#i truly dipped on them and they’re still :’) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

acourtofwhatthefuck · 7 months

Text

Practice On Me — Part Ten — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Poor Rhys gets cockblocked. Cassian and Azriel come to blows. Realisations dawn on Az that he doesn’t know what to do with. Kaeda’s not very good with rejection. Reader receives some unexpected support.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Depictions of violence and injury.

The male’s hand has found pride of place in Rhysand’s lap.

Currently, it sits on his thigh, but the temptation to inch it closer — closer — to that sweet prize between his legs is a lusty, burgeoning one.

A shame, truly, that they’re currently fully clothed and in the middle of the busy mead hall.

Rhys chews and swallows a mouthful of his dinner, a smirk toying with his lips as he glances at his most recent sexual conquest.

There’s enough heat in that gaze to set the whole of Windhaven blazing.

Zakai is a very pretty male, indeed, with rich dark skin and thick, long eyelashes for days. His tempting appearance is most certainly exacerbating this current haze of lust that has taken over him as of late, driven by a preference for males. It changes every now and then. Sometimes he favours males, other times he favours females.

Whatever takes his fancy, there’s always somebody to warm his bed.

“I do believe,” the future High Lord purrs, “that you’re trying to distract me from my dinner.”

Zakai’s full lips kick up into a smirk. “Maybe I am.”

“How terrible.” He leans in closer. “Depriving me of a nutritional meal. What of my sustenance?”

Zakai also leans in. “I have something else you can wrap that pretty mouth around. I think you’ll find it to be more than adequate.” So boldly, as if no one else is around, he snaps out and drags Rhys’s bottom lip between his teeth.

Rhys makes a low noise, food all but forgotten—

But a kiss never comes to fruition as they’re shoved apart, and Cassian is slotting himself between them. “Your mother is here.” He steals Rhys’s plate. “Did you know?”

Rhys tamps down on the urge to slam his face into that food. “I would hope so, considering it was I who flew in with her.”

Cass hums. “We’ve been banished from the house for the time being.” He turns to Zakai. “Rhys will have to suck your dick elsewhere. May I suggest the pillory? He could even tie you up. Would be very kinky—”

“Banished?” Rhys quickly interrupts with a frown. “Why? Is my mother alright?”

“Roza’s fine. It’s Y/N. They’re having a serious talk.”

“About what?”

“Serious stuff, I guess.”

Cassian can be really, really frustrating sometimes.

Rhys shoots him a look that communicates precisely that. “What serious stuff? What did they say?”

“Roza called it girl talk.” Cass takes another huge bite, chews — and pauses in thought, “Do you think Y/N has been acting a little strange recently? Not her usual self.”

In all honesty, Rhys regrets not being around more, with all Y/N has had to contend with as of late. But even with him flitting between Windhaven and Velaris, he’s noticed a change.

A change amongst everyone, really. Something is…off.

“She has a lot going on. It’s hardly surprising.” He says, studying Cassian — the male is still in deep thought. “But I think there’s more than she’s letting on. I thought you would know more than I do, considering you’re around her more.”

Cassian says nothing. He chews and chews like he can no longer taste the food in his mouth, and he’s just giving it absolutely anything to do other than speak. Even Zakai shoots Rhys a look that says he’s not buying it.

“Shall I give you two some space to talk?” Rhys’s lover suggests.

Rhys dips his chin in gratitude. Makes sure that a little bit of heat still swims in his eyes — a suggestion of what’s to come, when he’s finished here. “I’ll come find you.” He promises.

Zakai winks. “I’ll be waiting by the pillory.” And with a shared laugh, he’s standing and strolling away.

Rhys turns back to Cass. He’s at least swallowed the mouthful of food, but there’s still a faraway look in his eyes. “What is it you’re thinking so hard about?”

Cassian just chews his bottom lip.

“Cass.” He gives a little kick to his leg. “If there’s something you know about Y/N—”

“I think I may have fucked up. Badly.” Finally, his friend turns to him. The severity on his face is…rare. Worrying. “Maybe I should have told you this before now, I don’t know. But…you see…Y/N and I…we—”

There’s no chance for him to complete the sentence.

Not as the mead hall’s huge wooden doors burst open, loudly and abruptly enough that conversation just ceases. Everyone turns. Azriel looms in the doorway.

He only becomes more of an intimidating figure as he gets older — anyone would be an idiot not to recognise that. But there’s something about him right now, like this, that has even the most steeled Illyrian warriors eyeing him cautiously.

Though his hair is wet-through from the snow, he’s not at all dressed for the cold weather. The casual, tight-fitting shirt and breeches will do very little to protect him from the brutal temperatures, and his tan skin is already pinkened where the icy air has bitten it.

But his eyes — his eyes are a blazing, churning inferno.

He looks huge in the doorway. Bigger than he ever has. His chest falls and rises heavily, and his fists clench at his sides. The firm set of his jaw is a warning. He hasn’t come here to play.

His boots thud harshly against the wooden floor as he storms in, and everyone watches, waits to see who the shadowsinger has a problem with, and what he’s going to do about it. He appears to have no weapons on him — a rare sight that only adds to the rugged, impulsive nature of how he looks right now. Like he forgot all else in his pursuit to come here.

What nobody is expecting is the way his dark, golden gaze zeroes in on Cassian. And the love that usually sits on Azriel’s face when looking at his brother has been replaced with something infinitely colder. Harsher. Angrier.

Dangerous.

Rhysand glances between them, recognising very quickly that something has occurred in his absence. He slowly rises from his seat.

“Az?” He says calmly. “You alright?”

No.

No, Azriel is not alright.

Everyone knows it. Cassian especially.

He’s staring back at his friend, and a thousand realisations pelt him that he genuinely did not consider before now. He’s got a terrible habit of acting first and thinking later. Of not looking at the bigger picture and considering every single person that might get hurt as a result of his actions. He doesn’t mean to be so thoughtless or impulsive. He’s gradually learning.

But as he drinks in the sight of Azriel, he somehow knows the source of his rage without it needing to be said. It never occurred to him before, but it does now.

Both he and Rhys have secretly speculated, over the years, whether something more might grow from the loving friendship between Azriel and Y/N. But time passed, and nothing came of it, and—and—

And with Kaeda on the scene, Cassian had assumed that no romance would be blossoming after all.

But that didn’t mean there weren’t still feelings there. Complicated feelings.

And in that moment, as Azriel stops at the table, the true weight of Cassian’s actions strikes him like a bolt of lightning.

He clears his throat, taking in the sight of him. Even his shadows are staying out of this. “Az—”

“Get up.” Azriel demands fiercely.

“I don’t know what you’ve been told—”

“I will not tell you twice, Cassian.” The shadowsinger’s eyes darken. “Get. The fuck. Up.”

Every single person is watching — waiting. Cassian doesn’t move.

And then he says quietly, “No.”

It’s not that he has any problem getting in a punch up with either of his brothers — Cauldron knows, it’s happened more times than any of them care to remember, where they’ve roughed each other up and resolved things quickly after. It’s just a method of Illyrian affection.

But this isn’t like that. This is hugely, frighteningly different.

This is serious.

Cassian is realising very quickly that he fucked up — not necessarily in the act, itself, of having sex with Y/N. They are both free, consenting adults, after all.

But if he’s guilty of anything, it’s of not thinking about who he might hurt with his decisions. And if he’d bothered to stop and think that night in the kitchen, he’d have known damn well that him having such relations with Y/N would be upsetting for Azriel. At the very least, Cass should have spoken to him first.

And that’s what he wants to do, now. Not fight. Not draw blood and leave bruises. Just…talk. Explain himself. Make it clear that he would never, ever intentionally hurt Az.

“I’m not fighting you.” He says, far quieter than his usual Cassian volume. “We should talk—”

Azriel’s lunging across the table and nipping that suggestion right in the bud. His fist goes flying so hard into Cassian’s jaw that his head snaps back. He barely has a chance to right himself before Az is throwing himself at him fully and knocking him to the floor.

“What the fuck is going on?” Rhys snaps, but neither of them seems to hear, and then the noise is picking up in the room and people are rising from their seats to get a closer look at the fight. Encouraging them with rowdy shouts.

This is no competitive brawl between friends. Through the gathering people, fists are swinging and blood is flying all over the place. Azriel is pummelling Cassian’s face over and over, and choked, angry words are leaving him as he does.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?!” The shadowsinger seethes, throwing another punch. “You know—” Punch. “Know how I feel—” Punch. “And you still had to go and do it.”

Too much is happening at once for Rhys to put the pieces together. All he knows is that this is bad. All he can do is watch.

And Cassian is barely fighting back. He’s not interested in returning the punches. He just wants to put a stop to this.

“You knew. I know you knew.” Az then grabs him by the collar of his tunic, and he’s lifting him and slamming him back down against the floor, so hard that the whoosh of air that leaves Cassian can be heard across the hall. “Fuck. You. Cassian. Fuck you—”

“You—” Cass coughs blood at him. “You had Kaeda—”

“Piece of shit—”

“Perhaps…if you hadn’t been…so blinded by your fucking lust…forgot all about Y/N—”

Oh, that’s entirely the wrong thing to say.

A snarl is leaving Az, or maybe Cass, or perhaps both of them at the same time.

What happened leading up to this point was mere child’s play.

The two of them utterly lose it, and Cassian forgets all about talking and allows his temper to take over, and the real fight begins. Rhys is shoved back, stunned, as people try to push closer. All he can hear is the sound of his friends’ punches landing on each other. With more blood drawn, the noise becomes a sickly, wet one that tells him this is getting out of hand.

He barges his way through people, trying to get to the centre of the fray, but a noise is stopping him in his tracks.

“HEY!”

Somehow, his mother’s voice is loud enough, commanding enough, to reach every corner of the mead hall and wash over each and every occupant. Something about the raw order in her voice has everyone stopping. Quietening.

Even Cassian and Azriel cease their fighting. But they’re still exchanging harsh words that are compromised through split lips and mouthfuls of blood.

“Fucking vile—”

“I’m—sorry—Az—sorry—”

“That is enough.” Roza storms into the hall, a hand resting on her belly. She’s well and truly displaying the façade of the High Lord’s mate; someone not to be argued with. “Stand aside at once.”

If it weren’t for the serious nature of the situation, there might be something amusing about seeing honed Illyrian males slink back like threatened animals. But Rhys can only watch as they back away from Roza and lope back to their seats.

“Mother.” He turns to her, shaking his head in disbelief. “I have no idea what’s going on—”

Roza holds a hand up, cutting him off. She turns to Azriel and Cassian, who are now just staring at each other like sworn enemies.

“Off the fucking ground now.” She snaps.

Azriel’s eyes shutter. He’s breathing heavily. He hesitates, wants to go against the order.

But even through the red mist of anger, he respects Roza too much to do that.

Heaving a deep breath, he pushes off Cassian. Rises to his feet.

Roza jerks her chin at Cass. “Help him up.”

Azriel makes an incredulous sound. “He can get up himself—”

“Help him the fuck up, Azriel, before I bash your damn heads together.”

Az clenches his jaw. It might be childish that he refuses to look at Cassian as he juts a hand out, but he doesn’t fucking care. Nor does he care that he puts the bare minimum of strength into hauling him up off the floor.

As soon as Cass is on his feet, he’s shoving Azriel away from him.

“There are so many things I could say to you idiots right now.” Roza snaps. “But I’m way too pregnant for this shit, and I want to sit down.” She angles herself to Azriel. “You — go spend the night at the dormitories. Clean yourself up and calm down.” She turns back to Cassian, to Rhys. “The two of you are coming back to the cottage with me. I don’t give a shit about who said or did what. Don’t want to hear a peep out of any of you. Do I make myself clear?”

This is just a teensy bit humiliating — the three of them bowing their heads while they receive a scolding in front of their fellow Illyrians. But they’re not stupid enough to argue it.

They are stupid enough not to respond, though, and that only pisses Roza off more.

“Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear.” She thunders.

“Yes.” All three males intone.

“Good.” She steps back, nods at Azriel. “You first. Go. Dormitories. Now.”

Azriel sends one last, scathing glance at Cassian before stalking off. He limps out of the doors and into the snow — a fact that leaves Cassian feeling just a little smug.

“Get that damn look off your face, Cassian.” Roza narrows her eyes at him, and he quickly corrects himself. “And get moving. If you don’t get your asses back to the cottage this instant, I’m locking you out. Understood?”

Cassian says, “Yes, Roza.”

Rhys mumbles, “Didn’t even do anything.”

Roza looks at him like she wants to throttle him. And that’s enough for him to straighten himself out and offer his pregnant mother his arm. She takes it silently. Cassian moves to her other side.

“When we get back,” she says quietly, “the two of you better start explaining what the fuck has been going on in my absence.”

Neither males are exactly sure.

But they’re both wise enough not to say that.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧��ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The steaming bath is supposed to soothe you, but it does not. Nothing can. Not even Rhys’s sweater that’s currently swallowing you up and encasing you in his scent.

And when you traipse down the worn wooden staircase at the first sound of voices, you feel like crying all over again. You hope for Azriel — hope he’s come back, willing to hear you out. But stepping into the living area, that tiny shred of hope evaporates.

Conversation ceases, and Rhys and Cassian are looking up at you from their respective spots on the couch. Roza is pottering around the kitchen.

At the first glimpse of Cass, your heart drops.

It’s not that you’re unused to seeing him roughed up, but this is…this is different. He’s clearly not riding on the wave of his normal post-brawl adrenaline. He looks downtrodden, hurt — both physically and emotionally.

Blood streaks from his face. He’s cut and bruised in numerous places. A gnarly black eye is beginning to show itself.

He finds interest in his hands. Can’t seem to bear looking at you.

“What—” Is all you’re able to gasp out, before you’re hurrying over, perching yourself on the coffee table before your two friends. You reach out. “Cass…what—”

“Take a wild guess.” He mutters, still not looking at you.

You angle yourself towards Rhys, looking for an answer. And the fact that you can’t read his expression…it threatens to cut you open.

“I don’t have a clue what’s going on.” He says with a shrug. “Clearly, nobody tells me anything.”

“Azriel did this.” You say quietly. It’s not a question.

“Yes. He did. Turned up at the mead hall and absolutely lost it.” Rhysand’s violet eyes flick between you and Cass. “And I’m guessing it has something to do with the two of you. Care to share?”

Your eyes shutter, because having to speak it aloud again might finish you off. But you suppose the worst has already happened. Azriel knows. You might as well share the truth with Rhys, also, and show him what a wretch you are.

You open your mouth, and unplanned words leave you in a rasp, “I shouldn’t have done it.”

Rhys studies you. “Done what?”

“We slept together.” Cassian finally speaks, wiping a strip of blood from his chin. “Y/N and I.”

You can’t stop your eyes roving over to Roza in the kitchen. Even though she already knows, a bolt of shame hits you all over again that she has to be present for this. Not only does she have far more pressing matters to worry about, but you simply cannot bear it — of all people you’d hate to let down, it’s her.

And she may have her back to you as she busies herself in the kitchen, but you know damn well she’s listening to every word.

Rhysand purses his lips, and he sits back, folding his arms. “Why?

“It just happened.” Cass shrugs. “Night we went to Fenlaros. Y/N was upset after the fight broke out, and I was helping her, and it just…happened. I didn’t think there would be a problem, given that neither of us are tied to anyone, but apparently it is a problem. Honestly, Azriel has no damn right. He’s been busy with Kaeda for months—”

“Yeah, Cass, but we also know it’s not a straightforward situation.” Violet eyes dance over to you. Back to Cassian. “Surely you must have known that he—”

“No, I didn’t, because like I said,” Cassian snaps, “he has no fucking right. What reason does he have to be angry with either of us? We don’t owe him shit. Y/N is a grown female. If she wants to fuck any one of us, that’s entirely her choice. It isn’t for him to dictate—”

“I don’t disagree, but—”

“Not to mention the fact that he’s passing these judgements from his cushy little high horse that he’s been fucking Kaeda atop of. I should have fucking given him hell back there, but I didn’t—”

“There’s more to it than that.” You cut in, every word slicing at you. You lower your gaze as the two males turn to you. “There’s…there’s more to it than you realise.”

Cass eyes you. And usually, he would reassure you — tell you not to put the blame on yourself.

He doesn’t.

He knows, just from looking at you, that he can’t.

He grits out through his teeth, “What.”

“Az has a right to be angry.” Your hands shake as you drag them over your face. Your eyes are red raw and sore from all the crying you’ve already done. “Not at you, though, Cass. It’s me. I…I’ve been so stupid.”

“Stupid how?”

“Azriel and I were engaging in sexual stuff, too. Okay?” The admission comes barrelling out of you. “It wasn’t planned. He asked me for…for some help. With his confidence. One thing led to another, and he and I were doing certain things. We didn’t sleep together, but we did other stuff. And it was all intended to help him approach such things with more confidence, but then I realised I wanted more, but he was interested in Kaeda, and I was upset and jealous and I just…I’m sorry. To both of you. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Utter silence.

Your friends stare at you. Even Roza turns around.

You think you’d prefer to be shouted at rather than this. They’re looking at you like…like they don’t know what to do with you, say to you, anymore.

And then Cassian laughs. Not humorously, but a bitter, soured laugh. He shakes his head. “So, what you’re saying was that you used me to forget about your feelings for Az?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I…it wasn’t like that. Not intentionally. You and I both know that what happened between us was impulsive…and unplanned…and it didn’t mean anything. It just happened—”

“Because you were upset about what happened in Fenlaros! You instigated the kiss! Am I to believe it was a coincidence that you did so after Azriel had just put on some valiant display of starting a fight over Kaeda?”

“Cassian.” Rhys warns quietly. “Don’t shout at her.”

“I told you,” Your voice is beginning to break, tears heating your eyes again, “that I was feeling shit about myself—”

Another brusque laugh, void of humour, cuts you off. “And what of earlier tonight?” Cassian demands. “When Roza walked in on me kneeled between your damn thighs. What led to that?”

“That is enough.” Roza stalks over, folding her arms. “I’ve been staying out of this so you can have an adult conversation, but I will not tolerate that disrespect under my roof. I won’t have you talking to Y/N like that, Cassian. Or any female for that matter.”

Cassian slumps back slightly, muttering a half-hearted apology. To Roza, not you.

But he has a point, doesn’t he? Having laid it all out to you like this.

You slept together because you were hurting and wanting to chase away your feelings. And he may have instigated what happened earlier tonight, but you reciprocated — because you wanted to chase away your feelings.

You used him. And the second you truly realise that fact, you feel sick to your stomach.

Tears drop into your lap as your eyes shutter. Shame is ravaging your body like a sickness. You wish you were somewhere, anywhere, else.

Wish you were someone, anyone, else.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, and the words alone choke you up even more. “I am so sorry, Cass. I don’t—I shouldn’t have—”

You can’t get out whatever it is you want to say. The emotion is simply too much. A pain that is both mental and physical. It’ll eat away at you until you’re skin and bones. A husk of yourself.

There’s movement, and then someone is perching beside you. Wrapping an arm around you and tugging you into their side.

“Y/N…” Rhysand murmurs, resting his chin on your head. “Azriel should never have come to you for practice to use on another female. Why would you agree to that?”

You know precisely why. But you will not say it aloud again. Choking out those words to Roza was enough. They’ll only hurt even more.

You just cling to Rhys, and you cry harder.

And after a moment, it’s Cassian who’s sitting forward and answering Rhys’s question for you.

“Because you love him. Don’t you?” He’s so quiet. Painfully quiet. “You love Azriel.”

Yes, you want to scream at him, I love Azriel, and I wish I didn’t, because even if Kaeda didn’t exist, I would be the last person in the entirety of Prythian that he’d ever look at. Me with my ruined wings and broken soul. What do I have to offer? What could I ever give him that would be worth sticking around for?

But all you can manage is a soft cry. Rhys holds you tighter as your shoulders shake.

Roza takes the seat that he vacated, next to Cass. Her hand strokes over her belly. “Mistakes have clearly been made.” She speaks. “But believe me when I say that these things are not worth ruining such good friendships over. Ever. The bond that the four of you have is so, so special. Your love and support for each other is beautiful. And so, you may be angry at each other for a while, yes — but it’ll be okay. What you have is far bigger than anger. It’s love.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” You whisper. “I would never.”

A deep sigh leaves Cassian, and he’s leaning forward. “I know that. I’m sorry for how I spoke to you.”

He shouldn’t be. You deserve it. Deserve worse.

“I still don’t think Azriel was justified.” He then says. “He’s being fucking irrational—”

“Yeah, well, he just needs to calm down.” Roza cuts him off. “You all do.”

“And stop sleeping with each other.” Rhys adds. “Definitely don’t do that again.”

Cassian’s response is a mumble, “No danger of that.”

You can only manage to shake your head in response. You’re so very, very tired.

Roza seems to read that on your face. “I think we should all head to bed. Y/N, Rhys, you both go on up while I see to Cassian’s injuries.”

You don’t need telling twice. As Rhysand pulls you up, he damn near supports your whole body weight. It’s like you’re boneless, slumping against him. Exhaustion suddenly smothers you and threatens to drag you down to the floor.

But as Rhys drags you past the couch, a hand catches yours. Encloses around it.

Cassian stares up at you. Looks beaten down and tired and hurt. But he squeezes your hand and says softly, “Love you, sweetpea.”

You run the risk of breaking all over again just by opening your mouth, but you have to get the words out. You swallow down a lump and tamp down on a sob, and you just about manage to return, “Love you too, Cass.”

