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kisses4reid · 1 month

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convenient pt. 2 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

pt. 1 (you cannot read part 2 with no context).

summary - he totally just cares if you pass your exams, nothing else. there is no other reason he keeps coming back to your convenience store.

genre - fluff, fem!college!reader x early season!spencer

warnings - school work, incorrect science stuff bc i’m just a girl

a/n - thank you all for the love on the first part!!! it was so surprising, especially since it was the first fic i’ve uploaded on this blog, i love y’all so much 🫶 thank you to those who suggested to make this a series, i would’ve totally made this a oneshot if not for y’all.

“you got any plans tonight spencer?”, morgan asked, taking his jacket off the back of his chair, passing spencer’s clean desk.

“uh, yeah actually.”

“really?” morgan stopped beside him, looking over his shoulder, a smirk crawling up, “with who?”

“moby dick.” spencer lied, morgan rolled his eyes.

“you’re no fun man.”

the doorbell rang, but after not seeing a certain skinny man for two nights, you’re mind starting to reset into the ‘studying grind mode’ it had been on before meeting spencer. stop thinking about spencer, keep studying.

three ladies dressed in short skirts, a white man with dreads (yikes), and a boy around 8 years old checked out with various items before a 3 minute cannelloni, bag of coffee, and an apple landed in front of you. before you could look up he spoke,

“how did your assignment go?” you jumped in your seat, nearly punching the man in the face before you placed a hand over your heart and sighed,

“good lord, you need to learn how to walk louder.”

spencer grinned. you scanned the cannelloni, he glanced at your hand still over your heart.

“rubatosis.”

“bless you?”

“the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.” you glanced up and saw him looking at your hand with a thin lipped awkward smile. you quickly put your hand down and continued scanning, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“we all know words. like… vellichor.” you spoke, packing his things in the same plastic bag he brought just little of a week ago. he tilted his head,

“the love of used bookstores?”

“i saw old books in your car.”

“you were looking in my car?” he put his hands in his pockets, as he looked out the window to his parked vehicle, not planning to pick up his bag of ‘groceries’ anytime soon. only then did you notice his tie was askew, his hair a little disheveled, his eyes a little sunken. the doorbell rung, a middle-aged balding man walking in behind spencer.

“i’m observant. $12.98.” he whipped out a slim wallet from his back pocket, flicking through some notes to pull out a $20. you ruffled through the register for his change as he remarked,

“you didn’t even look at the register.”

“don’t need to, you’re predictable.” you reply with a sneaky smile, causing spencer to copy reluctantly.

there was an awkward cough from behind him, the middle-aged man. spencer turned back to you after realising that he was in fact in a convenience store, and you were in fact the only worker there. “sorry sir, um. bye.” he took his bag, the thin lipped smile becoming nearly as predictable as his late-night groceries.

“bye.”

the tall, awkward, superbly smart man who smelt like wood didn’t show up for 5 nights. you thought there were only three possibilities at his absence: sickness, death, or he’s learnt how to cook.

you thought the next time you saw him you would ask more about him. in between studying, classes, and working, there wasn’t much time for a social life in your day to day. or maybe you wouldn’t. maybe he wasn’t showing up because he wasn’t really a regular, just a guy who needed quick meals, coffee, and apples on those specific nights. that’s insane, you are insane, get back to studying.

you almost didn’t recognise him the next night. same clothes, same height, same cologne, different face. dark circles under his eyes, permanent lines between his eyebrows, and a purple bruise on his left cheek. it was silent, he was the only customer at 11:30pm. you both made eye contact while you scanned his items, (same things plus a travel first aid kit) silently observing his expectant expression before you broke the silence.

“i’m not going to ask.”

“i got hit with the butt of a gun.” he said matter of factly.

you halted, coffee bag in hand, and stared at him, squinting. “…okay. actually i am gonna ask. who would hit a librarian with the butt of a gun?”

he scrunched his eyebrows and tilted his head, blinking, “i’m not a librarian. why do you think i’m a librarian?”

you packed his things, “smart, dressed posh, just general mysterious good looking librarian vibe,” he handed you a $20, “you remind me of a pipe cleaner with eyes.”

he raised an eyebrow, breaking eye contact, “not the first time i’ve heard that.”

you laughed, thinking it was a joke. his shoulders relaxed, the lines between his eyebrows softening. he grabbed his things, “bye, y/n.”

“bye, spencer.”

you were so close to finding out more about him. how the hell does a man that looks like that get into so much trouble?

you finish your shift, packing your textbooks and now flat laptop, locking everything up and turning the lights off. it was 1am. and, spencer was asleep in his car.

you looked around and put your jacket around your shoulders before jogging up to his driver’s window. his head was lulled to one side, mouth closed, chest rising softly. you knocked, and suddenly he was wide-eyed and searching for something.

“spencer? what are you still doing here?” you speak just loud enough for him to hear behind the window, which he promptly put down. you had a split second realisation how crazy this was. checking in on a regular, watching a regular sleep, feeling safe enough to approach a man’s car just because he buys the same thing every night he comes to the convenience store.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to fall asleep. i- uh,” he wiped his face, “sorry.”

you look at him with concern, “it’s okay, just.. try not to look like you were waiting for me to finish my shift to kidnap me next time, okay?”

he sighed and nodded. waving goodbye, you started down the street, your apartment only being a block away. over the music now playing in your ears, you heard a car drive away, mixing with your confused thoughts about who this regular really is and what he does for a living. and how does he look that good.

he was back the next night, same black slacks, with a purple sweater a shade darker than your own.

“hey spencer, before i scan your 3 minute bolognese, coffee and bag of apples-“

“how did you get that perfectly-“

“i’m going to ask this and you’re going to answer, okay?”

you know nothing about this man, but talking to him like a good friend felt natural now. though, you still tried to avoid over stepping it.

“-though you don’t actually have to answer it. you are a customer and i can’t force customers to do anything but- seeing as though you know i’m a college student and that i work at this convenience store and that i sort of suck at biology- sorry i’m rambling,” you take a breath, “where do you work?” you finish, spencer smiling slightly. you were surprised he didn’t cut you off to stop you, like everyone else did. he didn’t answer at first, the squeak of your shoe against the floor displayed your anxious tell.

“i can’t tell you.”

you sighed, rolling your eyes and packing his stuff, he already had a $20 ready in his hand. you took it, fingers brushing slightly against his. “you suck, and your so suspicious. i should just call security.”

he looked around, fiddling his fingers together, “you don’t have security.”

you pointed to a dead cockroach outside underneath the warm street light. “yes we do. why do you think he’s twitching? he’s insane, he’ll hurt you.”

he chuckled, the sound bringing a shade of pink to your cheeks. “you don’t work on weekends.”

you squinted, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and maybe a bit of fear. “what.”

“i came in on a weekend and a man was here.” he explained as you nodded.

“yeah, no i don’t. why?”

spencer gulped, taking his bag, and smiling awkwardly, “nothing, bye!”

you waved, confused. also stressed, you hadn’t worked on your psychology assignment while waiting for him to show up.

pt. 3

taglist- @jeffswh0re @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch @wannabewolf @evysian @trashmonstersara

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff

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liyawritesss · 9 months

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ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ

Characters: Spider-Verse!Earth-42!Miles Morales [The Prowler] x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Fic

Word Count: 1.9k

Synopsis: Miles tells his Uncle Aaron the real reason why he’ll always answer his phone for you.

Warnings: Cursing, no usage of [y/n] or second person perspective, brief mention of potential gun usage, old school gang terms (Aaron refers to a gun as a 'pole') I envisioned a late teen 42!Miles so he’s around 17-18 here, but still keep it cute this is lil cuz we talkin’ bout here!!!

A/N: I know I said that the previous fic would more than likely be my only attempt at 42!Miles but the ugly ass nigga is growing on me so…here yall go i guess

Song Suggestions: “So Into You” (Remix) by Sydney Renae; “LORD FORGIVE ME” by Tobe Nwigwe ft. Fat Nwigwe & Pharrell; “Run Tha Streetz” by Tupac, Storm, Mutah, Michel’le

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22 @movie-enthusiast22 @famedrs-blog @briology @honeybleed @pnkweb

It went without saying that if it didn’t pertain to family or business, Aaron wasn’t quite fond of the use of phones.

He had a real old school view on them; didn’t like how kids these days were always stuck nose deep into the devices. Of course, he came from a generation where a phone’s only use was to contact another person. He never got into the hype of the latest iPhones, nor did he understand the need for five different cameras attached to the device. The only benefit he saw with the rectangular device was that it made communication more prompt and precise (though he’d never admit that he appreciated being able to play any games he wanted, at his disposal, at any time he wished).

So, naturally, when Miles became old enough to engage in his ‘business’, the one rule Aaron posed that didn’t pertain to the ‘game’ was that him being on his phone was an absolute no-go.

“I ain’t got time for you to be distracted by that thing,” he’d said the very first night Aaron trusted the younger to bring him along, “if you gon’ be in, I need you to be all the way in. No half-assin’ this shit, you hear?”

And of course, Miles agreed, no matter how insufferable the first few weeks of patrol were when Aaron literally locked his cellular device in a safe back at the workshop. While it served to pry the connection the fifteen year old had with the device at the time, it was also his way of teaching Miles to not rely on the device for communication, prompting Miles to fortify new avenues of such. Aaron had a genius nephew, after all, and expected nothing less from the person who would soon take up his mantle as The Prowler.

Though, Aaron started to notice a shift in the practice behavior a few months ago, and it made him wonder had his teachings begun to fall short, even after a few years of the settled routine.

He’d notice the flexing of the younger’s arm whenever the faint buzz from the vibration of Miles’ phone sounded, no doubt squeezing the device in his pocket with his hand.

Aaron also was not ignorant to Miles’ dipping off to the side to answer a quick call in hushed tones, and the words used to address the other person on the line made it clear to the older man that it wasn’t Rio calling him, and it piqued Aaron’s curiosity even more.

Though, Aaron could never say anything, since Miles was sure to put his phone on do not disturb before heading out into the night, and the calls always remained under a minute or two, not taking too much time away from their very serious business. He found himself frustrated because Aaron couldn’t be mad at him for being responsible for his phone usage, despite his own feelings towards the usage of such devices. Yet, it irked him all the same when Miles would take a peek at his phone during a moment of down time, or when he’d caught the boy staring at his messages a couple of times during a debriefing session.

“Aye, c’mon man,” Aaron finally grumbles out one night, sucking his teeth at the sight of Miles tapping away on the brightly lit screen close to his face, illuminating his melanated features, “I need you outta that shit, we got work to do.”

“A’ight, a’ight,” says the younger as he finishes off a text, pocketing his phone and brushing past Aaron briskly, “just had to answer my girl real quick. I’m off it.”

“You better be,” Aaron scolds, “we need you at a’hunnid tonight, Miles. No excuses.”

Though Aaron wasn’t about to let Miles’ admission slip under the radar, the current task at hand was much more pressing than the revelation that his nephew was seeing someone. He’d have to play the father figure role after tonight's mission was complete.

It’s when the deepest shade of midnight blue begins to fade into faint purple hues that Aaron is able to bring up the conversation once again. He tries to make it light, but over the years, his smooth talk has become just as rustic as his Prowler skills. “I’m gon’ have to bring the safe out again if I keep seein’ that phone, Miles.”

The echo of the younger sucking his teeth in annoyance doesn’t fly past Aaron’s head. It’s the response he expected from his nephew. He turns around from his work desk to face the younger, leaning against one of the many concrete pillars that keep the building intact.

“I’m serious, boy,” Aaron asserts, “you been on that phone a lil’ too much lately, man. I’on like it.”

Miles scratches the side of his face; he knows he doesn’t have much of a good excuse to use as to why his eyes have been more on his phone as of late. Well, not an excuse Aaron would find plausible anyway.

“A’ight, Unc. I’ll chill.”

It’s not the exact response that Aaron expects, but if Miles says that he’ll watch his phone activity, the older believes him. The younger has no reason to lie to him, anyway.

A beat passes before Aaron starts again, crossing to the middle of the room where the large, red punching bag.

“So, is she a good distraction,” he muses with a knowing look, “or do I gotta be worried that she gon’ take your head out the game?”

The younger pauses for a second, braids dancing along his shoulder. Then, a lopsided grin spreads across his lips as his head tilts to the side, his eyes wandering. Aaron knows that kind of look. It’s the look of a boy high on love, and from the way Miles fiddles with the hair at the nape of his neck, Aaron can deduct that it’s that good loving, too. The kind of loving that Rio gave Jefferson, and it stole the late brother’s heart. It warms his heart to see his nephew sport a look that someone his age should.

“She’s good.” Miles says. “She’s…real good, Tio. Too good, probably.”

Aaron hums in response, the sound coming from the depths of his throat as he pauses, taking in a breath. “Do she know?”

It’s a hard question to ask; Aaron doesn’t want to blow his nephew’s high, but it’s a necessary one to ask. For the safety of all parties involved.

Miles’ smile falters in the slightest, teeth tugging at his bottom lip as his eyes cast downward.

“She know I do shit on the low. Not…all this, though.” And from the tone in Miles’ voice, he, too, knows that it’s better this way.

The older begins to walk towards the stairs to exit the workshop building, gesturing to Miles to follow, “Good.”

Aaron thinks back to when he first remembers the diversion of behavior started. Although it wasn’t and never became aggressive, it started with Miles casually peeking at his phone every now and then, maybe once or twice throughout the whole night the two were set together. He puts two and two together, his head nodding to the conclusion he’d drawn.

“So it’s her you be textin’?” Aaron asks, descending the stairs.

The younger nods, following in tow, “Just lettin’ her know that I’ma be out and can’t answer the phone, shit like that.”

“And when she do call?”

A light, dry chuckle escapes Miles’ lips at the question. “She just be askin’ me shit.”

“Shit like what?” Aaron muses, twisting the knob to the door leading outside, opening it to reveal purple hues slowly fading into peach in the sky. “What color nails for her to get? Password to the Netflix?”

They get to the car, but the silence that takes place during the short time it takes to approach the older’s vehicle answers his own question before Miles does.

“Yeah, actually,” the younger voice, arms folding atop the car roof, leaning against the sleek black metal as he looks at his uncle, “and the color for her peek-a-boo braids; and if it’s okay if she eats my leftover takeout; and if I can hang up her wall art thingy when I come by-”

“-so what you’re saying is, she’s clingy?” The older’s eyebrows furrow in amusement and slight confusion - the way Miles speaks about the isolated experiences has him questioning what kind of girl his nephew was actually dating.

“You know what’s crazy, though, Tio?” The younger poses, pulling the handle to the passenger car door when he hears the click, signifying Aaron unlocking the vehicle finally. “She’s not clingy like that; it’s somethin’ else.”

“You’re losin’ me, kid.” The older chuckles, closing his door once he’s settled inside the driver's seat.

Miles sucks his teeth, tongue poking the inside of his cheek in thought, and Aaron can tell that the younger is trying to find the right words to distinguish what he means.

“I hear guys say that shit like that is annoying,” Miles begins, tugging at the hem of his shirt to pull it down from riding up his toned stomach, “but it ain’t like that to me. She asks me all these things; think maybe it’s because she feels safe enough to ask them of me. And if she feel like I got the answers for her, then-”

The younger stops mid-sentence, contemplating how to proceed with his explanation. Yet, Aaron is all ears, listening intently. Quite frankly, it’s the most he’s heard Miles talk about anything in a long time - his rambling reminds him of the old Miles that once was, before the unfortunate.

Then, the younger takes a deep breath, reclines back into his seat, legs spread in the slightest for comfortability, his hands running the length of his thighs, “Ionno, Unc. Makes me feel good, I guess.”

And in that moment, Aaron’s vision blurs for a second. He can’t tell if it’s Miles sitting in the passenger seat, or if it’s his late brother. Perhaps it's the glare of the sun in his eyes…perhaps it’s Aaron actually seeing the soul of Jefferson shine through his son in the early morning sunlight that dances across his melanated skin.

A hum passes through the older’s throat as he starts the car up, the sound of the engine revving through the silence that settled within the car. Aaron clears his throat before speaking again, “I’ma tell you what I told your pops about your moms, kid.”

Miles turns his head from the window to face his uncle, who shifts the car from parked to drive, hand sitting at the top of the steering wheel.

“If she make you feel good, the kinda good you know you can’t get anywhere else, and if she make you feel like a man; you keep her close.” Aaron hums. His lips tug upwards when the younger gives a subtle nod in return.

“I’m serious now, Miles. Don’t be like yo’ daddy.” Aaron reiterates as he pulls his foot off the brakes, turning the steering wheel and pressing down on the gas to drive out of the parking lot. “Dumbass almost lost ya moms cuz he ain’t wanna listen-”

“A’ight, a’ight, I got you,” the younger replies, “I’on think she goin’ anywhere no way, though.”

“Good.” Aaron affirms. “If she know of the kinda game you in, then she need to know how to work somethin’, too. Make sure she can hold you down properly.”

“I’on know about that, Unc,” Miles replies, “she too much of a good girl for that.”

“Shit, good girls work the best poles, boy. Don’t get the game twisted.”

