he had taught you.

“Just let her go,” you said, attempting to sound stern, commanding, but failing as the bile in your throat made your voice croaky and weak. You flinched as that dagger pressed closer to Rita’s throat, masking the slight movement with a flick of the knife in your hand as you jilted your head toward the bar owner. “You don’t need her. Your fight isn’t with her, it’s with me. Let her go-” you spread your arms wide as an invitation to finish what you had both started, “and we can finish this here and now.”

It was then, as the soldier grinned in an almost unearthly manner, pushing Rita from his side as he took the first strides toward you, that you felt the pain; sharp and unyielding and unbearable right in your side, just below the final rib. A scream ripped from your throat, your bones cracking as you fell to your knees beside Rita, barely able to see the figure of the two soldiers - the one who had held Rita and the one who had snuck up behind you and pierced you with their blade - looming above you through your tears.

Your eyes slowly slid to Rita, even as the cobblestones surrounding the bar keep’s knees grew sticky with your own blood. Her eyes were wide, her skin so pale it almost seemed translucent. But that wasn’t important, not when those soldiers were still lingering so near, when the city itself was under siege, when your friends were out there on the streets fighting for their lives. No, what mattered was that female before you, your friend, an innocent.

“Run!” A pained croak that seemed to echo across the river. And as the two Hybern soldiers behind you muttered something about letting the Attor finish you off, the last thing you saw was Rita’s boots as they slammed against the cobblestones in the opposite direction.

A gnawing ache, just below his last rib. It only seemed to grow with every second that Lucien paced the bare stone floor of his rooms. At first, he had thought that it was perhaps his worry manifesting itself into physical pain - anxiety and panic ruminating in his body, only swelling with each second that passed on the clock. Each second that passed without him knowing if she was safe. If he had - in his loyalty to Tamlin - sentenced her to death.

It was his fault.

His fault.

His fault.

It was heinous.

The words seemed to echo through those empty, silent streets, carried on a phantom breeze straight to the House of Wind standing tall in the golden hues of the morning, across every rippled of the Sidra, across each and every blood-soaked cobblestone.

A putrid smell hung in the air like a heavy blanket on Velaris, that once beautiful city now turned to ruin. The place where so many had lost their lives that day. Amongst them you lay, unsure if you were dead or alive; unsure of which you’d rather be. Something warm and heavy lay upon you, crushing your body under its weight. The Hybern soldier, now dead it would seem.

You drew in a deep staggered breath, ignoring the sharp-shooting pain that ran through your stomach at the movement. If you could just keep breathing, keep inhaling and exhaling, perhaps you could make it through this. If it was even worth trying to survive at all.

No, of course it was.

Minutes, or even hours passed, you weren’t sure. The buzzing of flies spun around you, and you could hear the far-off caws of the crows, likely coming to claim their victims, the bodies of the soldiers that surrounded you, littering the streets of the city.

You dared a glance to your left, your neck tight and stiff. You almost wished you had never done it; the glassy stare of a young fae on the front steps of a building you presumed had once been a store gazed back at you, unblinking, mouth agape and tongue hanging out to lick at the ashes of the building that had fallen around you. A fly crawled across her eye, but the fae did not move. You looked up, eyes trailing over the body toward the sky, an attempt to dissipate the vision from your mind, but froze. A sword was embedded in the back of the fae’s skull. She looked no older than a girl - older than you were, but young for her limitless years. You wondered what the girl’s name had been, if she had lived in Velaris for long, if you had ever stepped foot into the store she now lay dead outside. This fae’s death was on your hands, her blood staining your palms. You knew that, just as well as you knew that the girl’s soul was now no more than dust in the air that you were inhaling. You could have saved her, if you hadn’t failed.

Was it truly fair for you to survive - to walk away from that battlefield when you had caused her death? That fae’s ghost would no doubt haunt that riverside for centuries to come, for longer than you were sure your years would grant you even if you did make it out of there alive. Perhaps you should join her, should go down with those you had damned to that fate, who had died defending their homes - defending Velaris.

Once again, as if she were still the mortal that wandered those frozen woodlands so long ago, death seemed somewhat welcoming in those moments of solitude, the heat of the body across you seeming almost like a swaddle, the type that would lull a child to sleep. Perhaps that was your fate, after everything, to die like a stray dog, forgotten and alone, with only those crows and the rising sun as your unwavering companions until your last breath. Your name would become yet another scrawled on the list of fatalities that this battle had already stolen from this realm.

Slowly, as if the very weight of the world you were trying to protect was upon him, you allowed your eyes to open once more, the sunlight near blinding as it continued its descent over the looming mountains that surrounded the city. A great groan ripped from your dry and aching throat as you pushed the body of the Hybern soldier above you, the resounding thud of the body slumping to the ground rippling through the eerie silence. You didn’t know how he had died, who had delivered the killing blow, and perhaps you never would. You inclined your head; there were no sounds of Hybern soldiers coming to collect their dead and rid themselves of any of their enemy that were still breathing, but that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t be there soon enough. If you were going to live, you would have to move. Now.

Every bone and muscle in your body seemed to scream at you to stop as you rolled himself over onto your stomach, pushing yourself onto your knees. Your chest heaved with the effort, rising and falling with every sullen breath, every breath that you breath whilst those around you would not. One glance across your surroundings told you that the House of Wind was to your North, across the sea of the dead. It was illuminated by the setting sun behind it as if Mother Nature herself were guiding you. And so you moved.

You barely paid any heed to the bodies of the dead as you passed by as fast as your shaking legs would allow you. You crawled over their outstretched limbs, black from dirt and dried, coagulated blood. You ignored their glassy stares and tried to block out that smell, tried to avoid the gags that were pushing your way up your throat. That smell seemed to cling to the inside of your nostrils. The smell of death.

