#drip brew designs

[keplercryptids]

frustratingly i forgot valentine's day exists, and as a person whose income mainly comes from selling paper flowers, this was a huge error in terms of planning lol. anyway! please check out my in-stock sale items if you're looking for last minute valentine's gifts. everything is 20% off with free shipping in the US! plus you'll be helping a disabled queer artist survive late-stage capitalism. 💖

[image description: photos of various paper rose arrangements. individual descriptions in alt text.]

#jd makes flowers #drip brew designs

[kaciidubs]

Curious Cat

❣ Summary: Perhaps being curious wasn't all that bad. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 1.48k ❣ Warnings: Slight Sub! Chris, fluff, smut, comfort, use of safeword, sex toys [vibrators], slight overstimulation, aftercare ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris, Channie, Baby, and My Love, Reader is referred to as Baby, unedited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back - and boy, was this cat satisfied.

Chris didn't intend on snooping around your room when you left to get snacks for your impending movie date, nor did he intend to find a few hidden objects in your sock drawer.

Who knew him wanting to coo over your cute Sanrio themed socks would've turned into him holding not one, but two of your sex toys?

"Alright, I think I have every- Why are you holding those?"

His head snapped in the direction of your voice, your hands holding two convenience store bags filled with the snacks you'd promised.

"I-I, um, I didn't mean to-"

"Are you trying to skip the movie and get to the good part of the night?"

The suggestiveness in your tone made his heart skip a beat - sure, he was ready for you no matter what, but he genuinely wasn't trying to come off as entirely horny, he was just curious.

"I wanna watch the movie, really, but..."

Looking down at the toys in his hands, he couldn't help the thoughts brewing in his head; how do you use them? Do you use them by themselves or do you watch the private videos you two have made while touching yourself? Do you use one or multiple in one night? Do they make you come just as hard as he does?

"I... I think I wanna know how these work."

"On me?" You mused, a sly smirk growing on your lips, "Or on you?"

Oh.

Was that even possible? Could your toys work the same on him as they do for you? Could they make him come just as hard as you do?

Chris was curious, some may say too curious for his own good, but he wouldn't let that deter him.

Which is how he found himself now; naked and writhing on your bed as you held a small blue vibrating toy to the leaky head of his cock, the two bunny shaped ears vibrating in a pattern that left him breathless.

The rabbit vibrator, you'd told him - it was your go to for nights where you just wanted to get off and go to bed.

It made his head spin just simply knowing that the toy currently on the flared tip of his dick was also used on your clit.

"How's it feel, baby?" You cooed, the only piece of clothing still on your body being a basic pair of cotton panties. "Feels good, right? I didn't even have to use too much lube with the way you're dripping right now."

He whined out a sound of agreement, too focused on the pulsing of the toy to pay you any mind.

"This next one is new, I haven't even used it on myself yet but that's okay - you can be my little test bunny, yeah?"

"Y-Yes, fuck yes, please." If one toy was able to make him feel this good, then whatever you had planned for him next was more than welcome.

The small, targeted vibrations of the rabbit left his cock, prompting him to open his eyes and look down at you in question before his gaze locked onto the next toy in your hand.

It was bigger, sort of shaped like a microphone, and was slightly intimidating based on the simpler, theme-less design.

"It's a Hitachi wand," you explained, turning it to give him a full view, "it's supposed to have more power than the rabbit, but since I haven't used it yet, I don't know how it's supposed to feel on me - so, make sure you tell me everything you feel, okay?"

Chris nodded, his dick throbbing in anticipation, "Okay, yeah, I will."

You took a moment to coat the soft bulbous tip with lube before turning it toward him; rubbing it along his shaft to give him a general idea of what it feels like while it's not running.

"Ready?"

"R-Ready."

The click of a button was all he could register before a strong wave of vibration forced a choked gasp from his plump lips.

He could feel it everywhere; from the tip of his cock to his abdomen - he could even feel the vibrations in the taughtness of his balls, it was insane.

If it weren't for the fact that you were sitting between his legs, he probably would've been folded like a chair from the pleasure.

"Channie? How's it feel, baby? What is it like?"

His hands fisted the sheets, chest heaving in uneven breaths as he tried his best to collect the brain cells to form words.

"I-It- oh fuck, fuck, it's so- it's everywhere, baby- oh my god don't stop, please don't stop!"

His stomach was coated in precum, his cock leaking in ways you haven't seen before - you were almost jealous it was being wasted on him instead of in you, but that would be fixed later on.

Pressing the vibration button, you kicked up the speed and pressed the toy against the underside of his cock, right against a vein you were graciously familiar with.

The sound he let out was crossed between a grunt and a gasp of air, eyes rolling to the back of his head, and before you knew it, thick ropes of white streaked across his chest and stomach.

It was like he was frozen in time, stuck between breaths and stomach contracting with each wave of cum leaving him, numb to everything but the constant vibrations now spreading throughout his body.

At the same time, you weren't fairing any better; watching in shocked amazement as your usually loud finishing boyfriend was resorted to nothing but choked breaths and twitching limbs. It wasn't until a certain gasped word forced it's way past his lips that you were brought back to reality.

"R-Red- Red-"

You turned the toy off immediately, tossing it behind you as your hands moved to hold his shaking ones, knuckles white from his grip on your sheets.

"Okay, Channie, it's okay - we're all done, yeah?" You could see the faint streak of tears shining down the sides of his face, watching as he tried nodding his head. "You're okay, baby, just take a deep breath with me - slowly, just breathe with me."

He took a shivering inhale, broken between soft hiccups, before sighing it out slowly, his body relaxing just a bit.

"Good boy, just a few more times for me, alright?"

With each breath taken, his body finally relaxed and the tension in his hands released enough for you to slip your hands into his palms, thumbs caressing his undoubtedly sore knuckles.

"You did great, Channie, such a great job - will you be okay if I leave to get a washcloth to clean you up? Do you want me to run a bath?"

Chris shook his head softly, squeezing your hands, "Just... Just a washcloth... A-And some water, please."

Nodding, you leaned down to press a kiss to his right hand, "Alright, baby, I'll be right back."

It only took a few minutes for you to return with the warm washcloth and a bottle of water, gently wiping up the mess of cum from his skin and lube from his softening dick, before helping him sit up to drink.

He finished the water bottle in record time, chugging it as if he just finished a set on stage before letting out a deep sigh, leaning his head against your headrest.

"That was..."

"Intense?"

"Amazing." He laughed lightly, "And intense too, yeah, but it was... I never felt anything like that before, but I feel like if I didn't tap out then, I would've passed out."

Small giggles bubbles from your mouth, shaking your head at his honesty, "Well thank you for letting me know - do you need me to do anything for you? More water? Food? Wanna talk it out some more? Where's your head at, my love?"

A small hum left him as he opened his eyes to gaze at you through a soft haze, "Food sounds great, and we can definitely talk about it more but not before you tell me how you're doing. I'm alright, really, just a little overstimulated - but what about you? I didn't mean to scare you with the safeword."

"You didn't scare me at all! I was just worried about you, trust me - I'm just glad you're okay." Scooting closer to him, you pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, smiling as he press himself into you. "I'll order the food, you just focus on cooling down, yeah?"

He nodded before looking at you with puppy eyes, "Can we order a pizza?"

Rolling your eyes, you laughed, "Yes, we can order a pizza - find something to watch then we can talk about the toys some more."

With a hum of agreement, you set off to put your date night back on track.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @dancerachaslut, @junglyric, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #bangchan x reader #bangchan smut

[sourpatchys]

RE: kink post. Daryl is touch starved, and has a thing for tits. Develops the biggest housewife kink in Alexandria, plus a breeding kink after having the baby talk. Indulges in the hunter/prey thing after being asked by his partner. Enjoys bondage, probably.

I agree with this whole heartedly!

The housewife kink is something I’ve never thought about though! I have a few ideas brewing from that!

(This ended up being much longer than I expected. It was originally just supposed to be a small summary, but it’s 3am and my creativity juices were flowing)

You aren’t together, not really. Everyone knows you care for one another and they’re just waiting— begging— for one of you to break the ice and make a move. Daryl being the closed off, touched starved man that he is— honestly never let himself think of you of anything other than someone he trusted, someone he could count on no matter what the occasion was.

Coming to Alexandria was a rough patch between the two of you. You loved it, you wanted to believe this was what you deserved after fighting for survival for so long, you craved the safety net that the prison had given you before it was taken away. Daryl wanted it too— he needed it— but he refused to believe it was a dream come true. So instead he got angry.

He was angry with the group, and worst of all he was angry at you. He wanted this for you, the smile on your face while you were doing something as stupid as brushing your teeth with toothpaste dripping out of your mouth made him want it even more. But it wasn’t real— it couldn’t be real— and you were making him crave it.

Hungry is the best word to describe it. He was hungry for your happiness, hungry for the domestic bliss that shadowed your every move.

Baking cookies, sweeping the floor, propping his disgusting boots by the door to make them ‘look nice’. You ironed his shirts and got upset at him if he didn’t take care of himself— you had even started to pack him lunches when he would go outside the walls.

That’s when the flutters started— that’s when he realized what he felt for you was more than just companionship.

He started to look forward to seeing you doing your self-designated chores.

Then one day, after a run that went south, he found you in the garage stitching up a rip in the seam of his jacket— and suddenly it all changed.

Now, Daryl wasn’t doing this to hurt you— no, call it a scientific experiment of sorts. He started dirtying up his clothes on purpose, rubbing dirt on his cheek when he knew he had a rag in his back pocket, taking his sweet time getting up if he found himself knocked on the ground— he got messier with walkers too.

In any case his experiment paid off— and if the tightness in his jeans was anything to go by— something else was going to change too.

#sourshush #sour answers #daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #twd #daryl dixion imagine #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #twd daryl #daryl dixon x reader

[anyca786]

Press Conference

Platonic!Marvel cast (Chris Evans, Sebastian Stan, Benedict Cumberbatch, Anthony Mackie, Tom Hiddleston) x actress!reader

Summary: When a notorious press member became too personal,your marvel family stood up for you.

The flashbulbs exploded in synchronized bursts as you entered the Endgame press conference, the air thick with anticipation. You, the newest member of the MCU family, were the talk of the town, and tonight, all eyes were on you.

The lights dimmed, a hush fell over the packed auditorium. All eyes swivelled towards the entrance as the press conference host boomed, "Let's give a warm welcome to Y/N L/N, our newest addition to the Marvel Cinematic Universe!"

Chris Evans, seated beside Benedict Cumberbatch, couldn't help but steal a glance, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Sebastian Stan, across from him, mirrored the sentiment, his gaze lingering a beat longer. Tom Hiddleston, ever the gentleman, offered a small, knowing nod, while Anthony Mackie, your on-screen partner, winked playfully, muttering, "Ready to steal the show, Y/N?"

After introductions and greetings, everyone settled into their assigned sofas, you positioned amongst the Avengers heartthrobs. The press conference began, questions flying thick and fast, your name met with excited murmurs and camera clicks.

You settled onto your designated sofa, a nervous flutter in your stomach. But as the press conference began, you found your rhythm, your wit and intelligence shining through your responses. Your laughter filled the room, captivating not just the audience, but also the men around you.

Their gazes, once discreet, became bolder. Chris leaned in, his smile widening with every insightful point you made. Benedict chuckled at your witty retort, his eyes sparkling with appreciation. Sebastian's lips twitched, and Tom offered a thumbs-up, his smile tinged with a hint of something deeper. Even Anthony, usually the joker, seemed captivated, his gaze lingering on you with newfound respect.

Then, the atmosphere shifted. A reporter, notorious for his inappropriate remarks, directed his attention solely at you, his motives seemingly more personal than professional, began peppering you with flirtatious questions, his gaze lingering a little too long on your figure. The room grew tense, and you could sense a change in your fellow MCU stars. Chris's normally relaxed posture stiffened, his jaw clenching imperceptibly. Sebastian's smile vanished, replaced by a steely glint in his eyes. Tom, even Tom, seemed to radiate a cool disapproval.

"Y/N," the reporter drawled, his voice dripping with insincerity, "you're absolutely captivating. Tell us, does playing alongside such handsome co-stars come with any perks?"

Benedict leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper, "You don't have to answer that, Y/N. He doesn't deserve your attention." His words, laced with a quiet intensity, sent a wave of gratitude through you.

You gave him a polite smile, your response witty and deflecting. But you saw Chris clench his jaw, and Sebastian crossed his arms, a scowl forming. You appreciated their silent show of support, focusing on the next question.

However, the reporter persisted. "Come on," he pressed, "surely there's some juicy behind-the-scenes romance brewing..."

Before you could even formulate a reply, a chorus of voices interrupted.

Suddenly, Chris interrupted, his jaw clenched, stood up, his voice low and dangerous. "Excuse me, but your line of questioning is overstepping boundaries."

Anthony, equally protective, rose, his voice booming, "Show some respect, man!"

Benedict, ever the diplomat, interjected, "Let's keep things professional, shall we?"

Sebastian, his eyes narrowed, added, "We won't tolerate any further disrespect towards Y/N."

Tom, ever eloquent, finished the thought, "Her talent speaks for itself, no need for cheap tactics."

The reporter, flustered and intimidated, stammered an apology, slinking back in his seat. You sat there, speechless, the warmth of their protectiveness washing over you.

The press conference continued, but the mood had changed. The air buzzed with a new energy, a silent understanding between you and the men around you. You were no longer just the newest star; you were their colleague, their friend, and they would fiercely protect your place in their universe.

Later, after the formalities were over, Chris approached you, a sheepish grin on his face. "Sorry about that," he muttered, "we don't take kindly to anyone disrespecting our team."

You smiled, touched by their protectiveness. "It means a lot," you admitted, "having you all have my back."

A comfortable silence settled between you, before Chris chuckled. "Besides," he winked, "who wouldn't stand up for someone as brilliant and beautiful as you?"

Your cheeks flushed, and you laughed, the warmth in Chris's eyes making your heart skip a beat. Maybe being an Avenger wasn't just about saving the world, but also finding a new kind of family, one that protected you not just from villains, but also from inappropriate reporters and perhaps, even budding feelings.

And as you looked around at the smiling faces of your co-stars, you knew you wouldn't trade this experience for anything, even if it meant facing a few intrusive questions along the way. After all, who wouldn't want to be protected by Earth's Mightiest Heroes, both on and off screen?

