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#they upped the graphics and fixed the mouth movements;;;
loveindefinitely · 2 months
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˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ PRINCESS TREATMENT — price + gaz x reader
01 — THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT
featuring. kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price
warnings. fem!reader, fmm, friends to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence, frequent mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, discussions of mental health
series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.
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If you had to say when, exactly, everything changed, you’d put it down to a single monarch butterfly.
Walking down the tight alleyways of Las Almas, the sky a four o’clock black, a lone street light casts a gentle yellow over your frame. The air is stagnant, the warmth of late spring mixed with the type of humidity that only comes before a storm, your boots clicking against the stone beneath your feet.
With a leather jacket wrapped tight around you, you fall into the rhythm of it all. It’s just before five in the morning, and you know that you should be heading home any minute, but you find yourself rejecting the idea.
Everytime you leave for the night, just to breathe, to live for no one but yourself, it gets harder and harder to make your way back through your bedroom window. You know the guards are getting antsy, too, your payoffs for their silence on the issue becoming less and less worth it. Not when it’s becoming an ultimatum between some quick cash and a slow death.
You wish you were given that choice. Mightn’t even care which option you happened to receive.
It’s quiet, in these parts. No sign of the city that had been ruined by mercs, no sign of the destruction that had once lay beneath one man’s boots. 
Instead, this city now sits in the firm grip of El Sin Nombre – the way it had once been, and if your family has it how they want it, the way it shall forever be. 
Underneath your breath, you hum, a tune you’d picked up from the local radio. Every morning, you listen to the daily news reports, the weather, the latest celebrity gossip. Without fail, El Sin Nombre is never mentioned. Neither are the missing persons, the families torn apart by the woman you call boss.
The end of the alleyway is coming up, the main street ahead barren of people, except the odd homeless person or fitness nut getting their morning fix.
Just as you’re about to turn around and manually move your feet back to your home, the smallest of movements catches your eye, right by a potted plant sitting at the street corner. You’re not sure how, or why, it catches your attention – but it snags it, hook line and sinker.
Quickly looking both ways, you take a cautious step towards what appears to be a small aloe vera plant, stopping in your tracks when you realise what’s perched upon the tallest of the stems, its burnt orange wings fluttering with the small breeze.
A butterfly.
It hasn’t spooked – not yet, not with your careful movements – and it seems so insignificant. So small, with the family homes lining the streets, the independent stores setting up for the day.
With you, your massive life, your massive boots to fill.
And it just sits.
Flaps its wings.
A shot sounds.
Jumping back, your eyes catch the butterfly taking off into the sky, its sun-kissed wings taking it as far away from the horror as possible. Exactly as you should be doing.
Screams echo around you, another bullet sounding, and then another, and another – 
Hand resting at the gun sitting in your thigh hollister, you whip your head towards the sound, the yelling, the rushed Spanish leaving people’s mouths. Gringos. El Sin Nombre. Death. Stay down.
Taking a sharp right turn onto the main street’s footpath, another shot fires, this time much closer. Much more real, tangible. Hand fully fisting around the handle of your pistol, you take the corner to the sidestreet – the source of it all – with quiet ease.
Multiple cartel members – expendable pendejos, Valeria would say – have guns not unlike your own, aimed at two separate men hidden behind a parked car. They’re crouched behind it, peaking and launching their own retaliating shots, hitting either shoulders or necks. 
They fire off quick, dirty shots, one bursting through the car’s windows, shattering the glass, before lodging in one of the mens’ head. He falls, blood and brain matter splattering on the brick wall behind him. None of the others even spare him a look.
“Get ‘im!” A deep, rough voice calls – British, assertive, mature – the one furthest from you. He’s adorning a boonie hat, pulled down to cover the tops of his ears, facial hair decorating his jawline and upper lip.
They both seem to be exerting themselves, clearly having done a lot of activity and planning before the current scene. Nearly all of the civilians are out of the area, the two foreigners taking care to not harm any of the innocents.
Certainly a step up from the cartel.
There’s four left, all taking shots at the car, some bullets ricocheting off of the flat metal. Back to the opposite wall, you take out your pistol, switching off the safety with a single brush of your thumb. Keeping it extended in front of you, both hands holding it, you make your way silently closer to the confrontation, keeping behind them all.
The second foreigner – tall, all slim muscle, radiating warmth and self-assurance – takes a sweeping step away from the car, delivering final head shots to all but one.
Clawing against the ground, trying to gain his footing, pistol flung metres away from him, he lets out groans of agony. He’s been shot in the knee, it seems like – yeah, definitely been shot in the knee, by the way he screams when he tries to rise on it.
Doing quick head checks, the younger foreigner keeps his gun raised at a safe level, before walking over to the wounded member.
The lone soldier grunts when the lithe man smacks the butt of his gun against his temple, his head twisting with the force of it. You can tell he’s being kept alive.
“Fuck, Cap,” the younger man hisses, hooking his thumb in his vest, throwing his head back slightly. In the streetlight, from your close distance, you can see a droplet trail down his Adam’s apple. Collect at the hollow of his throat, glisten in the dim light.
The other, ‘Cap’, presses his hands against his knees, using the momentum to stand, wiping the back of his glove against his mouth. Quickly scanning his surroundings, you dart behind a small, abandoned street stall, crouching as you do so.
No shots are fired – you consider it a win.
“C’mon, we gotta get ‘im to exfil,” he grunts, and when you move back to watch them in full view, you see him jog over to stand next to his partner. Leaning down, he pulls his arm around the unconscious man, lifting him up with the younger’s help. They swing his arms around the necks of them both, their hands keeping him upright between the two.
“Ale and Rudy are gonna have our asses for the stray shots,” the black-haired one groans, but there’s a relieved smile stretching over his face. “Hopefully this guy has the intel they want.”
“If he doesn’t,” ‘Cap’ returns, a humoured look written all over his face, “We’ll have their asses.”
Intel. They want… intel. On the cartel, on El Sin Nombre. Something you have in spades. In fact, you were probably the closest thing to a gold mine when it came to information of the Las Almas cartel. Wouldn’t even need torture to get you to speak.
You’d heard of Alejandro and Rodolfo. They were considered legends by the townspeople, the men who nearly took down the cartel. The true face of the Mexican Military – not the paid off army. 
It was a shame, really, how much of their story wasn’t told.
Being shot if either name left anyone’s mouth made it a difficult one to retell. Especially to you – the Cartel’s Princess – a woman hated for nothing more than her last name.
Your step-father and ‘boss’ refused to speak of them, either. Your limited knowledge pertained to the fact that they were direct enemies of El Sin Nombre, and shared a complicated past with Valeria. You’d asked, once, what happened.
You’d never asked again.
The sun is rising, the hints of morning brushing over the deserted side street. They seem… ethereal, in this light, exhausted from work but cheerful from a job well done. At ease with each other, even with blood decorating their skin, boots covered in red.
You remember when you’d first tried to run away, fourteen and too naive to plan it beforehand,  before you knew to slide cash into the guards’ belt. It had been seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds before a bullet had grazed your thigh, and you were brought back to your house. You still have the scar – both physically, and mentally.
Having to learn that running away was never a truly feasible option was a hard reality at such a young age. Sheltered, too – you didn’t understand the true way of the world. What life was like without a bounty on your head and blood money decorating your neck in the form of a pearl necklace. Hands chained with bracelets of pure gold.
The cool metal grows clammy with your own distraught, your index finger hooking around the trigger.
When you were younger, you wanted to become a journalist. You dreamt of the ability to make things known – uncover the dark secrets your family loved to hide. A servant to the public – in the most damning of ways, a true way of protecting without the need for blood on your hands. The only black metal in your hands would be that of a pen; considerably more deadly than a weapon could ever be.
You aim your pistol.
Oh, to be free. To not have to wake up every day, dreading, hating yourself for the sins of your family. Your livelihood. Freedom in not having to choose between being a bystander, or meeting the death of a traitor.
That butterfly, gods, that butterfly. It took itself wherever it wanted – got to experience the world at its own pace. Live for the sake of it, gifting the Earth for the pleasure of it all.
Grateful for just a week of substance. A week of survival.
What you’d do for just a week.
A shot fires, and you don’t move an inch from the drawback. You just stand, watching, as a body falls, and two guns are instantly aimed at you in turn.
Just a week.
Letting the gun slide from your hand and hit the floor, you raise your hands, palms facing the two. They don’t shoot – that’s all you could’ve hoped for. Being reckless was part of being in the cartel, and your very blood ran because of it.
“You want intel?” You ask, loud enough to carry to them, taking a bold step forward. With the sun not having risen, a chill settles into your bones, the tight, silk nightdress you adorn during sleep the only thing protecting you as the breeze brushes open your jacket. “I have it.”
The youngest moves to lower his gun, but a side eye from ‘Cap’ has him raising it again. The way they stare you down has your chest rising and falling in dramatic movements, and for the first time this night, you second guess yourself.
It’s the only chance you’ve ever gotten – you think, reminding yourself – and you will accept it with open arms. Just a week.
Taking careful, precise steps closer, you keep your palms facing them and face a stubborn neutral. You’d been trained in a lot of areas, sparsely, but there was no doubt in your mind that you wouldn’t be able to take either of them in a real fight. Diego had spoiled you with riches and luxury, not sparring and gunslinging.
“Wait –” the younger stretches out his hand, looking to the other with an expression. Like he’d seen a ghost. “She’s…”
“I know,” the other breathes out, his tense stance easing slightly. 
As you stand, just a metre or two away from them, you look between them both. Calculating, watching, you slide off your leather jacket and drop it to the ground – showing that you have no other weapons, no bombs strapped to you. 
Just a silk, blood red nightdress, an empty hollister, and black leather boots.
“You guys were pretty loud when you said you needed intel,” you narrow your eyes, flitting between them both. They shroud you in their shadows; tall, muscular – military. But not… regiment. Different, more sinister, maybe, more important. “And I saw you kill my auntie’s men.”
They both lower their weapons. Partly stupid, partly an insult.  “You’re the Cartel Princess, aye?” The younger raises his brows, looking over you with studious brown. 
“I left my tiara at home,” you snark. The younger smirks, approving of your response. Maybe you wouldn’t have to be stepped all over, to be taken in by them.
Jerking his head to the dead body laying between the both of them, the older levels an unimpressed gaze your way. “Was that necessary?” He asks, folding his arms over his chest and righting his posture, looking down at you.
“He was a dick anyways,” you roll your eyes, finally lowering your own hands to rest at your hips. “He tried to offer up his daughter ‘cause he was in debt.”
Both of their jaws go slack.
You shrug.
“Where are you guys going anyways?” You ask, bouncing on the heels of your feet, hands held together behind your back. Looking around, your mouth pulls into a small frown at the shattered store windows. You’d try and leave some money for them when you got back.
The smaller one lets out an almost shocked chuckle. “This isn’t – you’re not hitchhiking.”
Rubbing at the roof of his nose, the one with the boonie hat looses a thick sigh, before giving you an exhausted look. “You’re lucky Alejandro has been after your arse for years. Gaz, get ‘er gun.”
“Yes, Sir,” he jokes, roughly saluting the man before grabbing your weapon. Sliding it into his own holster, he loops his elbow through yours, and starts dragging you down the street, the other walking a bit ahead of you both.
“This went way easier than I thought,” you mutter, realising just how… simple it had been to get them to take you. No cuffs, surprisingly, and no sedatives.
Gaz, as the other referred to him as, looks down to you with a friendly smile. “Most of us know your face. Alejandro and Rodolfo have been looking for you – something about you being ‘one of the good ones’.”
“I’ve never met them,” you admit, a small crease forming between your brows. “I’ve heard of them, but… why do they care about me?”
“Apparently,” the one up ahead darts his blue eyes back to you, “You do, in fact, have ‘intel’. And…” He trails off, before shaking his head. “You’ll see when we get back to base. I think he’ll be quite happy.”
Gaz groans with a laugh. “Hate when he’s giddy. They’re so loud.”
Falling back a little, ‘Cap’ hits his subordinate lightly up the back of his head. “You’re gross. Exfil’s just off to the right.”
“Reminds me of Amsterdam,” Gaz says wistfully, his elbow still linked around yours. This might just be the oddest way to be taken in by a supposed ‘enemy’ ever. Definitely up there.
Turning, you see a black SUV parked off to the side, the windows tinted to the nth degree. You can’t see anything within them except your own reflections, the winding streets behind you three. Looking to Gaz, you ask, “Where’s my carriage?”
He gives an incredulous look. “You’re serious?”
You and his partner answer at the exact same time, the same tone, “No.”
Opening the door to the back, Cap urges the two of you in, before getting into the passenger seat. The cushions are black, too, and comfortable as you situate yourself by the window, Gaz taking the middle seat. So much for space.
“John –” 
“Kate, they’ve been after her for years. We owe ‘em.”
A woman, dirty blonde hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, looks at you through her rearview mirror. She seems… displeased about your presence.
“You’re making us a bigger target,” she hisses, shooting him an annoyed look. “If they aren’t already trying to gun us down, they’re about to go nuclear!”
“Auntie and daddy don’t like missiles. Said it’s cheap,” you chip in, folding your knee so your ankle rests on your opposite knee, folding your hands in your lap. Damn, you think, You chipped your nail polish. Only lasted a day.
Silence fills the vehicle.
You hum that radio’s tune once more, and Kate exhales a deep, calming breath. Like she’s one step away from whipping out her own gun and shooting you all dead. And then herself.
“Can you turn on the heater? It’s kinda cold,” you ask, hands rubbing at your bare arms. Should’ve put your leather jacket back on before they took you.
“John,” Kate grits out, “I am two seconds away from –”
A shot fires, then two, then three. In one movement, you grab a hold of your pistol from Gaz’s hollister, switching off the safety once more and holding it to your chest. Kate instantly switches on the ignition, accelerating hard enough to have your head hitting the back of your chair with a squeak.
Gaz unwinds the window to his left, furthest away from you, and starts firing at where a dozen or so members stand at the main street, firing off shots at the car. Bracing yourself against the back of the driver’s seat, you take aim.
True as the way the sun is set to rise, you land multiple shots through vital organs, some lucky ones blasting right through their heads. Your wrist aches from the strength of your hold around your weapon, a break from childhood coming back to haunt you. You don’t stop, however, not when you’re nowhere near your breaking point.
Within seconds, Kate drives the car out of their view, dodging potholes like a professional. 
It’s five minutes later, when you’re out of the main business streets of Las Almas, that your back hits your seat once more, eyes fluttering shut as you flick the safety back on.
Gaz does the same, his shoulder bumping yours with the width and sheer height of him. You feel small, between him and the door, but not unsafe. Quite the opposite, actually, with the way he sliced through those men with buttery gunmanship.
The silence, this time, is electric. A buzzing in the air, an excitement flowing through your veins.
And then, it hits you.
“Oh, shit,” you whine, dragging your hands over your face and sloping in your seat, lips forming a disgruntled pout.
“What – what happened? You good?” Gaz asks, leaning forward, placing his hand on the back of Kate’s headrest to look over you. His arm is corded with muscle, the sleeves of his shirt pulled up to his elbows, allowing a decent view of his military-grade skin. 
You sit your head against the window. 
“I left my favourite nail polish at home. And my favourite earrings,” you mumble, upset.
Gaz coughs, then sits back in his seat awkwardly. “...Right. Can’t you just. …Get more? If you’re cooperative, Ale–”
You punch him in his throat, and he wheezes, tears sprouting in his eyes as he coughs. “You don’t get it,” you glare at him, before patting his back. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to hit so hard.”
It’s only then that you realise John and Kate are speaking quietly up the front, low enough to not be heard by the two of you. 
“Who do you guys work for, anyway?” You ask, when Gaz stops coughing, instead swallowing mouthfuls of water from the skin in his pack. He stops to stare at you.
“You ask this… now?” He questions, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind.
You shrug. “Even if you guys were mercs or something, I probably would’ve asked to be taken. Wait –” You pause, eyes going wide, mouth going slack, “You aren’t mercs, are you? Please say you aren’t.”
“We’re Special Ops. Dunno how much the old man wants me to say, so, there you go,” Gaz shrugs, pulling on his gloves. His gaze remains on yours as he does so – pulling them off by the tips of his fingers, revealing slender hands. They look oddly graceful, for a seasoned operator, and you can see the tendons pull when he takes off the other.
The sun is high enough to paint the sky in streaks of yellow and orange, swirling with the night’s dark blue. Clouds decorate the canvas like swipes of cotton, the beginnings of what looks to be a perfect Spring day. As you look out the window, watching as you pass the streets of your city, you feel an odd seed of doubt.
Not for what you’re doing – but for what you’re leaving. All of the bodies lining the streets under cartel cloths, never getting to do the very thing you’re experiencing. So many families torn apart without the option of freedom.
The glass is cool against your cheek as you drum your fingers over your lap, the tap tap tap of that song in your head looped.
“You don’t look like your pictures,” Gaz says, then, and when you turn, it’s to find him watching you studiously. He appears so relax, seated beside you, tall enough to have his head nearly hitting the roof of the car.
You raise a brow. “Didn’t realise this was a Tinder date.”
He laughs, the sound melting down your spine like the cocoa body butter you favourite. Maybe he was right about the cooperation thing – you could play nice if it meant you got to have your routine.
“I just mean,” he starts, before rolling over the words in his mouth, looking out the window before making eye contact once more. His eyes are so brown. “You’re a lot less… snobby-looking.”
You bite out a sharp laugh in shock. “Excuse me?”
He raises his hands, now, a direct copy of how you’d appeared when you first made eye contact. His smile is devastating as he says, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Just meant you have a lot more personality than expected.”
“Thought I was the type to be docile and pretty?” You quip, pulling your hair to rest over your shoulder. “How typically… male of you.”
Placing a hand over his heart, he pretends like he’s been wounded, expression twisting into one of pain. “Ouch, Princess. Way to hit a man where it hurts.”
“I know of many other places that’ll hurt,” you mutter, side-eying him. “Don’t test me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Your Majesty,” he returns.
The car starts increasing in speed, then, at a harshly quick rate – enough to have both you and Gaz sitting up straighter, checking out your windows and tightening your grips on your guns.
Price turns, twisting where he sits in the passenger seat, looking out the back window. He curses under his breath, before looking between the both of you.
“We have company.”
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author's note. please leave a comment or quote reblog if you enjoyed!! i hope you all enjoy this journey with me :) xx
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straykeedz · 7 months
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My hard thoughts are that Bang Chan would be so attentive with your first time and if you're inexperienced.