There would be time to mourn their losses later, to take in the faces of each and every fae that died in that battle, whether on your side or the enemy, when you reached safety. Your eyes slammed shut as you desperately dragged yourself away, willing your feet to move, to run as far as you could from that place, as far as you could from the faces that would no doubt haunt you.

Your surroundings were unfamiliar, unknown to you despite having walked the route a thousand times before. It looked different now, no longer an ethereal paradise but rather only the setting of the bloody massacre that you had fought through. You moved faster, although you were more than acutely aware that should any of Hybern’s soldiers still be lurking down any of the side streets, they would likely be on his trail in no time, seeking out your body amongst the dead on the streets. Crimson blood stained the hand that you used to clutch the wound in your side, your own mingling with the blood that had been smeared on your hands from the bodies you crawled over, marring your skin, enemy and kin combining in the rivets of your palms after death.

But your vision was growing darker, blurrier, and your foot caught on something below; an outstretched arm hidden by your watering eyes. You groaned in pain as you hit the ground, not even trying to hide the sound from any enemy soldiers nearby. If they killed you, then they killed you. At least it would put you out of your misery. Your hands reached out to cushion your fall, leaving scratches and grazes along the heels of your palms.

That was when you caught sight of the figure that loomed above you. Freshly polished boots scuffed with blood and dirt planted on the stones mere centimetres from the tips of your fingers, reflecting your own bloodied and battered impression back to you, just one more amongst the other broken corpses that lay surrounding you. A squint, a hint of what you were sure was auburn hair silhouetted by the sun, and then a voice.

“Come now,” the voice said, smooth and warm and velvety. “This is no place to die.”

Your lips twisted into a pained smile as they curled around the word. “Lucien.”

And then everything went dark once more.

Taglist

Complete: | @loveshineslikethesky | @elleclairez | @lostpirateinwonderland | @judig92 | @old-enough-to-know-better73 | @atrashsith | @chanaaaannel |

Lucien Vanserra: | @luna-foxglove | @lumos-barnes | @cumuluscranium | @dreamlandreader | @enrichmenttimeinmyenclosure |

#ACOTAR #ACOTAR fanfiction #ACOTAR fanfic #Lucien Vanserra #Lucien #Lucien ACOTAR #Lucien Vanserra fanfiction #Lucien Vanserra fanfic #Lucien fanfiction #Lucien fanfic #Lucien x reader #Lucien Vanserra x reader #Lucien x you #Lucien Vanserra x you #Lucien x y/n #lucien vanserra x y/n #rhysand #feyre #tamlin #cassian #azriel #amarantha #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #lucien smut #lucien vanserra smut #acotar smut

[bullet-prooflove]

Bronco: Travis Wheatley x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989

Travis Wheatley falls in love when he sees you riding Bronco.

The Montana Rider’s Association are bringing back the women’s event for the first time since the forties and the prize, it rivals anything he’s seen in Dallas.

The aim of the game is to stay on the horse for eight seconds, no matter how much it may fight you. It’s messy, violent and adrenaline inducing.

“She needs the money.” Rip tells him as the two of them watch you from behind the fence that circles around the arena. “She’s just coming out of a messy divorce, she let the bastard have everything just so she could keep the horse. He told her he’d have it put down if he ever got his hands on it.”

The horse is called Artemis, she’s a white Arabian with a sleek coat and a glossy mane. They’re known as a light breed, excelling in both strength and agility, great for barrel racing. He’d fawned all over  her when he’d first laid eyes on her. She was a gorgeous creature, spirited, well cared for. The two of you are a match made in heaven.

“He sounds like a nasty son of a bitch.” Travis says as he sips from his bottle of beer, his breath catching as the Bronco tosses you. Those three seconds it takes you to move are the longest of his life but then you get back up on your feet, a little dirty, a little battered and you go again.

You’re the ballsiest damn woman he’s ever met.

“Malcom Beck.” Rip tells him and the name triggers something inside of Travis. He’s heard the rumours, cruel to his horses and to his wife, which was why she was always travelling the country competing in barrel rolling competitions. “He blackballed her from all the other stables, which is why we’re housing Artemis here. It’s not enough that he took everything, he needs to make her life difficult too.”

“She leave him?” Travis asks, his gaze straying down to his watch as he counts the seconds because your back on that Bronco and this time you’re staying put.

“The women she could put up with but then he tried to stop her competing, tried to take the horse.” Rip shakes his head, his palm rubbing across his grizzled chin. “It was the only thing that gave her any joy in that piece of shit marriage.”

You make eight seconds, and then you do it again and again and again until Lloyd calls you off because both you and the Bronco are both tired. Travis greets you at the gate with a beer and you press the cool glass against your flushed cheeks before you pop the cap off.

You have that look in your eyes, the same bright, exhilarated look that he gets when he’s competing. There’s a wildness in you right now, your husband he tried to tame it, stifle it but Travis he wants to run with it, all the way out into the mountains and however far it goes.

“You wanna get into some trouble tonight?” He asks you, his shoulder bumping against yours as you both sit down on the grass outside the arena. “No strings, just a mutual thing between two people who haven’t felt tenderness in a while.”

It’s quiet now, Rip and Lloyd are seeing to the Bronco whilst the others are camping up in the pastures with one of the herds. There’s a peacefulness to it, a stillness you never get tired of. You could live forever up here in the valley, soaking in the tranquillity of it.

“I don’t believe for a single second it’s been that long for you cowboy.” You say, leaning back in the grass. Travis follows suit, his arm propping up his head as he studies you.

The warmth of his body rolls over your skin, the hem of his t-shirt creeping up to reveal a slither of firm, tan muscle. It’s been a long time since you wanted a man, since you craved the unyielding thrust of his cock deep inside you.

“It’s been over a year.” He tells you, picking a daisy and using it to trail up along the inside of your forearm. It’s a euphoric sensation, the gentle trace of petals over your flesh sending a thrill of anticipation chasing through every single one of your synapses.