His answering smile is weak, but he kisses your hand and let’s go. And then Rhys is pulling you towards the stairs.

You don’t deserve a friend like Cassian — someone who can be utterly furious with you but will still break through that anger to tell you he loves you, because you need to hear it. He’s so golden. More valued than he will ever realise.

And Rhysand is, too, as he supports you on every step of the staircase. His arms are firm around you, strong. He’s not letting you fall, even as he stops outside of the bedroom that you always share with Az.

“Will you stay with me, Rhys?” You find your hands bunching the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him with shameful desperation. “Please? I don’t want to be alone.”

He studies you, and then he’s nodding resolutely. “Of course, I will.”

The smile you manage to give him is watery and unconvincing, but you force it, anyway. You turn, opening the door — until Rhys stops you. Your tired eyes glance over your shoulder in question.

And the mischief that’s on his face is so normal, so Rhys, that it actually makes you feel better. That look he gets when he’s about to say or do something that’ll earn him a slap up the side of his head. One half of his mouth tilts up, and his eyes are glimmering.

“Out with it.” You say blandly.

“Just don’t make a move on me, okay?” He grins. “Let’s not go for three out of three.”

You scowl, stalk into the bedroom, but in all honesty, you appreciate the humour. It’s far better than the hurt.

And Rhys knows that — which is precisely why he made the effort to crack a joke at all.

When you’re tucked up in bed beside him, his scent and body heat lulling you to sleep, you find his hand beneath the covers and give it a gentle squeeze.

And like always, he squeezes back.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

There’s a new crack in the ceiling.

There were six the last time Azriel counted. A seventh one now cuts a jagged line that zigzags directly over his bed.

This bed, in this room, in these dormitories.

This bed, that Y/N sucked his cock in. That he kissed Kaeda on. With the lumpy mattress and scratchy blankets.

Azriel fucking hates this bed.

He hasn’t slept a wink all night.

He knows that morning must have arrived, because people are walking the halls and readying themselves for training and talking too loudly. Az would usually have been up before all of them, already out there training in the harsh cold. But this morning, he doesn’t move an inch. It has nothing to do with the good few punches that Cassian managed to get in during their fight. If anything, Az relishes the discomfort.

Y/N and Cassian fucked. It’s all he can think about. Plays on a constant loop in his head. The truth is an oily one.

And with that truth comes further truths. Realisations.

The first — that after a night of lying awake and turning it over in his mind, he’s not sure he even has a right to be mad.

Y/N owes him nothing. Cassian owes him nothing. Their choice to lose themselves in each other’s bodies should make no difference to Azriel whatsoever. No promises have been made — aside of Y/N’s agreement to help him build his confidence. And that was a favour. Nothing more.

But those two words — nothing more — keep bringing Azriel to his second realisation. One he’s so fucking stupid for not realising until now, when it’s too late.

It was more — to him. Right from that very first kiss in the mead hall, when heat had surged his veins and he’d been left wanting more, more, more. It was that want, that carnal desire, that had had him coming straight back for further experiences with her. It was easy to say it was all about practice. Easy to pretend it wasn’t the terrifying thing it was. Easy to deny the truth.

Right from that very first kiss, he wanted Y/N.

Wanted to keep kissing her. To touch her. To have her touch him. He didn’t want to experience those things with anybody else, and he didn’t want her to want anybody else, selfish as that may be. That need had overtaken him after one fucking kiss, and he should have realised it there and then.

It was why he’d reacted to Jonan’s flirting the way he had. Why he’d lost his shit in Fenlaros, when Thedis had been ready to drag Y/N off to a shaded alcove and fuck her senseless.

It was why, no matter how damn hard he tried, he couldn’t generate that same desire with Kaeda. Kaeda was not Y/N.

And Y/N was everywhere he looked. In everything he felt. Her heart and her beauty and her laughter and her damn good soul. Her strength. Gods, that unwavering strength.

And that was why he’d reacted so damn irrationally — because he wanted Y/N, and it was his own fucking fault that she’d fallen into the arms of someone else.

He sits up in bed, dragging a hand through his hair. He doesn’t want to go to training today, doesn’t want to face anyone—

But a knock lands on the door, and he tamps down on the urge to tell whoever it is to fuck right off.

“Azriel?” Kaeda’s voice comes from the other side. “I know you’re in there.”

He heaves a deep, long sigh.

He really, really does not want to face Kaeda right now, of all people.

But she knocks again, and he finds himself kicking his sheets away in pure frustration and stalking towards the door. He almost yanks it off the hinges.

Kaeda takes in the sight of him, a pinched expression on her face. “You look like shit.”

Azriel really doesn’t have the patience for this right now. His voice is cold, flat, as he bites out, “Why are you in Windhaven.”

“I came looking for you to see if you’d given any thought to my offer, and I found out you’ve been brawling with Cassian.” She reaches out, brushing her fingers over his bruised cheek. “What happened?”

“It was nothing.”

“Clearly.” Sarcasm laces her tone. She rubs her arms. “Can I come in? It’s cold.”

The last thing he wants is anyone in his space. And he should stand his ground, tell her that. But he silently steps aside.

Kaeda breezes in, tucking her wings in tight. She turns to face Az and folds her arms over her chest. “Well?”

Azriel kicks the door shut. “Well, what?”

“What of my offer?”

Her offer is the furthest thing from his thoughts. How can he think about a life in Fenlaros when his life in Windhaven is such a colossal fuck up? Not to mention he would never make such decisions without consulting his friends — his family — first—

But things with his friends aren’t in such a good place right now.

“You dumped all of that on me not even twenty-four hours ago.” He points out. “I can’t just come up with an answer for you.”

“What we’re trying to do is important, Azriel—”

“I have other things going on right now. Alright?” He snaps. “Your father’s vision is not my priority.”

Kaeda stills, balling her fists. “What things? Something to do with why you were fighting with Cassian, I presume.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Kaeda.” He pivots, turns his back to her. “I just…need some space.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Az thinks that perhaps she’ll actually listen and leave.

But then he feels movement behind him, and Kaeda’s front is pressing to his back. Her arms wrap around him. He tenses.

“I’m sorry for pushing you.” She presses a kiss to his shoulder. “I just want what’s best for you.”

Az’s eyes shutter. Her touch feels wrong. All wrong.”

“Azriel.” She whispers, and those hands travel lower, towards the waistband of the low-slung cotton trousers that hang from his hips. “I can make you feel better.”

The second those fingers begin to slide beneath the waistband, he’s launching himself out of her arms. Stumbling back against the wall.

“No.” He breathes. “I—can’t.”

Kaeda stares at him. Purses her lips. “Why?”

Because you are not Y/N. You’re not her. You’re not, and never have been, who I want.

“I just…need to be alone.” Is all he manages to get out. “You…you need to go.”

The expression on Kaeda’s face tells him just how rarely anyone asks her to leave. He feels rude, and brusque, and unkind.

He can’t bring himself to care.

“…Fine.” The tone of her voice suggests that it absolutely isn’t fine. She squares her shoulders, lifts her chin. “I’ll go.”

Az inclines his head. “Thank you.”

She strides towards the door, coldness rippling off her. And when she wraps her hand around the doorknob, she turns.

“When you’re ready to stop being such a fucking coward,” she levels him a look, “you know where you can find me.”

Azriel doesn’t bother replying.

He climbs back into bed. And he relishes in the sound of the door clicking shut.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“You’re sure you want to do this today?”

Outside the chipped wooden door of your father’s house a day later, you’re frozen on the spot. Your breath clouds in front of your face, and you wish you’d accepted the coat that Rhys had offered you before leaving.

It’s tempting to turn around and go back to the cottage. Warm yourself by the fire. Hopefully fall asleep and avoid the pain in your heart, at least for a little while.

But you know that now is the right time to do this. Your father will be hard at work in his forge, and you’re free to gather your belongings and turn your back on that hollow home for good. At least it’ll keep you occupied for a while.

So you turn to Roza, and you nod. “I’m sure.”

“I still don’t think you should be doing this alone.” She eyes you cautiously. “Why don’t I send Rhys to help?”

“I’m fine, Roz, honestly. I think…I think I’ll appreciate the space.”

The space to cry and cry without anyone smothering you. You appreciate the love and support over the last twenty-four hours, you do — but being under the same roof as Cass…not knowing what Azriel might be doing, thinking, feeling…it’s all a bit too much.

So, yes, you’ll appreciate the breathing space.

Roza seems to finally recognise that. She nods. “Alright. I’ll come back for you in an hour.”

You lean in and press a kiss to her cheek, and then you’re turning and ripping the bandaid off before you can talk yourself out of it.

The house is as dark and dingy as it always has been. It smells musty. It feels soulless.

You step in and shut the door behind you, and you’re suddenly faced with every bad memory that has ever played out there. The shadow of your child self skitters around on bare, dirty feet, scrambling to get the fire lit, the dinner cooked.

The walls are painted with the hateful, malicious words that your father has spat over the years. Some of them have been punched in his many fits of anger.

This place will always be suffocating and evil. It will always shrink you back down to that tiny, terrified child who just wanted love.

You wrap your arms around yourself and drag your feet through to your bedroom. It’s just as it was before you left. Never feeling personal nor lived in. Certainly never feeling safe.

But you try to block all of that out and focus on what you came here for. The silence is welcomed, despite every little creak and bang putting you on edge, filling you with dread that your father might have returned home early. If you had to face a confrontation with him right now, you wouldn’t have the strength to defend yourself. You’d roll over at the first blow of vitriol.

And so, when you hear the sure sound of the door rattling open, your heart plummets. You freeze, hands bunching the tunic you were folding. Clear, confident footsteps approach.

Azriel appears in the doorway, and you don’t know what to do.

Perhaps facing your father would be easier right now.

He stares at you, his expression guarded. Where he would usually allow you to read his emotions, he wears a cool, flat exterior that even your keen awareness of him cannot get past. It’s deliberate — an act of self-preservation.

It makes you want to cry, just realising that he feels the need to do that around you. He never has before.

“What are you doing here?” You rasp, clearing a lump from your throat. “I thought…I mean…I would have come to find you, but I thought you needed space.”

Az nods. “I do.” He says. “I’m not…not ready to talk about anything yet.”

“Then why—”

“I made you a promise a long time ago.” He steps closer, stares at you in a way that is…quiet. You notice the dark smudges that sit beneath his eyes as he continues, “I made you a promise that I would be there for you, no matter what. And I didn’t keep that promise on Solstice, but I’m keeping it now. Even if I’m not ready to confront things yet…I won’t let you face this alone.”

After twenty-four hours of tears, you were certain you’re all cried out.

But tears fill your eyes again, and you feel like the broken pieces of your heart are breaking even more.

Azriel knows, better than anybody, how difficult it is for you to come back to this house. To face so many of the demons that you fought against with him by your side. He knows that you may have told Roza that you were fine, that you could do it alone, but you’re not, and you can’t.

You never wanted to do this alone. You just didn’t want to do it with anyone but Azriel.

And despite being hurt, and angry, and confused…he’s here.

“How did you…” You clear your throat again. “How did you know?”

“Was flying above. Saw you with Roza.” He strides further into the room and goes straight to one of the drawers in your dresser. “Are you taking everything?”

You’re still a little stunned, but you manage a nod. Your everything is, in fact, not much at all.

Az begins to fold your clothes and sort them into piles. He’s completely silent. Doesn’t even look at you. But a shadow reaches out and tickles your arm.

There’s so much you want to say to him. You also just want to throw your arms around him. Apologise, and apologise, and apologise.

But you’ll always respect his boundaries. He isn’t ready. So you return to the task and work just as silently as he is.

It’s a little while later, when he’s moved on to your small gathering of keepsakes, that he speaks again.

“Do you want to take this?” He turns to you.

In his hand is the little wooden owl carving he made for your thirteenth birthday. The damned thing has seen you shed so many tears, stayed clutched in your palm through so many nightmares. Never will you ever part with it.

“Always.” You answer quietly. “I’ll always take it wherever I go.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment, and then he nods. Tucks the trinket into the pocket of your satchel. You watch the entire thing with a gaping wound in your heart.

“Az?” You murmur, and he glances at you over your shoulder. “…Thank you…”

His eyes catch yours again, and then he’s dipping his chin. “I made you a promise.” He says again.

You don’t speak another word to each other after that.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

As soon as you’re finished, Azriel is taking to the skies once more. He doesn’t bid you goodbye.

Roza appears almost immediately, and she takes in your scant belongings with a pitying look.

“Come, little dove.” She reaches for your bag. “Let’s get out of the cold.”

“Let me carry that, Roz.” You say. “You’re pregnant. And the cottage isn’t far—”

But your words cut off when, with a wave of her hand, she’s spiriting all of your belongings away, into thin air. You cock an eyebrow.

“We’re not going back to the cottage.” She says. “I’m taking you to Velaris.”

az tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes

1K notes · View notes

little-diable · 3 months

Note

Chi, I'm here to request a smutty Tommy blurb if you're still accepting them. I can't stop thinking of the garden scene you wrote recently and now I'm hoping you'll be inspired to cont that thought OR write something between Tommy x reader which finds them giving into their passion outdoors. I think you're onto something about this setting being relaxing for Tommy 😉

My love!! Thank you for this, I truly love this pairing just as much. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: No direct follow up to this, but the same vibes, just pwp, Tommy eats out his wife in their garden

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), outdoor

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (800 words)

“I think this was the first time they didn’t cry,” (y/n) whispered her words to her husband as she sat down next to him. She had just waved goodbye to her father who had taken her and Tommy’s children with him for the weekend.

“They’re growing up.” Tommy kept his eyes closed, smoking his cigarette as he enjoyed the sun rays dancing over his pale features. The soft summer breeze wrapped itself around them, teasing the two lovers.

“Don’t act like I didn’t catch you close to tears as Emma told you she won’t need another bedtime story last week.” With a sigh Tommy opened his eyes, shaking his head at his scowling wife before rolling his head back towards the sun.

“Don’t rub it in, eh? I can’t let my wife run her mouth and destroy my image without paying the price for it.” (Y/n) couldn’t stop her laughs from rumbling through her, leaning closer to kiss Tommy’s warm jawline. The hum leaving her husband left (y/n) grinning and squealing as he tugged her closer, landing on his lap. “So, we’ve got the house to yourselves now, don’t we?”

“What’s your plan, Mister Shelby?” Their eyes met, his full of excitement and mischief, hers filled with curiosity and longing. He pulled her in for a slow kiss, allowing her to taste cigarettes and tea on his tongue, a mixture she had learned to love over the past years, adjusting to the way Tommy Shelby lived two different lives as a cruel gangster and as a loving family man.

“First, I want to get a taste of my wife, right here only for my eyes to see.” Tommy rose to his feet with (y/n)’s legs wrapped around his waist. “And then I’ll fuck you through the night.”

“I certainly won’t stop you from doing so.” She was placed down on the ground, on the blanket their children had sat on this morning, keeping their clothes clean before driving off with their grandparents. (Y/n)’s eyes followed his every move, watching Tommy push her dress up to her waist, groaning at the sight of her bare cunt. “Took off my underwear after they left, I knew it wouldn’t take long for you to grow impatient.”

“A smart woman I’ve got on my hands, eh?” He smirked at her before he buried his face between her thighs, tongue brushing through her slit, tasting her arousal. The birds sang in the distance, yet not loud enough to drown out her moans, the beautiful sounds clawing through her as Tommy ate her out.

He loved the sounds rumbling through her whenever he touched her, only his to pick up on, his to coax out of her. Tommy had his wife at his mercy, ready to feast on her, to turn her into a trembling mess as he towered over her with his cock twitching in excitement and his heart racing from the adrenaline thumping through him.

“You taste so sweet, fuck, I could die between your thighs, darling.” He groaned his words against her cunt as his fingers found her pulsing bundle. Cruses left (y/n) at the touch, forcing her to arch her back off the blanket, eyes focused on the blue sky above. He always managed to push her close to the edge within a few seconds, leaving her gasping and trembling for him only.

“Jesus, Tom, you’re too good at that.” A proud grin tugged on his lips as he dipped his tongue into her tightness, feeling her walls tense around the strong muscle. She was close, ready to let go with his name leaving her – the first orgasm of many to come. Her fingers tightened their grip on the blanket, trying to hold onto it as the intense feeling washed through her.

It was a spectacle so beautiful, Tommy wasn’t sure if it was just a trick of his brain, imagining the most beautiful sight he could come up with. But the moans were too powerful, and the trembling of her body was too real, leaving him chuckling as he watched her fall apart.

“I won’t say no to spending the next few hours like that.” (Y/n)’s breathless whispers drew another laugh out of Tommy as he crawled up her body, meeting her lips in a slow kiss.

#Tommy Shelby smut #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x reader #peaky blinders smut

590 notes · View notes

actiniumwrites · 8 days

Note

hii may i request a hurt/comfort scenario with kazuha and alhaitham where reader feels insecure about their looks >< no need to specify what they feel insecure about specifically but they just don’t think they’re pretty enough for charac !!!

worthy

synopsis: you don’t feel good enough for them. they beg to differ.

characters: kazuha, alhaitham x gn!reader (separate)

warnings: hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, insecurity, crying, some humor, not proofread

notes: thanks for the request, anon! hopefully you enjoy this, i really liked how kazuha’s turned out. alhaitham was so difficult to write for this prompt though 🥲

Kazuha:

You don’t know when it started. When, one day, your brain decided to make the shift from feeling the luckiest in the world to feeling utterly trapped. Maybe it was the way people looked at him, or maybe it was the way you never felt deserving of him in the first place, but either way, it didn’t matter.

It started in little things. Most days it just consisted of you wallowing in your reflection anytime you caught a glimpse of it. A passing moment of painful recollection that makes you feel less than deserving of him.

“Are you alright?” your boyfriend blurts out randomly. It isn’t like him, you think. Kazuha has never been the type of person to waste his words so suddenly without thought. His words are usually sugar coated and flow gently in the wind so as to not evoke harsh emotions.

The question makes you visibly pause. Quietly, you clasp your hands together to stop them from the inevitable shaking. Your shoulders seem to droop a little further and he hates the way your bottom lip dips into a depressing tremble.

“I’m sorry,” you exhale defeatedly, bringing a shaky hand up to cover your mouth.

“What for? I don’t believe you’ve done anything wrong,” his gentle white brows furrow. You hate how concerned he looks. Couldn’t he just be angry for once? At least then you wouldn’t feel so insane.

You bury your face in your hands, trying to shield yourself from not only him, but the entire world. It constantly feels like you have prying eyes on you, tearing apart each and every feature on your body. And, just as you predicted earlier, the tears you’ve become long acquainted with begin to make their way to the forefront of your eyes until they’re too heavy to hold.

Kazuha gently pushes your hands aside, instinctively placing them in your lap so he could wipe away your sadness. Still, you hang your head against your aching chest and let the pain seep out through your voice, “Don’t you hate it? The way I look? Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Bother me? No. Of course not. I love everything about you. I could gaze into a thousand sunsets and the view still wouldn’t be as alluring as you are. There is no amount of stars in the beaming night sky or the deep red of fresh autumn leaves that could compare to you. Every time my hand aches to write a piece of poetry, it longs to write about you.”

You bashfully look away, trying to hide the smile appearing through your frown as you gaze out into the field next to you. Tenderly, Kazuha tilts your face back toward his as his ruby red eyes stare intensely into yours. You look back and forth between them before laughing quietly through your tears.

He hums proudly, shaking your shoulder a bit before leaning in to place a quick kiss to your lips, “and don’t try to deny it. You know every word I speak is nothing but the truth. I would never lie to you, honestly.”

Your eyes soften as you look at him, understanding now that your boyfriend is right. You’ve read his writing enough to know that whatever Kazuha found to hold truly beautiful was indeed actually beautiful. Because, in a world full of subjectivity, his word is like the law.

Alhaitham:

Alhaitham is practically flawless in all ways. It’s something you’ve realized long before you began dating him — began being friends, even. Aside from his harsh personality, he’s handsome, intelligent, a good leader, and so much more.

It makes you question why he’s even with you. Most of the time, you only joke about it with him and sometimes he even laughs about it. But there are the times where it isn’t just a passing comment or silly thought in the back of your mind, but rather, a growing virus that spreads a dangerous, lingering toxin throughout your body.

“Is something the matter?” Alhaitham nudges your shoulder quietly from beside you. He’s nice enough not to embarrass you in front of the group, shockingly. Despite being his partner, he didn’t often spare you of his “cruelties.”

Your eyes snap to his and out of the faraway place of insecure thoughts you were trapped in for a moment. Silently, you nod and return to listening to the group of people presenting a project to Alhaitham for approval at the Akademiya. His eyes continue to linger on you for a second, not buying any lies you might make up to make it seem like you’re okay. As apathetic as he may be, Alhaitham has indeed found a place in his heart to care about you.

But you can’t help but feel insecure as you watch them. All of them are so attractive and everyone in the room looks so drawn to them, eager to get a word in after. It makes you wonder what Alhaitham even sees in you. A man like himself, he could have anyone in the world.

“I could.”

“What?” your head snaps to him in terror, whispering a little too harshly, “did I say that out loud?”

“No. I can read minds, so I know what you’re thinking,” your boyfriend says blankly. You stare at him in sheer panic before the tiniest of smiles breaks out on his face, “I was joking.”

You frown and shove him ever so slightly away from you, “Yeah, well you sure have a funny way of showing it.”