I can just imagine soft kisses, hand-holding and 'I'll look after you' whispered in your ear ❤️
you’re right he would!! my sweet boy bang chan 🥺 ♡
bang chan x afab virgin!reader
wc: 982 (i got a little carried away 🫠)
masterlist ♡
ok this is basically soft, romantic sex with chan so smut below the cut, minors dni!
tw: soft sex; loss of virginity; mention of blood (nothing graphic, don't worry); just chan being a cutie; reader calls him channie; aftercare ♡
hopes this lives up to your expectations ♡ i wrote this all in one sitting, so please don't hate me if it sucks 🥺 also, this was my first attempt at writing hard thoughts 🫣
i think chan would be even more nervous than you at the thought of being your first - so tense you’d have to reassure him a couple (more like a hundred) of times that yes, you want him to be your first;
it doesn’t help him relax tho;
he’d take it like super slow, not wanting to rush things, he wants to savor every moment with you;
i feel like he’d spend a LOT (and i can’t stress this enough) of time between your legs, kissing you and licking you and teasing you (omg), making sure to prep you;
he’d make you come at least two times (TWO!!!) before actually entering you, one with his mouth to get you all nice and wet for him and one with his fingers - stretching you out to get you ready for his cock;
he’d spend an unnecessary amount of time kissing your neck and collarbone, then your boobs and then your tummy and then your hips;
he’s honestly just trying to put off the actual deal bc he’s so nervous 🥺;
you’d have to cup his face with your hands and force him to look at you - panic in his eyes - and reassure him that everything’s fine, that you love him, that you want him;
he’d nod, then he’d rip the condom wrapper open and slowly roll it onto his length - hands shaky, of course, my poor baby 🥺;
he’d position himself in between your legs, looking you in the eyes as he aligns his tip with your wet entrance;
before actually starting to push inside he’d look you in the eyes, then place a heartfelt kiss on your lips, whispering a soft “i’ll look after you, baby girl” as he nuzzles your nose with his;
the tip of his cock would part your entrance slowly as his gaze is fixed on you, not wanting to miss a single reaction from you;
i get the feeling that he’d immediately stop when your nose slightly scrunches in discomfort, he’d halt his movements and would immediately try to pull out - you’d have to grab him by the wrist and stop him, reassuring him that you’re okay, that you’re not in pain;
it doesn’t hurt, really - just a slight discomfort, you’re not used to the feeling since it’s your first time and you haven’t done this before;
but chan would be so apprehensive nonetheless, and it’d take him a while before he’d eventually start pushing the rest of his length inside of you, a husky breath leaving his lips once he’s fully set inside of you;
i feel like he’d press his body against yours, wanting to be as close as possible;
he’d kiss your lips like, a lot;
he’d also intertwine his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand in his as he slowly pulls out and then pushes back in slowly, careful not to hurt you as your tight walls squeeze him;
he’d thrust so slowly at first, that you’d have to ask him to go just a little bit faster;
he does, and almost cums on the spot when a whimper leaves your lips once his tip brushes against a particular spot inside of you - the spot his fingers know so well;
“channie”, you’d moan, squeezing his hand tighter as he repeatedly hits that very spot, and he’d bury his face in the crook of your neck, breath hitching as he squeezes his eyes shut;
he’d let go of your hand only to bring his fingers on your clit - he wants to pleasure you, he wants to make your first time memorable (it already is, because it’s with him);
he’d rub gentle eight figures with the pad of his thumb on your clit as he keeps thrusting inside of you at a rather slow pace;
you fall apart under his touch not too long after, calling his name over and over again as you release around his hard length;
“channie, baby”, you’d whimper, “cumming”;
god have mercy on him, because as soon as he hears your whimpers he loses it - crashing his lips onto yours as he releases inside of the condom with a deep, whiny grunt;
you’d stay like this for a while - his body on top of yours as his strong arms embrace you in a hug, his head resting on your chest as your fingers gently play with the ends of his soft hair - you occasionally placing soft kisses on his head;
definitely the type of boyfriend to ask you “was it good?” after sex, but it’s just because he wants to make sure you enjoyed it as much as he did 🥺;
he'd gently pull out once he feels his length getting limp, grabbing the base as he slides out of you, capturing your lips with his once again;
also, definitely the type of boyfriend to literally freak tf out when he notices a couple of red spots on the sheets and something reddish coating the condom;
he'd feel super guilty, looking at you with big, doe eyes and a pang in his chest - you'd have to reassure him that he didn't hurt you at all;
aftercare with him would be super gentle and delicate (especially after your first time), he'd bring you a warm, wet towel to clean you up, then wrap his arms around you as you lie down in bed together;
he'd whisper soft, sweet words in your ear as he hugs you, telling you how good you were to him and how much he loves you, how much he's happy that you're his girlfriend and how grateful he is that you trusted him with such an important thing such as losing your virginity (🫠);
you'd fall asleep like that, you in his arms, him wrapped around you like a koala, not wanting to let go, heart still hammering in his chest as he places soft kisses on your bare shoulder;
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jobean12-blog · 2 months
Text
Tortured Love
Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader
Word Count: 1,577
Summary: You and Javi have had a complicated relationship and the last time you saw each other you thought it was just that...the last. But now he's back and like always you find him almost impossible to resist...
Author's Note: So @ilovejavierpena posted the photo below and @lizette50 shared it with me and I nearly lost my mind (thank you both bunches). Why? you ask...just look at! The neck, the hair, the hands and thighs and the spread and what's between, well, it did me in so here we are. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: lots of tension and some teasing, you're kind of mad at Javi but he makes it easy to forgive him, softness, p in v, happy ending, use of the pet name angel (just love this one for him)
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Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist
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“Don’t turn around.”
“What?” you ask. “Why?”
You stop with the drink midway to your lips and give your friend a wide-eyed look.
She opens her mouth to tell you why but you whisper, “he’s back,” before she can.
You can feel his presence. His eyes are boring into your skin and with a deep exhale you finish off your drink and set it on the bar before squaring back your shoulders.
“Maybe he’s just here for a drink,” your friend muses with feigned hope.
Javi weaves through the crowd, his attention focused solely on you and his hands already twitching at his sides.
You turn and meet his eyes, watching his lips part with something unheard over the bar chatter as his gaze trails down your body.
Your friend gives your hand a reassuring squeeze and you tear your eyes away from Javi to silently let her know it’s ok.
Silence surrounds you as soon as you and Javi are alone even though the atmosphere of the bar is loud.
He breaks it with a simple yet powerful sentence. “You look incredible.”
“Thanks,” you say softly, forcing a smile. “Why are you here Javi?”
He briefly turns his face away, your name passing his lips in a pained whisper.
Someone sweeps by you and nudges you closer to him, your chest so close now that he can feel it brush his with every breath.
His eyes roam over your features and he starts to lift a hand. “I missed you.”
You wet your lips and his eyes track the movement.
“You can’t miss something you don’t want.”
“Angel,” he murmurs. “You know that’s not…”
“Don’t!” you shout and place a hand on his chest.
At the feel of his warm skin under your palm your brain floods with images, sounds and thoughts. All of them saturated with his touch.
“Please,” he begs. “Just let me explain.”
He steps even closer, bridging the smallest gap that was between your bodies and settles his hand on the curve of your hip.
His thumb traces over a slight strip of fabric hidden under your dress and he looks down, sucking in a breath.
“What panties are these?”
“I don’t see how that has anything to do with anything!”
“I remember these,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut and muttering a curse.
When he opens them again they drop to your mouth, soft and kissable. “Let me fix this.”
You lean toward him, unable to stop the way your body craves his. He lowers his head as he slides his free hand up your arm and cradles your cheek, his thumb tracing your upper lip before his fingers tighten and drag you closer.
The bell starts ringing behind the bar and the bartender yells, “LAST CALL!!! PAY UP!”
You startle and tug out of his arms, stepping back as your eyes dart to the door.
He growls out your name and moves back into your space.
“I’m going home,” you tell him and slip from his arms and toward the exit.
He watches you until you reach the door then takes off in pursuit, staying a few steps behind you as he follows you home.
“Why are you following me?” you ask without turning around.
“I have to make sure you get home safely,” he answers.
You don’t reply and keep walking, wanting to run but thinking better of it in your heels.
When you reach the door you unlock it and go inside, not bothering to shut it since you know he’s right there.
“I’ll leave,” he starts even as he shuts the door with a click. “But only if you tell me to.”
You don’t say a word and head toward your bedroom.
He follows.
You cross the room and grab pajamas from the dresser, laying them out on the bed before moving to shut the door.
You draw up short when you find him standing in the doorway, with a forearm propped high on the jam and his expression tortured.
“I need to change.”
He doesn’t move.
Frustration with him, with everything, takes over and you shove him in the chest and try to get him out of the room.
“Tell me to leave,” he says again.
“I want to change.”
He stays put and grinds his jaw.
“Fine Javi. Have it your way. You always do.”
You turn away from him and on your way back to the bed you strip your dress over your head. His shaky hiss of breath makes you smile to yourself and you bend over to grab the hanger from the floor.
“Fuck angel. You’re perfect.”
Every last nerve ending on your skin pops with warmth when you feel him behind you. When you straighten, your bare back lands flush against his heaving chest and you’re suddenly breathless.
You turn, the smooth movement of your hands climbing his chest derailed when you see the tormented expression on his face.
With a quick recovery, you grab hold of the open collar of his shirt and spin him around, urging him down until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.
His eager brown eyes land everywhere and his hands follow, the muscles of his throat working roughly when he swallows hard with a plea of your name.
“How much did you miss me Javi?” you ask as you slowly straddle his lap and meet the proof.
Your mouth ghosts over his, the hairs of his mustache grazing your soft lips and his hands close around your ass cheeks to draw you closer.
You pull your mouth away, the both of you breathing erratically.
“Did you strip for me just to be a tease?” he asks, his hips shifting beneath you until his generous length is pressed between your legs.
The action makes you whimper loudly and he drags you over him again.
“Whatever game you’re playing with me, stop angel. Just…be mine.”
Your fingers delicately trace his sharp jaw and you sweep the pad of your thumb over his plush lips.
“I’m not yours Javi…you don’t want…”
A possessive light brightens his eyes and he surges forward, catching your mouth in a kiss that silences you.
Your fingers rake through his hair as the kiss grows more desperate and you only break apart briefly to allow him to tug at the buttons on his shirt, sending most of them flying until you can push the fabric off his broad shoulders.
One long finger travels down your stomach and rubs against your dampening panties.
You’re no longer in control and your mind and body are begging for the full sensation of him, the stretch of him inside you…and you fumble with the button and zipper of his jeans.
His lips hover just over yours when he breathes out the words.
“I missed you. I…fuck. I missed you. So much angel. Please.”
You draw him out and stroke him up and down, guiding him between your legs.
He grunts and pushes your panties aside, allowing you to position the tip of him inside you before slowly, slowly, taking him deep, both of you watching it happen.
You moan in his lap and buck involuntarily.
“Yes,” you whine. “More.”
He heaves a curse and digs his fingers into your skin making a slow groan deep in his throat.
His body flexes with tension and you rock your hips again.
“Don’t,” he gasps. “I can’t.”  
“You can’t what Javi? Stop?”  
He nods before clenching his eyes shut. “You feel so fucking good. I’ve needed you for so long. I can’t get enough.”
And with the last bit of his control his hips roll back and forth fluidly, filling you slowly.
His open mouth dips to your throat, exhaling heat against your skin and with smooth strokes he pumps into you, holding your ass to bring you up and down. His teeth catch the lobe of your ear and he brings a hand down to slap your ass.
You moan at the rough impact and the press of his body against yours.
“Touch yourself angel.”
He spanks you again. Harder.
“Javi…”
His mouth drops and hovers just above yours, his intense gaze focused and filled with warning.
“Angel…”
With parted lips you drag your shaky hand down from his shoulder and find the sensitive bud, biting your lip as you rub in circles, your eyes involuntarily fluttering closed.
“Look at me while you do it,” he demands.
Your eyes pop open and you watch a bead of sweat roll down his forehead, the dark hair hanging down in front wet and sticky.
“You’re all I want. I need you angel.”
His words break you wide open and your walls squeeze him tightly, taking him over the edge with you. With rough and desperate kisses, he grinds out the pleasure, hips pushing and pressing and his teeth dragging across your skin.
He falls flat on his back and takes you with him, your head resting on his shoulder. Calloused fingertips stroke up and down the curve of your spine as your breathing evens out.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your skin. “I was so afraid of losing you…I pushed you away instead.”
You kiss his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere Javi.”
He turns you onto your sides so that you’re facing each other and studies your face with such intensity your next breath catches in your throat.
“I know,” he murmurs. “And I’m never letting you go angel.”
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@hiddles-rose @lizette50 @kmc1989 @littleseasiren @lorilane33
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anglingforlevels · 7 months
Text
Nature's Losers (Yandere Anglerfish x Reader)
CW: body horror, violence, non-graphic death depiction, reader is kinda useless in this, swearing. stalking and general creepiness, monsterfuckery, bad writing, dead dove.
Minors DNI
In nature, there’s winners and losers. Although enthusiastic biology professors throughout your school years had argued that, by virtue of surviving and continuing to survive and reproduce, there weren’t any losers among the living.
Late-night nature programs made it hard to agree, when they featured hapless creatures like the male anglerfish, doomed to fumble through the darkness through smell to find an elusive mate with the only end goal of holding onto the mate they found, ultimately, dying a parasite. Nature certainly picks losers, or so you had thought back then.
You hadn’t spared much thought for the female anglerfish in your assessment, it just seemed obvious that the loser in the equation was the male.
That day too, the day you met it.
It was a simple day by the oceanside, you were trying to enjoy a warm summer day through an increasingly harsh breeze, emphasize on trying, as the breeze seemed determined to outgrow its label of breeze to become a gust of wind, an achievement of personal growth that you were not in support of.
That’s when you spotted him. By the rocky hillside, where the rowdy waves crashed against rocks out amidst the water, before growing still and reaching its end by the hillside, but not without having splashed said hillside wet in the process. A small figure laid, collapsed, among the rocky land.
“Is that a child?!”
Panicked, you rushed out there, navigating between slippery rocks and wet sand. Your outfit clinging to your legs, which you ignored in your pursuit to reach the collapsed child. Getting closer, it didn’t seem to be a child at all.
Though, he was small. He seemed barely big enough to go to your armpit, even as his figure was fully splayed out. But he didn’t seem particularly young, or even youthful. He didn’t seem old or mature either. He just seemed odd. He felt undefined, like something that hadn’t been developed or fully rendered, with colors washed out.
Stepping closer, your heart rate spiked as you noticed the way his skin seemed too pale and paper-thin, he almost felt transparent, so much so that it felt as if a lazy sunbeam would reveal shadows of bones encased in flesh. Christ, had you found a corpse? He didn’t look bloated like a drowned corpse ordinarily would, quite the opposite but still, was this really a living person?
With his brittle and scrawny figure laid out, bruised and still upon the rocks, it really felt as if you were watching a shattered doll carefully positioned. You swallowed.
“Hey, uh, are you- are you okay?”
At this, he opened up his eyes, revealing one key characteristic of note. Big, milky-white, and slightly bulging eyes. You startled a little at the sudden intensity as he fixed you with a relentless stare, for how lifeless the rest of him had seemed, it appeared as if all life in him had been dedicated to those eyes, and yet their dedicated stare felt purposeless, as if it he saw nothing.
You quickly snapped out of it, instead shifting to relief at the fact he wasn’t dead.
“Hey, what happened?” You asked, but he simply continued staring at you, not even shifting his head, instead following your movements with his eyes exclusively. You cleared your throat before trying again with a gentler tone. “Hey, it’s okay. Can you tell me who are you?”
He repeatedly opened and closed his mouth slightly, and while you weren’t sure what that really meant – and you were increasingly unsettled by the lack of blinking – you decided to brush the growing discomfort aside. Really, given his situation, acting a little unsettling didn’t seem too unreasonable, the guy was probably in shock, so you took the fact he reacted at all, as a good sign.
You laid a hand on his shoulder, hoping it might offer some comfort, but almost retracted it per reflex at his cold, clammy skin.
“Goodness, you’re freezing.” You were about to take off your cardigan for some kind of cover, when you realized that your clothes was, of course, soaking wet and clinging to you, from the climb here. So, instead you held him, hoping your body warmth could provide anything, as you frantically fumbled with your phone to call for an ambulance. Honestly, with a temperature like this, you were surprised he wasn’t a corpse yet.
He burrowed further into your embrace, his head resting in the crook of your neck, as if desperate to get closer than what the laws of physics allowed. His breathing grew heavier, and his teeth accidentally scratched you in what you assumed was clumsily expressed distress, you couldn’t tell if the drips you felt was tears or simply ocean water. You tried to soothe him by rubbing his back as your call got through.
Sitting like this, more than anything, you had felt that nature really did pick losers, a pitiful truth.
You weren’t sure how long it took before the ambulance arrived, but the chill of his body felt as if it had seeped through you, zapping out most of your own warmth, and you were now shivering yourself as well. You were planning on going home for a warmth bath and then going to bed, since you had work in the morning, and your boss weren’t exactly lenient, so even with your spare time being spent like this, you hoped to at least be well-rested physically.
But when they tried to usher him off you to cover him in a blanket, he clung desperately onto you, nails digging into your skin. Your heart ached for him, it really did, you were sure he were feeling disorientated and scared, but it was best to leave this kind of thing in the hands of professionals, and, while you felt like a jerk for it, you still had to think about yourself and your depressingly early shift tomorrow morning, a shift you’d only survive through with the company of your friend and coworker Julia, and the upcoming weekend off.
Prying him off you was easy. Even his desperate, fumbling grasp around you didn’t amount to being much more than feathery, with even gentle prying leaving him stumbling a bit from the force. It was hard to tell if it was due to his sickly state or just general, physical weakness.
You did really hope the best for him.
“Hm?”
On your way home, as you separated from the crowd after a good ten minutes of walking, you took notice of steps behind you that echoed out with a loud, inelegant thud, thud, thud. You turned around and furrowed your brows in perplexation. The sickly complexion and the stare was undeniable – it was him.
Walking with clumsy steps, he moved forward with the blank, staring expression he had donned when you first found him as well, a poorly wrapped blanket still around him but gliding off as he continued to move forth slowly but resolutely, paying it no mind.
“Did you… Follow me?”
All the way from the oceanside? Your hands felt clammy at the thought of him following you between the crowds and many corners – it couldn’t be an accident, and in the first place, he was supposed to have been in a hospital by now, or at the very least, still inside the ambulance.
He didn’t answer, though you hadn’t expected him to, he just kept moving closer and closer. Perhaps it was his empty stare and clumsy movements, but it felt as if he moved with one singular purpose, not as in he was driven, but rather, he lacked any other intentions behind his movement than his goal.
Something deep within you seemed to come undone at that, an unsettling feeling grasping hold of you. You didn’t think he was able of hurting you, really, you were surprised he could even stand, yet goosebumps littered your skin, there was just something wrong about him.
He can’t do anything to you, it’s okay. It’s fine. You reminded yourself through a shaky breath. That’s right, you bested him physically, so, you ran. With the speed he was at right now, you could surely manage to lose him, and then that would be that.
You’d avoid this area for a while, it wasn’t like you came here a lot anyway, and that would be the last of this. It felt more like you were pleading with yourself rather than stating a fact, and you hated that sense of irrationality, after all, that was all it was.
This was creepy but not dangerous, you were sure, you had to be sure. So, you ran. You ran and didn’t stop. Not until your lungs and sides burned, and you stood before your apartment complex. Looking around, he was nowhere to be seen. Even after entering the building, which only residents could enter, and your dingy apartment, you didn’t see him from your small window.
The warm bath helped calm your nerves a bit and you went to bed, to face a new day, one devoid of him.
 
“Okay, so you think he went Wolverine on the door. Wasn’t he like, super weak?” Julia asked, as she unloaded the cargo of the day, prompting a sigh from you.
This morning, when you had woken up and left for the bus, you had noticed scratches on the door to the building, and had had a sinking feeling, but you hadn’t seen anything of him or any other sign of him. you had confided in Julia about the experience, though Julia seemed skeptical about whether the scratches even made up a sign about him having managed to find your apartment to begin with.
“I don’t know, I know it sounds stupid, but seriously, he just kept following me.” You reiterated this for what must have been the thousandth time, and judging by Julia’s expression, that estimate couldn’t be far off.
“Have you considered calling the police about stalking?”
“Well, it’s not like he’s done anything, or that I know he’s stalking me. It’s not like I saw him by my apartment to begin with.”