“I ain’t got nobody back home waiting for me and from what I hear you don’t either.” He murmurs, the daisy slipping from his fingers as his thumb chases along the line of your jaw. “Why shouldn’t we take a little pleasure in one another, enjoy ourselves.”

There’s an ache in you, a fierce heat that licks through your veins likes a wildfire as his nose trails along the length of yours, his lips ghosting lightly over your mouth. That kiss, it’s full of everything you’ve been missing, passion, sensuality and above all promise, promise that it’s not just about him tonight, it’s about you.

“Oh honey,” He whispers against your lips. “The two of us are going to have some fun.”

Love Travis? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#travis wheatley #travis wheatley x reader #travis wheatley x you #yellowstone #taylor sheridan

[nymphoheretic]

Synopsis: Kyoujuro likes seeing his wife in his merch and only his merch.

Warning: Actor Au, fem!reader, edging, fingering, mirror sex (implied), biting, daddy kink

Word Count: 1.7K

Pairing: Kyoujuro Rengoku x Fem!reader

Tagging the rengoku girlies(gn): @bakugosbratx @renhoeku @glz-100 @herohibiscus @potofstewie @comatosebunny09 @cherryblossomsenpai @linpunny @unknownspecies @yeahitzally @taisho-era-secrets @auraee @diorsbrando @kyojuro-my-wuv @wanderingfaee and the network @tokyometronetwork

Join the Rengoku girlies: https://forms.gle/YGTATcvxh2oAUc3o9

You sat on the couch, watching your husband’s latest movie. He had warned you that he would be dying in this film, but it did nothing to prepare you for how brutal his death scene was. You screamed at the TV as the demon punched a hole through your soulmate’s stomach. 

Tears swelled in your eyes as I watched his students cry for him as he gave his final speech. Your tears fell down your face as you watched the sweet, happy smile spread over his face as he saw the ghost of his mother telling him how she was proud of him.

The need to turn the movie off before you were forced to witness Kyoujuro’s final breath hit you hard, but you  needed to finish the movie. You  were crying along with the other actors as yor beloved slowly lowered his head as he took in his last dying breath, blood pooling around him from the large wound in his stomach. 

You hugged your Kyou plushies closer to your chest as you  continued watching each of the other hashira’s reaction to hearing about Kyoujuro’s death. By the time the ending credits were playing, you were sobbing and holding onto your plushie for dear life. 

Pushing your Kyoujuro blanket down off yourlap, you wrapped his hashira cape closer around your naked body. You had asked the production team if you could keep the haori as a memento of his best selling movie and thankfully they agreed. You loved wearing the cloak around the house so much. It drove Kyoujuro insane when you would wear it.

Walking into the kitchen, you grabbed some fruit to snack on while you waited for Kyoujro to come home from a recent shoot. Season two of the show he was a part of was airing soon and by popular demand, he was getting a special original episode and a televised premiere of his movie with extra scenes.

Checking the clock, you saw that it was nearly ten at night. Kyoujuro should be home soon. You  left the kitchen to go to our bedroom to put some clothing on. You did not need him trying to pounce on you while wearing your  prized haori.

You put on one of his hoodies that looked like his demon slayer outfit from the movie. What could you say? You would forever support your husband by buying every little bit of merch that comes out of him.  You loved to support his career. You had a whole room dedicated to all his figures and posters.

A smile tilted at your face as you heard the front door to the house open and Kyoujuro tiredly announced that he was home. You stepped out of the bedroom to go greet him happily. Wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him soundly on the lips.

 “My hero is home.” you said, your voice a happy chirp as you referred to one of the movies you acted together in and he was your savior. It was how the two of you actually met.

Kyoujuro chuckled as he tiredly returned your kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you gently. He missed his wife so much. Shooting all those new scenes for the upcoming show was tiresome.

 And having to refilm his death scene left a bitter taste in his mouth. He was happy that his fans wanted to see more of him, but having that fake arm shoved through his stomach for the second time was uncomfortable and the actor who played Akaza messed up the shoot three times this time when he had gotten it perfect the first time.

He arched a brow when he pulled away and took notice of your current attire. “Love, why are you wearing that?” He asked, feeling his cock stir the longer he looked at you wearing his merch. You knew what it does to him seeing you covered in his items. Especially when they draped down your body and made you seem even smaller in his eyes.

You pulled at the neck of the hoodie before giving him an innocent smile. “It's just some of your merch. I was watching the Mugen Train before you came.” you smiled up at him and you backed up so he could see your full attire. You gave him a little spin, the hood of the jacket flaring out some with the movement. “Aren’t I cute?”

“Baby girl...” he said, softly under his breath, his head lowered. While he knew that you had to have cried while watching that movie. You always did this. Make herself cry while watching his movies. 

He knew that his one in particular would make you cry hard because his character had just been introduced in the show only to be killed off in a movie. “Why do you do this to yourself?” He asked, grabbing your arm and pulling you to his chest.

“Hmm?” You hummed as you sunk into his warm enbrace. “I'm just a masochist and I think the demon is hot.” you giggled when he suddenly started to tickle me. “Kyoujuro!” you squealed as his fingers assaulted your sides. 

You tried to wriggle away, but he would not let you, his strong arms holding you in place. “I’m sorry!” you said through laughing so hard, tears were coming down your face. “I was kidding! I only looked at you the whole movie, I swear!”

Kyoujuro hummed as he continued to tickle his wife. “Good girl.” He praised, but didn’t stop his seeking fingers as that danced along your sides, producing more of your melodious laughter. He truly missed you these past few weeks while he was stuck on set with the crew filming these episodes. 

So, he was going to enjoy as much time with you as he could. “My little fireball.” He purred as he finally stopped his attack and pressed you closer to his body, his hands smoothing over the fabric of the hoodie you wore.

