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pierregazly · 2 months

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tying you to me ꨄ max verstappen

max verstappen x reader

warnings: sweet max, random coincidences to lovers trope, happy ending [wc: 4.3k]

[4 times] in which something coincidentally led back to max, and the [1 time] it turned out nothing was just a coincidence (in which everything has always tied max to you).

Time, curious time Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs Were there clues I didn't see?

It felt like a never-ending nightmare.

One thing after another, one bad day after another, one bad week after the next. It felt like it was never going to end.

The person that was supposed to be that person, the man that was supposed to be forever, the person that was going to be standing at the end of the aisle... leaving with a simple apology and a ‘I’m sorry, it’s me, not you’... it was incomprehensible.

It had been weeks, and you still couldn’t wrap your head around what had gone wrong. Was he telling the truth? Was it really him? Or was it you? Had you done something wrong? Had it been you that caused the blunder? The inevitable demise?

Everyone had been adamant that it wasn’t you, it was so evident it wasn’t meant to be. Nothing connected to him, there were no signs pointing to him being the one, there was no inevitable connection. But even with those words of affirmation, it didn’t change the internal feelings, the internal heartbreak that felt like it was never going to end.

All you ever wanted was that connection, that string, that feeling, that pulled you to another person, that proved they were the person meant to be for you. It was devastating to think back and know that it was so obvious, he just wasn’t that person.

The coffee shop you currently sat in had become a morning staple after the last few weeks. After coming back to Monaco for a much-needed reprieve from the rest of the world, the little coffee shop nestled into the charming walls of Monte-Carlo had become a necessary distraction to the outside.

The employees all knew you by name now, often passing by the table and inquiring about your day, inquiring about the book you were reading, or the work assignment shown on your computer screen. Always engaging in polite conversation back, it was one of your favourite places to be.

People-watching was the only negative of it. The loving couples who passed through, all cuddled up together as they ordered their drinks for their walk throughout the city, the older couples who sat just tables away and reminisced on their lives together. It was the only thing that drove you crazy about the charming little shop.

Watching them occupied your thoughts more time’s than you cared to admit. Daydreaming and losing focus on the outside world was a commonality, especially in the little coffee shop.

It was exactly where you found yourself currently, your eye’s peering to the left as you watched an older man place his hand over who you assumed to be his wife’s hand. Their wedding bands shining brightly in the Monaco sun, soft smiles on their faces as they peered at one another, your heart begging to be let out of this turmoil, begging you to turn away and focus on something else, anything else.

Its wish was granted when you felt the cold of a drink begin to sink into your shirt, instantly soaking your skin, a gasp of shock falling from your lips.

“Oh god, I am so sorry. I just turned around and you were right there, let me grab some cloths, please.”

You knew instantly it was your own fault, you hadn’t been paying attention, more focused on the elderly couple, prompting the person in front of you to spill their... was that Red Bull? On your shirt?

“Is this Red Bull?”

The man in front of you grimaced as he handed you the dry cloths, a small smile falling across his lips while his eyes crinkled with the movement of his face. A bit of a cute look, you thought to yourself while beginning to dab at your shirt as the smell of the energy drink wafted up your nose.

“Yes, I’m so sorry. I don’t drink coffee often, but my sister wanted to stop here because she had heard good things, I was just waiting for her drink while she took a quick call outside. I really only drink Red Bull in public when I have to, or when I’m getting paid to. I thought it was her behind me when I whipped around like that, I’m so sorry. Please, can I buy you a coffee as an apology? Or a tea?”

You weren’t entirely sure if the rambling was out of nerves that you were going to overreact over the spilt drink, or if he just simply felt like he owed it to you to explain the entire incident and how it came about in full description.

The frustration that was brewing was not at all a fault of the cute man in front of you, but an accumulation of days of sadness, an irregular appetite, and just a combination of heartbreak.

Trying to keep the tears of frustration at bay, you instantly shook your head towards the cute man in front of you. “Thank you, but no. Obviously this is a sign I need to go home, sorry for spilling your drink.”

Before he could get the chance to say anything back, you were forcing yourself to rush out of the coffee shop before an outburst could erupt from inside of you. You hadn’t even noticed the look of intrigue that the Dutchman gave you.