And stalking didn’t feel like the right word. It felt more like you were being pursued. Less thought-out and hidden, instead he seemed to be following the most direct path he could perceive towards you in the most literal way possible, and while it should feel less threatening and invasive, the simplicity and literalness of his behavior didn’t do much in the way of comfort.
Most of all, you didn’t feel like it warranted a call to the police, especially with a pursuer this ineffective at pursuit. Not when you had heard stories of others reporting stalking, cases much worse and more explicit, yet getting dismissed, you were sure your case would get you laughed out of the station.
And then, a bump took them out of the conversation, and your heart dropped. At the door, he stood. Fumbling around, lightly bumping into the door in attempts to open it or bypass it. “No fucking way.”
Julia glanced at the small, scrappy guy clumsily failing to open a door, with a raised eyebrow. “And this is the guy that’s got you all worried? I mean, freaked out I get, but…”
But I doubt he could do much, even if he tried.
You looked away, frowning. Julia took notice and sighed, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, I’m sorry, are you okay?”
It felt unfair, but somehow you almost felt worse from her words. Julia had always lived by the idea that, even if something wasn’t necessarily real, it still felt real to the person who was upset. But you knew that this was real, this pit in your stomach, it wasn’t for nothing, it wasn’t just nerves, you just couldn’t… explain it.
Julia understood it was terrifying to see someone possibly following you, and even though the store was public, she understood it being scary to see him here all of a sudden, without knowing if it was a coincident or on purpose, but for you, it was more than that, but you couldn’t put it into words. You didn’t understand it. The frustrating acid of “it’s real for you” poisoned Julia’s good intentions, but you swallowed the bitterness, and smiled a forced smile.
“Don’t worry about it, it’s… it’s fine.”
Julia shook her head. “It’s not. You don’t feel safe, and that’s not okay. Listen, we’ll be going on our weekend camping trip tomorrow, and there’s no way that the guy who can’t figure out doors, can find you out there, so… Stay at my place tonight, then we’ll go camping, and we’ll figure this out, alright?”
She squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, and you felt a pang of guilt. God, you were such an asshole. You nodded, but your eyes were still fixed on him, luckily no one had gone through the door, thus giving him access, because you needed this job, you couldn’t afford any more late rent and your boss was an asshole, so bailing wasn’t an option but if he got into the store, you’d… Fuck, you wished you could barricade the doors.
Then suddenly he stopped his fruitless attempts, maybe even he had a limit wherein he recognized something to be futile. His vacant eyes shot up and stared directly at you. And he simply stood like that, absentmindedly clenching his jaw as if chewing. Your heart pounded against your chest, it felt almost painful as if you felt an actual recoil from its force, but you couldn’t focus on that when the world seemed to blur together around you, leaving only his eyes, pooling in all light despite their own pale shine.
Julia glanced at you, worry barely hidden on her face, before clapping her hands resolutely. “That’s it – By now, even our boss will accept us having called the cops on this guy for being a public nuisance. Or, if nothing else, he’ll agree that the guy is definitely scaring customers away, what with the blocking of the door and general creepiness.” Julia said, though you suspected she’d be scolded for it regardless, and you knew that she knew that too.
He had begun to lean against the door. Man, you couldn’t wait for camping trip…
 
Even when time seems to stand still, eventually it caves in, making way for the approaching future, settling into the current present, which was, unfortunately, you sweating profusely as you fought to set up a tent, but even the frustrating battle of tents could not deter your relief and joy at finally having arrived at the weekend, and more importantly, the camping trip.
“I don’t think it’s supposed to bend that way.” Julia commented. You rolled your eyes at it.
“A lot of words coming from the person not helping me set it up.”
“Hey, you oh so cruelly banished me from helping, remember?”
“You’re just not that good at it.”
“Right, because this is the pinnacle of putting up tents. I salute your hard work.”
Julia’s unhelpful commentary aside, you were almost done, you just needed to focus. As if that was a cue, your focus was shattered by something rushing through a bush, and instinctively let go of the tent, as you tensed up.
And then a rabbit jumped out, making its escape from the loud sound of tent gear clattering. The world felt woozy for a moment as you collected yourself, breathlessly laughing. The tension still lingered in the air, but Julia made quick work of it.
“I gotta say, I think I’m a little better at putting up tents than that.” She said, gesturing to the pile of now fully undone work. The tension dissolved and the nervous laughter turned sincere. Julia was, benevolently, allowed to assist with setting up the tent – to her great dismay – and you laughed and talked together as you set up camp.
After a job well-done, you both felt a meal was in order, so Julia found the ingredients as you collected firewood while the sun was still out. With your arms full of twigs, your attention suddenly snapped to a bush, at the sound of the leaves being rustled quite harshly. No doubt by a particularly ungraceful critter, hopefully one as cute as the rabbit.
You were about to laugh and comment on how they must be a magnet for forest animals when a small but very humanoid figure stepped forth instead.
Your blood seemed to freeze.
It wasn’t like it was impossible to follow them. With the smarts and know-how, one could find out where they were camping. And then, it was just as simple as taking an uber. Or you could simply trail Julia’s car here.
Except, the torn clothes. The scarred and bruised skin. The ruffled, dirtied look. He had not gotten here by car.   
“Fucking hell.” Julia’s whispered words said it all, fucking hell was right.
You stood frozen. Unable to tear yourself from his stare. He opened his mouth-
“Let’s go!”
It was first when Julia’s frenzied voice called out, and pulled your arm, that you began to move. Absentmindedly, you took notice of his bloody, jagged nails. It took a moment before the adrenaline kicked in, and you stopped being dragged rather than running yourself.
The car, they just had to get to the car and leave. Recoup, figure something out, cool their heads, just, they needed to get away. You practically flung the door open when the two of you reached the old car. Neither of you bothered with seatbelt before starting the car.
But all it did was cough sadly.
“Huh? It can’t have run out of gas.” Julia looked bewildered, trying to start it again, only for it not to turn on at all. “Oh – Oh. You have got to be kidding me”
“Care to clue me in?” Your voice cracked slightly, and Julia glanced at you, before composing herself, and trying to smile reassuringly, though her smile wavered.
“Well, it’s just, the battery. It’s dead. But” she hurriedly added, seeing the way your face fell at her words, “I have an extra one. Since we were going on a trip away from any kind of mechanic.”
“Right… But we didn’t park that far from the camp.” He’ll reach us before.
Julia nodded seriously. “That’s why, we’ll run. We’ll circle around, since he’s following you, if we get him far enough away, we can probably give ourselves enough time. We’ll run straightforward till we reach the cliffs, and then back.”
You didn’t like that idea very much, willingly letting yourself be chased and running around in the forest when dusk was approaching, neither felt appealing. But they didn’t have a lot of options.
“Since I’m the one he’s following, why don’t I do that while you change the battery?”
“And leave you to run around alone with a freak after you? No way. ‘sides, I wouldn’t freeze up in a fight.” Julia said, her smile no longer wavering. You weren’t sure if there was enough words to fully show your appreciation for Julia, warmth pooling in your stomach, despite everything, it felt a little more okay with Julia by your side.
So, the two of you got out of the car, and waited anxiously for the sound of him approaching. Neither of you had talked about how he had gotten here, or known where to find you, perhaps none of you wanted to breach the topic.
Finally, you heard footsteps. And you sprinted. Then after a while, you’d wait for him to get closer. Then sprint again. On repeat. The darkness was rapidly increasing, forcing you to lower your speed, lest you injure yourself, and with the night animals awakening, it was both harder to hear and see him approaching.
“Just a little more, alright?” Julia said, between heavy breaths. The small sound of bells from her necklace and the way she held your hand, was a comforting reminder of her presence, amidst the darkness of the forest, each dancing shadow and crunching leaf reminding you that, hidden somewhere, was he. “Waves, listen, thank god, waves.”
Just as Julia had said, when you strained your ears, you heard the waves crashing into the cliffside. On burning, wobbly legs, you reached your destination, the trees giving way for the cliff edge.
“We probably don’t need to wait for him to be within hearable range, this time. Let’s just make our way ba-“
Crack.
Out he stepped. Only meters away. He lifted his hand up, as if reaching out to you already. You needed to move but only your beating heart seemed to get the memo. Then Julia flashed by, lunging at him.
Watching them both fall to the ground; it was a reminder. No matter how creepy he was, no matter how relentless – he was basically a stack of cards waiting to be knocked down by the wind. But you couldn’t help but feel like there were something more to it, a danger lurking within him.
Even as he was wrestled to the ground, his eyes stayed on you.
“Ouch!” Julia yelped, accidentally letting go of him, clutching her hand. “He bit me. it’s- it’s fine.”
You had seen the red liquid running between her fingers, even though she tried to hide it. It wasn’t fine. He, in the moment of being released, got up and returned to his goal of reaching you. Julia grabbed onto his ankle, forcing him down once more. You noticed that she used only one hand, the other curled up against her chest still.
He kicked his legs while continuing to attempt to crawl closer, somehow not paying attention to Julia beyond “hindered movements”, he seemed to just keep going despite his severe weakness. His kicks were weak but even so, a kick to the face was still unpleasant, enough so that he managed to squirm out of her hold to stand up.
But the sight of Julia’s pained expression, her hand bleeding profusely – you felt angry. Far angrier than the fear that gnawed at your core. Your hand searched for something, landing on a branch, and you jumped forth, hitting him.
You hadn’t expected him to be this frail and light, that it would practically send him flying, edging closer to the edge of the cliff. He stumbled around, the stones beneath his feet too loose for him to regain balance. He grasped blindly out for something to support him, as his body threatened to take a plunge down the cliffside.
His hand reached Julia’s necklace, as she was still laid on the ground. Before she could swat his hands away or do anything – a force stronger than either of us overpowered them, gravity pulling them downwards.
Your heart sank but even moving as fast as you could, you couldn’t reach Julia in time, her strangled scream cut off by the pull of her necklace must have been cutting off her airway before the unruly water ever got a chance.
“Julia!”
It was a long fall, directly into deep water, with jagged cliffs, even so, Julia had to… she had to be… She’d be alright. She just had to be. Frantically, ignoring the growing darkness and your own exhaustion, you ran. You had to get down there, to search for Julia.
You ignored the way your legs and lungs burnt, the way you only managed shallow breaths – you needed to find Julia, to see that she was okay. You don’t know how long it took until you got down to the bottom of the cliffside, but only the bright moon served as any light by now.
Your heart sank further as you stood at the edge of the water. How were you supposed to get over there, it was so far away, it would take you an hour to swim over there when well-rested – more importantly, how was Julia supposed to ever make it back here? With an injured hand to boot.
You ran out anyway, water going up to your ribs, as you desperately called out her name. It was futile, perhaps, but you just couldn’t accept it. If you called and looked, maybe you’d find her, maybe she had managed to get closer. Even though it was an impossible hope, you continued to search.
Each stray touch of seaweed wrapping around your legs made both dread and hope to shoot up in you, only for the same hope to crash into despair once more, that it wasn’t Julia, it wasn’t her. You spent so long out there in the darkness before you finally dragged yourself back to land, and only because the already unruly water had gotten worse, threatening to pull you down, and you knew, if it knocked you down, you wouldn’t be able to get back up, not as you were now.
You sat down on the sand, with legs numb from exhaustion and the cold, and just stared into the water. If you hadn’t used that branch, then Julia would… Julia would still… Exhaustion and grief made both your mind and body feel so incredibly heavy.
Then you heard it. Something else walking out of the water, and the small metallic clang of bells. Your head shot up. “Julia?” you voice couldn’t manage more than hoarse whisper at this point. But out of the water wasn’t Julia, of course, how could it be. It would be impossible to survive falling into such deep water, even if you hadn’t hit any of the sharp edges of the cliff.
That’s why, stone-cold dread turned into lead in your stomach at the sight. From the water emerged a small, soaked figure. It was him, no, it, because no human could have survived this long underwater. It was walking with the same expression as always, eyes finding and locking onto you, and it walked, with the same stumbling ease as always. And around his fingers and hand, Julia’s necklace was entangled, the bells clinging.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t human. Whatever this was, it had dragged Julia down with it.
You had to run, even though the world was spinning from dizziness and exhaustion, you had to run. Even standing up again was a struggle. On numb legs you clumsily ran. Even putting your all into it, you and it was evenly matched in speed now.
It got closer. Each step is accompanied by wet drips and clinging bells.
Drip, drip, cling, cling.
You couldn’t see the ground before you. You had run into the forest, you needed to get to the car or civilization, or anything. The trees kept out most of the moons light.
Drip, drip, cling, cling.
Branches and bushes caught onto hair and clothes. Leaving stinging nicks on your skin. No matter, continue, run, run, run.
Drip, drip, cling, cling.
What way was the car? How had you gotten down here to begin with? Not this way, that’s for sure. Just continue forward, no time to think.
Drip, drip, cling, cling.
You felt a pull, your foot getting caught by a root. Falling to the ground, dirt and stones stuck to you. You needed to untangle yourself.
Drip, drip, cling, cling.
Oh god, you needed to get free and get back up. You couldn’t see the root, so fumbling blindly in the dark, you tried to pull, pull, pull.
Drip, drip, cling, cling.
Cold, clammy hands touched you. Slowly look up from the root, it had crouched down before you. It’s eyes were the only source of light in the darkness of the forest, and you were almost mesmerized. Despite you being the only one out of breath, your jagged breaths were matched by it.
It leaned closer and you realized, the deep breaths – it was sniffing you.
It curled up against your stomach, as if settling to sleep. Was this the goal? It had gotten to you, was this it? Lie together like your first meeting? And then, searing pain shot through the exhaustion. It bit you, teeth tearing through flesh and holding on.
You felt light-headed and nauseous from the pain, or maybe the exhaustion? You couldn’t tell, growing disorientated, unable to focus on anything but the pain, so as the corners of your eyes darkened, you gave in to the numb darkness. As you fell unconscious, you thought you heard bells once more.
 
Your head hurts… That was the first sensation you noticed when you awoke.
It felt as if it was being split in two, a searing fire burning away any sense of emergence and thought, leaving you in hazy pain. Then again, your entire body felt heavy and warm in a drowsy and exhausting type of misery.
It took a moment to connect the sudden pain with anything, blinking yourself back into consciousness. You had been in cold water, maybe it was the flu? But it felt different, your head felt full but more than that, your body was too. There was a foreign sense of fullness, amid the dull, throbbing aches throughout her body, like something burrowing in between the fiery heat.
It was like a steady flow throughout your body, of something cold amidst the warmth. It felt wrong. That’s when you had half a mind to notice the most soaring pain of all was perhaps related to the weight of a very real thing, a very real presence.
On top of you, he… no, it laid, resting its head on your stomach, where it had bit you. God, it had bitten you, maybe it was an infection, no, that didn’t matter, not now.
Off, off, needed it off you.
Though the world spun around you, as dizziness clouded your mind from the simple act of lifting your arm, you managed to place your hands, your awfully clammy hands, on it, and push.
It didn’t budge, rather, the action seemed to hurt you. Like something attempting to tear your flesh off, oh god, was it still biting you? Was that why the pain felt so searing still? As your attempts to push it grew more frantic, it remained unmoved by it.
“Why, why, why the fuck won’t you- god,” tears prickled at the corner of your eyes, and the sensation seemed to bring you further into reality, the pain growing more and more real, and while you somehow had not been crying before, tears turned into full-out sobs and screams.
“You’re so weak, just, god why, why can’t I- off, off, off! I need you to-“ get off me. It had been so weak before, easily pushed and shoved. Then why, why couldn’t you make it budge now, each attempt hurting you further, at some point, you were convinced you heard the sound of flesh tearing, but you weren’t in your right mind to stop hopelessly trying through brute force.
As the pain became too much, the fight ebbed out of you, replaced by exhausted agony, moving already felt so hard, when you felt icy fire alongside the burning inside, and your skin felt… tight, as if it was housing more than it could, something prodding and poking uncomfortably at your own skin.
Had it not been because you could so clearly see the creature, you’d have frantically checked your clothes, at the feeling of intrusion, even if said intrusion seemed to be everywhere within you, all at the same time. As your fighting died out, replaced by breathless sobs, it lifted its head ever so slightly, its milky eyes finding yours, somehow, they didn’t look quite as empty now. You could have sworn the look in its eyes was joyful.
You broke eye contact because (it’s unbearable), because… Right, biting, was he still biting you? You stared blankly for a moment when you finally looked further down. You blinked. Once, twice, thrice. No, no, no, no. You hadn’t woken up yet. That’s it, this wasn’t real. Oh god, no, no, no. You blinked again, four times, five times, six times.
But the sight before you remained the same.
His lower face seemed as if melted, seeping into your skin. You couldn’t tell where his skin ended and yours began, as his face stretched out awkwardly, like melted wax, only the top retaining a semblance to his earlier appearance, though the skin around his eyes felt awfully loose, as if dragged down by the weight of… You? This?
Its nails dug into your skin, drawing blood, as its arms encircled you, and it nuzzled closer as if this proximity still wasn’t enough; more skin breaking loose and absolving before your eyes, as if watching a melting clay figure, the skin burning as it melted into yours.
Nature really did pick losers.
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The Ghost Next Door - Chapter 4
Prompt: After suffering an almost lethal injury in combat, Simon "Ghost" Riley expected a dull, and uneventful leave back at his shitty apartment. His new next-door neighbor ruins his plans. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (named Riley Thomas for plot purposes)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 5
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Disclaimer: slow burn; neighbor!Simon; will eventually contain very graphic descriptions of smut;
Chapter summary: In which Simon fixes his neighbor's leaky faucet and thinks about fixing something else... Word Count: 1.4k
When Riley Thomas had walked into the building’s unreliable elevator that night, barely beating its closing rickety doors, she hadn’t expected to see Simon already inside, sulking. His black hoodie and faded jeans were just as soaked as her woolen jumper and bell-bottoms, her hair in significantly worse disarray as she wiped the rain drops from her forehead, cheeks rosy from the cold.
The young woman hadn’t seen him for almost two whole weeks, the scarce discreet noises stemming from the thin walls hardly giving away his routine – she left too early in the morning to notice signs of movement and usually returned well into the evening, precluding the chance to ever see him return from any possible outings. When she did hear something – anything at all – it was usually late at night, as his tossing and turning in bed caused the mattress’ springs to creak noisily. She knew at least that their rooms fell on adjacent parts of their respective homes (not that she cared), and that he most likely shared her terrible insomnia. If she hadn’t met Simon, she’d think she had no neighbor at all, a vacant apartment next door inhabited solely by a ghost. Mostly silent, eerily quiet.
“Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.” Her cheeks reddened and she hoped she didn’t look as breathless as she sounded, the quick run from the grocery store to the building tiring her out.
He nodded once in acknowledgement, barely eyeing her, a Chinese food container secured in his large hands. Riley’s smile faltered slowly as she realized he wasn’t planning on indulging her chit-chat. As her hand moved to the elevator buttons, fingers purplish and swollen from the cold, Simon grunted:
“Already pressed’em.” She blushed once again, feeling anxious sweat form in every pore as the elevator doors shut.
“Right…Sorry.” A nervous giggle made its way out her mouth, and she took a deep breath before attempting a new social interaction.
She looked up, observing his side profile as discreetly as possible, eyes fixed on his black facemask.
“Can I ask you something?”
Simon sighed before replying.
“No.”
“Why do you always wear a mask? Got covid or something?” She deliberately ignored his moody reply.
“Would you stay away from me if I did?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged, and the man forced a sickly cough so dramatic she couldn’t help but laugh.
As they reached their floor, Simon patiently waited for the young woman to exit the lift first, trailing behind her smaller frame like a massive shadow.