Alhaitham takes one step closer to you than he had before, assuming the position he was in before you pushed him away. Only this time, he gently loops his arm with yours, something he only does when he feels a little more like showing affection. He isn’t the most physically affectionate, but you know what he means by it.

“I’m serious. I know that look on your face,” he whispers from next to you before turning to actually face you, “I could have anyone in the world, so why do you think I chose you?”

“Out of pity? I mean, look around us. I’m not exactly the best looking here,” you mumble, attempting to fight off the growing lump in your throat. So maybe Alhaitham isn’t so perfect, because you sure as hell hate the way he shows comfort.

He sighs irritated, “No, you idiot. Pity is a form of emotion I’ve never felt for anyone, not even you. You’re above the rest of them, so don’t doubt it for a second. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be standing here with you right now.”

“You’re so mean, you know? You don’t have to put other people down just to make me feel better,” you say, fighting a smile. He really should’ve taken a class on human emotion back in his scholar days.

Alhaitham turns away from you now, facing the presenters and ignoring your defense against his words, “I only speak truthfully. You are the only person in all of Teyvat that I want. You can choose to believe it or not, but that’s factual information.”

He’s right. Alhaitham hates lying because he sees no point in it. It’s something he’s told you a thousand times, maybe even more.

“Will you say it then?”

You still don’t believe him anyway.

He quirks a brow, “Say what?”

You hold onto his arm a little tighter, afraid he might slip away from you. That bit of doubt still lingering in your mind, “That you think I’m…you know…?”

Alhaitham sighs but gives in regardless. Staring you dead in the eyes with no room for any semblance of a lie, he whispers quietly, “Yes, I think you’re the prettiest person in all of Teyvat.”

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fanfiction #kazuha #kazuha x reader #kazuha x y/n #kazuha x you #kaedehara kazuha x y/n #kaedehara kazuha x you #kaedehara kazuha x reader #alhaitham #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n

293 notes · View notes

chixkencxrry · 1 year

Text

crazy, crazy for loving you

Summary: Loss can make people go insane. (Yandere! Miguel O’hara x Yandere! Fem! Reader)

MINORS DNI

Warning: They’re both insane and a bit immoral. They are both very, very unstable people. This is a dark story of mutual obsession. (Mutual Non-Con Voyuerism, Mutual Masturbation, P in V, Swearwords, Mutual Stalking, Mutual Non-Con Spying, Oral (F receiving), Dark themes, Cockwarming) YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS ON YOU AND YOU ALONE!

When you see him, it's hard to keep your hands at your side and not run to him. It’s hard not to look at the man that wears your dead husband’s face and not weep like a baby. But you know it isn’t him. No, this man with the war in his eyes and fangs of a beast is not your Miguel.

But, God – God, did you wish it was.

So, yes, you were quick to agree to be apart of his little operation. Quick clipping the gizmo onto your wrist. The Spiderman logo spread along your torso like some awful red target. He knew your name, but it was obvious that you didn’t exist in his world. If you had, you were sure they would have been together. No. The you of his world was dead, like the him of your world. It was darkly poetic.

Lyla had taken a liking to you – his AI. She unintentionally helped you keep track of him; you didn’t stalk just keep track.

Then it happened. The fine click that had truly sent your observing of Miguel corrupt into something else, something darker.

Something had caused the collapse of your world. It was a war, much like the great Titan on EARTH-199999. Your world crumbled before you; you already didn’t have much left after the death of your Miguel but now you had nothing left.

When the collapse of it came, you were not on the battlefield with the other Avengers. You had been in the cemetery, fingers clawing into Miguel’s grave – determined to bury yourself in there with him. The cold mud coated your hands and body, knee digging in. You were about two feet deep, mad with intent.

“Y/N?”

The word stilled you. It was Miguel, you turned your head in a horrible hopefulness. Disappointment settled on your shoulders, in some half-mad frenzy, you’d thought it was your Miguel. But it wasn’t it was Miguel.

“Leave me alone.” you growled. “My world is dying.”

“You don’t have to.”

I died when you did.

“I’m right here, Y/N.”

“No.” you muttered, fingers in the dirt. “You’re below. I’m getting you out.”

A warm body dropped down, covering your back and pushing you forward. You wiggled and fought but felt a pinch at the side of your neck. Your mania subsided, a false peace overwhelming you. Before you knew it, you collapsed in the mud.

It had taken weeks of manic behaviour. They had to sedate you to get you to calm down – barricade and and chain you to stop you from attacking. You’d gone mad.

When Miguel came to visit you, you’d taken a turn for the better.

“I heard you broke Spiderman 8077’s jaw.” Miguel doesn’t seem amused. He stands over you – through the fizzing cage that electrocutes you everytime you touch it. You can’t bring yourself to snarl or fight. You look at him – flesh, bone, hope.

“He tried to make me forget.”

Miguel flinched. “He suggested something to help you sleep.”

“If I sleep, I forget him.”

“It doesn’t work like that.” Miguel’s tone was soft and low. You closed your eyes and imagined being home in your apartment, the record player on and rain falling. Miguel dancing with you, dipping you low and laughing on your skin.

The daydream dissolves when you hear the click of your cell open. His voice of stone ordered; “Lay down.”

Instinct, really – the way you move to the cot and wiggle until your back hits the wall. The bed shakes as Miguel’s massive frame sets itself on the bed. He held you, pulling you close. He smelt like your Miguel. Felt like him too. But were all rugged edges compared to the softness of the man you were married to. Your fingers threaded in his hair, snagging a few by accident to bring them to your nose. You tucked some strands into your suit. For later.

For the first time in years, sleep came to you with ease. With that ease came the confirmation of what a gift reuniting with this different Miguel was. You had a second chance. Now, it was time to make use of it. Properly.

***

Miguel had started watching you when your world collapsed and you’d transition to his universe. Now, it wasn’t that he hadn’t been stalking – following – shit – observing you before. He’d just wanted you to get used to the Universe first. Ensuring you had a good identity, a day job and income.

You’d been grateful. So, very grateful.

He imagined that gratitude as something baser, raw and trembling. But he knew not to test the hand of fate. Yet he hungered for you. The devotion you’d shown to your husband, a version of him, was indescribably delicious. He wanted that for himself. Wanted you, all tears, all love. Each aspect of you a memorising thing; greed flooded him at the thought of claiming you.

It seemed like fate to offer you the guest room of his apartment. He hadn’t used it in years, and it was a waste not to let you in. You’d jumped at the opportunity – a perfect gift. You didn’t know what you were doing to him. Yes. Having you in his house, showering, eating, naked, open – mierda!

He took a deep breath to cool himself down. You were still at the dorm quarters of HQ, significantly more sane than you were a week ago when the two of you first slept together. Your scent still lingered in his mind. Lilies and cucumbers, fresh and vibrant. Thick and rich, god – he wanted more of that. More of the security of holding you. More of having you have him. The feel of your body curled into his, the softness of your silk skin breaking the delicate thread of his self-control.

Miguel looked at the room he’d allotted to you. Climbing to a corner to screw in a non-reflective camera. Getting you here was the first step and he was a patient man. Miguel had to make sure the apartment looked lived in. Making sure that some floorboards creaked, chipped at some paint on the walls, and ensured there was a leaky faucet in the guest bath.

His watch dinged. Fifteen minutes away.

Lyla flickered into existence. “Wow. This violates so many laws.”

“Didn’t ask.” he grumbled, wrenching open a panel of the wall to place a listening device.

“You get that for free.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Anamolly on Earth-7834, they need backup.”

“There are thousands of other Spiders to call.” He placed a nail between his teeth, hammering the panel back on.

“Yeah, well, Y’N asked for you.”

That made him pause. Swearing, he hurriedly put the panel back and suited up, tapping his gizmo and falling into a different dimension.

***

You only felt a little bad for deceiving Lyla.

Sure, Miguel would probably be pissed when he found out that you had lied and made his AI lie to him with some clever coding but it would be worth it in the end when the two of you were finally together. You just couldn’t get out of HQ unnoticed without some sort of distraction. So, you figured what could be better than calling in a favour with a friend you’d made while traversing Universes? Felicia was more than willing to play the part, ever wanton for chaos.

She helped you cause a minor anomaly which sent off enough of the Spiders off and allowed you to sneak into Miguel’s apartment. You looked for the master – the only room with a photo in it, one of him and his passed daughter. It broke your heart to know the pain he’d experienced. But you knew you were here now and more than willing to provide comfort and a new child. You’d even let him name the first one.

You weren’t here for that. You were here to plant a few presents. Sticking to his bedroom ceiling, you planted a camera in the corner, near his closet. In his bathroom, by his shower and mirror – you planted another one.

Time was limited. You knew the false alarm would only give you a short time. Before you left, you went through his closet, nose dug into his clothing and inhaling his scent. Sandalwood and oud. God, the earthiness sent a shiver down your spine. Unable to control yourself, you snatched a T-shirt and left through the window. You have five minutes left until your proposed arrival. Five minutes until Miguel consensually lets you into his home.

Foolish boy.

If only he knew what you had in store for him.

***

Miguel hurriedly returned home. Frustration laced his sojourn, as he tried to figure out just how Lyla had mistaken you calling out the anomaly of you being there and requesting his help. It was probably some bug. A minor thing he would fix after he greeted you.

One minute left.

He was cutting it close, climbing through his window and showering as fast as possible. He hadn’t even had time to dry himself off when the doorbell rang, pulling clothes on with wet skin.

“She’s here!” chimed Lyla, a little too cheerfully.

Miguel rolled his eyes. “No soy sordo, Lyla.”

When he opened the door, you were standing there with just two bags and a smile on your full lips. Eyes fluttering up at him with thick lashes and a soft look; “Hey.”

“Come in,” he welcomed without preamble. Miguel purposefully kept the space for you to pass narrowly. You were shorter than him and plush as you passed, buttocks jamming him slightly as you turned your back to pass in. Your toes shoved behind your feet to slip out of your shoes without him asking, he forgot for a moment that you knew him, even if it was another version. There were parts of himself you probably knew better than anyone did.

That made him excited.

“Your apartment is lovely.” You said earnestly. “Where do I put my bags?”

He moved to you, taking the bags and walking ahead to lead you to the guest room. It wasn’t bad. A queen-sized bed and all other necessities for a room. Miguel gestured to the opened door, “That’s the bathroom.Might give you some trouble but you’re welcome to use me – I mean mine anytime.”

You didn’t seem to catch him fumbling – ayúdame dios – walking around the room to get a better view. In the dim light, you looked fantastic, the neon of the outside shining on your skin and the expanse of your perfect skin exposed in those tiny shorts you wore.

Jealously bloomed in his chest. Had you fucking worn those on your walk here? How many people saw you? How many men had seen you in this way? Feral rage gripped him. Miguel set your bags down in the doorway, stepping back before he did something violent.

“You eat yet?” the question came out as a snappish growl which seemed to startle you. He cringed. He didn’t want you to fear him – he just wanted you to know your place as his.

Your brows furrowed. “You good, Miguel?”

“I’m dandy, princesa.”

A delicious blush bloomed on your skin. The honey was not enough to stop it from beaming forward. He wanted to drag his tongue down – to see how far this blush went. “I-I haven’t eaten yet.”

He smiled a slow, easy grin. “I’ve got some food in the kitchen. Eat with me?”

“Sure.”

Dinner went by slowly. Not in an awkward manner but it was agonising all the same. Agonsing to watch you sit across from him, agonising not to touch you, agonising not bit into your flesh and claw into your pussy with his hard cock.

His patience wore thin but he maintained.

The two of you had drinks afterwards, sitting on the couch until it grew too late. You yawned, hands stretching to the ceiling and pointed breasts jotting out through the cotton of your tank top. Your hoodie was abandoned somewhere. He eyed the pleasant curves of your body, the grooves that came from you being Spider-Woman and the softness that came from your natural figure.

“I’m gonna take that shower.” You announced. “Thank you for letting me stay with you, Miguel…I really appreciate it.”

Could you appreciate it with your mouth around his cock? “Of course. Anything for you. Y/N.”

You smiled prettily scampering off into your room. Miguel wasted no time in heading to his own, pulling up a camera feed from your bathroom. He sighed, watching you undress. You were humming along to something, hips shaking and hands running down your body.

He raised his hips, shoving his sweatpants down. His half-hard length plopping out. Fingers encircled the base, rubbing up and down as he watched you move.

You stepped into the shower and he switched the cameras. You sodded your body up, perfect nipples hard and hand slipping between your thighs. You rubbed yourself frantically. Rolling your nipple under your palms as you humped your fingers.

Miguel turned the volume up, his own cock coated in his special essence as he watched you. His hand became frenzied, tighter as it took him closer to an orgasm. His peak came as your voice sounded the last thing he expected to hear.

His own name.

“Meirda…Y/N…you want me too, baby?” He coated himself, groaning as you slumped on the video. You shook off your climax and finished showering, stepping out with a glow. He restarted the video, turning the volume louder – thankful for his soundproof room.

The knowledge that this wasn’t one-sided set something off in him. He threw his head, stroking himself from top to bottom. Desire coiled in his belly, like a snake ready to pounce.

Who was he to deny your wants, princesa?

***

Your fingers rapped on Miguel’s door somewhere close to midnight. You’d timed it perfectly. Your fearless leader hardly slept anyway so you were sure you wouldn’t be intruding. After all, you were sick? Weren’t you? The pills weren’t working, you needed to sleep. You hadn’t slept properly since that night. Lies concocted to make it all work. You just had to maintain your facade of innocence.

You smiled, thinking of Miguel’s little performance for you on your camera. You’d seen him stroke himself over and over at some random video feed. You saw his thick seed spurt out. Saw the girth of his length twitch to life. Fuck. You wanted that.

“Y/N?” Miguel’s voice was hoarse with sleep. You softened your face and frowned. “Did I wake you up? I’m so sorry…I just couldn’t sleep and you’d helped me that night…”

Ever generous, he opened his door wider to let you in. He’d changed form his earlier sweatpants. No doubt it was covered in his own spunk. A shame, really. “Of course, come inside. I’ll get another blanket for you.”

“Oh no.” You showed him the lilac blanket you’d brought with you from HQ. “I have my own.”

“Hmm.” He led you to the bed and slipped behind you to spoon you as easily as he had that night. You hummed, wiggling against him. You made sure to throw your blanket on both of you. You heard Miguel groan behind you, his body shifting and arms holding you close.

The synthetic material was interwoven with your pheromones, wired to set Miguel off. That night he had slept with you, you had plucked hair enough to get his DNA to pattern it so that it made him rut like a beast in heat. It was a chance you were taking. It would only work if Miguel wanted you too – if only a little You grinned, smiling as your payment boiled up. Miguel would be yours, it was what was best.

Even if he didn’t know it yet.

Hours passed. You laid awake listening to him torture himself. Your patience grew thin. Why didn’t the idiot just hold you down and fuck you yet? “Miguel?” You whispered. “Everything alright?”

He murmured in Spanish, nothing clear enough for you to even hear. His hand, large and spanning, set itself on your hip.

You ground your ass into his crouch. “Miguel?”

“Cállate princesa,” he growled in a tone that made your toes curl. An excited smile spread across your face. “I need to take a walk.”

That made your smile drop. “Now? It’s so late.”

He didn’t say anything, his weight lifting from the bed as he went to hurriedly dress. His back turned to you as he tried to be modest. Your eyes dropped to his round ass. Was he really going to go out and fuck some bitch after you did all the work? Not on your watch.

“Miguel,” you dropped your tone, low and purring. “Come back to bed.”

He turned his head, eyes red as they flickered over you. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

Was he afraid of losing control? How adorable. You sat up, letting the blanket fall from you, the muscle shirt that was three sizes too big fell off your arm exposing an entire breast to him. You were being desperate but you’d be damned if he wasn’t going to rearrange your guts tonight.

He paused, staring at you. You almost grinned. That seemed to do it.

He dropped the t-shirt he held and crawled over to you, pressing his forward to your as he inhaled your scent. “Tell me this is real.”

Oh.

You desperate thing. How I will devour you, How I will keep you. “It's real. I need you, Mig. I want you.”

His lips slammed onto yours. Tongue piercing the seam of your lips to kiss you fully. His hands pawed at your body, grabbing and groping at everything. Your sleep shirt was ripped in half as he claimed total access to your body. Your hands touched him everywhere, settling on the hump of his buttocks, pulling it close to your hips. You rubbed your bare crouch against his sweat, humping him with blind need.

Miguel pushed you back, your head hitting a pillow as you watched him take his cock out. The fat, beautiful thing you’d been dreaming about riding since you met him. There wasn’t anytime for preamble – you wouldn’t suck the beautiful thing just yet.

He stroked himself for a moment, red eyes boring into you as he lowered his face between your legs. Miguel ate you sloppily. Lips smacking and tongue licking, he sucked your swollen clit, pressing his index in and out of your weeping pussy.

You gripped his head, arching your back as your thrust your hips up, truth spilled from you: “Eat me so good, Miguel. Fuck, you don’t know how long I wanted this.”

He was too busy enjoying his meal to respond. The lewd noises making you tremble as much as the act. Miguel’s fangs brushed against your folds, before he fucked your pussy with his tongue, pressing his dampened fingers to rub your clit as he licked your insides.

Clenching around his head, your mouth spewed all manner of dark desires, the height of your arousal squirting all along his face. Words failed you as he continued to worship your pussy with his mouth and fingers.

He raised his head for a moment. His left hand cupped your tit for him to suck while his other fingered you to your second orgasm. Thumb rubbing your clit in precise circles as he bit and sucked your areola. Faster than the first, you mewled your orgasm out on his fingers. Miguel let your nipple fall, watching you as he sucked his fingers dry. He sat on his hunches, leaning back as you writhed, quivering pussy begging for more. Begging for his cock.

“You look pretty like this princesa, pretty falling apart in my bed for me. You want me to fuck you now? Want me to spread this pussy wide? Want me to make you fucking bawl? Beg for it, baby.” His face read of cruelty while his lips purred to you. You watched helpless as Miguel looked down on you. One of his hands stretched forward to your wanting hole and slapped it. You whimpered. He grinned and slapped it again.

“I want you to know something before I fuck you,” he whispered, leaning forward, mushroom tip brushing along the seam of your slit. “You’re mine, princesa. You’re my puta. My perra, zorra. Mi amor. Mi todo. And I’m greedy, so when I fuck you – know that it's all over. I become your world and you become mine.”

You bit your lip. The words fell like poetry in your haze: you were truly made for each other. Did he even know how perfect he was for you?

“Ye…s.” You croaked out. “Yes, Miguel.”

His hips snapped, bottoming out into you so hard you screamed against his laughter.

***

Was this heaven?

Miguel had long since thought he was banned from such a place. Long since thought salvation was removed from him. But right now, while he held your waist and fucked his cock into you – he knew he had found it. You looked divine. Your mouth agape and hands rubbing all over him. Your breasts, bounced and full as he made his mark in you. He wanted every groove of his cock known by your pussy. His cock was to be imprinted, moulded into you. You were to know no other but his by the time he was done fucking the common sense out of you.

“My pretty cock dumb, princesa.”

You hummed, heels digging to his ass as his hips snapped. You squeezed him tight but he knew he was leaving marks on your body as he fucked you into his mattress. “Gonna keep you on my cock every day. You'd like that wouldn’t you, perra?”

“Love t-that.” Nails scrapped his back. “G-Gonna cum.”

He could feel that in the tightening of your pretty cunt. The slimy stickiness of your desire echoed in the room, he pinched your nipple making you cry out. “I know, princesa. Do that for me. Cum on my cock.”

Miguel felt your climax, wet and whimpering. You cried beneath him, overstimulated as he fucked you. He fondled your breast once more, hand going between the two of you. He rubbed your sensitive clitoris, smirking as you moaned from the ache. “Good girl. So pretty crying like that. Think you can go again?”

You shock your head, tears forming in your eyes. He felt his balls grow tight but kept at your clit. You shuddered at another shockwave. Finally, he thought leaning forward to cover you until your breasts smashed against his chest. His own release came, loosening the taut feeling that had centred his whole body. Miguel’s hips jerked, making sure his seed took its rightful place in you.

When he tried to roll off, you kept him on. He looked at you questioning.“Don’t want any to drip out just yet.”

“No chance of that,” he muttered, kissing your neck. His hips jerked, as he found himself in a slow rhythm. “I’m not nearly done with this pussy yet.”

***

“I don’t think I’ve ever visited this universe.” you pointed out at one of the monitors. It was an Earth without a Spider-persona filled with cannibals.

Miguel looked to your side and grimaced. “Fuck no.”

You rolled your eyes. “What’s the sense of me being here if not to go to unknown places?”

Miguel huffed, hand sneaking under the skirt of your dress. “Princesa, you came here because you saw me talking to a female Spider-persona and then insisted on warming my cock for the rest of the afternoon.”

“So?” You waved your hand. He was lucky you didn’t her to that universe. Perky little bitch was looking a little too googly-eyed at him. “Maybe I was bored. You ever thought of that?”

“You can always go back out on the field.” He suggested.

You snorted, rolling your hips to make him hiss. His cock twitched, surrounded by your leaking cunt. “The last time I went on a mission I thought you were going to kill my poor partner.”

“He was being a little too friendly.”

“Honey,” Miguel’s hand slipped inside the front of your dress, popping out your full breasts as he slowly rocked up into you. “Peter from Earth-997845 is very much engaged to Johnny Storm.” You wouldn’t mind going out again but you were so comfortable living simply with Miguel and helping him manage HQ. Who was he even talking to? He hadn’t gone on a mission for the months you two had started seeing each other either.