You wapped your arms around his neck, leaning in to kiss him softly. “I’m not wearing anything under this hoodie.” you whispered in his ear. “I was sitting on the couch, your hashira cloak draped over my shoulders, with your blanket over my legs.” 

You described everything you did while he was on screen; how you touched your body – eyes closed as you listened to the sound of his voice. “Do you know how hard I ache for you when we have different sets to go to and when you have to stay late for reshoots.” you took his hand and guided it to your legs and under the hoodie where your aching and dripping cunt was. “This much.”

His eyebrow arched when his fingertips were almost instantly drenched in your slick when he touched your throbbing pussy. “You ache that badly, wife?”  He spun you around so that you were facing the large mirror the two of you had over the couch. Pulling the hoodie up to expose your naked body, he had you hold the end of it between your teeth. “Then watch me as I fuck you tonight, my darling.”

You let out a small whimper at Kyoujuro’s lewd words as his fingers dipped inside your clenching hole. His other hand grabbed your thigh, lifting your leg to spread them apart so that you could see his thick fingers slipping in and out. You leaned your head back against his shoulder as the lewd sounds of his pleasuring you filling the living room.

His lips slid over to your ear as his deep voice rumbled yor spine as he told you to keep watch on the mirror. You  had not even noticed that your eyes had closed, lost in the feelings he was stiring within you.

“Keep those pretty eyes open for me and watch as my fingers disappear within you, baby.” He sped up the thrust of his digits, plunging them in and out, the squelching noises increasing. He could tell that you were close and smiled into your neck as he immediately slowed the pace until he was shallowly touching you with the tips of his fingers, softly circling your clit. A chuckle left Kyoujuro at your whine and he bit down on your exposed neck. “Watch me then, pretty girl.”

You opened your eyes and looked at your reflection in the mirror, your face heating with embarrassment from the lewd, erotic sight.Your leg held up in the crook of his elbow while his other hand covered your pussy as his fingers thrust in and out at a leisurely pace.

 “Kyou...” you pleaded, your voice a keening whine as you reached behind you to wrap your arm around his neck. “I'm watching, please?” you could feel the piece of the hoodie that was clenched in yor teeth grow damp from my saliva.

Kyoujuro glanced down at his wife, your body trembling in his hold as he pressed his hips against yours. “Such a pretty thing when you beg.” He turned his head and pressed his lips against your forehead, kissing it softly. The sweet act betreaying the movement of his fingers as he fucked you on them. 

“You’re so tight and wet, my love. Just look at how your pussy is devouring my fingers. Like it can’t get enough.” His eyes never left your face as he watched you witness yourself come undone by his fingers alone. “That’s right, my beautiful wife. Cum. Cum all over daddy’s fingers.”

You bit down harder on the fabric in your mouth, probably tearing a hole in it in the process. Your body shook violently as Kyoujuro thumbed at your clit to speed up your orgasm. You felt lightheaded as you  creamed on his fingers, your walls fluttering; clenching and unclenching tightly. “So good, daddy.” your voice was still muffled by the cloth as saliva dripped out of the corners of your mouth as tears of pleasure burned at your eyes.

 You were slightly surprised when he suddenly yanked the hoodie off of your body, spinning you back around, picking you up so that my legs were wrapped around his waist, and his lips on mine.

Kyoujuro hungrily kissed his wife. He needed you so badly, but something was missing. Setting you back down on your feet, he motioned with his head to the bedroom. “Go put on my Hashira haori.”

At your confused look, he smiled. “I want to fuck you while you’re wearing my merch and what better than my one of a kind haori?” Kyoujuro gave you a light spank as he guided you in the direction of your shared room, where he knew that’s where you stored the cloak.

©️2022-23 nymphoheretic - I do not give permission to copy, edit, alter, or distribute my work. Do not adverse on tiktok. Do not repost on any other platform.

#nymphomanic♡ #rengoku x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku x you #rengoku x y/n #kyojuro x reader #kyojuro x you #kyoujurou rengoku smut #rengoku smut #rengoku kyoujurou x reader #kyoujurou x reader #kyoujurou rengoku x reader #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer smut #kny x reader #kny smut

[scummy-writes]

Just a Taste

A solo Gilbert fanfic

Rating: Explicit (minors dni)

Pairing: Gilbert(/Reader)

Word Count: 1701

Tags: Masturbation, Underwear Theft, Solo Male, Fem Reader, Masturbation with Underwear, Gilbert is a lil creepy in this sorry

Summary: Gilbert steals a pair of your underwear and uses them to jerk himself off.

Your preferred style of underwear was much different than Gilbert had been expecting. 

Now that he was away from any prying eyes and in the guest room the princes had graciously let him reside in, he pulled your underwear out from his pocket, hooking the sides with each index finger and spreading them between both hands to get a proper look.

They had… less fabric than he initially imagined. With how nauseously sweet you were, he expected you to own pairs upon pairs of light colors, modestly plain and with minor decorations at the most. Not such a deep shade, with a teasing of alluring lace and cut in a way that would barely cover your supple rear. They seemed to be silky as well, which made him narrow his eye in irritation.

This would be a pair a woman would wear to seduce a man, and the thought of one of these princes, or god forbid that dog of yours, being privy to witnessing what you wore under those modest clothes of yours made his blood boil.

He hadn’t pegged you to be so bold. 

Yet as he mulled over the idea, his anger simmered down.

Perhaps seducing a certain someone had been your intention, because Gilbert never held the urge to steal underwear like a common pervert until he picked the lock on your door tonight.

It was routine by now for him to do so when the two of you had rarely saw each other that day. One you had grown to expect by now, due to previous experiences where you sat reading on your sofa, greeting him with little reluctance the moment the door clicked open.

And with such a common occurrence, it had left Gilbert’s eye wide tonight when the door unlatched, leaving him to see the clothes of the supposed shy little rabbit brazenly scattered about your bedroom.

