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happybird16 · 2 years

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Levi has a small picture of you in his wallet.

It takes you completely by surprise, digging through the folds of leather to fetch some cash for him. It’s not one you ever remember being taken, much less being printed. From the looks of it, the image is from several years ago, displayed on a tiny little 2.5” by 3.5”, perfectly laminated and everything.

It’s from far earlier in your relationship, your hair is cut in a bit of a different style, your skin a little bit smoother. Head resting on a pillow, all of the muscles in your face lax in your convalescence, you seem to be fast asleep.

“Levi?” You call over your shoulder, aiming your voice towards the next room over where Levi is waiting with the pizza delivery man.

“What?” he calls back just as loud, no doubt not even talking to the poor man -boy really- waiting for his tip. Just staring at him awkwardly, making the kid uncomfortable with his sharp, thoughtlessly stern gaze while they wait in the entryway.

Eyes drinking in the little photo once again, this time you notice one of Levi’s hands is cupping your cheek, his thumb caught mid-swipe along your skin. The image makes your heart flutter, stomach flooding with butterflies at the captured fondness. “Can you come here a sec?” you ask, voice catching in your throat.

“Hold on a moment,” you hear Levi say to the boy, before footsteps begin to make they’re way from the room. “Is something wrong?”

“No…just…” you pause as Levi slides next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, his face full of concern. “You have a picture of me in your wallet?”

“O…oh,” Levi stutters, the pale skin at the tips of his ears immediately flushing red. “I…I’m sorry if it’s weird…I can get rid of it…”

He sounds so sad at the end of the sentence that your heart aches just a bit. “No!” you rush to correct him, voice a bit too loud. “I think it’s cute!”

“It’s not…it doesn’t make you uncomfortable?” Levi asks, steely eyes glued to the picture in question. It must have been taken with his cell phone -probably his last one given the age- because the image is dark and somewhat grainy.

“Not at all, though you could have taken a better one,” you reply, curling your fingers around the hand resting on your hip to reassure him. “When is this from?”

“The first night you slept over at my old apartment,” Levi explains, embarrassment tinging his cheeks now as well as his ears.

Now that he mentions it, you do recognize that pillow, the dark black of his old bedsheets. The pajamas he’d offered you -a shirt he’d bought in college that ended up being way too big on him- are still in use, even now that you’ve moved in together. “The first night? We didn’t even sleep together! I ended up passing out midway through the movie!”

“You smiled…in your sleep,” Levi explains, voice fond and eyes a bit misty with emotion. “You just looked so…”

You see it now, the soft upturn of your lips right next to where his thumb is caressing your skin. After all these years, you know Levi well enough, to know that he struggles with his words, especially when it comes to expressing his emotions. What he means is clear, given the love struck look on his face. “Oh.”

Voice nothing but a quite rumble, he pulls you against his warm side, breathing into your ear, “I think that was the moment I knew you were the one for me.”

The one corner of the image looks well worn, as if he swipes his finger along the edge as often as can be. You can picture him at work, opening up his wallet to catch just a glimpse of you, fingers swiping lovingly along the edge. The image, combined with his admission, makes tears well up in your waterline.

“I love you,” you warble, your voice cracking a bit with emotion.

“I love you too,” Levi responds, voice steady despite the tremor of emotion in his throat. “I know I don’t say it enough…”

He rarely tells you those words, yes, but he portrays them in little ways everyday. You move to kiss him, every nerve in your body screaming for you to take his lips with your own. Levi’s head tilts to meet you, his nose brushing against your own to nudge you into place.

“Hey guys…” you hear a voice call from the room over. The words startle you apart before your lips can meet, sounding a tad bit angry in complete juxtaposition to the emotion emanating the small space.

“Fuck!” Levi curses quietly under his breath, fingers winding fond circles into your hip even as his other hand moves to take the cash from the upper layer of his wallet. “I forgot about the pizza guy.”

Before leaving the embrace, Levi presses a quick kiss to your forehead, complete with a soft hum. He sways with you, pulling you tight to his chest and teetering you both from side to side. “We’ll continue this later, okay?”

“Mhmm,” you hum in confirmation, pressing a wet kiss to his neck. You want a little photo of him now. Something where he’s caught unaware and looking cute for you to tuck into your own wallet.

“I love you,” Levi repeats, eyes dark and fond as they bore into your own. He’s almost smiling, his lips curved upwards just a bit in a rare sight. That’s the image you want to capture forever.

“Lee-”

“Am I getting my tip or what?” The delivery boy startles you once again, cutting you off mid reply.

Sliding out from your embrace, Levi presses another quick kiss to the top of your head before starting towards the entryway. Cash in hand, he calls, “Yeah, I’m coming. I’m coming…”

#mydrabbles #literally wrote this in 30 minutes #levi/reader #fluff #soft and sweet #how do people decide where to put the readmore

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magicxc · 7 months

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What Will It Take

Pairings: Luke James x Black Reader

Word Count: 3235

Warnings: Fellatio, Cunnilingus, Reverse Cowgirl, Spanking, Hint of a Breeding Kink, Pain Kink if You Squint, Real Hard

BBJ Masterlist

“Warriors for the Dub,” I confidently yelled across the hall.

Chuckling as I stride back into the office, coffee in hand, I’m mad excited for tonight's game. Right now it’s a toss up between the Warriors and the Cavaliers and my hating ass coworker is a diehard Lebron fan. I’m talking this man can do no wrong. And I’m all for Lebron don't get me wrong, I can respect the hustle, but that man cries way too much for my taste. Just get in there and play the fucking game without calling for fouls every quarter.

The door slamming against the wall interrupts my thoughts and I look up to see just who has the motherfuckin audacity; my posture relaxing as soon as I eye Damon’s bitch ass stepping through the threshold.

“Ayo for real that boy Curry is done for,” he boomed. “So you might as well just run me my money right now.”

“Just because your rent is due doesn't mean you get to walk around here harassing people; budget better bitch.”

“Ain’t nobody short on money Luke it- matter of fact, lets double up on it.”

“You really wanna go double or nothing?” I questioned.

“That’s what I just said, don’t bitch out on me now.”

“Damon ain’t nobody worried about a few dollars,” I countered. “That’s chump change.”

Damon is what I’d like to call a competitive wagerer. That man will quadruple up on a losing bet even if all he has to give for it is the pants around his ass. Just constantly tripling up on a stake in hopes that the next one guarantees him a pocketful of money. How he still walks around here with two fully functioning knee caps is beyond me.

“Ain’t y’all niggas spose to be working?” comes a voice chiming in from the door.

“Yes sir, I’m just finalizing some of these last minute reports before I hand them over to Luke for the Swiss fiscal account.”

“That’s real cute Damon, but I heard you motherfuckers all the way from the bathroom.”

“Well what you riding a nigga for then?” Damon groaned.

“My bad boss,” I conceded. “But by the end of the day all the statements will have been completed.”