“You’re a hyp–” he stood up, making you bend over the desk, your breasts hitting the cool metal, he pressed the side of your face down as he slowly plunged in and out of you. “–ocrite.”

“Me?” He grunted, hands going up and down your sides as he took his time dragging his cock. “You’re the one who assaulted me in my office just so you could fill it up with your scent. You don’t think I know your tricks, zorra?”

You grinned, working your hips to meet him. “You better make me squirt a few times – just to make sure the scent takes then.”

Miguel chuckled above you, his talons ripping open your dress as he made good on your challenge.

MASTERLIST

I'll probably make this a reoccurring thing. Hope you guys liked part 1. Reblogs and comments are nice.

#miguel o’hara x reader #black!reader #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o’hara fanfiction #yandere! miguel o’hara #yandere reader #yandere! miguel o'hara x reader #dark fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara imagines #spiderman #miguel o hara smut #miguel o hara #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere Miguel ohara

1K notes · View notes

leighsartworks216 · 8 months

Note

Screaming crying crawling up the walls for your top tier Astarion content

Idk if you’ve seen this, it’s floating around the internet (I think it’s a tweet?) it says something like “I want someone to grab my face and say ON PURPOSE, I WILL CARE FOR YOU ON PURPOSE” and I’d love to see our love-deprived bi-centurion react to something like this.

Like maybe he’s caught feelings for tav and is starting to feel bad for manipulating them and starts self-sabotaging by saying/thinking stuff like ‘you only THINK you love me but it’s not real, I’m sorry I made you feel this way’ and tav getting v v serious and replying “I never loved you by accident”.

Him being confronted by the fact that things never would’ve gotten this far if they didn’t let it, if they didn’t choose him, that they’re still choosing him and that it has nothing to do with the act he put up or the situation he constructed, if they wanted nothing to do w him they could’ve and would’ve dipped.

Idk I’m just spitting ideas, have fun babe ✌🏻

- 🦇

I wrote this at 2am but I did proofread it (it's almost 4 now 💀)

Also the original tweet is by Jenny Slate (@/jennyslate) and says, "I just want someone to grab my little face and scream 'ON PURPOSE, ON PURPOSE I AM GOING TO CARE ABOUT YOU'"

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: self-doubt, references to manipulation, self-deprecation, references to dissociation, dissociation mention, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1,392

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

It began one night, almost a week ago. Astarion had gotten into the routine of joining you in your bedroll after feeding, cuddling close and relaxing to the steady sound of your heartbeat. That night, a week ago, he didn’t. He delicately bit into your skin and pulled away before you were even slightly dizzy, murmured something about how you’d need your strength for a fight tomorrow, and slipped off to hunt for animals. Truly, you didn’t think anything of it, then. And maybe you got so lost, so caught up in your daily stress, that was why you didn’t register it for so long. Comments under his breath about manipulation immediately covered up with Gale requesting a magical artifact or Shadowheart and Lae’zel fighting.

So, a week went by. And the realization finally hit. Guilt ate away at your stomach, but wallowing wasn’t going to help. When night started to creep in, your companions slipping into their tents, you slipped into Astarion’s. Sitting in a pile of pillows, he looked up at you with a smirk and a ‘Hello, darling’, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were dark. Distant.

“I’m sorry I haven’t given you the attention you need,” you start. A baffled look flickers across his face, but it is not given the time to settle.

There is a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like it’s a strain for him to keep smirking. “It’s perfectly alright, darling. You’ve been busy running around camp, helping people - I understand.”

With any other person, this would have seemed a perfectly reasonable response. An apology accepted, a mutual understanding - the relationship goes on. Except, this was Astarion.

You sit down nearby, close enough to reach out and touch. Any closer and you worried you’d overcrowd him. You always tried to let him come to you first, though he usually struggled to initiate anything.

“You’ve been distant, too,” you point out. He begins to form the words to apologize, but you shake your head to stop him before they can build a sentence. “I’m not upset, I don’t need an apology. I just wanted to know why.”

To be honest, he didn’t expect you to notice. He assumed, quite stupidly, all things considered, that you would be too preoccupied to notice him slowly slipping away. Late night cuddles dashed for hunting, hand holding forgotten as he trails along at the back of the group, kisses never lingering and the ones that did lacking any emotion behind them.

“Is something wrong?” you prompt gently. “If it’s too much, we can work out what would be better for you.”

Guilt stabs at his own non-beating heart like a wooden stake. He’s drifting and you still throw him a rope, still ask for him to grab on and pull himself away from his past, from dissociating with the slightest hint of affection.

He smiles wryly. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” he teases, but it comes out a little too strained to be a joke. His fingers fiddle with the corner of the page of his book. He finds watching the paper fold and bend is much more interesting than looking into your eyes.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he says, but the endearment feels like fire on his tongue, “but it’s not real. This isn’t real.” Your brow furrows as you stare at him. He can’t bear to see the realization cross your face. “Two hundred years of manipulating - of course I would trick you, too. It’s instinct, darling, I don’t blame you.” Red eyes finally meet yours. You look confused, of course, but there’s an air of determination, like you’re ready to fight whatever plagues him. “But this… love… it’s not real. And for what it’s worth, I am sorry I made you feel this way.”

He expects anger. He expects tears, even. Crying and shouting and ‘How could you?!’s and ‘I can’t believe you’ve manipulated me all this time!’ But it never comes. You frown, sure, but it’s leagues away from being angry.

“You think… you manipulated me into feeling this way?”

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Admitting it feels bitter. He blames it on his growing fondness for you, but he knows it cannot possibly be returned in any genuine way. Not with his underhanded tactics surfacing at every passing glance, soft brush, and gentle smile. “Come now, darling,” he smirks again, building a wall to separate himself from the shitshow that must be just ‘round the corner, “who could really love me?”

That only succeeds in making you frown further. “Astarion, I’m not with you because you’ve tricked me.” The baffled look from earlier surfaces again, but it lingers, mixed with doubt. “I understand that you started this to manipulate me into protecting you, but I’m not here because you successfully influenced my emotions - To be perfectly honest, I could tell from the start.”

He laughs dryly, suddenly, like it startles him. “And here I was thinking I’d learned some subtlety.”

You don’t laugh with him. You don’t even smile. “I chose you, Astarion. I still choose to be with you. Because I want to.”

Any lingering mask of confidence fell from his face. The creases around his mouth became more prominent as he frowned. His eyes darted around, glancing around your face for any tells of deception, any hint that you’re making this up to make him feel better. “How can you be sure? How do you know you’re choosing me and not just buying into another act?”

“Astarion.” You get on your knees and hold his face in your hands. He stares up at you with big, round eyes. “If I wanted to, I could break up with you. I am not staying because I feel stuck, or because I feel obligated to. I love you. On purpose. On purpose, I am staying with you. On purpose, I choose you.”

He opens his mouth, but no words form. His mind is reeling, chasing to catch up and process everything, all the while jumping and flipping, trying to find excuses or reasons why you shouldn’t care for him. He swallows the lump building in his throat. He speaks in a whisper, too stunned to speak louder. “Are you sure?”

Your whole face softens. Determination turns to fond affection, frown lifting into a soft grin. “Yes. I’m sure.” You press a kiss to his forehead, and he closes his eyes to savor it. It’s been a week without allowing himself your love - he deserves to enjoy it once again, even if he feels guilty for it. He wishes his thoughts would just shut up and let him have this. “If you still need space or time, I’ll be here. I’m not leaving. Just,” you pull his face back, “please talk to me about this next time. I know things have been hectic, but I’m never too busy for you.”

He sighs, slow and soft. Relieved. “Of course, my love.” He adores the way you smile brightly at the endearment. He turns sheepish. “Ah, could I, possibly, join you tonight? It does, admittedly, get rather lonely passing the time alone.”

You kiss his cheek. “Of course you can. C’mon, I’ll even play with your hair if you’d like.”

He chuckles, genuine this time. “I very much would.” His book is set aside, the page he left off on lost as he takes your hand and follows you from his tent. He can’t help himself from squeezing your hand in his, like he can’t quite grasp the fact you are physically holding onto him. Even when you lay down first and he settles in next to you, arms wrapped around your middle and his head on your chest, it still feels hard to believe. But the way you wrap your arms around him and gently detangle his curls and scratch lightly at his scalp cannot possibly be from his imagination. Nor the way you press kisses on his forehead and temple and hair with sweet praises and words of affection. His mind is not kind enough to imagine such tenderness.

Laying there in your arms, listening to the steady beat of your heart and even breaths that fill your lungs as you slip into sleep, is the closest he has ever been to true contentment.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnloveslokiredacted @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog

1K notes · View notes

cosmal · 2 years

Text

KINKTOBER DAY SIX — THIGH RIDING W STEVE HARRINGTON

*:･ﾟsummary — steve wants to take it slow. you don’t. you compromise.

*:･ﾟwarnings/tags — fem!reader, she/her pronouns, thigh riding, 18+, mdni

*:･ﾟword count — 1.7k

When Steve Harrington, the guy you’ve been fucking on and off for the past few months, asks you to come over. You do. And you wear your best summer dress. Steve wishes you didn’t.

Steve sometimes thinks he’s a man with morals. He’s starting to like you. A lot. But, when you come over to his house in a dress that’s a few inches short of being a T-shirt, clinging to your legs, dipping through the valley of your chest. His morals are thrown out the door and every thought he’s had about taking it slow with you now, disappears.

He sits on a banana lounge outside, right in front of the pool while you walk around the edge, trying your best not to slip in. Giggling madly every time your foot slips. Steve warns you to be careful and you have to ignore the warmth his stern tone creates in the pit of your stomach. Just like he’s ignoring how hard his cock feels in his pants every time your dress rides up.

“Y/N, stop.” His voice is gruff and you’re still laughing. “You’ll be all wet and then complain to me that you have no other clothes.”

You probably would. Still, you say, “Then I’ll just have to be naked.”

Steve laughs, rolling his eyes. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“Not as much as you, Stevie.”

Steve wants to wipe the smug smile off your face. With his mouth. He has to wring his hands at his sides, ignoring how he feels. His inhibitions are lowering.

He doesn’t even think twice before he says, “C’mere.” with a wave of his hand.

Your lips quirk into a knowing smile and on light footsteps, you traipse over to stand at the end of his chair.

He pats his thigh with a tut, “Here, baby.” he repeats.

Baby, he says. He invites you over. Says, just wanna see you, that’s all. Maybe even watch a movie, nothing else.

But calls you baby.

You move to his side, hike your dress up a little too high and Steve can see where your panties are swallowed by your pudgy little lips before you swing your leg over his thigh and settle down, humming a happy noise.

Steve doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He’s asked you to sit on his lap but doesn’t know where to put his stupid hands. He’s supposed to be restraining himself, but your soft thighs are begging to be held. They shine under the beating sun and Steve thinks it’d be a crime if he didn’t feel your soft flesh under his rough palms. So, he settles them down like that’s where they’re supposed to be. Like his hands were made just to touch you. Fingers spread, prodding into the dough of your flesh.

Your hands do their own exploring, coming up to run along the expanse of his toned chest, fingers smoothing over divets of muscle. His shirt bunches under your hands and tugs the bottom up, revealing the skin of his hips.

“What’s up, Stevie?” You murmur, eyes wide and innocent. You bite your lip like you don’t know what you’re doing. You think the both of you know you do.

He groans, squeezing at your thighs cruelly and you frown, “Don’t.” he has to close his eyes, “Don’t do that.”

You’re confused. “Do what?”

“Call me- call me that. You’re making this so much harder than it has to be.” He gruffs and you want to laugh at his little innuendo. All you do is smile.

“Call you what?” You’re desperate to tease him. You love the way his brow pinches and his hands flex when he’s frustrated.

“C’mon, Y/N.” he whines, “I’m supposed to- I’m supposed to be taking things slow with you, y’know? Wanna be nice to you.”

You frown, “I like it when you’re mean, though.”

He peaks through his closed eyes and his eyelashes twitch, kissing the tanned skin of his cheeks, “You’re terrible. Truly.”

You giggle and run your hands down his chest, relishing in the feeling of his abs clenching under your teasing touch. Your fingers ghost over the sliver of skin that’s peaking from the edge of his shirt. Your nail grazes the waistband of his shorts and he tuts, wrapping his fingers around your wrists.

“Nu-uh.” He chides, fingers pinching your skin, “Don’t get to do that until we at least go out on a date.” He can’t believe what he’s saying. Slowly he reminds himself. Paced. He doesn't want to mess this up with you. He’s determined for you not to just be another girl he only sleeps with. He can’t believe how much he likes you, it’s daunting.

“Steve,” You whine, “Please.”

He looks offended, “You don’t want to go on a date?”

You squeeze his hip, “No, of course, I do. I’d love to. I just think we can do both, y’know?” He doesn’t know. “We can fuck before we go out. It’s not like we haven’t before.”

You squeeze your legs around his thigh, raising your body. His hands find purchase on your hips to still you. “Gotta take it slow, baby.”

You bite your lip and he thinks you might draw blood. “Am I gonna have to go up to your bedroom and slowly touch myself if you’re not going to touch me?”

He stops breathing at the thought of you touching yourself in his bed. His resolve is slowly unravelling. Especially when your centre grazes his crotch. If he went searching, he wouldn’t be surprised if he found a wet patch on his shorts.

“Needy thing, aren’t you, baby?” He tuts and his hands move around to squeeze your ass and you tense around him.

You hum before he says, “All right, then. You can fuck yourself.”

You pout, eyebrows pinching. He thinks he can hear you whimper, “Not gonna help me, Stevie?”

He pinches your ass and you yelp lightly, “I’ll help, sweetheart.” Your eyes light up and he wants to laugh, “Rub that pretty pussy of yours on my thigh, yeah? That helpful enough?”

Your breath stutters and warmth seeps through your abdomen. Your thumbs press into his hips as your legs tense around the muscle of his thigh. He pulls you down, wrapping his hands around your neck until your face is hovering above his own. His mouth pecks yours before he murmurs over your skin, “Need help, sweetheart?”

All you can do is hum against his lips, pushing your hands up his shirt until you feel the squishy skin of his abdomen under your prodding fingers. His hands find their way to your hips, fingers spreading over the meaty flesh of your ass and he grips hard, pushing you down into him.

You sit up to follow his encouraging movements, rocking your hips to match the pace of his guiding hands. You feel your folds spread over his thigh, pushing down the swell of your clit into your panties as his leg grazes against it.

Your hips rock and your legs push into the slats of his lounge chair and it squeaks. One of his hands leaves your hip to reach under your dress until he cups your tit. Squeezing roughly and your nipples perk. “Look at you, hmm? All needy on my thigh.”

You gasp and your head falls back, “Fuck, Steve.” Your voice is rasped and stutters through pants.

“Such a greedy thing. Couldn’t wait long enough you just had to get off on my thigh.” He palms roughly at your ass, urging you to rut harder against him.

You keen and your legs start to stutter in their position wrapped around his leg. You struggle to keep yourself up and fuck yourself on him, so you lean down against his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He frees your tit and cups the back of your head with soothing strokes, “That’s my girl,” Your hips jolt at his encouraging words, “Just like that, yeah?”

He bounces his leg and you whimper against his neck, leaving wet and lazy, open-mouthed kisses across the curve of his shoulder. Distracting enough that your rutting slows in its rhythm.

‘‘C’mon, don’t stop now, sweetheart. I know you’re close.” Steve can feel where your wet seeps through your panties and coats his shorts.

He can tell by the way your hips twitch and you clamp around his leg, that you’re close. How you hold your breath and your hands tighten in their grip around the hair at the nape of his neck. He knows all your little cues and movements like they’re seared into his brain.

You buck and drag your cunt hard and fast up and down the length of his leg, whimpering nothings into Steve’s skin. “F-fuck, Steve. So, so…” You pant and hold your breath as you feel the tickle in your stomach build.

You hold yourself tightly around his leg as your orgasm takes hold of your body. Where your legs quiver and your arms tighten around his neck. You moan and whimper into his neck as he whispers encouragements into your skin.

“Atta girl.” He groans, kissing your cheek, “Fuck, baby, so good, f’me.”

You’re a panting mess when you go lax in his lap, heading lolling into his shoulder. Your chest heaves and your thighs tremble and ache against his leg. Your eyes flutter closed as his hands rub up and down the length of your back.

“You good?” He chuckles.

Smiling, “Yeah.” You breathe, hot and heavy.

You can feel his aching cock press into your knee where it pushes up against the restraints of his shorts. You shift your leg until he hisses. “Want me to take care of that?”

He groans, “Don’t tease me, sweetheart.”

You lift yourself from his shoulder and your smile is blinding. You bat your eyelashes, “I’ll go soft and slow, Stevie. Promise. Jus’ for you.”

Steve does take you out to dinner that Friday night. The works - he picks you up, opens all the doors for you, pulls out your chair. Chooses your meal and pays for you. A real gentleman.

The sex afterwards is nothing but slow and gentle. It’s absolutely mindblowing.

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #steve harrington kinktober #stranger things smut

5K notes · View notes

dontyoufeelitangel · 2 months

Text

Happy Easter Adam

This contains major Christian/religious themes and traditions, if you aren’t comfortable with that I advise scrolling.

Easter was something you and Adam would always celebrate together.

On this holiday Adam tended to get very emotional, same with other holidays like Christmas and such.

All year round Adam was a party animal. Jumping from concert to concert, sleeping with groupie on top of groupie. It was only on holy holidays like this that Adam would refrain from his party rocking persona. On holidays like this, he’d spend his days with you.

On Valentine’s Day he took you out to a nice fancy dinner, and on that night you both started your lent sacrifice.

No candy.

Simple enough for you, but Adam thrived on three simple things.

Ribs, alcohol and artificial sugar.

So when lent started he almost broke it three days later.

How did he almost break it?

Adam -the first man Adam- had a major hangover, so in turn, he wanted to crush up a Tylenol and put it in a Fun-Dip packet.

Oh god he’s slow , you’d think to yourself

You quickly had to grab the candy packet from him, he protested but nothing to extreme. His hangover was drowning out his energy and ability to argue with you.

“Why don’t you take the medicine with some juice honey?” You had offered him.

He had survived his lent sacrifice, now he had to make room for Good Friday,,, another nightmare for him, no meat.

Of course Adam had priorities, he spent his Good Friday sending prayers to his holy father.

You found it adorable that no matter how hard he partied and how unholy some of his actions could be, he still made room to do some good on the holidays.

He was fine on Good Friday, up until dinner,

“What do you mean no meat?” He questioned you as he made his way to the dinner table.

“Honey, Jesus sacrificed his flesh today, we must give up meat. It’s only for today, I promise you.” You put your hand on top of his and gave him a sympathetic smile.

“That’s a human thing babe! We’re already dead! I don’t see why we can’t just have some,” he tried arguing with you

“ oh hush! I made stuffed bell peppers and pasta with cauliflower,” you put a plate in front of him.

“If you don’t want to eat it, then fine, don’t eat it. You’ve spent all day praying, don’t throw that away because you want some meat. I know you Adam, I know you can do the right thing.” You crossed your arms and looked at him sternly.

“Fine fine” he muttered and started cutting his stuffed bell pepper.

Today was resurrection day, commonly known as Easter.

Early in the morning Adam prayed to his holy father and even made a visit to the big man himself.

That morning you two went out for coffee,

Normally you’d settle for any cafe but today Adam took you to a rockin cafe, or so he called it.

“It’s really cool babe! In the cafe they have a record player connected to big speakers. And they like totally let you play whatever record you bring in, so they’re always playing good vintage rock there!” Adam cheered on as he was walking with you.

“The coffee cups are black and they paint on them with these like white paint pens. Normally they just write your name but last time I went I told them to draw lightning on my cup and they did! It was so fucking cool, you really have you see it babe!” Adam continued.

You listened to him the whole walk there, your heart could explode he was so cute. You loved hearing Adam talk about the things he liked, it made you feel like he truly trusted you.

You arrived at the cafe and you had to admit, it was a very rocking cafe.

You both got drinks, Adam got a black coffee with twelve packets of sugar, and you got a tea.

Adam was right about the cups too, you could ask for a drawing on your cups and the workers would do it.

Adam got stars and flames drawn on his cup, you got flowers and vines on yours.

You two took a seat in the cafe and talked while the record player in the back spun, letting out a slow jazz song that you quite enjoyed.

After finishing the drinks you promised Adam you’d take him to get treats, candy and pastries from the store to make up for the ‘no candy rule’ during lent.

When arriving to the store Adam pulled your straight to the candy isle.

When something is created on earth it is also brought to heaven.

So when he stumbled across the peeps, he freaked out.

“These are sick! Little ducky marshmallows, humans are getting really creative down there!” Adam laughed.

Despite his teasing comments about the peeps he continued to grab one of each flavor and popped it into the cart.

You grabbed cupcake mix and frosting along with some sprinkles so you two could bake together later.

By the time you two were done shopping the cart was filled with an assortment of goodies including:

Every flavor of peeps, the bunny peeps, milk chocolate Cadbury eggs, Reese’s eggs, jelly beans, Cadbury crème eggs, chocolate bunnies, chocolate crosses, skittles, cookies, cake mix, frosting, sprinkles, bunny ear headbands, egg painting kits and two redbulls.

What a selection.

You and Adam giggled to eachother as the cashier gave you two weird looks.