Trailing his eye from one piece of clothing to the next, he had realized the path led towards the bathroom. What would have made you so eager to bathe? But the answer he was seeking was resting on top of your discarded skirt; a dark pair of underwear, as if left out with the intention of him stumbling upon them. And on closer examination, it became evident of why you had been so eager to rush into the only room you had solely to yourself.

Your arousal on such clear display felt like a quiet, unspoken present you were leaving him. 

And who was he to reject such a thoughtful gift?

.

Prize in hand, Gilbert now lay haphazardly on the bed in the sanctity of this guest room, stripped down to his slacks and shirt. He was too focused on working his belt off to care about comfort, anticipation thrilling through him as he surveyed the cloth yet again, eyes glued to the damp spot where your pussy had been rubbing against not too long ago.

Pressing the wet fabric against his nose, he shuddered as he took the first inhale of your scent. The moment that he finally discovered just how much the smell of your arousal made his imaginations pale in comparison, shivers shot down his spine, and he grinned while taking another deep huff.

This is what you smelled like as you sat beside him, flustered with all his teasing? Just the image of you sitting there, scolding him all the while you dampened your naughty underwear, had him forgo his earlier intentions of taking this slow. 

He bit down on his gloved finger, yanking off the fabric and letting it lazily fall onto his shoulder, too preoccupied with embedding this scent to memory.

You, with your sickening way of believing in the ‘pure’ heart of everyone, getting so excited at just being near him; a man referred to being a ‘Worldwide Disaster’.

Gilbert groaned. Hands fumbling with undoing his zipper as he remembered pulling you into his lap earlier today. You had been so engrossed in your novel that you wouldn't pry yourself from the words to even look at him, and now he was fantasizing that the reason your cheeks bloomed such a deep hue was from the tantalizing shame of getting aroused by him brazenly sliding you onto him, from each time he demanded your attention with a nip to your ear.

You had sworn it was due to how rude he was, but he hadn't missed feeling you tightly press your thighs together as you continued to sit obediently on his lap. He assumed it was from embarrassment, but evidence of the contrary was currently pressed against his face.

You had been thinking about it all day, hadn't you? Thinking about the deliciously vile ways the two of you could take advantage of the fact no one wanted to be near either of you, thinking about all the ways Gilbert could pin you against that table in the library, or the door to your room, and bring you to prayer with how badly you wanted his cock nestled between your inner walls. 

Just as he had.

"Mmph, haha…"

By the time his cock hit the cold air, precum was already glistening along the tip. Gilbert's own gasp from the sensation rewarded him with another wave of your scent. With his focus stolen by the silk, he clumsily reached for the lotion in his nightstand, slickening his hand before finally bringing it back to his aching length.

He felt lightheaded from just the smell of you alone, but when he pressed his tongue to the damp fabric and was gifted with a hint of your taste, his eye rolled back, a heady moan falling out from between his parted lips. Squeezing the head of his cock in conjunction just made his hips jut up impatiently. God, how he wanted to take this slow before. But with the realization that his naive little rabbit got wet at just spending time with him, to the point of rushing to relieve yourself in the only room that promised you privacy, had his hand roughly working at himself as his thoughts spiraled.

Gilbert wanted you, he wanted this same taste spread along his tongue, pressed against your warmth. He wanted you begging for even just the tip of his tongue to play with you, pleading for him to lap at your juices, your face blazing with shame for finally letting your desires known.

He wanted to make you his. Have everyone in this damned place hear the way you would be unable to hide your screams of his name with how hard he pounded into you.

Thick droplets of precum leaked down his cock, slickening his knuckles as they traveled over his fingers. Gilbert continued to pump himself harder, the timing of his thrusts into his fist slowing as he imagined each one being buried into your swollen cunt instead.

God, he wanted to fuck you within an inch of your life. 

Now damp with his saliva, Gilbert finally pried the cloth away from his face, panting. That pretty pair of underwear, soiled by his spit and the arousal you barely hid. With it already being so perverse, what would it matter if he followed his base impulses? 

A breathy sigh escaped him as your underwear pressed against the glans of his dick, the thick length twitching at Gilbert knowing his rabbit was wearing this not too long ago.

Now here he was, letting his fingers tangle with the fabric as he thrusted his flushed head against the gusset.

His breath came out unsteady, knowing his precum was mixing with the traces of your arousal.

Did you play with yourself while wearing these? Were there moments through the day where, when alone, you pressed against your warmth to ease the pain of that excitement? Or did you manage to wait until alone in your bedroom, rubbing your clit impatiently while stripping off layers?

The idea of you in the bath, getting rid of pent up arousal to thoughts of Gilbert fucking you senseless, made his balls clench.

Throwing his head back, Gilbert closed his eye as he pumped harder, trying to keep his voice quiet as another fantasy filled his head.

The sensation of your silken undergarment rubbing against him so delightfully fueled the imagining of pressing you against that vanity in your bedroom, skirt yanked up roughly as he nestled his cock between your plush thighs. Your underwear becoming more soaked with each thrust he delivered, teasing your clit by only rubbing through the thin, silky fabric the two of you were ruining.

Your voice would be hoarse from shame, tears filling your eyes as frustration coursed through you, but you'd be begging for him to plunge his thick length into your dripping cunt, swollen with need.

And just the thought of finally crossing that forbidden threshold, finally feeling your inner walls clench and milk his cock as you cried out his name, had Gilbert close to the edge.

He stopped his desperate thrusts to focus on massaging his frenulum with the dampened spot he was obsessed with, quietly gasping as each, impatient rub to the sensitive area pushed him further and further, until-

"Ngh!"

The intensity of his orgasm stole his breath, his legs shaking as he tried to keep massaging himself through it all, wanting to get every bit of his cum soaked into the gusset of your underwear. Each thick, strong spurt was imagined to be shot into your welcoming cunt, and it wasn’t until that fantasy faded away that Gilbert finally took in a harsh breath. 