“Unc, no one says ‘poles’ in reference to guns anymore.” The younger says through a chuckle as the two drive off down the street, the purples in the sky now fading into a pretty golden hue that casts over the city that never sleeps.

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huramuna · 4 months

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foxfaced, dragonhearted - oneshot.

dark, mean prince regent aemond x wife reader

for my 200 followers poll, i've actually had this one cooking for a while so i'm happy this option won! this is absolutely filthy, i'm sorry in advance.

word count: 2.4k

i don't do taglists any more unfortunately, its mostly because i never remember and then feel bad about it so i've made a second blog just for reblogging my fics! @huramuna-fics -- follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!

content: slight dub-con, smut (specifics below cut), angst, mean aemond, toxic relationship, like in no way is this healthy, good god, smut with little plot, reader is described being from riverlands w/ auburn hair and brown eyes, no use of y/n, not beta read, i literally went into a haze writing this there are probably mistakes

tonight you belong to me - patience & prudence • vampire - olivia rodrigo

warnings: p in v, choking, breath play, dom/sub, degradation, creampie, cockwarming, orgasm denial, breeding, aemond is so mean here thats its own damn warning

Aemond knew what he wanted and the sacrifices that needed to be made to get such things. He wanted a dragon, it took an eye to get it. He wanted the Conqueror’s crown, it took his brother being burnt to get it. He wanted a legacy that would surpass his lifetime, etched into the very being of Westeros itself. The sacrifice needed for this would be to chain himself to a woman he likely wouldn’t be interested in.

That is where you came in.

You were sweet, he supposed. Sweet in a way that made his teeth ache. Sweet in a way akin to a mouse and how it looked up at the cat just before his jaws snapped around the mouse’s head.

He didn’t need to like you. Many marriages were forged in dislike or just plain indifference, set to a mutual goal. He supposed your mutual goal was children. All he needed was to use you as a vessel, a womb for his seed to take hold.

You poor thing, you didn’t really understand that he didn’t truly care for you. You were nice enough looking, of course– hair that reminded him of autumn leaves, always styled in some intricate style with half a hundred braids, dozens of pins and decorative pearls. You reminded Aemond of a fox, dark eyes against muted auburn fur, lips always pursed, sniffing the air in search for hounds on your tail. You certainly were a skittish, jittery little thing.

The marriage was a quick affair, done at the Sept two days after Aemond wore the Conqueror’s crown for the first time. You weren't a part of some major house, all of the major houses were too close, too greedy, their breaths hot against his neck as they shoved their wedable daughters at him. The last thing he wished for was to be indebted to some trivial lord who thought his name elevated him to the same stratosphere as Aemond– a paltry lady of some low house bred in the Riverlands would do just fine, he expected his Valyrian seed to dominate any of their week genes anyhow.

He had met you once before, many years ago before he lost his eye. When he was forced to tag along on some meager diplomacy meeting with his grandsire– he remembers it as being forced, but in reality, he wished to attend. What else was a second son with no dragon to do? – and you had been there, hiding behind your father’s trousers. You had been wearing a blue dress, he remembered this distinctly, as it stood out against the ruby red of the apple you had offered him.

Aemond had tried to speak with you, but you only communicated in nods and soft noises– something you only partially grew out of. He never understood why he remembered this girl, as you were insignificant in the seas of faces he’s met over his life. Mayhaps it was your quiet nature that he remembered, something that, now at his age and state of mind, struck him as malleable, easy to mold into what he needed you to be.

And so it shall be.

–

It was about two and a half moons after your marriage, he returned from a late council meeting. Rubbing his eye, feeling the familiar thrum of pain right behind the socket, he was already in a particularly sour mood. The council meeting had gone south, ending in most of the lords bickering over one another like children.

It irritated Aemond to no end, the strain of an oncoming headache ever looming. He still struggled with intense pain from his eye, or rather, his socket and severed nerves. The pain was debilitating at times and if anyone dared to test his patience when it was particularly bad, he would snap at them like a cornered animal, no matter who it was.

Raising his head, he noticed the hearth was still going strong, multiple candles still lit in the solar, despite it being late at night. The now familiar crop of auburn hair was peeking from behind the couch— his wife was usually never up this late.

“Why are you still awake, wife?” he asked as he took off his gloves, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“… reading. I was waiting for you.” you murmured in your usual hushed tone, the sound of your book closing was louder than your voice.

“I told you not to do that. It’s unnecessary.” he grunted in response, undoing the latches of his leather doublet.

“I-I don’t mind it… I just sleep a bit easier…” you continued, no doubt twiddling the end of your braid between your fingers— an anxious habit.

“You need proper rest. I won’t have my wife looking like a sleepless, sloven mess,” Aemond chastised, discarding his shirt. “Now, what are you reading?” he was becoming increasingly irritated with you, feeling as if he had to force you to take care of yourself and unlatch you like a leech from him. When you looked upon him with your wide eyes filled with uncertainty and fear, he felt the overwhelming urge to wrap his fingers around your throat and squeeze until you passed out or mayhaps went limp, like a doll.

“Oh,” you slid the book towards him on the side table, it was a book on the history of Old Valyria and its language, usually used for children to begin speaking it. “Nyke j-jaelagon… naejot ēdrugon… va ao.” I wish to sleep next to you.

Aemond’s brow furrowed. “What use do you have to learn High Valyrian, wife? Issa dōna ābrazȳrys mijegon nykeā notion isse zȳhon bartos, wanting naejot gūrēñagon mirros ziry daor.” My sweet wife without a thought in her head, wanting to learn something she cannot.

You reached for the book, your comprehension not skilled enough yet to pull what Aemond was saying to you. Before you could grab it, he slammed his hand down on the book, effectively snatching it from your grasp. You pouted her bottom lip. “I want to learn… mayhaps it might bring us closer together.”

Aemond scoffed, the sound sending a sting of pain right into the core of your chest. “We are as close as we need to be, little one. We are married in the eyes of Gods and men and we fulfill our marital duty by trying to produce heirs, hm?” He placed the book back on the shelf. “This nonsense of wanting to be closer is moot. I won’t hear of it anymore.”

A glaze of sorrow flashed through your eyes before you got up from the couch, tightening the housecoat around your shoulders.

“Come to bed,” he said, moreso as a command than a suggestion. “I know you are cold, ābrazȳrys.” Wife.

You made a small noise of discernment, crawling into bed after him.

He looped his arms around you, pressing you to his bare chest. He radiated heat like a furnace and was quick to warm you up– you were always so cold, he noted. He surely hoped that your children together would inherit his fiery blood and not the weak-willed, uninsulated Andal blood you possessed.

Aemond bounced from being indifferent to you, paying you no more mind than a maid or a whore, to needing you, every part of you. He didn’t see you as a person, moreso an extension of himself, latched onto his body until he consumed you entirely, your bones fusing together as one. To him, you were a doll or plaything to entertain him, testing the mettle of your will, to see if you were of poor craftsmanship and would break. He had always broken his toys as a child.

You could tell by the rhythm of his breathing, he wasn’t going to sleep just yet– you’d become very attuned to his moods, his small intakes of air against your neck causing your skin to prickle into goosebumps. His lips ghosted over your throat, one of his arms coming up to wrap near the base of your windpipe, not yet applying pressure, but the threat was there.

No, it wasn’t so much as a threat than it was a promise– he quite liked applying pressure to your airways when you coupled, his lone violet eye centered intently on yours as they went from wide to half-lidded, soft whimpers of pleading to stop, sometimes for more, more. He relished in holding your very life in his hands and you let him.

“Mayhaps I should get you a collar, wife,” he hummed, his voice husky and deep, reverberating deep within your chest as your heart pounded. “But I think you like my hands much better, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” you breathed, the small swallowing bob of your throat felt against the palm of his hand, causing him to grin. “... I fancy them– on my tender neck… between my legs…” you responded, feeling slightly bold at the notion you put forth. The heat of his body permeated your skin, warming your core into an ever familiar feeling.

Aemond all but growled at your comment, positioning the both of you to where you were laying with your back upon him, as if you were lazing upon him like a chair. “Feeling courageous tonight, are we? No matter, my dear, you will break all the same,” his mouth pressed to the shell of your ear, teeth nipping at your lobe. “Like every night before, and every night to come– your life is in my hands,” he enunciated this with a squeeze to your neck, eliciting a small mewl from you. “Is it not? Say it.”

“M-my life– belongs to you, husband,” you managed to squeak out.

“Not husband, not now. You know the rules.”

“M-my king, your grace,” you rephrased quickly.

He clicked his tongue in slight admonishment. “A bit slow on the take tonight, little one,” Aemond muttered, slotting his leg between yours and kicking your thighs apart. “Keep them open.” his voice was dripping with something between venom and sticky sweet honey. He felt akin to a God every time he was in the sky, every time he sat the throne with the crown on his head, and every time he rested his hand on your pretty little throat as he sheathed himself to the hilt inside of you so easily, so free of resistance. “So slick for me, just from the smallest of chokes– fucking whore.” he hissed, starting a slow, deliberate pace as his hips met against your bottom. The pair of you were like two threads, intertwined with his legs pretzeling around yours, keeping you spread open.

Your breath hitched in your throat as he continued to bully that sensitive, spongy spot within you– but you craved so much more, feeling waves of heat emanate from your sensitive bud as it screamed at your brain, begging to be touched. You made the critical error, thinking your husband was too focused on his own pleasure to notice you going for your own, as your hand slowly descended between your legs, rubbing small circles upon your pearl.

How wrong you were.

His arm came up further, his bicep pressing to the bottom of your chin, his free palm slapping your hand away from yourself. “Are you truly fucking stupid tonight, wife?” he spat, stilling his thrusts. “When did I say you could touch yourself? Have I fucked you stupid already?” Aemond huffed in frustration. “My poor, dumb wife– you cannot do anything right, can you?” he slid you off of him, then flipped over to loom atop you, taking both of your hands within one of his, his large hand encapsulating your wrists with ease, trapping them above your head.

You sniffed, tears welling at your lash line, threatening to spill– not just from his downright mean admonishments, but from your stolen gluttony, your pleasure stolen so close to the precipice. “‘M sorry, your grace,” you cried, “Forgive me.”

“You’re lucky you have such a sweet cunt,” Aemond mused, his immodest and downright sinful language going straight to your core as he nestled inside of you once more, menacing atop you like a darkening cloud. “I forgive you– and will even pleasure you. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To come?”

You nodded fervently, your lamenting tears spilling over and running down your cheeks.

“I’m feeling quite generous, then– I’ll let you. If you beg me.”

“P-please–” you blubbered, “Please let me come, my king.”

A sickly smirk came over his face once more as he pushed forward again, not bothering with the slow and meticulous pace he had before. His hips slammed into yours as he surged into you, as if you were nothing more than a cocksleeve for his pleasure. And yet, and yet– his hand didn’t move to the apex of your legs, chasing his own high before he would give into yours.

“Aemond, please, please– please touch me, f-fuck, your grace– my k-king, please!” you were all but wailing now, half in ecstasy and half in pure beseechment, pleading for just some semblance of the lecherous, stimulating and lewd sensation that only he could give you.

He took mercy on you, the pad of his thumb zeroing in on your leaking folds, giving your clit a cheeky pinch. It was a delightful pain– that was what being with Aemond was, what it came down to. Every waking moment with him was thrilling, sublime, agonizing, unending torture– and you fucking loved it.

Your mouth hung open, you were sobbing freely now, your lips quirked into a euphoric and maddened smile. “Thank you, tha-nk you, t-thank you, I love you, I love you,” you gasped, your lungs ballooning with air as you begged him further, “P-please, around my neck–”

Something animalistic came out of Aemond at your request, his hand draping around your throat like a necklace. “My sweet, dumb wife– you don’t know what to do unless I tell you, unless I let you, unless I guide you to your release, hm?” he prostrated each word with a deep thrust. The combination of his ministrations on your bundle of nerves, the head of his cock callously beating into your sweet spot, and the squeeze of his hand around your neck– it was enough.

With a garbled string of words, prayers, denotes of love, pronouncements of his prowess, his titles, his name– the coil inside of you snapped, lighting every nerve you had in your body on fire. You saw stars as your climax wracked through you like a tempest, the absolute vice grip of your core sending Aemond into his own completion, his seed painting your walls and then some.

In your fucked-out delirium, you thought you might’ve heard him say something– you didn’t decipher it until later when you were half asleep, his softened member still lodged inside of you somehow as he curled you into his chest.

“My love, my wife– I love you.”

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x fem!reader #aemond #aemond one eye #hotd fic #aemond fanfic #aemond smut #dark aemond smut #dark aemond angst #my writing

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thecapricunt1616 · 28 days

Text

Lily of the Valley - (c.b. oneshot)

O/S INSPO: Lily of the Valley Soothing, calming, draws peace and tranquility, and repels negativity. Assists in empowering happiness and mental powers. Married couples should plant Lily of the Valley in their first garden to promote longevity of the marriage. POSTED DATE:03/30/2024 W/C: 4,114

A/N: FINALLY!!!! I am so sorry this took forever! This O/S is based on this adorable request from the LOML @daysofyellowroses - please check out her blog! I hope this satisfies your Carmy Proposing idea! I'm sorry it took so long i've been sick, but were back baby!!! Requests are opennnn y'all! This is also heavily inspired by my amazing OOMF @gingergofastboatsmojito - In another timeline Carmy still somehow came across Madame Stardusts jewelry (she transcends time and space that woman!) , & Stella exists too! If you want to meet more of that character in the universe Ginger created (I highly recommend you do)you can read that AMAZING FIC HERE ! Please be sure to leave kudos & comments & give Ginger all the flowers she deserves!!!

WARNINGS FOR BTC: Smut, Swearing, NO USE OF Y/N - As little physical description as possible, fluffy Carmen, OC Carmy - (He's more emotionally grown obvi hahah)

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭

You pushed the heavy, bulging tote bags full of groceries up your arm as you walked back to Your&Carmy’s shared Condo Building. The wildflower seeds you’d thrown on the little patches of grass on your walks to the train, along the sidewalk on your block had finally started to bloom. Adorable tiny little flowers in vibrant shades of blue, pink, purple, yellow, and white peeking out over the sidewalk's edge.

Spring had most definitely sprung in Chicago by this point. Your commute whilst walking to work down Michigan Ave, passing the stunning array of tulips, had told you that fiercely every time you walked to and from the train this week on the way to work. It was finally Friday, and you couldn’t be happier.

Carmen had been so busy this week- busier than normal. You’d usually just hang out with your best friends to fill that pathetic, lonely void while grading papers and doing your own assignments- but they were busy this week too! You were convinced the universe had bound you to loneliness this week, so naturally, all you wanted to do was get home, crawl into bed, and sleep- until Carmy came in around 2 to 3 am, and get that savored 15 minutes of cuddles after his shower, before exhaustion came over you again and you fell back asleep.

You used your special key fob to get in the door of your condo’s shared building, which to your standards was very luxurious- it included amenities you’d never even thought of. You and Carmy had moved in together 3 months ago, it took a lot of convincing on your end. You and Carmy had lived on opposite ends of town, so every time you’d see eachother, (which was very often) - it would be an hour's drive that he insisted- or, him losing the battle- and allowing you to take the train back all those stops.

You weren’t particularly religious, it was more just a personal preference - that you would be at least engaged before you were to move in together. Especially before having a mortgage together. You’d told Carmy this, and he’d given you the same answer each time over the last two years he’d been begging - “Baby we know we’re in love, you know we’re eachothers forever person - we tell eachother every day! We’ve been together 3 years, Let me take care of you”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be taken care of- it’s just…you liked working. You loved your job, you’d went to school and earned a masters degree for Christ sake, and were currently working on your PHD. You couldn’t ever see yourself giving that up, and moving in with a boyfriend and him insisting on paying all the bills made you fear you’d fall pregnant, and then your professional life would be over.

But, Carmen had insisted to you he wasn’t interested in children unless you were. You were sure at one point you never wanted them, but you were becoming more afraid, because seeing as amazing an uncle Carmen was, how naturally kind and understanding he was of children- it brought out something in you. It was so sudden that you could imagine turning your shared library / art studio into a nursery during slow time at work.

You walked down the hall, in no rush to be home. The only presence waiting being your cat, Truffle, Carmy had insisted on the name due to his deep black fur.

You approached the door, confused as to why you were hearing…music? From your apartment? You shook the hope of Carmy being home this early away, not wanting to be dissapointed. The neighbors downstairs must be blasting that same kind of jazz instrumental Carmy listens to so loud that you heard it through the floor.

You unlock the door, and sure enough the music playing softly through the condo gets a tad louder but the first thing to catch your eye was the white and pink rose petals making a trail to the kitchen. You heard Carmy humming lightly, the sound of chopping on the cutting board.

“Bear?” You quickly nudge the door shut with your hip, not even bothering to take your shoes off and rushing down the hall into the kitchen. Sitting atop the breakfast bar, was a vase packed with beautiful pink and white roses.