“I love that place” She pointed at his food from the Chinese restaurant across the street, the delicious smell from its contents having filled the elevator, and now wafting down the hall. “Funny…Never took you for a spring rolls guy.”
Simon rolled his eyes “I usually go for chicken fried rice.”
“That’s my favorite!” Riley smiled excitedly.
“Great.” He replied dismissively as he fished for his keys.
“How’s your leg?” she asked, and Simon halted at her soft look of genuine concern, his keys dangling between his thick fingers.
“Quite decent.” He conceded, eyeing his own thigh. He didn’t limp nearly as much, and he had been as cautious as possible with the sutures she had skillfully provided.
“Great, and I’m sorry if it’s been too noisy lately, I’ve been cleaning up the place and I’m still finding permanent homes for most of my rescues.” Riley grimaced slightly, aware of how inconvenient her presence was as a neighbor.
He shrugged, remaining silent as she kept talking.
“Do you happen to know anyone interested in the German shepherd pup?” She asked with pleading eyes “I love Rex, but he’s no dog for a crammed apartment with other pets.”
She observed him as he seemed momentarily lost in thought, his pensive gaze zoning out before returning to hers.
“I do, actually.” Simon shifted his weight “I’ll let you know.”
“Perfect...I’ll be waiting.” Riley smiled brightly at the prospect as she unlocked her door.
She was just about to bid him a good night when he blurted out:
“I didn’t thank you.” He mumbled awkwardly. They stared at each other for a few uncomfortable seconds. “For the stitches. An’ the groceries.”
A slow, mischievous grin crept up her cheeks, two characteristic dimples dotting them as she replied.
“Day off tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you to come fix my faucet.”
“But-”
“And I love your new rug, by the way!” She taunted as she quickly scurried inside, leaving him baffled on his doorstep.
He huffed as he looked down at the pink rug she had gotten him – the one he had reluctantly placed outside his flat, those three annoying words right under his muddy boots.
“Bloody fuckin’ hell.”
***
“Hold the light still.” A moody grunt.
“I’m trying!” A whimper of despair.
Simon Riley found himself lying on his aching back under his neighbors’ kitchen sink, firm hands holding a rusty wrench that stained his calloused fingers.
He could easily bear the straining of his muscles on the awkward position, as well as Riley’s aptitude to point her phone’s flash to anything but where he actually needed it, if it wasn’t for the dog constantly biting on his boot, and a large, old cat trying to sleep on top of him.
“I’m sorry about Milo.” She frowned as she tried to push her feline companion away. “He’s old and tired.”
“Me and you both, mate” She tried to suppress a giggle at his comment.
“Can I ask you something?”
Simon grunted “Does it matter if I say no?”
“No. I’ll still ask, but your consent would be greatly appreciated.”
“Go on then.”
“What’s your rank?” He couldn’t see her face from where she kneeled beside him, but he rolled his eyes as he pictured her curious expression.
“Non’ of your business, kid.” He huffed as he tightened the pipe.
“Oh, c’mon…Why are you so grumpy today? Grumpier than usual, I mean.” Simon held her wrist firmly from under the sink, startling her. He felt her body stiffen under his touch, tense silence filling the room.
Slowly, softly, he pulled her wrist to the right position, so she finally held the light properly, and if his thumb had merely grazed her soft skin as it parted his, then it was purely accidental. Surely.
Simon felt awkward as he recalled the way her eyes had momentarily lingered on a glimpse of his abdomen when he had first laid on the floor, his shirt riding up as he lifted his arms to work, rolled up sleeves revealing numerous tattoos. A part of him – a part he longed to bury and dissociate from - tortuously replayed the glint in her innocent, curious eyes, the way her lips had slightly parted, and her cheeks and neck heated involuntarily.
As he finished the task, sliding from under the sink and sitting up against the cupboard, Simon avoided her gaze as he readjusted his black facemask.
“Lieutenant.” He conceded, killing the silence between the two.
She tried not to look too pleased about having her way, pocketing her phone and petting Rex distractedly as she considered the implications.
“Regular army?”
“SAS.”
“Wow…A seasoned soldier then.”
“A bit.” Simon groaned as he stood up, his joints cracking painfully.
“That’s the sound of victory right there.” She taunted and he shot her a glare.
“Jus’ turn the bloody thing on.”
He rolled his eyes as she stood upright, saluting him.
“Sir, yes sir!”
 “I’m never tellin’ you anythin’ ever again.”
“Copy that, Lieutenant.” Riley giggled as she turned on the faucet. “Success!” She yelled excitedly as there were no more leaks.
Simon nodded in approval, satisfied with his work.
“I guess you’re good at laying pipe.” The young woman joked, winking playfully.
“Shut up, kid.” He turned around, heading slowly for her door so she wouldn’t notice his flushed ears. “Bugger off with your yank expressions.”
Despite being more cluttered, her tiny flat seemed much cozier than his, and he made sure to avoid stepping on her clean carpet as Milo tried to waddle between his feet.
“Leaving so soon?” She seemed disappointed by his quick retreat, but he didn’t dare face her soft gaze again.
Simon stopped by the doorway and stared at Riley’s baby picture on the thrifted entrance table. She was chunky and missing half her teeth, but the same dimpled smile brightened up the dull background. Right beside it stood a picture of her father, his medals humbly kept in a small glass display.
“I can’t stay.”
“Not even for a cup of tea?” He could almost feel how hard she struggled to blurt out the invitation, her tone laced with shyness.
“Maybe next time, love.”
A/N: I'm back! I'm so sorry I took forever to post another part, holidays were crazy! I hope you guys are enjoying it and feel free to drop any feedback or ask to be added to the tag list :) Thank you guys for reading <3
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split-spectrum · 8 months
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Water and Rock
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Chapter 6
Pairings: Obi Wan/FemReader
Warnings/Tags: explicit content, smut (particluarly in this chapter), drug use, dubcon, elements of noncon, mild non-graphic violence, elements of sith!obiwan
Description: There are only so many excuses a master and padawan can make to kiss under "extenuating circumstances" before circumstances stop arising and start being created. You are an expert at your craft - a Jedi knight in service as a spy for the Republic. When your former master Obi Wan joins you on a mission, it's clear things aren't the same as they once were. The trials you face together may break your bond, or turn it into something else entirely.
☆☆☆
The sound of your belt clattering to the floor echoes against the duracrete walls of the cell. His hand is buried in the fabric of your robes, pulling them to the side, and he's kissing you like a force of nature; like the kiss will be the end of you both.
And it will be, and you know it will be, and you're beyond caring.
His hand slips beneath the fabric at last, the feeling of his fingers on your skin making you suck in a breath through your teeth to keep from moaning. His thumb traces over your bare hip, moving up to your back. Then he flattens his hand, pulling it down to your stomach. The tips of his fingers are threatening to finally, finally, drop beneath your waistline and you're unable to resist the urge to squirm, desperately wishing you could reach down and guide his hand where you need it.
But he hesitates, unmoving. You suck in the muscles of your stomach, pulling your body to the side, just to feel some movement - any movement. His hand drags deliciously across your skin, sending shivers all the way up to your neck, but the movement isn't his. It's movement you're manufacturing for him. He's fixed in place, eyes wide and darting over your body like he's not even really present in the room. Like he's watching from a distance, removed from himself.
Slowly, in a way that you could interpret as cruel if you didn't know him well enough to realize he's not intentionally teasing, he leans in to kiss you again. His lips meet yours so tenderly, so softly, that your eyes squeeze shut. It's almost painful to be held so gently by him.
As he brushes his mouth over yours, his hand dips lower. Then he curls his fingers inward, pulling them back. It's as if he's trying to drag his attention away from where his hands are about to go.
You give a soft whine at the denial and he stops kissing you, mouth falling open. He says a word in a language you don't understand, but from his tone and the way he yanks his body away from yours, you can guess it's a curse.
"This is completely wrong."
He pulls away from you, extricating his hand and leaving you burning, alone, and practically trembling. He brings one hand to his chin, stroking it downward, almost seeming to wipe his mouth clean.
He's shaking his head. "I am the one in control, here. You can't move. I must be the one to stop."
Your eyes are drawn to the center of his body. You want to see the evidence against the case he's making, but sadly his tunic is covering everything. Even as impressive as he felt against you, there's no bulge to see when he takes a wide stance.
You shift your hands uncomfortably in the binders, and he looks up at the noise of the chain. You didn't mean to draw his attention to your frustration. Or maybe you did. It's hard to tell anymore.
"What difference does it make?" you ask, trying to mask the desire in your voice by speaking quietly. "We've already broken our oaths, haven’t we?"
He brings his eyes up from the floor and gives you a look that's stern and knowing, and for just a moment he looks like himself again.
"You know the difference," he says in a soft, low tone that shoots straight to your core.
You want him. You've never wanted anything as much as you want him to touch you, right now, looking like that.
"Obi Wan..." you trail off, staring at him.
Stars, he's so perfect... just touch me...
All at once, his eyes lose their coolness. He continues to look at you, determination melting into unabashed lust, and he takes a long, slow blink. He leans into you again. You feel a rising in your chest as he wraps his arms around you and brings his lips to yours, only to halt, achingly close, and pull back with a furrowed brow.
He looks at you. You look at him. When you both realize what's happened, your heart sinks into your stomach.
"Did... you..." he starts to ask, but doesn't finish, just staring, wide-eyed.
You'd tried to mind-trick him. You'd implanted your thoughts into his mind. He'd felt it, and he was strong enough to stop you, even in his state. But you had tried.
"I..." you have no words for the horror you feel at what you'd nearly done. But he interrupts you before you need to go any further.
"This is what I mean. You are not yourself."
"I..." you try again, your head still spinning with the implications of your actions. "I didn't mean to..."
He's still holding you. You're surprised he hasn't pulled away. "I know. You don't mean to do any of this."
His hands are resting lower now, sliding to the small of your back. "This is not what either of us wants. Not really. It's an illusion of the drug. Just focus; try to remember a time before this."
His attempt to soothe you is only making you burn hotter, his voice deep and smooth in your ear. You can't take it.
"That isn't going to work."
"If you just try to remove yourself from..."
"It won't work," you interrupt him, tired of talking and tired of waiting. Your blood is burning and you can hardly wait for him to stop talking so you can feel his lips again.
"How can you say that when you haven't-"
"Because there's never been a time I didn't want you."
His eyes widen for a moment before his brows push together in a tormented look. Then, all at once, he kisses you, and you're lost in a desperate, wanton stretch of whispered groans and dragging teeth.
When he gasps into your neck, "You can't... say... It isn't..."
You simply keep talking over him. You'll say anything to have him like this. "I want you now. I wanted you on Keoth. I wanted you on Pantora."
He lets out a soft, long breath, just beneath your ear. You know you've crossed a line. You're trying to break him, to do anything to keep him touching you. You don't care anymore about what is wrong and what is forbidden.
Pantora was one of the last missions you'd had together as Master and Padawan, before you took the trials at 21. It had almost been Obi Wan's last mission altogether. He had fallen through a crevasse, where his leg had gotten pinned. Your mission team couldn't risk breaking the ice around him, as it could potentially cause an ice shelf to break off and destroy a village below it. He'd had no choice but to painstakingly chisel himself free, and as the only other Jedi on the mission, only you could reach him. No one on the team had ice climbing tools, but you could use the force to jump down to him, and jump back out.
You had spent an entire rotation alone with him, both of you taking turns carefully digging him out, and as the hours passed, you felt more and more devastated by the knowledge that you wouldn't be sharing missions like this anymore; that you'd never be this close again. The stories, the warmth, the intimacy you'd experienced... it was the first time you knew you'd carry your bond with him for the rest of your life. Back then, you'd interpreted the feelings as healthy affection for your Master. Looking back, you could call it what you really knew it was.
This time, when he leans up to kiss you again, you pull on his bottom lip with your teeth, almost digging in. Some part of you wants him to taste the pain you feel when he pulls away. But he doesn't shy away from your bite. He tightens his grip on your waist.
"Touch me," you finally gasp when he parts your lips. "You have to touch me. Please. Please."
You hear your own voice as if it belongs to someone else. You know you're debasing yourself in front of him, but it doesn't matter anymore. You don't care how pitiful you sound when you beg. When he stares back at you, the dim light in the room catching his face at just the angle to illuminate his features, a simple thought fills your mind: You should consider yourself lucky to beg into such beautiful eyes.
He swallows. "Please, don't."
The animalistic part of you that's taken over can't focus on his words; only the way he says them. You can hear his resolve crumbling.
"I... I need it. Anything. Just one touch, just..."
You whimper against his mouth when he closes it over yours.
He pulls back once he's silenced you. "Stop. I can't think with you... like this. You must stop."
You grind your lower half against him. "Fuck. Please. I'm so..."
He's biting his lip, and all at once, he's snaking his hand through your clothes.
Your brows knit together in desperate need, and you stifle a gasp when he makes contact with your skin again.
"Don't stop."
His lashes flutter when you speak, and his hand trails lower while he leans in to kiss your neck. "I'm afraid I'm at a point... beyond stopping. Even if I were to try."
You melt at his words, at first. Then, suddenly, you pull back slightly, using the last of your strength to resist. "I'm not... I wasnt...?"
Fear begins to creep back into your features when it occurs to you what he may be implying. You hadn't felt yourself reaching out in the force. Any attempts at control hadn't been intentional.
You try to read his face, but his expression is unreadable, his eyes glossy. When he sees your reaction, though, he shakes his head.
"No," he says, putting your fears to rest. "No, you weren't."
You let out the breath you'd trapped in your chest.
"And yet..." he goes on. His eyes are dark, his voice thick.
"I can't refuse you."
He captures your lips in a perfectly sweet kiss as his fingers dip below your waist and slip between your legs.
You let your head sink back against your arms, a broken moan ripping out of you. His fingers are even more perfect than you'd imagined - gentle and strong and smooth. He slides further down, to where you're soaking, and when you slick his fingers he lets out a soft sigh, his breath hot against your neck.
He strokes you perfectly, with no urgency, just curious concentration at your body's response to his touch. He pulls back to watch you, his lips slightly parted. His eyes are heavy, lashes flickering up and down as his gaze drags over your face to catch every gasp, every twitch, every movement you make. When his eyes meet yours, he slowly pushes two fingers inside you, holding them there.
You're sure you must have died, because only becoming one with the living force could feel this good.
"Shiiittt..." you sigh, eyes closing, the feeling of him inside you overwhelming all of your senses.
He blows air out softly through the "o" shape of his lips as he curls his fingers and starts to fuck you with them. You can feel his hand getting wetter as he works to build the heat inside you toward detonation. When you open your eyes again, a deep pulse of electricity runs from your center down to your toes. Watching him do this to you, watching him become undone by doing this to you... it's too much. It feels too good. It almost aches.
His fingers - you've seen them so many times, doing so many things. Wrapped around his saber hilt in deadly combat. Writing dilligent notations in his personal manuscripts during late hours in the archive. Straightening the collar of your robe, gently reminding you to present yourself neatly in the temple.
And now they're buried in you, working you steadily and deliciously as you writhe, fucking yourself against his hand.
You moan shamelessly, your hands grasping helplessly up at the ceiling above your head, opening yourself up to him, to whatever he'll give you. He pushes even deeper, hooking the first of his knuckles methodically back toward himself over and over, bringing you closer and closer to oblivion.
You curse again breathlessly, trying to hold yourself at your peak; trying to make it last as long as you can. But he's making it impossible for you.
"Do... do you remember Pantora?" you murmur to him, talking to keep yourself from tipping over the edge.
He misses a beat at the sound of your voice, not answering right away, pumping his fingers a few more times, listening to your breath becoming more and more uneven.
"Of course I remember."
It sends a shiver through you and makes you more bold. Or maybe it's the drug making you bolder. Perhaps both. Either way, you have the courage now to ask a question you never would in your right mind.
"Did... you want me then, too?"
He gazes at you, slowly drawing his fingers out, as if thinking it over, and then slides them back, continuing his curling motion.
"I didn't think of you in... that way, no. You were my Padawan. I saw you as my Padawan. Until-"
He cuts himself off, and you suck in a breath at the word 'until'. You repeat it back to him, questioningly. He pauses again.
"That day in the gardens." His fingers slow. "You always wore your hair up, in braids. The day before you took the trials, we spoke in the garden. And you... wore it down."
You remember the day. "You... noticed."
"I noticed," he says. Then his fingers quicken. "I noticed, and I wanted you. I wanted to touch you, just like this."
The tendons in his wrist clench as he works his fingers steadily inside you, then reaches down, brushing the wet over his thumb and using it to slide over your clit. You jerk and let out a sharp whine at the pressure, feeling like you're about to explode.
"Fuck, don't stop. Oh, stars. Please don't stop."
He groans at your desperation, pulling the arm he's wrapped behind you closer, squeezing your bodies together. "Oh, yes. You like that, don't you?"
No words will form in your mind, only thoughts of the bliss he's sending through every part of you. You nod, mewling through your nose. He slows his movements, sending you spiraling, and you meet his eyes, wondering why.
He curls his lip. "Then, say it."
The words pour out of you at his command, tumbling over your lips, ragged and insistent. You'll say whatever he asks. You'll invent new words if it's what he requires to keep doing this.
"It's so good. Fucking- Ngh- fucking amazing. It's... you're going to make me-"
He strokes you perfectly until your breath hitches and you tumble over the precipice, crying out his name, whimpering and writhing in your chains, pussy twitching around his hand as he draws out your orgasm. You're a shaking mess by the time he finishes with you, leaving his fingers inside while delicately pulls his thumb from your oversensitive clit, your whining gasps telling him you're spent.
When just the two fingers inside you are left, he smirks at you, pulling them out so, so slowly.
"My goodness, we certainly made a mess," he says thoughtfully, the tips of his fingers still inside you, coated with you.
He hesitates. "But, something tells me..." He pushes back in, the filthy sound of how wet you are filling the room. "...You're not satisfied."
You let your eyes flutter quickly at the feeling, and when you open them to look at him again, you suddenly realize how dilated his pupils are. His gaze is hungry, shameless and wanting.
"I..." you can barely speak, you're so drained. But looking at him like this is stirring something within you that goes deeper than the physical. "I want..."
You shudder. Your head is spinning, filled with conflicting feelings. You know precisely what you want, but seeing the look in his eyes reminds you how far gone you both are. Whatever he may be right now, this man is not your master. When he looks at you like this, there's a word you can't quite put your finger on that describes him.
He brings his mouth to your ear, and in a voice you've never heard from him before, he growls, "I know what you want."
At that, it occurs to you the word you've been thinking of is 'dangerous'.
He finally slides his fingers from you, your thighs trembling around him. He doesn't pull your pants down yet, just uses the hand, still wet from you, to palm himself through his own pants. He still has one arm wrapped around you and his eyes are roving over your body greedily, like a starving man about to sink his teeth into the perfect meal.
Some distant part of your mind tells you that you'd normally feel self conscious, but that part of yourself is so far removed and muffled by the drug flooding your mind that it's white noise. Your only present thought is that you hope he gives in to his craving quickly.
"I will give it to you," he says. "I want to give it to you. But first..." he brings his hand up to your face and cradles your jaw. "You must tell me what you want."
You nearly choke at the demanding tone of his voice. It doesn't occur to you to be concerned at how dark his eyes have become. You imagine your eyes have a similar quality right now.
"Master, I need..."
His eyes widen when you speak, but before you can finish the sentence, the sound of footsteps outside cuts you off.