“If y’all two sons of bitches gone be gambling in my establishment, at least have the decency to do it quietly,” he barked. “And while we’re at it, Luke, I need you to stay behind tonight to get a head start on the Cayman Island accounts.”

“My man, any other night and I got you, but tonight is the finals and I already have everything all set up.”

“Luke, if I don’t see at least some headway on those reports by tomorrow, don’t even bother coming in.”

“Sheesh, so much for a work environment that feels like family.”

“Damon shut yo ass up and clock out while you at it,” he ordered, stomping out the room; Damon angrily puffing behind him.

“Fuuuck,” I muttered.

Five days worth of planning down the damn drain. I’m talking surround sound installed and ready to go. Acoustic panel strips glued to the door of my mancave for the perfect noise cancellation, effectively soundproofing it. And wings from my favorite spot preordered and ready to deliver for the exact time I pulled into the driveway. Deadass, the only thing I had left to do was take a quick shower once I got inside. And with how long it takes me to get home once I got off, I would’ve been out the tub just in time for player introductions.

Now my boss wants me to sort through this pile of shit tonight? It’s gonna take me at least an hour to make even an ounce of progress trying to unscramble these makeshift ass policy reports. Truth be told, he’s only doing this cause he thought his underdog ass team was gonna come through and make their way to the finals. Well jokes on him cause the Celtics haven’t been relevant since Rondo was on that bitch. I mean he’s a cool boss when he’s ready, but I need to square up with him at least once outside of work hours. Nothing too hectic, just long enough to let out some frustrations.

|~~

Tonight's game starts at 7:00, meanwhile I just barely wrapped up everything for the Swiss fiscal accounts; my impatience growing as I eye the current time of 6:30. Vigorously rubbing my temples, I let out a sigh of annoyance as it dawns on me that I may very well spend the first half of the game in this office - all my weeks worth of preparation wasted.

Sending a quick text to my wife that I’ll be working overtime, I set up the game on my phone and give myself until the end of the first quarter before I call it a night; opting to stream it for some background noise.

|~~

Halfway into the second quarter, I’m just shy three pages into the Cayman Island files, stopping every so often to watch Draymond run a foul. Honestly I couldn’t tell what’s going on with that paperwork, but I’ll be damned if I sit here and find out. The very least I can do is finish up these last two quarters in the comfort of my home. Boss said I had to make some headway not finish it, I thought to myself as I packed up to leave.

“Boy aint no fucking way,” I screamed to no one in particular, hands slamming against the steering wheel; those orange striped cones tall and unwavering as they barricade the street, mocking me.

Ten minutes into my drive home and my usual route, of all times, is blocked off. Now I gotta take the residential area which is chocked full of stop signs and speed limit ass followers. The third quarter is just beginning and the fleeting thought crosses my mind about finishing the game at the nearest bar; dismissing the idea soon after, my heart intent on salvaging whatever is left of this night.

“Agghhhh”

Five minutes away from my house, the sportscaster announces the end of the third quarter with the Warriors at 88 and The Cavaliers at 73. They cut for a short commercial break and I floor it the rest of the way home, fingernails digging painfully into my palms.

Bursting through the front door, I fling my jacket on the back of the couch. My tie follows shortly after, softly slithering onto the floor. Feet noisily slipping out of each shoe, it’s become a messy clothing trail left behind; a chaotic version of footprints left in the sand, and although my steps can be retraced, it’s far from picturesque.

Mancave be damned I think, making a beeline for the front room which to my surprise is already playing tonight’s game. I plop into the seats, confusion etching onto my features as I get the strangest case of deja vu.

“I swear I’ve seen this before,” I whisper.

Sitting up further, ass dangling off the edge of the seat, this game is starting to look a little more familiar than I’d like. And it isn’t until I peep the infamous two player scuffle that I realise it's an old game, head hanging in irritation as I pinch the bridge of my nose to calm my nerves.

A quiet, but unmistakable giggle sounds from behind me and I turn around to eye none other than the culprit herself, bursting into hysterics like shit is funny.

I go and make my way to the basement to try the game down there, but I just about tore that place up looking for the remote. Stomping up the stairs, I try our bedroom as a last resort to see the actual game playing; only it's muted. Eyeing the remote, relief washes over me and I quickly snatch it off the dresser trying to press the buttons as I aim it at the tv every which way, to no avail.

Muffled laughter in the background has me turning over the remote to see that the batteries are missing. Tongue poking against my cheek, I try to weigh my options of giving into her shenanigans or just watching the game on my phone like I did earlier tonight; not that I think she’ll let me.

We’re currently in the fourth quarter with 10 minutes left on the clock and everyone still has all their timeouts so I can realistically catch another 25 minutes of game time. Again, I doubt I'll get a chance to watch any of that, at home that is.

And I peep exactly what’s happening too, she ain't slick. Knowing how important this game is, she chooses to pull these childish ass stunts to get a rise outta me cause apparently I get “erotically aggressive” when I’m frustrated, or in this case, competitive.

Albeit, I think it’s mostly stemming from boredom. Something about taking matters into her own hands cause she's been feeling overlooked lately. But I’ve promised her more quality time between us as soon as I wrapped up the Swiss fiscal accounts. That project has taken more time away from us than I’d like, but it was crucial that I made the deadline. Shit, the bonus coming my way has already been spent if I’m being honest. I even made plans to take a few days off from work in preparation for a surprise getaway to show her how sorry I really am. Then she goes and pulls this fuckery. This right here is why she can’t have nice things.

“Y/N, please don’t do this, at least not tonight,” I warned.

Stepping into the room, batteries in hand, she twirls them through her fingers taunting me with each swipe, pondering exactly what I’d do for the batteries in question.

“Imma count to 3.”

“ONE!” she so boldly started for me.

Head cocked to the side, I have to forcibly tuck my lips between my teeth to hide the impressed grin that threatens to show. Meanwhile her eyes are narrowed into slits just daring me to make the first move; and I’ll be damned if I don't.

“Three,” I barked.

Stalking towards her, I scoop Y/N up and over my shoulder to which she purposely tosses the batteries throughout the room. I land a handful of smacks to her ass, clenched fists beating on my back in return. Slamming her onto the bed, I crawl between those pretty, brown thighs and wrap my hand around her neck.

“You wanted my attention so badly mamas, now show me why you should keep it.”

A dry, gagging sounds from the back of her throat, but I don’t have time for nonsense tonight. Releasing her neck I send a quick love tap to Y/N’s cheek, instructing her to tell me what’s next.

Pushing me to the side, Y/N quickly switches positions as she straddles me, grinding her clothed pussy into my dick while she catches her breath.

Swallowing a groan, I send a sharp smack to her thighs and demanded a speed up in pace, lowkey hoping to have a quickie so I can get back to the game.