As soon as you two arrived home you started the feast. You and Adam downed the redbulls and cracked open the peeps, going down each flavor and rating them.

You both decided the cotton candy peeps were the best, and the birthday cake peeps were the worst.

Adam dared you to play chubby bunny, a game in which you see how many marshmallows you can stuff in your mouth.

Adam made it to nine marshmallows and you only got to five.

Adam nearly choked as he attempted to shove another marshmallow into his mouth, his poor attempt sent you into a laughing fit causing you to spit out all the marshmallows.

Seeing you enjoy yourself so much made Adam smile, he was so glad he got to spend resurrection day with you.

After opening up the rest of the candy and eating some you asked him if he wanted to make cupcakes.

“Um, is that even a question? Fuck yes!” He jumped up running to the kitchen. You flapped your wings and followed behind him.

The cupcakes had been baked and how it was time for decorating, he adorned the cakes with yellow frosting and put jelly beans and peeps on top of his.

You on the other hand put baby blue frosting on yours and wrote happy resurrection day! With gel frosting on top of your cakes.

After decorating the cupcakes he offered to make dinner for you.

You gladly accepted.

While he cooked you cleaned the mess you two had previously made. Sugar and candy wrappings thrown everywhere in you and Adam’s living room.

For dinner Adam had prepared carrot, asparagus and potatoes with ham for the main dish.

And oh god, he made the lamb cake too…

Despite the fact you two JUST make cupcakes not even two hours earlier he decided to make a lamb cake.

The lamb cake was a tradition you and many other winners around heaven shared.

It was a lamb shaped cake dish that you bake the cake in, then once the cake is done you’d decorate it like a lamb.

Adam was a decent cook. There was no doubt that the cake would taste delicious, it’s the decoration of the cake that was questionable.

The lamb was given white frosting and a face made out of jelly beans.

The white frosting was smeared on in a way that made the poor lamb look like it was balding, and the face was melting off.

The lamb looked like it was begging for mercy, Adam tried to make it look cute though, by adding red colour to the cheeks to make it seem as though the lamb was blushing. It ended up looking like the poor thing had chicken pox.

“I made it for you” Adam stated.

You smiled

“Awwwwe honey!” You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, placing a small kiss on his nose.

“It’s cute” you tilted your head and looked him in the eyes, a genuine smile painted your face.

“You really think so” he smiled wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I know so, now let’s eat.” You let go of him and sat down at the table.

He had gotten the plates of dinner ready for the two of you and he had set them down on the table making his way to sit down next to you.

You grabbed his hand and closed your eyes,

“Lord, thank you for this wonderful day, this lovely meal. Please bless the hands that prepared it. Lord thank you for your sacrifices and thank you for blessing me with this amazing partner” you prayed.

You and Adam both said amen in unison.

You went to pick up a fork but Adam placed his hand on yours, then gave you a quick peck on the head.

You smiled at him while he started eating,

You were very grateful you had him, and for everything he is.

156 notes · View notes

popquizhot-shot · 11 months

Note

O my gosh do you think you can do a Miguel x teen reader. Where the reader has been in a depressed mood lately and no one can figure out what's wrong till they reveal that their headphones broke on their last mission and it was the last thing their remaining family member gave to them before they died and they blaime themselves for not being more careful with them.

Headphones-Miguel O’Hara x teen!reader.

As someone who’s emotionally attached to her heradpjones yes I can and will write this. Thank you all so much for the love and support from my last post! I’ll be taking a short break after this and I hope you all like it! Please comment and reblog if you do :D love you<3333

Warnings: Implied Hobie brown x reader; mostly fluff dw, crying.

ART BY THE AMAZING @thattripleabattery

“Is it just me, or is something off about her?” Miles nods towards you who is sitting all alone away from and sipping juice desolately as they all listen to Miguel’s newest monthly goal meeting.

“Something looks off about her, like something’s missing.” Gwen narrows her eyes at your figure.

You just keep nodding at intervals and try to pay attention but all you can think about are the headphones your brother had given you.

You considered them an extension of you, going so far as to even sometimes wear them during light missions while you waited for the threat to show up.

Your last mission had been gruelling, so bad to the point that both Jess and your dad had suggested you take a break from fighting to recuperate.

You were so devastated on the inside, all you did was just nod.

You knew that Miguel knew you were off. It was obvious that you joked less and acted tired. Not to mention the little amount of sleep you got.

It was stupid really, all this drama over a pair of headphones. Yet, they were the last connection you had to your brothers and it felt like you had truly lost your family when they broke into two.

Your mind was literally empty as you nodded at whatever Miguel was saying. You just dipped your juice and kept zoning in and out. It felt wrong that they weren’t there around your neck where they usually were.

Miguel started to notice your constant fidgeting and the way your hands kept rubbing your neck. He had also noticed your dull nature and the way your sweet smile stopped making its way onto your face.

Even to his lamest dad jokes, you’d respond with a huff and small twist of your lips.

As he wrapped up the plan, his eyes flit to yours and he saw you still nodding, your eyes glassy.

He takes a deep breath, “Dismissed, all of you leave. Now.”

The shuffle of chairs fills the room as everyone files out one by one.

He says your name, “Stay back.” And turns around to look at the hologram.

Miles and Gwen look at each other and then at you, who breathes in and nods without a word.

Once everyone has left, he turns back around to find you looking at him with your hands behind your back.

“What happened?” He asks and you sign.

“Nothing.”

“It’s rude to lie.”

“Manners maketh man and all that jazz.” You reply with a roll of your eyes.

“Seriously.” He raises his eyebrow and his hand rests on your shoulder, “You okay?”

“Yeah, god I’m fine! I was just an irresponsible shit and I broke my headphones.”

His eyebrows furrow, “The ones your brother gave you?”

You clench your jaw and nod, eyes smarting as you struggle not to cry at the thought.

He shrugs, “They’re just headphones, kid. You can always get another.”

You just scoffed, “Yeah, I know.”

“I mean, you get it right?”he tips his down to make a point.

“Yeah, yeah whatever.” You smile wryly and turn away so that he can miss the tear forming in your eye, “Cool, I’ll uh catch you later boss man.”

He stares after your retreating figure with remorse, did he say something wrong?

“You dumb idiot.” Lyla pops up.

“What?” He snarls, whirling to look at her.

“She was really attached to those headphones, Miguel.”

“She can always get new ones, Lyla. I’m getting them for her anyway.”

“Miguel it’s as if her brother died all over again.” Lyla replies firmly, “She’s hurting, ans you made her feel worse.”

Miguel hangs his head, “Shit.”

The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, but after years of shutting himself out, he didn’t understand people’s feelings like he used to, and he wanted with every fibre of his being to cheer you up, and he managed to screw it up.

“You need to go apologise and fix this.” Lyla points towards the doorway.

——————-

“It’s okay. Let it all out.” Hobie’s soothing voice is calming as his hand travels up and down your back to soothe you.

You breathe deeply before letting out another broken sob that only makes you more embarrassed, and in front of Hobie of all people. The guy just oozed absolute “don’t care” energy while still simultaneously being one of the most caring people you’d ever met.

Your apologies are hushed and he takes your face between his hands and wipes your tears from your cheeks, “You look pretty even when you cry.”

You roll your eyes, “Shut up.”

You hug him again, “Thank you.”

“I know what it’s like to lose something like that, and I’m sorry. But I know you will get over it and I salute you for being so brave.” He winks, “I’ve gotta run, catch you later.”

He quickly kisses your forehead and dashes off, leaving you stunned. After a few moments, a smile makes its way onto your puffy face.

“I’m going to kill that kid.” Miguel seethes as he watches from the camera.

———-

You were exhausted after a long day of training and you couldn’t wait to just go and fall asleep in your quarters.

The door swung open easily and your eyes flitted to the shabbily wrapped present on your bed. The bed that was unmade in the morning but was miraculously made and cleaned now.

Your eyes narrow as you tear away the wrapping to find a near identical pair of headphones to the ones that broke and your eyes widen in shock as you hold them up in front of you.

There’s a post-it stuck to the wrapping paper and you read the note that is unmistakably written by Miguel. You can recognise his chicken scratch handwriting.

“Im sorry for hurting your feelings this morning. And I hope this makes up for it. Don’t blame yourself, it was an accident and accidents happen. Im proud that you learnt your mistake and that you act so wise for your age, despite the fact that you decide to go to a weird British punk spider for advice, I am still proud of you. No es tu culpa, none of this is your fault.

Love,

Dad.”

—————-

“She seems to be in a much better mood today.” Gwen nudges Miles.

“She’s smiling and trying to get him to laugh.” Miles grins at your antics.

“Wait her headphones! They were missing, they’re back around her neck, that’s probably why she was in a shitty mood!” Pavitr reasons as Gwen nods in agreement.

“Are the three of you paying attention?” Miguel looks pointedly at the three kids and his glare then falls in Hobie who is seated next to you.

“Everyone dismissed!”

As everyone files out he says yet again, “Hobart, stay back.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x you #mini miguel<33 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara #atsv #atsv x reader

441 notes · View notes

celestialtarot11 · 7 months

Text

If you were a mermaid or a siren, what powers would you have? Whats your story? What song captures your essence? 🌀🐚

Hi everyone! Super fun and silly tarot reading just to switch it up 🤗 I always fantasized being a mermaid when I was younger and I still do 😤 mermaids are ELITE. Sirens too 👀 if ya’ll liked playing mermaids this is your reading —> Pick below 😈

• Pile 1: You guys love adventure as a mermaid/siren. I’m getting mermaid vibes for ya’ll instead. You would be the type to talk to fishes and have your little community of fish. I’m seeing fish school 🤣 like if fish could talk you’d have a little meeting where you’re the teacher and you’re teaching the fish the wonders of the world. Meaning you’re telling them your stories of walking on land, and they’re all so intrigued. Talking fish is a little scary for me, but I’m picturing the little mermaid alright 😤 and ya’ll love a good chase either with men or women or both. You guys love the attention, and love to hide at the same time. You never really give up who you are underneath, but you’ve got one best friend who you tell everything too. They’re probably a mermaid too, and they’re super sweet. So maybe you know someone in this lifetime who is sweet, you can picture them as your mermaid sister 🤣 or best friend. As for powers I get the power of creativity.

You cast spells with your eyes and the fire of creativity makes you feel alive as a mermaid. Other people are so intrigued by this they can’t help but wonder who you are, and what you’re doing. As a mermaid, your bubbly nature and warm laugh draws people in, and lures them into your energy. You’re definitely the kind to bring a topic up, scratch just the surface, and never truly give away the details. It leaves people wondering, thinking they truly know you, when in reality they don’t.

Your channeled song: Brent Faiyaz- FYTB this song is literally your essence. More so the lyrics than the beats. “I’m a hot bitch(cannot say the N word) check my degrees” thats literally your essence :)

• Pile 2 Hi :) I’m getting the vibe you moved away from the coast and have had to adjust to the city as a siren. The new life is something you want, but staying on land is temporary for your kind. Eventually, you have to dip your toes in the water. I see you as a siren studying in university or working in a job during the days, but by night your tail is out 💅🏻 you are reserved and it takes a while for you to slowly open up, so people are naturally inclined to wonder about you. You mostly spend time alone, and enjoy the peace the waters bring. But you know all about destruction, and change. You may resonate with this phrase, you are a walking tower of change. People learn different things about you; and you learn different things about others. When you walk into (or swim 😉) into peoples lives, they never remain the same. As a siren, your touch and energy cause people to feel seen. Naked almost, but no ones actually naked lmao. When they feel your otherworldly presence, they shiver and get goosebumps. Immediately, they know you’re different. Because you’ve seen many reactions which are good or bad from them, you’ve learned to isolate.

When you speak, when you move, or just exist, people see your power. People know there’s something intoxicating about you. They know you’re different, and to some it repulses them. For others who are bold, they are attracted to you. They want to know you, but you hold them at a distance. The unknowing push or pull attracts others and that is your power 🐚 I’m also seeing you have healing hands. When you touch others, they feel so much warmth wrapping around them. Some may want more than want you give, they want to be consumed by all the ways you touch them. Physically, mentally and spiritually.

Your channeled song: The Beach by The Neighborhood 🤍

• Pile 3! Hi 🤗🐚🤍 You guys are the real star lovers and moon lovers. Mermaid vibes for sure. Wanderlust and daydreaming. Some of ya’ll use daydreaming as an escape from your life. Some of you guys want to live as a human, and travel long distances without losing your legs. You fantasize about how humans are connected to earth, but find yourself returning to the water as a source of comfort. Both are important to you and it seems to me as a mermaid you want to strike balance with both worlds. You definitely are shy, but not quiet. I think if you had a chance, you’d spill what you want to someone else. You’d tell them your fantasies, your ideas of travel. And their response would be like, “why don’t you do it?” And you’d remember your reality as a mermaid, needing water to live and somehow you’d feel sad. You’re reminded of your hometown. I think leaving home, or a concept of home is scary for you all. As a mermaid, you find yourself talking to birds the most, your fish friends aren’t present as much. Somehow you find yourself connecting to birds more.

What is your power? Definitely your ethereal, starry energy. You resemble the night sky but a soft one. Where the wind blows gently and the stars are clear, and the moon is round and bright. People are comforted by you, and its easy to get lost in the likes of you. People like a good fantasy, they get high off you. They like the euphoria you bring, and want more. When they look in your eyes, they see nothing but a certain dreaminess, mixed with a longing. It makes them want to coddle you almost, or give something to you you never had. Thats how you lure others in. Along with your deep conversations, people think about them a lot after. It stays 🤍🐚

Your channeled song: Cool For the Summer Demi Lovato- this really captured your secretive energy. People are drawn to what secrets you hold, and your curiosity for the world pulls them in. So much about fantasy and paradise in this song, getting lost in someone, but for you its the world 🤍

Hi guys!! This was so much fun to create and definitely got my inner child going 🧜‍♀️🐚 comment below what mermaid you are & what resonated. We need more mermaids and sirens in this human world anyway 😤

Book a reading with me here 🤍

#astrology #devi post #tarotcommunity #divination #astrology community #tarot #tarot deck #witchcraft #tarot reading #tarot community #pick a pile #pick a card #pick a picture #fyp #pick an image

253 notes · View notes

mistystepmoonbeam · 24 days

Text

Reborn into BG3: Chapter 11

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 11: It's time to visit Auntie Ethel and thank her for helping you out with your hand. It's only polite. Hangovers, redcaps and monster hunters won't stop Tav from thanking a kind old lady!

Word count: 4.1K

A/N: The word count really got away from me on this one.

The next morning you can’t remember too many specifics about the night. You have the blurry picture of Karlach laughing, sitting by the water with Wyll, and someone laying in a pool of blood. You shiver at the incomplete memory.

Despite your hangover you’re chosen to go out with Tav, Astarion, and Wyll to go visit Auntie Ethel. No amount of protests are able to keep you at camp, because Tav assured you there was no fighting and you were just going to thank a kind old lady for her help! It’s only polite!

Halsin still had things to clear up at the grove so rather than wait around for him you were volun-told to make the trip. And since you couldn’t say what Auntie Ethel truly is, nor warn them about the Gur bounty hunter…you went along.

As you walk down the hill beside the blighted village you’re expecting to see the hag on the road with Mayrina’s brothers. But they’re not there, and neither is the basket of poison apples.

The illusion of a beautiful sunny land isn’t there, either. Instead you find yourselves in the swamp, the smell of stagnant water and algae strong, as well as blood. It would be easy to miss, you’re not sure how you can tell the scents apart yourself, but it’s there.

“Not quite what I pictured when she said to visit her teahouse,” Wyll says. He’s looking at the dilapidated bridge and debris spread around.

“Seems like a good point to turn around,” Astarion suggests. “I’d prefer not to get my boots wet.”

“It’s just water.” Tav starts moving through the deeper water that flows through the swamp before the broken bridge that leads to the island. Begrudgingly, the vampire follows.

Wyll steps into the water and offers you his hand to help you across. You take it gingerly and step forward, only to be met with solid resistance from what should be liquid. You both look down, your foot atop the water.

You put more weight on it, adding your other leg and letting go of Wyll’s hand. “I guess Gale was right about the enchanted boots.”

Walking on water seems excessive for someone from a city like Baldur’s Gate. But after a couple more careful steps and a few jumps you laughed. For a brief moment your worries and hangover are gone as you hop around on top of the little creek, fascinated by the murky gap between you and the earth. You spin in a circle then quickly steady yourself, dizzy, but also because you notice the three men you’re travelling with are grinning at you.

You clear your throat and cross your arms, heading to dry land. “Sorry, that’s just…cool.”

There’s a certain sparkle in Tav’s eyes that tells you he desperately wants to do the same. You tell him, “I’ve seen your feet, they won’t fit.”

His sparkle fades at the same time his tail dips towards the ground.

“Braaaaagh.”

The sound makes you flinch. On the little island are the redcaps, apparently still thinking they’re disguised as sheep. Two are atop the rocky hill in the middle, while a third wanders near the water. It makes another strange sound that’s supposed to be a “baaaaah”.

Tav approaches it, squats down, and with complete seriousness lets out a loud, “Baaaaah!”

Wyll hides a snicker behind one hand and that’s when you finally notice it. He has horns and a red eye.

“You have horns!” you shout thoughtlessly.

“Well, you were properly thrashed last night, weren’t you?” Astarion questions. “And even this morning? Or are you just blind?”

“I, uh, sorry Wyll…” You’re about to ask when Mizora showed up but think better of it. “What…”

“I wondered why you didn’t ask last night,” Wyll says. There’s a hint of a laugh in his voice, but the sadness over his change is still there. “I was tasked with killing Karlach, and since I haven’t, I’ve paid the price. My patron Mizora…”

You’re given a quick rundown of Mizora visiting him when he was with Lae’zel and Shadowheart.

At the end of his story you ask, “So last night you had…”

You gesture at his face, and maybe the innocence of the question is what makes him smile. “I’m afraid so.”

“I am so sorry,” you repeat. At least you had an excuse for not noticing last night, but you were so used to seeing him in game you didn’t give it a second thought this morning.

“It’s not your fault. It was my decision.”

“No, I mean—well I’m sorry for that, too—but I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I’m so selfish, I was moping over nothing while you were—are—in pain.” You bite down on your thumb nail and try to remember talking to him by the water but it’s so blurry now. Not only were you moping over imaginary problems, he went out of his way to make you feel better when he had very real, life altering things to deal with.

“I appreciate that,” Wyll tells you.

“But—“

Wyll holds up a hand. “I have seen enough to know that you truly didn’t notice. Not because you were too selfish but because you…”

“Because I…?” you ask.

Wyll shifts uncomfortably.

“Because you’re naive,” Astarion says. “And I say this with love, darling, a little—oblivious.”

“Astarion,” Wyll warns.

“I didn’t say dim this time.”

“Astarion!”

“I am not stupid!” you shout. The redcap startles, hollow eyes on you. “I just don’t…I don’t know things about…things.”

You frown. They’re talking about you when you’re not around? You hadn’t considered that. Of course they did—they talked about each other, too, so why not you?

“To clarify,” Tav adds, “only Astarion called your dim.”

“You did jump in front of a loaded crossbow for a goblin.” Astarion arches a brow at you, probably thinking how you had called yourself stupid at the time.

Your frown turns to a pout. You grumble something about moving on from the subject in hopes of never having to discuss it again. You begin to walk around the redcap with a wide gap, eyeing it warily.

“Now you’re afraid of sheep?” Astarion asks.

“No,” you reply. You look at the vampire quizzically. “But that’s clearly not a sheep.”

The men exchange confused glances. You’re very tired of getting those looks.

“It’s a redcap?” you say to them. “Isn’t it? I’m pretty sure that’s what they’re called.”

Wyll studies the redcap—or sheep as he sees it—as it moves towards you. It lets out an awkward sound between a growl and a bray, but when you don’t reply it’s sneer deepens. There’s a shift in the air, a static shock that stretches around the area in what you can only guess is magic.

“Ohhhh, a redcap,” Tav says. He takes two steps forward, pulls his right leg back then thrusts it forward to kick at the creature. His boot connects with its middle and despite the weight of the redcap it soars through the air.

It goes so far you only hear a distant splash of water. Astarion claps at the distance.

The other redcaps are not quite as entertained by Tav’s actions. They screech from the hilltop, one jumping down while the other moves its hands in the air. Roots tangle around yours and Tav’s legs, locking you in place. The one now on your level charges towards you only to be sent flying by a red bolt from Wyll—eldritch blast.

Astarion lazily throws his dagger at the one on the hill and when the blade lands in its eye socket the vines around you shrivel and die. You step out, shaking each leg of any remaining debris.

“So you saw through the illusion,” Wyll states.

You survey the area, that static ring gone. All you can offer is a shrug—you passed the perception check you guess. But you can’t tell them that.

Tav loots the bodies of a small amount of gold and alchemical ingredients while Astarion retrieves his dagger. Wyll offers theories as to how you were able to see the redcaps, but it all comes back to the enchantment on your clothes. Whatever protection they gave you from harm could be linked to the fact you haven’t had to clean them yet—they still appear pristine despite the blood and dirt you’ve lain in. In fact, you haven’t felt the need to even wash the sweat from your skin. Powerful enchantments indeed.

Tav leads the group forward to Auntie Ethel’s house, all of them a little more suspicious of the old woman now that the swamp is no longer disguised. After the elation of walking on water you’d forgotten about the Gur waiting around the corner. As you approach the bottom of the hill he’s waiting on, you grab Astarion’s sleeve between your index finger and thumb. “Maybe we should wait here.”