As the footsteps approach the door, Obi Wan releases his grip on you, parting your bodies, but only just slightly. His posture isn't one of a man who's been caught. His shoulders are stiff, and his expression holds irritation as the door slams open again.
A Falteen guard enters, hand on his blaster. When he sees the way you're looking at him, he pulls it and keeps it raised, staying near the open doorway. He clicks a button on his wrist.
"Possibly some effects here. Tell Marg we're bringing the prisoners out for interrogation soon."
"Are you?" Obi Wan asks coolly when the guard switches off his commlink. "Who is 'we'?"
"Wasn't talking to you, Jedi," the guard grunts as he backs toward the door, blaster still raised.
"How impolite. And I thought we were guests."
"Shut up," the guard snaps, then speaks into his wrist again. "Did you hear me? I said the prisoners are ready. Get here, now."
Catching sight of the way Obi Wan is looking at him, the guard abruptly turns to leave and close the door behind him.
"Ah, ah," Obi Wan admonishes, raising a hand that keeps the guard frozen in the doorway. "Keep us company, won't you? Until your friends get here."
The guard's face shows considerable effort in turning his upper body backward and raising his blaster halfway. Obi Wan smirks, and in an instant the blaster is across the room and in his hand. With his other hand, he makes a rising motion, then grips around an invisible throat.
The throat is, in fact, attached to the guard, who is now clutching at it. The guard's feet are off the ground, kicking uselessly. You almost think it looks... amusing.
Obi wan is certainly entertained. "Not feeling sociable? That's quite alright. I don't mind a quiet evening."
The noises of the guard's windpipe being crushed go on for some time. It disgusts you somewhat, hearing the pathetic creature struggle, but finally it comes to an end when Obi Wan clenches his fist, snapping his neck completely and dropping him to the floor.
You sigh, glad it's finally over, and Obi Wan wastes no time in aiming the blaster at the floor where his chain is mounted. He fires off several shots, eventually managing to free himself, the chain still around his leg but no longer attached to the ground. He comes over to you, running the back of his hand down your face.
"It appears it's time for us to go."
You nod. Despite the drug's insistence that nothing is as important as what you were about to do, you still understand the concept of life and death. To your immense irritation, you want to live.
"They took our lightsabers in the first room... I think it was to the south of the main room. They locked them in a grey box," you tell him. Your aching shoulders want you to ask him to blast you free of the wall,  but your hands are too close to the top of the chain. He gives you a nod in return, then walks to the door.
"Don't worry," he says with a casual smile as he raises the blaster in his hand and fires down the hallway. "I won't be long."
You watch as he leaves, frustrated that you can't accompany him, but confident in his promise. It's abundantly clear he's not the one in danger.
Screams echo down the hallway and blaster fire lights up the walls. The sound of bodies being flung, followed with silence, confirms what you had thought. He's gone for what feels like an eternity, but in reality, was probably only a few minutes. When he returns, he's cut himself out of his chain and he's carrying both of your lightsabers. He quickly cuts you down, then holds his saber still for you to push your bound hands into it, separating the binders and then cutting them off completely.
You roll your shoulders. Sharp pain shoots through them, but it's a sweet kind of pain. "Thank you."
"My pleasure," he says with a smile. "Shall we?"
You follow him back down the hallway, now littered with bodies. It seems a stray blaster bolt must have clipped one of the light fixtures on the wall. It's flickering on and off, illuminating the bodies intermittently and casting shadows over Obi Wan's face.
"I suppose we'll need to steal a ship to get out of here," you say, relatively disinterested in the carnage that surrounds you.
"My thoughts exactly," he replies, stepping over a dismembered arm as you reach the end of the hallway and enter the main room again where the large table now sits empty. "I believe our host was about to save us the trouble."
You walk around the table to find Marg splayed out on the ground, looking up at you with an anguished groan. One of his legs is bent at a sickening angle.
You say the only thing that comes to mind. "Oh. Hello."
"Augh," Marg responds, gripping his leg and gritting his teeth at you. "Whatever you want, just take it and go. Remember, I let you live."
Obi Wan raises an eyebrow.
"Let..." the word rolls off his tongue slowly. Then he shakes his head just slightly, circling the table to look down at Marg himself.
"You know, I do owe you thanks, Marg."
The Pyke trembles when Obi Wan comes closer, gazing down at him with an almost bored expression.
"When I was a padawan, my master used to tell me that fear is the path to the dark side. Fear of loss, fear of pain, fear of death..."
His eyes trail over the table as he speaks, a streak of crimson staining the stone where evidently someone's body had been dragged.
"But what is the dark side without fear?"
You watch a grin spread over his face when Marg tries to inch away from him.
"Power."
Your eyes are drawn to the way his jaw sets after he says the word. He's magnificent.
He reaches toward Marg, whose hands suddenly rip at his throat, trying to pull at invisible fingers. "So I really must thank you, for showing me a new path. Now, if you would be so kind as to assist me further, where is the nearest ship with a hyperdrive?"
Marg's eyes are bulging and Obi Wan releases him slightly so that he can speak. Just as he's about to, a handful of guards enter the room. Your eyes snap up. They raise their blasters, training them all on Obi Wan.
You squint angrily at the interruption. How could such insignificant life forms threaten him? They should simply die.
And they do. The instant the thought enters your mind, they turn their barrels toward themselves and pull triggers.
Six bodies hit the floor almost in unison. Obi Wan stares, confused for only a moment before turning his gaze on you. His smile widens.
"Well done, young one. Very impressive."
His words of praise shoot through you, setting every nerve ending on fire. You were already burning for him, and now it's an inferno.
He turns his attention back to Marg, who's still squirming in his grip. "Well?"
The Pyke leader bites out a series of directions to the nearest landing platform and gasps when Obi Wan lets him go. He drops down with a heavy thud and sucks in shuddering breaths, scowling up at you.
You look back into his eyes, annoyed that he does not appear to be grateful at his release. You flick your wrist, lightsaber illuminating in your hand, and behead him.
The dark cloth of his ceremonial headcovering drapes behind his head as it rolls across the floor, and Obi Wan looks at you in mild surprise.
You shrug. "It will take longer for them to organize and follow us if he's dead."
His lips tug into a tight smile. "Very well; have it your way."
You follow him into the main entrance, back the way you'd originally been dragged into the compound, and you follow the dead Pyke's instructions to reach the landing platform, where you help yourselves to the largest ship available.
Obi Wan seats himself in the captain's chair, checking fuel gauges and testing the controls before take off. You busy yourself closing the hatches and preparing the ship. Once everything is secure, you give the all-clear and the ship lifts off, quickly exiting the atmosphere.
Once you've entered hyperspace, Obi Wan keys in the coordinates for Coruscant and heaves a sigh of relief, settling himself back into his seat. You walk over to him and he looks up at you from over his shoulder.
"What an ordeal that was." He looks down at his chest, seeming to notice the blood stain on his tunic for the first time. "And I'll have to get my robes cleaned. Blast."
You gaze down at him, hardly listening. You're still aching for him, and you feel no need to hold back your tongue. "Master... I believe you said you had something to give me?"
He turns his chair to face you, lowering his hands to the arm rests, seemingly unfazed by your bold change of subject. He raises his brows just slightly. "Is that how one should ask?"
You weren't expecting his simple retort, and for a moment you're unsure how to respond. He takes your silence as an answer.
"I was very clear."
His voice is imposing, almost terse. It makes your knees a bit weak.
"I... want you to touch me," you start off low and quiet. You put more effort into your voice for the second attempt. "I want you to fuck me."
His brows flick up, then his face relaxes into an amused smirk. "I'm just not sure..."
"Please. I want you to fuck me."
"It's something in your tone..."
You let out a slow breath, barely able to keep yourself from falling to the ground and begging. You need to convince him, but you can hardly form coherent sentences, just looking into his eyes like this. A thought crosses your mind.
"I... can show you."
His gaze becomes a bit more intense. "Show me what?"
"Now that I'm not tied up, there's a lot I can show you," you say, leaning down to place a kiss on his neck.
His eyelids dip briefly, and then he pulls you into a full kiss, gripping you and pressing his thumb into your jaw.
"Do you think you've earned it?"
"I... what?" You yelp in pain when his thumb presses harder.
"I wanted you to ask me for it, properly. Now, you can beg for it."
He kisses you again, his tongue forcing itself deep into your mouth, teasing until you feel like you're going to lose your mind. You could scream, you want him so badly.
When you break apart, you're panting. "Please, let me show you how much I want it. I can make you feel so good."
You snake your hand down his chest toward the center of his body, but he stops you, catching your wrist.
He pulls you almost into his lap, gritting into your ear. "Have you forgotten your place, young one?"
Your thighs clench together. "I haven't, I..."
His hand tightens on your wrist. "Get on your knees."
You scramble out of his hold to lower yourself to the floor, looking up at him furtively to make sure you're following his instructions as intended. Once you're kneeling, he looks down at you from his seat, his posture composed.
"Better."
You stifle a groan at his encouragement, soaking between your legs.
He leans his shoulders back, spreading his arms wide in his chair, and crosses one leg over the other, with the ankle of one boot resting on the opposite knee.
"You will show proper respect."
You bounce your head in a vigorous nod. "Yes, Master."
Something flickers in his eyes when you say that word, and it's enough to let you know how to proceed. You bow your head down, leaning forward, and press a soft kiss into the heel of his boot, holding it delicately in your hand. He doesn't stop you. He just tilts his head in slight surprise.
You kiss it again, and again, and then without thinking you turn your head sideways and press your tongue flat against the tip of his boot, dragging it slowly up. The heavy notes of leather fill your mouth like a fine scotch as you continue all the way up while gazing into his eyes, which are completely fixed on you.
"That is... " He swallows. "Very good."
When you reach the top of this boot, you want to kiss him, but he's too far away. You would need to stand, and he wouldn't allow it. You place the tips of your fingers on the calf of his boot, looking up from under your lashes.
"I could lick something else for you," you tell him, tugging slightly to move his legs apart.
"Oh?" is all he says in return, his voice deep, more words seeming to be stuck in his throat as his leg follows your guidance, spreading his knees apart. His chest is rising and falling faster now.
Your hand slides between his legs and you palm him through his clothing, your pussy tightening when you feel his size properly for the first time. Your mouth is already watering, imagining tasting him.
"If you'll let me?" you ask, gripping him gently and giving a few tugs through the fabric.
His posture is still stiff, the regal curve of his chin unmoving, but you can see the way he's pressing his fingers into the arm rests. You wait for his response, and he finally gives it. He wordlessly nods, giving himself away with a bit too much vigor, his hair falling forward.
He slides a hand through his hair to put it back into place while you pull the waistband of his pants up and over the head of his cock. There's a spot on the fabric starting to soak through from the leaking at his tip, and you can't help yourself from swiping a thumb over it, watching him suck in his stomach at the contact.
You tug his trousers down further, releasing him the rest of the way, and no sooner is he free than you suffocate him with your mouth. You suck his glistening head between your lips and the taste of him makes you throb with need. You allow yourself the pleasure of swirling your tongue just once before you take him all the way, and when he hits the back of your throat it makes you rock back on your knees a little.
His hips jut upward when you slide him all the way into your hot mouth, tightening your lips around him, and you start to work the length of him, savoring every inch as you look up at him in pure worship. His gaze is locked onto your mouth, watching you swallow him over and over. His jaw is starting to slacken.
You slow your movements and watch as the tips of his fingers go white, grasping at the arm rests. He licks his bottom lip.
"Fuck," he growls, his lower teeth jutting out in a half-snarl.
You pull your mouth off him with a wet pop, dragging your fingertips over him teasingly. "Which do you prefer, Master? Shall I go slow..."
You lower your head, spreading your lips over him again and inching down his thickness with an agonizing lack of speed, sighing through your nose at the way he fills your mouth perfectly. Then you pull back up, continuing the same languid motion, and look at him again.
"...or a bit faster?"
His eyes are cloudy now, his breath ragged. He doesn't answer. He just removes one hand from the arm rest and threads his fingers through your hair, slowly guiding you back to full speed.
He groans as you quicken your pace obediently, and every thought in your mind is replaced with the image before you - your master with his eyes closed, arching forward in his seat, holding your head between his legs as you slide your mouth up and down his leaking cock.
His eyes open again and he's staring down at you with an animalistic, almost delirious expression. He twitches inside your mouth and you can tell he's near the edge. You don't want this to end. You want to keep tasting him, keep unraveling him like this forever. Without realizing it, you've slowed down, and he takes notice.
His hand grips your hair more tightly and he starts to move into you, meeting your rhythm halfway and fucking into your mouth.
He gasps, biting out raggedly, "That's it. Don't fucking stop..." as his hips start to snap forcefully, making you choke for air.
You feel his hand slide from the back of your head to the side of your neck, and suddenly he's pressing into your throat, holding you against himself, moaning your name. Your eyes shut for a moment as your senses are overwhelmed. All you can do is keep your pace, keep sucking him, keep making him feel this way so that he never, ever wants to stop. You can't remember anything before this. The only thing that matters is this moment.
His fingers stiffen below your jaw, he grinds your name between his teeth one more time, and then he cums.
He explodes into the back of your throat, making you gasp to keep breathing as you swallow him, drinking everything he pours into you. You tighten your lips to keep moving up and down while he finishes, pressing your hands flat against his lap while his hips buck recklessly against you.
His mouth falls open as he collapses back against the chair, watching you drink the last drops of him, sucking him more softly. You finally let him slide from your mouth when he twitches, spent, and you run your tongue along your bottom lip, still searching for anything left of his taste.
He lies there, panting, his legs splayed shamelessly with his wet cock still on display, while you collapse sideways, leaning on your hand, looking up at him from the floor.
He looks divine. Literally - a god. His skin glistening, his hair disheveled, and his eyes wild, he's an exquisite mess. When he seems to regain some semblance of consciousness, he looks at you questioningly, still half-dazed.
"You swallowed... all of it?"
You nod up at him, unable to speak yet.
He breathes out, "Good girl. Very good."
It's too much. You nearly moan out loud. You reach up tentatively, grasping one of his hands and pulling him out of his seat. In his satisfied state he doesnt resist and kneels next to you, the muscles of his arm doing nothing to prevent you from pulling his hand beneath your clothes and between your thighs, showing him what he's done to you.
He sucks in a breath at the feel of you dripping over his fingers. You gaze at him desperately. "Good enough to be rewarded?"
He's silent, sliding his fingers in a circle, and then murmuring to himself. "So wet..."
He brings his eyes up to yours. "You're so wet," he repeats, playing with you absently, seemingly not concerned with the way you twitch and moan at his touch.
"Please..." you sigh, chest heaving. The words come out in a hoarse, broken whisper. "Please, I need you to fuck me."
He smirks at you. "My padawan has finally learned how to properly beg."
Moments later, you're spread on the floor, his body over yours, his pants at his knees and your legs hooked around him. He's teased you into oblivion, and you're a weakened, shaking shell of your former self. Your mind is gone. Your only thoughts are sin. Your whole existence is centered on the feeling of his index finger, which is swirling over your clit and dropping back down to drag through your wetness. And all at once, your existence turns to nothingness, because he pulls his touch away.
Your world bursts back into light when he finishes taking off his shirt and leans his body over yours, sliding the head of his cock through your lips, coating himself in your slick. He shudders at the feeling, wrapping one of his hands around your thigh to steady himself.
"Tell me what you want," he rasps into your ear.
"Fuck me," you moan, repeating the only words you can conceive at the moment. "Fuck me, Master."
He slides down, resting heavily between your legs, starting to spread you open. "Say my name."
"Obi Wan," his name wrenches out of you, your brows pinching together with all-consuming need. "Obi Wan..."
"Ah, you'd better remember that," he instructs you, easing your legs apart as he slides inside you. "You're going to be screaming it by the end."
He thrusts his cock deep into you, burying himself in one fluid motion, and draws back to start delivering every inch as promised...
And the next thing you remember, you're awake.
You blink.
The room comes into focus. You're in a bed, unclothed, and wrapped in unfamiliar sheets. You sit up, slowly. You're in pain. Your head is pounding and your throat is parched.
You squint around the room, trying to clear your blurry eyes. This looks like the crew quarters of a ship.
You look down at the bed again, and you realize you're not alone. Beside you, someone is sleeping. Someone with light brown hair and a handsome profile. Someone who smells like sage and spice and comfort. Someone who looks... like...
You flinch in recognition, and it jolts the bed. Obi Wan's eyelids squeeze tightly, then flutter open. He looks at you, bleary-eyed, and makes a confused noise in his throat.
He pulls in a deep breath through his nose and sits up, the sheets falling forward from his bare chest. "Commander?"
Your pulse is racing. Your head spins while he looks around the room, the same way you did. His blue eyes fall back onto yours, wide with confusion. "What is... how did we get here?"
You shake your head. "I'm not sure. The last thing I remember, we were drugged on Oba Diah, and then..."
Your eyes widen to match his, images starting to play in your mind. He's searching your eyes, still lost, and then he lowers his gaze to your neck. He tilts his head to look closer.
"Your neck... you have a mark. It looks like a bite-"
His words stop abruptly, just as yours did, and you see the recognition on his face. He doesn't speak for a long, long time. Neither of you does. Your blood is frozen in your veins, your stomach turning.
He gathers his side of the sheets, leaning over the side of the bed as if he's about to be sick.
He whispers with no emotion in his voice, just blank despair, "What have we done?"
--
Tag List: @cosmicsierra @projectdreamwalker
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thewritersaddictions · 11 months
Text
The Adults: Billy Hargrove- Swim Teach
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Pairing: Swim Teacher!Billy Hargrove x Lifeguard!Fem!Reader
Pov: Billy
Warnings: Soft!Billy, Fluff, Summertime, accidental drowning, Kissing, not a predetermined relationship, Kids teasing Billy about his growing crush on the lifeguard.
Summary: Billy is a flirt at nature, so it’s hard for him to try and not use it while he sees you as the lifeguard at his new job.
A/n- Firefly-graphics for divders
WC- 2.3k
Stranger Things Master List // The Adults Master List
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There are a few summer classes that I could have taught this year. Having lived in California for enough of my life to know the ocean like the back of my hand. How the waves clash hard and can sweep you off your feet if you aren’t careful. 
I took a CPR class at my high school, and then another one at the pool. It ensured that I’d be able to safely rescue anyone who needed help. I was granted the job right on the spot. I can only assume the swim teacher there was either tired of doing both jobs as lifeguard and teacher, or they were simply not into the job they had signed up for during the summer months. 
Regardless a week later, and right into the start of summer I got my job assignments. I was working with the kiddos. The small ones were almost tall enough to go down the big slide at the back of the pool, but not yet versed enough in saving themselves if nobody could get to them in time during a busy hot summer day at the pool. 
I wouldn’t say that the first day was shitty, but the Hawkins weather was forever changing, and never wanted to stay warm enough so that once the little kiddos decided they were done with the swimming pool they might never come back in. “Come back into the pool.” I ushered tiny humans around the pool. Lunchtime had taken up longer than anticipated and the more the kids chose to not listen to me the harder it was for my anger to not boil over. 
“Come on kids I know that you don't want the lifeguard to yell at you for running around the edge of the pool?” I questioned the gaggle of kids. In perfect unison, the heads turned and looked up toward the lifeguard chair. The umbrella gave shade to the person sitting up there, it’s a feline body Billy can tell almost automatically. 
The voice only confirms it. “Yes, we wouldn’t want the big bad lifeguard to have to tell your parents you aren’t being good at the pool while they aren’t looking.” She says, her voice casting down through the empty pool. I shiver at her voice even though I’m in the water. The gaggle of children becomes more like a straight military line of children. “Yes, Ma’am.” They’d say as they pass her lifeguard post.