Scrambling, she reaches for her shirt and throws it over her head, my favorite laced bra flying not too far behind. My dick twitches as the sight before me, pathetically rubbing against the friction of my pants while she plays with her nipples until they harden underneath the touch. Moans tumble from those luscious lips as she begins to circle her hips over mine once more, rubbing her core deliberately into the growing tent of my pants.

Raising up ever so slightly, Y/N’s underwear follows suit and she so boldly crawls over to my face, easing on down until her lower lips align with mine. Hands cradled around her plump ass cheeks, I pulled her closer and got to work, munching on the pussy like it was my last meal.

Tongue swirling through her slippery folds, I slide it further toward the glistening center, flattening it as I apply some much needed pressure. Hips thrashing away, I clamp down on her thighs until she has nowhere to run, intent on letting her feel every ridge of my tongue as it slithers toward the throbbing of her hooded clit.

We build a nice rhythm, the buckling of her hips a clear indication. Head thrown back, her hand tightly grips the headboard as the other sinks into my hair, roughly pulling on my coils while she whimpers into the quiet night. Body quivering above mine, I begin sucking on her clit without relent and it doesn’t take long until Y/N stiffens, a mouth full of her sweet essence the end result of a wave well rode.

Shallow panting turns into quiet breathing and usually after an orgasm, she tends to doze off, but I'll be damned if she gets a good night's rest after tonight's mischief. Shuffling on the bed, my clothes land next to hers in the corner of the room, my dick now at full attention.

Sliding my hands up to her waist, I hurl her onto the mattress below. Back to the sheets and legs spread eagle, I instruct her to finish what she started. Deciding to crawl on top of me, I stopped her mid-climb emphasizing, “aht aht aht, turn around and give me sumn good to watch.”

Tongue seductively gliding over her bottom lip, Y/N sends a knowing smirk my way as she readies herself to ride me reverse cowgirl. Hands wrapped around my dick, she gives it a few strokes, pussy teasingly hovering over where I need it most. A thunderous smack to her thighs gets the message going, her shrill shrieking turning me on a little more than I expected. Hips finally lowering onto my shaft, I let out a breathy moan, fingers sinking into her soft skin, all but ready to slam her all the way down.

“Mhnmmm, stop playing and put that pussy on this dick mamas,” I groaned. “C’mon and soak it real good for me.”

Knees connected to the sheets, one hand cradles my thigh for support while the other guides just the tip along her sopping lips. Now moist with her slick, Y/N raises up entirely and continues to jerk me, head diving down south to swallow my nuts whole.

“Aghhh shit, where the fuck you learn th-”

Pressure on my sac and hands swiftly stroking my length has me turning pussy real quick, encouraging her to keep going, my earlier outburst quickly forgotten. It may not be the sensation I was going for, but it for damn feels good as hell. Fingers digging into her flesh, they envelop those thick thighs, opting instead to knead them soothingly, sensually - her warm skin almost as sizzling as my desire, our low grunts bouncing against the still walls.

“You missed me real bad huh? Show me just how much.”

Tongue sliding against my balls, I feel every ridged texture coupled with the strokes she refuses to slow down on, it makes for a mind blowing sensation. Eyes rolling back, I almost miss the way her pussy slowly drips on my belly.

Removing my hand, I slide a thumb inside, sending slow, languid thrusts. After a few minutes, I inch my thumb closer to her clit, rubbing that mother fucker in steady motions of figure eights. Mouth hung open and hand movements sluggish, we stayed like that for a moment; slowly milking each other to the brink of pleasure.

Releasing my member Y/N sits up, my thumb falling to my side. Hands now resting on my thighs as she makes eye contact over her shoulder while slowly sliding down my shaft.

“This feel good baby?” she faux’s innocence. This woman is gonna be the end of me.

“Mhmm, squeeze me how you know I like it.”

That kegal shit she does makes my eyes cross over. The way her warm walls hug my dick in all its spongy goodness, mhnnmm fuck I could stay like this forever.

Grabbing a handful of each ass cheek, I help guide her on a rhythm that makes us both feel good, one where she actually makes use of her ankles instead of scooting on my dick like she’s trying to push in a chair. It's a position where I know she won't last long but also one where she experiences the best orgasms. Apparently from this position my dick rubs along her clit in all the right places and I ain’t mad at a two for one special.

Sitting forward, weight pressed on her forearms, Y/N garners better control and starts to bounce on me in earnest.

“Unhh, just like that keep going,” I grunt.

“Tell me you love me,” she screams.

“I love you.”

Raising my hips to meet hers, I grab a hold of her waist and drive into that pussy full force, the headboard viciously knocking into the wall behind us.

“Say it again Luke!”

“I love you,” I croak.

“Tell me what you want baby,” she coos.

Coming up off her forearms, Y/N slowly sits up and gets into a squatting position, hands nestled on her kneecaps as she readies herself to drain me dry.

Intensely rocking her hips, the steady sound of skin slapping against skin fades into the background as my heartbeat loudly pounds in my ears, toes tightly curled while my hips continue to meet hers thrust for thrust.

“mamas *thrust* I’m so *thrust* sorry,” I growl.

“Aghhh say it again.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” is the tantrum that spills from my lips, shouting as I hit my peak. Fingers damn near embedded into her skin while I empty my load inside her fertile walls.

Y/N comes shortly after, her juices splashing around us. Falling on top of me, her back to my chest, I wrap my arms around her as we lay there in our post orgasmic bliss, heavy breathing coming to a slow stop.

“Mamas, I am so sorry that you’ve felt the need to resort to this as a result of my neglect,” I apologized.

“Luke, I just wanted you present is all, I feel like we were starting to drift and I got scared.”

“No, no, no if ONLY you knew what I had in store for you; but I’ll do my best to at least check in when work seems never ending,” I assured her.

Holding up her pinky, I lock mine with hers to which we share a kiss to our thumbs and then to each other. Promising a better act of communication between us, I wrap her in my arms and assault her face with slobbery kisses, encouraging her to never pull this shit again and to get a full night's rest as she’ll need her energy for the morning.

The game is still playing mute in the background and from what I can see they just wrapped up, GSW blowing a perfectly good 15 point lead.

“Well I’ll be damned. Damon really did win the bet, and double at that.”

A vibration from my phone has me already knowing who’s on the other line but I don’t have time for that man’s antics tonight. I can wait a few more hours before I have to sit up and listen to non stop gloating.

#EmmyWrites #EmmyTries #MyDrabbles #BlackBoyJoy #LukeJamesxBlackReader #LukeJamesxBlackFemReader #LukeJames #BlackReader #BlackFemReader #NewEdition #JustFucking #Warriors #Dub Nation #cleveland cavaliers #Sports Tings #Basketball #boston celtics

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matsuoclan · 8 months

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a snippet of a Nia fic I have bouncing around in my head

#hello i have not written fic since 2021 #playchoices #blades of light and shadow #nia ellarious #sneak peek #mydrabbles

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gnarledbite · 3 months

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Insp: Unraveling (Unravel) and Amen (Amber Run)

January 12, 1954

Garrett's boots crunched through the brittle ice and snow glittering in the scarce lamplight. No plumes of mist formed in front of his face, no breaths made his chest rise and fall. The wind tried to snatch his hood from his head and he tugged it back into place; the vampire looked around at the streets he used to know like the back of his hand, both amazed and disheartened at how much had changed in his absence. He only recognized the older buildings (the couple that were still standing, anyway); other than that, nothing looked familiar. He supposed with a heavy heart that progress and two world wars would have that effect.