He looks up from the cutting board “My favorite girl” he stops what he was doing immediately coming and taking the bags from your shoulders, setting them down before greeting you with a sweet kiss. He cupped your cheeks gently, pulling you in to him so you were flush together with his other hand.

“You used our card f’that right?” He asked softly when he pulled away. You roll your eyes a bit, he had insisted you get a shared credit card, and that you purchase everything with it- and at the end of the month, he will show you the statement, and only pay a quarter of the total, just another one of the ways he assured every financial burden of yours was eased significantly.

“Yes, what is all this baby?” You asked, motioning to the roses. “Did I forget somethin? Our anniversary isn’t for another 2 months” you asked a bit nervously. Carmen wasn’t a stickler for dates, but it would break your heart if you were to forget something important.

“No- no. I just…just love you- I wanted to show you, and especially after this week I know I’ve been crazy busy, and I’ve been comin’ in late and leavin’ early, and…I just wanted to show my best girl how much she means t’me” he kissed your forehead sweetly and you felt a blush creeping to your cheeks.

“That’s so sweet Bear. Thank you I love you, this is…no one’s ever done this- oh my god- are those balloons?” You giggled, seeing heart shaped foil balloons tied to your chair at the table and he smiled proudly.

“Mmhmm, the lady at the flower place said that - we can talk about it later. You wanna cook w’me? You can just watch if you want?” He asked, gently brushing his fingers through your hair.

“I never turn down a lesson from the best, let me go get changed real quick” you headed toward the bedroom and he stopped you by your hand pulling you back into his chest, kissing your neck with wet open mouth kisses earning a giggle that you couldn’t contain.

“Mmm- don’t go in there right now, it’s for later. I already got your pajamas right here” he said going over to the couch and grabbing your favorite pair of sweatpants and his old ‘the beef’ tshirt that to you was the most comfortable thing in the world, especially when he wore it to bed for a few nights before giving it back.

“For later huh?” You muse, taking off your heeled booties and unbuttoning your slacks before peeling them off and trading them for your soft fuzzy grey sweatpants.

“Mmhmm” he hummed in response and took your pants for you and your blouse and bra as well, bringing them to the laundry room as you put the shirt on and got your hair situated into a bun.

“What are we cooking today, chef?” You asked, heading over to the kitchen to see there were little bowls of vegetables that have been precut and you gasp happily. “Stop- are we really?” You giggled.

“I told you that it’s easy baby but you hate eggplant so ratatouille isn’t gonna be something you’re a big fan of” he chuckled. You had watched the movie with him, and told him that the ratatouille dish looked insanely delicious and that you wanted him to make it for you, but he told you your aversion to eggplant would probably turn you off the dish.

“But there isn’t eggplant” you said looking over the dishes filled with various vegetables.

“That’s right, this is princess ratatouille. I’ve been figurin’ out different vegetables w’Syd that would work for it, we finally got it right. We have zucchini and a few different squashes, and we have onion and garlic, tomato, bell pepper, everything you like. I think you’ll love it baby.” He said rubbing your back gently.

“Of course I’m gonna love it bear, I love everything we make together you have the magic touch. So what’s my job?” You asked eagerly.

“You my special sous chef, are gonna help put the veggies in and I’m gonna do the sauce” He kissed your temple gently.

“Ok! Let me get my apron” You said, happily turning to the drawer you kept your aprons in.

“Wait-” he said, holding your arm. You look back at him and he looked…nervous.”Is…something wrong?” You questioned, brows furrowed slightly in concern.

“No- no I um….i got you a new one” he said sheepishly, walking over to the island and opening up the cupboard beneath you never used.

“Oh- ok..Leveling up are we?” You joked, happily leaning against the counter.

“Jesus-” he chuckled, “Close y’r fuckin eyes- carnival psychic” he teases and you laughed, obliging and closing your eyes.

“Carnival psychic?” you asked and he came over gently putting bundle of fabric in your awaiting hands.

“I swear t’god- you went snoopin’? Open your eyes” he said. You opened your eyes, looking into your hands and seeing an apron. It was white, just like his, and folded perfectly. In thick black letters, intricately painted, ‘ Will You Marry Me? ‘ Adorned with a little red heart over the center pocket that had a square shaped bump.

You felt all of the blood leave your face, your knees feeling wobbly, your mouth gaping in to an O shape, as you stare down at the apron. “Where did you get this?” you whispered, completely awestruck.

“I-I…um…made it?” he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I- shit. Fuck- is this not how you pictured it? I’m so fuckin sorry babe- I-I thought…I dunno- like.. You wanted it private? Cause I know you said you’d never-” he’s interrupted by your lips crashing on his in a fervent wanting kiss, a mix of spit and teeth and lips and tongues, he moans softly into your mouth, squeezing your waist.

You were pressed together so firmly that the small box dug into your ribs, eventually pulling away from him with shaking hands and reaching into the pocket, pulling out the small black velvet box. You ever so carefully opened it, your breath catching in your throat when you saw the absolutely breathtaking ring.

“I-it’s not uh..not a diamond- cause I know you said-” you interrupt him

“Princesses and Queens don’t wear diamonds, they wear crystals” you finished, staring at the beautifully cut opal, at least 8 carats, banded by a intricate edwardian band… nothing short of a ring for a Goddess.

“But..But- this one…it does- it has both…because uh” he swallows thickly. “It…in my mind- when I s-saw it, it represented your soul, and your physical body.. And I liked that. Cause- y’re my diamond, but you’re also my queen, my everything, baby. Like how - how you said that…you wished your aura was opal? It is. It is, angel. And every time you look at that, I want you to remember that you’re beautiful from your diamond exterior, to your opal soul” he brushed his finger over the ring, before meeting your gaze once again.

He gently wiped the tears that were running down your cheeks freely, hot and wet and open. It was rare that Carmy genuinely used his words rather then his actions to express his love for you, so you were nothing short of savoring this. “Holy fucking shit” you laughed, shaking your head and looking down at the ring box. “Put it on my hand” you held your left hand out.

He chuckled a bit, “so… yes? You will?” he asked carefully, pulling the ring out of the box.

“Are you kidding, YES! Put this ring on my finger and fuck me dumb- this is all i’ve ever wanted, Bear, I fucking love you- and youre asking if I want you to be my husband?! I’ve wanted nothing more for two years- at least!” you shake your left hand for emphasis, a wide large grin on your face.

He carefully slid the ring over your manicured finger, and it just made you cry more how it fit perfectly. “How do you know my size?!” you asked, since most of the vintage rings he'd bought you were adjustable so it didn't matter the size of the rings he’d gotten for you before.

He chuckled a bit, “so- y’re ring…y’know the one…y’thought you lost it at Chipotle like…ahhh- 8 months ago now? In the bathroom? Y’took it off at the table, you wore it on your ring finger so I had to take my chance. You kept sayin how it was like- the only ring you’d found that fit without takin’ it to the jewler. So uh” he dug in his jeans pocket, placing your beloved vintage ring with your starsign on it in your palm.

“I got that ring, based on the size. I got it uhhh…sorry dont be offended- it’s not new… I got it at an estate sale of this lady- it was crazy- the way I came across it babe… like fate. It was when Syd and I went to New York for that interview, she literally dragged me to this sale cause she said the lady who died was said to have a bunch of vintage fur and stuff she was looking f’somethin- anyway. We met the lady’s daughter- Stella? I think it was? Doesn’t matter… but she um..said her Ma was some crazy astrology nut, also said she only wore crystals. So I took a look… that was the first box I opened. And y’ring on my pinky, it fit perfect, so I tried it on- it fit like a glove. I’m glad we don't have to size it. Asked her if it was real, she said - her Ma told ‘er some…. Like life coach? Er- astrologer life coach author? Gave it to ‘er on a trip to Jamaica in the 60’s. Told ‘er ‘this ring will someday be worn on a hand proudly as a devotion of true love’- Miss- No! Madame ! Madame Stardust. Nutty name right?” he chuckled a bit.

You smiled proudly at the ring, a devotion of true love indeed. “I think” you turned to the counter, stacking the bowls of vegetables together and putting them in the fridge as you friskily countered “you are not going in to work at all next week- wifes orders” you walked over to him, hips swaying. “And after you fuck me absolutely stupid” you grabbed his collar, pulling him in so your faces were meer inches apart “Oh- and we talk about how this mademe stardust? Confirms that our souls are indeed woven together like a fucking wicker basket” you kiss him roughly, weaving your fingers through his dirty blonde curls and tugging firmly.

He moaned into your mouth, his hands trailing down and squeezing your ass firmly. You hummed in satisfaction, leaning against him and he stumbled back, back, back, pushing the bedroom door open with a squeak. You looked up, Breaking your kiss with wide eyes.

All throughout the bedroom, were printed photos of you and Carmy throughout the years, suspended with clear wire so it was as if the photos were floating midair. You clasp your hands over your mouth, admiring all the hard work and pure thought that had went into the gesture. You looked over all the photos, three years of memories hanging before you like a gallery of love surrounding you, all of your fondest happiest memories at every flicker of your eyes.

“Carmen” you whispered, walking forward and admiring each and every photograph…

He comes behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Y’know how you said no work next week…” he said softly, kissing up your neck with wet, sexy, open mouthed kisses. “We leave Sunday… F’Cyprus” He said hotly in your ear, his breath tickling your neck causing a moan to escape your lips as he gently lifts your shirt, palming your breast gently.

“Is- is that-” you breathe out

“We’re getting a tour of Aphrodites Baths” he said softly, rolling your taught nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Ah- y-you remembered?” you gasped, he let out a soft deep chuckle, Kissing the corner of your mouth and gently laying you down upon the soft sheets of your shared bed.

“I’d have proposed over a year ago- when I got the fuckin’ ring if i coulda gotten us the tour sooner” he muttered into your skin, tugging off your- (his) shirt, leaving supple, gentle kisses over your stomach and up your ribs.

“Mm- are we- can we swim?” I asked hopefully.

He gently wipes your tears away, “No” he said a bit sadly, “We can dip our hands… some asshole ruined swimming for people years ago…before we met…but- we were also gonna Parga Greece, baby. We’re spending 2 days in Cyprus, then flying to Parga on a charter- we can swim, fuck, do whatever in those waters baby. Amidst the Goddess of the Underworld f’five whole days” he smirked and you gasped, as if he’d gotten you the moon on a string.

“The Acheron River?” you whisper and he nodded, gently rubbing his thumb over your lips.

“That is the sexiest thing i’ve ever heard in my life- you’re gonna make me cum in the 2nd most famous river of Hell?” you giggled and he snorts a laugh, pushing you on the bed gently.

“Fuck yeah, you little fuckin’ freak” he teased, tugging off your panties and sweatpants in one swift pull, leaving you soaked and bare before him.

You gasped at the rough action, quickly being soothed by soft, sweet kisses over your hipbones.

“I fuckin smell y’kitten fuck” he growled, kissing the inner of your thigh in the way that made you creen.

“Shit- good- right? If y’compared me to a seafood market i’d break your nose” you teased, hooking the crooks of your knees over his shoulders, shivering when he leaned in closer, his hot breath directly over your clit- his lapis blue eyes boring into yours.

“That question doesn’t deserve an answer” he grumbled hotly, spreading your folds with his fingers and admiring the wet, slick, mess in front of him. “S’fuckin pretty princess- fuckin’ prettiest pussy in the world” he nearly moaned, burrying his mouth where you needed him most, eyes fixed on yours.

You couldn’t even make a sound- a hot breathy gasp escaping your slack-jawed stance as your head flopped back on the mattress with a soft bounce. “Mmmmm shit” Carmy hummed, satisfied with your taste as if he was devouring his favorite dessert.

“F-Ffuuuckkk” you whimpered out pathetically, voice cracking and bleeding out between the fracture lines of your hot intense pleasure.

“Mmhmm-mmmhmmm” Carmy mumbled confidently against your now firm clit, tongue flicking over it at a mind-numbing pace, bringing you right to the edge and hanging you there by a single finger.

“Ahhhh-Ahhhh-Fuck!! Carmy! Oh- ohhhh!!!” You whined, spine pointing in an arch off the mattress, your hips and thighs quivering and shaking wildly as your orgasm crashed over you like hot lightning before you could even warn him, or know yourself it was so close.

“Goooood girl, thats it- mm- my good fuckin’ girl- Y’gonna be my fuckin’ wife baby? Mmm? Gonna be mine? F’rever?” He grumbled, placing a gentle kiss to your clit before placing gentle yet firm pressure over it with the pad of his tongue that made your hips buck with a mind of their own.

He chuckled slightly into your heat, the vibration causing you to whine pathetically. “Y-yes-yes-fuck i’mfuckinyoursBear-y’gonnamakemey’wife? Yeah? Gonna make me Mrs. fuckin Carmen Berzatto?” you slurred, pulling him into a messy wanting kiss, soughing at the flavor of your core coating his spit.

“Fuckin- spit in my fucking mouth- claim me” you groaned. He smiled against your lips, pulling away slightly, a thick hot string of saliva connecting the two of you.

“So fuckin dirty” he grumbled with a smirk “Open that filthy fucking mouth” he ordered, getting quiet for a moment as he gathered saliva in the front of his mouth.

You obeyed him immediately - your jaw going slack, tongue stuck out ever so slightly and eyes fluttered shut. Then- you felt it, hot, sweet, salty saliva coating your tongue, you groan at the flavor as it continues pooling over your tastebuds. “Do not fucking swallow yet- greedy girl” he tapped your chin firmly, before pulling your jaw open wider with Tthe pad of his thumb.

“Stick out that pretty little tongue” he grumbled, you obeyed with a smile, opening wide as you could, sticking your tongue out far, showing off the creamy white saliva he’d dressed your tongue in, so much it was seeping down onto your chin, threatening to coat the front and back of your throat.

“Good girl- that's my good little kitten” he purred, “How d’you want me princess?” he gently collected the excess saliva from your chin on his thumb, sucking it off his digit hotly as he awaits your response while you swallow gratefully, the taste setting your soul ablaze.

“I want you to fucking claim me, Carmy, holy fuck- use me, worship me, fuck me like a goddamn animal- whatever you fucking want- please” you begged after you’d savored the taste while you swallowed, his sky blue eyes going dark as navy slacks with lust at the admission.

“Yeah? Why not all three?” he pushed you down to the mattress by your throat, not hard enough to bruise- but hard enough for the breath to leave your lungs and your core to throb so hard you were clenching your thighs, trying to give any solace of pressure to your swollen aching clit.

“P-please” you stuttered, writhing against the mattress and he chuckled darkly.

“Are we a little needy? Mmm princess?” he pushes your knees apart with his thigh, aiding the throbbing pressure with his strong fingers, rubbing firm, slow circles into the twitching bud that made your hips snap into the mattress and head fall back to the bed, eyes rolling back with a sharp gasp of pleasure.

“Pl-please-” you gasp out, spine arching sharply as he replaced his fingers with his mouth on your clit, 2 fingers slipping inside of you with no resistance due to the fact your core was so soaked it was beginning to pool at the dip of your bum and soak the sheets. The squelching as he pumped into your g-spot mixed with your high-pitched moans and frisky growls was absolute sin.

He opens his jaw wider, tonguing your entrance wildly and nuzzling his strong nose against your clit in broad strokes, randomly flicking back and forth quickly making you squeal in pleasure as you grind against his mouth, fully out of control of your movements as if you were a puppet on a string.

“H-Hooooo-i’m cumming- oh- don’t you dare fucking stop Carmen” you growled, grabbing his curls and pullinghim further into your core. “I’m cumming- i’mcumming-holy-holyfuck-imfuuuckiing-AAAH!” your thighs and hips shake and quiver, stars of ethereal white filling your vision.

“Mmhmmm” he grumbled, coming up and sucking your nipple with his slick lips, his chin and nose soaked with your arousal, so much so his chin dripped onto your ribs.

“H-Oh-yes Bear” you whined out, head tilting to meet his gaze. “I need you- I-I need you inside- like- fuck- when you- you have my knees around your hips and y-you fuckin’- just drill me Carmy- I need that- need you deep” You reverberated wantingly, wrapping your thighs around his waist taughtly, making it easier for him to take you exactly how you wanted.

“Jesus Christ- I can’t fuckin’ stand y’baby. Y’re like a fuckin’ drug- it’s like I fuckin’ function unless I’ve had a hit” he nibbed your collarbone, quickly removing his jeans and boxers, aligning himself with your entrance.

You gave him a mischievous smile, inching your hips forward. “C’mon- I don’t give a fuck ‘bout cooking right now- fuck me absolutely dumb- then take me to Sam’s f’r chocolate chip pancakes- sure that waitress will be over the moon bout my ring” you mused, capturing our lips together, as he scoops up your shoulders and holds you chest to chest, your third of many orgasms that night building throughout every muscle.

It was going to be a long night….

#carmen berzatto #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #the bear fic #the bear hulu #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #the bear #the bear fanfiction #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy the bear #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #the bear fandom #borders & banners by saradika

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 8 days

Note

AITA for stalking a grifter even when everyone else let it go?