“Thank you” I mouthed up to her. I only saw the slight movement of her foot, but it was enough to pump me full of joy. The kids climbed back into the water. “Mr.Billy, what are we doing now?” One little girl asked me. Her hair had been put in pigtails but regardless of her mother's choice she had taken them out and now her hair was a mess. 
“Well I say we fix your hair then we get into our next activity.” I saw them slowly walking over to her. The side of the pool that we were in was no deeper than my mid-calf. Water that I supposed the kids would have a good first day in. “Mr. Billy?” Another question from another kid. “Give me a moment so I can fix her hair and then you can ask me,” I said before returning my attention to her chlorine-coated hair. I cupped my hand into the water and soaked her hair once more. “What are you doing?” She asked in a voice so tiny against the large open body of chlorine water. 
“Just making sure your mommy isn’t upset with me because I didn’t fix your hair,” I replied simply, and before I knew it I had tied her hair back up and we were on to our activity. “Okay kiddos, I want everyone to gather in a circle around me yeah.” I draw an imaginary circle around my body and they followed in perfect suit. “Today we are going to be playing with pool noodles. But there are some rules before you can get your fingers on one. Do you understand?” A simple yes or no question, with a simple yes or no answer, would have been perfect. 
But children are rather cautious about everything. Whether that is curiosity or just the last nerve that they love to smother with unneeded attention. There was a little hum that made its way around the circle. My attention was drawn to the creaking of the old wood lifeguard post, the woman was leaving her post on the guard post. I couldn’t help but watch her move and walked down the concrete side of the pool. “Bye, Mr. Billy.” She said with a smoothness that nearly had me at the bottom of the pool. 
The kids watched alongside me, and once she was gone I was still watching. “OOOO, Mr.Billy has a crush.” I heard one boy yell out, I rolled my eyes and turned looking at the circle around pointing and staring at me. “Come on kids, back to the lessons,” I said without even acknowledging the oohs, and ahhs happening all around me. I turned and grabbed a pool noddle from the side of the pool. “I want you guys to all grab one pool noodle from the edge of the pool and come back to our circle.” 
There weren’t too many kids, just enough to have a little chaos. This went on for a few weeks. At least the first three weeks of the start of summer. The pool was starting to get overcrowded day by day. Regardless classes start at eight in the morning and lasted well through lunchtime. Most of the time was trying to help the kiddos keep their goggles on their faces without it hurting their faces or their hair. Week one was a blast for the kids and me, every day was a different lesson. Three weeks of flirting with her, purposely or maybe by accident. I’m not sure but every time she’d walk away from her post she’d turn and wave at me. 
The growing tension between her and I grew rapidly. I watched as she swayed her hips with every step and never managed to let me see her eyes just puffy lips that looked so kissable. With these kids, there were certain things I had to do. Since they were around the ages of five and nine there was a lot of getting the kids accumulated to the water, and then we would be diving down underneath the water. The goggles were important in nearly everyday activities. One day after the kids had all been taken back by their parents and the pool items were put back I went on a search for the lifeguard. 
We had all seen her, having her up there until well after lunch. I had never taken the chance to actually search after her. To find her and wonder where she went afterward. I grabbed my towel from the deck chair and made my way inside the building. It was small and, the showers weren’t running in the lady’s bathroom. I assumed that maybe she was in a different part of the pool. We had an indoor pool, but I guess I didn’t know that. I was always outside.
Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice the pool as my foot fell into the water and then my body was hitting the ice-cold water. I wasn’t floating. The fall had caused me to hit my head and everything was blurry in the cold water. I felt my feet hit the bottom of the pool, and my lungs filled with water as panic began to set into my body. 
It wasn’t until I was being pulled, and tugged out of the water that the panic left my body, but still, I wasn’t able to open my eyes. The black sight of my eyes was all I could see. What I did know was that the soft touch of a woman was happening as I got dragged onto the concrete side. 
A few pumps of my chest and nothing happened. A few more and still nothing, a soft graze of hair sprayed against my chest and neck. Then her lips were on mine, two fingers plugging my nose, causing me to cough up chlorine water. 
My heart beat fast against my chest and I regained focus and air into my lungs. “Jesus.” That was my first word back to reality. Then I opened my eyes and then we stared at each other. Her eyes were beautiful in every single way, dark yet so bright as she looked down at me. “Billy?” She asked, music to my ears, I hummed. “Let’s get you to the nurse's office.” She said, reaching out a helping hand to help me get up off the cold floor. The towel that I had wrapped around my waist was floating in the water. 
I went to grab it, but a soft hand wrapped around my own and dragged me away from the edge of the pool. “Someone else can get that Billy.” She spoke quietly. Her hat was gone, along with her shades. With her hand wrapped around mine, I followed closely behind her. I thought the minute that we got to the nurse's office that she’d drop me off and leave me there. I was wrong. She walked right in with me yet let go of my hand. “Thank you…” there was a little bit of silence. 
I still didn’t know this beautiful woman's name, yet she knew mine. “Y/n, at your service.” With a wink, there was nobody in the office. We had been standing in the room for far too long. “Are you my savior and nurse?” I flirted with her, and she laughed and it sent a shiver down my spine. “Almost died and still a flirt?” She poked back. “Alway Y/n, always.” Y/n does a full check-up on me. 
Y/n checks that the bump on my head isn’t grave and that my lungs don’t sound too bad. Considering I’m a smoker they already sound bad enough, but let’s not add anything else they don’t need. Her hands, Y/n’s delicate hand wraps around my wrist and gives my pulse a check. Two delicate fingers pressed into the pulse point of my wrist and we sat in comfortable silence. Y/n looks like she’s counting in her head, the number of beats my heart is doing in just one minute, but with her standing there right in front of me in all of her glory. My heart must be racing at this point. 
My hair is wet and dripping cold droplets to the floor, and her red bathroom suit covers most of her body but gives something to the imagination. Curves that float down like a road it’s memorizing to watch as she moved effortlessly in the small exam room. Y/n fingers leave my wrist and I pout. When she turns back around she giggles at me. “What's wrong now?” Now it’s Y/n who’s being a flirt, and I just pout more. Letting my head fall forward. “Of is it your head? Do you need kisses to make it feel better, huh Billy?” I can’t help but moan and whine all at the same time. Sounds that never come out of me. 
“Come here sweet boy, let me give you a kiss huh.” She moves me to my head like a rag doll. Controlling it in ways that only she can. I’m like playdoh in her hands and it makes everything else in the world disappear behind me. Y/n gives me a small quick kiss on my forehead. The place where it’s red and bumpy, but then she moves my head again. Now my head is sitting in her hand, her thumbs grazing carefully across my jaw and over my lips. 
That’s all before she’s bending down and kissing me softly on the lisp for real this time. It’s not fast or because I’m about to die, it’s simply because she wants to kiss me. I love the way her lips feel up against mine. They’re soft, and plush as they met mine. Warm to the touch even though the pool house is cold and makes you shiver as you walk in. Her hands are on fire on my jaw and cheek, but there’s a sort of warmth that I’ve never felt before. 
It’s the sort of warmth that when Y/n pulls away I want to pull her right back and I want more. I need more from her. “Did that fix your wounds Billy?” her voice is somehow deeper, lips redder than before, and eyes darker. I roll my tongue out over my lips and catch a taste of her. ‘I don’t know Y/n I might need a few more to really fix me up good and all.” I tease her with a wink. 
She fawns and blush grows on the tips of her ears, and cheeks. “How about a date to start up your very strict health regimen.” She’s a flirt, and it drives me crazy. I hum in satisfaction. “When do you get off?” I ask her nerves growing into anticipation. Y/n looks over to the clock in the exam room. It’s been making a horrible ticking noise, but regardless of that, she looks back over at me. “Off in just a few. Say maybe twenty minutes.” “How about dinner tonight at the fancy place in town?” I suggest her eye light up, but then dim. “Are you sure?” She questions me. 
“For my savior, anything will do. I’ll pick you up in say a few hours.” She writes her address down on a paper towel she pulls from the dispenser. With that, I get up from the chair and give her one last long kiss on her red and swollen lips, and when I leave the room I know she’s staring at me. Wishing that her shift was over rather than still having to work.
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Completed on: 04/12/23
Posted on: 04/24/23
The Adults- @yourfavdummy
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sasster · 5 months
Text
Performances
I’m doing this thing where I’m trying to write things for my friends for their birthdays. So here’s my second attempt at that! Happy early birthday to Roe!! I was a little bit silly and couldn’t sit on it for another two days.
TW: Mutilation and blood, but the details don’t get too too graphic
[doc]
Stage lights have a horrible way of announcing themselves as they turn on. A horrible crack fills the air as impossibly bright light floods the previously darkened stage. At the center of that stage, Bigby stands holding a hand up to his face in a futile bid to block some of it out. At least long enough for his eyes to adjust. Hundreds of featureless faces, save for leering eyes, surround him and watch his every move, that much he can tell without even having to get his bearings.
A ball of lead makes a home in his stomach as his gaze sweeps wildly around his surroundings.
The tight rope hangs high above his head, settling at such heights that it appears to be swaying from where he stands. Behind him the tiger cages sit exactly where he remembers leaving them, the big cats inside stare back at him with what must be remorse. Bigby screws his eyes shut, having taken up the challenge of not letting the fear that settles around his throat show, though the little hairs that stand all around his body quickly betray him.
He swallows around the constricting of his throat and tosses a glance to his right and finds a gaggle of mutant circus performers staring back at him. There is a range of emotions scattered from horror to amused, more facial expressions than he can count.
Before he gets to try, movement from stage left catches his attention.
That movement also gets the attention of whoever mans the lighting, because suddenly all of the spotlights are angled in that direction.
Now illuminated from all available angles, the Ringleader steps out and onto the stage with all of the flair and mirth needed to command an audience. He fixes his stupid bowtie while hundreds of unseen faces erupt in cheers for his mere presence.
Bigby wastes no time in making a break for it, he runs in the direction of the group of ogling mutants while Emarra addresses his adoring fans. The escape is short lived, and he did know better, when a familiar coldness wraps around both ankles and drags him back to the center of the stage. He looks down to see thick coils of shadow wrapped around him and slowly writhing upward.
Sweat coats the base of his neck, but still he swallows his fear.
Finally, Emarra crosses to the center of the stage behind him and rests his hands on his shoulders.
Very suddenly his voice is in Bigby’s ear, cooing with hardly contained enthusiasm.
“Just in time for the main act,” he practically sing-songs the declaration. “You’re going to love it.”
That promise makes Bigby shrug fruitlessly against him. The clown only gives his shoulders a squeeze.
He opens his mouth to speak, to curse him out for the audacity, anything, but all that comes out is the sound of a wet choke and it becomes clear that a third tendril has wrapped itself around his throat.
“You know you don’t get a speaking part in this act.” Emarra warns with a firm pat on the back.
Then he crosses to stand in front of Bigby, speaking directly to the crowd again.
“How should he die?”
A hundred different voices shout a thousand different ways to die.
Asphyxiation. Flaying. Limb removal.
“Bleed him out!” One intrepid voice shouts above the rest.
Emarra shakes his head, exhaling a humored sigh as he leans in to listen to more suggestions.
Bigby is no stranger to the cruel options being hurled out, but something in his stomach turns and he feels the desperate need to cry.
Split him in two. Slice him up from the guts. Drown him!
“Throwing knives!” Another lone voice shouts.
“I like the way you think!” Emarra calls back, his approval palpable. “Throwing knives it is!”
The audience erupts again, their excitement rocks him to his core.
Bigby struggles against his confines as one of the freaks brings out a wheel to strap him to and a bucket filled with knives. The shadows, ignorant to his protests, walk him to the wheel and then affix him to it.
He wants to scream, he doesn’t want to give Emarra the satisfaction.
“Are we ready, Belbig?”
Bigby puffs his chest out and says nothing.
“We missed you.”
The wheel starts spinning, Emarra starts to throw his knives. Randomly at first, a couple of them don’t even make it close to his body, then he starts to pick up speed and precision.
One grazes his cheek, another cuts through his shirt but draws no blood, a third pierces him in the thigh.
Bigby swallows a cry, Emarra’s laugh is filled with mirth.
Mirth that makes his head spin opposite to the wheel.
The knives start to come in pairs, then in threes. They start to pierce him indiscriminately.
Thigh again, his stomach, one separates his middle finger from the rest of his hand, two into his shoulder with enough force that they dig into the wood behind him. His blood begins to paint the floor of the stage, slick and oozing, it shines under the lights.
Three more knives come his way. One pins his left ear to the board, the second severes the right one completely, but before the third makes contact between his eyes, the world fades to black.
Bigby wakes up gasping for air into a throat that feels raw, the red glow of the plugin night light on the other side of the room pulls his attention almost immediately and puts him back into his body.
That was stupid, he thinks, he wasn’t even scared.
Around him the outlines of the proof of his new life push the bad dream to the fringes of his memory. Shelves of knick knacks conjure up the image of Orfuse and Lucy excitedly shoving figures into his hands and babbling about what’s for dinner. The bookcase reminds him of the comic book he’d been meaning to read with Maelia.
He sighs, he doesn’t even remember what the dream was about.
Beside him, Tiger stares at him with her ears standing straight up. She broadcasts her concern directly into his mind with a sense of urgency that he can almost taste.
He hopes he didn’t yell too loudly, or at all for that matter.
Bigby takes a few minutes to lay there in his bed, absently petting her to soothe her nerves, before he finally decides that he must be awake for the evening and drags himself out of the bed.
His gaze lingers on a small wooden tiger that sits on his desk, the newest and most cherished acquisition from his employer. Peace settles in his chest and he heads down to the kitchen, savoring the cold of the ceramic tiling against his feet as he makes his way down the hall.
The coolness roots him to reality.
That was a really stupid dream.
A really really stupid dream.
When he gets to the kitchen he notices Zerkev, standing over a counter already brewing his evening coffee. Bigby doesn’t say anything as he takes the seat across from the newspaper that was already set out in the fuchsia’s usual spot.
His ears twitch before Zerkev even starts to speak.
“Evenin’, son.” He says, his normal drawl crowned by the sort of drowsiness that says he just woke up. “Sleep well?”
Bigby gives a non-committal “Mm,” in response and his ears continue to twitch.
“Me too. Thought I heard something, couldn’t get back to sleep afterward.” He continues with a shrug. “Happy for the company. Coffee?”
Bigby’s face scrunches up at the idea of coffee that isn’t the overly sweet kind he gets from the cafe by his job. He also couldn’t imagine asking Zerkev to make it that way.
Though he couldn’t possibly have seen the reaction, Zerkev moves to grab some juice from the fridge instead.
In the silence that settles around them, Bigby looks down at his hands and legs to check for damage that surely must be there as bits of the dream float around in his head.
More silence passes before both drinks are set on the table. A tall glass for Bigby and a mug for Zerkev.
Bigby loses himself to his reflection in the golden liquid.
Zerkev takes his seat and unfolds the paper, never one to force him into a conversation that he didn’t want to have.
The smaller troll puts both hands around the glass, still focusing on his reflection.
“What did you hear?” He asks bluntly, worry causing the hairs along his neck to stand.
What if he screamed out during the torture of his dream? He wasn’t even scared!
“Crashing?” Zerkev answers and it sounds more like a question. “Maelia knocking somethin’ over with his tail, no doubt.”
The lie comes from Zerkev’s mouth, but Bigby’s ears twitch in response as he adopts it as his version of reality too.
“Must’ve woke you, too.”
“Yeah.” He replies with what could be a little too much urgency.
Zerkev turns a page in the paper.
“Thanks for keepin’ me company, son.”
Across the table, Bigby sighs all of the tension into his cup and gives another non-committal “Mm.”
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bakakughoe · 1 year
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keep an eye out
summary: he possessed the doll as a means to hide, but now that he’s found you, you were to be his little plaything.
warnings; yandere ghost!dabi x reader, gore (nothing graphic but just in case), dubcon??? you think you’re having sex with your boyfriend, but no, delusional, lovesick dabi, murder, possessiveness, generally very creepy
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okay but like. yandere ghost dabi who somehow ended up possessing a doll you utterly adore and cherish. so much so that for the first time in his life he feels spoiled and loved and treasured. so much so that the lines are blurred and he considers himself to be the object of your endless affection.
but your pesky partner just had to show up, had to notice all the ways dabi tried to communicate with you in silence. it was too much. in terror, he tore the doll's eyes out. they're following you! he'd try to reason with you when you unleash your fury on him, claiming he had no right to ruin your only childhood memory.
there was pride welling up in dabi's figurative chest. look how angry you got when someone tried to harm him. don't worry, love, i'm unaffacted, he wanted to reassure you. oh how he'd lick off the tears staining your face as you clutched his small frame close to yourself.
you'd cry yourself to sleep and he'd make sure to swat the sorrow away from your heart. he'd avenge your tears, but not before he finally presents himself to you.
in a moment of softness, or rather, gratefulness, he sews the eyes back on. had it not been for the doll, he'd never meet you.
on occasion he was concerned he might wake you, his steps clumsy- it's been far too long since he used his true form. nevertheless, he'd take great care climbing into the bed with you, trailing soft, sloppy kisses down your neck. pulling your back against his chest as his hands roam your body, one greedily grabbing at your nipple as the other finds its way beneath your shorts, slowing down slightly upon your shudder at the coldness of his fingers.
he's never been patient, but fuck- he's trying so hard not to rut into your plump ass with his painfully hard member. despite how tempting it is, he has to make this perfect for you.
groggy but awoken, you'd feel his gentle movements, apologetic and utterly devoted to making you feel good. unalarmed, you knew your boyfriend had a knack for coming over during the night with his spare key. before you could utter a complaint, your sleepy eyes fell onto the barely visible doll he placed on the nightstand.
"i'm sorry, i'm so sorry," he'd mumble, his kisses turning to bold nips at your skin, "i fixed it. i couldn't stand being the cause of your tears."
he wasn't sure if the gasp from your lips was due to how much you loved his gift or his fingers stuffed into your juicy cunt. either way, you seemed appreciative of his handiwork.
at his words, you melt further into his embrace, ignoring the unusual coldness he radiated off. since when were his fingers this skillful? this damn-
"ngh, fuck! right there!" you tried to bite back your moan, but the wave of pleasure caught you beyond unprepared, "baby, you're - you're making me feel so damn good- god!"
he couldn't handle it anymore. your praise, your moans, the way he was pleasuring you so intensely that you had to cover your gorgeous mouth with your palm as he's taking you from the behind. too much. it was entirely too much, he'd soon be cumming in his pants if this were to continue.
"i need your cock in me, please, please! i can’t- i can’t handle this."
you didn't need to repeat that. he grazed your earlobe with his teeth teasingly once you released a disgruntled whine when his fingers left your sopping wet pussy. not to worry, he had you stretched to your limits within seconds.
fuck. he promised, promised. he'd be gentle and attentive, focused on your pleasure entirely. but there was not a force strong enough that could stop him from pounding into you desperately, groans escaping him between all the praise he'd sung you.
how good you feel, how damn dripping you are for his fat cock, how much regret ate him away for not doing this sooner.
and you. poor little you. so fucked out and drowned in your own pleasure that you hadn't even noticed- the voice that is just a little too deep, too desperate, hands that roam your body as if for the first time, a cock that stuffs you to the brim all the while one hand never stops teasing your clit.
when had you been so pampered, so satisfied before?
it was too dark to see, it's not your fault, right?
even as he spilled his seed inside you after making sure you've reached a few orgasms yourself, generously so, unlike any other time before. he held you so close to himself, arms wrapped around you as if you'd flee at any given moment.
if you knew any better that's exactly what you'd be doing. but no, you nuzzle into him, you place your arm upon his and trail soft kisses praising the fingers that brought you so much pleasure.
i love you. i love you. i love you.
each whisper a poem to dabi's ears, and he says it back. a prayer, a worship. you're his and he'd never hurt you like that again.
blissfully unaware, you fall asleep in the safety of his embrace and he dozes off, listening to the sound of your steady heartbeat.
imagine your utter horror when you awake to find a naked stranger in your bed and the corpse of your boyfriend on the floor below it. his eyes? gouged out.