Lifting his head, Gilbert’s darkened eye surveyed what he had done. What hadn’t soaked into your fabric had dribbled down his length, and his own hand was slick with his fluids. Weakly, he pulled his hand away, unable to recall a time when touching himself had left him this winded.

Seeing the evidence of his debauchery mixing in with what remained of yours, Gilbert stalled as his breathing steadied. The urge to lap at his own mess just to experience the taste of the two of you was appealing, but… 

Letting you see what he had gifted you in return seemed much more gratifying.

EDIT 8/22/23: I've made a sequel to this fic, titled Helpless Desires. If you enjoyed this, feel free to check it out.

(The rest of the author notes are from the original 3/20/23 upload date)

……..I don’t have an explanation for this. I just like guys jackin off.

I don’t think Gilbert would really do this, but fiction is for exploring what isn’t covered in canon. *coughs* Or the fantasies, no matter how unrealistic, you have of your faves.

Not accepting criticisms, as I am aware not much info is out in ENG for Gilbert, but if you think there is a tag/warning I should add that I managed not to cover, please let me know! Thank you!

If you enjoyed this, please consider commenting and/or reblogging! 

Ikepri Masterlist || Ikevamp Masterlist || Ikevamp/Ikepri Server

Taglist (Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!): @anianakin @shookspearewrites @niintendoqs @otomefoxystar @jazzellen @cinnatwisted @passionatebooklover @aurora-morning @kimmy-banana @akitsuneswife

(Divider Credit)

#ikepri gilbert #ikemen prince gilbert #ikepri #ikemen prince #gilbert von obsidian #smut #thank you roomie for going 'no thats hot!!!' when I was afriad to put in certain scenes #or lines

[just-some-random-blogger]

I'm nervous about requesting this since I don't know if it's a good idea, but here goes: Reader goes camping for a weekend and decides to invite Dream to do typical camping activities (canoeing, swimming, hiking, etc) with them on one of those days. Can be pure fluff/slice of life (though I wouldn't mind a little bit of smut too).

Marshies

Dream of the Endless x Reader + Destruction of the Endless x Reader

Summary: "Pardon," Dream shakes his head, "how were you two acquainted again?" Destruction and you turn to each other as you bring your chocolate marshmallows closer to the open fire. In unison, you reply, "Didi."

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: gender neutral reader, camp instructor!reader kinda, unbelievably mopey!dream, puppy!destruction, fluff, jealousy, bro vs bro?, typos, etc.

A/N: HELLO MY BABY LOVE FANGIRLMARY. I AM SO HAPPY YOU CAME TO MY INBOX I DO A DANCY DANCE. I LOVE YOUR URL UR DP AND YOUR REQ SO MUCH I GIVE YOU AN EXPRESS PASS. I havent had a req like this at all i think AHHAHAHA. It's so, how you say, simple and cute which is a great thing to start with for me. n ur like me fr cos i get nervous sending asks T_T so if you're still nervous lemme hold your hand. anyway, it kind of spiraled, and I felt like adding an endless sib so i did and I HAVE A SOFT SPOT FOR DESTRUCTION OK 😫 i hope you don't mind huhuhuh and hope you like it my love <3 i think i've used this gif before but its too perfect for the fic not to reuse HAHHAAH Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9

You were a rainstorm and Dream was a sponge, except he didn't know it. With every opportunity he had to be around you, he took you in until he was overcome with an uncomfortable heaviness. He was leaking with grimy emotions. And he was awfully spineless.

Matthew had been croaking from his shoulder, telling him he was a ridiculously wet sponge, and that he had to pull himself together and wring himself up because he was, frankly, disgusting.

That did not bode well for the bird. But this is not about that.

It's about how the lord of dreams did get thinking that. Perhaps, he should in fact act upon these weeping urges, for it was painful to be around you yet not have you.

It was unclear who was more shocked when you suddenly invited Dream for a weekend away, Matthew or Dream himself.

And so with the thickest, greasiest, smuggest smirk, Dream accepted the invitation. He made it known that he was graciously making room in his labor-filled schedule to accommodate your request, but accommodate your request he surely would do.

For the days building to that weekend away, Dream would study all the spectacles that involved camping. He would be camping with you and you would be camping with him; it will be lovely. He visited the dreams of those who enjoyed the leisure, and those who were objectively good at it, soaking in all the things he could learn, much like the sponge he was.

You can only imagine how shocked he was to find that the precious gift of the precious free time you, in your humanly nature, prized so much, was not even a gift to him at all, it seemed. For a gift was not typically shared, not meant to be shared, much less with some 20 other people.

"HEY DREAM!" you beamed, grinning ear to ear as you raised a hand and waved at him the moment you spotted him.

You promptly jogged over and huffed through your smile, "I'm so glad you decided to come! You'll like the people here, I promise."

Dream looks at you as a toddler busts a lung out crying. He cannot find himself to smile, though you do, for a corrosive jealousy was ripping through his stomach. You begin to explain that most of the people present were from the same circles as you,and that you did most of the planning for the weekend. You reiterate that it will be fun.

And yet as your expression softened and your brows raised while you assessed his form, he could not not smile at the sight of your doe eyes.

A dark cloud thunders above him.

He begs to disagree.

"You didn't bring any bags? Any equipment... at all?" you tilt your head.

Dream places his hands behind him, "I find no need for it. After all, anything you can posses comes from nature, does it not?"

You pull your head back and chuckle, "wow, okay, nature man," you grin, "I'm glad you at least dressed for the woods. I would have told you off if you kept your trench coat on."

Dream needlessly brushes off his tank top then places his hands in the pockets of his jogging pants, "I am capable of dressing cordially to the setting."

What he was incapable of doing though, was sharing. But you already knew that. At least he thought you did.