I’m a writer of fanfiction. I write a lot of short fics for different fandom zines and sometimes run zines myself. I have worked with a ton of different people, all with their own ways of running zines. I never had a problem with any of them until a few years ago when one zine organizer started getting called out for shady behavior. At this point, I had already worked with them on a dozen zines, and because I was always working on multiple at a time I never noticed that some of these Zines never went anywhere. I was busy and I just figured they were sorted.

So, when this started going down and call out posts got made I checked back in to the discord servers and blogs for the zines. Half of them collected money for the zines, and never delivered. Some just stopped production because she’d vanished and stopped replying to anyone. It’s at this point I found out that this person had hundreds of zine projects running at once, and most of them not completed or sent to the people who paid for them. All off of our FREE work.

There was a big blow up. People picked sides. A lot of us creators left and removed our work from the unfinished products. People demanded refunds. The scammer’s supposed mother made an appearance in one server saying she was just stressed and to be nice to her. It was insane. People were scammed out of thousands of dollars. It was really shitty for about ten minutes before everyone on the creator’s side shrugged and moved on. Meanwhile, there are still people out there genuinely upset that they lost pretty big chunks of money and no one could help them.

The thing is, I’ve had experience with this type of scammer before. They don’t want to stop, and they’re notorious for rebranding and starting all over again. So, I kept a causal eye out. I didn’t really spend a lot of time on it, because I’m still busy, but when certain styles of zines popped up on here I would do a quick look over at the mods and check a few profiles. Nothing in the past two years really caught my eye. Until a few days ago when I found a new zine that had her style of promotional stuff, typing/grammar, etc. I almost left it because it wasn’t really my business, but it pissed me off so much that she came right back and would probably scam thousands more out of people in different fandoms. So I triple checked a few things like profiles, etc. and was 85% sure one of the mods for this zine is her. When I mentioned this to a friend who also did work for her zines and got scammed, they acted like I was super weird. Not exactly for looking into it, but explicitly that I “still cared about all that.”

I guess everyone else just kind of moved on, and forgot about it. I thought it was pretty normal to be wary of scammers after being scammed, but the fact that they’re saying I’m weird for still caring that it happened is making me feel like maybe I did something wrong? I haven’t done anything about it yet because I wanted to run it by my friend who shared that experience with me, and now I feel like I’m the crazy one for doing something I thought was pretty normal if not a little wary.

AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole

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dearheart42regenerated · 10 months

Text

MOTORCITY SEASON 2 MASTERPOST

once upon a time, over 10 years ago, just a few months after the announcement that Motorcity was officially canceled...the creators of the show took pity on their heartbroken fandom and gave us several glimpses of what season 2 might have been like. they saw how much we loved Motorcity and gave us every scrap of info they could at the time, so that we could use those scraps to imagine our own personal "Season 2" - whether it continue on in our fics, our fanart, or simply our own heads.

I'm making this masterpost so that none of this material will be lost or forgotten, and so any fanartists/fic writers still hanging around today can use it for inspiration. if there's any related material I've missed, PLEASE feel free to add it in a reblog or let me know in my inbox! I want this list to be as complete as we can make it! :)

The Season 2 That Never Was: A Comprehensive List

Motorcity Season 2 Rough Intro "Scratch audio by our very own Chris P." (x)

youtube

-> backup download

Season 2 Writer's Wall posted (and later deleted) by @chrisprynoski on twitter, and shared on tumblr by @peopleofmotorcity, these pictures of the writer's wall showed us a "rough sketch" of what could have been, and gave our imaginations SO many fun theories and possibilities to play with. every blurry sticky note was a treasure to us. :')

-> original tumblr posts: x x x x x x x x x x x x -> image masterpost -> google drive folder

Chris Prynoski's Fan Interview + Tumblr Q&A's this whole interview on youtube is a delight to listen to, and Part 2 in particular has some interesting bits about season 2. (skip to 17:10 for some good stuff about Texas and Chuck's backgrounds!)

youtube

-> Part 1 -> Part 2

Chris P also answered several juicy season 2 questions on tumblr. sadly his blog is deactivated now, but you can still read through all of them at the links below!

-> image masterpost -> google drive folder

Capri Chilton - Mike Chilton's long lost big sister! I can't remember where or when it was first revealed that they were considering giving Mike a secret older sister, and I haven't been able to track down the origin. that being said, when it was revealed, the fandom loved the idea so much that they begged the creators to make it canon. Chris P busted out the "magical canon stick", gave us this delightful concept sketch, and "Capri Chilton" was born!

The Motorcity Series Bible "To help you all understand what it is you are reading, this is the material that Titmouse used to help pitch Motorcity, and it was also a tool for writers to use when coming up with episodes to help understand who the characters were before there was any other reference. That being said, this was one of the very first documents about Motorcity, so many things have changed or evolved from these early concepts." (x)

-> original tumblr posts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 -> image backups -> PDF download

EDIT: the COMPLETE series bible has now been leaked by Lost Media Busters on X (Twitter) and helpfully shared by @waksworldrebooted!!

--> here is a google drive download for the full PDF file!

Motorcity Series Bible - Redacted Version (Pages 1, 2, 17, 19, 20) funfact: @peopleofmotorcity was the official? unofficial? tumblr blog for Motorcity, and it was run by a guy named Mac - an animator for the show who loved to tease and joke around with the fandom. before revealing the actual first 13 pages of the series bible, he posted this censored version as a prank - a mix of truth and trolling! it's up to the fandom to decide which is which. ;)

-> original tumblr posts: 1 2 17 19 20 -> image backups -> PDF download

MTV Era Motorcity Masterpost a fantastic collection of glimpses into the original pilot/pitch trailer that would evolve into the show we know and love today, found and compiled by @waksworldrebooted. "In 2000, Chris Prynoski pitched a cartoon called Motorcity. He made a card and a website promoting the show, which wouldn't see the light of day until the Walt Disney Company got their hands on it."

youtube

--> tumblr masterpost (including wayback links to the old website) --> twitter sources from Chris P himself :)

Motorcity Unaired Pilot - Disney Version Originally aired during Comic Con 2012, the pilot was recorded and then posted on YouTube by Allison Simmons in July of 2012, later being privatized in 2022. The video was re uploaded onto VKVideo 22 days after its original posting to YouTube and is still currently available to watch online. (x)

--> viewable here!

if I find more material, I will add it here! :)

#motorcity #motorcity season 2 #mike chilton #capri chilton #julie kane #chris prynoski #peopleofmotorcity #Youtube

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ao3commentoftheday · 5 months

Note

hihihi just heard about Fanfic Friday and Spotlight Saturday in an ask you just answered and ive never heard of either before, so if you have a summary of what they are or where to find them I'd love to hear about it, cause like, it sounds neat

About 4 or 5 years ago now, after I'd been discussing Six Sentence Sunday a lot on the blog, I got the idea to write down other days that I was aware of and then fill in the gaps to make a full week of fandom "events" that people could post whenever they wanted.

Here's the post where I outlined each day, along with a banner per day if anyone wanted to use one.

In my list, I have "FicBack Friday" instead, which I picked up from @ughfitz in the Agents of SHIELD fandom many years ago. The idea of FicBack Friday is to recommend or shout out or otherwise celebrate older works in fandom - which I specified in my own write up should be at least 1 year old.

Spotlight Saturday was one that I think I made up myself. It's a counter to FicBack Friday in that it celebrates a work that is newly posted (if it's a oneshot) or currently updating (if it's a multichap).

Fanfic Friday is something I've seen cross my dash more often (from @fellshish I think?) and I think it's just an excuse to promote your own fic. I don't think there are any rules beyond that - but let's see if people in the notes have more info!

#asks and answers

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shuadotcom · 10 months

Text

Take Me Higher | CHS (M)

🍃Summary: Yeah, your first real party was completely different than you had imagined, but it was even better than you had hoped.

🍃Pairing: Stoner!Vernon x Stoner!Afab Reader

🍃Genres & AUs: Smut, a dash of fluff, friends to lovers au, pwp

🍃Rating: 18+ (MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED)

🍃Content/Warnings: Marijuana usage, mention of alcohol, profanity, protective sex, cunnilingus, fingering, handjob, bathroom sex, sex while high (they’re both faded but they like each other and are consenting), multiple orgasms, dry-humping, allusion to big dick!vernon, reader has boobs and a vagina but no gendered terms are used for y/n

🍃Words: 6.1k

🍃Note: As a cannabis connoisseur myself, I love stoner!vernon fics and will read any and every single one so it was only a matter of time before I wrote my own. Truly it was a mighty need - especially blue hoodie Vernon because that's my favorite shoot of his. This is based off of a slightly true story of my first adult party years ago. Y/n has a much better partner and time than I did though 😂

I also listened to Rihanna's Anti album (aka the last album she'll give us 😭) a lot when writing this for whatever reason.

Thank you bestie @the-boy-meets-evil for being my beta!🫶🏽

Tagging the lovely @kthpurplesyou 😘

🍃Net Tag: @kflixnet

Tonight was turning out to be different than you ever thought it’d be. It’s your first-ever real party and it was turning out to be much less notable than you’d have imagined. Growing up, you had been a typical wallflower with a tiny group of friends that were as introverted as you, so you never knew people who threw parties, and you sure as hell weren’t “important enough” to get invited to them. Nothing much had changed from middle school and even through college.

It’s not until you’re well into your young adulthood that you receive your first party invitation. It comes from your oldest friend, Joshua, whom you recently reconnected with. You had practically grown up with him and when he and his family moved away, your communication eventually lessened with life and timezones in the way. It isn’t until you just so happen to move near him after college that you start hanging out again. He sends you an Instagram message after happening to see a location close to him that you tagged in a post.

You and Joshua easily pick your long-dormant friendship back up, getting along as perfectly as you had years ago. Your closeness and trust are quickly restored in him the more time you spend together. It’s why when he invites you to a party a friend of his is throwing, you jump at the chance.

Having never been to a party, you only had the tv shows and movies you watched to go off of as to what the atmosphere would be like. You imagine loud, deafening music, drunk people spread all over the poorly lit house, the air reeking of alcohol, and too many people.

In reality, the lights are on around the house as expected and the music that plays over a speaker in the living room is loud enough to get lost in while dancing but not so loud that you couldn’t hold a conversation. Instead of smelling like nothing but alcohol, the air only smelt of pizza and an artificial air freshener, with a hint of beer.

There are only a few handfuls of people milling about, most of whom Joshua and Jeonghan - his other close friend who came with the two of you - had long since introduced you to.

One of whom you’ve spent the most time with when you hang out with Joshua and his friends and are the most familiar with. You have a ton in common and always feel comfortable around him.

He also happens to be the friend that you have an embarrassingly huge crush on.

“Hey, Vernon!” Joshua calls his name as the three of you file down the basement stairs where it looks like most of the guests are.

Vernon turns from his conversation to find you three and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think his smile widened when he made eye contact with you.

He says something to the guy he’s talking to before approaching you all.

“Hey, Josh, Jeonghan. Hi, Y/n. Thanks for coming.”

“Obviously we’d show up! I don’t think anyone has thrown a party just for fun in months. And I knew you wouldn’t mind if I brought Y/n. It’s baby’s first party!” Joshua throws his arm around your shoulders, bringing you forward from your spot nearly hiding behind him. You’re not too flustered that you can’t pinch him in the side for exposing you so willingly.

“Of course, I don’t mind!” Vernon rushes out, maybe even a little too loud. He clears his throat, breathing out an awkward laugh. “Anyway yeah, Seungkwan and Chan were feeling particularly social this weekend so I didn’t have much of a say but it’s cool.” Vernon scans the room, pointing out his two roommates across the room as he says their names. “Tonight won’t be anything crazy so don’t worry.” He says the last part to you, a sweet smile on his pretty lips.

As if they could tell they were being talked about, Seungkwan and Chan spot the group of you and are over in an instant, thanking you for coming and guiding you over to where all the snacks and drinks are while Vernon trails behind.

Truth be told, the whole party feels as if it’s a normal hang-out session with everyone. Sure some people get a little more drunk than usual and there’s more dancing and obnoxious singing than there typically is on any other Saturday night, but overall it’s nothing like the parties in movies. No one is swinging from the ceiling naked and drunk off their asses (unless you count Soonyoung shirtless and screaming at the top of his lungs to the karaoke song he’s doing, but no one is too concerned).

You’re even more grateful that you decided on jeans and a nicer shirt after agonizing over what to wear for days. Everyone was in the most normal clothes which took a lot of the pressure you had initially felt off of you. This includes Vernon, who was in jeans and an oversized, cozy-looking hoodie in the prettiest shade of baby blue. You could barely keep your eyes off of him, not that you really tried. He didn’t make it any easier, seeing how he hasn’t moved from your general vicinity all night.

Whether it was near the snack table, upstairs for a little while, or standing near Joshua and Jeonghan as they played beer pong, Vernon hasn’t been far, mostly talking to the two men or any other people around you, occasionally trying to bring you into the conversation. You’ve been doing your best to contribute, but your nerves about not knowing what to do with yourself, paired with the butterflies in your stomach that erupt whenever Vernon so much as looks at you, have you feeling a little out of your element.

At some point in the night, Jeonghan wanders off and Vernon disappears for a bit. You and Joshua are standing near the drinks, trying a few different shots and you hate them all. You nearly forgot how much you dislike the taste of most alcohol.

“So when are you going to tell Vernon you’re into him?” Joshua’s question is abrupt and he knows it. It’s why he snickers, watching your face contort as you choke on the shot of Patron you just knocked back, which you instantly regret.

“When am I going to what?!”

Joshua shrugs, taking a shot himself, his eyebrows only knitting a little.

“You heard me. And don’t act so surprised. Watching the two of you steal glances at each other all night and then act all shy as if you weren’t doing that was cute for the first five minutes, but enough is enough!” Joshua reaches for another shot, but you smack his hand, demanding why he thinks you like his friend. You haven’t told a soul about your crush on Vernon.

He’s about to say something else, but then Vernon shows up and your attention locks onto him.

“Hey guys, I’m heading outside if you want to come.” His eyes linger on yours and you momentarily forget how to speak so Joshua answers for you, letting him know that you’ll both be joining him.

It’s late and you’re not sure what time it is, but the sky is full of tiny stars, providing faint light to the group of people sitting outside. The small circle of people is sitting on lawn chairs surrounding a brightly shining lantern and a bong as they take turns passing it around. The three of you take the spots still open with you between Joshua and Vernon.

You didn’t forget what Joshua said inside, but put your interrogation on the back burner.

You’ve smoked weed before, in fact, you do so multiple days of the week. It’d been your chosen way to destress with friends before you moved and even more so now as you quickly learned that Vernon was the stoner friend in this group. If everyone was going to be hanging out and Vernon was there, there’d inevitably be edibles or a joint passed around. In your mind, you were practically perfect for each other.

The other partygoers greet you, and Vernon immediately takes the bong from the person next to him. Joshua falls into conversation with Wonwoo on his other side which gives you time to study Vernon.

He rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie, his forearms on full display. His movements are effortless as he leans forward to grab a pinch of weed from the grinder tin on the small table in front of you. His fingers, always looking so long, nimbly pack the bowl of the bong. He uses his middle finger to gently press it down as his eyebrows knit in concentration and his lips purse just a tiny bit.

Your eyes never leave him as he places his lips into the mouthpiece and uses his free hand to grab a lighter on the table. Vernon lights the bowl with skilled fingers, inhaling gently but confidently, then removes it. His eyelids flutter closed, as he inhales steadily, the smoke in the bong swirling as it fills his lungs.

Once he’s had his fill, he pulls the bong away, holding the smoke in his chest for a few seconds before his red lips part, the smoke seeping out of his mouth in rings and drifting up to the dark sky. A dopey smile plays on his lips as his eyes open again, meeting yours.

The entire act has you clenching as you watch him work, so in his element and looking absolutely breathtaking while doing so. But the look he’s giving you now has an undeniable effect on you and the want you so often feel for him.

Vernon tips the bong lightly in your direction, asking if you want a hit and you accept it. Instead of handing it to you, he holds the mouthpiece out to you, keeping it in his grasp as you lean forward and place your mouth on it. Vernon lights the bowl for you, holding eye contact as you start to let the smoke billow into your mouth, your chest already feeling warm as it fills you. He waits until your eyes close to remove the bowl, and you inhale sharply, your head already feeling lighter.

The bong is pulled away and you tip your head back, the smoke swirling inside of you before your lungs begin to burn and you open your mouth, releasing the smoke. You watch it float up and dissipate and don’t notice Vernon’s gaze still glued to you.

When you meet his eyes, neither of you moves, almost waiting to see what the other will say or do.

Joshua is the one to interrupt the moment, yelling at the two of you for not sharing. Vernon leans over you to pass the bong to Joshua’s waiting hands and he’s the closest to you he has been all evening. The smell of his sweet shampoo hits you first before the woodsy scent of his cologne follows, topped off with the faint smell of weed. It takes everything in you not to kiss him, but you hold it together until he sits back in his chair. He slouches into the uncomfortable fold-out chair, his legs spread wide in his worn jeans, practically begging you to crawl into his lap. Again, you don’t, but dear god how you want to.