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repost from my old account, i was devastated it got lost TT^TT
reblogs and opinions are really appreciated!!
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bittybeanie · 1 year
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reigen hcs pt. 1
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some thoughts about reigen because i'm writing a long fic and needed to gather myself
SFW:
first things first, this man doesn’t fall for anybody that doesn’t get along with mob and serizawa. if he knew you could see dimple, he’d probably count too. basically his officemates are his ride or dies and if you can’t get along with the whole team there’s no way. especially since most of the time spent with him before you officially start dating is probably just you hanging out in the office waiting for clients with everybody.
lets you set up work at a spare table every so often. he claims it’s to bring some life to the office by having somebody who’s actually doing something even while it’s slow, but he secretly just appreciates getting to watch you work.
also loves getting to work quietly with you while he does Graphic Exorcisms. pop some classical music on and let him listen to the scratching of your pen or tapping on your keyboard and he is all set to enter the Focus Zone
does find himself getting distracted by you the longer the work session is though. he notices the smallest little quirks about how you sit or hold things or bite your lip when you think or constantly fix your hair and just every little movement starts to draw his attention. he doesn’t mean to, it’s a habit that crosses over from picking up details to use on clients, but he can’t say he minds finding himself staring at you either.
once the coffee shop gets built, he adores when you make trips and think to bring back something for him too (of course, you have to stop him from drinking it while it’s still too hot every single time). anything that involves you checking in on him while he’s working too hard is going to make him melt immediately
gets VERY sweaty on dates, especially your first one. as suave as he seems he’s worried that you just like the Con version of him and he’s convinced that he’s tricking you into thinking he’s cooler than he is. please convince him you like the dork side of him just as much as the smooth talker. this gets easier to do the longer you’ve known him before going out.
NSFW:
i’m hopping on the train of ace-spec reigen because i can’t picture him any other way like- he doesn’t mind it and it feels nice but he very rarely seeks it out and absolutely doesn’t care about going long periods of time without it.
that being said he is VERY eager to please because he cares less about being involved and more about making sure you get taken care of since he thinks of it more as an extension of your existing relationship. it ends up being a sort of performance to him more than anything else but one that he enjoys very very much if it means he gets to see you give him heart eyes the whole time
doesn’t usually get turned on for himself without a long makeout sesh first. sit on his lap and grab fistfuls of his hair and moan into his mouth or against his neck for a lil bit tho? yeah that’ll do it soon enough.
encourages you to talk the whole time. he loves seeing you get flustered by trying to keep up a coherent train of thought, and it’s fun to tease you by making you tell him exactly what you want, but mostly he just enjoys it being the only time he can put his silver tongue to rest and let you do the stammering
this also means that when you finally lose the ability to say much more than his name it hits twice as hard because it means you’ve gone brainless because of him
y’know how he never stops moving his hands while he talks? yeah that’s true of pretty much everything he does. expect his hands to trail up and down your sides the whole time because he’s too indecisive to figure out where to keep them and also he has too much Nervous Energy to keep them still. basically, if he’s not actively using a hand, he’s gonna be rubbing circles into your hip with it.
on the rare occasions that he works himself up and initiates, he definitely prefers you top. he doesn’t want to have to think about what or how he’s doing or all the responsibilities he’s ignoring or have space for his mind to wander, he wants to just hand himself to you and let you take him apart piece by piece, over and over, until he’s shaking and gasping and grabbing at your wrist to just, fuck, maybe one more but just give him a minute, please
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dragoonkirby · 3 months
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Here's all the issues that still needs to be fixed in MK1 on Switch
Note: I've been playing MK1 on Switch since release, and I'm really grateful by how much work the devs have made to fix the mess it was at launch (did they not learn their mistakes with MK11?). Still, a lot of issues still need to be addressed. This is only from what I'm seeing myself, I'm sure there's some stuff to fix for characters I don't play or play that much.
So here's the list:
Server issues: disconnected from the server happens often while playing towers or any mode that requires online connection (which is most of them)
Invasions: in all maps, there's always some objects or obstacles that the characters clips through when they walk between nodes. In the Rampart Mesa, there's a section that misaligns the player with the stairs, making them climb them through the wall instead.
End of round weapon glitch: anyone piece of gear/weapon/hat/whatnot will float in midair when a match ends without a brutality.
Loading times: Although they are a million times better than what they were at launch (like a good 30-40 seconds to like maybe 10-15 now) I'm sure there's a way to make everything load even faster. We'll see when season 4 will drop. I'm guessing this could also be why we don't see the characters walk in by the side before the character select screen shows up.
Texture issues: for some reason, the longer you play, the higher the chance that higher quality textures will just, stop loading in, which ends up giving both the characters and stage a very low-res appearance. IIRC, this wasn't the case before (don't quote me on this) and seems to only start when playing online or on the Hourglass stage
Fatalities oversights: a lot of fatalities (mostly the second ones) have odd visual issues. Some duplicate the head which causes an ugly clipping of the models, some characters have specific parts of their model stay visible during dismemberment like Sindel's hair for example. Second Fatalities will sometimes cause the clothes of either one or both characters to T-Pose in place (just the outfits not the character itself) and sometimes not show the facial expressions either
Facial movement during fights: Either during taunts, end-of-round taunts and brutalities (both giving and receiving), characters have no facial animations
Burn marks graphical glitch: whenever a move causes a burn mark on the ground, a black square replaces it instead
-Sindel: Although mostly fixed, there's still a few issues that haven't been patched yet for some reason: Fatality #1 still doesn't show the hair grabbing the arms, a few taunts involving her hair doesn't animate it at all.
Reptile: a few fatalities still show red blood instead of green blood when performed on him. Also, an issue that I've only seen online that affects both of his fatalites will have Reptile's model become off-center during the whole duration of them, showing normally unseen parts of it (the swallowing part for #1 and the head crush for #2)
Li Mei: her facial animations seem off, not completely animating the eyes and making her look stiff. Her lantern can sometimes teleport to the ground when it moves off-screen. Some animations that have fireworks effects will sometimes show that effect at the wrong spot, mostly off-screen. Her Deception costume lacks hair under her bandana.
Raiden: his brutality pose with one hand up holding a lightning bolt has said bolt misplaced to the right at waist height. Two of Raiden's UoL skin recolor (Arcs And Sparks and Smoldering Embers) have a clipping issue under he belt; it doesn't happen with other recolors.
Mileena: EX Ball Roll brutality is glitched with new update, removing the tongue and sometime getting the victim in a loop of getting their face eaten with a copy of their head and right arm behind them. During the intro with her mouth open, the "appendages" on each side of her mouth do not open wide enough like other versions of the game
Scorpion: Deception skin is missing most of the fire on his head.
Ashrah: OoD Skin has her hair clip through her hat
Havik: on of his gear (the one with long hair) still doesn't appear correctly, floats next to his head.
Kitana: although the gray hair issue and missing hair was fixed on her UoL skin, new recolors still show the unfixed gray hair clashing with the added black bangs.
Rain: his staff sometimes appear horizontally instead of the correct vertical; Doesn't happen to opponent for some reason. His UoL mask clips through his nose
Nitara: her OoD skin's hair appear a lot brighter and unfinshed
General Shao: appears to be the glitchiest when he's the receiver of brutalities i.e. floating head during uppercut brutality
Baraka: OoD skin has the outfit stuck in a T-pose and stretches abnormally during fights
Quan Chi: the notification for his tower ending video doesn't disappear
Kenshi: no matter the outfit, his bandanna clips through his face.
Subzero: two pieces or gear (Iced Down and Yeti Master) are identical with the OoD costume. Game crash when viewing the gear. His Deception skin lacks the new blue eyes.
Shang Tsung: his older form will default back to his yellow color scheme during brutalities
All Kameos: During intros, Fatal Blows and the Tower ending fight, any kameo will lose parts of the model (i.e. hair, straps, etc.)
Kameo Scorpion: He doesn't remove his mask or face during his second brutality but keeps the flames
Kameo Sonya: Throw brutality glitch, either the head floats in midair or falls through the ground. Leg Grab brutality glitch, the lower part of the opponent will stop animating and either fall to its side or clip through the floor.
Kameo Cyrax: during the fatality, the sound for the explosion is delayed by a few seconds.
I'll add more when i'll find them and add if some issues are fixed as well
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jobean12-blog · 1 year
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The Right Technique
Pairing: Joel Miller x reader
Word Count: 1,522
Summary: Joel gives you guitar lessons, Ellie gives you a fun surprise and in the end you get everything. 
Author’s Note: Thank you to my lovely friend @justkinsey 💕for sharing this fun idea with me! It’s so fun and I had to throw the guitar lessons in there because yes please! Hope you enjoy! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Both dividers used are from my lovely @firefly-graphics thank you sweet Daisy! 🥰 
Warnings: fun, flirty fluffiness and silliness 
GIF NOT MINE: Credit goes to @joelmjller thank you darling💕
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Joel Miller Masterlist
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“Alright darlin’ that should do it.”
Joel strums his fingers down the strings before gently placing the tuned guitar in your lap. You adjust it and try to get the same melodic sound but it doesn’t come out as smooth.
With a wince you try again, randomly plucking at the strings and trying to compose something that doesn’t sound awful.
Joel is standing over you, his hands on his hips and a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re just gonna stand there and watch me suffer, aren’t you?”
You don’t look up as you speak but you see his feet shift as he moves closer. He leans down and takes your fingers between his, fixing their placement.
“Try that.”
You strum again and it sounds much better.
“Wow, that was easy,” you giggle and move your fingers to try a different chord.
Your fingers are unsure, stumbling over the strings, and you let out a huff of annoyance.
“Never mind,” you grumble.
“Get up,” Joel says.
“What?” you ask finally meeting his eyes.
“Get up,” he says again.
You shoot him a scowl and stand from the couch. He sits in the same spot you were in and moves back then spreads his legs and pats the spot between them.
For a moment you’re frozen and hesitant, worry at how you’ll react to being so close to him filling your head, but when he rests his hand on his thigh and gives you a soft look you sit down. He presses his chest to your back and rests the guitar on your legs, circling his arms around your waist so he can hold his hands over yours.
“This ok?” he whispers.
You can feel the rough hairs of his beard tickle your neck as his lips brush your earlobe and it’s hard to contain your slight tremble as you shift to get comfortable.  
“Yeah, it’s ok,” you breathe out.
Joel clears his throat and you can feel his chest expand with his inhale.
“Ok. I’m going to teach you a little tune that helped me when I was learning,” he explains.
His fingers are warm and strong, their movement sure as he plucks the strings and guides your hands.  
“My fingertips hurt and my hands are tired,” you tell him, trying not to sound whiney.
“You need to get some callouses,” he teases, showing you his. “And the more you play the stronger your fingers will get.”
You press your finger to the tip of his, brushing it over the rough skin.
“So it doesn’t hurt when you play?” you ask.
“Nah,” he answers. “But I’m not soft like you.”
You can feel his eyes studying your profile and you swallow hard, thankful he can’t see your face.
“Guess I’ll have to keep at it then.”
You hear the door open and Ellie appears before you with a huge grin on her face. She looks directly at you and says, “I have something to show you.”
“Now?” you ask, not wanting to leave the warmth of Joel.
“Right now,” she smiles, mischief dancing in her eyes.
“Can we practice more later?” you ask as you turn your head to look at Joel.
“Sure darlin’,” he says quietly, his gaze skeptical when he swings it back to Ellie.
You give Joel the guitar and kiss his cheek then follow Ellie up the stairs to her room.
“You have to see what I found,” she says excitedly.
You sit on the floor and lean against her bed, watching as she opens her book bag and pulls something out. She drops the magazine at your feet with a smirk.
“Ellie!” you screech when you see the cover. “Where did you get this?”
“I found it in Bill’s old truck…” she starts as she plops down next to you. “Some of the pages are uhhhh…sticky or something.”
Your eyes widen and you try not to laugh.
“Oh my,” you exclaim when you flip it open to a page.
She giggles and covers her mouth before taking the magazine from your hand and thumbing through it.
“Look at this one,” she says as she turns it on its side and lets the page unfold into a poster.
“Wow,” you say quietly. “I mean…”
“I KNOW,” she agrees as she continues to turn the pages. “Light on the reading though.”
You both burst into a fit of laughter, getting louder with every page you turn.
“Do they really look like that?” she asks you.
You drop your head between your knees and shake with laughter before answering.
“Well, uh…”
You never get the chance to finish your answer because the door to Ellie’s room opens and Joel’s broad shoulders fill the doorway.
“What the hell is goin’ on up here?” he asks.
“Nothing!” Ellie answers as she quickly closes the magazine and shoves it under her bed.
“What was that?” Joel asks, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Just an old magazine,” you reply, discreetly bumping Ellie with your shoulder. “We were just having a bit of fun.”
Joel reaches the bed in two long strides and swipes for the magazine. Neither you nor Ellie can stop him and in the next second he has you both pinned with a glare.
“This is not for kids,” he says, his voice low.
“She’s not a kid,” Ellie says when she points a thumb at you.
“It’s mine Joel,” you state, plucking it from his hands. “Ellie found it and just had some…questions.”
“Yeah…I mean how do they even walk around with those things?” Ellie adds.
Joel’s teeth grind with the hard clench of his jaw and he turns to you, hands still planted firmly on his hips. “Get rid of it.”
“I just wanted to see what all the fuss is about,” Ellie says defensively.
You stand and tuck the magazine under your arm, smiling at Ellie.
“Don’t get rid of that,” Ellie says quietly before she gives you a wink and brushes past Joel with a mockingly reassuring pat on his shoulder.
“We just love fucking with ya’,” Ellie says as her parting shot while she walks out of the room.
“Give it,” Joel says with his hand held out.
“What?” you ask, tone incredulous.
He waits, holding your stare.
“No way! I’m an adult. It’s mine.”
He takes a step closer to you.
“What do you need it for then? Don’t you know what all the fuss is about?”
You press your lips together and don’t grace him with an answer, instead trying to step around his body. He doesn’t move out of your way.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
You blink at him in surprise.
“Back to my place…with my magazine.”
“What about more guitar lessons?” he asks, still blocking your path.
“I want to be alone.”
“To do what?”
He cocks his head, his eyes sparkling.
You glare at him, your eyes flaring. “What are you suggesting Joel?”
When he doesn’t answer you step closer to him. “That I’m going home to relieve some tension?”
“I think that’s exactly what you’re gonna go do darlin’,” he states.
You step to the side, your teeth gritted to stop another sassy retort, and try to get around him but he grabs your arm.
“You’re not denying it,” he says with a smirk.
He spins you around and slams the door shut, backing you against it, resting his hands on either side of your head.
“And?” you snap. “I’m a woman and I have needs.”
“And you think this magazine is going to satisfy ‘em?”
He flicks his finger over the paper that sticks out from under your arm, his eyebrows raised in question.
“Let me go,” you tell him, the words coming out as a breathy whisper and with much less force than you had hoped.
“It’s not good enough,” he murmurs, tilting his head closer.
“It’s all I have,” you answer.
One hand moves from the wall and curls around the back of your neck, his thumb tucking under your chin before brushing along your jaw, as his eyes drop to your lips and his fingers slide down your throat.
“It’s not,” he whispers.
“Joel,” you whimper.
“Tell me to stop,” he croons, his lips hovering just above yours. “Tell me to go…”
“How about you just shut the fuck up and kiss me.”
He stares, surprise flashing in his eyes before it’s replaced with a blazing heat, one that threatens to devour you but he remains still.  
“Or maybe you don’t think you can do better than the magazines,” you counter in challenge, your lips lifting into a smirk.
“Oh darlin’ I know I can do better,” he murmurs before he slowly lowers his lips to yours, his other hand that still rests on the wall coming to settle on your waist so his fingers can explore more of your skin.
The magazine falls to the floor when you press yourself against him and thread your fingers through his hair, every other thought fleeing your mind until all you can feel is the touch of his hands and the softness of his lips.
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@blackwidownat2814​ @flordeamatista​
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Stars
Warning: blood, death and heartbreak.
A/N: This is my first fic (I guess it's a fic) please be kind and feedback is greatly appreciated! Sorry for any typos. Divider from @firefly-graphics
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As you lay on the ground grasping for life, they gently place your head in their lap, trying to hold back their sobs while gently stroking your face. There's blood that drips from the side of your mouth and from the wound on your stomach that you got from the battle that took place a few moments ago. You've made peace with the fact that you're not going to make it before help arrives. It hurts, not the wound though. You went numb to that feeling already. What hurt the most was seeing your lover crying above you. They had some cuts and bruises but nothing a little pain meds couldn't fix. If they could hear your thought they'd probably laugh a little at your selflessness, always caring about someone else even though you lay there holding on for life. You wanted to chuckle at that thought but you knew if you did you'd just cough up blood and you didn't want your lover to see you any worse than you are now. All you wanted to do was hold them and tell them everything was going to be alright, but you knew that was a lie and so did they. You tried to lift your hand to wipe away their tears but even moving your finger felt like you ran a marathon. Your lover noticed this and gently lifted your hand to their face while whispering with a broken voice, “hey, baby. I'm gonna need you to hang on a little longer.” you try to answer but they shush you so you'll save your energy. You know time is running out for you, but you know they're holding on to hope. Hope that you both will wake up together like today was one big bad dream. It takes a lot out of you, but you muster up enough energy to look at the clear dark sky and see it's filled with so many bright stars. They're bright tonight, brighter than you've ever seen them before, like they know it's the last time you'll see them. You smile slightly, whispering to your lover, “I've never seen the stars so bright before. I've always loved the stars, not as much as I love you, though. Nothing compares to you.” You feel so tired so you close your eyes for a second until you hear your lover frantically calling your name “open your eyes and watch the stars with me, please. Come on!” you open your eyes and look at your lover who has silent tears running down their face “There are those beautiful eyes I love so much.” they say as they stroke your cheek with their thumb. With little movement you move your thumb back and forth over their cheek where they're still holding your hand “Hey, it's okay. I'll watch the stars with you. Just look at the sky.” they look towards the sky thinking that you are too, but you're looking at them to memorize everything about them, and with your last breath you say I love you. Your lover goes to tell you they love you too, but when they look back at you, you're gone. They try shaking you while calling your name so you'd wake up but they know it's useless, so they stop and hold you closer while finally letting themself cry freely. Everyone around them could only sit back and listen to their own hearts break as they watch their teammate sob and plea for you to come back, knowing that not only will they never see you again or hear your voice but they know their teammate will never be the same again.
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toxicpineapple · 6 months
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Near Miss (3917 words) by ToxicPineapple Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Oma Kokichi Characters: Oma Kokichi, Amami Rantaro, New Dangan Ronpa V3 Ensemble (mentioned) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Amami Rantaro Lives, head injuries, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship Series: Part 22 of Writing Challenges I Didn't Finish Summary:
Ouma doesn’t dare speak, a hand cupping his mouth as he creeps to peer around the bookshelf. Amami is standing in the corner, crouched down with his Monopad in his hand, staring down at something on the floor with a disconcerted look on his face. Ouma doesn’t have time to call out to him or inquire as to what it is he sees. The moment Ouma opens his mouth, he sees a flash of movement off to his left and gleaming silver.