Please suggest anything related to marvel characters, cast or actors. I'm very new to this, I just started yesterday *cries*

#marvel #avengers x reader #marvel fanfic #chris evans #benedict cumberbatch #sebastian stan #tom hiddleston #anthony mackie #marvel cast #actress reader #tumblr #marvel fic

[withacapitalp]

How to Rehabilitate a Jock Pt 17

Part One Link to ao3 Part 16

A speedy update? Couldn't be me lmao

Step Seventeen: Tell a Story

The party really wasn’t like any of the ragers he used to throw, but in Steve’s opinion that made it a thousand times better. 

From his vantage point on the arm of the couch, Steve could see everything, and all looked to be going well. All of the parents had quickly clustered together around the big dining room table, smoking and playing cards as they reminisced about the good old days and enjoyed the wine Steve had broken out of the cellar. Mike and Lucas were sprawled out across the floor, their books in piles around them as they designed new characters and argued about the best way to win against dragons, while Nancy and Jonathan had curled up together on the loveseat by the window, sharing a cup of cocoa and quietly whispering about god knows what. 

It all seemed peaceful. 

So naturally Steve was sitting next to the most chaotic conversation he had ever heard. 

“In terms of controlling the fight and better initiative, it’s the halberd. Hands down,” Frank declared. He was putting emphasis on every single word, as if doing so would somehow sway the three preteens throwing him impressively dry looks. 

“That’s assuming you have the speed and dexterity necessary to gain that advantage,” Dustin sighed, shaking his head and tutting. “The greatsword is not only faster, but it is shorter, which makes the swing that much more versatile.”

Mike and Lucas sagely nodded along from their spot on the floor next to Dustin. the calmness of the action only riling Frank up even more.

“Reach is speed on its own!” He snapped, tossing his hands in the air, turning to the others for help. Steve bit down the laugh that was attempting to escape, doing his best to appear supportive, and Eddie was already reaching over to give his friend the conciliatory pat on the shoulder. 

Steve wasn’t exactly positive how the debate had started, but it had to have been at least fifteen minutes of furious back and forth between the two. It was pretty entertaining to watch, made even better by the quiet comments Eddie would whisper up to Steve when he was sure no one else was listening. 

“Careful there Frank,” Jeff called from the other side of the room, not looking up from Will’s sketchbook as he did, “you sound like you’re losing to a twelve year old.”

“I am not losing,” Frank ground out. 

“I’m not twelve!” Dustin protested.

“Of course you aren’t losing, Frankie,” Eddie interjected, his tone practically dripping with false kindness. He accompanied the words with a brief pat to the top of Frank’s head. 

“Dustin just isn’t opening his mind to the possibilities that your elder brain has already thought through,” Steve added on, his stomach doing a weird flip-flop when Eddie turned to look up at him with a little gremlin smile. Teasing friends was different when it really was just teasing, and Steve couldn’t resist the urge to jump in and knock at Frank a little for getting so into a debate with the kids. 

“Okay just because you play now doesn’t make you an expert, Steve,” Mike added on, never one to miss a chance to try and knock Steve down a peg. Steve, very maturely, rolled his eyes and chose not to reply. 

“How about it, Sweetheart?” Eddie asked, looking up at Steve where he was sitting perched on the arm of the couch, “halberd or Greatsword?”

“Steve, if you don’t choose the sword, I will feel personally betrayed,” Dustin spat out before Steve could even open his mouth. It was accompanied by a murderous looking glower, and Steve knew trouble was starting to brew on the horizon. 

“Eh, I think Baby might have a problem if I start using a different weapon,” He said, staying neutral and dragging the boys into a different conversation before feelings started to actually get hurt. 

“Baby?”

Fuck. 

Steve’s whole body stiffened up, and he glanced quickly at Eddie before turning away, mind racing to come up with an explanation. How the hell was he supposed to casually bring up the bat studded with nails that was sitting in the trunk of his BMW?

“Okay, but we’re talking in game, not real life!” Lucas objected, keeping the conversation flowing and unintentionally bypassing Eddie’s question. 

“Baby would be more effective than a halberd though,” Dustin pointed out, and Mike hummed in disagreement, flipping the pages of the manual in front of him as he looked for a counter argument.

“So who’s Baby?” Eddie asked quietly as they continued the debate, leaning back towards Steve so only he could hear the words. He was looking up at Steve with those big doe eyes, completely at peace with a soft smile and lax shoulders. He was the picture of calmness, and Steve wouldn’t ruin that with the Upside Down, not even in the most roundabout way. 

“I’m gonna get a refill,” Steve whispered to him instead, reaching down to quickly run his fingers through Eddie’s curls impulsively before standing up and stretching. He felt the hem of his maroon sweater ride up over his hips, and the boys groaned as the bottom half of Steve’s stomach came into view. “Do you want anything, Eds?” 

“Um no, ‘m okay,” Eddie said, his voice uncharacteristically small. Steve relaxed from his stretch, giving Eddie a quick once over. He looked the same as before, save for a slight color on his cheeks and averted downward facing eyes. 

Weird. 

Something to check on. 

But later. First Steve had to take a lap. 

“Dustin, don’t make Frank blow a gasket,” Steve ordered as he passed by, pushing the kids hat down over his eyes. Dustin growled at him and waved his arms blindly in an attempt to smack Steve away, but Steve easily dodged it, sliding over to the edge of the living room and down the stairs to the wine cellar. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid,” Steve muttered to himself as he picked two bottles at random. How could he have said something like that? He wasn’t even drunk! It had just slipped out, but that didn’t make it okay. Sure, the very existence of Baby wasn’t covered by the NDA’s, but just knowing about her would be enough to make Eddie curious, and curiosity led to more questions, which lead to more answers, which lead to more danger. 

Steve’s stomach flipped over on itself, and he leaned back against the cool stone wall of the cellar, worrying his lip as he tried to take a deep breath. 

There wasn’t any danger. Not anymore. It was just a party, and it was just one little sentence. Eddie would forget about it by the time he walked back up the stairs. He was working himself up over nothing. 

Or everything. 

‘Or’ might just be the scariest word in the world, Steve thought to himself as he climbed up the stairs feeling about ten thousand pounds heavier. He trudged over to the kitchen and quickly opened both bottles, leaving one to air out as he carried the other over to the dining room table, silently listening to the adults as they gossiped. 

“It’s such an insane story,” Sue Sinclair was saying in a quiet breathy voice as Steve walked in, barely even noticing as he started refilling her glass, “it’s hard to believe.” 

“It was harder to live through,” Hopper replied, extremely somber as he gravely shook his head.

Steve bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making a noise and giving up the act. He looked up just a bit to make eye contact with Joyce, who was also clearly hiding a smile behind her hand. 

“Maybe we should pause this conversation?” Karen asked lightly, politely jutting her chin out towards Steve who continued to pour without comment. 

“Steve knows,” Hopper quickly smoothed over. 

“He babysits Jane with the others,” Joyce added on, giving Steve a secretive look as she continued, “such a big help with acclimating her.”

All eyes were on him now, and Steve played his part perfectly. He poured the last of the bottle into Hopper’s glass and stepped back with a sigh. 

“She’s a great kid. Amazing even, after everything she’s been through,” Steve said, his voice pitched to the ultimate tone of caring worry. 

This seemed to seal the deal for the rest of the adults, and they fell one by one. Hook, line, and sinker. The women were twittering on about how sad the whole story was, and the men were shaking their heads and muttering to Hopper about how drugs were going to ruin the nation. 

Everything was going to plan. 

Steve couldn’t help the little burst of pride he felt watching all of the parents gossiping like hens. He was the one to come up with El’s cover story, and it couldn’t have been going better. 

El might not be allowed to go to school until next year, but Steve didn’t see a point in keeping her locked up in the cabin until then like Hopper wanted. The government knew she was alive now, and she had all her paperwork. Besides, having her drop out of the blue sky into one of the most unforgiving social settings on the planet was a complete recipe for disaster. 

This party had been the perfect test run for the story they were going to use to explain her sudden appearance, and it had passed with flying colors. But Steve had known it would work, never had any doubt despite everyone else’s concerns. 

He knew because he knew this town like the back of his hand. If you gave them a good enough story, something juicy and wild but with enough reality that it would stick, then they would buy it. Not only would they buy it, but they would sell it to everyone else on the block too. Now that Sue Sinclair, Claudia Henderson, and Karen Wheeler had the ‘truth’, El would fly into Hawkins High with only minimal odd looks and the occasional jerky kid to deal with. 

And what was the best cover story for a girl like El? 

“I just can’t believe that there was a suicide cult right here in Indiana,” Chuck Sinclair commented, sitting back in his seat. “How did no one know about it?”

“There was no way to leave without being killed. Anyone who would have told someone was killed. Brenner, the one in charge, was convinced he could create dimensions to other worlds and give children superpowers with LSD, if you can believe it,” Joyce replied, laying on the shock and surprise a little thick in Steve’s opinion. Still, whatever got the rest of them on board.  

“Ridiculous,” Ted Wheeler muttered, sounding absolutely disgusted. 

“We’re just lucky we found Will and Jane when we did. We were too late for the others,” Hopper paused to take a long slow sip of his drink, really selling the story. He even lowered his voice, causing them all to lean in, “The feds want to keep it real hush hush, and we were so afraid for the kids that we just went along with that bullshit water contamination story. But I mean, c’mon. Water contamination? Those people disappeared.” 

A round of mutters among the group, and then Karen Wheeler spoke up. 

“But Barbara Holland using drugs? I knew Barb her entire life. She always had such a good head on her shoulders,” She said, grief coating every word. Steve dragged a sharp breath in, holding the bottle close to his chest and forcing himself to stay still and silent as Hopper and Joyce did their best to explain. 

This was the part that sucked. To make the story work, really work, it had to involve everyone. Benny, Barb, Will, even the two hunters. All of them had to be explained, or the story fell apart. It felt dishonest to make Barb a part of it all, but El was still here, and Steve still had a chance to help her. 

For El. It was all for El. 

“That’s how the commies get you,” Ted remarked to Karen the second Hop was done speaking. “We’re just lucky she didn’t bring Nancy into it.” 

Steve bit his tongue to keep from lashing out. This wasn’t about him or his guilt. It was about El. 

“At least you saved that precious little girl,” Claudia breathed, hand still over her heart as her eyes glistened with tears. “It all must have been so scary for her. Does she know… you know… about her mother?”

“She does, but she doesn’t like to talk about it,” Hopper laid both hands out on the table 

“Listen, we really shouldn’t have said anything to you all.”

This was it. This was the moment that would tell them what was going to happen from here on out. Steve held his breath

“Our lips are sealed, Jim,” Chuck said instantly, the rest of the group nodding along. “Last thing any of us would want to do is put your daughter or Joyce’s son in danger. Whether it’s the government or some freaky cult stragglers.” 

There it was. 

In a small town like Hawkins, lips were always sealed. People said they wouldn’t say a word, they promised to keep a secret, but Steve had no doubt that by the end of the week the entire town would be abuzz with the story. The best part was, there was no one that would end up hurt. Hopper looked like a hero, Joyce went from local crazy woman to single mother who did everything to protect her baby, and El was just a poor child who was rescued from an insane terrible man. 

It was the truth, just… shifted ever so slightly. No lies involved. Not really. Just a perspective on it. 

The mood and the topic began to move, and Steve moved with it. He went to escape out the side door back to the living room, but as he went past her Joyce reached out, taking his wrist in her small hand and squeezing it once. It was a tiny display of affection, barely anything, but it stopped Steve in his tracks, making his heart do strange weird things that left his chest aching. 

Damn. 

“Are you alright?” Joyce murmured to him below the sound of the conversation. 

“Yeah?” Steve replied, unspoken question sitting between them as Joyce continued to hold onto his wrist. 

“You looked upset when you came in,” She observed. That was the best and worst part of Joyce, she never let anything drop. It reminded Steve a lot of Nancy actually, both of them so determined to get to the bottom of everything, even when it was best to just leave it alone. 

Of course it had to be Joyce. 

“‘I’m okay,” Steve said, trying for a thin little smile. 

Joyce hummed, rubbing her thumb over Steve’s arm as she forced him to keep eye contact until the fake smile slipped from his face. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Steve said, a dark cloud coming over him as Joyce continued to hold on. It was the same thing as Nancy. Stifling, impossible to be around, a feeling of claustrophobia that would never fully go away. 

It wasn’t any of Joyce’s business. It wasn’t like she was his mother. 

“Well, if you need anything you can always come to me or Hop,” Joyce said after a too long silence, releasing Steve’s arm. “We’re here for you guys too, not just the kids.”

“You’re allowed to not be okay.”

Eddie. 

Since he had said those words, they had been permanently branded in the forefront of Steve’s mind. Every time he tried to forget them, they returned with a vengeance, hitting him directly in the soft spot right above his breastbone. 

It wasn’t like Steve didn’t know that. He knew that he was allowed to not be okay. He did. But it was silly for him not to be okay, because nothing had really happened to him. Will was the one who had ended up in the Upside Down. Nancy’s best friend had died. El had been fucking tortured for her entire life. 

In comparison Steve’s problems were so small it was laughable. 

So why was everyone trying so hard to tell him that they mattered? 

“Steve?” 

Steve had never been so happy to hear one of his kids. 

A hush fell over the adults as El popped her head around the corner, immediately coming over to Steve’s side and pressing close, trying to avoid the obvious stares coming from everyone else. They were looking at her with a mixture of pity and concern, but it was better than fear. 

“Hi Janey,” Steve said, playing with her curls and shooting her a warm grin, “you doin’ okay?”

El shrugged, burrowing impossibly further into Steve’s grip. 

“The others are being loud,” She said softly. Steve sighed, petting her hair again. He and Hop had talked about the possibility of this being too much for her, same as the Snowball. This party was mostly made up of her people, but even her people could be overwhelming. 

Luckily, Steve already had an idea in place. 

“Would you mind helping me with something?” Steve asked, already gently nudging El towards the doorway and into the kitchen. 

Making cookies was the perfect ‘cool down away from people so you don't have a meltdown and psychically destroy Steve's house’ activity. Steve had learned that El really enjoyed cooking, and although she couldn’t use her powers to get the flour down from the high shelf like she usually would if it was just them, she was still having fun. 

“Don’t listen to anyone who tells you oatmeal raisin cookies are bad,” Steve instructed, rolling out another ball of dough and placing it carefully on the cookie sheet. “They’re stupid and childish.”

“Mike hates oatmeal raisin,” El cheerfully replied, licking the spoon that Steve had handed to her when he was done mixing the batter. 