“What’s wrong?” Wyll asks. You don’t let go of Astarion’s sleeve even when he tries to pull away. You wet your lips, eyes darting between the vampire and the direction of the Gur. Just a few more steps and he’d be able to see you; he can probably already hear you.

You tug on the sleeve again. “Ast—you should stay here.”

He finally yanks out of your grip and smooths the sleeve where you’d been holding. “And why should I do that?”

Because there’s a hunter around the corner looking for you and he might actually recognize you. Because things are slightly different than in the video game I remember in my past life where you’re a character and not a person.

Because I don’t want you to have to remember how you died and that you can’t escape Cazador, not yet anyway.

You can’t find a reasonable answer.

Astarion huffs out a sigh. “Is this one of your weird feelings Karlach was going on about? Am I about to die if I take another step?”

You flinch back. “What? No, I just…what are you talking about?”

“You seem to know when death is coming,” Astarion explains. “The goblin, then Arka—who confessed her suicidal plan in a drunken stupor last night by the way, to her friend right outside my tent. Ugh, I had to send them away just so I could get some sleep.”

You look at Tav and Wyll, the vague image of Arka laying in a pool of blood coming to mind.

Astarion adds, “You sniff out death like a bloodhound.”

“I just have a bad feeling,” you finally mumble.

“It’s okay,” Tav says. “If anything tries to hurt Astarion I’ll take care of it.”

You smile as he gives you a thumbs up, wishing you could believe him invincible.

“Let’s go see if we get to kill something, now,” Astarion says excitedly.

“Perhaps some precaution is in order,” Wyll suggests. “Tav and I will take a look first and signal if it’s safe. Agreed?”

Astarion rolls his eyes but nods. “Don’t have all the fun without me.”

Tav and Wyll move ahead and around the corner. You hear their voices as they speak with the Gur, but can’t make out the words. Then, Tav’s head appears around a rock and he waves you over. He’s smiling at least, which probably means he wasn’t told anything about what the man is hunting.

You keep yourself a step ahead of Astarion as you follow Tav. Once at the top of the hill the Gur hunter nods to you as greeting.

“He’s a monster hunter,” Wyll says to you. Like that is going to somehow comfort you, even if you didn’t know what you know.

Astarion questions what terrible creature he’s hunting and the scene is triggered. You gulp as the Gur says he’s hunting a vampire spawn named Astarion, and you can’t help but notice the look Wyll sends you. It’s a mix of apologetic, confusion, and concern. Concern for you or Astarion, you aren’t sure.

The hunter mentions he needs Astarion alive.

“Well here he is,” Tav says, waving a hand at the vampire beside you. “This is Astarion.”

“What?” You and Astarion shout the word at the same time, gawking at Tav. You step to the left and in front of Astarion.

“What are you doing?” you question.

“Yes,” Astarion agrees, “what in the hells do you think you’re doing?”

“It can’t be…?” the Gur says.

“But he is looking for you,” Tav says innocently. “And he wants you alive.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” you shout. You grip your staff with both hands, ready to hit someone—and that someone might be Tav.

Your fury at the tiefling in that moment almost overshadows the phantom limb as it reaches out into the swamp behind you. Almost. Something…twitches. It’s not you, nor that strange feeling in your head, but something moves. You can feel it, slow at first but getting faster as feet drag through mud. You feel grimy water on your skin, the need to follow orders—your orders. It’s not you feeling this, someone else is, not unlike the connection the tadpole gave you.

The Gur pulls his crossbow from his back and tries to aim at you, or Astarion behind you, but he isn’t given the chance when something launches over your head and onto him. He screams as the creature bites his jugular, blood squirting—squirting!!—from the wound. You shout and jump back only to collide with Astarion. He sets his hands on your arms to balance you, and then pushes you out of the way as he watches the Gur get killed by—

“Didn’t we kill those little things?” Astarion asks, pointing at the redcap that tears into the hunter's body. It’s moved on from his neck, now clawing at his stomach. You watch on, eyes wide and unblinking, breath held in your chest. Another redcap, this one missing an eye, hobbles past you and joins his companion.

“We did,” Wyll confirms.

You’re holding your staff in front of you, still ready to whack someone until the Gur stops struggling. You let out the breath you were holding. When you finally blink you see that the eyes on your staff are glowing a lovely violet.

The redcaps grunt, facing you now that their task is complete. Your eyes dart between the staff and them, and back again. “Please tell me I didn’t do that.”

“I think you may have,” Wyll says. “And it seems you may be a necromancer of some sort; you didn’t even need to utter a word to bring the redcaps here and do your bidding.”

“That,” you say, pointing to the corpse, “is not my bidding.”

But you can’t deny that you feel a string of connection to the redcaps now—puppet strings. Your strings, using them like marionettes. And you can’t deny the way the redcaps watch you like they’re waiting for your next command. You want to drop the staff, but your body won’t listen. Because it has to be the staff, right? It’s cursed or enchanted to let you raise the dead! Finally you let go of the wood and let it fall to the ground with a clatter.

But the redcaps stare on.

“It’s okay.” Wyll tries to comfort you but you’re having none of it.

“No, it’s not okay!” you yell. You point at the body again. “I just killed that guy!”

“And for Astarion, no less,” Tav chimes in. His voice brings you back, somewhat grounding you from your hysteria.

“And you!” You point to the tiefling. He flinches back at your fury, having the gall to look innocent with his wide eyes and tail tucked. “Why did you tell him about Astarion?”

Tav doesn’t get to answer when one of the redcaps launches itself at him. He’s quicker to react than the Gur and grabs it before it can claw or bite out his throat, and uses the momentum to swing around and throw it about as far as he kicked the first one.

You picture a string between you and the redcaps, and then a pair of scissors snipping them away. There’s a moment of hesitation in the remaining redcap, but it soon falls over. Dead, again.

You sniffle, holding back the burning tears that begin to line your lower lashes. “He was going to hurt Astarion.”

Maybe Tav had a plan and that was why he told the truth. Or maybe he just can’t help but be honest, thinking he could bargain with the Gur into leaving Astarion alone. But you can’t wrap your head around it. And rather than focusing on the glowing eyes of the staff, that have now faded, the fact you just killed a man with two undead redcaps, you focus on your anger at Tav. It’s so much easier to be angry than sad.

You step towards him, pull back your foot, and kick him in the shins with all your might. He has leather boots on, and he’s a barbarian, so he probably doesn’t feel it much, but you kick him again.

He hops away on one foot, grabbing at his minor injury. “I’m sorry!”

“He was gonna take Astarion!” you shout. You step towards him only to feel two hands on your shoulders, keeping you in place.

“Perhaps this argument can wait,” Wyll says. He doesn’t let you go when he looks at Astarion. “Why did he want to capture you, not kill you? He said it was a sacred duty from his people—that’s no small task to be given.”

You shrug Wyll off and cross your arms, facing away from Tav. Tears slip down your cheeks as you regain control of your breathing. You rub at your face with one sleeve.

“How should I know?” Astarion asks. He’s putting on a front, you think. “He was most likely sent by my old master, Cazador, to bring me back to Baldur’s Gate.”

They discuss the possibilities—why a Gur was sent, what Cazador would want with him rather than just kill him. You keep your arms crossed, determined to hang onto the anger as fear creeps along the edge of your senses.

“Weren’t we here to thank a little old lady or something?” Astarion questions, hurriedly changing the subject. “Perhaps we should move on, before any more hunters show up?”

You are more than happy to get away from the corpse, but the closer you get to Ethel’s the more your anger ebbs away and is replaced by fear. There are so many things that contribute to that fear, so you hold onto the fury as tightly as possible and refuse to even look Tav in the eye, despite his many attempts at getting your attention. He flits around you, begging you to say anything to him, sic another redcap on him even, but you’ve quickly come to realize that the silent treatment is the best punishment.

That anger takes you all the way to Ethel’s door, where Wyll knocks before entering.

Though the tea house is a little decrepit and sitting in the middle of a swamp, it doesn’t smell like it. There’s a scent of a spicy tea in the air, and when you enter you find Ethel sitting where Mayrina is in game, sipping on a cup.

“Petal!” she says, a smile crossing her features when she sees who’s visiting. “I was worried you might not find the place.”

Ethel stands and approaches the bottom of the stairs, waving the group farther inside. “Come in, come, would you like some tea?”

You do your best to hide the fear that creeps along your spine. In the game Ethel could be a difficult battle, but that was only triggered based on the actions against Mayrina and her brothers. With none of them there you couldn’t predict how things would go.

From the corner of your eye you can see Astarion watching you. He doesn’t stray too far from the group, but he’s never more than a foot away from you. Maybe killing his hunter endeared him to you? You should have gotten a few Astarion Approves from letting him drink your blood alone.

While your eyes had wandered around the tea house Ethel and Tav had begun their conversation. He was also only a foot in front of you, and when you came back into the conversation Ethel was offering her deal.

“That sounds like a poor deal,” Tav says. He thrusts his thumb over his shoulder towards you. “Apparently they can fall out after getting hit in the head hard enough.”

“I don’t think that’s what happened,” Wyll says. He steps a little closer to you. You’re starting to feel claustrophobic with all of them keeping so close to you so you take a step back.

Ethel eyes the men and then you. There’s recognition in her features but it doesn’t feel quite the same as when Raphael had stared you down. “Your god must really love you to get rid of that little wriggler.”

You perk up, maybe too much and give away your eagerness. “My god?”

Wyll casts a warning glance in your direction. Don’t act desperate, it reads. You wet your lips. “How do you know it was my god and it didn’t just die?”

Ethel laughs. “Let’s just say you’ve got a glow about you. You all do. You Chosen.”

The air freezes. Everything slows…slows…stops.

Necromancer.

Chosen.

Control over the dead.

Necromancer-Chosen-dead three-Myrkul-

You whirl on your heel, fall to your knees, and throw up the fruit that had been forced on you earlier. You manage to get it into a nearby basket, but the purge doesn’t stop your stomach from turning. Those words—chosen, dead three, necromancer—keep swirling in your mind. You hiccup and release more into the basket.

You tremble. You’d never thrown up from fear before. Motion sickness, sure, flue, totally. But fear? The shaking doesn’t stop, nor does the urge to keep vomiting. All you can do is sit there on your knees, breathing heavily as the small dot that is your vision spins round and round and round.

Your head starts shaking. “No, I’m not—I’m nothing. Nobody! I don’t matter. I’m—”

You can’t be anyone connected to the main plot. No. You can’t be one of the dead three or a chosen, because you did have a worm in your brain for a while, and you were on the ship and—and—

“Take a breath,” Wyll says. He kneels beside you, hands out and ready to wrap around you but only hovering above your jacket.

“I’m not…”

“Just take a breath,” he repeats. “We don’t know anything for sure.”

He seems so sure, you think. So solid, just like last night at the party. How he can be so certain of anything right now is beyond you, and you know what’s coming.

You do as he instructs, your next few breaths are shaky but calming. You wipe at your mouth with your sleeve, watching as the spittle soaks into the fabric then disappears completely. “I need to—go somewhere. Not be…here.”

You stand quickly, ignoring Tav as he calls to you. You’re on the front porch when you feel something wrap around your ankle and nearly topple you forward. You come to a stop and turn. Tav’s tail is wrapped around your ankle and even when you stop it doesn’t loosen.

“Please, wait.”

You try to take a step forward but his grip is too strong. “I need to go.”

“I’ll go with you.” His tail tightens, desperate to keep you there. It pulls, trying to bring you closer to him even though it’s barely two feet between you.

“I want to be alone.”

“I’ll…I’ll be quiet.” Gods, he’s giving you that look that makes it feel like you just kicked a puppy. As much as you try to stay mad it’s fading into nothing but anxiety and fear, and a desperate desire to let him comfort you. But you need to think, somewhere without distractions and far away from a literal hag. Even if she hasn’t shown her true form.

“Tav,” you begin, pleading just as he is. You look at him. Really look at him. You take in the black scleras that surround the dark blue of his eyes, the beginnings of wrinkles around his mouth from where he’s always smiling, the slight indent of crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. His white-gray hair shifts with the breeze, but his horns stop anything from getting into his eyes. You wish it would cover his eyes–they’re far too teary for the light-hearted man.

Wyll sets a hand on Tav’s shoulder. “Let go, Tav. It’ll be fine.”

The tieflings lips press together, his tail unmoving.

“Tav.” Wyll isn’t making a suggestion. With one last desperate look at you Tav finally releases his hold on your ankle.

You take the steps down into the dirt. “I’m just going back to camp. I’ll…see you there.”

Tav opens his mouth then thinks better of it. Whatever he was going to ask goes unspoken. Most likely another plea to get you to stay, or to allow him to follow.

You turn and start walking through the swamp.

Taglist:

@half-poison-and-half-hope @sanscas @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @thequeen-oni @terrenuserinj @straewberrysoda @theomnipotentfox @becksynthetic @quitecontrary-to-mary @furblrwurblr @mega-trash-cringe @fandomsbookclub @dontneedbiologytoadopt @pebble-bb @v3lv3tvampir3 @mrow-kat @jeneralmischief @notsaelty @runaway-17 @aoirohi @tinswhimsy @xxgrimripp3rxx @kemonocat-blog @thetiredtoad0-0 @sleepydang @iwannabealocalcryptid

#reborn into bg3 #reborn into baldur's gate 3 with no memory and plenty of money #astarion x reader #tav x reader #auntie ethel #fanfic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #you should really look into that other bag of yours reader

101 notes · View notes

erodasfishtacos · 2 years

Text

Safe Space

prompt: follow up to demi piece for mlb!harry

warnings: insecurity, smut, minors dni 18+

Please please like, follow, comment, and reblog ❣️

If you want my work two weeks earlier, plus polls to vote for content, plus exclusive blurbs and tropes - please consider joining my patreon for $3 ❤️

Harry isn’t trying to be dramatic when he says that he is officially and utterly obsessed with everything about YN.

He felt like he was addicted to her, from just being in the same space as her, and then from craving her body so much it hurt.

For a long period of his life, he didn’t understand the hype about sex - sure it sounded fine and orgasms definitely felt good but why did people care so much?

After his first time with YN, he very quickly realized what it was about because fuck, it was beyond the physical feeling of pleasure - it was how connected emotionally he felt to her and the display of love that sex was.

The issue was, they’d been intimate twice now with yesterday being their first time having sex, and both times he came prematurely.

No matter how kind and understanding YN was, it didn’t take away the deep insecurity of not being masculine enough or being a flop in the sheets.

YN had to use her own hand to help her along because he was coming so fast when they had sex, he was so far gone he hadn’t even thought about dipping his own hand down to assist.

Harry had to leave YN in his bed in the morning because he had to go to weight training and then right after a grueling practice.

He had left a little handwritten note on top of her cellphone to find when she woke up.

Good morning, baby. I’m off to practice. I love you x

It was simple but sweet.

When Harry’s in the locker room with his teammates as they all hits the showers and start to change after practice, well it’s no surprise sex is brought up - literally nothing has changed since high school.

He still didn’t feel the need to join in on the disgusting conversation, the way they talked about women was truly abysmal and some of them were referring to their own girlfriends in such crude ways.

Harry had so much respect for YN, so much undying appreciation for her body even though he just is beginning to learn it.

He would never talk about the intricacies of her form with other people, why would he want them to know what is only for him?

He didn’t want others to know how puffy her nipples get after he’s given them attention, how she gets so wet that it makes her folds glisten - that’s purely for his eyes and imagination only.

“Yeah, Becca told me that Cameron only lasted for three minutes,” Joseph cackles as the other boys join in on the laughter, “Said he jizzed nearly as soon as he stuck it in.”

“No wonder she turned him down when he asked her to the Sigma Phi party,” Payton crows with a boisterous laugh, “He’s never gonna get another date while he’s in school.”

Harry hates the anxiety that strikes in his chest because it hits him that they’re making fun of what he’s most self-conscious about right now.

He was new to everything, having YN’s hands, mouth, cunt was so mind blowingly euphoric and like nothing he’d ever experienced before that he couldn’t control how fast his orgasms snuck up on him.

The first time her lips wrapped around him, he couldn’t even think a conducive thought, let alone stave off his release.

The first time they had sex, she had to finish herself off because he came so fast that he didn’t even have time to focus on her.

His throat is tight as he rushes to get his clothes on, he didn’t want to lose YN - she was his person.

They only downfall of finally finding the love of his life was the immense fear of losing it because he knew this was once in a lifetime.

He was this allstar, cocky athlete who everyone drooled and daydreamed over - only YN knew he didn’t truly live up to his potential in the bedroom.

It’s not that he thinks she’s shallow enough to drop him over that but his anxiety and lack of self confidence had negative talk swirling through his head.

Harry wanted to be the best for her and he’s worried that he’s just not enough - it was the worst feeling on this earth and he hated that he didn’t feel confident in his own skin.

He’s out of the locker room without another glance at his teammates, putting his airpods in so he can act like he doesn’t hear all his classmates who try to say hi to him as he walks across campus.

His night class drags on, his fingers are fidgeting against the desk, knee bouncing because anxiety is one of the nastiest emotions to have.

Miss you already ☹️

The text pops across his screen towards the end of class, he has to tamper down the dopey grin that appears on his face - she must have just gotten out of her weekly newspaper meeting.

I miss you more. 😖

You’re the sweetest. Do you love me?

Harry has to bite the corner of his lip to tamper down his smile because he’s in a relationship, he loves her so much.

So much, baby.

I think you should totally invite me over tonight and show me how much. Just so I know you’re not all talk. 😛

Harry’s heart plummets back into his stomach, for what seems like the hundredth time lately because now he’s nervous about having to have sex despite how much he wants to.

Of course, he wants her to come over and he would have invited her in a minute anyways but now that the promise is lingering in her words, he’s struck with nerves.

He doesn’t respond fast enough because another text is coming through as his thumbs hesitate over the screen.

If you’re not up to it, that’s fine too.

And Harry never wants her to feel like he doesn’t want her there. It’s the exact opposite. He wants her there all the fucking time.

Don’t be silly. Of course, you’re welcome over anytime, my love. Meet me at Holden Hall in fifteen, we can walk back to mine together.

Okay ❤️

He’s not twelve, he shouldn’t get butterflies in his stomach but the thought of seeing her makes him squirm with excitement.

Because he is in love.

The class can’t end quick enough because even though there are always a few classmates who want to bullshit with him after class - Harry is bypassing them with a small smile and wave instead to get out the door.

YN is waiting on a bench, eyes on her phone until she must notice class letting up because her gaze rises and she has a breathtaking smile when she notices him.

It quickly turns downward when Harry is stopped by a group of girls, they’re giggly and overly nice as they compliment him on his recent game and how good he looked in ESPN College Edition this week.

Harry would usually give them all a cocky smile, dimples on display, and his shoulders broad as he let them coo over him.

Now he’s a taken man, he doesn’t have to act like he’s into all these girls he’s not anymore, and it’s so refreshing when he gives them a short ‘thank you’ and squeezes out of their circle.

Their eyes follow with annoyance and envy as they’re dismissed so quickly for Harry to make his way over to YN, where she’s sat on the bench in one of his baseball hoodies and a pair of leggings.

The girls begin to whisper furiously amongst themselves when Harry bends down, gripping YN’s chin, and kissing her softly for a moment before helping her up and taking her backpack to swing over his other shoulder before intertwining their hands.

YN seems surprised as they walk away, her hand squeezing his tightly as she ignores the daggers being glared into her back.

“What’s the look for?” Harry asks when they’re finally away from everyone spilling out of the lecture hall, and on the walk back to his frat house.

“I was just surprised you kissed me in front of all them,” YN shrugs, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal to her, “Most guys wouldn’t have done that in front of another group of pretty girls.”

It’s Harry’s turn to frown at that, stopping in his tracks to give her a look, “Why wouldn’t I kiss you in front of all them? You’re my person. I only want to kiss you. I don’t care what any of them think. I only care what you think.”

YN’s let’s a smile creep on her face, leaning up to kiss him for a long moment before she’s giving him a big hug and nuzzling her face into his chest.

“I love you. You’re just…” YN trails off, like she can’t find the right words, “You’re so good to me. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Harry can’t believe that. It feels opposite, he doesn’t know what he did to deserve her.

“You deserve the best and I’m going to always give it to you. I’m going to show you off to everybody all the time,” Harry promises as they begin to walk again, this time his arm around her shoulders pulling him into his chest.

The sex dilemma floats out of the forefront of his mind only for a little, only until they’re in his room, and Harry announces he needs to shower.

He was still sweaty, dirty from practice because on these days he doesn’t have time to shower before class.

When he drops their belongs near the door, he’s kicking of his shoes and telling YN, “Alright, gotta get cleaned up before we cuddle. M’gross.”

He fully expects YN to make herself comfortable on his bed while he cleans up and what he doesn’t expect is to YN to follow him to the bathroom - luckily, he had his own and didn’t have to share with his disgusting frat mates.

“Wh-What’s up?” Harry stutters as his cheeks flush, he hadn’t had anytime to figure out how he was going to solve his stamina problem and showering with his drop dead gorgeous girlfriend wasn’t going to help.

YN’s face twists in confusion as he stands frozen near the sink, “Uh, I was going to join you? If you don’t want me to, I don’t have to. I just thought that-“

He could tell he had embarrassed her by the way she’s trying to overexplain her reasoning to following him in there but Harry also knows that normal couples shower together all the time and if he was fucking normal - he wouldn’t be so surprised.