You introduce him to many people, he nods in regard but does no more. When someone calls for your help to set up some things, Dream immediately swoops in and makes sure that he would be the one to help you as you help.

"I must say," Dream starts as he lends you a hand whilst in building some tents, "I thought that today would be a more... intimate setting."

You turn to him as you poked a stick through the fabric, "it is. This is the smallest number of people I've hosted for a weekend at this site."

Dream's eye twitches, "but I had thought," he turns to you with a stern expression, "the invitation was exclusive to me."

To be honest, you were too preoccupied with setting up to notice how serious he was about it. The moment you caught the glint in his eye, your stomach dropped. Your lips part at the grave expression etched across his face. "Uhhhh," you clear your throat, "well, I mean, you're the only person I invited, if that counts for anything."

Dream sucks in a breath as he finishes doing his side of the tent. He walks over to you and helps you with your side. He does not look at you as his hands take yours but he knows in his bones that your eyes were on him. He also knows there was a heat blossoming in your cheeks.

He mutters, "I see," he spares you a moment's glance, "then I am glad."

That didn't last long though.

The next thing he knows, he's made to sit with a group of men, all somehow bearded, laughing over the 'good ol days' over some beer in between scolding the human spawn they had with them.

After that, he was doing yoga with some mothers that were giggling over embarrassing stories, and how good looking he was in between scolding the human spawn they had with them.

And then, well, he was holding a leash of dogs who were eager to run off but not allowed to because their masters where setting up, and so they ended up barking at the human spawn they had with them.

Then, like a true omen, he heard the laugh of the prodigal.

How did he know it The Prodigal? Well, considering the earth shook beneath his sneakers and the flock of birds fled from the trees, he was certain it was him.

Normally, he'd be glad to see his little brother, but when he saw his giant frame next to your smaller one, well, let's just say everyone who was in the middle of a nap at that moment woke up from a terrible nightmare.

"Brother," Dream interjects your giggling conversation.

Dream, needless to say, was salty to see your temperate exchange. He had gone above and beyond to socialize with the people in this camp, and yet here you were with the wrong Endless.

You and Destruction turn to him mid-catching your breath. All Dream could think about was how you had your palm on Destruction's bicep.

Was the temperature dropping?

Destruction perks. He raises his hands and steps forward, "brother!"

Dream is sealed into a tight embrace and is lifted off the ground in the process. His eyes are on you as you look between him and Destuction.

"You two are brothers?" you ask in surprise.

Destruction turns to you as he sets Dream down, "we are!" He slaps Dream's back, making his body flinch to the side. The older of the two grunts where the younger one smiles, "he's my big bro!"

"Oh!" you say with wide eyes. You tilt your head, "well then that explains the odd names."

Destruction gives a hearty laugh. Dream eyes him hotly.

Destruction sighs, "I'll know to call you if I ever did you get my brother to agree to come out somewhere."

Dream grunts.

You shake your head, "I'm equally surprised to see him here, honestly. Most of the time I'm not even sure if he enjoys being around me."

He turns to you upon hearing this.

"He's a tough nut," Destruction retorts, pulling his brother into a side hug, "but he's not hard to crack."

Before Dream can even respond, his brother rakes them both over to the lake, "now, how about we go canoeing!?"

Destruction couldn't have offered a more terrible idea.

The canoe boats were not suited to carry the Endless, much less two at once.

Destruction, ever the gentleman, did not hesitate to plunge ankle deep into the lake, only to ensure that you get into the boat safely. He held your hand as you stepped in, and Dream bristled as he watched.

When his brother turned to him, offering out a hand in order to do the same for Dream, the older of the two practically seethed in annoyance.

He turned his cheek and crossed his arms.

Destruction sighed, "oh, come now, Dream. The canoe awaits!"

Dream is adamant and stays put.

Destruction presses his lips into a line and decides to get in with you.

"Come on, Dream," you urge upon seeing his pettiness, "canoeing is fun! I promise."

One of the many promises you've made thus far.

Dream lets out a breath upon hearing your voice and the yelp-turned-giggle that you release as your tiny canoe rocks because of his massive brother.

Dream holds back an eyeroll as he watches you clutch onto Destruction, as not to rock the boat further. You giggle again, as does his brother.

"Very well," Dream says, walking over to you both.

It was futile however; every attempt in joining the already crowded canoe lead to only disaster.

It was clear Dream could not join in the canoeing, at least not in the same boat.

So the two of you rowed deeper into the lake, and Dream followed after in a separate canoe all by himself. A miserable predicament.

He could hear your soft voice, droning about all the nature facts you knew. It was audible, your excitement. He could not see you, not with his physical eyes at least, but he knew your face was lit up. It always did in moments like this. Destruction listens intently as you speak, though undoubtedly, he knew most of what you were talking about already, being a nature buff himself.

He reacted with excitement accordingly. He gasped, and laughed, and inquired further in all the right moments. He made your voice lift into further enthusiasm. He made it sound so easy. And perhaps it was to him.

Dream then rowed faster, so that, finally, your rides were side by side.

Destruction talked to you about the old sprites and spirits that used to live in these parts. Dream catches how you lean in to listen to his words. His eyes practically burn when he catches the flower in your hair, the same kind of flower that was in Destruction's.

Dream felt like jumping into the canoe across him, but that would hardly put him into your good graces, so he doesn't.

Before he realizes what he is doing, Dream clears his throat then loudly speaks, cutting his brother off, "you know I am friends with the queen of the fairies."

Both you and Destruction turn to him.

Dream ceases his rowing and allows his boat to drift next to yours.

There is a long silence between the three of you.

You turn from Dream to Destruction, jaw turning slack.

Why are you looking at him?

You push your shoulders back and tilt your head, "ah..." you smile at Dream, "I see."

Dream clenches his jaw. That was not the reaction he expected. But then again, he was unsure of what he was expecting.