It had taken much longer than he'd liked to get an answer about Oliwia and Piotr Nitka. The old woman he'd spoken to an hour ago had directed him east, with a devastatingly telltale sorrow in her voice as she spoke of them… spoke of them in a past tense that filled his chest with lead. It wasn't the cold that numbed his limbs as he crept over the black iron gates, dread filling his mind, eyes scanning every name they fell upon as he wandered among the stones.

He already knew what he was going to find. The reality hadn't even really hit him when he finally saw it: three headstones in a row, one far older than the other two, all bearing the same last name.

Oliwia Nitka. 1888 - 1952.

Piotr Nitka. 1907 - 1943.

Garrett hardly realized he'd sunk to his knees, even as the icy cold started seeping through the fabric of his pants.

He was too late. Too late by a meager two years. Oliwia taken by time and Piotr by war. His face crumpled, vision blurred, and the blood running from his eyes chilled his cheeks where the scarf over his face left them bare. That same blood left splatters in the snow as he bowed his head, his claws pricking at his scalp through the thin fabric of his hood as an ugly sob wrenched itself from his throat.

Why hadn't he fought harder? Why hadn't he run from his sire the first time he'd gotten the chance? Why had he let her scare him into abandoning his own family? Why had he left them to think he was dead for the rest of their lives? The damnable blood bond was the answer to everything running through his mind, but that didn't stop the surge of guilt. Another sob rose into a hoarse, grief-stricken scream, that only cut off when his voice cracked from the force of it.

Eyes still swimming with crimson, the Nosferatu finally lifted his head, gaze wandering to the last stone: his own.

Lukas Nitka. 1886 - 1917.

Another body-wracking gasp escaped him, but after a forced breath it shifted to a snarl, and he lunged forward to rake his claws across the worn granite slab. Four parallel gashes cut through his old name and the years marking his life, but with that act of aggression, he sank back to his knees, heedless of the ice and cold. Only then did he hear the quick crunching of footsteps behind him, accompanied by the flickering light of a lantern and calls of “Hello??” that were snatched away by the wind. The footsteps paused before the voice spoke up.

“Sir? I'm sorry, but you can't be here after dark. You–” the words paused as the gloved hand laid on his shoulder was yanked back. “You're freezing! Please, come with me, you'll catch your death out here…!”

The hand returned and gave Garrett a gentle pull, attempting to rouse him enough to get him to his feet. All the vampire heard was the thrum of the keeper's heart and the rush of blood through his veins. Grief sharpened his hunger and anger to a dangerous point, and he dragged himself up, steadying himself only just long enough to turn and lunge for the unsuspecting man and sink his fangs into his throat. The lantern hit the snow with a rattle and a brittle crack of glass before the weak light sputtered out.

Brief though it was, the spike of panic left it's traces in the blood Garrett was gulping down, imparting a flavor he might've enjoyed under other circumstances. His Beast needled at his anger, nudging at his hunger, urging to drink deeper from the body pinned under him, whispering that it would soothe the ugly, aching hollow in his chest. After a long moment– too long– he forced himself to release the old man, snapping his head back with a shuddering gasp. He scrambled back on hands and knees like an animal, still hunched in the snow, the mouthfuls of hot blood making steam rise from his cold lips in a mockery of living breath.

He listened. There was barely a shudder of the old man's heart before it fell as silent as his own. Regret washed over his anger as he felt something deep inside him wither and wane; not completely, but enough to remind him quite sharply of the consequences of what he'd just done.

Damnit. Damnit, damnit, DAMNIT. He probably had family of his own. A wife. Children, grandchildren. Who was Garrett to take that from them just because HE was the one grieving?

He swallowed the last traces of blood and sat up on his knees, now listening for anyone else coming closer as he contemplated his next step– specifically, what to do with the body. No matter what he did with it, it couldn't be found with such bitemarks– marks that any halfwitted Hunter would be able to pick out, and it was too late to close the wounds the usual way. He had to make it look like something else.

He had no knife… but his gaze fell to the cracked glass in the lantern and he quickly pried the largest shard loose. There was no blood left to spray from the hard (careful) slashes to the corpse's throat, slashes forceful enough to part flesh down to the bone, but they hid the bitemarks enough to his liking.

Gathering the shattered lantern as well, Garrett hauled the dead man up with him and resumed wandering the cemetery, this time looking for something else. Eventually he came across a handful of fresh graves lying empty at the edge of the property, with a shovel propped against the edge of one; that explained why the old man had been so quick to find him. The vampire laid him down in the furthest grave with the lantern by his feet, and began quickly filling it in. Falling snow would ensure the new burial was hidden for a while, and with any luck, the body wouldn't be found at all.

After twenty minutes of work, he tamped the earth down with the back of the shovel. Only then did he take a moment to shut his eyes and hiss an apology to the winter wind; maybe it would reach whatever family he had.

The last thing Garrett did was return the shovel to the little keeper's hut he'd passed, and then he pulled his scarf back up over his nose, pulled his hood down, and trudged back into the snowy night. Even if he'd left the body where it died, Garrett wasn't sticking around long enough to be found, now that he knew there was nothing for him here anymore. He felt for his pocket, knowing how much money he had left for travel. He didn't even know where he was headed. He'd just… pick a direction. Anywhere but here.

…North. He'd get to the train station tomorrow evening, and see just where North took him.

#MyDrabbles #Long one!~#I was gonna have a softer ending but. nah let's have this trend of impulsive decisions and consequences continue~ :3

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ratwhsprs · 5 months

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He'd had similar dreams, and often as well. Moving quickly along damp concrete and rust-worn pipes with a soft scratch of claws. Everything bigger, every scent more vibrant, every sound sharper than it ever was. Darting here and there, inspecting this and that with boundless curiosity, whether it was potentially food or something soft or something shiny.

It was the latter that caught his attention, something glinting and shining in the shadows. It is inspected, nosed at, nibbled to be thorough about it before the shiny thing is put between sharp teeth to be carried off into the dark.

Blessedly, there was no headache when he awoke this time, just thirst and a nagging hunger that said he hadn't had enough to eat the morning before. A few rats scampered off of him as he sat up and stretched, reaching up for a bottle of water and a small stash of energy bars he kept out of reach of his pets.

He'd just stifled another yawn when one of his rats hopped up onto one of his knees with something shiny in her mouth.