Now that it was just the two of them, she had relaxed. She was sitting on the counter next to where he was working, ever so slightly bobbing her head along to the music filtering in from the living room. Steve had relaxed along with her, all of the previous troubles of the night fading away, replaced by the smell of cinnamon sugar and the warmth of the oven heating up. 

“My point exactly. Mike hates everything great,” Steve countered, dabbing a bit of cookie batter onto the tip of El’s nose. She laughed softly, and stuck her tongue out, trying to reach the offending treat. 

“Mike likes me,” El shot back, continuing to try and touch her tongue to her nose. Steve watched her struggle for a second more before shaking his head and reaching around her to grab a paper towel. 

“Well, even a broken clock is right twice a day,” Steve whispered conspiratorially as he wiped her face clean. This started up another round of giggles, and Steve laughed along with her, his entire body feeling light for the first time all day. 

He loved each of his kids for different reasons- even Mike- but El was just so easy. The rest of them couldn't help the compulsive urge to be difficult little hell beasts. They were always trying to show off how smart they were, which usually meant disparaging Steve’s intelligence to some degree. Even Will couldn’t resist a few snarky comments when he thought Steve was being overprotective.

But El thought Steve was one of the smartest people in the world, and she was always telling him so. It was objectively untrue, but it was fun to get to show her how to do things without being afraid of being told he was doing them wrong. Even something as simple as baking cookies was an opportunity to give her a new happy experience, and getting to be a part of that was kind of magical. 

“How about this- we’ll tell Mike you made these and you’ll see just how quickly oatmeal raisin becomes his favorite cookie,” Steve offered. 

“Sounds like fun,” A familiar voice said from the doorway, making Steve’s heart skip a beat. 

Steve turned around and gave Eddie a pleased grin, waving him in and turning around to finish up with the dough.

“Hey Eds,” Steve said as Eddie leaned into his space and snagged a bite. Eddie hummed appreciatively, going for another taste but Steve smacked his hand with his spoon before he could.

“You’ll get sick eating that,” Steve pointed out. 

“So mean,” Eddie said with a fake pout. He pulled away from Steve, walking around the kitchen aimlessly with swinging arms, “I was just wondering where our liege had run off to. Apparently you went to guide a wayward princess through the fine art of confectionary creation.” 

Said ‘princess’ was staring at Eddie with open distrust. Her spoon had been abandoned beside her, and her arms were wrapped tight around her middle. Steve was immediately reminded of her initial reaction to Max. Although they were thick as thieves now, El had been cold to her too at the start. Steve had figured it was some sort of pre-teen jealousy thing over Mike. 

Apparently it was just an all around jealousy thing. It made sense though. A girl who had nothing would protect whatever she had with ferocious intensity, especially her people. Time to do a little damage control. 

“Eddie’s my friend, and he said he wanted to be friends with you too,” Steve said, pitching his voice soft and low as he reframed things for El. If Eddie was one of her people, then she wouldn’t be quite so possessive over Steve’s time. “He’s a little loud, and a little scary looking, but he’s probably the nicest person I know.” 

Eddie raised his eyebrows in surprise, but Steve just shrugged. He was just being honest, Eddie probably was the nicest person Steve knew. He cared about Nancy and Jonathan, and he loved the kids, but none of them were necessarily very nice. Eddie had taken Steve in without even really thinking about it, which would have been amazing even if Steve had just been another nerd.

The fact that Steve used to be one of the people who would have made fun of people like Eddie only made him even better in Steve’s eyes. 

El’s mouth pursed into a tiny little scowl, and she narrowed her eyes, evaluating Eddie where he stood. 

“Bitchin’,” El said after a moment, punctuating the word with an approving nod. It was probably the closest thing to approval Eddie could earn at this moment. 

“Yeah, Babydoll’s totally bitchin,’” Steve said with a laugh, stretching the word out just because it was funny to see Eddie turn bright red. Steve wasn’t sure if it was from the compliment or the silly nickname, but either way he was enjoying it. 

“It’s good to meet you, Miss Jane,” Eddie said, coughing and trying to will away the blush on his cheeks, “Steve’s told me a lot about you.” 

El turned to look at Steve, adorably confused by Eddie’s statement. Steve stiffened up, avoiding his knee jerk impulse to shake his head. He hadn’t told Eddie anything real about El, just the same story that Hopper and Joyce were selling to the parents. But El wasn’t good with secrets at the best of times, and the elaborate intricate story that they had woven would probably be too much for her. 

“El? EL!” 

“Mike, stop shouting!” Steve said, shouting himself, relieved at being interrupted before things could get hairy. He rolled his eyes and shot Eddie a look, calm now that Eddie seemed less curious about El and more fondly annoyed with Mike and his antics. “We’re in the kitchen.”  

Pandemonium as all four boys trooped in, clustering around El and chattering their heads off like they always did. Steve let out the breath he had unintentionally been holding, leaning back against the counter as he watched the kids mess around. 

“Steve, stop hogging her,” Mike snapped as he pulled away from El, glowering at him with all of the brutality of a two week old puppy. 

“El’s a person, not a toy. She can do something without you and that doesn’t mean she likes you any less,” Steve said, ignoring Mike’s sputtering denials as he helped El down from the counter, “The oven has to preheat anyway. Why don’t you go inside with them, and when the cookies are ready, you can help me dunk them in the icing?” 

El nodded, allowing herself to be pulled away by the boys. But just as she passed Eddie she stopped, grabbing onto the sleeve of his leather jacket and looking up at him from behind her curls. 

“You’ll join us?” She asked. Eddie leaned down so they were the same height and nodded, reaching out to ruffle her curls. 

“I’ll be here, Lady Jane,” Eddie promised. 

“El,” She corrected. 

That was big, even if Eddie didn’t fully realize it. It wasn’t exactly a full acceptance, but only people El actually liked were allowed to use her ‘real’ name. 

“El?” Eddie questioned. 

“A nickname. Not sure where she got it,” Steve stepped in, smoothing out the wrinkle before it could even form. He nudged Lucas, pushing them all towards the door, “Now scram, twerps.”

The kids all immediately began to groan and whisper curses under their breath at the word ‘twerps’, and they dragged El out without another word to Eddie or Steve. Steve turned and began to gather the dishes, dumping them all into the sink and turning on the water. As he started scrubbing, Steve felt more than saw Eddie’s presence approaching him. 

“I think she likes me,” Eddie sang, leaning all of his weight against Steve. He caught Eddie easily, carrying both of their weights as he continued to do the dishes. 

“What’s not to like?” Steve asked. The question was rhetorical, but the shaky little breath inward that Eddie let out wasn’t. Steve paused, sensing the mood shifting, put down the bowl he was holding and faced Eddie. 

He looked wrecked, inexplicably upset and almost guilty as he chewed on his lip and searched for words. All Steve wanted to do was wrap him in a hug and ask what was wrong, but he held back. Whatever Eddie was trying to say, it was important. 

“Steve-”

But whatever Eddie was going to say was interrupted by the sound of an engine outside. The motor was roaring, an obnoxious sound that grated on Steve’s nerves and set his teeth on edge. There was only one person who revved their stupid car that way in town, and he was the last person Steve wanted to see tonight. 

Whatever this was, it wasn’t going to be good. 

Tag List: Taglist: @paopaupaus @zerokrox-blog @surferboyzaza @whatever-is-a-good-name@minjintea @addelyin @5ammi90 @hagbaby420 @shinekocreator @bornonthesavage @starxlark @electrick-marionnett @resident-gay-bitch @ash-a-confused-enby @classicdinosaurdeathpose @valon-whomsttf @rotten-lil-goblin @thereindeerlady @love-ya-kash @kerlypride @sparkle-fiend @thefreakandthehair @flowercrowngods @milf-harrington @sadcanadianwinter @gothbat99 @hotcocoaharrington @henderdads @lightwoodbanethings @colorful565 @h0n3y-dw @craterbbox @sourw0lfs @lesliiieeeee @bidisastersworld @tinynebula @ravnlinn @bonescaro @mexmatch @cottagecoredreams @joruni @hellykelly @maegan1116 @farewell-wanderlvst @desertfern @due-to-the-fact-that-im-a-slut @anythingforourmoonyedits @eerielake @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @sidekick-hero

#Steve joins hellfire au #Steve harrington #Eddie munson #steddie #steddie au #steddie ficlet #st #stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things au #post stancy breakup #post s2 #Steve and eddie #st au #stranger things 2 au #steve harrington #Writing(with a capital W) #Jeff stranger things #freak stranger things #Steve has ptsd #el hopper #eleven hopper #Steve and el #Jim hopper #Joyce byers

[perzawa]

EVE, PSYCHE, AND

THE BLUEBEARD’S WIFE | 4.1K

OCT 1ST: FIRST TIME

kinktober masterlist

♡ suguru geto x fem! reader

forbidden desires was the nature of young witches such as yourself, and just like the women centuries before you, it was time to indulge. you’d always been safe and traditional with your practices, but after going into a spell rut, you decide forbidden magic can’t be too bad.

♡ warnings/tags! mentions of blood but only a few times, reader is a witch and geto is like… a fake human??, breaking rules, oral (male receiving), riding, reader takes geto’s virginity, top/dom reader and sub geto

“Do you really wanna risk banishment?”

Nobara’s words from a week ago continued to echo in your ears, even after you were kneeling in front of your black altar, preparing for what would be the most dangerous spell you’ve ever performed. Yes, you could and would risk banishment for the only thing you’ve been interested in pursuing for years. The council was a self-righteous group of elders whom no one truly cared to listen to, so why would you? Your spells were yours, and no council could dictate when, where, or if you should practice them.

Her concern was appreciated, but nothing could sway you from this. Every witch knew the frustration of a spell block, that feeling of wondering when (or if) inspiration would ever return. People didn't judge witches too harshly for it, but you held yourself to a higher standard. You could do more than just keep repeating the same spells or, even worse, rely on others' work.

This is more or less how you came in contact with forbidden magic, a path few witches dared to explore—those who had, often met unfortunate fates or had to flee to distant kingdoms. Banishment was a lesser punishment for such an offense, and the worst was execution. Yet, oddly enough, the fear of these punishments didn't haunt you as much as the dread of becoming a dull, uninspired witch who depended on the spells of others. (No shade to other witches who did the same though, of course.) Even if your legacy ended at 22, as long as you were known for something - you’d be grateful either way.

You casually reached for a pin, mustering a deep breath before pricking your finger with it. The pain was fleeting, just enough to make you wince. A tiny bead of crimson welled up on your fingertip and dripped into the vessel you had prepared, staining the herbs you’d already placed in the bowl red. The room remained dim, bathed in the soft glow of tea-light candles which did not help with calming your nerves. Even seasoned witches found themselves getting spooked from time to time and you were no exception.

Still, you pressed on and began your chant once every herb, lock of hair, and drop of blood was in the bowl.

"By moonlight's grace and starlight's dance, in the cauldron's brew, I take my chance. With magic's touch and spells so fine, a person's form, I now design," you chanted six times before striking a match, setting it ablaze, and tossing it into the bowl to complete the spell. You sat quietly on your knees, observing as the assortment of herbs transformed into ash. Forbidden spells, like this one, demanded a greater amount of energy compared to most natural spells and you were beginning to truly feel the effects the moment you finished the incantation. Your head throbbed intensely, causing you to groan in pain.

Despite the pain, an unhinged smile twitched along your cheeks as you realized the spell was now manifesting. The last step was to discard it. Overflowing with excitement, you grabbed the bowl of dark ash and crimson blood and swirled it as you headed to your bathroom. Properly disposing of a spell meant returning it to nature, but you couldn't risk anyone discovering your secret, so you swiftly flushed it down the toilet, offering a quick word of thanks to nature for its help and the materials it provided.

Returning to your room was more of a struggle than you cared to admit. Carefully, you anointed your space and performed a fast protection spell before plopping into bed, completely drained of energy. Regardless of your pounding head or the intense fatigue you were feeling - you didn’t regret a thing.

It wasn’t long before you were fast asleep, unaware of the spirit you’d “created” materializing beside you.

***

The headache that bothered you the previous night was now completely gone as if it’d never been there. Thoughts of the sin you’d committed clouded your mind but you eventually swatted them away, wondering if the spell even worked. Forbidden or not, any spell that came from centuries ago could be a hit or miss. You sat up, yawning and wiping the tears from your eyes as you scanned your room, your head muddled from your deep sleep. However, as soon as your gaze landed on an unfamiliar, raven-haired man, your eyes widened, and a startled scream escaped your dry lips.

"Oh my God!" You scrambled backward, bumping your headboard with a painful thud. A soft moan of discomfort escaped your lips as you reached behind to rub your aching head, brows furrowing in confusion. The man appeared equally startled and afraid, his dark eyes wide as he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

And that was when you realized. Your gaze shifted to the empty bowl on your altar, which had contained your spell - the one you'd flushed down the toilet the previous night, an act that had nearly drained every ounce of your energy. Fear gripped you for a moment, but soon, it transformed into a sense of pride. You lowered your guard, blinking slowly as you pulled yourself out of bed and approached the man – or rather, the creature. People created with witchcraft occupied a gray area; they weren't necessarily human, but they weren't demons either.

As you took a closer look, you noticed he was completely nude, a detail that had escaped your initial observation while you were still in bed. "God, I'm so sorry," you mumbled, hastily grabbing a blanket from your bed to cover his body. He was still silent, his eyes just staring up at you as if he were afraid of you. Though, you understood why he would be. Your eyes roamed over your creation, from his dark hair (the same color you'd envisioned in the spell) to his well-built, pale frame. He was remarkably handsome, a testament to your successful intentions for his appearance.

You knelt, leaning in close to his face in a way that might be considered rude if he were an actual person with social skills. "Can you speak?" you asked, your eyes locked onto his and your arms on either side of his legs.

He was silent for a moment before finally nodding. "Yes. Yes, I can," he replied, his voice deep and smooth like velvet. An inhuman smile stretched across your face, making you look more like a demon than the man sitting in front of you.

"Good. Great, actually," you said softly as you finally pulled away from his face to stand up. You paced around, the reality of your situation finally setting in. But instead of scaring you, it only excited you to no end. "Okay. He’s here and he’s real. He is a person… a person that I made,” you repeated to yourself.

The man nodded slowly, his eyes filled with confusion. It was apparent that he wanted to speak but seemed too hesitant. Sensing his discomfort, you decided to break the ice.

"Hey," you said gently, turning to face him. "You can speak, you know? I'm sure we're both feeling some of the same things right now."