Time ticks by as your small group stays outside, passing the bong around the circle every few minutes. You’ve quickly lost the conversation being held by the whole group since you and Vernon spend most of your time talking amongst yourselves. You don’t discuss anything in particular, just movies you’ve seen lately, new restaurants you’ve tried, and some of your favorite new musical releases. Conversation with Vernon always flows so naturally and easily. The two of you rarely broach awkward topics which is a miracle in itself.

At one point, the conversation shifts to you and your lack of experience in the party department.

“So, you’ve never been to any party ever? Like not even a birthday party?”

“Do birthday parties at laser tag places count when I was like ten?” Both of you giggle at that, feeling so much more at ease than you did earlier.

“I don’t think so. I mean like, in high school, you never even went to like a small house party?”

You shake your head as you sip on the soda you had dragged yourself back into the house to get earlier. “Nah. I wasn’t really popular in high school and my friends and I were all too nerdy to throw parties. We had anime-watch nights, but that’s about it.” Waving your hands dismissively you chuckle, but Vernon just shakes his head.

“I can’t believe that.”

“What, that I’m a massive nerd? I wouldn’t think that’d be a surprise since Joshua and I literally got into an argument about Full Metal Alchemist last weekend at Seungcheol’s.” A snort leaves Vernon when he laughs and you can’t help but notice how endearing it is.

“No, we already know you and Shua are weebs!” He keeps laughing even when you lightly push him at his teasing. “What I mean is, I can’t believe that you weren’t popular. I mean, look at you!” He gestures wildly to you, his eyes sweeping over you from head to toe.

“Oh, come on.”

“No, for real! You’re so damn funny and so fun to be around. You’re super sweet and kind and you’re always taking care of us. Plus you’re the hottest person I’ve ever met so like, how the fuck weren’t people all over you? You’re basically fucking perfect!” His words make you feel fuzzy all over, and you know it’s not just the weed.

“Thank you, Vernon,” you whisper, averting your attention to your drink. Hearing Vernon call you hot and “fucking perfect” makes you squeeze your thighs together. Something about him complimenting you so blatantly has you weak in the knees. With your earlier stress gone and feeling a little more carefree, you decide it’s now or never. “I think all of that about you too,” you mumble under your breath.

At first, you’re not sure if he hears you so you dart your eyes over to him. Vernon is staring at you, blinking slowly and you can almost see the gears turning in his head.

“Oh wow,” he finally breathes out. “Really?”

Oh. He did hear you.

“Yeah.” You admit. It’s already out there so you may as well just stand by it.

Vernon’s brain looks as though it’s working overtime as he stares at you blankly. Your stomach does the most violent of flips as you wait for what comes next, unsure of what you should say.

Thankfully, Joshua barges into the conversation, disrupting the tension that hung between you and Vernon.

“Hey, Y/n, I’m tired. I’m gonna find Jeonghan and head home. You wanna share an Uber? Jeonghan’ll probably crash at my place and you can too. Or we’ll put your address in as a stop.”

“Uh…” Do you want to leave now? You just kind-of, sort-of, maybe confessed your feelings to Vernon. But, he also kind-of, sort-of maybe did the same.

If you leave now, will he pretend none of this happened the next time you see him again? Will he blame the weed for his words that he possibly didn’t mean? Does he want you to stay and decide what to do next together?

“Y/n mentioned staying behind for a while longer. Right?” Vernon decides for you, tilting his head and looking back at you, unmoving as he waits for you to verify.

“Oh, yeah I’m gonna stay a little longer.”

Joshua narrows his eyes at you, scanning your face for something that may contradict your words. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m good here with Vernon.” Joshua seems to inspect you both, the seconds dragging on before he finally decides that he accepts what you’re saying.

“Okay, but I better get a text from you later when you’re going home and when you get there. Got it?”

“Promise!”

Joshua throws another look at Vernon. “Everybody better stay safe.” There’s something else behind Joshua’s demand and you’re not sure how exactly to take it.

You and Vernon watch him go before the earlier silence you shared is back. It hangs in the air for what feels to you like an eternity but is more likely only a few seconds.

“You wanna, uh, go upstairs?”

“Yes!” Vernon stumbles over his words when he asks you, but you don’t when you answer him. He’s barely able to get the last word out before you’re accepting his offer. You don’t care where he wants to take you because you’ll go wherever with him.

Vernon slowly stands, reaching for your hand which you give him without a second thought. He leads you back inside the house, upstairs, and to one of the bathrooms in the hall.

“Um, my room’s not clean. I didn’t really expect anyone would be in my room besides me so…” Vernon confesses rather sheepishly when the door is shut behind you. “But, Seungkwan made us clean all the common areas so I promise this room is clean.” A nervous chuckle leaves him, averting his eyes from you.

“That’s okay,” you admit. And it is. Your romantic feelings for Vernon aside (and yes it is a lot of feelings), you want him so badly. You yearn to kiss him, touch him, and let him fuck you, no matter where it happens. Knowing that maybe your feelings aren’t unrequited only makes you want him even more. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Vernon smiles at you, his mouth taking the shape of a heart that has your actual heart beating wildly. He approaches you almost cautiously, pressing you against the bathroom door.

“Are you sure you want this?” His question is a whisper as he’s practically nose to nose with you.

“Of course.”

“We can stop whenever you want to. If you get uncomfortable or change your mind about me or anything like that just say the word.”

“Vernon, I want to be here, I promise. Now kiss me, please.”

And kiss you he does. Vernon dips his head to close the gap between you. His lips are a little chapped as they move against yours, but you don’t mind at all. Your hands ball themselves in the front of his hoodie while he cups your face and kisses you hard. His tongue prods at your lips and you open immediately, moaning as the muscle slips inside your mouth. His tongue wraps around yours, suckling at it and pulling another desperate sound from you. The urgency behind his movements is evident, as his hips meet yours, his body flush against you.

It’s shallow at first and barely noticeable but when you do feel it - Vernon grinding against you - you instantly react, meeting his small thrusts.

When his clothed erection, already hard and straining through his jeans, presses against your pelvis, he makes a deep, pleased hum in his throat. Even through his clothes, you can feel just how big Vernon is. More wetness pools between your legs, already making your underwear feel uncomfortable and sticky.

Vernon continues to hump against you, his kisses becoming more frantic and his hands have long since started wandering on you. His big hands cradle your hips, sliding down the tops of your thighs, then around you to grab a handful of your ass. He yanks you into him, his hips continuing to rut against you.

The sheer act of Vernon dry-humping you like a man truly crazy with lust only makes you want him more. You feel yourself clench around nothing, the friction of Vernon’s hard-on nudging so close to where you need him the most. He has to pull away from your mouth finally, gasping for air, but his hips don’t falter.

“Vernon…please, I need more.”

“M-more?”

“More. Need more.” Your words come out as more of a whine when he squeezes your ass again.

“More of me?”

“Please!”

“Fuck, yeah. Okay.”

He looks genuinely forlorn at the thought of stopping his movements, but he does, lightly panting from his exertion.

Your hands leave the crumpled fabric of his hoodie and snake down to his waist, slipping your hands under the hem. Vernon lets you undress him and then he does the same to you, pulling off piece by piece, tossing each article away without so much as a second thought and drinking in the sight of one another as you go.

Vernon is back on you once you’re both naked, shoving your bodies together as he kisses you again. He cups your breasts, thumbs rubbing circles over your pert nipples. You moan into Vernon’s mouth, letting him work your sensitive buds, the sensation making you rub your thighs together. When your knee brushes Vernon’s hard cock, he nearly chokes. His hands knead at your plush skin as his lips trace their way from your lips to your neck.

Vernon’s teeth nip at your skin and your hands float up to grab at his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands, keeping him at your most sensitive spot. Your knees nearly buckle when he starts to suck harshly and his hands continue their work on your tits.

Before you know what’s next, one of Vernon’s hands is inching down your body, stopping at the apex of your thighs. With a step out to the side, you spread your thighs to give him access. A single, long digit swipes at your already sopping folds.

He eases his finger into your hole, your warmth greedily sucking him. Vernon begins pumping his finger in and out of you as he continues marking your neck, mumbling about how warm you are and how wet you feel. Your mind starts to turn to mush, your hands scrambling to grasp onto any part of Vernon you can. It happens to be his biceps - those of which are surprisingly firm. You’ve never seen him go to the gym or talk about working out, but clearly he’s doing something. The muscles ripple as he pistons his finger in and out, soon adding a second which slides in with no resistance.

His hot, rock-hard length brushes against your thigh and you reach down with the hand not clutching his arm for dear life, and wrap your fingers around his cock.

Vernon jumps, hissing through his teeth as you slowly jerk him off. Your thumb rubs over his tip, the precum oozing out and helping your hand glide over him.

His lips find yours again, the kiss bruising and messy as he finger fucks you faster and the squelching sounds you make around him echo off of the tile. His fingers scissor in you, working you open for him and when he grazes that soft, spongy spot inside of you, your legs nearly give out.

He manages to keep you upright with his other arm locked around your waist. “You okay?” His voice is gruff, much deeper than it was earlier and you can feel more wetness seep out and around his fingers.

“I’m s-so close, Vern, fuck.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum all over my fingers?”

The sentence is so simple but it has you clenching around his digits so hard that you hold your breath.

“Mmhmm!” you can’t manage words, only sounds, but he doesn’t ask again, instead quickening his pace. Doing your best to match his speed, you twist your wrist, letting Vernon cant his hips forward and fuck into your hand. You whimper into each other’s mouths, the only focus is each other. The only thing either of you see and think about is the other.

Vernon eventually breaks the kiss and bends down to draw one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue flicking at the bud before sucking on it hard enough to hurt in the best way. The twinge of pain shoots straight to your belly, the tension finally snapping.

When you cum, you throw your head back, hitting the bathroom door with a loud ‘thunk!’ and your eyes squeeze shut so tightly that stars swim in the darkness of your closed lids “Fuck!” You choke out, your knees finally giving up on keeping you upright as you let go of Vernon’s cock to grab a hold of his other arm.

Your body sags against his bare chest. He has to prop you back against the door while he helps you ride out your orgasm. The image of you like this, naked and sweaty and crying out for him on his fingers will live in his mind rent-free until the day he dies.

When he finally slips out of you, he can’t help but stare in awe at your juices that drip down his fingers. His first impulse is to shove them into his mouth which he does eagerly, sucking and savoring the flavor of you.

Vernon’s eyes roll back and you watch the entire thing, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“Can I eat you out? If that’s okay with you of course.” Vernon’s eyes are wide as he meets yours, half-afraid that you’ll say no. He’ll respect you of course, but he’ll also daydream forever about the way just the small sampling of you tasted on his tongue.

Luckily, for both of you, you want nothing more than to feel Vernon’s kiss-swollen lips on your cunt.

“Please!” You shamelessly beg, droopy eyes widening at his request.

He leads you to the bathroom counter and helps you clumsily clamber up onto it. Both of you are wobbly and clumsy from the weed, but you make it without injury. Vernon’s on his knees instantly, wide hands prying your legs open, pussy on full display.

“Holy shit, you’re so wet!”

“Vernon!” You cover your face in embarrassment, feeling self-conscious.

“Like, your pussy is fucking shimmering in the light, baby.” His face is right in front of your heat, the proximity making your hole flutter right in front of his eyes. “Fucking hell I just watched your pussy squeeze. I’m going to pass out.”

“Vernon, fucking touch me already, please! I need you so bad!” His heavy eyes meet yours, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, please.”

Much like earlier, he didn’t need you to tell him again as his eyes focus on you and he dips his head between your legs.

Vernon’s tongue immediately finds your clit, the muscle flicking forcefully, sending a jolt through you. Shaky fingers rake through Vernon’s hair and grip the brunette locks for support as he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking on it in the way you need.

“Fuck! Vernon, yes!” Your hips start to buck up into his face when he changes direction and dips his tongue into your pussy, groaning low in his throat as he does.

“Mmph! So good.” Vernon drawls, his words muffled as he tongue fucks you, slurping your wetness as he does.

His tongue darts in and out of you, his nose brushing your clit every time you lift your hips. Vernon makes out with your cunt, the lewd sounds alone are enough to have you hurdling to your end and Vernon’s grunt reverberating through your body is what ultimately has you cumming.

“Vernon!” His name erupts from your mouth in a shriek, your thighs clamping around his head. Your whole body feels as if it’s on fire, as you arch almost painfully into him. You stay that way for what feels like minutes, hips still pushed towards him as you gasp and Vernon continues to lazily lick at you.

The world could crumble around you at this very moment and you don’t think you’d care.

That was undisputedly the best head you’ve ever gotten.

Vernon chuckles from between your thighs, finally coming up for air.

“Best head ever huh?” His nose all the way to his chin shines with your juices as he gives you a lopsided grin.

You hadn’t even realized you said your last thoughts out loud. Only a small part of you feels embarrassed. The rest of you only focuses on Vernon as he stands up, his cock red and angry as it rests against his stomach.

“Can - can we do it on the floor? My legs feel like cooked pasta right now and I can’t stay upright.” His expression is sullen as he says this, but you can only giggle at how cute he looks, pouting at you, cradling his very thick, very distracting dick.

“You can fuck me wherever you want as long as you do it.”

Vernon’s eyes widen, blinking a few times as if your words fluster him, but he quickly snaps out of it, helping you off the counter. He grabs a bath towel hanging on the rack nearby and spreads it out on the floor before helping lay you on it. He promises that it’s clean, but you shrug his worries away. Towel or not, at this very moment all you want is Vernon to fuck you even more stupid than the weed has made you, and you don’t care what he does it on.

With fumbling hands, Vernon reaches for his pants and digs his wallet out in search of a condom. When he finds it, he opens and rolls the rubber on, hands trembling as he goes.

He scurries back over to you, easily taking his place between your legs. He momentarily forgets what he’s doing when he catches sight of your still-sopping folds and you have to call his name to get his attention. His eyes dart up to look at you, fixating on your heaving chest and bottom lip pulled tight between your teeth, hair sprawled out around your head, eyes red and shiny, staring right back at him.

You look straight out of all of the late-night fantasies he’s had about you and you don’t even know it.

Vernon’s cock feels as big as it looks when he finally eases inside of you, your legs quivering along the way. His hands hook under your knees, keeping you open until he buries himself balls-deep into your pussy.

The two of you share a moan, your voices harmonizing in pleasure at finally filling you and being full by him. He takes a moment before he thrusts forward, gauging your reaction. A scrunch of your brow and a nod to him lets him know to move and he anchors himself by gripping your thighs as he starts to snap his hips.

A high-pitched yelp leaves you, echoing in the room along with the wet sounds of your arousal, the sound only intensifying as Vernon starts to fuck you with more urgency.

“Holy shit, Y/n. You feel fucking incredible.” He pants out as he drives his hips into yours, sweat already beading at his hairline.

Your shaky hands reach up to wrap around his shoulders and you pull him closer. “S-so do you…” Vernon stumbles, but catches himself, planting his hands on the sides of your head. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you do your best to lift your hips with each thrust, meeting Vernon’s momentum as he fucks into you.

Through the condom, you can still feel the most prominent veins on his cock, the friction gliding against your walls, your eyes crossing at the pleasure. The bathroom floor isn’t where you imagined your first time with him being, although you never thought that your first time with him would even happen. Your crush on him was one you kept close to you and in your mind, it wouldn’t be reciprocated.

That thought was obviously cast aside if the way his soft brown eyes, rimmed with scarlet, are looking down at you, even as his lips press together in concentration with each drive of his body jolting yours and almost pushing you across the floor.

Even with THC coursing through his system and making every other movement so slow, Vernon is quick and determined as he rocks into you, your soft, gummy walls squeezing him harder the faster he fucks into you at a bruising pace.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Vernon rasps out between grunts.

“You’re f-fucking the last of my brain cells out of m-me and you wanna be romantic?” You manage a laugh, even if it gets cut off with a sob as soon as Vernon’s cockhead bumps into your g-spot.

“I can’t help it. You make me wanna be romantic.” His words are accentuated with a breathy groan - the sentence a stark contrast to the way he pummels your cunt.

Tears well in your eyes, and you blame the weed for bringing emotions out of you. Raising your head as best as you can, you meet his lips in what is meant to be a sweet kiss, even if it’s more teeth than anything, but neither of you minds.

You lay back and settle when you can’t keep yourself up anymore and Vernon stays close to your face as he pivots his hips, shoving his hand between your bodies. It takes him a second, but he eventually finds your clit, eliciting a shriek from you.

The pace that Vernon finds with both his hips and his fingers has your orgasm right on the cusp, your body already sensitive from earlier.

“V-Vernon!”

“Say my real name,” he wheezes desperately.

“Hansol! Fuck, so good. ‘M gonna cum! So close…” His real name rolls off of your tongue just as easily as his nickname does, if not easier.

His fingers pinch at your clit between pressing against it as his other hand supports most of his weight, his sweaty forehead resting against yours.

“Cum for me again, baby. Wanna see you cum just for me.” His voice is like honey, dripping all over you, and setting your heart and body ablaze.