“Someone's been up early,” he smiled, trading the bauble for a peanut. “Let's see what you brought m–”

What?

What??

He stared wide-eyed, turned it over in his hands, disbelief spreading over his face.

Was this… the same thing he'd found in his dream??

…it was. This was the same trinket. What did that even mean? Had he been… seeing through the rat's eyes? Is that what ALL of those dreams were?! Did this mean he had another aspect to his powers, that he could do more than talk to his rats?

With the shock slowly wearing off, he hadn't felt this thrill of discovery in a very long time… he just had to figure out how it worked.

#MyDrabbles

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mirrordread · 7 months

Text

He'd felt this before, this sensation of being… hunted. It had been years ago in the Middle East, but the situation was the same: the four men he'd walked in with were dead without a single defensive shot being fired, and no clue where their attacker was located. He turned, sweat beading on his face as he swung the pistol around, searching for a movement, a shadow, something to tell him where the person picking them off was hiding. At one point he thought he saw movement in the glass of the cases, but he couldn't tell if it was just one of the ugly mummified faces on display or something else. In his current state? It could just be his mind playing tricks on him as instinct screamed at him to leave. Fuck it. The boss who hired them could come down here and rob the place himself.

Eido idly paced the perimeter of the museum, watching– stalking– the last hired thug through the reflections in the glass display cases. His fear had been mounting over the last several minutes as each of his associates fell, eventually leaving him pointing his weapon at every shadow in the darkened display floor. His fear even tipped into something else, something stemming from the past-- PTSD, perhaps?-- and Eido had to fight to keep herself from laughing. Fear didn't have a taste, but the head rush almost made her giddy. But she had to focus. She still had a job to do.

And it certainly didn't involve him escaping.

Her reflection in the glass moved again, this time finally reaching out to touch his. Cool arms encircled his back in an embrace he would feel, and no amount of twisting and turning would show him what was touching him… not until his eyes finally fell on his reflection in the huge pane of glass to his right. The sight of the masked woman sent a shock of fear through him, and he stepped forward to try and extricate himself from the ghost's grasp–

But at the same time he felt a gloved hand cover his mouth, there was a sharp pain in his back, once, twice, three times. There was nothing physical covering his mouth, yet he couldn't let out the pained scream that was trying to escape him. The woman in the reflection leaned up closer to his ear as she slowly twisted the knife, and he could hear her as if she was standing right next to him.

"Shhhh, shh shh shh shh. Relax. It'll be over in just a moment."

Or sooner. Eido held on tighter as she drank in his mortal terror, his confused fear of what was happening. The knife twisted further, and she kept her hand pressed over his mouth as a desperate whimper slipped from his throat. After another long moment, his body sagged heavily against her, and she stepped aside to let him drop to the floor. There was no mess to clean up, not a spot of blood on the polished marble floor. It would seem to the police that the intruders had just dropped dead… even if it was from fear.

Eido stepped from the reflection with a sigh and returned to the real world, stepping over the body as she meandered to one of the display cases to inspect its contents. One hand reached for the earpiece under her hair.

"It's done. Your guess on the timing was a little off, but nothing inside was touched. Now about that favor…"

#MyDrabbles #hi have a scary Eido

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brutalscaled · 1 year

Text

He'd been here before. Cold operation table, blinding overhead lights. Whispers of pain as their tools graced his form. His eye had yet to fully grow back and already they were moving on. The focus was... on his chest, it seemed. There was the shrill whine of that damned saw again, grating against bone. There was a hollow sound, a scrape or a crack, and the feeling of chilled air where there shouldn't be.

More movement, methodical snips of pain in his chest. The slow beat of his heart never picked up or slowed.

And then... the beating shifted. No... stopped. There was a slick feeling as something was lifted from his chest, leaving him feeling... light. One eye opened and drifted, catching sight of hoses leading to and from his chest; he could almost smell the blood running through them. And in the silver tray next to the table...

a heart glistened in the light of the operating theater.

#MyDrabbles #gore //#blood //#and here's an update with what's going on with Croc :'3

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bloodriven · 1 year

Text

Braund stood at the edge of the room, folded arms creasing the clean robes he'd been given as he observed the conversation with clear disinterest. He was only there because this argument was centered around him; the Abbot and a mother of two had been going back and forth for almost ten minutes with no sign of reaching a conclusion the woman would be satisifed with.

"Your children are safe, Mrs. Harris. Surely that is what matters most?"

"My daughter has been suffering nightmares after seeing a man's skull caved in! It's clear my children's safety was an afterthought at best!" Came the snapped reply. "If that man actually cared, he would have gotten them back to the Hamlet first, and THEN gone on his blood soaked rampage! What good do men like him even serve the church??"

It was nothing Braund hadn't heard before. The flagellants weren't viewed in any sort of favorable light by many commoners, and their presence was met with all sorts of fear-driven assumptions. Don't allow them to speak to your children, don’t let them linger too long in your home, and so on. It was like people were afraid their sort of fanaticism was contagious (or disgusted by the idea that their work included some sort of sexual gratification, a rumor that never failed to bring a scowl to his face). With a soft snort, Braund pushed away from the wall and headed out into the quiet of the corridor. Her kids were safe, that was all that mattered, no matter what else the woman had to say. The Abbot could find him later with whatever punishment they concocted to satiate her.

He headed away from the Abbey’s main entrance hall, pretending not to hear the periodic soft patter of a child's steps on the flagstones behind him. A few more moments of this passed before Braund finally came to a stop, the stained glass windows draping colored sunlight over his shoulders. It was a stark contrast to how the Harris boy had first seen him, with robes torn and body covered in gashes and blood.

"Are you going to follow me all the way to the Penance Hall?" He said to the quiet corridor. "Your mother won’t like you talking to me. You should go back before they come looking for you."

Some children came to him curious about the scars, of course; not many of them got to ask much before they were quickly herded away by their parents with apologies for the disturbance. The boy finally peeked out from the shadows of an alcove before padding into the light, fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt.

"Since mother won't say it… I just wanted to tell you thanks for saving us," he said, looking up at the scarred man.

"... Have you learned a lesson about staying off the Old Road?" The flagellant asked, not waiting for an answer before adding, "What were you two even doing out there?"

"Looking for brambleberries. All the bushes 'round the Hamlet were picked over already."

"Try the market next time. Or have a different fruit. Someone might not be there if you need help again." Braund paused, making an attempt to soften his scowl. "... I did not mean to scare your sister. But why did you not run when I told you to?"

"We might've run into somebody else! And then we'd still be in trouble without someone to help us!" The child said, crossing his arms. "Besides, she's a big baby. She'll cry about the mice under the floors if I tell her enough stories."

Braund's head tilted down, his returning frown making the indignant child shrink ever so slightly.