He continued to stare at you for a somewhat uncomfortable moment, causing you to feel a twinge of regret. Spells were forbidden for a reason, primarily to protect both the spellcaster and those around them. There was no inherent good or bad magic; it all depended on the intentions of the person wielding it. In your case, you had no malevolent plans for the being you'd created. So why did everything suddenly feel so eerie? The situation was starting to unnerve you.

"Or, you know, don't speak if..." you began, but he cut you off by shaking his head.

"I'm sorry. I'm just confused, I guess?" he admitted. "I've never been here, and I don't know who you are either."

Your eyebrows raised slightly as you nodded understandingly. I should've introduced myself already, you thought. You proceeded to tell him your name and explained your role as a witch in your coven, hoping it would help him make sense of the situation.

"And, well," you continued, "beyond all that, I created you last night. I'd been working on you for a few weeks, but I only completed the spell yesterday."

You could see him piecing your story together, and finally, understanding began to dawn on his face. When you had performed the spell, you already had a specific appearance in mind for the man, and you were relieved that it seemed to have worked. However, according to the spellbook, it typically took spirits created through magic days or even months to manifest a physical form. There was a considerable amount of energy required for them to materialize in the physical realm fully. This left you wondering how you had been so remarkably successful in bringing the man in front of you into existence.

You had initially anticipated creating a spirit that could speak or interact with you on some level for the first few weeks. Then, if you were lucky, you might have achieved the desired appearance. Good for you, you were lucky. That or you just made a grave mistake that would only reveal itself when it was too late. You huffed out a small breath before flashing a little smile at him. “I haven’t thought about a name for you yet, have I?” You paced around a few more times before deciding on one. “I think I like Suguru. Do you like that too?”

Suguru nodded, causing you to smile. Good. Everything would work out for you because you were an amazing witch who never failed her craft.

As the day passed, the thought of confiding in your best friend about your predicament hadn't even crossed your mind. Instead, you dedicated your time to educating Suguru about the specific things he could and couldn't say or do if you were to release him into society. Since the spell had been cast in your home, his spirit would remain bound there unless you chose to release him willingly. You wanted to be cautious about when and how you would release him if you ever did. Although it took some time for him to adapt, he eventually grasped the concept.

Before you knew it, the sun had vanished, and the room was bathed in the gentle glow of the waning moon, its light sneaking through your partially closed blinds. You and the creature had settled into a cozy conversation over the past few hours with your legs crossed, sporting a faint smile as you hung on to every word he shared. Each word that flowed from his lips held your rapt attention, and you found it impossible to divert your gaze from him.

“So, you risked your freedom to create me?” He asked, his hands idly toying with the hem of the shirt you’d offered. For someone who’d been planning this for weeks, you found yourself unprepared for Suguru’s arrival. Fortunately, you had a collection of shirts and jogging pants, mostly relics from past relationships best left undisturbed. You chewed your lip for a moment before offering a tentative nod, his question echoing the concerns Nobara had raised just a week before.

"Yeah, I did. But I promise, nobody's going to find out, okay? So don't worry," you reassured him, a playful grin spreading across your face. The thought of anyone besides your best friend discovering your secret had you contemplating fleeing your kingdom and coven without a second thought. Your eyes wandered over Suguru's form, pondering the different ways you could test just how "human" this creature might be. Did he need to eat? Did he share any of the same needs and desires as humans? Many experiments would be needed to test him out and see the true depths of your creation.

So it only made sense that you continue to the next course of action. His body was strange to you, while also exciting. There was much you were unsure of and needed to know.

"Hey, Suguru, mind if we experiment a bit?" you finally asked after a few moments of contemplative silence. You didn’t mean to sound so bold, but you weren’t even sure if he had consciousness or feelings. A typical person may feel uncomfortable by that sentence, but there’s never been a documented case of human emotions or morality being replicated through magic.

So while it was alright to be nice to him, you figured you didn’t need to hold back too much.

He tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy before giving a hesitant nod. “Experiment?” He asked, causing your cheeks to burn from how adorable he seemed. Despite your complete size difference, he was so cute to you.

Without responding, you patted a spot on the bed for him to lie on his back. "I'm really curious about you, and I want to try some things, but only if you're alright with it," you reassured. He cautiously laid on his back, the strands of his hair that had once covered his face now exposing his features.

You were careful, your gentle fingers tugging at the shirt you’d given him to wear. Suguru understood what you were communicating and he pulled the fabric over his head until he was half nude. The flesh on his body was legit, you thought. It was flexible, soft, and supple—like a true human. Humming, you began dragging your hand down his chest, pinching at his skin carefully to observe it. “I’m surprised by how… beautiful you are,” you began, fingers still testing him. “I thought I’d fuck up bad and you’d be like, a vengeful demon… or something.”

At that, Suguru laughed.

He raised his brows, allowing you to continue exploring his body. Or was it your body? The details were still unclear. "And who says I'm not?" he quipped. Your gaze shifted to his face, holding eye contact for a moment before a smile spread across your lips.

"You're not. I've been around more than I can count, and I can tell you wouldn't touch me," you teased, moving to a different area of his body. Leaning over him, you began playing with the strands of his jet-black hair—the most impressive property of his body so far. Even after being a witch for so long, there were things even you couldn’t begin to explain. He was perfect. So, so perfect. Your fingers dragged along his scalp, massaging it until you decided you were finished.

Once you pulled away, your eyes were met with a sight you hadn’t expected from an artificial being.

“Suguru,” you said softly, your gaze settled between his legs at his hardened cock. Heat swarmed your cheeks and lower abdomen at the sight, causing you to cough in embarrassment. Suguru blinked at you, unbeknownst to your unusual reaction. Sitting up, he looked down between his legs, following where your gaze was.

"Is this bad? Should I be embarrassed?" he asked, his eyes suddenly widening.

You quickly shook your head, your throat feeling dry. It was almost impossible for you to speak, but you pressed on through your panic. "No, no, definitely not," you said softly, your eyes locking with his, your gaze intense. “I didn’t expect this. I don’t even know how this is possible.” With a shaky hand, you reached over, your fingers pressing against the obvious bulge in his pants.

The groan that fell from his lips was enough to make your cheeks as hot as lava, forcing you to retract your hand quickly as if you’d been burned. “Did that… did that feel good?” You could barely recognize your voice because of the rasp.

He nodded, catching his lip between his teeth as he began to nibble the flesh. An act that was so human to you. His surprisingly normal mannerisms and appearance were still things you weren’t able to find yourself getting used to. Especially the reaction his cock was having to you toying with his body. You sighed, unable to catch yourself before saying something that made you feel sickened by yourself.

“Do you need… help?”

His eyes were lidded now, hands placed on his lap as his cock continued to throb against his pants, just begging for a nice, tight hand or a warm mouth to help it. He whined softly and nodded, his pants tighter now. You weren’t sick and you weren’t some lonely woman who couldn’t get laid under normal circumstances. There’s nothing wrong with this, you thought. Who are you to refuse someone’s need for assistance?

“Okay,” you said. “Okay. Put your… fuck, put your back against the headboard,” you instructed, watching as he obeyed without a second of hesitation. How long had it been since you’d been in bed with someone? A week? Two? If it was taking this long for you to remember, you were sure it’s been longer. A small sigh fell from your lips as you recalled Nobara telling you to get out of the house and date more, but you were too preoccupied with your spells. Now what would she think if she found out you were fucking an artificial human? A literal being created with your life force.

Pushing the questionable morality of the situation out of the way, you focused on one thing—helping him.

With one swift motion, you’d pulled his pants down to hang at his ankles, his throbbing cock smacking against the hem of his shirt. You huffed out a small breath, even more impressed by the sheer size of him, causing you to squirm on the bed.

He was big. When you saw him earlier, you obviously didn’t just stand there staring at his soft cock, but there was such an astounding difference between now and then that you were gaping. His tip was an angry red, white beads of precum pooling at the head and dripping down his tan shaft. The lewd image caused you to swallow, lubricating your very dry throat.

His hips bucked expectantly as you leaned down, kissing his head first. The salty precum clung to your bottom lip, sticky but thin as you opened your mouth, lowering your warmth onto his needy dick. Your tongue slid down his shaft as he hit the back of your throat, resulting in you gagging. Your hand found itself on his base as you pulled yourself up a little, your tongue swirling around his slit as your hand stroked him.

Suguru hissed, his rough hands finding solace in your hair as he gripped a little too close to your scalp. You winced in pain but endured it, bobbing your head along his impressive length and using the sounds of his groans to motivate yourself further. You finally pulled away after moments of choking, saliva dripping down your mouth and chin. Your eyes narrowed at his cock as you licked his essence from your lips, surprise evident in your features. He didn’t taste normal in the slightest. Whereas most men were salty and bitter, he was sweet and mildly acidic—a taste you genuinely enjoyed. “Fuck, you taste good,” you said to yourself, your hand wrapping itself around his base again. “How’s that even possible, huh?”

“Please don’t stop,” he begged, his hips thrusting into the air again as you stroked his cock slowly, focused on milking him. “Feels like I’m gonna… Just feels so good,” he rasped, his eyes tightly shut as he basked in the pleasure of your soft hand against his hot, heavy cock.

You nodded, continuing to use your saliva to lubricate his cock. “You’re gonna cum, Suguru. That's what that feeling is,” you explained, a prideful smile finding itself on your lips as you finally brought him over the edge, watching as hot spurts of white stained your hand and his shirt. Suguru panted, his cock twitching before falling onto his covered stomach. His lidded eyes followed the sight of your tongue lapping his cum from your hand. He twitched again.

By now, you were already squirming, the heel of your foot placed against your clit as you began to grind for any amount of friction possible. Little mewls escaped your mouth but you were too lost in the feeling to get embarrassed. Suguru’s cock began to grow in size once again from watching you, his hands squeezing around his own length to replicate what you’d done to him.

“You want more?” Your hands were easing your own pants off now until you were in your plain, white panties. There was an evident wet spot that sent a shiver down Suguru’s spine the longer he looked at it. When you were creating him, it wasn’t like the thought of sex taking place didn’t pop up in your head a few times, but you trusted yourself enough to not take things in that direction.

Despite feeling almost disgusted by yourself, the familiar heat in your stomach was demanding something more.

“Please? I do want more. I don’t know what I want, but…” he trailed off, his hands still wrapped tight around his hard cock as he trailed from your eyes, back to the print of your pussy. It was almost instinct the way Suguru craved to feel you around him without any actual knowledge of anatomy or sex.

You nodded and straddled him, no reluctance in your actions. Gulping, you pulled your soaked panties to the side, not caring that you hadn’t even prepped yourself properly. All you craved was the ache to be soothed by the big cock you’d enjoyed sucking so much. Slowly, your body dropped down to his slicked cock, the stretch enough to make you wince but you still took it until he was completely buried to your hilt.

Suguru’s hands were on your hips now, tightening as you rolled your hips. Your pussy was twitching around him, grateful to have a cock buried deep after what felt like years without one. It stung, and his size was almost uncomfortable—but you still began to move yourself on top of him. Little moans were falling from your lips as you slowly bounced, your head buried in the crease of his neck, realizing he was allowing you to take complete control due to his ignorance. “Feelin’ good? Hm, ‘Guru?” You asked, your voice a mere whisper.

“So good… feels so tight and hot,” he cried out, praising the way you were sucking him in deep. Your pussy was so familiar with him even though this was only the first time your bodies have met. You were clenching around him tightly, sucking him in and then letting him slip out repeatedly.

“I know,” you gasped, rocking yourself on him before bouncing quicker than before. There was a slight burn in your thighs but it didn’t matter compared to the delicious feeling of his cock dragging along your wet, aching walls. With shaky hands, you gripped his black strands of hair, pressing little kisses to his sweaty neck in the process.

Though you were both moving a little awkwardly, he was still spurring you on. Each and every groan, grunt, and thrust was causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. “S-Suguru,” you called, pulling away from the assault on his hair to reach for his hands. You pulled his thick fingers near your clit, assisting him in getting you off. “Feels good when you touch girls right here,” you explained, locking eyes with him.

“Like this?” he asked, his fingers moving in expert circles. His fingers dragged along your clit vertically before switching to tight circles again, using your own slick to lubricate your button. The act was too much and your body knew that, making you respond by convulsing as your stomach filled with heat once again.

“Fuck, yes, just like that.” Your pussy began to tighten impossibly tight as you finally came hard, coating his tan shaft in your clear, sticky release. Suguru followed suit, burying his head in your neck as he began humping into the air like a dog. His skilled fingers never stopped their assault on your engorged clit, even after your powerful climax.

Suguru whined as his cock throbbed deep inside, shooting thick ropes of cum into your waiting, unprotected womb. The two of you were left shaking, huffing messes, your arms wrapped around his neck and his fingers hovering over your wet cunt.

After moments of silence, you finally cleared your throat, pulling away from his neck. There were no regrets to be had. Not from the beginning when you were creating him and not even when you were cumming around his cock.

You wished for something something new. Something different. Something forbidden.

And you got it.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk hcs #kinktober #geto x reader #geto smut #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #suguru smut #jjk geto #geto jjk #jjk headcanons #geto headcanons #geto hcs #geto fic #suguru geto headcanons #suguru geto

[sorcerous-caress]

Lorroakan general and smut headcanons

[Smut, angst, fluff, dark content, unhealthy toxic relationship, humiliation kink, dacryphilia , public displays, bottom sub!reader, nb!reader]

General headcanons

"He would seek the power of gods for the pettiest of reasons - his own gratification"

His eloquent mannerism, the pride he holds himself up with, the power and gold dripping from the tips of his trimmed and soft fingertips.

Lorroakan has many charms, more than the rest of the city would care to admit.

For his gleeful sadism did overshadow all of them without any effort.

You knew him very well, have lived with him for very long.

And his affinity for overextending his power on all of those weaker than him desensitized you with time.

Of course he banished another person to an unknown realm of horrors because they've brewed him the wrong kind of tea, nothing he does really phases you anymore.

You've tried talking sense to him before, countless times.

Hours upon hours of ranting, of explaining basic human empathy to him all went down the drain.

He just sat there with a bored look on his face in front of you, cheek resting against his hand as he sipped on his cup of tea, the correct kind this time.

By the end, he'd give you this faux sympathetic look, a mocking pout of guilt on his pretty shiny lips as he expresses his apologies for you getting offended over his actions, with zero sincerity.

Getting up from his chair, walking across to you as he cups your face in his hand.

Coos at you for being so good-hearted, for always steering him in the right direction, that's why he keeps you around after all, isn't it?