He wants to shower with her, fuck, of course he does.

Harry wants to scream and pull his hair because in his lack of self-confidence and anxiety - he’s making her feel bad about herself.

“No, no,” Harry interrupts her, bringing her into his chest, and kissing the top of her head, “Forgive me, darling. This, just all this is new to me. I’ve never showered with anyone before. I’m still getting used to actually being in a relationship.”

YN seems a bit relieved at his explanation, kissing his collarbone and rubbing at his back, “Still, if you don’t feel comfortable with me joining you that’s okay. Not all couples shower together. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Harry’s chest pangs because he just keeping mucking everything up, “No, I always want you with me. Please don’t second guess yourself, baby. Want you to shower with me. Want you with me every second of the day.”

YN nods against his chest but doesn’t make any move, like she’s nervous to be the first one, and so Harry does so first - stepping back to strip his shirt over his head before he’s slipping YN’s hoodie up and over her head.

He leans over to turn on the faucet to get the water warmed up, she’s standing there in just her bralette and leggings - god damn, she’s pretty.

Harry’s heart rate is going a million miles a minute as he shrugs the bralette over her head, her gorgeous tits bouncing out to where they naturally lay - perky but real and soft.

“Baby,” Harry huffs out in awe as he thumbs over her nipples - hard and puffy, they are making his mouth water, can’t help but duck down and wrap his lips around one as she whines happily.

She’s reaching for the waistband of his athletic shorts and briefs, pulling them both down in one go, and it’s not shocking he’s already plumped up and hard for her.

It was still a new experience, being bare and vulnerable in front of someone else - showing the innermost personal parts but he wanted her to see him, it made him feel good when she whispered how nice his cock was.

After he’s got her leggings and panties off, he’s bringing them under the stream of the shower, and watching in rapt amazement as the droplets slide down her neck, over the peaks of her breasts, and bead off her now soft nipples.

“Turn around,” She orders quietly, turning his shoulders until he’s facing towards the back of the tub, her hands come up with lathered shampoo and begin to scrub through his matted locks - her nails scratching against his scalp feel so good that he moans weakly.

She takes such care of him, his heart is melting for her as she washes out the suds before snagging his loofa off the shelves and beginning to wash down his body to wipe away all the dirt and sweat of the day.

It feels so amazing to be taken care of like this, he’s never had this before, and now that he does - he wants to cry because he’s just emotional.

When she’s finished with him, he takes it upon himself to return the favor, not because he feels obligated but because he wants to take care of her just as much and prove his worth as a partner.

“Ouch,” YN hisses when Harry’s fingers get tangled in a knot in her hair and pull it quite harshly, YN’s face contorting in a brief moment of pain.

“Fuck, m’sorry,” Harry apologizes instantly, he was on edge and he just kept making everything worse - he just pulled his girlfriend’s hair, “M’sorry, baby. Are you alright?”

YN rolls her eyes at him, stepping closer and flopping against his wet chest, kissing his skin, and nodding, “I’m fine. You don’t have to apologize. Just be careful.”

Harry’s hands are shaking with nerves as he carefully weaves through her locks, taking his time with the knots before he’s moving onto soaping her body up - he would have to buy scents she liked as everything in his shower was more masculine scented like sandalwood and sage.

After gently running the loofa over her tits and belly, Harry dips downwards but she’s moving his hand away from her center and down her thighs.

“No scented products near the goods,” YN tells him as she wipes a stray hair off his forehead, “It will throw off my PH. I just use unscented soap for that.”

And once again, he feels like a fucking idiot and like he should have known that about female anatomy but he didn’t.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, inhaling through his mouth because he feels like such a twat today.

YN doesn’t notice, her eyes shut as she lets the water pound down on her skin, and humming happily as he washes down her legs, hand playing with his sodden curls.

They dry off and Harry grabs YN a tee shirt of his from a baseball camp because he loves seeing her in his stuff - it settled his possessive side.

YN uses his hairdryer to dry her hair until it’s nearly dry, just damp on the ends, and she crawls onto his bed, forgoing dressing in her shirt and underwear.

And Harry doesn’t know what to do because he wants to crawl over top of her, kiss her, and push inside where he knows she’s hot and ready for him but he also knows he was just in the shower for half and hour naked with her and he’ll come too soon.

“Er, what do you want to watch?” Harry asks instead, standing in his tight briefs near his desk with the remote - clicking through Netflix.

YN who’s got a confused look on her face doesn’t say anything at first, she’s literally splayed out on her boyfriends bed bare as the day she was born, and he hadn’t even acknowledged it.

“I was thinking about Bake-Off? We haven’t finished the season yet,” Harry swallowed nervously, eyes glued to the screen and not at her.

YN visibly deflates out of the corner of her eye, her shoulders slumping and she reaches for her top to shove quickly over her head before tugging on her underwear.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” YN responds without the enthusiasm she had a few minutes ago, Harry realizes for the second time that night he’s embarrassed her - he just turned down her blatant invitation.

Harry hates this.

YN is perfect, doing everything perfect, and he can’t get a fucking grip on himself.

He needs a second.

“I’m going to go make us some popcorn,” Harry excuses himself, tugging on a pair of shorts as he exits the room.

A few minutes later, with a bowl of popcorn and some water bottles, he enters his room again, frowning when he notices that YN had also tugged on a pair of his joggers.

“You cold? I can close the window,” Harry offers as he sets the food down and YN looks down at her hands, avoiding eye contact.

“No, m’fine,” She responds, her tone is unsure like he’s never really heard it, “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I figured I’d cover myself up.”

Harry shakes his head, angry at himself as he mutters, “Fuck.”

YN glances up at him with wide eyes as she watches him pace for a moment before he’s stepping over to her, kneeling down in front of the bed, and putting his hands on her thighs.

“It’s not you. You never make me uncomfortable, baby,” Harry reassures her, he feels tears start to prick his eyes as he hangs his head, “I just keep fucking this up.”

“You’re not fucking anything up, Harry,” YN replies softly, her hands coming to rub at his shoulders, “What do you mean?”

Harry sniffles pathetically, refusing to look up, “I wanted to jump your bones the second you were naked on my bed. I wanted you in the shower with me before you even offered but I’m making you feel like I’m not into you and I’m sorry.”

YN titters, thumbing over his warm ears, “I don’t think you’re not into me. I feel like I’m not reading you correctly and I feel bad.”

“No, no, baby,” Harry refutes, kissing her belly, “You’re reading me right. I want you. Every part of you. I just…I’m really doubting myself and I don’t feel like a good boyfriend.”

“But why?” YN presses, finally forcing his chin up until his watery eyes are meeting her concerned, honeyed one’s.

“You’re gonna laugh at me,” He mumbles but lets her press sweet kisses over his forehead and temples as he struggles.

“Never going to laugh about something serious, if you want us to have a healthy relationship we have to work through whatever is bothering you,” YN encourages, cupping his hands and moving her lips to kiss all over them as well.

“I was in the locker room today and they’re were fuckin’ around and making fun of some guy who…doesn’t last long. It made me anxious because I haven’t been and I don’t want you to get annoyed with me because I’m not good in bed,” Harry’s gone teary again, YN is quick to wipe them with her thumb and a knowing, calm smile decorates her face.

“Baby, that’s why you’ve been so skittish?” YN shakes her head with a small giggle, leaning down to kiss him once more.

“Said you weren’t gonna laugh at me,” Harry grumpily reminds her, nudging her cheek with his nose before pulling back.

“Didn’t realize you were worried about something absurd,” YN tries to tamper down her grin, “You’re worried that I’m not enjoying myself when we had sex?”

“You had to finish yourself off,” Harry points out as a weak reason to his defense.

YN raises an eyebrow, “Okay, at the end? But the reason I was even close enough to get myself off was because I was so turned on and you were making me feel so good.”

Harry didn’t think of it like that, he blinks at her like he wants her to keep talking, and so she does, gripping his hands firmly.

“The two times we’ve done it, they’ve literally been the best experiences I’ve ever had sexually,” YN rubs at the bridge of her nose, “I told you no guy has ever made me come before even when I was helping myself along.”

Harry takes in that information, a sense of pride swelling in his chest, and twitch in his thin shorts at the praise.

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles, brushing his lips against her clothed shoulder, “M’sorry I’ve been being such a dickhead.”

“You just need to communicate. I understand this is all new to you. It’s new to me too. It’s the first time I’ve ever been in love with the person I’m having sex with,” YN admits as her body gravitates closer to him and her legs spread for him to wriggle in between.

“And I’m going to be the only one who gets you like this. Always gonna be in love with everything about you. You’re my person,” Harry reassured her, the nerves melting away because he feels so fucking safe with her.

The stage fright, the nasty quells of insecurity dissipate, and are fully replaced desire to please the gorgeous girl in front of him.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you needed to cover-up. I actually think we should probably do a no clothes policy in my room from here on out,” Harry rasps, his tone getting lower with the more arousal swirling in his tummy.

YN giggles kittenishly and it goes straight to his center, “Oh really? When did that become a rule?”

“Right about now,” Harry growls impatiently, tugging off her bottoms and panties in one rough yank before he’s lifting her thighs over his shoulders and making himself at home between them, “Fuck. How do you always taste so good, pet?”

“I-oh fuck, Harry,” YN whines loudly as her legs try to squeeze around his ears, he was so fucking dedicated when he went at it - licking, kissing, sucking every bit of her mound and what lay inside.

“Always want this,” Harry murmurs before lapping consistently at her slit while he thumbs at her clit - it was all coming naturally to him now.

“Yes, there. Yes,” YN encourage breathlessly when he finds the perfect rhythm that has her back arching of the mattress and legs restless against his shoulders.

The encouragement just spurs him on to thrust his tongue into her perfect, velvet core as his thumb doesn’t stop the motion.

Her hips speed up to ride down onto his tongue as she nears her orgasm, Harry reaches up to flip her shirt up to reach and knead at one of her tits, pinching at the nipple.

That small burst of pain tends to do the trip because she’s squeezing on his tongue, clit throbbing against his thumb as she tries to muffle her mewls as she comes down.

“In me, want you in me,” She orders brattily, pulling Harry up by his biceps and dragging him on top of her, she’s bossy as she grips him around the base and leads him straight to where she needs him.

“Fuck, fuck baby,” Harry moans as he’s overwhelmed with pure fucking euphoria, his hips starting to fuck in automatically as his noises echo off the walls.

“S’good, you make me so full,” YN whimpers as her lips brush against his on every odd thrust, “Love being full of you.”

“Darling,” Harry scolds between a groan, the dirty talk did not help his stamina and fuck, her mewling about how full she felt just made it worse because he’s giving a few more weak thrusts before he’s coming as well.

“Mm, thank you,” YN hums as she pulls him up for another kiss, a spark in her core when she tastes herself, “See, practice makes perfect. We’ll get there.”

“Next time m’taping your mouth shut, who knew you spewed filth like a sailor?” Harry teases as he pulls at her bottom lip, “Made me come on the spot.”

“I don’t mind being gagged,” YN says nonchalantly and holy shit, Harry is in big trouble with this girl.

He fucking loves his person, his safe place.

2K notes · View notes

garoujo · 2 years

Text

・✶ ｡ﾟ yuuta is still learning how to control himself around you. warnings : f. reader, agedup!inexperienced yuuta, dry humping, he cums in his pants.

“shit—you’re s-so pretty.” yuuta groans and you feel his warm palm smooth along the back of your neck to pull you deeper into the kiss as he greedily swallows your moans, his other arm tightening around your hips to pull them even closer against his own while you straddle his lap.

it wasn’t unlike you both to get lost in late night make out sessions when he got home from exorcising curses, allowing yuuta to explore the dips of your body until he was truly ready to feel everything—you were patient with him and he was grateful, but that doesn’t mean that he could deny the effect you have on him, especially when you hear him whine, low and languid as your needy heat grinds against his clothed cock.

you gasp when you feel the blunt head graze against you, still being able to feel how hard he is through the fabric of his slacks. “fuck—s-sorry.” he grumbles lowly, he’s flushed and needy as his fingers dig almost painfully into your hips but you just shake your head, tangling your fingers in the thick roots of his dark hair before experimentally rolling your hips against his once more— pulling a long and low moan from his swollen lips that you feel vibrate through his chest.

yuuta shivers below you, his thighs twitching at the feeling of you sliding your hips along his before he pulls away to blink up at you, his gaze blown out and heavy until you suddenly feel his grip on your hips tighten, taking control as he drags them along his own. his movements are messy and eager, soft pants falling from your pouty lips everytime you feel his thick shaft graze along your clothed clit, the blissful feeling making the room below you both spin “oh g-god, feels so good.”

“fuck, yuuta!” you gasp and the breathless tone of your voice has your raven haired boyfriend’s hips instinctively rutting up into yours, his mind cloudy and palms clammy against your skin with each sinful swirl of your hips. your fingers in his hair tighten and he hisses, his jaw clenching as your hips continue to move in sync with his— pulling another whimpered, slurred praise from his lips “look so pretty like this, n-need more.”

you feel too good— yuuta curses under his breath, rutting into you almost desperately and you can almost feel every detail of his cock through the thin fabric separating you both. he can almost feel you, his mind is swirling with thoughts of finally sinking into your warm cunt, he feels drunk on you, his mind and senses blurring as his name continues to fall from your lips in soft pants until a sudden rush of bliss rushes through his system and his body is almost curling over you.

yuuta cums with a surprised grunt before his voice cracks into a whine, his sudden orgasm catching him off guard as his hips jerk and twitch below you, his fingernails digging so tightly into your hips they’re sure to leave bruises as he continues to roll his hips into yours— greedily riding out his high with broken, agonised whines of your name until he’s hissing and holding you still while you still try to process what just happened.

“‘yuu— did you just..” the question pulls an almost whimpered grumble from the dark haired male below you as he frowns, flushed to his chest and still trying to catch his breath as he nuzzles into your neck, ignoring the sudden and uncomfortable stickiness now leaking through his underwear and sweats.

“fuck, fuck—im sorry. y-you felt so good, i—i couldn’t stop it.”

#݁ . ࿓ : sealed#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #yuuta smut #yuuta x reader #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu smut #yuuta imagines #jjk imagines

3K notes · View notes

ohbo-ohno · 8 months

Text

Kinktober Day 22 - (Predicament) Bondage

Poly 141 - 3.3k

summary: Price and Ghost have some fun while Johnny and Gaz are tied up. (Ghost POV)

cw: dom!price, dom!ghost, sub!gaz, sub!soap, predicament bondage (posture collar, one-bar prison, nipple & clit clamps), anal sex, trans ftm soap, trans ftm gaz, brief choking

note: this has a bit of ghostgaz, but almost all of it is ghostsoap with pricegaz fucking in the background. i tried to make it seem more like they were all interacting, but idk how i did lol

“You’ve truly outdone yourself this time, Captain,” Ghost says, eyebrows arched high as he runs a hand across his jaw.

Price has got Gaz and Soap set up in quite the predicament bondage, both of them looking oh so vulnerable and needy. They make quite the sight beside each other, pretty little things all tied up for he and Price to use to their heart’s content.

They’re in a complicated setup, both of them mirroring the other perfectly. Gaz’s head is held high, a collar with a leash attached to one of the hooks in the ceiling keeping him standing tall and proud, not able to dip his chin too low without choking himself. He’s stuck on his toes, a one-bar-prison impaling his cunt with what must be a sizable dildo considering Ghost can already see a bit of a bulge in his stomach and he’s not even close to flat-footed. He’s got a ring gag in, drool soaking his chin. His arms are folded behind him, locked with one forearm on top of the other in an arm binder.

Soap’s posed in an identical way - head held high, one bar prison, locked arms, up on his toes. The only difference is the gag, which for Soap is a rubber bone on the smaller side that still allows his little whimpers and whines to slip through. He’s far more wiggly than Kyle, trying to rock further up on his toes to find a more comfortable position, swaying from side to side and moving his head about to find what positions will and won’t choke him.

The two of them are connected by three chains - one from each nipple, Kyle’s left to Johnny’s right, and Kyle’s right to Johnny’s left. The chains attach to mean looking clamps with metal teeth, and they’re just short enough for there to be a constant tug on the clamps and no real way for them to relieve the pressure. It leaves them in an almost half-bowing position, trying to force slack into the chains while staying on balance, not impaling themselves further, and standing straight enough not to choke themselves.

The other chain is pulled taut where it connects from clit to clit, a matching pair of rubber-toothed clamps on each of the little nubs. Every inch that one of them sinks down, the other’s clit gets tugged down too. It leaves them in a constant state of writhing in pleasure, only to jerk more in pain. One slips down and the other yelps, one moves up and the other whines. It’s a twisted sort of dance that leaves both Kyle and Johnny panting and flushed, unable to stay still no matter how much they try. It leaves them forced to make a delicious choice between choking themselves, tugging on their clits, or sitting fully on the cocks halfway in their cunts.

The pose also leaves them both presenting their asses very nicely, backs arched and positions unbalanced with their arms made useless. The way their legs are spread leaves their back holes visible - even from the doorway Ghost can see a little jewel glittering between Kyle’s cheeks and a brown tail hanging between Johnny’s thighs.

“Took a bit of work,” Price replies, taking a long puff of his cigar and running his eyes over the squirming boys. Johnny rocks a little too far to the left, gets a loud shout of complaint from Gaz and a glare. “You’d think I’d sliced their little dicks right off the way they howled at the clamps.”

Ghost chuckles and steps up to the display, runs his hand slowly from the nape of Gaz’s neck to his ass. The tension in his back makes his muscles quiver, and Simon can’t resist grabbing him by the hip and forcing him down a few more inches. Kyle and Johnny both yelp at that, Johnny whining as he lets himself sink down too, and Gaz glares at Ghost when he steps to the side of them.

“Aw,” Ghost smirks and lifts a hand up to Gaz’s chin, wipes away a bit of the spit and gives him a harsh tap to his cheek. “Don’t like feeling so full?”

A harsh exhale through the nose and one sharp shake of the head.

Ghost mimics Kyle back, shakes his head slowly with an exaggerated pout. “No? Size queen like you doesn’t like a nice big cock in his cunt?”

A whine this time, a jerky nod instead. From his peripheral Ghost sees Price walk up behind Soap. He doesn’t look over, keeps his attention solely on Gaz so the boy doesn’t get distracted.

“You want more, then?”

Poor thing’s eyes are a little glazed, a little furrow between his brows telegraphing his confusion. He takes a nice deep breath through his nose, exhales heavily and glares at Ghost with slightly clearer eyes.

He only laughs, gives him another tap to the cheek. “You know you’ll take it all by the end of the night, will probably be whining and moaning for more when it doesn’t fill you up the whole way.”

Ghost ignores Gaz’s pouty expression, trades places with Price and sets himself behind Soap. He’s flushed all the way down his spine, his thighs quivering from the effort it takes to keep him up on his toes. The little tail sways a bit between his legs from all his twitching and shifting, and he can’t resist the urge to give it a little tug. Gets Johnny whining and leaning back, then Gaz making a little complaining noise.

“Look at you,” he hears Price murmur, and a moment later Johnny and Kyle both jolt forward with matching pained noises. Ghost glances down and sees that Price’s pointer finger rests in the middle of the lower chain, pushing down and forcing both of the boys further down their respective dildos to try and alleviate the pressure. They both let out upset noises, Johnny’s head jerking back and forth while Kyle’s drops as low as it can, stomach heaving when he takes a deep breath in.

Ghost runs a hand from Johnny’s shoulder down to his ribs, letting himself explore all the skin available to him while Price plays around with tugging the chain up. Both boys jerk further up on their toes in sync, and Ghost can’t help but laugh at their twin moans.

“Like little synchronized swimmers,” Price murmurs, pushing down again and using his free hand to push the nipple chains back and forth in the air. Again, Johnny and Kyle jerk down in sync and groan at the stretch.

“Synchronized sluts, more like,” Ghost grunts, pulling away from Johnny’s sweat-slick body just long enough to undo his belt and let his pants fall to his ankles, tugs his briefs so they rest behind his balls and he can set his rapidly hardening cock along the arch of Johnny’s back. Price takes a final puff of his cigar before stepping away for a moment to put it out, then takes off his own belt and pants as he stands behind Gaz.

Price groans, shoots Ghost an affectionate glare. “That was terrible, even for you, Simon.”

Soap - the little whore - grunts his agreement and jerks his head in a nod. Ghost scowls, lands a bruising blow to his ass and forces him down another inch or so by the hip. That gets him a squeal from both Johnny and Kyle, and a glare from the latter. Ghost smirks at him a little, reaches around the front of Soap’s body to flick the chain connecting their clits. This time Kyle’s eyes roll back in pleasure. Much better.

Ghost turns his attention down to Johnny’s ass, the little hole he’ll be fucking. The plug doesn’t look very large, probably just wide enough to stretch him out but not so wide that he’ll be loose for Simon. He can’t resist the urge to bat the tail back and forth, smirks a little when Johnny shivers at the brush of fur against his thighs.

“Wag your tail for me, Johnny,” he rumbles, rubbing little circles against his hips with his thumbs. Johnny grunts, shakes his head and tries to glance over his shoulder before he realizes he’s choking himself and gives up.

Ghost scowls, firms his grip on Johnny’s hips and forces him down, back up, down, back up, several times. The motion doesn’t wag the tail as effectively as moving from side to side would have, but it does the job.