You reach your high then, a needy cry of his name exploding from you, your body going stiff. Wave after wave rushes through you like an inferno, your blood rushing to your head. Through the ringing in your ears, you hear Hansol actually growl from above you, your name, and a string of curses sounding like a chant coming from him.

His mouth hangs open again as his hips stutter, riding out his orgasm until he lets out a loud huff. Instinctively, you reach your hand up, running it through Hansol’s damp strands. His eyes slip close, pushing his head into your hand more, relishing in the way your nails graze his scalp.

The air is calm and full of so much adoration even as you both harshly huff and puff, catching your breath. You relish this moment with Hansol, wanting nothing more than to stay like this with him.

The sound of his stomach grumbling cuts through the moment. “Sorry,” he snorts, causing both of you to break into a fit of laughter.

“Wanna go back downstairs and get some pizza?” You ask him as he finally moves off of you and you peel yourself up from the floor. Vernon has to help you stand, but to be fair, both of you are unsteady as you stand again.

“Hell yeah. Would you wanna bring it back up to my room? I can clean up really quickly and you can stay over. I have a bowl if you wanna smoke more. But only if you want to! You can say no and I can stay with you until a rideshare gets here.” The nervousness in his question is obvious as he pulls his clothes back on, having to concentrate on getting both legs in his jeans without falling over.

“Of course, I’ll stay over. And don’t worry about the mess. As long as there’s room in the bed for us, the food, and to smoke it doesn’t matter to me, Hansol.” You smile to yourself once you’re dressed, loving the way his real name sounds to your ears. You want to only call him Hansol from here on out.

His head snaps up and he fixes you with a wide-eyed look once his hoodie is back on. “Really?”

You nod at him, laughing at his expression - the same incredulous look he’s given you all night. Closing the small distance between the two of you, you place a gentle kiss on his lips, enjoying the way he instantly melts into you.

Yeah, your first real party was completely different than you had imagined, but it was even better than you had hoped.

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venus-haze · 2 years

Text

Fire (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: You’re a waitress at a popular restaurant in LA. Stressed from long days of working customer service, you sneak up to the worn-out Hollywood sign late at night to be alone. When it seems like someone else has discovered your sanctuary, you’re annoyed until to your relief, the two of you never acknowledge each other’s presence on the opposite ends of the sign. One night, you find that your companion has had much more of an interest in you than you have in him.

Note: This is based on a request by @gyomei-tiddies. Reader is a woman but no specific details about appearance are given. This is a little bit pre-’68 Comeback Special. Elvis isn’t with Priscilla in this, it just works better with the plot. PLEASE look at the warnings. I do not condone this type of behavior in real life. Inspired by the song Fire, which Bruce Springsteen wrote for Elvis to sing. Definitely give it a listen before reading. Requests are open🔮 Do not interact with my blog or posts if you are under 18 or post ED/thinspo content.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as emotional blackmail and obsessive and manipulative behavior, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. Age gap (reader is in her twenties while Elvis is in his thirties). Period typical misogyny. Explicit sexual content which involves coercion. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Part 2

You cursed to yourself as you climbed up the hill to the Hollywood sign in your worn-out work sneakers. The trek was worth it, since it was the one place in the city you could actually be alone and think. You hated Los Angeles, wanted to move out of the plastic city that you could feel destroying your soul. Drawn in by the glamour and promise of perpetual good weather, you decided to go to UCLA after high school. You lasted a semester before dropping out, but too proud to return home with your tail between your legs, you decided to see if you could make it on your own in the City of Angels.

You picked up a waitressing job at one of the busiest diners in LA, thinking it’d just be a temporary gig. That was years ago, and you were still working at Lloyd’s, your dissatisfaction with your life growing as you couldn’t figure a way out. You wanted to try to find a new job, but were always too mentally drained after work to look through the classifieds and didn’t have the time to go to places on your days off because you had so many errands or just wanted to rest. Your job just barely gave you enough to pay the bills, and all the money you’d save toward moving would end up being spent on one emergency or another. You had a roommate who was barely at your shared apartment, working odd hours on movie sets for horrible pay, but you needed a place where you could truly be alone after dealing with rude and entitled people all day.

No one went up to the Hollywood sign at night, not when there were more interesting things to do in Los Angeles. You could count on being alone here, when you weren’t working a night shift, anyway. Every night after work, as exhausted as you were, you’d go to the first ‘O’ of the Hollywood sign and spend an hour or so chain-smoking and ranting to yourself. You knew it wasn’t the most productive use of your time, but you couldn’t afford therapy, so it was the best you could do.

Suddenly, someone else began to appear at the sign, a few letters away from you, and you were pissed. What made their life so miserable that they had to take your place from you? To your relief, besides the first night they arrived, what you assumed was a man’s silhouette waving at you, you never acknowledged each other, and you didn’t always see him when you were there. As long as your silent companion kept his distance at one of the other ‘O’s in the sign, you supposed you wouldn’t mind.

You awoke to your alarm later in the morning, appreciating that you had your preferred shift, 11am to 7pm, which would ensure you got plenty of dinner rush tips and also time to go up to the Hollywood sign. As you got ready for work, you couldn’t shake the weird feeling that loomed over you, making your skin crawl. Attributing it to stress, you attempted to shake it off as you grabbed what you needed from your apartment to make sure you caught the bus on time. You did have a car at one point, but found all of the expenses associated with it ate into your limited budget, and sold it not long after you dropped out of college. While Los Angeles traffic was a nightmare, its public transportation wasn’t nearly as comprehensive as you would have liked it to be.

Zoning out during the 15 minute bus ride to work, you leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes. You knew you wouldn’t miss your stop, as your head bounced against the window when the bus drove over the large pothole that preceded it. Gathering your things, you got up from your seat and made your way to the bus doors.

It was only a two block walk to Lloyd’s Diner from the bus stop, so you couldn’t complain, even on the rare occasion of bad weather. As soon as you stepped off the bus, you could smell the scent of constantly running grill tops and fryers in the air, only growing stronger as you approached the building. Entering through the backdoor to the kitchen, you had to admit the food there was actually good, and being able to bring home orders that got sent back or meals the cooks ‘accidentally’ messed up helped you save money on groceries.

You greeted your coworkers as you clocked in, grabbing your apron off of one of the hooks on the wall and putting your purse in its place. The afternoon was kind of slow, but you didn’t mind, it gave you time to hang out in the kitchen, sitting on an upturned fruit crate to rest in preparation for the inevitable dinner rush.

Things started picking up around the time another waitress, Vivian, came in for her 4pm to midnight shift. You greeted her as you busied yourself with getting orders for your tables. About half an hour later, though, she burst through the kitchen doors, bringing the commotion in the main restaurant with her.

"Y/N! You’re never going to believe who’s here!" Vivian exclaimed, her eyes wide as she smiled brightly.

She’d only been working there a few weeks, and still got excited when celebrities would come in. You remembered being that way too when you first started, until you realized most of them were terrible tippers and really rude. They usually didn’t eat at the diner during the day, preferring to come in late at night and be mostly left alone.

"Who?" you asked in a weak attempt to humor her.

"Elvis Presley!"

"Cool."

"Cool? Just cool?"

"I was always more of a Buddy Holly girl growing up," you said with a shrug.

She curled her lip in a grimace of disbelief. "Buddy Holly?"

"He actually wrote his own songs."

"Well, Not Buddy Holly is in your section, so you better go out there and get the drink orders."

You cursed under your breath, grabbing your notepad and shooting a glare at Vivian’s amused expression. As soon as you walked through the kitchen door, you were "on" with a warm and welcoming smile that you’d perfected over the years. Skillfully, you hid the disdain you felt toward just about everyone who stepped into the place.

Looking at your section, you immediately knew which table was Elvis’ by the small crowd of people that had gathered around. The celebrities that invited attention to themselves were the bane of your existence, as you’d almost always end up getting something knocked out of your hands by one of their annoying fans without so much as an apology. You shoved through the dozen or so people looking to get autographs on their napkins.

"Hi, welcome to Lloyd’s Diner. My name’s Y/N, and I’ll be your waitress today," you said cheerfully. "Can I get you started with some drinks?"

You were determined to get them out of the restaurant as soon as you possibly could. You got their drink orders and booked it to the kitchen to get each of them. You hoped that they would know what they wanted by the time you got back, but usually people didn’t, and you had to awkwardly return a few minutes later just to find out everyone wanted cheeseburgers.

Thankfully, when you brought out the half-dozen drinks, everyone seemed to know their order, some more complicated than others, but on the more manageable side of things. You jotted everything down, sneaking glances at Elvis every now and then. He’s incredibly handsome in person. After you brought the orders to the kitchen, you checked on the other tables in your section and chatted with Vivian, who was trying to convince you to get an autograph for her.

“I’m not going to bother the man while he’s trying to have a meal,” you said, gathering the plates with Elvis’ table’s orders. “Go ask him yourself if you want one so bad.”

“Maybe I will,” Vivian said as she helped you with the plates.

To your surprise, she actually did it, slyly asking for an autograph as she set the dishes down on the table. Elvis seemed happy to oblige, signing a blank page in her notepad to her delight. He looked at you as if he expected you to ask too. Instead, you nudged Vivian with your elbow.

“Let me know if you need anything,” you said, walking away with her.

“Oh, I can’t believe I got Elvis’ autograph!” she exclaimed. “Can you believe he’s single? Y/N, if he were in my section, I’d try to snatch him right up.”

“Why would he want to date a waitress, Viv?”

“Well, maybe not date,” she giggled.

You laughed along with her. “You think he’s good in bed?”

“He has to be!”

The two of you gossiped in the kitchen for a few more minutes, before you realized how much time had passed and ran back out to check on the tables in your section. You went to the ones that were farther along in their meals, ringing up their tabs as needed. Glancing at Elvis’ table, you noticed everyone was mostly finished eating.

“How was everything?” you asked, gathering the empty plates from the table.

Elvis smiled. “Delicious, thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. I just brought it out from the kitchen,” you said with a smile to match his. “I’m so happy that you enjoyed your meals, though. I’ll be sure to let our cooks know.”

“Well ain’t you sweet as sugar? I wish I could take ya home,” a man jeered.

Elvis shot the man a glare, “Hey, cool it.”

“Well, if you’re in the mood for something sweet, we have a great dessert menu. The key lime pie is really popular right now,” you chirped, wishing you could explode the man with your mind. You weren’t about to thank Elvis for his half-assed chivalry either. You just wanted them out of there as soon as possible. “Dessert menu is right next to the napkins. I’ll be right back.”

You brought the dirty dishes back to the kitchen, putting them in the sink and washing your hands. Glancing at the clock, you noticed you only had two hours left of your shift. Your feet were killing you, but you’d be damned if you didn’t go up to the sign still. It was your sanctuary. Not wanting to drag things out longer than you needed to, you went back out to see if they were going to order anything else.

“So, have you decided on dessert?” you asked.

“I’ll take the key lime pie,” Elvis said. “Thank ya, darlin’.”

The rest of the guys at the table ordered other desserts or just coffee, and you quickly moved behind the display case of baked goods, putting the slices of cake and pie on plates, juggling those and the coffee as you returned to the table. Thankfully, there wasn’t anyone crowded around the table, which made setting everything down a lot easier.

“If you need anything else, just let me know. I’ll be back with the check in a minute, but it’s really no rush,” you said.

You went up to the register to ring up everything from their orders. With such a large group, you knew it would end up being a $20 bill, and you’d be lucky if you got a $1 tip out of it. Shifting on your feet, you tried to ignore the aching you felt in your legs. It was your own fault for waiting so long to get new work sneakers, you knew that. You’d be lucky if you made it home that night without them falling apart.

“Thank you so much for coming in. I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day,” you said cheerfully as you put the check in the middle of the table.

You checked on the one other table in your section, which had left you a decent tip for their smaller check. Chatting with one of the busboys who had just come in for his shift, you noticed Elvis and the rest of his table leaving. Your eyes widened when you realized he left you a $10 tip. At least you didn’t have to worry about where the money for your new shoes would be coming from.

You walked into the kitchen, grabbing your purse from the hook you left it on. “Viv, I’m taking my twenty. If anyone tries to get me before it’s over–”

“Hit them with a frying pan,” she said.

“I was going to say tell them to wait, but I like that better,” you said.

Your twenty minute break went by far too quickly for your liking, but when you returned you only had a little over an hour left in your shift, which went uneventfully to your relief.

The night was clear and cool, perfect to walk up to the Hollywood sign despite the wear in your shoes. It was a decent trek from Lloyd’s to the sign, but it gave you extra time to think. You enjoyed not being in a rush to get up there. If anything, the hardest part was walking all the way up the hill, which still took the wind out of you sometimes.

To your surprise, when you got up to the sign that night, the man was already there. Usually he’d get up there later in the night, and you tended to take that as your cue to get going. The change in routine threw you off a bit, but nevertheless, you ignored him and made your way over to your ‘O’. Your rant to yourself was cut short when he began walking closer, and closer, until it was clear he was making a beeline for you.

Your silent companion would occasionally walk around to the different letters, but never too close to you, and never to your ‘O’.

“Go away!” you shouted.

“I wanted to thank you for recommending the key lime pie!” a familiar voice yelled back.

As your no-longer silent companion made his way over to you, your eyes widened. Elvis Presley? You felt like you were being pranked. Surely this couldn’t have been who was up here at the sign with you, but you recognized his silhouette, always the same whenever he was there.

“Are you the one who’s been coming up here all this time?” you asked.

“Yes.” he answered.

“What happened to ignoring each other?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“What are you talking about?”

"You’re a good liar," he said. "You come up here, cussin’ about how much you hate your job and LA, but goddamn if I didn’t know any better, when I went into Lloyd’s earlier, I’d have thought you were born to be a waitress."

"Oh my god, have you been eavesdropping on me?"

"You’ve never been interested in the other person who comes up here? Who thinks like you?"

"I mind my own business," you said, feeling weirded out that not only had he been listening to what you thought were private rants to yourself, but that he went to your job to see you. You know you said some variation of ‘Fuck Lloyd’s’ several times a night when you’d come up to the sign after work.

"How did you know I was working today?" you asked.

"You come up here every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday night, but only every other Sunday night. I’m guessin’ you work Saturday nights since you’re never here then, probably make the most tips that night, huh? It ain’t hard to figure out the rest from there.”

You looked at him in disbelief. He knew so much about you, and all you knew about him was that he was a famous musician who spent the past few years making mediocre movies. You couldn’t wrap your head around why anyone would take so much interest in the minute details of your life, let alone him.

"This is too fucked up for me to think about right now," you said, moving to walk past him and back down to the streets below. "I’m going home. Don’t come to my work again."

"Wait." He stepped in front of you, blocking your path. You kept trying to get around him, until he grabbed your shoulders, keeping you in place. "Come get a drink with me."

"No," you answered, pulling his hands off of you.

"One drink, and I’ll drive you home. I know you walked here."

"Alright,” you sighed.

He laughed softly, “Well don’t get too excited.”

“Why do you even care about me anyway?” you asked, as the two of you walked down the service road to where he had parked his car.

“Like I said, I figure we think alike if we both go up here.”

“Okay, well I go up here because I’m miserable. Is that the case for you?”

“Came out to Hollywood to follow my dream of bein’ a serious actor” he said. “Don’t think it worked out very well.”

“I fucking hate it here. Worst decision I ever made in my life,” you lamented.

“I know,” he said, opening the passenger door for you.

Oh yeah. He’d probably heard you say it a hundred times already. You suddenly felt uncomfortable being in the car with him, and when he got into the driver’s seat, you changed your tune.

“Actually, I have to work early tomorrow. I’m picking up a shift for my coworker. So you can just drop me home,” you said.

"You can lie to everyone else, but you can’t lie to me, baby," he said.

“I’m not lying.”

He grinned. He didn’t believe you for a second, you could tell that much. “Alright, give me your address then. I’ll take ya home.”

You didn’t want him knowing where you lived, but at the same time you knew he’d find out one way or another. Vivian would probably give you up in a heartbeat. Reluctantly, you told him your address.

He didn’t bother making small talk with you on the drive to your place. What was there to say? He seemed to know more than enough about you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything to him. He turned on the radio, keeping the volume low. He put his hand on your thigh, rubbing the soft skin with his thumb. You tried to push his hand off of you, but his grip was strong. Sighing, you watched the city speed by you, the buildings getting progressively older, sidewalks more cracked, and roads less maintained as he neared your apartment.

His expression was unreadable as he pulled up to the run-down apartment complex where you lived, with its rust and crumbling bricks. You never had a reason to feel embarrassed about where you lived because you never had anyone over. Now, with a man whose tastes were undoubtedly expensive, you found yourself a bit self-conscious of your living situation.

“I’m in 327, so you’re gonna have to go down to the next building,” you said.

He drove down to your apartment, in a little better shape than the other two buildings, but not by much. As he pulled into the nearest parking spot, you gathered your things, double-checking you had all of your belongings. You didn’t want a reason to see him again.

“What are you doing?” you asked, when he got out of the car with you.

He smiled. “Gettin’ that drink you promised.”

“Seriously?”

“C’mon, I drove you home.”

You rolled your eyes as you dug your keys out of your purse. “Make it quick.”