Condescension dripping from his tongue and coating his words, calling you precious.

"Now my dearest, since you're done with your little tantrum, how about we go do something actually useful, hmm?"

My dear, my dearest, my jewel, my pet, all of those are his favourite endearing nicknames for you.

You should be infuriated, but it's very hard to stay mad at him.

He rarely yells, even his sharp insults are delivered in the softest and most feathery of tones.

His lingering touches with a gentle manner, a proper arm around your waist, or guiding your own arm to wrap around his back.

The way he lifts your chin to direct your face towards him instead of whatever or whoever you were paying attention to.

The amount of efforts he puts into his appearance for you, styling his clothes and adjusting them to fit your taste.

Paying attention whenever your eyes wander and taunting you for it as he sits you down, clicking his tongue at your behaviour.

He's not mad, he tells you in the softest of tones, a smile curling on his face.

He just wants to know what made you look at the trash? It's a very puzzling action you see.

Makes you confess, either willingly or he ends up tricking you into it.

Despite his reputation amongst the academia, he is one of the smartest and most clever people you've ever met.

All it takes is a single slip of the tongue from someone for him to reconstruct and solve the puzzle, the way his conclusions are scarily accurate and fast.

Most people forget that quite often, how sharp his mind can be, how there is a reason none managed to trick him or backstab him yet despite his inflated ego.

So be a doll and tell him what you saw in someone else that he doesn't have?

Hmmm their clothes? Oh dear, that's a very simple matter, he can wear whatever you want if it will make you happy.

But please do use your words next time, alright? Jog your brain a bit. He knows it must be very hard for you, but he believes in you.

True to his words, there is a shipment the next day and you see him wearing the same outift that caught your attention before.

Doesn't matter if it's an overexposed skin-tight short robe with a gold collar where multiple smaller golden chains dangle to reattach to the dress below.

Or a very elegant suit with a long tail, tailored embroidery on the chest, back, and even pants. Gems embedded within the design as his long firey hair sits on top of his shoulders.

He makes everything he wears look absolutely breathtaking, he knows how much of an effect his looks have on you and he plays his cards very well.

He's not blind. He is aware you've been putting up with a lot of his...less than ideal sides. And he can't really bother to change them since he doesn't want to.

Then he just has to make leaving the more painful to you, make it the clearly losing choice.

By putting down all the other competition to lift himself up, by exposing you to all the other wizards' dirty laundry so his sins would pale in comparison.

He always believed he was meant for greatness, that his sole purpose is to sit on the lap of luxury and be handed infinity on a silver plate.

He was unsatisfied with his life. The span age of a human was too short for his liking. Even then, he knew no mortal could really master magic, learn all there is to learn and memorise all the spells with the clock of life annoyingly ticking nearby.

That once he achieves all these things, he can finally relax and focus on his actual passions. On you.

Another reason for his isolation from the usual wizard society, is his lack of affinity for Mystra. He never really cared for her, even back in his student days.

That's when the two of you met really, he was way less insufferable than he is now.

A time back when those green eyes looked at you with adoration, curiosity, pure intentioned and still unseduced by the lust for power.

When his shoulder-length hair would sway in the wind on the long walks the two of you took. His younger self had a clear love for exploration, traversing the unkown, even when that unkown was the public park behind the academy.

He never wants to step out of his great tower these days, and he never saw a reason to do so. Everything you could ever want could be delivered to you here so there is no reason to go on dates outside or visit a restaurant or a shop.

You remember those early memories of your relationship very clearly.

That night when he asked you to the dance. The way he actually stammered over his words, back when your rejection was a real fear of his.

The two of you never dance nowadays, not anymore.

And now he knows you have nowhere else to go, no one else to choose but him, no one to meet your standards or spoil you rotten like he does.

But sometimes, during a fleeting moment or two, you catch a glimpse of the innocent boy you used to know, used to be in love with.

When one of your awful jokes gets a chuckle out of him, his cute snort laugh that you rarely hear these days.

Those fake smiles replaced most of them afterall.

Or when it's the early morning, and the two of you are laying in bed at the highest room in the tower.

Balcony open with a beautiful view of the sun rising upon the still sleepy city. The ocean is nearby with its waves crashing against the shore.

And your beloved has his head on your chest, your fingers running through his hair.

As the sunrays make their way into the tower, and reflect so beautifully against his hair, shining against every mole on his face that you loved to count.

How he reluctantly opens his eyes, a sleepy look in them.

You think, he doesn't look half bad.

He lets you brush his hair, something he always loved you doing. And likewise you're careful and gentle with it.

And just like that, the moment is gone as he suddenly glares at the cup of tea he has been served. Not enough sugar, he mutters under his breath as he snaps his finger to summon the one responsible for this great offence against him.

They say hair holds memories, the ends of the strands you're twirling between your two fingers are the same ones you fell in love with, many summers ago.

-

Smut headcanons

The way he feels entitled to your time, love, attention and body

No matter what you're doing, no matter who you're with. He will always come first.

In bed too, he usually cums first.

Holds your tongue between his fingers when he wants to shut you up.

Humiliation is a big turn on for him, making you suck his fingers even if someone else was in the room, knowing they wouldn't dare and utter a word.

Mocking you by repeating your needy words back at you.

"Oh is this embarrassing? You poor thing, you're embarrassed?"

"It's too much? My fingers are too much down your throat? I know I know shush."

Same thing in bed when he's so deep inside you, when you're crying out in pleasure and babbling incoherently.

He makes you say the most embarrassing of things.

Go on, tell him how much you love his cock, how much you can't cum your little pretty brains out without being filled to the brim with his dick.

Do you want him to count down for you? Count down until you get permission to cum?

When he reaches 3 or 2, he begins counting back up.

"3...2..hmm you're close? 4....5...6- what's that? Why are you crying? Oh my dear you know you can't cum without my permission, you'll just have to try harder."

One time before you left the upper floors of the tower to go down and help with the store or run errands in the city, he pulled you to the side, gave you the sweetest kiss ever that had you melting into his arms.

Then he pulled your pants down, lowering your underwear just enough so his throbbing cock gets to spill all of his cum inside of it.

Completely filling your underwear and swallowing down all of your complaints with his lips.

After he's finished, he pulled them back up for you with a quick kiss on your forehead and told you to hurry and leave.

You spent the entire time with his cum soaking through your underwear in public. Feeling it rub against your heat and stick to your skin.

By the time you came back, he was in such a good mood.

You feel humiliated and dirty as you cling to him, he wipes the tears from your face with a smile. Continuing to taunt you with his words.

Praising you for being such a good slut in public for him, wondering if you managed to cum on your own between all of those people just from that.

Or did you stop in a bathroom or alleyway and use your hand to get yourself off? Did you buck against your balm or stuff your fingers inside you?

Saying how a hot bath is already ready, how he will take care of his little pet. His crying slut of a lover that he loves to torment and spoil.

Makes you thank him each time he cums inside of you, nothing gets his cock harder than your trembling lips thanking him.

He is willing to indulge your kinks, surprisingly open minded no matter how niche they are.

Even if they don't get him off, he tells you he will still get off on shaming you for them, on being condescending to you the whole time.

Loves receiving oral, loves having you between his knees and worshipping his cock.

If he ends up bottoming, he will definitely be a powerbottom and make you beg before letting you inside him.

Does use his magic in bed, sometimes conjurs an un-person for you to ride and fuck yourself silly against the clone of himself while he watches or works on something else.

Only uses the most safe of spells, he does have acute awareness on how dangerous magic can be and how a simple spell like an ice knife could end up potentially injuring you.

He loves tormenting you, hates actually inflicting any pain on you. Which is why he refuses to choke you in bed or even spank you.

But has zero shame when it comes to public displays, is very willing to fuck you in front of someone else if you're willing.

One of his wet dreams when he finally reaches his potential and achieves greatness, is having you cockwarm him as he sits on his throne and listens to the pleas and begging for mercy from all the people who ever doubted him or wronged him.

If you want to tread on dangerous territory in bed or get him to be rougher, pull his hair.

His mask of superiority drops for a second and he is genuinely furious as he rams harder into you, insult after insult pouring our of his tongue with a deep glare in his eyes.

You'll end up being used all night, even when he can't cum anymore and is overstimualting himself, even when his legs are shaking and his breath hitching, he will still fuck you until you learn your lesson.

Also, he has the prettiest moans and is very vocal in bed.

#♡Lorroakan #♡dark content #♡toxic relationships #♡sub reader #♡smut #♡fluff #♡angst #Lorroakan x reader #bg3 smut #bg3 x reader #Lorroakan headcanons #toxic relationship #unhealthy relationships #nb!reader #nonbinary reader #sub reader #dom Lorroakan

[h0rr0rwhor3]

golden gun

masterlist

pairing: chamber x gn!reader

summary: mean chamber brainrot, that's all this is

warnings: gun play, mean chamber, teasing, bratty reader

a/n: i have been wanting to post this for a while now and i finally got the time to do so! i am finally on break, so i will be able to finish up the connor fic for y'all! thank y'all once again for the support! <3

your breath stayed heavy as you felt the cold metal lower underneath your chin, no longer conscious of any bratty remarks that had brewed in your mind. the feeling of your head being tilted upwards only made you aware of the growing tightness in your throat, along with the dryness that had formed in your mouth.

"nothing left to say ma souris? tu as l'air d'etre sur le point de te manger."

"i already fucking told you that i don't understand the fuck your saying."

"but that makes it all more exciting, no? it seems to piss you off even more ma souris."

at this point, you could feel your face heat from frustration. he was not only very much right about your frustration, but it felt even more as he would talk down on you whenever he spoke the foreign language, the taunting accent only increasing your annoyance.

your mind was interrupted from any wandering thoughts when the barrel of his gun dragged up your jawline, the cold metal leaving goosebumps on your skin as it made a halt at the corner of your bone. your heart was pounding at this point. you knew it was loaded, and his finger dancing over the trigger did nothing to stop your nerves as he causally moved the barrel along your face. 

"could you stop playing with the fucking thing, you're scaring m-"

"i thought you liked the danger, no? for being so feisty ma souris, you look like you're about to cry."

"i'm. not."

"then keep quiet then. yeah?"

the tip of his gun moved towards one corner of your mouth, applying enough pressure to force a half smile onto your face, bringing a smirk onto chamber's face. without much thought, your hand moved towards his wrist, your fingers grazing over it lightly as the weapon moved towards your lips, pressing against them. furrowing your brows, you grew even more annoyed, but before you could even say anything, he gave your lips another push, a harsher one at that too.

"open for me."

"hm?!?!?!"

"open, ma souris."

hesitantly your lips parted, only for them to be spread open with a push, the barrel of his gun pushing down against your tongue and you finally grabbed his wrist, your mind hesitant to make any other movement. 

your face was flushed at this point, in humiliation, confusion, and frustration. you haven’t even realized you were refusing the sight of his eyes until you looked up at him, an emotionless expression on his face. 

he was thinking, concentrating even, but he wasn't letting that affect his expressions whatsoever. another push against your tongue granted his wrist another squeeze. drool starting to stain the corners of your mouth as he finally let out a sound. 

"stick it out, your tongue."

at this point, you were in no place to make any snarky remarks or faces. you were nervous. being in such a humiliating situation made you more and more aware of this. 

looking back up at chamber, you hesitantly made eye contact, your grip on his wrist slightly tightening.

"i’m not going to shoot this bullet through your head if that's what you’re worried about, you think i'd get my gun so filthy if i was going to do so?"

with that being said, your grip on his wrist loosened, lowering itself onto his forearm as you grasped the fabric of his button-up. your eyes darted back towards the gun as you hesitantly allowed your mouth to open wider, your tongue pushing itself farther down along the barrel.

for a second you could swear you had seen his hands tense, the muscles in his forearm tightening for a second as his breath became heavier. 

if you weren’t already red enough, you were even more now. drool dripping down your tongue and staining the barrel of his gun, the golden design becoming glossy with the liquid. you could feel your hands tremble lightly, the humiliating position bringing an agonizing heat upon your body as you lightly panted against the gun. 

this seemed to make something snap inside of chamber as he gave your tongue a harsh push of the barrel, a light gag coming out of your mouth. 

the expression you had formed was amazing. drool staining your mouth and tongue. one of your eyes closed from the push. eyebrows roughly furrowed into a pout. face flushed. as if any of the expensive art he has could recreate such a beautiful expression.

it was not until you had opened your eye, that you then looked up at the taller male. his expression burning into your face as his eyes ate up your every move. 

"you look much cuter like this, feisty one. i almost don't care about how much you're dirtying my gun right now. but you seem to be liking this even more. ma sale souris."

you could feel tears threaten to come out of your eyes, the gagging feeling of the gun in your mouth pushed your mind into a drunkening submission as you felt a whimper leave your mouth, only for the cold metal to leave abruptly with the sound. 

you grew frustrated with the action, wiping your mouth and standing up straight as you looked up at the male confused, only for chamber to give you a small smile.

"i was already being generous. don't think i was going to give you more without having you crawl back to me, ma souris.”

jesus you fucking hated this guy.

#chamber #chamber valorant #chamber x reader #chamber x gnreader #gn reader #valorant #gun play

[keplercryptids]

[image description copied from alt text: a banner that says "TDOV Flash Sale! 20% off trans pride items. Drip Brew Designs."]

hi! for one week starting on Trans Day of Visibility (March 31 until April 7), all the trans pride flowers, garlands and flower crowns in my etsy shop will be 20% off!

[image description: various photos of paper flowers, garlands and floral crowns in pride color themes of nonbinary, trans, genderqueer and genderfluid. individual photos have alt text descriptions.]

🌼🏳️‍⚧️ link to shop and happy tdov!!! 🏳️‍⚧️🌼

#drip brew designs #tdov merch #tdov #jd makes flowers #trans pride

[frostbitebakery]

WIP GAME

Rules: Make a 24-hour poll with the names of your wips, let it run, then write one sentence for every vote the winner received.

Only 3… As if I haven’t like 12 active WIPs at any given time… (there’s Captain Cody letting his hair down while forearms, Fox planning Quin’s murder while Quin plans their second date, Pada-Wan catching shit from Quin and Lumi, Naval Lieutenant Kenobi, Snowfall in June, dark and unhinged and unapologetic about it Codywan featuring Obi-Wan being entirely, literally grey and Cody having his mouth sewn shut bc Kadavo went very very differently, tentative thoughts about live-action Bad Batch, IGMHC!Sithywan and Commander Cody getting ready to jump into battle, and. So many more.)