"Don’t you all have enough to be afraid of without making it worse for her? People can't travel beyond the village without being in danger and you're filling your sister's head with things to fear at home," he half-growled, turning to face the boy properly. "Home should be where you're safe, shouldn't it? It's not fair of you to steal that sense of safety from her. Have your parents not told you that it's your job as her older brother to look out for her when they aren’t around?"

The boy shrunk further, shuffling back a step. The height and memory of all the scars were more intimidating paired with the current scolding.

"A couple of times... But she's–!"

"No excuses, boy. Think back to what happened on the road! What if she'd fallen behind, or I hadn't come along? She would be dead on those men's blades thanks to your carelessness, do you not understand that? You can't afford to be so thoughtless when others depend on you!" He snapped, his voice rising. Startled tears suddenly glistened in the boy's eyes. It seemed he hadn’t thought of that. Part of him knew he shouldn't expect so much from one so young… but perhaps scaring the boy would help hammer in that sense of responsibility he'd apparently been shirking.

Braund slowly reigned his snarl in with a deep breath. He'd made his point clear enough.

Quick footsteps echoed off the stone walls as one of the Vestals approached, drawn by sounds of anger. She shot him a sharp look at the sight of the crying child, which the flagellant ignored as he turned away.

"Sister, please lead him back to the entrance hall. Our conversation is done and his mother is looking for him."

#MyDrabbles #long post #-sets this here and goes to find some dinner-

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apcryphl · 2 years

Text

Marcus didn't remove his knee from the other Overseer's chest until the man's weakening death rattle fell silent. Blood soaked the dead man's uniform, freed from a gash in his throat made by Marcus’s own saber. Jannik's shortness of breath came out hollow from behind his mask, his eyes wide in near disbelief at what he'd done… what he'd finally done.

The Overseer at his feet was… had been… brutal, cruel, to say the least. Needlessly so, in Marcus’s opinion, no better than those wretched street gangs roaming the City. Marcus was sure that was where he'd be were he not picked up by the Overseers, with a gang or the City Watch.

One suspicious cough too many gave Marcus the excuse to do something about him.

He stood, feeling a prickling at the back of his neck that had him gripping his sword tighter, his pistol in hand a second later. It was nerves, the nagging worry that someone might have seen… he turned, intent on heading back to Holger Square. His partner had shown signs of the sickness; Marcus had acted accordingly when he resisted. No one would question it.

#IC Status #MyDrabbles #YEAH Marcus sometimes used the plague as an excuse to kill Particularly Troubling Overseers #only done it twice but it’s definitely a thing he's done #also feel free to respond if you'd like!

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mylarena · 10 months

Text

i loooove the concept of both soap and ghost being touchstarved but in different ways.

ghost being touchstarved, but once he gets one touch he cannot get enough, so he keeps going back for more and subtly initiating little touches with soap- bumping their shoulders while walking, pressing their knees together under the table, leaning into johnny after a tiring mission.

soap being touchstarved for anything meaningful. he gives other soldiers pats on the shoulder for a good job, he gives gaz a fist bump when passing him in the hall, sometimes alejandro gives him a brief hug when they reunite after a while- but he never gets anything substantial- never gets a warm, fatherly hug from price the way he sees gaz get one, doesnt get a fond hair ruffle like he used to get from his ma, cant crawl into his parents beds after a bad dream like he did as a child.

then he met ghost.

and yeah, soap may have kickstarted the whole situation with that little fist to the shoulder before their first mission, but it really was a pretty slippery slope once they got out of las almas. suddenly ghost is there, always next to him, warm and solid and reliable, and he gives little touches- those shoulder bumps, pressing of knees, leaning, all these little points of contact. and soap knows they mean something to ghost, hes seen how the man avoids touching others like the fucking plague. so for ghost to be initiating this, for him to trust soap enough- soap knows its meaningful and that warms him to his core.

but sometimes it just... isnt enough. sometimes he still has that deep cavern filled with yearning in his chest, the unrelenting desire for touch, for affection, for a damn hug.

its a particularly bad night when he breaks. he dreamed- dreams of las almas, being shot and dragging himself through the city, of ghost not responding to his comms and him finding his body, then of chicago, of something happening and no one stopping hassan from throwing him off that fucking building. when he woke and couldnt calm himself, he stumbled out of his room and made his way near blindly to ghosts door. after a frantic knock, the door flew open much quicker than soap expected (maybe it was how noisy he was being with his steps, maybe it was the way he slumped into the wall, maybe it was his panting,) and he was faced with ghost, adorned in what might be the comfiest clothes soap has ever seen him in, with his mask hastily pulled on over his face. his eyes widen in surprise, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

"johnny? what happened, is something wrong? are you hurt?"

and hes reaching out, putting a hand on soaps arm while he scans his body for any wounds- something that put him in so much distress. when he finds nothing of note, he looks back up at soaps face, and he moves his other hand up to his face to hold him steady.

"johnny, whats going on?"

and soap breaks. he lets his legs basically give out and he falls forward into ghosts chest, gripping at his shirt. ghost doesnt miss a beat and catches him, moving to pull him away to look him in the eyes again but pausing at the sobbing whine that soap releases when he shifts.

"what do you need, johnny?"

"jus'... hold me, please."

and so simon does. he wraps his arms around soap, walks them out of the doorway, closing and locking the door, and he settles both of them onto his bed. soap clings to him all night, and ghost doesnt stop him. he simply holds him tight and whispers reassurances into his hair.

#myposting #mydrabbles #soaptag #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #ghost/soap #soap/ghost #ghoap #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #whoops! dinner time gamers!!!

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taintandviolent · 2 months

Note

For the ask prompt game:

"Don't say that" w Kit Walker

tw: infertility, angst, brief smut.

Kit opened the door, setting his coat down on the chair nearest to it. You felt him searching for you, felt his eyes scanning over the small of your back and the curve of your ass. His heavy steps echoed in the small house as he made his way over to you. Wordlessly, your hand moved in circles, sudsing up a plate.

His warm chest pressed against your back and Kit began peppering little kisses along the nape of your neck. Knowing what was coming next, you immediately felt petulant and stiffened as you continued to meticulously scrub at the dishes. It wasn’t that you didn’t love Kit – you did, with everything you had. It was just that he wanted something you didn’t, and something that you’d never ever be able to give him. Still, he tried, thinking that his potent virility would puncture your insufferable, sterile womb.

“Miss me, baby?”

“Sure I did. I always miss you when you’re gone, Kit.”

“Mmmmfff –” His words disappeared into your skin.

His large, warm hands explored your plush hips, squeezing the flesh hard. Teeth clenched, you bit back your words. They continued to venture further, into the crease of your thigh, heading straight for your cunt. His middle and ring finger moved together, caressing the slit. His whisperings were hot on your ear, his breath rushing down over your neck. “I wanna’ fill you up, baby.”

“Oh, Kit - stop it!” You twisted your body away from him, furiously scrubbing at the pan.