Perhaps this is what prey animals feel when they’re being hunted down; Ouma’s body moves before his head does, Amami’s name escaping him in a strangled voice as he swiftly puts himself between his friend—friend?—and the metal ball.
Stars explode in Ouma’s vision. Hues—pinks, oranges, blinding yellow—dance against his eyelids as he’s hit first with a shock of icy cold, and then blinding pain. Some unflattering noise—like an urgh—leaves his throat as his knees give, the whole world blurring around him.
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In which Ouma goes down to the library near the time limit.
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@oumamiweek day four: Weight Of The World/Partners In Crime
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Looking for fun
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AN: This fic is my entry for the Aphrodite’s Manor challenge by @geminixevans-stan, @fineanddandy, @jamalflanagan, @syntheticavenger, @boxofbonesfic, @cocobutterqwueen and @sunshinexsin
Beta'd by @yarnforbrains
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Mood board by me, but Lance image by @mickeyhenrys
Master list
Also- Sex work is work.
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Pairing: Escort! Reader x Lance Tucker
WC: approx 2.7k
CW: sex work, referenced cheating, misogyny, explicit sexual content (cunnilingus, protected p in v sex) light d/s, hair pulling kink, finger sucking, praise kink
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Bored, bored, bored.
You should have known that when you’d agreed to attend an event as the eye candy of this particular client, you’d end up having to stifle a yawn every five minutes. And it wasn’t just the topics of conversation you were having to grimace through, it was the whole thing. The band was lacklustre, the lead singer grating on your nerves every time their voice went flat. The sparkling wine was sub-par and the canapes - well the chef really needed to be taken out back and put out of their, and your, misery.
A deep chuckle from beside you drew your attention back to your job, and you laughed in reflex, pressing your head onto the be-suited arm you were leaning against.
Alexander was doing his usual schmoozing with anyone he thought might invest in his company. He had told you what he did for a living once, but you weren’t really listening, just intent on sucking him off and getting it all over and done with. The only reason you kept him as a client was because he liked to dress you up and didn’t actually ask that much from you.
His usual routine, once you’d accepted the date, was to send you a new dress, often with some matching lingerie. He’d then send a car to pick you up, and show you off at whatever function it was you were attending. Afterwards, normally in the car on the way back home, he’d get you to pleasure him, with either your hand or your mouth. Sometimes he liked to cum on you, marking up the lingerie he’d bought you. He never fucked you though. He was married and in his head, this wasn’t cheating.
Whatever. No skin off your nose. He paid you handsomely to fake being infatuated with him in public, so at least you didn’t have to fake it in private.
You ran your hand up and down his arm, pressing your breasts against him, trying to ignore how one of the men he was talking to was openingly leering at you and trying to look down your neckline. Tonight’s dress was really not your style; too low at the top and too high at the bottom, the black fabric all shiny. It made you look cheap, and you definitely weren’t. Alexander’s taste was getting worse.
Sensing a lull in the conversation, you turned your head to look up at him, coyly trailing a finger up the front of his shirt.
“Hey, Daddy, I’m just gonna go freshen up. Want me to bring you a drink on the way back?”
He dropped a kiss to the top of your head.
“Sure thing, Sugar. An Old Fashioned.”
You turned, taking a step towards the washrooms when you felt a light swat to your ass. Your movement barely faltered, but you rolled your eyes as he wouldn’t be able to see.
“Ain’t she something?”
The deep chuckles of Alexander and his cronies sounded behind you, and you reminded yourself that the money was worth it.
In the washrooms you sorted yourself out, and then spent a few minutes fixing your make-up in the mirror. You smiled politely at some of the other women in there; some you recognised as other escorts and knowing looks passed between you as some of the actual wives who were in attendance chit-chatted, bemoaning their husband’s dalliances.
Upon exiting you made your way to the bar, ordering yourself a Cosmopolitan and the Old-Fashioned for Alexander. From your perch on the bar stool you were able to watch people, one of your favourite things to do at events like this. Whilst the bartender went through the theatrics of making Alexander’s cocktail, you looked around, catching the eye of a cocky looking brunet further down the bar. He was sitting with his legs splayed, his dress pants pulling tight across his crotch in an obvious display.
“Hey, sweetheart. You’re looking all alone there.”
You turned in your seat, elbows resting on the bar top behind you, giving him an appraising once over. He was definitely a self-absorbed prick, but unless he had a pair of socks stuffed down his pants, he more than likely had something you could work with.
“Not alone, but currently lonely. And bored.”
Keeping his eyes fixed on yours, he slid off his stool, hands in his pockets, hips thrust forwards.
“Well, it’s a good thing that I’ve never known boredom in my entire life. How about I take you somewhere and show you a fun time?”
You stuck out your foot, pressing it onto his thigh in a way that was both provocative and stopped him from getting too close. You were still weighing up the pros and cons in your mind. The tip of your tongue peaked out of your mouth, wetting your lower lip before you pulled between your teeth. You looked up at him from under your lashes and watched his pupils dilate as his eyes roved over you.
“You gotta name, fun-boy?”
“Lance. Lance Tucker. Olympic Gold Medal winner and God of Gymnastics at your service..?” He tailed off, a questioning note in his voice.
“Hmmm… you can call me… Sugar.” You slid your foot off his thigh, hooking your toe behind his knee and drawing him forwards a bit.
“Now, Lance. I can’t go far I’m afraid; I've got a commitment here, but… I could free up a small amount of time for a little…fun.”
“Sounds good to me, Sugar.
You peered past him, to see if Alexander was looking for you, but he was deep in conversation with a different group of businessmen, no female distractions in sight.
“I’m ready when you are, Golden Boy.”
His hands left his pockets, and he leant forward, hands coming down on the bar top, caging you in.
“I was born ready.”
You resisted the urge to laugh out loud at his cheesy line. It’s a good thing you weren’t after him for his talking skills.
“Let’s go then…” You gently pushed him back, jumped down from the barstool and knocked back Alexander’s Old Fashioned, which the bartender had placed down whilst you and Lance had been sizing each other up, shuddering slightly at the bite of the whisky.
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Walking briskly away from the bar and towards a door leading out of the main function room, you could feel Lance behind you, so close his breath was hot on your neck. You couldn’t help but giggle as you pushed through the door into a quieter part of the hotel. You hadn’t felt this type of thrill in a long time.
Grabbing Lance’s hand, you dragged him along behind you. You were vaguely au fait with the layout of this hotel, having attended functions here before, and you let out a triumphant cry when you found the small function room you were looking for.
You opened the door, pulling Lance in, and he chuckled as he kicked it closed with his foot. He yanked on your hand, pulling you to him, and spinning the pair of you so you were trapped against the door. The ceiling light was off, but several modern wall sconces were on, bathing the room in a soft glow. There was a mischievous sparkle in Lance’s eyes, and you rubbed your hips against his and dropped your purse to the floor.
“You eager, Sugar?”
“Less talk, more fun!” You nipped at his jaw.
Lance twined his fingers with yours, raising your arms above your head to press them against the wood. His face came down closer, his nose rubbing against your own as you breathed each other in and your chest heaved, your breasts threatening to spill out of your ridiculous dress. You broke the tension, leaning your head forward to capture his lips. He groaned at the contact, pressing his hips back against yours, the pair of you caught in a slow grind as you kissed.
Letting go of your hands, Lance trailed his over your body, feeling the curves under the shiny fabric. One took a handful of your ass and the other grabbed your breast, the thumb moving back and forth, teasing your nipple. His lips moved from yours, trailing down your neck and across your collarbone, and you tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging slightly and smiling at the moan your action elicited. Lance then tugged on the neckline of your dress, revealing your breasts in your strapless, balcony bra. He immediately attached them with his fingers and mouth, suckling and pinching your peaks in turn through the fabric.
Your back arched and you whimpered, enjoying his touch. You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed sex that wasn’t for work. You pressed your hands to Lance’ shoulders, pushing down and he looked up at you, a smile in his eye as he worked out what you wanted. He dropped to his knees and you couldn’t hold back a purr of praise.
“Good boy…”
His hands slid over your thighs, stroking and squeezing softly, before pushing up your dress. His expression was glazed as he took in the sight of your black lace panties, barely shielding you from his gaze. When he licked a stripe over the fabric, your hands latched back in his hair and you hissed in pleasure.
“Yes…”
You could feel him smile against you.
“You really are sweet, aren’t you Sugar?”
“I’m also impatient…” You tugged on his hair again and watched as his eyes closed, a small smile forming on your face. “...and you want to be a good boy for me, don’t you? Don’t you?” Another tug, another moan and his eyes flicked open, looking up at you. You pulled your panties to the side, slid one leg up the side of his body and over his shoulder, and with the hand still in his hair, guided him right to your cunt. His hands moved from your thighs, to your ass, pulling you as close to his mouth as he could, smothering himself with you.
Your head fell back against the door with a ‘thunk’. You were glad that, despite his apparent narcissistic manner, he knew how to eat pussy. He suckled lightly on your clit, ran his tongue all through your wet folds and then speared into your pulsing core. Each jolt of pleasure that ran through you caused you to buck up and pull his hair, which in turn caused him to moan into you, the vibrations coursing through you, creating a delightful feedback loop. You let yourself feel, let yourself indulge, crying out your euphoria as you came, grinding down Lance’s face and milking every last drop of your bliss.
You eased Lance’s face away from you, looking down at him with a smile and he slowly blinked back, dazed.
“Aawww, did I break you, baby?”
You pulled him up to standing, cupped his face and kissed him hard. You tasted yourself on him and licked away the remnants of your cum from his lips. He came out of his daze then, and suddenly kissed you back, like a man starved. You placed a hand over the impressive bulge in his slacks and he bucked up into your hand.
“Show me what you’ve got then, Golden Boy…” You whispered against his mouth and he couldn’t undo his belt and trousers fast enough. He shoved the fabric down briskly and you bit back a laugh when you saw the tattoo he had. You were, however, as impressed with his dick as you’d hoped you’d be. Spinning you both, so his back was now to the door, you demurely knelt down, taking his impressive length in hand and licking up it, like a lollipop.
“Mmmm, tastes like victory.”
In an echo of your actions from a few minutes before, Lance’s eyes closed, and his head fell back. When his hands came down, you directed them to your shoulders.
“Can’t have you messing up my hair now, can I?”
He bit his lip and nodded as you pumped him, licking and sucking around his head. A small cry escaped his lips when you scratched the nails of your free hand over his balls. As his breathing picked up, you pulled off him with a ‘pop’. A noise of disappointment was his only response, but you shushed him, and grabbed your purse from where it lay on the floor. It always paid to be prepared in your line of work and you pulled a foil packet from one of the inner pockets.
You rolled the condom over him and then stood, leading him, shuffling, by the cock to one of the plush office chairs in the meeting room. You pushed him to sit down, then straddled him, knees either side of his thighs. You sank down on him, hands gripping his shoulders, his own gripping the arms of the chair.
“Not to inflate your ego, but damn, that’s a good dick.”
You made a few tentative movements up and down, getting used to his length inside you, stretching you out in a way you hadn’t felt for so long. However, getting his dick wet appeared to have brought Lance out of his stupor; his hands moved to your waist and he started trying to fuck you down onto him.
“Shit, honey. Such a tight pussy. Fuck!”
Urgh, why did he have to speak and remind you what an ass he was?
You tugged his head back, making his movements falter and his mouth hang open.
“Don’t distract me, I’m having fun…”
You pressed the first two fingers of your other hand against his lips and he instinctively drew them into his mouth, sucking on them as his eyes closed. You started up your rhythm again, riding his cock. Lance’s hands were still on your waist, but passively now, just supporting you as you took what you wanted from him. He kept sucking your fingers, letting out delicious noises when your fingers jerked in his hair. A slight change to the angle of your hips had his cock rubbing over your g-spot as you used him like a living dildo.
“Fuck, feel so good. Making me feel so good, letting me have fun with you….touch me, baby. Make me feel even better…”
Lance followed your directions, squeezing and teasing your breasts in turn with one hand, the other sliding down to where you were joined to stimulate your clit.
“That’s it. Fuck, that’s it. Shit.”
You rolled your hips, chasing your pleasure, moving full pelt towards the cliff edge. You gave a hard tug on Lance’s hair and he whined around your fingers, sucking hard with his mouth, and pinching the nipple between his fingers. You dove over the edge with a high cry, your movements erratic and your muscles clenching and spasming around him. Lance bucked up under you, his cock twitching between your tight walls as he came with a muffled moan.
You allowed your body to relax against his for a few moments, both of you getting your breath back. You pulled your finger’s from Lance’s mouth, wiping away his saliva on the hem of his jacket.
“Mmmm, that was fun. Such a good boy after all.”
Easing yourself off him, you set your underwear and dress to rights. Grabbing your purse and pulling out your compact mirror, you touched up your make-up, making a kissy face into it. You turned back to Lance, who was still sitting on the chair, slacks around his ankles, hair entirely dishevelled and the condom about to fall off his rapidly shrinking cock. The tattoo still made you want to laugh. Sauntering over you tipped up his chin with your fingers and dropped a kiss to his lips.
“Thanks for relieving my boredom.” You turned and exited the room without another backwards glance.
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Back in the main function room, you went over the bar. The barman must have seen you coming as he made up another Old Fashioned and Cosmopolitan without saying a word, although his eyebrow quirked up briefly. Picking up the drinks you sashayed back over to where Alexander was still deep in conversation.
“Hey, Daddy, sorry I was so long. I got chatting and lost track of the time. Here’s your drink.”
You passed him the tumbler, and he drew you into his side.
“No problem, Sugar. As long as you were having a good time.”
“Oh, I had lots of fun.”
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Tag list: @christywantspizza, @jobean12-blog, @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky, @tuiccim, @beelicious-barnes, @sidepartskinnyjeans, @maladaptivexxdaydreaming, @krissy25, @bodeckersdiamonddoll, @turbolisedcomet, @goldylions, @poppunksnowwhite
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ekdarnellbooks · 23 days
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Jury Duty: Part 3 of 7
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A spicy sci fi romance novelette in seven parts.
TW/CW: non-graphic descriptions of a court case where someone described as a "young boy" was tortured and murdered, graphic description of another murder, double penetration, double vaginal penetration, alien MMC, human FMC, tentacle smut.
MASTERPOST
PREVIOUS PART
NEXT PART
Eleanor slept poorly, nightmares of the young boy flooding her dreamscape, the dead eyes of the murderer haunting her. At least the bed was comfortable. And she had a bathroom. All in all, the accommodations could be worse.
For a long while she lay in bed, replacing the gruesome images with well, less gruesome ones. Enzi’s hands at her waist, those strange tentacles caressing her back, brushing over her ass. The red eyes, compound and glimmering.
After she’d calmed down last night, he’d led her back to her room, depositing her at the door without another word.
Now, a knock, and Eleanor quickly dressed before a tentative, “Come in!”
Enzi ambled in, a tray in his hands, tentacles undulating gently against his body. Since there was no table in the bare room, he set it on her bed, still mussed from sleep.
“What are you doing here?” Eleanor asked, immediately suspicious. Did the chief exterminator provide breakfast service for all his little guests?
“I am bringing you food. Are you not hungry?”
Well, sure, she was, now that she thought about it. Her stomach grumbled; when was the last time she’d eaten? She moved back to the bed, examining what lay on the tray.
“What is it?” Eleanor asked, lounging as best as she could with the tight skirt constricting her movement. Definitely should have worn pants to court.
“Foods from my world; nutrient dense and edible to humans. And some water.”
A light herbal aroma wafted up to her nose as she picked up what looked like some sort of root vegetable and brought it to her mouth. It was almost colorless and warm to the touch, the shape of a small potato. Enzi scrutinized her the entire time, his eyes not leaving hers as she chewed the food. Not much flavor, but yes, she already felt better. A big glug of water and she dug into the food in earnest.
“You don’t eat any meat?” Eleanor asked when she’d had her fill, finishing the large jug of water.
“No, we do not consume flesh.”
That was… reassuring… she guessed. Though that didn’t explain why his species had such large teeth and claws. Definitely not what one would expect of an herbivore.
Another rapid knock, and Nathan entered her room without waiting for a response. His eyes widened as he saw Enzi, who grabbed the empty tray and nodded at Eleanor before leaving.
“What was he doing here?” Nathan asked when the Khureno had left, wide eyes exchanged for a glare directed at Eleanor.
“He brought me food. Did you eat?”
Eleanor scooted off the bed, fixing her skirt before walking over to him.
“Yeah, but I didn’t have a sweet little breakfast date like you did,” Nathan said as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“It wasn’t a date. I think Enzi is just curious about us.” Eleanor didn’t know why she felt so defensive, but did not appreciate the weird accusations.
“You. He’s curious about you, not us.” Nathan paced the room, looking at the blank walls as if there was something to be ascertained from them. Warmth flooded her cheeks, not understanding why he was acting so strange.
“So, do you think anyone will try to vote to exterminate humanity?” he asked.
What a question.
“I don’t know. I can’t read minds.”
Nathan stopped his pacing, turning to glare right at her. Where was this hostility coming from?
“Are you going to vote to exterminate humanity?”
Eleanor inhaled a sharp breath, returning his glare before responding. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”
“You seem awfully cozy with Enzi the Exterminator.”
“You know, he has a point. Humans are awful. You saw the trial photos, you saw what that monster did to that poor boy. I can’t fucking sleep at night; I’m not sure I ever will again…” Eleanor trailed off as Nathan shook his head at her. “Oh, c’mon, that doesn’t mean I’m voting against us. I’m just saying he has a point. That’s all.” Now she crossed her arms over her chest, mimicking his pose.
“Just because one guy murders some kid doesn’t mean we all deserve to die,” Nathan spat, and the vitriol of his words shocked her.
The boy wasn’t just ‘some kid’. He was a living, breathing person, a child who had his whole life ahead of him, a child who survived unspeakable things before his death. Tears burned at her eyes at the callousness of his words. The casual snark, as if that boy’s life didn’t matter.
“I didn’t say that,” Eleanor said, her voice low as her discomfort grew.
Why didn’t he just leave already? He was clearly upset with her for some reason he’d made up in his head.
“Whatever you do, you can’t vote against us,” Nathan growled, a finger pointed at her before he stormed out of her room.
Who the fuck said she was going to do that?
*
Over the course of the day, all the jurors wandered back to the meeting room, because where else was there to go?
Some conversations were light, as if making small talk would magically transport them back to Earth, but eventually, it turned to the task at hand. Their duty.
“Surely, we don’t need to discuss this. We’re all voting to save humanity,” Isabelle said, an older woman who had been one of the few who had resisted a ‘guilty’ vote for the Earthly trial.
Eleanor glared at her, and didn’t miss as Lorenzo did the same.
“I would hope so, but I’m not so sure of some people,” Nathan replied, a pointed scowl directed at Eleanor.
Just a day ago, he was holding her hand, acting like he was trying to protect her. How quickly things have changed. And all because the head alien seemed to have taken a liking to her. As if she could control that.
Eleanor couldn’t help but wonder if some psychologist had done an experiment like this back on Earth. You know, put twelve people in one room, make them vote on something terrible, just one vote will destroy the world. Sounded worse than the Stanford prison experiment.
This would definitely descend into suspicion and fights… it clearly already had. Eleanor had said nothing about voting against humanity, and yet Nathan was accusing her as if she did. This was going to be a long week.
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