It's Destruction that diffuses the thickening awkwardness, "he commissioned Shakespeare to write for the queen, you know."

You pull your head back then chuckle, "ah," you smile brighter, "he did, did he?" You turn back to Dream, "and which Shakespearean work would that be?"

Dream lifts his nose, "I have inspired the bard to write a great many plays. Two of them however are specifically for me."

You lean back in laughter, clutching your chest in delight, "ah, is that so? Let me guess, is one of them A Midsummer Night's Dream?"

Dream smiles, "precisely."

You laugh louder, shaking your head, "that's seems about right. I must admit," you sigh as you level your breathing, "I haven't really read that story at all. I... don't think I have the brain power to."

"No shame in that. I personally prefer painting over plays," Destruction notes, claiming your attention once again, "I admit, my attention span is not so suited for long winding plays."

You laugh again but Dream does not enjoy it, "yeah. I don't mean to offend the dead, but I can't really understand Shakespearean at all, so. The language is too outdated for me."

Dream accidentally (intentionally) hits the side of the other canoe. He feigns ignorance for a moment but then turns to the two of you, offering a wry smile, "apologies."

He was not at all apologetic.

In the end, Dream was situated between yours and his brother's shoulders in front of the large campfire most of the people on this wretched camp trip were circled around.

The explosiveness of the day had melted into a solemn and warm nightly gathering. Everyone was doing their own thing, cooking food, passing said food around, sharing stories. There was a strong sense of community. Dream, yet, felt like he did not belong.

The nightmare king, as he was talked over by the two of you, passed the 3rd plate of pie, rhubarb this time, to the person past you, then sunk deeper into his spot.

You were oblivious to him, he thinks

You were not. You noticed he was sulky ever since the canoeing. You offered a stick of animal shaped marshmallows to Dream mid conversation with his brother. He declined and sat up straight.

"Pardon," Dream shakes his head, "how were you two acquainted again?"

Destruction and you turn to each other as you bring your chocolate marshmallows closer to the open fire. In unison, you reply, "Didi."

Ah, Death. That made sense.

"Wait," you raise a finger, turning to Dream. He immediately perks up. Finally, he has your attention.

"If you're related to Didi," you start, "then that means you're-" you point to Destruction, "related to Didi."

Destruction grins, "my big sister!"

"Ah," you smile, "being sweet must run in the family."

"I have had enough!" Dream blurts, standing from his spot. He does this so abruptly that you drop your marshies and it calls the attention of other camp goers, not that he cared at all at this point.

He fails to realize that you did very much care.

You feel the hair at the back of your neck prick as you look up at fiery Dream. He pipes, "you told me it was I that you invited, I and only I, and yet you have done nothing but speak to my brother the whole day!"

Destruction can feel the agitation radiating off you for being put in the spot like that. He raises a hand, "Dream-"

"You are not being spoken to, Destruction," he turns to his brother, "know your place."

Not that you looked, not that you wanted to, but you could feel everyone's eyes burning into your body.

Destruction raises his hands in defeat. He turns to the crowd and sees a few of them were looking on in their direction. He turns back to you then the next second decides he knows what to do. Destruction looks out to the cliff from not too far off, then with the slightest tilt of his head, it falls with a loud splash into the lake.

It effectively distracts everyone who was looking your direction and everyone who wasn't.

"WOW!" Destruction points and stands, "that was a rock falling!"

You stand as well, looking to the people moving over to see what had happened to what, but Dream's grip on your arm keeps you from following.

"Please," he mutters, making you turn to him. His face is mystical in this light. It is shadowy yet so beautiful. "Speak in earnest. I cannot take this any further. I wish to know who between us has your heart."

You are effectively winded by this talk. It came out from seemingly nowhere.

"Is it I or my brother that you want to be with," Dream mumbles lowly, making your entire body freeze.

Your breath hitches, "b-be- what?"

"Must I speak more plainly? You can only have one. I am not particularly generous, and I certainly do not like to share what is mine," he raises his hand. You hold your breath in fear of the sound of your shaky breath when he brushes his fingers against your shoulder, "what I want to be mine," he whispers. "I especially find it difficult to release something that I want-- tenfold knowing what I want could well end in the arms of one of my siblings."

Your heart was echoing in your ribcage and your eardrums at this point.

The thumping would have excited Dream had he not been so green with envy.

"Destruction is dear to me," his soft lips move ever so slightly, "but if it comes to it, I will fight for you."

You nearly choke on your breath and your spit. A fight? One between Dream and Destruction? It sounds like a primordial event. A shiver runs down your spine. You shake your head quickly, "please don't."

Dream knits his brows and shakes his head more surely than you did, "I will."

Your breath hitches, "to be honest-" you blurt, "I didn't realize you- you... liked me like that."

Dream watches as you gather your thoughts.

"You... you do pop up in the strangest places, but I chalked that to something of fate or... proximity," you give a nervous look, "and you're not very good at showing emotions... I normally convince myself that if you didn't want to be around me, then you wouldn't."

He steps forward and places his hand on your cheek. "Allow me to make myself perfectly clear then," he rubs your skin with his thumb. Your skin pricks with goodbumps.

"Think back to the first moment we met. Every moment after, all instances that you have seen me was not coincidence. That was me purposefully reaching out to you, wanting be near you, wanting to see you, wanting to hear you, wanting to be with you, wanting you."

Both his hands are on your face now. His thumbs ghosts over your lips, "I want you."

You gulp.

"Do you want me too?"

You can't speak. You cant think. You can't breathe.

He doesn't let you when he leans in and kisses you. Soon enough, he gets his answer when you grab onto his top and kiss him back.

The forest trembles beneath your feet. Neither of you notice.

There, behind a not too far off tree, Destruction watches.

Matthew, in an announcer voice: In a total 180, the Dream rizz reaches maximum capacity, and in the end, he gets what he wants.

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