Kit’s eyes softened, searching for a glimmer of sarcasm, of joviality. He found nothing but hardness. “Sugah’, don’t…”

“No! Kit!” You threw the pan down, the sound of it clattering in the sink startling him. “ I’m tired of ignoring the elephant in the room. It makes me sick!”

“Baby, listen,” he shushed, his hands clamping onto the sides of your arms. He rubbed the flesh there, trying to pacify you. He hadn’t meant anything by his casual remark, he was just trying to get you in the mood. After a long day, all he wanted was to have you to his own. As any man would.

Bracing yourself on the sink, you leaned over it, watching as the suds sloshed back and forth, tiny bubbles popping. Tears welled up in your eyes, stinging the corners. You hadn’t wanted to cry today, you were so tired of feeling this – every time he came onto you, the worry was in the back of your mind. Finally, you turned to him and spoke, struggling to keep your voice steady.

“Kit, you know damn well that filling me up isn’t going to do anything. And even if it did, you know how I feel about that. I’m broken. I’m broken and you know it.”

“You’re not broken, sugah’ - there ain’t a damn thing wrong with ya’.”

“Maybe I ought to go to Briarcliff. Maybe if they fry my brain long enough, it’ll fix me”

“Don’t say that.” He squared his shoulders. “Don’t say that.”

#Kit Walker #Kit Walker x reader #Kit Walker x you #mydrabbles #angst prompts #divider credit to saradika-graphics #questions answered #anonymous

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happybird16 · 2 years

Note

Ok, but Levi fostering black cats since they're the least likely to get adopted. His little fluffy voids.

Levi has a big fluffy black comforter on his bed. You think it might be his favorite color -he’s always wearing black in some form or another. A nice tight button up shirt or some well-fitted skinny jeans, even black rings dangling from his ears or encircling his fingers. So, on your first visit to his apartment, you aren’t really surprised by the color of his bed sheets. They’re probably easier to keep clean too.

What does startle you, as you sit down on the bed, is the sudden ‘mrrrph’ noise. Disturbed by your ascent onto the springy mass, two slit-pupil yellow eyes glare at you from the dark void.

“You have a cat?” you call, surprise evident in your tone. It’s hard to imagine such a stoic man with a fluffy little companion, though Levi does have his soft and caring moments.

“Hmm? What was that?” Levi’s deep tenor returns from the next room over. You can hear the rustling and clacking of cups in the short distance, followed by the high pitched whistle of an old fashioned kettle.

“I didn’t know you had a cat,” you reply a bit louder, staring down at the mass of fur whose eyes seem so be burning daggers into your skin. It seems that pet matches the owner, though Levi’s gaze never has such a burning weight when it’s trained on you.

You can’t even divulge any of the little creatures features, it’s fluffy long fur perfectly matching the tint of the bed. It’s a tiny thing though, curled up close to the head of Levi’s mattress. You think it must be taking up the place in Levi’s stead, claiming the spot he so often sleeps.

Rounding the corner to join you in the bedroom, Levi responds, “Cats, actually. Multiple.” As if to prove a point, an equally dark short-haired feline is winding in between his legs as he approaches, threatening to topple him along with the tray of hot tea in his hands. “You ready to watch the movie?”

“Hold on, i’m still a bit surprised by the fact you have two cats,” you say as you take the proffered cut of tea. It’s the only ‘snack’ he’ll allow outside of the kitchen. “Wouldn’t they be a mess?” You can only imagine how much the long-haired one by your side must shed and you can’t even picture Levi doing litter duty.

“Three, actually. That one,” with a jerk of his head he gestures to the long-haired beast curled up on the comforter -still glaring at you- “is Masala, she’s a bit of a bitch.” The short haired one hops up onto your lap, little paws digging into your thighs as it excitedly rams its forehead into yours. “And that is Oolong. He’s an attention whore.”

Clicking his tongue, the ceramic cups on the tray clatter as he slides it onto the bedside table. With two hands, Levi quickly grabs Oolong and plops him back onto the floor. The mattress bounces, making Masala chirp another cry in protest, as Levi sits thigh to thigh with you. “The final one is Matcha, my oldest. She likes to hide from other people, but you’ll see her eventually.

“You absolute dork! Tea names? Really?” you can’t help but laugh. Levi’s ears tint just a bit at your taunt, but he levels you with a steady glare to match the cat at his side. “Are they all black? You had to get cats in your favorite color?”

“That’s not my favorite color,” Levi’s gaze lingers unusually long on your eyes, before shifting down to Oolong on the floor -bright blue eyes still very much begging for pets. “Black cats aren’t adopted as often, they usually sit in the shelter forever before…- I…- I couldn’t just leave them there to die.”

With a soft, mournful look in his eyes, Levi leans forward to finally give Oolong the attention he wants. Softly petting the top of his head and scratching behind his ears, the cat desperately stretches the skin of his face in an attempt to press further and harder into his caress.

Heart throbbing in your chest, tears threaten to leak along your lash line. There’s the sweet, caring side of him that he hides so well. The soft upward curve of his lips makes your chest ache with joy. Taking one long draw of your cup, the taste of steaming Earl grey only makes you feel warmer, the heat joining the fondness filling your insides.

“Let’s not watch a horror movie,” you start, replacing your cup on the bedside table. That’d been the plan, to curl up together and watch something dark to match the season. Now the sight of black fur and golden eyes makes you watch to view something else, “Let’s watch Hocus Pocus instead.”

“Sure, anything you want. Do you want me to kick the cats out?” Levi asks, fingers smoothing behind the cats ears. Oolong purrs loudly, a happy resounding rumble, gazing up at his Dad with such unfettered love.

“No, they can watch with us,” you reply. Your tempted to try to pet Masala, despite her unending glare. She looks so soft and fluffy, now that she’s sitting up and away from the black void.

With a final pat on Oolongs head, which the cat protests against, Levi shifts to lie back further into the mattress. Scooting the longer haired cat to the far side, he wraps an arm around you to pull you against him and cuddle up against the pillows. Grabbing the remote Levi asks, “I haven’t seen this one, is it good?”

“What?” The surprise in your voice makes even Oolong pause as he hops up to curl at your side. You know Levi is generally uncultured, having refused to watch most popular movies and tv shows, but that’s just unacceptable. “How is that possible?”

“How do you think?” Levi responds, glaring at the screen as he presses buttons on the remote. “I hadn’t even seen Lord of the Rings until I met you. Hocus Pocus, was it? Is it good?”

Gazing across the mattress, your eyes catch the glowing orbs of the two furry voids lounging across the bedspread. Blue and gold, you can’t help but wonder what color the third, Matcha, has. You’re willing to bet money that it’s green. His beloved black cats. “Oh, you’ll love it.”