Unlocking the door was kind of for show, since the lock hadn’t worked properly in a while. It wasn’t anything you had to worry about. You knew your neighbors, and everyone was as broke as you, so it wasn’t like you had to worry about anyone breaking in to steal your nonexistent valuables. Kicking off your shoes, you threw your purse onto the worn-out couch in your shabby apartment.

“How old’s this place?” Elvis asked.

You shrugged. “Pre-war, probably.”

You went into the kitchen, searching the cabinets for booze. There were a few half drunk bottles of cheap wine from when you’d have a night in, but no real liquor, not until you spotted a bottle with amber liquid and a faded label. You had vague memories of you and your roommate getting drunk off of it when you first moved in together, it being the cheapest booze you could get your hands on. It wasn’t going to be very good, you knew that much, but if pouring him a glass would get him to leave, you didn’t care.

Grabbing the bottle and whatever glass was available, you poured the drink for him, setting it on the countertop.

“Thought we were gonna drink together,” he said.

“I have to work in the morning,” you reminded him.

He gave you an amused look, as if you’d just referenced an inside joke between the two of you. He threw back the drink, but his face scrunched up as he set the glass down. “Lord, what is this? Gasoline?”

“Alright, you had your drink. Bye,” you said.

“I got you all figured out, Y/N.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you scoffed.

“You’re afraid of things gettin’ better ‘cause this is what you know. It’s comfortable. You’re too proud to take initiative and ask for help, so ya scrape by and blame everyone else for your problems,” he said.

You were silent, trying to process how he could read you so well. Did you reveal that much in your nightly rants? You knew, ultimately, there was no one to blame but yourself. You could have gone back home at any time, moved back in with your parents and saved up to go somewhere else, somewhere you actually liked. Instead you toughed it out in Los Angeles to try to prove something to yourself, and your dissatisfaction with life became a part of you. Maybe you were scared of being happy after feeling anything but for so long.

“See, I told you, darlin’. I got you all figured out ‘cause you think like me. Probably came to Hollywood all scrappy and hopeful, thinkin’ it would give you everything you wanted and realized it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”

“Okay, you psychoanalyzed me. Congrats. Now get out.”

“You don’t want me to go. You want me to look after you,” he said. “You really expect me to believe you never noticed me standin’ one letter over, listenin’ to you?”

All the times you thought he wasn’t there, he was just hiding, by the ‘H’ or the ‘L’, listening to you feel sorry for yourself for hours on end. You felt embarrassed, humiliated; you went up there to be alone and have a place you could be vulnerable, and he took that from you.

“What do you want?” you whispered.

“Just you, Y/N,” he said softly, caressing your cheek. “Aren’t you tired of bein’ broke and angry all the time?”

“Who isn’t,” you scoffed. “Look, I don’t even know you–”

“But I know you.”

He was right, you were tired. Tired of working, of being in Los Angeles, of life itself at times. If he hadn’t been so thorough with his observations of you for the past few months, you’d have thought this was some weird attempt for him to get laid. He probably wanted that too, but after all of the time and effort and general sneaking around, no, he wanted more–to settle down, have someone to come home to, breakup the monotony of being unreasonably wealthy and famous. As you looked into his eyes, your feet still aching from the day, you figured whatever he wanted out of you couldn’t be much worse than your current situation. The rational part of you knew better than to trust a man who’d come out of nowhere and claim he was going to fix everything for you, but every other part of you was so tired, you nodded.

The kiss nearly knocked the wind out of you, forceful and passionate, as if he had all of this unexpended tension that had built up inside of him released when his lips made contact with yours. He held you close, practically pressing your body against his. Just as you were catching up with the kiss, he pulled his lips away, only to begin nipping and sucking at your neck. Part of you wondered if it was a dream, you had dreamt of customers before, but never this vividly. When he bit into a particularly sensitive part of your neck, you gasped, gripping his shoulders. It was definitely real.

“Heard you and your friend talkin’ ‘bout me,” he whispered, his voice deep and hoarse as he didn’t let up on your neck. “Wonderin’ whether or not I was any good in bed. You’re about to find out, darlin’.”

He tugged at the zipper of your uniform, pulling it down so that it pooled at your feet, leaving you only in your bra and panties. Part of you hoped your roommate would come in, interrupt things, and give you an out. You never knew when she’d be home with her erratic schedule. That moment never came, and instead you found yourself braless in your living room with Elvis wrapping an arm around your waist, leading you down the narrow hallway that led to the small bedrooms and bathroom.

Of the two bedrooms in the apartment, he found yours on the first try, dragging you inside with him, not even bothering to shut the door. You felt like a stranger in your own room, especially when he pushed you onto your own bed, a predatory look fixed in his eyes as he undressed. He crawled over you, pinning you to the bed with one hand and pulling down your panties with the other. He kissed you, gentler this time, but his hands were rough as they grabbed at your exposed breasts.

“When was the last time you had sex, darlin’?” he asked.

“I don’t remember,” you answered softly. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you had sex. It had to have been months at least, and whoever he was must not have been very good.

“Holdin’ out for me, huh?” he teased, his fingers brushing your clit, making you arch your back. “Don’t count on havin’ to wait that long again.”

He slipped two fingers inside you, his thumb playing with your clit. You were embarrassed at how wet you were, how quickly you could feel an orgasm coming on. Your breath caught in your throat. It was like he was dragging it out, wanted to see how desperate he could get you for it. Finally, you gave in, “Elvis, I’m close, please just–”

“Ask me real nice darlin’, and I’ll consider it.”

“Please, Elvis, I’ll do anything,” you begged.

His pretty lips curled into a devilish smirk. “Oh, I know you will.”

With that, you came, your orgasm seemed to go through your whole body as you clenched around his fingers. Your moans seemed to echo through the room, and surely through the cardboard-thin walls into the neighboring apartment. He kissed you again, and all you could do was let him take you how he wanted.

When he pulled his fingers from your pussy, you whined, first at the loss of contact and then at his wet fingers playing with your nipple. He sucked on your other breast, his tongue and teeth teasing that nipple to the point where you almost started crying.

“I told you I know you, baby. Know just what my girl needs,” he purred.

You nodded wildly, leaning into his touch when he brushed his fingers from your throat down to your abdomen. You couldn’t deny it, every time he touched you it was like fire. Without warning, he slid his cock into you, your pussy still sensitive from before, making you buck your hips as you clenched around him.

He wasn’t going to be gentle, you knew as much, but you weren’t expecting how aggressive he’d get, his pace unforgiving as he thrust inside you. He cursed under his breath, moaning your name. You knew his own orgasm was close as you could feel his cock throb, his movements becoming more erratic.

“None of them other guys ever made you feel this good, right, baby?” he asked, wrapping a hand around your throat.

“N-No,” you moaned.

“I ain’t gonna let another man so much as look at you again,” he growled. “You’re mine.”

You were lightheaded, unable to catch your breath when you came again, your back arching and putting more pressure on your throat. You clawed at his back, looking to get some kind of leverage, which sent him over the edge. The feeling of his hot cum inside you made your toes curl and your head spin. Just as you thought you were going to pass out, he released his grip on your throat, allowing you a moment to breathe before kissing you again.

He collapsed next to you, holding you against his chest to prevent you from getting up and leaving. There was no need, as you could hardly keep your eyes open after the fact, letting your exhaustion lull you to sleep.

When you woke up the next morning, you knew it was too late for you to have left for any supposed morning shift you were covering. Elvis knew right away you were lying, anyway. You didn’t expect to see him still next to you. He awoke a few moments later, a sleepy smile on his face as he kissed you.

“What are you still doing here?” you asked.

He laughed softly. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Elvis, I’m serious.”

“Gonna help you pack, bring your things over to my place.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I made it clear last night what I expect from you from now on.”

“I don’t–”

“Want to? I don’t give a damn what you want. You get left to yourself, doin’ what you want, and you end up in a place like this. I know what’s best for you, baby,” he said. “I already called your job and let ‘em know you quit. Real nice girl picked up and said ‘congratulations’.”

That was it. In a few hours he’d taken your whole life from you, and you still hardly knew anything about him.

“One day we’ll tell our kids how we fell in love at the Hollywood sign,” he said, smiling.

He thought you loved him. The talk about kids went straight to your stomach. Everything happened so suddenly last night, it didn’t even occur to you to use protection. He had the rest of your life planned out for you, as if you were merely a passenger along for the ride. You looked around your sparse bedroom, the last of the somewhat independent life you’d ever know.

#elvis x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #yandere!elvis x reader #yandere x reader #elvis 2022 #elvis #austin!elvis

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levi-supreme · 7 months

Text

Let's have a baby

Characters: Daichi x fem!reader

Genre: Haikyuu!! modern universe (fic is set in 2018)

Warnings: Smut, minors and ageless blogs DNI. Established relationship (Daichi and reader are married). Breeding kink. Very slight daddy kink (if you squint). Brief use of restraints. Haikyuu!! post-timeskip spoilers. Reader insert (y/n). Reader is East Asian (Japanese) coded but no physical descriptions are being used. Japanese terms (-chan, -san, -kun etc.) being used. Use of 'mama' and 'papa'. Daichi and reader are implied to be the same age (one mention).

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: My first post of Kinktober 2023 is here!! Starting the event with some breeding kink from my chonky captain Sawamura Daichi <3 this is my first official contribution to the haikyuu fandom, and here's to more hq fics in the future!!

[10/10/2023] Cross posted to AO3!! Read on AO3 here.

Haikyuu!! master list | Main master list | Rei's tag list

If you could compare your husband to anything in the world, it would be a tree. Sawamura Daichi has been the same person ever since you met him eight years ago. From being the first year student who was always enthusiastic about volleyball to the dependable and reliable captain of the Karasuno High School boys' volleyball team. From being your classmate to dating each other and getting married straight after graduation, Sawamura Daichi has always been the same: Steadfast, sincere, and a fantastic person inside out. And just like a strong tree that can withstand the different seasons and the passing of time, he stood strong and steady, unwavering no matter the situation.

Daichi was never one for anything impromptu or unplanned, which was why it utterly surprised you when he said, "let's have a baby" softly in your ear while you two were cuddling in bed one night with your head lying on his chest. The deepness of his voice caught you by surprise.

"W-what did you say, Daichi-kun?" what a stupid question. You clearly heard what your husband said. How could you not?

"You heard me, y/n-chan. Let's have a baby." Daichi chuckled, eyes turning into little crescents. Flipping you on your back, Daichi's eyes never left you, studying your face as he tucked some of your hair behind your ear.

"I-I don't know, D-Daichi-kun, I mean—" you gulped nervously, avoiding your husband's eye, "we're only 24."

"We've been married for a while. I think we're both ready. It's time we have kids of our own, don't you think?" planting a soft kiss on your forehead, Daichi said something that made you widen your eyes.

"Let's have kids before Tanaka and Shimizu do."

"Daichi-kun!!!" You couldn't control your laughter anymore and smacked your husband playfully on the chest. Trust him to say something like this! "Having kids isn't a game of betting, Daichi-kun! Also, don't call Kiyoko-chan Shimizu anymore. It's Tanaka now."

Daichi laughed before kissing you again, this time with a little more pressure on your lips. "I'm serious, y/n-chan. I'm ready to start a family with you. A mini you, or a mini me. Maybe both, maybe more. I want you to have my kids, my dear. Our kids. I want to have a family with you. Our family. "

You stared at your husband, trying to look for a flaw in his plan, any small hint that he was just pulling your leg. No, you thought to yourself, it can't be. Daichi-kun never lied. Daichi-kun would never joke about something like this.

"You're lucky I love you, Sawamura Daichi," you smiled as you cupped his cheeks, pulling him in for a kiss, "I can't believe you actually had a bet with Tanaka-kun over something like this."

"What if I told you it was Suga's idea?" your husband chuckled once more as he slowly removed your top, "we've always talked about forming a Karasuno junior volleyball club with our kids in the future."

"We're not having six kids, Daichi-kun." you warned him as you snaked your hands up his chest, lacing them around his neck, "two is enough." Hearing you, Daichi let out another smile again, swiftly kissing you on the lips.

"So you're agreeing to having kids?"

"Yes, my dear husband, before I change my mind." and with that said, you gave him a full kiss, feeling him roam his hands across your clothed chest. Arching your back, Daichi removed your bralette and started massaging your soft breasts, knowing damn well how much you love it when he played with them. His hands were calloused, yet they were so soft and gentle against your skin. His thumbs drew circles around your nipples, his tongue now seeking permission to enter your warm cavern. You let out a hum of happiness as Daichi lightly bit your lower lip, gasping as he started pinching your sensitive peaks.

"Close your eyes for me, please?" he suddenly whispered against your ear, causing goosebumps to appear. Bewildered, you closed your eyes and wondered what Daichi was up to. You heard him opening a drawer and ransacking through something, and suddenly, you heard the rustling of metal and then something cold was bound to your wrists.

"DAICHI-KUN!!"—your eyes shot open—"please don't tell me you took them from work?" your husband merely chuckled as he kneeled before you, trapping your body between his knees.

"You know I can't bring any equipment home from the police station, y/n-chan. I bought these. Somewhere." You tilted your head and saw the handcuffs around your wrists. They did look flimsier and thinner than the ones police officers normally use.

Daichi smirked as he slipped his fingers into your underwear, pulling them down to your ankles. Holding your hands up above your head with one strong arm, he dove down on your breast and started sucking your nipple while his free hand massaged the other. You let out another groan when his tongue and finger started to draw circles around your areola, the ticklish sensation making you wiggle your toes.

"Oh yes, yes, dear, just l-like that—'' you whined as you squirmed around, rubbing your hip against his groin. You could feel Daichi's boner strained against his shorts, but being the ever-so-attentive husband he always was, you knew he wouldn't let you do anything for him until he made you cum at least once. Switching to taste your other nipple, Daichi's hand snaked down your body, fingers pressing lightly on your clit before tracing circles. You let out another hum, unknowingly trying to loosen your hands from his iron-tight grip.

"Uh-huh, Sawamura-san, don't try to wiggle yourself out." your husband teased once more, rubbing your clit a little harder. His grip on your cuffed wrists tightened, feeling your entrance moisten after a while. Picking up some of your slick, Daichi continued his touch on your clit as he sat upright, admiring your sweaty form below him. Your eyes were shut and your jaw was hanging loose with gasps of hot breath escaping your pretty lips. His wife looked so beautiful, he couldn't help himself but to smile as he stared.

"D-Daichi-kun… mhm, y-yeah, my clit—fast-faster—mmm—" you groaned again, feeling your incoming orgasm. Your body was tingling with excitement and your hip ground against his fingers, silently seeking more friction. "Oh god, Daichi-kun, mmm, my nipple, s-suck on my n-ni—" your sentence was stuck when you felt Daichi's lips enclose around your nipple, once more teasing your bud with small, slow circles using his tongue. Damn it, you cursed in your head. He always knew the right spots to touch to get your body fired up. He always knew the right pace to set to fuel your need. He always knew when was the right time to go slow, and when to go fast.

"You cumming for me, dear?" Daichi hummed, tiling his chin slightly to look at your face. He knew you were close; he could tell from the way you were panting and the way your hip was moving. You tried to say 'yes' but all that came out were just whines again. Increasing his speed on your nipple and your cunt, Daichi gave your body a final push until you convulsed, the coil in your belly finally snapping as you felt your essence flow out. Letting you catch your breath, Daichi sat upright once more and slowly removed his shirt, leaving him in his cotton shorts.

Regaining your composure, you looked at your husband, registering the scene before you. Years of playing volleyball in the past really did his body good. Years of training and working as a police officer made his body look even better. His rock hard chest, his strong arms, his well defined abs, his muscular thighs—

"If you continue to stare at me like that, I'll have to clean up your drool."

"Don't worry, dear, I can wipe my drool myself," you scoffed, moving your hands back down, "if you let these handcuffs go."

"No."

"Please, Daichi-kun, let me touch you, hmm? Pl—"

"No," he replied a little more firmly this time, yet he still had a smile on his face, "these are going to be on you the entire night. You just need to lie down here and let me do everything, 'kay?" Daichi leaned down and cupped your hot cheeks, staring deep into your eyes.

"The only thing I need you to do tonight is to take as much of me as you can, hmm? Can you do that for me, Sawamura y/n?"

God damn it, you cussed again. His unwavering stare caused you to take a nervous gulp. He really knows how to rile me up, huh. Without a word, you hooked your arms around his neck again, pulling him towards your lips.

"Fill me up, Daichi."

An urgent kiss followed after your words, giving Daichi no time to respond. Focusing on the kiss and how your tongue was impatiently prodding his mouth to gain more access, Daichi fumbled to remove his shorts and boxers, his hard-on finally springing free from its restraints.

Wiggling out of your locked arms, Daichi looked at you while he stroked himself a few times, pulling his foreskin down to expose his tip. Your hair was in a mess and sprawled all over the pillow, your chest was heaving and your body was glistening with remnants of sweat. "D-do me a favour, y/n-chan."

Your answer came out a little breathy, "... yeah?"