Tagged by the evil (obvs) @patchmates and making me choose between my children.

No pressure tagging: @adiduck (so you publicly admit just how many icemav wips you’ve got brewing) (:D) @anstarwar @imrowanartist @jedi-enthusiast @jedishadowolf @cacodaemonia @deathdovesong @meebles

#wip poll

[nostraightheadcanons]

☆ DJSS falling in love headcanons ☆ DJSS X Reader

This is a pretty long read whoopsie ;;

☆ DJSS is a rather complicated case, on one hand you could say he's expressive but that is moreso a facade than anything. his grandiose behaviour is something he does to further the narrative that he's trying to push. That this DJ SUBATOMIC SUPERNOVA is beyond anything the world could imagine, he's above such trivial things that are befitting lowly humans such as you all. So something such as emotions? and feelings for others? should be below him would it not? He's someone who doesn’t handle intimate feelings very well. It’s difficult for him to come to terms with having feelings for someone else let alone platonic emotions, both from fear of rejection and the notion of that he'd never be good enough or worth anyone's true effort and time. He's used to having people at arms length never letting them get close enough to see the man behind the veil.

☆ Any past attempts at close relations have always ended up in failure due to his personality and façade, he struggles with understanding peoples emotions and the ways others think. He may be attentive and observant of the people around him but he's not very receptive to their attempts of so called friendly relations, everything must be logical, calculated and fit the design he has planned perfectly, these fortuitous attempts through him off balance.

Everything must be either transactional in his head. Give or take and he's the one mostly doing the taking.

NSR is just a stepping stone for the grander plans in life, you may think he's friend with the fellow charters but I few it more complicated than that.

What does it mean to like someone if they provide nothing for you to gain? It's illogical and an anomaly

☆ He can't perceive the notion of liking someone just because. At first he doesn't even register it's crush, you're just a stray planet in his orbit. Just a minuscule dot in the ever-growing galaxy, nothing of worth. Next to nothing when compared to him. But you stay, you continue to orbit him. You spin on an axis that is unfamiliar and foreign to his core that for some reason he catches himself looking at.

You were unplanned, unwanted and a nuisance that wouldn't go away.

His body couldn't ignore the gravitational pull that always found him, drawing closer to you whether in word or body. ☆ Although he’s a seemingly emotionless man in regards to matters that are not within his interest on the outside and rather talented in hiding his true feelings, he’s the type of person to become flustered by small things such as the way you laugh or smile at him, despite how brazen and bold some of his actions and words are. Though spotting those subtle differences is hard, but if you look close enough you can see the way that his orb changes shades. The ways that the sparkles shift to glow just a tad brighter, the cosmic clouds entrapped within him shifting as the waves brew into a storm of emotion that even he couldn't predict.

The plantery rings on his jacket spin a little faster, and if you really catch him off guard? You can see glimpse of a aura / halo hidden deep within the confines of his hoody. Spinning and rotating just a tad. You're drawing things out of him that he had pushed down for centuries, an unprecedented shift in his reality. You were an anomaly that has sent ripples throughout his very existence and now he's feeling the waves of the aftermath that is now changing the protectory of his life.

Seriously, he’d wrap an arm around you without a second thought if he's boasting about himself and wanting you to back within his brilliance n shine. But the moment you ask him to go somewhere like lunch or someplace else. He's just riddled with questions and doesn't seem to understand why you'd want him Anxiety dripping down his back, he'd psyche himself out of it trying to ignore the way his orb displays a myriad of shades that toooottally weren't there before. ☆ So when DJSS actually realizes this is a crush: he can be a little bit distant. Honestly though, I can see him being either one of two ways: Confident but he amps up his façade like crazy that he thinks he can prove his worth by showboating his glory or as previously mentioned. He would definitely want to cultivate his relationship with you before bringing it to the next level as a result of both of these possibilities but it's entirely dependent on how you react on how things go from there. Will you be the time to reach forward if he's cold and distant to slowly chip away at the ice barricade his heart? Will you be able to dismiss the grand act he puts own and venture into the vast depths to find what lurks beneath.

There's someone there wanting to be love, he doesn't realize it yet until he feels the ice of the great unknown nipping at his neck bringing with it the dread of loneliness that has forever plagued his existence.

All of this would be like second nature to him, but once he realizes exactly why he feels the way he does, he would distance himself a little bit to recollect and organize these new emotions. He's not prepared for this change, he can't seem to categorize or make sense of anything you've done to him. ☆ If you two do miraculously end up together, DJSS wouldn't do one of those big grand confession he thinks they're rather ridiculous for something like him. He's THE DJ Subatomic Supernova, he's not going to waste his time on some silly confession. He’ll eventually gather his thoughts and get his shit together and ask you on a date. If you say no, he's mentally prepared for this anyway. He'll just try and cease all the changes you've made to him effective immediately and try to push down and suffocate his emotions

Like he normally does ☆ He wouldn't gush about you like others do about their partners, He's not that kind of guy. But it won't stop him from certainly talking about you a lot. It doesn’t take long for others to catch onto just how much he likes to brag about you. So much so, that people often have to tell him to shut up. He's annoyed so many of his staff members about this already

You think his gloating about himself was bad?

He's upping the ante and gloating about YOU TOO. ☆ Totally the jealous type of lover, he wants to be the only one that gets to touch you that way. To hold you? To kiss you? To look upon you fondly with just enough sweetness that you blush. That's for him and his eyes only. It bothers him if someone is pestering you or trying to flirt. If someone talks about you too fondly for too long it really gets under his skin

You'll often find his orb growing darker by the second, you know he's not the type to hide his dislike of someone ☆ BIG HAIRY GUY! You think after everything I've said he'd hate being touched? Nope! He's touched starved and wants nothing more to be held and cuddled, once those walls are down and he learns to trust his feelings and you there's no stopping him from keeping his hands off you one way or the other. You can find him coiling his arms around you entangling you completely as he elongates his limbs to ensnare you completely. It's either draped on your shoulder, holding your hand or around your waist When he demands affection there’s no getting around it until he gets what he wants

Call him selfish and jealous, but you're his and he'll do anything to make that obvious to anyone around him ☆ The way to his heart? Cook for him, He's not the best in the kitchen mediocre at best, some of his attempts end up in disaster. Cooking is not logical, so many factors and things he needs to account for that can change on a dime and he hates that. So he avoids cooking as much as possible which means he either skips meals or substitutes for rather lacking options.

It shows him that you care and that you pay attention to him in ways that others do not, seriously it means a lot to him even if he has trouble showing that to you. Sometimes even you make him lose the words to say, which is surprising . .. given him.

☆Mod Nine☆

#mod nine #SORRY IF THESE ARE MESSY AND A BIT OF A TANGENT WHOOPS #no straight roads #nsr #nsr hcs #djss #x #x reader #djss x reader

[flutterbysnowflakes]

Vipers And Dragons

PART III

-----------------------------------------------------

Chapter III

The air in the nightclub hung thick with a cocktail of expensive perfume and desperation. Y/n, disguised in a shimmering crimson dress that clung to her curves like a second skin, glided through the crowd. Every movement was calculated, a performance designed to attract the very predators she planned to trap. The Falcone brothers, notorious for their ruthlessness and insatiable appetites, were her target.

The spotlight fell on her as she reached the stage. Music throbbed, a pulse that mimicked the dangerous rhythm of her mission. As she danced, she kept a watchful eye on the VIP section, their designated hunting ground. There, amidst the gaudy displays of wealth, sat the Falcone brothers, their gazes fixated on her.

A predatory satisfaction danced in Y/n's eyes. They were hooked, just as she'd planned. But the thrill of the performance was overshadowed by the ever-present awareness of Jimin's absence. Their agreement was a precarious tightrope walk, and trust was a scarce commodity in their world. Where were his men? Were they waiting in the shadows, or was this all some elaborate setup, a twisted game where she was the unsuspecting pawn?

Doubt gnawed at her, a cold serpent tightening its coils around her heart. One wrong move, one missed cue, and this carefully crafted plan would crumble. Just then, a figure weaved through the throng, brushing against her backstage. A hand slipped a hidden earpiece into her grasp.

"Viper," Jimin's voice, a low growl in her ear, sent a jolt through her. "We're in position. Stick to the plan, and get those brothers to follow you." Relief washed over her, laced with a spark of something else - a dangerous thrill at being so intimately connected to her enemy.

The music swelled, and Y/n poured every ounce of her defiance and allure into the dance. She knew the cameras were on her, broadcasting the show to Jimin's men waiting outside. Her plan hinged on a performance worthy of an Oscar and the Falcones' insatiable greed.

As the song ended, the Falcone brothers rose, their faces masks of predatory hunger. They beckoned her over, a smirk playing on their lips. Y/n met their gaze, a flicker of fear in her eyes expertly crafted.

"Gentlemen," she purred, her voice dripping with honeyed deceit. "Perhaps a private conversation? I have something you might be interested in."

The Falcones exchanged a glance, a silent agreement. Following their greedy smiles, they led her out of the back entrance, into the waiting jaws of Jimin's trap.

A tense silence followed as they disappeared into the night. Y/n, heart pounding in her chest, waited backstage, the spotlight suddenly feeling suffocating. Then, the earpiece crackled to life.

"Target acquired," Jimin's voice, devoid of emotion, sent a shiver down her spine. "Get out of there. We regroup at the docks."

Relief and a strange sense of disappointment battled within her. The mission was half-complete, but a part of her craved a different kind of victory, one settled not on the battlefield but between them.

Slipping away from the throbbing nightclub, Y/n navigated the city streets, her mind replaying the dance, the shared deception. This alliance with Jimin was a tangled web, a game where the lines between enemy and something more were blurring with every encounter. Reaching the docks, she found him waiting, a lone figure bathed in the moonlight.

"Well done, Viper," he said, his voice a low rumble. He stood close, their bodies a hairsbreadth apart. "You played the part flawlessly."

Y/n met his gaze, the air crackling with unspoken electricity. "And your men?"

"Efficient," he replied, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne mixing with the salty sea air. "Just like you."

Their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills unfolding. The tension was a living thing, a storm brewing beneath the surface. Before she could speak, Jimin's hand reached out, a single finger tracing the curve of her neck, sending a jolt through her.

"But this isn't over, Viper," he murmured, his voice husky with unspoken desires. "The game continues."

He pulled away, leaving her breathless and confused. The mission was a success, but the war with the Falcones was far from over. And somewhere, deep within the dangerous dance they were locked in, a new game had begun. As she watched him disappear into the shadows, Y/n knew that the line between enemy and something more was beginning to blur.

#bts #bangtan #jimin #park jimin #mafia au #slow burn #enemies to lovers #jimin fic #jimin x reader #GASP I wrote this at 1 am #officially a writer now!!!!!

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Vesuviella: Part 15

Rehearsals continue even more smoothly than you expected them to. Portia, Asra, and Lucio are well on their way to being a perfectly dysfunctional family. Muriel, bolstered by Nadia’s tact and gentle coaching, is now capable of projecting his voice across an empty community theatre. Valerius has learned all of his lines and can pretend to tolerate you for more than thirty seconds at a time. Needless to say, Julian is in his element.

You’re back at the Palace one golden afternoon to meet with Nadia concerning the props and costumes. Julian is busy coaching Asra and Lucio on how to wear Portia’s cat hair-covered skirts, so he can’t attend. The Countess pours you a second cup of tea, settling into the cushions beside you on the veranda overlooking the gardens.

“Well, Charming?”

“Hm?” You look over to meet her gaze. Has she been sitting this close to you the whole time?

“Charming. That’s your name, isn’t it? As your father I doubt I would feel the need to constantly address you as ‘Prince.’”

“I guess you’re right, family doesn’t call each other by titles." You pause and sip the perfectly brewed blend. "I don’t have any to begin with though.”

“Perhaps not, but you are Charming all the same.” She pauses, watching your expression, and then rises from her seat. “Come. We have costumes to approve.”

There’s a heap of fabric nearby, as well as a sketchbook of designs and plans in a familiarly elegant script. You rest your fingers next to a carefully detailed sketch of your form, draped in royal robes that look distinctly Prakran. “Did you design these, Nadia?”

She turns back to you, finery dripping from her fingers as she holds out a particularly opulent cape. “Of course. I wouldn’t dress you in any less.” Before you can take the garment from her, she’s stepping in closer and sweeping it around your shoulders. You can feel the backs of her knuckles graze your throat as she fastens it, deftly adjusting the way it falls and drapes around your arms and chest. “What do you think, Charming? Is it Princely enough to suit you?”

The mirror nearby gives you the perfect view of your new look, Nadia smiling softly at you over your shoulder. Oddly enough, it's not the design from the sketchbook. “It’s stunning.”

“I could say the same for you, MC.” She laughs and places a crown of glass jewels on your head. “There will be no doubt among the audience that you are a Prince worthy of a ball in your honor. I expect there’ll be no end to your admirers.”

You flush as she continues to cover you with all manner of spectacular costume pieces. “I’m not actually a Prince, you know.”

She pauses, one of your hands in her own as she fastens a wrist piece. “Perhaps not a Prince, but you could easily be nobility if you desired. It seems you don’t realize it, but,” she slowly slides a ring onto your finger, “I know of at least one person with a title who’d be very happy to share it with you.”

You’re about to respond when you hear a loud crash and squawk, causing Nadia to drop your hand and you to startle. You barely recognize the indignant white bird that screeches by as Portia trips onto the veranda. Her face flushes and she drops the broom. “I’m so sorry milady, but that idiot bird got out again!”

Nadia steps away from you, serene smile in place. “You have nothing to apologize for, Portia. I trust you’ll see to Camio’s consequences?” You watch as Portia nods and strides into the garden, broom clutched like a spear in one determined hand. Nadia turns to the pile of costumes and lifts a torn brown dress. “MC, could you approve these designs on the doctor’s behalf so I may finalize them?”

You nod and scurry over, placing your jewelry by the sketchbook so the pieces don’t get lost.

#vesuviella #the arcana #arcana brainrot #the arcana brainrot #the arcana fic #the arcana fanfic #the arcana crackfic #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #valerius the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana shitpost #arcana shitposting #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson #consul valerius

[cemeteryspider]

Just A Little Mysterious

Mysterio!/Quentin Beck x Vigilante!/ Wife! Reader

*Set during the events of Spiderman 2*

Summary: What-if Quentin Beck had a wife during the events of Spider-Man 2, and helped Miles fix the situation

Trigger Warning: Kidnapping, Unconsciousness, Violence, and Emotional Distress

Word Count: 1243 Words

Quentin Beck was rushing to the main Mysterium in the Coney Island Fair. A work of art expertly designed by him and his team.