#levi/reader #levi ackerman x reader #fluff #sfw #I’m in a Halloween mood what can I say #levi ackerman #Levi Ackerman fluff #catdad!Levi #asks #I don’t even know how long this is lol #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #mydrabbles

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magicxc · 2 years

Text

Pull It Up

Pairings: Damson Idris x Black!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1454

Warnings: Fingering, Exhibitionism (Squint To See It)

BBJ Masterlist

Have you ever wanted to join the mile high club? I mean why not right. Just something to tick off the bucket list. Bragging rights or simply fits of laughter to follow as you retell an old story. But it’s all fun and games until you squeeze your way into that small ass bathroom stall. It’s barely enough leg room to stretch in there, let alone have two people actively fuck. And I, for one, am a screamer so it's really only so much noise I can hold off.

Can you imagine? The walk of shame down the aisle and back into the seat as if everyone is unaware of what just happened. That once the stall door opens, the fumes of sex won’t have seeped into the air. The crooked clothes, the lazy smiles, and God forbid any fluids are visible. And don't even think about one person leaving first and the other waiting a few minutes to leave after, because what if someone is itching to use the john and comes face to face with the culprit? I'm getting second hand embarrassment just thinking about it all. Call me up tight, but there are way too many ways that sex on a plane can go wrong. And unless my man has his own aircraft, I refuse to buss it open in the seats of economy.

And that’s what I’ve been trying to drill into Damson’s thick ass skull since the moment we’ve sat down. Albeit, we’re in first class and with about five other people on board that does take care of the extra lingering eyes, but that still leaves too much to chance and the way my OCD is set up, I’d quite literally die of shame.

“Who says we have to leave our seats?” Damson whispers.

“Huh?” Eyebrows crinkled in confusion, I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but very little surprises me with this man.

Leaning over the armrest, his fingers lightly stroke my arm, slithering them further up until they meet my jaw, where his lips eagerly replace them. Peppering kisses along my skin, he leaves behind wet patches in his trails, muttering in between each one how we can do the deed in our seats.

“Damson, no.” I giggled. “How do you expect us to have sex right here?”

“Look around you, all these old motherfuckers are knocked out,” he slyly remarks.

“And what about the flight attendants?”

“They only get up during the flight for two reasons, landing and snack time,” he answered. “And snack time doesn’t start for another 45 minutes.”

Chewing on my bottom lip, I can’t believe I’m even considering this, but dammit my man has a way of being very persuasive, though I think it’s just cause I find him insanely sexy. Body burning with lust, I peek up at him through my lashes and notice that silly grin of his widen, but I have to quickly whisper shout to him that my answer isn’t a flat out yes. And that there’s still a chance of someone catching us in the act.

But ever the adventurer, Damson insists that we’ll never see these people again and he couldn't care less if we were to get caught. His nonchalant attitude has gotten us into more trouble than I’d care to admit, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t the reason for some of my wildest stories. Like the time when -

“Damson,” I squeak.

“Shhh calm down,” he coos. “Just relax your thighs and see how this plays out okay.”

Of course I wanted to look cute today. Pairing my blue plaid skirt with a white turtleneck and the plaid jacket to match, I look fresh out of the Clueless movie, and I feel every bit of such as Damson continues to slip his fingers between my thighs. I should’ve known there was an ulterior motive behind him insisting that I wear a skirt today.

Damsons digits meet a bit of resistance in the form of panties, but he doesn’t let that deter him and instead pushes them to the side, effortlessly entering my pussy with the help of my natural lubrication. He wastes no time in scissoring through me, thumb already firmly pressed against my clit, adding the most delightful pressure. His other arm curls around my waist to help hold me steady as my hips start to twist and turn, too turned on to sit still. A moan slips from my mouth as I squeeze my thighs shut, trapping his fingers in between them; a silent plea to slow down before I combust.

“Sweetness,” he croons through kisses. “Just *kiss* breathe *kiss* through *kiss* your *kiss* nose.”

Mumbling into my ear that I should just bite him if I have to, Damsons fingers continue their assault on my pussy, sharply thrusting them as I snap my mouth shut, opting instead to harshly breathe through my nose.

This man is so sexy, like the way he gets me going is unnatural and I fold every. single. time; the squelching noises a clear indication of that. Unwrapping his hand from around my waist, he reaches up to brush it across my lips, which in turn has me searching for his. There's a tense stare down between us, his pupils largely dilated, as he tugs on my bottom lip and stretches it forward. After he lets it go, it snaps back into place and his lips immediately find mine in a soft kiss. One, two, three pecks later and the hand that once lingered over my mouth now grabs a hold of my jaw, opening it wider as he pushes his tongue inside.

Face cradled in his palm, his nose brushes against mine and I can’t help feeling slightly more relaxed as I delve into the warm kiss, thighs slackening in the process. Drawing my arm up, I grab him by the neck and bring him closer, fingers sinking into his kinky scalp as I deepen the kiss. Our tongues glide over the other, slick with moisture, while Damsons fingers have now taken on a slower pace. Removing them, there’s a sticky trail that follows as he reattaches them to my clit, twirling it between his fingers, in a gentle pinching like sensation.

We finally pull apart, chests heaving, while his minty breath fans over my face and he shoots me a sinful gaze that has me on the verge of exploding. The smirk that follows has evolved into a bit of a chuckle and I find myself whining for several reasons as the twisting of my bud is now being pressed into a steady motion of figure eights. Placing his lips on my neck, Damson whispers assurances and sweet nothings alike, which manages to turn me on even more.

My hips roll into his fingers, desperate to cum and then I feel it, one of his digits reentering me as he starts a come hither thrusting motion. Face still planted on my neck, it only now dawns on me that Damson would make the shittiest look out, and the macaroni noises that's picked up in sound has me lining the border of panic and thrilled.

My hips continue to meet his fingers as he swiftly plunges them into me and my hands fly to my mouth to cover any noises that may slip out. Reaching up to remove them, he makes me promise not to keep those pretty sounds to myself. And that does it. Those honeyed words that he’s constantly whispering to me, the excitement that we may possibly get caught, and the intense clitoral stimulation pushes me all the way over the edge.

Hands now tightly clutching both armrests, I have to lean over and clamp my mouth on his shoulder so as to not wake the rest of the passengers. Speeding up his actions, we manage to hit a bit of turbulence which normally leaves me queasy, but now has my eyes rolling back at the heavenly sensations.

Damsons fingers come to a final stop as he slides them out of me and into his mouth instead, lustfully peering through half closed lids as he does so; and it takes everything in me not to fuck him right then and there.

“Woah, someone got carried away,” he teases looking back at his shirt indented with teeth marks. “What’s the saying? Don’t bite the hand that fingers you?”

A small fit of giggles leave me as I recline back into the chair, my post nut state leaving me feather light and spent. The retort I had dies on my tongue as I lock eyes with one of the passengers opposite us, who quickly stops staring in attempt to feign sleep.

#EmmyWrites #EmmyTries #MyDrabbles #BlackBoyJoy #DamsonIdrisxBlack!Fem!Reader #DamsonIdris #Black!Fem!Reader #BlackReader

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