It also gets both of the little toys screaming, the sudden jerking at their clits probably a horrible pain. Ghost nearly laughs at Gaz’s facial expression, gives Johnny a few extra thrusts just for the fun of it.

He stops when Johnny’s noises shift from whimpers to sharp little yelps, almost barks. As soon as he stops his thrusting motion Johnny sways a little from left to right, just enough for the chains not to tug very much, but still makes the tail swing between his thighs enough to satisfy Ghost.

“Good boy,” Ghost rumbles approvingly, running a hand from Johnny’s mohawk down to his ass. “Look at you, so happy to be stuck on a cock, huh pup?”

Johnny knows better than to ignore him, gives a sharp noise and then nods his head as much as he can.

It’s easy to slip the plug out, Johnny’s rim giving it up without any fuss. Ghost stretches to set it on a table, then gets back to appreciating Johnny’s ass, groping it a bit and spreading his cheeks wide.

It really is lovely, fat and tense and split on a cock. His cunt is spread wide, slick dripping down his thighs and the toy inside him, his little back hole winking at Ghost. It’s easy to sink his thumb in, pull to the side to get him gaping a little more. With the way he’s tied, Johnny can’t do anything but stand there and take whatever Ghost decides to give - either that or yank on his little clit until he’s screaming.

He doesn’t bother to stretch him out anymore, just rubs his cock up and down Soap’s ass crack to coat himself in the mix of slick and lube, then notches his head right in Johnny’s hole.

He hooks his chin over Johnny’s shoulder and keeps his hands tight on his hips as he slowly sinks in, feels Johnny moaning and tensing every muscle to keep from moving, watches as Gaz’s eyes roll back in his head from whatever it is Price is doing knelt down behind him. He jerks down in a quick thrust, has Johnny trying to overcorrect and both of them moaning when the chains pull.

Ghost can’t help but laugh a little as he sinks himself balls deep, reaches up to grasp both of the upper chains in one hand and yanks down with enough force that the clamps nearly come off their tits. It gets both of the boys screaming, Johnny tightening up so much that Ghost isn’t even sure he can pull out.

“Doesn’t get old, does it?” Price grunts, leaning just far enough to the side of Gaz to shoot Simon an amused look.

“No, it doesn’t,” he replies, tucking his nose into Johnny’s throat and giving a few shallow thrusts. Johnny moans again, the sound vibrating through his skin to Ghost’s lips, and he goes a little looser in his hold, leans a little more of his weight into Simon’s hands and the leash holding his head up.

Ghost leans back just enough to glance down and watch as he pulls out, Johnny’s hole spread obscenly wide around him. He plants his forehead on Johnny’s arched back, gives him a few thrusts and just watches the way his body accepts Ghost’s cock so easily. It’s almost mesmerizing, the slow glide of skin, the way his hole doesn’t fight the intrusion at all. If he could, Ghost would spend days just like this - slowly fucking in and out of a bound Johnny, enjoying the view.

The loud moan from Soap reminds him that he’s very much not a doll, and will probably pout about not being treated fairly for days after he’s untied. The thought doesn’t bother Ghost as much as it might’ve with past partners - Johnny’s always needy and clingy when he’s feeling wronged.

Still, having him bound and gag means Ghost doesn’t treat him as a partner. Right now, Johnny is just a whining thing for him to fuck. Ghost will let him come, but only if it feels good for him. Otherwise Johnny will stay right on edge, clenched up nice and tight with his cunt drooling.

Ghost lets his hand dip down Soap’s abs at the thought, spreads his pussy lips wide with his fingers to soak them in his juices. It makes Johnny feel vulnerable, which sets him shifting on his legs again - just enough to tug on the chains, if the nasty look and noise from Gaz are any indication.

Price has stood from where he was, and they’ve been together enough times at this point for Ghost to recoginze on both Gaz and Price’s faces that their Captain is spreading Kyle out for his fucking. He always likes them loose, Ghost wouldn’t be shocked if he tries to fit his entire fist up there.

He smirks at the thought as he fucks into Johnny a little more harshly. Gaz would make a nice puppet.

Apparently that’s not the road Price is going down tonight, because he wraps both of his hands around Kyle’s hips and clearly slides his cock inside the other man, if Gaz’s face is anything to go by.

There are a few moments of push and pull, where Price thrusts in on Ghost’s thrusts out, leaving the Gaz and Soap rocking back and forth with constant little tugs on the chains, slowly impaling themselves more and more as their legs go weaker.

As Johnny gets closer to the edge he gets more wiggly, like he’s trying to rub his dick on something that doesn’t exist so he can get off. The thought of Soap truly just being a toy for his pleasure, just a hole to fuck that doesn’t even have the privilege of an orgasm, has Ghost groaning out loud and thrusting just a bit harder. The change in pace has Johnny groaning, shifting around even more.

Ghost plants both of his hands on Johnny’s shoulders and pushes down, forces him to nearly choke himself with the collar and leash. He goes tense immediately, and every muscle in his body clamps up tight - Ghost throws his head back and moans, pumps his hips as much as he can and relishes in how much effort it takes to even pull out.

“Fuck, you feel good like this, Johnny,” Ghost moans, makes the noise as pleasure-filled as possible. “Nice and tight when you can’t breathe, huh? Might keep you like this ‘til I finish.”

There’s a little panicked, choking noise at that, and Johnny desperately tries to shake his head even with the tension in his leash.

“Yeah,” Ghost groans, settling back a bit. He shifts one hand to Johnny’s nape to hold him down, the other to his arms for a good grip. “You’re a little too loose when you can breathe Johnny.”

A grunt from Price as Simon starts to truly pound into Soap. “That’s what he gets for being a slut.”

Ghost barks out a laugh at that, jerks Johnny to the side by his neck and relishes Gaz’s squeal when both of their bodies sway. “Hear that, Johnny? Captain thinks you’re too used up to enjoy.”

“Now, I didn’t say that.” Price’s breathing is heavier, even at the slower pace he’s fucking Gaz with.

“Sorry, sorry. Captain thinks you’ve taken too many cocks to be worth fuckin’ when you’re not choking, that better?”

Another laugh, lower. “Sure, that works.”

There’s a loud whine from Soap at the words, and he spasms a bit in his binds. Ghost lets go of his neck, helps haul him up a bit and continues his fucking to the chorus of Johnny’s heaving breaths through his nose.

He mocks a disappointed groan, slows his thrusts down to put more force behind each one. “See, Johnny? I let you get a breath in and you go all loose on me again.” He slips the hand on Johnny’s arms down to his crack, strokes the stretched hole and puts just enough pressure to make Johnny think he’s about to push in a finger alongside his cock.

It has the intended effect, sending Johnny jolting as far away as he can. He can’t get much distance, impaled and tied as he is, but it yanks on every chain he’s got tied to him - his leash and all three chains connected to the front of his body. He nearly screams around his bone at the pain, and over his shoulder Ghost can see Kyle’s eyes roll entirely into the back of his head. Price just barely manages to catch him by the throat, holding him up so he doesn’t choke while continuing to fuck him at a slow and steady pace.

“There ya go,” Ghost praises, worming his fingertip all around Johnny’s hole to keep him nervous. “Nice and tight again, like a good cunt should be. Well, a good ass right now, seeing as I’ve got no need for your cunt.”

Johnny whines a little, a high noise that makes him sound just like the needy thing he’s been reduced to. He can’t seem to choose between going limp and struggling, his body switching between the two every few seconds. It leaves him panting and wide-eyed, and both he and Gaz whining and whimpering at what must be constant pain in their little dicks.

“God, you feel so good with both your holes stuffed, boy,” Price moans. He’s a little red in the face, clearly fucked out and barely holding back his orgasm. He slides a hand to the front of Gaz’s body, pinches the clit clamp and moves it back and forth to mimic stroking the bundle of nerves.

Gaz nearly yowls, back arching as much as it can in this position, and abruptly dropping to the heels of his feet. He goes even louder if that’s possible, but his voice is almost drowned out by Johnny’s when the clamp almost goes flying off for him, and he’s forced to his heels just to alleviate the sting.

He nearly chokes Ghost’s cock, and the way he moans and writhes is a dead giveaway to his own orgasm. Ghost copies Price and shifts the clamp over his clit back and forth, forcing Johnny’s body to milk his cock as he starts to finally come deep inside the man.

The room is filled with a symphony of noises - muffled and clear - as all four of them seem to finish at once. Ghost wishes he could open his eyes enough to see Price and Gaz’s faces, would love to lean forward and watch Johnny lose his mind, but the hot vice around his cock is far too pleasurable for him to put effort into anything but the tiny thrusts he gives to keep the stimulation going.

He lets his head fall to Johnny’s shoulder eventually, one of his hands lifting to cup his bound arms. The only sound he can hear is his own heartbeat and uneven pants, and he lets himself sink into the afterglow. Johnny whines a little, shifts on his feet and winces

“Alright,” Price huffs, the clink of his belt loud in the otherwise-quiet room. “You’re gettin’ them down from there since I set them up. I’ll be in the living room with blankets and water bottles.”

Ghost smiles against Johnny’s skin when he hears the old man lumber off, then gets to work easing their boys down for a few long hours of aftercare.

#poly 141 #kinktober 2023 #bo writes #kinktober day 22 #john price x simon riley x kyle garrick x johnny mactavish #john price x ghost riley x gaz garrick x soap mactavish #price x ghost x gaz x soap #john price x simon ghost riley x kyle gaz garrick x johnny soap mactavish #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #poly141 smut #poly141 #poly 141 smut #kinktober

178 notes · View notes

courtingchaos · 1 year

Text

Blackberry + Smash

Pairing: Thirty something line cook!Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

Summary: You and the line cook from next door have been flirting for too long.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: This started as something else, and ended up being a thing I put together for @newlips milestone of love! It's only in two parts because I'm incapable of writing anything within reason! Also I didn’t mention more than once I think, but Eddie and reader are 32 because I’m tired of pretending to be 20 again 🙃 (18+ NSFW etc. etc.)

“Eddie’s here!” One of the girls titters over the headset and you roll your eyes when you hear the chorus line out front.

“Hi Eddie!” All singsong and sweet at him; he answers like Charlie to his Angels.

“Hi baristas!”

It’s become rote at this point, his near daily appearance at 2pm, big smile plastered on his face when the bell rings overhead. He’s dressed for work, black t-shirt with ‘Stacy’s Tap House’ in large white letters across his back, black jeans and…crocs?

“Crocs dude?” You’ve moseyed out to the front register to greet him and notice his lack of steel toes.

“What? You don’t like ‘em?” He lifts one leg up behind himself like a princess and dips his head into his shoulder to bat his lashes at you. “You wear them.”

“I don’t work with hot oil.”

“Eh, I broke my laces and I’m lazy. Haven’t gone to the store yet.” He waves a hand at you while you type in his drink. It’s a truly atrocious thing with 14 pumps of syrup and 6 long shots and heavy cream. You give him shit every single time. You sneer playfully at him when he taps his phone against the reader. He follows you all the way down the line, mirroring your wrinkled nose.

“What are you up to today?” You’re queuing up shots and pumping syrups and you catch him eyeing you over the glass. He crosses his arms over the top of the partition to lean forward and if he wasn’t Eddie, you’d ‘accidentally’ splash him with the rinser.

“Oh you know, making some sandwiches, taking out some trash, selling hardcore drugs in the walk-in. Typical Wednesday.” He shrugs, bobs his head and keeps his eyes on you. You can feel it even while you have your head down, wiping the counter in front of you. You let out a little laugh and that seems to satisfy him. Looks back over his shoulder to the parking lot out front for a few seconds. You take the opportunity to stare at the long column of his neck, bared to you where his hair is pulled back into a bun. The tendon straining from the angle of his head. You could make real quick work of that pale skin, litter it with red and purple.

“Is Jeff working today?”

“He’s in later, why?”

“Wanna bring him his americano?”

“Eh, sure.” He starts to turn back towards the register and you flap your free hand at him.

“I got it, don’t worry.”

“You keep giving me free shit, they’re not gonna keep you around much longer.” There’s that smile again, the dimples that keep you up at night. What a bastard.

“You think after 8 years they’re just gonna fire me? I’ll burn this store down first.” Smirking you hand him both drinks and throw two straws at him. His big hand slaps at his chest and he gasps, looking behind you to grab the other baristas attention.

“Caitlyn did you see that? Is Andrew here? I need to speak to a manager!”

Caitlyn just giggles at him, like you all do, and throws another handful at him. He snatches them all up off the counter top and the few that hit the floor to clutch in his fist.

“These are mine now!” He’s backing up toward the door and nodding at the line who are all pretending to wave hankies at him.

“Hey, Eddie? You make me sick, don’t come back in here tonight.” The smile is clear in your voice even if you are squinting meanly at him. He pauses for a second to wiggle his eyebrows at you. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.” His laugh follows him outside and you watch him jog to his green pickup.

“Every time he comes in here he stares at you.” Caitlyn is still there hovering at your shoulder, watching you watch Eddie, and you can hear her smirking behind you.

“Oh you don’t say?”

Hey chickadee.

What’s up buttercup?

You’re closing, right?

Of course, what the fuck else do I do around here?

G a w d d a m n

What?????

Don’t gotta jump up my ass about it I was just trying to be a ~gentleman~ and see if you wanna hang later.

Oh! Sure, I’ll check with Cate.

Jeff will have a shit fit.

The restaurant closes at 10, your cafe at 9, so it gives you and Cate roughly an hour to race back to your apartment and change. You refuse to go out smelling like coffee and milk, even if Eddie tells you he likes the smell that lingers on your pullover. Weirdo.

You’ve been digging around for ten minutes looking for your good pair of jeans, only to find them in the hamper. Still dirty from the weekend before where you’d gotten a little too rowdy and dropped a drink down the front of you.

Plan B it is. Dress, tights, jacket. All black of course, why would you buy anything else?

“Nah nah nah, I’m not third wheeling am I?” Cate asks when you walk into the living room twisting on your rings.

“What? No. My jeans are dirty and this is like, the only other non work thing I have clean.” You’re a little defensive, sure. She didn’t need to point out the obvious so clearly now did she? Cate’s eyebrow starts to raise and your hand comes up, a loud ‘acht!’ falling out of your mouth.

“It’s not a date! It’s just drinks. Like normal.” This isn’t new, you two going out with the kitchen staff at Stacey’s. It’s always been a little quid pro quo between the businesses and everyone is familiar with each other. They get free drinks more often than not, and you guys get free food (and also everyone gets to ogle Eddie).

“I don’t know why you haven’t just asked him out yet.” Cate’s not wrong. However, “I’m having fun with it. Also maybe I’m waiting on him to ask me.” You shrug at her.

The bar you all frequent is just down the street from the restaurant, small and a little loud it’s the best spot mainly because all the cooks know all the bartenders.

Shots go down easier when they’re free.

You’re off tomorrow, and Cate drove, but you’re still trying to keep it easy tonight. Didn’t need a repeat of last weekends adventure.

This isn’t a date, like it always isn’t a date, but everyone knows. You two have been flirting for a few months now and it isn’t like you don’t know if he’s into you or not. You just like the chase on

this one. He’s witty, funny, a complete asshole on occasion, and incredibly disgustingly hot. You’d told him about as much one night, everyone drunk in the parking lot trying to order an Uber home and he’d just flashed that toothy grin at you like he knew.

“Has anyone told you how stupidly handsome you are?”

“Stupidly? No.”

“Well you are. Stupidly, for sure, but also handsome.”

“Hey.” He taps your shoulder with your drink, his insistence that he buy.

“Hey yourself.” You grab the glass and smile up at him. Even after a full shift of sweating over grills he’s pretty, hair pulled down from his bun, loose curls around his shoulders.

“How was work?”

“Other than the customers, it was fine.” You flash a fake smile and take a sip out of the tiny straw. Jameson and ginger ale. He remembered. A drink order shouldn’t make your heart beat faster but it does. Is the bar so low that you’d give it up for the simple act of remembering your drink?

When Eddie drops down into the seat beside you, his hand falls to your knee and gives it squeeze before taking it away to check his phone.

No, the bar isn’t low, not for Eddie. But the drink is one of many things that makes you want to take him out to his truck and end this dance you two have been waltzing.

All the times he’s obviously thinking of you you. Dropping off food and boba and cookies from that really nice bakery on his block. All the memes he sends you on his smoke breaks. The nicknames. It’s just been building really, ready to burst like an especially ripe blackberry.

Oh it’ll be sweet.

“What are you up to next weekend?”

“Well, I don’t know about Cate, but-“

“I didn’t ask about Cate.” He looks up from his phone, lays it face down on the sticky table top. Out of the corner of your eye you can tell Cate heard her name. As soon as she looks over at you two she’s facing back to Jeff to share a look with him.

“O-kay. I was going to say I’m off actually. I have a wedding to go to on Sunday. Why?”

“Is it in town?”

“Yeah, but I’m gonna be busy like, getting ready for it. I have to get my nails done on Friday. Why?” You lean towards him and push his own drink with your index finger. Anything to push a button. He watches you tease him, eyes dark in the dim lighting, and he reaches over again to tap his middle finger on your crossed knee. He delights in the way your eyes immediately snap to his hand to watch it.

“Wanna grab lunch on Friday?”

“Aren’t you working?”

“Nope. Rare day off.”

Still watching his finger tap tap tapping away you realize you’re finally getting your wish.

“Are you asking me out?” A bomb could go off next to you two you’re sure neither would flinch. His eyes on your eyes on his hand. He stops moving, clears his throat to get you to look at him.

“And what if I am? You aren’t tired of making eyes at me in your lobby every day?” He breaks the tension and makes you laugh.

“Oh me making eyes? Munson you’re a hypocrite and a liar!” You bicker at him while he scoots his chair close, leaned fully into your space to make big cow eyes at you. Calls you out on your bullshit some more. Gets you a few more drinks and before you know it the bartender is last calling all of you pointedly.

Outside is cold but you’re buttered up with enough whiskey and Eddie’s giggles to keep your cheeks flush and warm. Everyone is milling around their cars and you’re just trailing along behind Eddie. You follow him to his truck, not intending on getting in. You’re still going home to your own apartment, your own empty bed, as sad as that makes you.

That blackberry isn’t ready for picking yet, it would seem.

“So Friday?”

“My appointment is at 11. We can meet after?”

“I can pick you up.” Hopping up into his driver seat he says that over his shoulder while he leans into the cab to shuffle through his glove box.

“You don’t have to.” You swat his knee, a little admonishment. It might be a first date, but this isn’t either of your first go arounds. He doesn’t need to be chivalrous here. He sits up with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

“Will you just let me pick you up? Jesus.” Huffs around it while he tries to light it. You take the lighter from him and strike it only to hold it just out of reach. He leans forward and you pull your hand back a little, a smirk and a giggle on your lips. A pause and he grabs your fist and pulls it back towards himself, sucks in until the cherry lights and you can see it reflected in his shining eyes.

Maybe you will climb into the truck, blackberries are your favorite no matter what season.

Eddie sees you sway forward and as much as he wants to let you lean in between his knees you’re just south of tipsy. He doesn’t want either of you to regret anything. Instead he holds out his palm, gesturing for his lighter. You drop it, still leaning forward and a new glint in your eye. He takes a deep breath and swings his legs inside and grabs his door to close it. Doesn’t miss the look of hurt on your face.

“Friday.” He says with a smile.

“Friday.” You back up enough for him to close his door, spinning on your heel to make towards Cate’s car but you stop and spin back. He rolls his window down, eyebrows raised.

“Can I ask you something?” You lean heavy on the doorframe. He takes a drag and nods at you.

“Do you actually sell drugs in the walk in?”

He actually full on laughs, wasn’t expecting that question.

“Sometimes, yeah.” His wrist is loose on the top of his steering wheel, sodium lights glinting off his ring. Absentmindedly ashes his cigarette on the dash.

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?”

“Eddie, this is Indiana. You aren’t the first drug dealer I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah, but am I the first one you’ve had a crush on?” Smugness oozes out the window and you reel back, slap your hand against your chest in mock shock.

“I’m sorry, I have a crush?! Have you met you?”

“Oh I’m well aware of how I feel. Are you?” God, he’s feeling confident tonight. It’s only been months in the making.

That itty bitty taunt brings you back in, hands still gripping his door. He watches your tongue poke out and swipe against your bottom lip, the little gem in your medusa piercing catches the light.

Oh fuck it.

He meets you halfway, soft lips warm against his own. You taste like whiskey and sugar and that last lime slice you ate while he paid the bill. He feels your hands snake up around his collar to hold, pulling him closer and it takes every single ounce of his willpower to not pull you in through the window.

Off in the distance he vaguely hears Cate and Jeff and the rest of the bastards you’ve all been out with whistling and slapping car roofs.

Both of you smiling breaks the kiss but your still in his face and hanging on to his jacket.

“They’re so loud.” You whisper and he wants to chase it back into you.

“I’ll kill Jeff later.”

“Oh don’t do that, he has such an easy drink to make.” There’s that laugh, the one that almost twinkles. Eddie wants to kick himself, he’s so far gone. Your fingers loosen, letting him lean back into the cab. He’s thankful for his long hair where it hides his growing blush along his neck. Finally you walk backwards a few steps, definitely heading toward your ride home now.

“Friday. 10 o’clock?” Cements his plans. Nothing short of a black hole could tear these out of his hands.

You nod about 20 times and watch him back up and then out of the parking lot, the cheer of everyone following his tail lights.

(Sacrifice for the read more)

#newlipsmilestoneoflove #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fic #My work #My Fic

649 notes · View notes