Although hesitant at first of using the Mysterio name and image to advertise and promote the new form of entertainment, Betsey and Cole told him that they were remaking his image and showing the world that he is not a bad guy, just that he had done bad things in the past. When his lovely wife Y/n got hold of this information she just about burst.

~~~

"God, they can't just force you to be someone you're not anymore. This is ridiculous. You are Quentin Beck not some super-villain. You've done so much to move past that life and to dredge that up for some ad-revenue, it's sickening"

She furiously started typing on her phone presumably to Betsey or Cole or both. Carefully I removed the phone from her frenzied hands and turned it off.

"Sweetheart it's okay. I think it will be good to give a new life to Mysterio. Show the world that people can change. Maybe inspire some others to change along the way"

Quentin wrapped his arms around her gently and started to sway. He could feel her anger drip away with every deep breath she took.

He knew she learned this technique from the same therapist he was court mandated. When she was calm enough she gave him a big squeeze signaling she was ready to talk and that she wasn't going to speak out of anger.

"Sorry, I just know how hard you've worked to separate Mysterio from Quentin. I just don't want to you lose progress over some buisness decision someone forced upon you"

"I know but I understand that Mysterio is an act I will put on to help the world now. Quentin is the man behind the mask who deals with the paperwork and who has a loving wife to come home to"

She smiled up at him with her soft lips. He leaned down to give her a quick peck.

"As long as you always come home to me"

"There is no one else in the world that I rather would"

~~~

He should have listened to her that day. Took himself and his former villain name off the menu. Now he was running to save his wife from what ever mess he had got her into in the first place.

Once Beck arrived at the Mysterium he was swiftly deal with. Told to put handcuffs on and his (now former) business partners would lead him to Y/n.

Only, once he was standing in a maintenance closet, and he turned around to demand to know where his wife was, he was swiftly knocked out with the butt of a gun and his head smacked against the cabinet beside him.

He could only hope his wife was okay wherever she was.

~~~

Inside a stupid snow globe of New York with nothing to do except hope to find a way out. Which for however long Y/n was in there, she couldn't find.

Frustration brewing, she preemptively started her breathing exercises. She wanted to call out to Quentin, but knowing exactly who was behind the mystery now it seemed useless.

Her friend Miles Morales asked for her help with solving the cases with the Mysteriums, which she happily obliged. She knew this would help Quentin and Spider-Man solve the case laid out before them. However, the more they uncovered the more her husband seemed to be the culprit, but she knew him like no one else.

She saw him cry when he came home from work, and get frustrated at the technology as well as his co-founders. Never angry enough to do the things the dev tapes insinuated.

Then she thought back to the day when she lost her cool in front of Beck. He calmed her down and everything was starting to make sense. Then she went to confront the two women, Quentin had once called friends, and she landed here.

In a snow globe.

Just as she was starting to lose hope Miles crashed into the tiny New York City and a fight ensued.

She knew what Miles thought, after all he dismissed her help and told her to stop looking into the case. "Conflict of interest", he stated. But went he saw her in the same predicament as him, he understood he had the situation pegged wrong.

She gave him a little wave and they got to work. He was taking out the Mysterio floating around while she was taking out the green goons on the ground with a baton and her Red Room training.

Once Miles turned Mysterio to green mist, he grabbed her hand and we swung towards the portal. Her hair swung around as they whipped through an upside down New York City.

When they swung through the next portal Quentin Beck was standing there holding his chest and breathing heavily in his Mysterio costume.

"Baby"

Y/n was running towards him and held him up a little. He smiled at her and brushed a strand of hair behind her hear.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Darling" He quietly whispered in her ear.

He did his best to turn to Spider-Man, and said the best advice he could,

"Keep fighting. Keep doubting. It is the only way to defeat him"

After a bright flash of purple both Y/n and Miles were in a Coney Island graveyard facing multiple Mysterios. Together they made quick work of the copies finally facing the 'true' Mysterio. The fight was happening fast and Mysterio held Y/n is a chokehold and threw her into a gravestone.

While worried about her the fight for their lives continued. In one final punch Mysterio disappeared and they were in the main room once again.

The illusion broke for the final time, and Miles finally saw Y/n sprawled out on the ground, unconscious. Quickly, he broke the door down to reveal Cole furiously typing on a computer and Betsey yelling to get the illusion back on.

Miles made quick work webbing them up, and inspecting the bumps coming from the closet door.

"I knew you'd find us"

~~~

As the police took Betsey and Cole away. Quentin took Y/n to a nearby ambulance, which she was trying to resist but eventually gave into.

Miles rested on top on the Mysterium roof. When Y/n was getting checked out Quentin appeared on the roof next to him.

"still have a lot of questions"

"this should clear things up"

"so can I tell everyone Mysterio's a good guy now?"

A small laugh escaped Beck's mouth.

"Mysterio will always be a villain. Just as Spider-Man always be a hero. It's when you start looking at the people behind the masks that things get messy"