"Squeeze your boobs together," Daichi groaned while he rubbed his tip at your entrance, please to find it still moist from your orgasm earlier, "w-with your arms."

"Hmm… like that?" acting modest, you squeezed your breasts together with your arms, shooting your husband a coy look, knowing exactly what he wanted. The moment he saw your soft mounds pushed together, Daichi lost all sense of control and let out a loud grunt, leaning forward to suck your nipple again while he entered you fully in one swift move. A satisfied moan left your lips when you felt his entire length in you, snugly filling you up with his warmth.

"D-daichi, ahhh… s-so—y-you're so deep—" incessant moans were all that you could manage to produce once Daichi started to move his hip, thrusting in and out of your cunt in a slow and steady pace, making sure you felt each and every move. You were getting wetter the more he thrust. "Mmm, y-yes, oh my god, Daichi—hah… D-daichi—"

"Mm. Yeah, go on, my dear, say it. Say my name. Out loud." Daichi's muffled voice came from beneath you, thoroughly enjoying his feast on your hard nipple while his hands started to massage your chest. Leaving your nipple with a pop of his lip, Daichi switched over to taste your other nipple—god forbid it was your more sensitive nipple—as he continued to thrust inside you deep. "I want to hear you, y/n."

"Mmm, Daichi, y-yeah, ahhh—mmm, r-right there! Daichi…" your heart was pumping so fast and your belly was tightening again, "just l-like that, Daichi, mmm… Y-yes, Papa—"

"You're going to look glowing when you're carrying our child..." Daichi released himself from your chest and cupped your cheeks, kissing you fiercely without messing up the rhythm of his thrusts. Before you could say anything, Daichi's face scrunched up in concentration as he let out a long groan; a tell-tale sign that he was near his release. Before you even knew it, Daichi gasped out loud into your mouth and you felt him pulsating inside your cunt.

"So fast?" you chuckled, hugging your husband close.

Daichi looked at you after a long while, feeling a little embarrassed, "I-I couldn't hold it in anymore, I'm s—"

"Shhh"—you kissed Daichi to shut him up—"why are you apologising? You told me to take as much of you as I can, remember?" Daichi's lips slowly turned into a grin, pushing himself upwards to admire you from below again.

"Oh, of course I remember that, dear." pulling himself out of your cunt slightly, Daichi turned you around on your stomach and pushed himself inside you. You moaned out loud, feeling him deep inside you again. "I'm going to fill you with so much of my cum that it's impossible for you to not get pregnant."

Feeling himself in you again—so much deeper this time—awoken a feral need in Daichi, making him thrust inside you even quicker than before. "I didn't manage to make you cum just now, yeah? Gonna make it up this time—" Daichi growled next to your ear, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin again. Your fingers clawed at the bedsheets, your whole body was trembling with want and need.

"Oh, yes, yes! Daichi, yes, right there, mhmm, ye—" your toes were tingling again and you felt yourself getting closer to your second orgasm of the night, your mind could only register how good Daichi's cock felt inside you. "Mmm, Daichi, please—uhh, I'm close, dear, I'm so—"

"Can't wait to hear our child call you Mama," Daichi whispered, holding himself back with all his willpower, refraining from shooting his seed in you until he made you feel good. "You're going to be such a great mother, y/n…" with Daichi's tip rubbing against your sweet spot, you gasped out loud as your entire body shook with pleasure, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. Your husband continued to prolong your euphoria with a few more thrusts before he let out another grunt, collapsing on top of you as his dick pulsated in you again, filling you up with his load. The both of you continued to pant breathlessly, letting the post-orgasm bliss consume you. Daichi laid on top of you for a long while, refusing to pull out even when he was already flaccid.

"Do you think that was enough?"

You turned your head to the side and gave your husband the side eye, "yes, Daichi-kun, I believe it was enough. Your cum is about to drip on the bedsheet soon." hearing you, Daichi jumped out of bed and carried you, rushing to the bathroom before his cum dripped on the bedsheets and floor.

"I love you, y/n," Daichi muttered as he let your feet down on the bathroom floor, "I love you so much."

"I love you too, my dear," you chuckled, giving him a wry smile, "but I would love you more if you removed these—" you shook your wrists, and Daichi's mouth hung loose.

"Oh." He sheepishly smiled before running back to the bedroom butt-naked, trying to look for the handcuff keys. Moments later, he appeared with a shiny key between his fingers. Slotting the key into one of the slots, Daichi uncuffed one of your wrists. However, instead of uncuffing the other wrist, he brought both your hands to the back and cuffed them together again.

"Sawamura Daichi."

"What? I did tell you to take as much of me as you can, didn't I?" He gave you a knowing look, making you lean forward before aligning his hip to your rear. Pumping his shaft a few more times, Daichi picked up the cum dripping between your thighs to rub between your slit, making you bite your lip to muffle your moans. "I'm not done with you yet, Sawamura y/n."

Oh boy, you thought, I'm in for a long night.

Tagging: @ladycheesington

#daichi #daichi x reader #sawamura daichi #sawamura daichi x reader #haikyuu fics #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x fem!reader #cw: breeding #levi.supreme #rei's kinktober 2023 #daichi x fem!reader #sawamura daichi x fem!reader #daichi x you #sawamura daichi x you

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antianakin · 8 months

Text

So to start with, if you don't like this blog and the things I post on it, nobody's putting a gun to your head asking you to look at it. Feel free to block me, blacklist my username, block the anti and critical tags I try to use VERY frequently, etc. Nobody's asking you to look at the things I post and, quite honestly, the fact that you felt the need to leave me this message tells me that between the two of us, you're the one being unhealthy because you felt the need to tell someone innocently staying in their own lane that they're participating in fandom wrong rather than just... moving on and doing fandom in a way you enjoy more. If you want to see something else, go look at a different blog or make your own posts. Nobody's stopping you, least of all me.

But to actually answer the question you didn't ask, I made this blog because I wanted a place to make the kind of posts I wanted to see. Yes, it's a venting blog. That means sometimes I vent about the same thing more than once. Breaking news: people in fandom talk about the same hyperfixation more than once sometimes!

My best friend in the Star Wars fandom happens to be someone who really likes Anakin. So whenever I disliked something about Anakin, she was not the person I could go to in order to discuss it. Well, not always anyway. Not when I got particularly bitter about it. And at the time that I made this blog over a year ago, I didn't have anywhere else to go to vent those feelings, so I made one for myself. I made myself a tiny safe haven where I could simply write those feelings out that I never really saw anybody else making or discussing. This wasn't intended to be a popular blog. I expected it to get about two followers total maybe and a LOT of haters.

Instead, I've actually heard from a number of people that this blog let them feel seen. That the things I've written have felt really relatable to people who just can't connect to all of the Anakin love that tends to exist in the fandom. Because yes, Anakin's been the villain since the 1970s, but you must not have spent a lot of time in this fandom because that is NOT a thing that a lot of his fans tend to remember or even believe anymore. According to a good number of Anakin fans, the Jedi are the real villains and Anakin is just a tragic victim who didn't really do anything wrong. And even a lot of the people who DO recognize that Anakin is the villain of the story often still tend to like Anakin as this tragic character and will primarily post positive things about him. So for those of us who just... don't LIKE Anakin very much, there isn't as much content out there for us. You either accept all of the Anakin love along with the content for the other characters you like or you just... don't consume very much content within the fandom. Or you find a very specific niche to try to stay in that you like better, I guess. But Anakin's the main character of the main saga, he's hard to avoid entirely.

So this blog helps provide one little safe haven for others who just... don't like this character much.

And that's not even the entirety of this blog anyway. If you had scrolled through it much, you might've noticed the fic rec lists that have nothing to do with Anakin at all and are actually a lot more aimed at being Pro Jedi. Because this blog is just as much about loving the Jedi as it is about disliking Anakin. You might've also noticed the extensive AU concepts I've written a few times, one of the most recent of which actually ended up leading to Anakin surviving ROTJ and figuring out how to stop being a Sith and getting mentally healthy. And Anakin's not even the only character who's GOTTEN criticism on this blog, the pinned post on this blog lists a good 10 characters I've had to add to it because there IS going to be criticism for them here, too, from Satine and Bo-Katan Kryze, to Aleksander Kallus, to Crosshair and TBB as a show in general, to Padme Amidala herself. Not to mention some criticism of Ahsoka, as well, sometimes. I'm an all access kind of hater I guess, I like to have a varied diet of characters I complain about.

So yes, it's a blog named antianakin because the url wasn't taken, I thought it was funny, and it works as a WARNING for anybody who sees my posts or decides to come onto my blog. Obviously it doesn't keep EVERYBODY out who shouldn't be looking at them, look at yourself for a good example of that. But I like to think it's helpful. Yes, this is a venting blog where I allow myself to be negative and complain about characters I don't like in a space I have created for me to do that in. This does not mean that I am not EVER positive about Star Wars, it doesn't even mean that I'm never positive about Star Wars ON THIS BLOG. It just means that this is a place that I am allowed to be salty in, it is a place where I put my most bitter thoughts and feelings and throw them into the void that is Tumblr just to get them out of me.

This is MY safe space, MY little fandom haven. Nobody asked you to be here, so if it doesn't feel safe or even just entertaining for you, you're more than welcome to leave and go find somewhere else you like better or create your own little fandom space where you can create the kind of things YOU want to see. I can wholeheartedly recommend it.

#fandom wank

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utilitycaster · 6 months

Note

(Long ask warning)

Hello! I'm jumping on the appreciation train to say thank you so much for all of your meta and analysis! I just found your blog today, and you've already given me so much clarity and context for things I've been noticing in the CR fandom lately.

I quite literally spent my summer living under a rock (in the woods leading spelunking for scouts!) and so was completely out of the loop from early June through September. And while I am not yet caught up (I'm about to start ep. 65), I have been going through the tags and ao3, because I primarily engage with fandom through fic and I don't care about spoilers. And I can't help but notice that everything being written for c3 lately is just... monochromatic. The Hells have such interesting characters and premises. One would think they're ripe for creative and interesting fic. And yet even what little gen fic that I have seen since returning to civilization has largely been boiled down to reiterative mush with vaguely shippy overtones. I can totally see this being indicative of the cresting and waning of the Imodna and Callowmore shipping you've been discussing.

I've gotta ask though, is it really just shipping that is causing this problem? Or is there something else in the source material that you think could be affecting fic in particular?

This is the first time I've been in a fandom with ongoing source material in over a decade. I'm used to watching people beat dead horses in their own little corner, safe in the knowledge that I can block them and it isn't going to affect my experience in the slightest. I guess I'm just having a hard time believing/remembering that shipping can be this incidious.

So a couple of things: first, I was not heavily involved in fandom until Critical Role; I have a decent amount of background knowledge from being on Tumblr and because I do tend to look into/research this kind of thing because it's very interesting to me, but you will probably have better snapshot of what fandom looked like 10 years ago than I do. Second, fanfic has always been a tiny aspect of what I've engaged with and I do find the bulk of it to be dull and samey (which is why it is a tiny aspect), so again, you probably are a better judge of the quality of fanfic elsewhere.

With that said, as part of a much larger discussion of which I only have as mentioned pieces of the puzzle, I do think there's been a shift over the past decade or so of like...people expecting the source material to reflect fanfic-y desires, and resenting it when it does not; people not seeing the point in enjoying non-canon ships; and a broader theme of self-infantilization. This has to a small extent spilled over into published fiction, though thankfully there's plenty that isn't that. It's not just shipping (though that absolutely can be insidious to the point that people have been harassed and doxxed over it); I think it's a general taste for pablum that has been growing within fandom spaces.

I'll link a few posts I've made and a source that, while I cannot vouch for it per se I did read and found enlightening at the end but I think a really indicative example as of late was the fandom response to the show Good Omens (spoilers for Good Omens S2 in the next link if you are by any chance avoiding those). Obviously do not do anything obnoxious to the person who wrote this question, but there are a worrying number of people in fandom spaces who believe this unironically and uncritically: fiction exists to "save us from hurtful reality." And I do understand that the tumultuous politics and world events of the past decade are probably a factor; but I mean, have you looked at literature from the first half of the 20th century (or like. the second half, for that matter)? It is, in my opinion, only going to help put our modern world and issues in better context and honestly make you feel better in the long run if you read, say, The Great Gatsby or The Things They Carried instead of burying your head in lower case song lyrics ... (hurt/comfort, fix-it, happy ending, 6k) and like, to be clear, I have written a small portion of lower case song lyric-titled fics myself but most of them aren't terribly happy, and even so, god I'd be horrified if that was all people were reading.

We've seen it across fandom at large with the polls; I have not watched season 2 of Our Flag Means Death in part because I've realized with horror that this mentality has swept, plague-like, through that fandom; people are acting like having a canon queer ship on a small premium cable show in 2022 is world-changing and unprecedented while also kind of ignoring everything that isn't the central ship (including valid criticisms of how this takes a real-world plantation owner and turns him into a goofy fop, how there's precious few female characters and none in the main cast, and how the actually far more groundbreaking nb character is pushed aside in favor of the core M/M ship). Spoilers for Good Omens again (sorry in advance, Good Omens 2 was a realization point for me how deeply and widely this rot has set in in some places and I have a bunch of sources of people being like "guys stories require conflict and tension to be good" in response to the overwrought moaning that the story wasn't unambiguously happy) but this is another author responding to the "the desired endpoint of all fiction is obviously to have your ship living in a small house together in bliss and anything else is torment" mentality.

In addition to shipping another factor is, I think, people overidentifying with characters and as such being reluctant to actually put them through any sort of hardship, however minor. I recently reblogged a post about the origin of the concept "Mary Sue" and it led me to read a bit about its history, because it was in fact created by women. It was a woman in the Star Trek fandom who was sick of spending money to buy fanzines (pre-common home internet, let alone pre-Ao3) only to find the vast majority of the stories to be this "here is my self-insert who is perfect and beautiful and pure and every other character thinks she is the greatest even if that's entire OOC". It was a frustration with the abandonment of the characterizations in the original work. And that's true today - I have read a popular Imogen and Laudna fluff fic to see what the deal was and it stripped out so much of their premises and characterizations it was unrecognizeable as them but for the hair colors and occasional cringeworthy attempts to replicate Southern US dialect - but what was notable is that those people were at least being honest and writing OCs (though to be fair a lot of them were also young white teen girls and the only woman in TOS was black and that was probably also a factor). Now, you get people who cannot tolerate any analysis of characters that is less than flattering because instead of having an OC, they are identifying so strongly with, for example, Imogen or Ashton, that they cannot separate out the real character or understand this is not an attack on them (or, to be blunt, as someone who sees some of my own worse traits in both those characters, a necessary critique). It's not shipping, but it is that same "fiction should only ever be a soft blanket or a flattering mirror, never a dark mirror and certainly never a door" mentality.

I do place a little blame on fanfiction itself; I think having something that is roughly made to order and tells you exactly what it is up front means people start to think that is the only way, and that's why we have people claiming Chipotle is the height of cuisine while making gagging noises at the authentic Mexican restaurant except for fiction. I think fanfiction can be great; it's fun to write and I have read some great pieces. But a lot of it is mush and formulaic and as that Mary Sue history points out, always has been.

So anyway, to Bells Hells: I think past campaigns also had a lot of dull fanfiction; I think the Nein lent themselves more to poorly written angst than poorly written fluff but yeah a lot of that was really samey and bland in its own way. Fanfiction has always been formulaic to a degree but I think we're starting to see the generation of people who really have read more of that than like, books, and sure there are shitty books, but man there's a LOT of shitty fanfiction, and increasingly, I find that shitty published books are bad because they're too much like fanfiction. [If I get the chance today I have a post I want to write about the ignorance of fantasy tropes in the current fandom which I think is also driving some of this and which I alluded to in my post about shipping; like, I feel the almost automatic but oddly thought-free resistance to gods and fate and the 'right' way to respond to a tragic backstory comes from this ignorance; this also is a case in the D20 fandom when they've dipped into sci fi.] Shipping definitely is a factor, and I think again C3 has an influx of fans primarily here to ship in that "my ship must become canon and must 'win' for some arbitrary definition thereof" which is probably why so much of the fanfic sucks, but again, this is a larger self-infantilizing and entitled mentality that goes beyond mere ships.

Further reading (mostly my own posts but not exclusively)

The fandom echo chamber (also Good Omens spoilers in a broad sense), not by me

Some discussion on queerphobia being inserted only as a tool to assist with specific shipping narratives (I think this ties in again to like. people need obstacles to justify why the characters aren't already in their cottage by the sea but once the characters are together they discard these obstacles even if they are systemic and would still exist, which makes for really bad fanfic bc it's clearly poorly plotted and thought out)

Me on why this campaign isn't good for shipping but a lot of the fandom showed up primarily to ship (might be the post that prompted this ask tbf)

Fandom monocropping (not my post)

My treatise on Imogen and Laudna specifically which honestly, even now that they are canon, still largely holds up re: the fandom and a related one about similarly fluff-centric Change is Evil and the highest order of fiction is Two Blorbos In A House With Zero Problems mentality (not by me but I've been part of that discussion)

#answered #Anonymous #long post

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