They both looked at Y/n who was laughing at Quentin's jokes, and when Miles turned to look at Beck he was gone.

~~~

"Are you truly okay Darling?" Quentin asked as they closed the door to their apartment.

"Yeah I promise I'm doing just fine"

He looked deep into Y/n's eyes and held her close to him. He breathed in the scent of her hair which mingled with sweat and blood.

"I almost lost you"

That's when the tears started to make their way down his face. She held him a little tighter.

"I'm here and I'm not going anywhere"

#quentin beck #quentin beck x reader #miles morales #spiderman #spiderman 2 ps5 #spiderman 2 spoilers #mysterio

[impala-dreamer]

Captives of The Court - Chapter Twelve

A Supernatural Series

~Strange things are brewing in Connecticut, so Dean and Y/N go check it out. After stumbling through town, they fall into something that’s been going on a very, very long time. Can they put an end to the bloodshed and make it out unscathed or will they need a little help this time?~

Starring Dean Winchester x Y/N Y/L/N

Series Warnings and Info may be found on the Masterlist Here 

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

The crowd had gathered; each participant hidden behind lace or leather masks and hoods that kept their faces well in shadow. Despite the cloaks and masquerade, most were known to each other. The townsfolk had been there before, watching the rituals, bathing in the blood of the male offering, soaking up the potions Bronwyn brewed from the victim’s love. It was old hat by now, just something that had to be done for the good of the town. A few of the new supplicants still found it shameful, and they kept to the back of the room, skirting the edges and holding their breaths as the sacrificial lambs were manipulated and used up.

A newcomer stood in their midst that night, a petite woman draped in a charcoal cape that hid her bright red hair and porcelain skin. She wore a mask of intricate sapphire lace that matched her sparkling gown, and walked through the crowd with the air of royalty. Whispers erupted in wake as she moved to the center of the congregation and approached the altar.

Bronwyn met her there, smiling in greeting and nodding. “So glad you could join us.”

The stranger smiled and thanked her host, a thick accent rippling through the air. “The pleasure is all mine, Bronwyn. Very excited to see what you’ve been working on.”

Pride swelled in Bronwyn’s chest and she tried to hide it behind a tight smile. “Then let’s begin, shall we?”

She turned and spread her arms wide, welcoming her followers.

“Tonight, we have an extraordinary surprise. As many of you came to realize, two hunters stumbled into our town recently, and I was fortunate enough to capture their… attention. Now, the very thing they came to destroy, will destroy them!”

A low, rumbling laugh filled the room and the candles flickered as the new waves of air struck the flames.

Bronwyn held up a hand and the crowd silenced immediately.

“Beautiful though this couple is, they are even more special. Not only are they deeply in love, one of them… is famous.” Her eyes widened beneath the mask and the room rang with anticipation. “Allow me to introduce our honored guest tonight… Dean Winchester.”

With a snap of her fingers, Dean moved into the room. He walked as if in sleep, his body mobile but his mind empty. Naked and shining with a glaze of sweat, he stood in the center of the room, his bare toes edging the runes carved into the ancient stone. They formed a circle around him, seven feet around, and he stopped at the edge, locked by the magic and Bronwyn’s command.

The audience exclaimed at his beauty and the novelty of having such a prolific hunter in their circle. The sapphire witch took a step back, fading into the throng, watching, hiding.

Bronwyn grinned and continued with a wave of her hand “Let us not forget his lover and our vessel… Y/N Y/L/N.”

Y/N entered just as Dean had, naked and entranced. She stood next to him, toes touching the arch of the magical circle, waiting, empty.

With everything in place, Bronwyn began the first part of the spell. She worked at the altar, mixing the tincture of her own design and anointing Dean and Y/N in turn. The oils ran down the faces, dripped onto their chests, puddled at their feet. The scents of damiana and rose filled the room, and their bodies weakened, growing more pliant with each word Bronwyn spoke.

“Esse simul!”

The followers replied, chanting the spell along with Bronwyn and the magic took hold. Dean turned to Y/N and laid his hands on her shoulders, spinning her to him. They kissed, heavy and wet. His hands dragged down her body, her fingers clawed at the nape of his neck.

With more than a dozen pairs of eyes upon them, they fell to the ground within the circle, biting and licking, scratching and pinching. She rolled onto her back and rode him hard, her arousal in control of everything.

He groaned beneath her, body crushed into the stone. His eyes were wide and fixed on her flesh but he was unable to wake, too trapped inside himself.

The room roared with cheers when he came and the essence of his orgasm was trapped in another jar, locked away to be used for the main spell.

Two hours went by and their bodies were tired. Their backs were scraped by the stone, their sex aching and raw from constant use, lips swollen and bright ruby red. Close to breaking down, they lay in each other’s arms, driven to keep touching by the spell until one more orgasm was ripped from Y/N’s throbbing cunt.

Satisfied so far, Bronwyn clapped her hands and addressed the room. Y/N and Dean went still, afforded a small break to catch their breaths.

“Please help yourselves to supper upstairs while we give our guests a rest. The altar must be prepared for the second part.” Her gaze swept over the hooded company and she pointed at the steps. “I shall be with you shortly.”

As the coven ascended the stairs up into the main house, Bronwyn tended to Y/N and Dean. She got them up from the cold floor and let them sleep in each other’s arms against the wall.

She cleared the altar and set up a new cloth of plush purple velvet and a small pillow for Y/N’s head. A sharp knife of pure silver laid at the head of the altar and she blessed each piece as she laid it in place.

Finally, she took her leave, following her supplicants up the long stairs and shutting the door behind her.

The sapphire witch slid out of the darkness beneath the staircase and rushed to Dean and Y/N. She slapped his cheek hard, mostly for fun, as she knew he was too far gone to react. She eyed him for a long moment before speaking, taking in the view of his nakedness and shrugging.

“Not bad…” She smirked. “But I’ve seen bigger.”

Moving closer to Y/N, she laid her hands on both their foreheads and bent between them to whisper. “Surgere.”

Y/N gasped as a jolt of energy struck her heart and she sprang up, nearly knocking their savior over.

“Holy fucking motherfucking hell!”

The witch shushed her with a harsh hiss and a finger over her lips. “Be quiet!”

Dean shuddered as he woke and shook himself, too fatigued to yet stand. “Fuck. Y/N?”

She went back to him, crouching down to check on him before jumping back and into a fighting stance, weary of their helper.

“Who are you!”

Dean waved at her to lower her voice and back down. “Shh. Friendly,” he croaked.

The witch dropped her hood and tugged the mask from her eyes. Rowena smiled flirtatiously. “You recognized me behind all this?”

Dean rolled his eyes and sat up. His muscles were aching, bones near to breaking. “Only you would wear a glittery get up like that.” He stood, wincing at the pain and quickly covered his manhood. “What the hell?”

Rowena looked down at his hand and smirked. “Don’t worry. I took a wee peek before I woke you up.”

Y/N gagged. “OK. What the hell is going on?” She tried to hide herself behind Dean, but it was no use, so she slung an arm over her chest. “And, thank you, Rowena. Sorry I tried to punch you.”

Rowena batted incredibly painted lashes and shrugged her cloak off, handing it to a grateful Y/N. “Don’t worry about all that. Let’s just get you out of here before they come back.” She turned towards the steps and the tunnel carved behind.

Dean grabbed her shoulder. “Wait. We can’t just leave. We gotta-”

“Have to what, Dean?” Rowena snapped. “In case you’ve not noticed, you’re naked as a newborn babe, unarmed and half dead. You need to get out of here before Bronwyn and her folk come back for part two.”

Y/N shivered. “Part two?”

“Aye. First, they wring every possible ounce of orgasmic magic from your bodies, and then-” She paused and looked over her shoulder at the altar.

Y/N swallowed hard. “They sacrifice us.”

“No.” Rowena shook her head solemnly. “Much worse.”

Dean balked. “Worse?”

“Well, you, they sacrifice. But not after they have Y/N carve you up. And… well-”

Y/N leaned in, wide eyed and concerned. “And?”

Rowena sighed. “Dean must impregnate you before they drain him and dispose of his corpse. Then they keep you, magically accelerate the gestation, and… eventually… kill you and the fetus after stealing the birth magic.”

Dean and Y/N stood stark still, staring at Rowena with jaws too tight with nerves to actually drop.

Y/N trembled inside. “What!”

“It’s very complicated, very dark magic.”

Dean blinked himself back into the moment. “Sex magic?”

Rowena nodded. “Aye. Usually, it’s not used to this extent, and normally no one dies, but Bronwyn is a truly evil bitch.”

Dean laughed. “Witch,” he corrected.

“Bitch,” she asserted.

Y/N shrugged in agreement and stepped away from the other two. She grabbed the silver blade from the altar and chucked it against the wall as anger swelled in her gut. “Ain’t nobody getting me pregnant,” she hissed, ripping the cloth from the stone and tossing it at Dean. “Cover that dick and let’s get out of here. We need about two cases of Gatorade and some red meat.”

Still quite dazed, Dean wrapped the cloth around his waist and hobbled towards her. “Burgers?” His stomach growled.

Y/N sighed and pressed her palm to his cheek. “Of course, baby.”

Annoyed, Rowena clicked her tongue and tapped a jewel-studded shoe. “Shall we hurry please?”

The tunnel was long and short, and only Rowena made it through without ducking. She lead them down into the darkness and back out the other side, all the while, answering their questions in careful whispers.

“How many of them were there?” Dean asked, nearly cracking his head on the roughly carved ceiling for the tenth time.

“I counted fourteen aside from myself.”

“Including Bronwyn?”

“Aye.”

Y/N groaned. “That’s a lot. Recognize anyone?”

Rowena tripped over a rock and huffed. “A few. That horrible John Willard was one of them. Tried to sneak his hand under my cloak.”

“The sheriff.” Y/N grit her teeth. “Yeah. Figures. Handsy dick…”

Finally, they hit moonlight and breathed fresh air for the first time in days. The Impala was still stashed in the woods half a mile down the road and they ran to it as fast as their exhausted legs could carry them.

Dean’s naked ass squeaked on the leather as he slid into the driver’s seat and revved the engine.

Rowena hung back, unsure of what to do.

Y/N yanked her door open and paused, squinting at Rowena. “What’re you doing? Come on.”

“I have to go back in or they’ll know it was me who helped you escape.” The taste of fear bathed her tongue and she cringed, hating it.

“No.” Y/N opened the back door and tugged on Rowena’s arm. “You can’t go back in there. If they know we’re gone, they already know it was you. You’d be walking into an execution.”

Dean threw his arm over the seat and looked back at them. “Yeah. Besides, we still need you. Now, get in. I’m freezing.”

Sequins sparkled in the moonlight as she climbed into the backseat.

#cotc #dean x reader #series

[cavalierious-whim]

Thirs-tea (Neuvithesley)

Wriothesely warms Neuvillette's cock as they brew tea to share.

Read here on AO3! Be sure to follow me on twitter, and here on Patreon as well!

--

“Neuv—”

“The tea,” cuts in Neuvillette, his voice a purr in Wriothesley’s ear. “You haven’t yet had a sip.”

He rests his chin against the slope of Wriothesley’s shoulder, face tilted just so that he can kiss his flushed skin if he wishes. Before them is a tea set neatly arranged on his desk. Two steaming cups of tea, a crisp black brew with steeped citrus, steam billowing in clouds from the expensive porcelain. 

Neuvillette’s fingers curl around a handle slowly and with an exaggerated flourish. He smooths a thumb around the rim, tracing gold leaf and intricately painted designs. Once, twice, and then a third time. Wriothesley stares, counting each movement, every drag of that thumb, grounding himself in—

“Wriothesley?”

Sweat beads on his brow and drips down his neck. His collar is damp. Neuvillette nuzzles the skin there, his fangs a tease as they drag over across it. And then they’re gone as he turns his attention to the damned tea again.

“Are you so distracted?”

Wriothesley laughs, a sharp bark of a sound. And then he moans, hips shifting, because yes, he’s fucking distracted. Neuvillette acts as if his cock isn’t lodged deep in his ass; as if it isn’t the perfect girth to stretch him deliciously wide, or the right length to feel perfectly fool. 

He came for some tea and Neuvillette made it into a game. “Why don’t you sit on my lap and we make up for lost time,” he’d said as he kissed him sweetly and opened him up on those splendidly long fingers. And Wriothesley gave in as he often does, a slave to those sweeping touches, and the way that Neuvillette dresses himself down in their moments alone.

“I tease, of course,” continues Neuvillette. He kisses the shell of his ear and Wriothesley feels the smile that curls his lips. Devilish. He shudders at the warm breath the puffs against his skin, smelling like citrus and honey of the tea. “I am well aware of your struggle. You smell—” He pauses, pressing his nose against Wriothesley’s temple for a whiff and groans. But, he doesn’t continue that train of thought. “I bought this tea for you,” says Neuvillette instead. “It would be a pity for you to waste it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Wriothesley’s voice cracks. Neuvillette pulls far enough back to watch his throat bob as he swallows. Fuck, this is both the best and the worst. 

Tea time spent together turned into a booty call? Check. Especially if it’s at the behest of Neuvillette. Wriothesley is usually the driving force of their more hands-on encounters, so any time that Neuvillette is the one to take the reins instead… well. Yes. Instant erection. Easy way into his trousers, or, in this case, his ass.

But. But—

Neuvillette leans forward and his cock shifts, easing through Wriothesley to settle just a little deeper. Wriothesley moans, letting out the sort of noise that isn’t just embarrassing, it’s wholly mortifying down to his bones. He wriggles, swiveling his hips to ease the pressure of Neuvillette’s cock inside him. His own dick aches. It burns, desperate for more than just sitting there untouched. He needs to be bent over this desk and fucked.

“Neuvillette, please—”

“A cruel thing to snub my gift so easily.” Neuvillette’s hand slides down his side, teasing muscles through his shirt. It comes to a stop at his hip. His fingers curl tightly around the bone and stills him with a grip so strong that Wriothesley feels his joints creak. 

“I’m going to—”

Come. Or die. Something in between. He’s so full. It feels so good, but it isn’t enough. And Neuvillette’s teasing—Gods, it makes it worse. To have that crooning timbre hot in his ear. The way that Neuvillette murmurs his name makes Wriothesley’s gut curl, and he’s reminded just why he gives in so easily. Such trust is rare for him, but all Neuvillette has to do is thumb over his hand and make a request, and Wriothesley just falls into his lap. 

“Just a sip.” Another request, this one soft-handed and sweet. Neuvillette kisses his temple and massages his hip. 

Wriothesley wheezes in response. “You feel—”

“No doubt just as good as you do.” Another inhale, another press of Neuvillette’s nose against his skin. “Weren’t you the one who wanted to be good for me?”

“I’d thought I’d be good for you and make some tea.” Oh, how his words have come back to haunt him. 

Wriothesley groans, and says, “I wanted to make you tea—”

“And you did. And I watched as you did, unable to keep my eyes off of you. Effortlessly handsome as you poured out the water. I couldn’t help but pull you into my lap.” Wriothesley lets out a broken sound, a semblance of Neuvillette’s name, which only goads him more. 

“We’ll make up for lost time,” he’d said as Wriothesley’s ass yielded so easily around the tip of his cock. “You can warm my cock as this brews.”

Neuvillette’s hand slips between his legs, tracing the soft skin of his inner thigh. And then a finger down his length, wet with precome as it traces the vein there. “Just a sip. Be good for me, beloved. We’ll share that tea and then I’ll fuck you against this desk.”

Wriothesley doesn’t think he’s ever moved so fast. His hands shake as he reaches for the cup. And he knows Neuvillette expects propriety, he’ll demand it even. A game. It’s all a game to him, and Wriothesley will happily play along if it means seeing that teasing smile. 

Fingers curl around the handle of the teacup. His other hand plucks the saucer from the table, and he somehow manages to lift both. Right as he sips, Neuvillette moves, just a gentle roll of his hips. Wriothesley nearly spits out his tea—but he holds it. Swallows it. Lets the taste of bergamot and lemon sink into his tongue, teasing his taste buds. He’s about to put it down when Neuvillette’s hand catches his wrist. 

“Another,” he mutters, tilting the cup back to Wriothesley’s face. “Ideally, the whole thing.”

“You said a sip—”

“So desperate for me.” Neuvillette sounds pleased by that. “I love to see it. But I also love having my cock settled deep as you enjoy this tea. So handsome when split open for me.”

Wriothesley drinks the damn tea. He shudders and shakes, fingers white-knuckled around the porcelain so tightly that he thinks he may break it, but he drinks it. And Neuvillette watches him the entire time with a heated, half-lidded gaze that all but devours him. 

He commends his patience. Neuvillette pretends to have a blunted affect, to be calm about the way Wriothesley sits on his cock, squeezing it dry, but he’s stretched even thinner than Wriothesley. Neuvillette pets his thighs, claws dragging down the length of them over and over. Hyperaware as his gaze remains pinned to the cup, Wriothesley’s face, his throat as he swallows. 

Time crawls as he drains the cup. Wriothesley sets it down delicately. He tilts his head and opens his mouth, showing that there’s nothing left, tongue lolling out. Neuvillette is quick to cup his chin and tamp it down with his thumb. He tastes like the tea leaves, citrus having melted into his skin, settling there just like his cock, thick in Wriothesley’s gut. 

“Was it good?”

“Yes.”

A soft hum as Neuvillette bends close. “Another cup?”

“I’ll strangle you.” It comes out as a growl—and really, Wriothesley doesn’t mean to be so aggressive, but he’s beyond the point of no return. The pleasure hasn’t just settled in his being, it’s been set aflame, nerves so alive that he feels as if he’s on fire. The pressure against his prostate is so intense that it trips into overstimulation. His cock aches so much that it hurts, legs shaking as it twitches between his thighs. 

“A promise or a threat? Both have their appeal.” Neuvillette kisses him with praise. “You were so good for me. This time I’ll do as I promised.”

He leans forward, standing from the chair. Wriothesley goes down, splayed over the desk, ass up and back arched. Neuvillette gives him one swift thrust and they both groan. 

“Fuck, that’s what I want. Please.” Wriothesley is still too clothed, his trousers caught around his thighs, trapping his legs. Neuvillette too, the material of his trousers rough against his backside. But he finally fucks him with long, measured thrusts that give him the friction, the slick drag he’s been begging for since the beginning. 

Wriothesley presses back, bracing himself against the desk and using it as leverage. The tea cups tinkle as they rock against each other, jarred by every heavy thrust. Neuvillette’s cock carves through him, the pull and drag through his insides enough to see stars. Wriothesley falls against the desk with a shudder. His thighs tremble as he’s pushed closer to the edge with every rock of Neuvillette’s length.

“Look at you.” Neuvillette leans back and spreads his asscheeks to watch how his cock slides in so easily. He thumbs over where they’re connected, tracing his pink and swollen rim. Wriothesley moans, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow, feeling too bare, too exposed. “Just like I said—you look so good split open like this.”

His arousal crashes into him like a wave. Wriothesley is so needy, so close to the edge already that he comes untouched. He spills all over the floor with a cry of Neuvillette’s name. It is both a relief and almost painful, the sort of orgasm that has taken so long that he isn’t even sure if it’s satisfying. 

But what is, is Neuvillette’s hand against his back, tracing the lower notches of his spine. How Neuvillette gasps and fucks him faster, harder, with less rhythm. “Just like that,” he mutters, dragging Wriothesley back into him, the tip of his cock nailing that bundle of nerves every time.

And fuck, this is good. Wriothesley feels raw, plucked dry, tears leaking at the corners of his eyes in his overstimulation. “More,” he hisses. “Gods, yes. Neuvillette.”

Neuvillette plasters himself against Wriothesley’s back, his weight pinning him to the desk. He ruts against him harshly, his pace taking on a biting edge. Wriothesley’s cock twitches with renewed interest. He jerks, his arm swinging to the side into the tea set. 

Porcelain crashes to the ground. Tea spills. Neuvillette yanks Wriothesley into him, grinding his cock deep and spilling himself. His hand slips around Wriothesley’s front and curls around his cock. Wriothesley curses, fucking into his grasp, desperate for a second orgasm. 

Neuvillette chuckles into his ear. “Greedy,” he chastises, licking the shell of it. “Were you so worked up you want to come again?”

“Fuck, I—you.” Wriothesley can barely think. His brain is hazy as he barrels towards a second orgasm, cock leaking all over Neuvillette’s hand. His throat is dry, the tang of the tea still across his tongue, and all he can think of is licking into Neuvillette’s mouth to taste more.

He comes again with a pitiful whine and a jerk of his hips. Neuvillette strokes him through it, hand covered in his come, thin and watery. “There’s a good boy,” he murmurs, licking a stripe down the length of his neck, tasting him, nibbling at Wriothesley’s skin. 

Wriothesley is spent. Done. In so many ways. 

Neuvillette eases his cock out slowly, come splashing to the ground in a puddle. “My tea set,” he says, a little morosely. And then, with a sigh, “Sedene will be annoyed at the mess.”

Wriothesley turns to find it on the floor in a haphazard heap of broken pieces. He winces. Casualties of mindblowing sex. “Ah… sorry.”

“No, it’s…” Neuvillette sighs fondly. “I suppose that I asked for it, hm?”

“Sweetheart—”

“Wriothesley.” 

He frowns. Neuvillette will come around to the pet name. One day. 

Neuvillette hums, dragging his hand down Wriothesley’s backside before spreading his asscheeks for one last look at his wrecked hole. The gentle sweep of his fingers over his swollen rim has Wriothesley’s breath hitching. “Let’s clean up, hm? And then we’ll share a proper cup of tea. I do wish to actually enjoy one.”

Clean-up is minimal. The tea set is left on the ground to be taken care of later. Neuvillette wipes him down with wandering fingers, leaving Wriothesley to wonder what’s got him in such a mood. It isn’t that he is never like this, but from the moment he arrived, Neuvillette has been particularly… attentive.

Wriothesley is tugging his trousers back on when Neuvillette places another tea set onto the desk, this one older and clearly less used. It’s decorated with cutesy designs of dragons geared towards a more childlike sentimentality than his usual stern taste.

Neuvillette catches his gaze. “A gift from our esteemed leader,” he says dryly. 

“Ah. Yeah, that explains it.”

They settle into the couch in the corner once a new batch is brewed, tucked close together, shoulders touching, knees knocking together. The tea is good now that Wriothesley can properly taste it, lightly floral but holding nice depth. 

He makes a face as he cups his hands around the mug. “Say, are you—” Wriothesley looks at Neuvillette to find him watching back curiously. “You’re okay, right? I’m not complaining but you usually aren’t so…” He waves vaguely. 

Neuvillette’s expression morphs into something amused. “Do I need a reason to want to enjoy you?”

“Well no—” Wriothesley stops dead as Neuvillette dips close, his mouth near his ear.

“Do I need a reason for you to warm my cock?”

“No.”

Neuvillette chuckles and plants a short kiss against his lips before leaning back. He watches Wriothesley with warm, affectionate eyes. “I have my playful moods. Today is a good day, made only better when you stepped through the doors.”

“So think nothing of it.”

“No, you should think of it often. Don’t you want a repeat performance?”

Wriothesley’s mouth falls open in surprise. “I—are you flirting?”

“Have I gotten better at it?”

Yes, but he doesn’t need to be told that. Neuvillette’s smug smile behind his cup speaks volumes. Wriothesley’s expression fades into something fond. “Well, if it means I get more tea like this.” He takes another dramatic sip from his cup.

This is, for all intents and purposes, what he dreamed of earlier in the day. Just sharing tea together in the mid-afternoon. Wriothesley is always up for it turning licentious in nature, but, sometimes, the point is just to sit and soak up each other’s presence. 

Neuvillette reaches out and brushes his bangs back. “What my beloved asks for, my beloved gets,” he says, bemused, and Wriothesley gives him a blinding smile before kissing his palm.

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