Bad was the blood of the song in the cab On your first trip to LA You ate at my favorite spot for dinner

The memory of the handsome Dutchman in the small coffee shop left your mind not long before the happy memories of your ex-boyfriend finally forced themselves out of your head. Things had finally begun looking up, the more time you spent with your friends, the more time you spent focusing on work and the hopeful promotion that would come with it.

Although, your boss had insisted you take a few weeks off, citing the fact you were there more than anyone she knew, and that burnout was inevitable if you didn’t take the much deserved and obligated time off. The amount of overtime and banked hours allowing you to take the time off with full pay just made it easier to agree.

Which was exactly how you found yourself just south of Zurich, the snow whipping past your face as the ski lift ascended higher and higher up the mountain. Your friends giggled beside you, smiles lighting up everyone’s faces.

Winter break, although cold and snowy, was always a fan favourite amongst your friend group. It was exhilarating, you hadn’t had the chance to attend the annual ski trip while you were with your ex-boyfriend, he hated skiing and anything including winter sports.

It’s what made the trip even better, getting the chance to catch up with your friends and their partners, the chance to laugh, and drink, and just smile again. It was all worth it.

The group of guys in the ski lift behind obviously had the same idea, hooting and hollering at each other as the ski lift continued its ascent. You couldn’t decipher what they were saying, the words in a different language, but the name ‘Max’ seemed to be a commonality. Maybe someone was missing their dog while on vacation? Who knows.

After hours of skiing, the alcohol in the ski lodge was flowing. The laughter and happiness from every group was prevalent, everyone there was so obviously happy to get away from the real world. It’s what places like that were for.

“That guy over there can’t stop looking at you,” jostled out of your thoughts by one of your friends, you followed her head inclination to one of the tables a few rows down, a familiar face looking back at you inquisitorially.

It took you a second to place his face, the day in the coffee shop floating back to your mind prompting a small laugh to fall from your lips.

“That’s the guy who spilt the Red Bull all over me when I ran into him in the coffee shop in Monaco, remember?”

It had been a running joke, a typical meet-cute in a coffee shop, but instead of spilt coffee... a spilt Red Bull.

“That’s the guy who spilt the Red Bull on you?”

One of your friend’s boyfriends gaped at you, as he continuously maneuvered his look between you and the man in question. Nodding your head, he continued to gape at you.

“Don’t you know who that is?” Giving him a look, you shook your head.

“That’s the Max Verstappen. Three-time Formula 1 World Champion? Dutch God? Second-coming of the Formula 1 Jesus?”

You recognized the name, having heard it at the few races you had attended, but you never would’ve been able to place the name to the face otherwise.

A laugh erupted from one of the other members of the group, a shove directed at the other man. “I think you've got Verstappen mixed up with Lewis Hamilton.”

“He’s kinda cute, huh?” One of the girls pointed out to you, a small giggle falling from her lips as she looked over towards the man in question, his eyes meeting yours as you looked in his direction again.

His hair was flopped over, obviously a combination of a long day wearing a ski helmet and a hat, mixed with the combination of the sweat and heat that engulfed the inside of the lodge made him look even more attractive. Windswept, tipsy, and overall, just happy.

“So much better than that last loser.” A mutual agreement of ‘yes’, ‘obviously’, and ‘fucking no wonder’, floated throughout your group at your friend’s words.

Shrugging them off, you just laughed and pushed the conversation in another direction and away from the man sitting across the room, who seemed as if he couldn’t take his eyes off you at all.

As the night started to dwindle down, you bid goodnight to the remaining group of friends and started your route back to your room.

“At least I have nothing to spill on you tonight.”

Directing your gaze to the voice at hand, your eyes made direct contact with the blue irises of Max Verstappen.

Quirking an eyebrow at him as a small laugh left your lips, “I’m sure the bars fully stocked with drinks you could spill on me. You’re just not trying hard enough.”

A loud guffaw fell from the man’s mouth, his hands instinctively covering his mouth as he laughed. You couldn’t help the heat that grew on your cheeks at his reaction, his smile directed towards you when he finally moved his hands from his face.

“I’m so very sorry. Next time I run into you, I’ll try to make sure I have a full drink in hand to spill on you.”

“Oh, you plan on running into me again?”

Shrugging his shoulders with a small grin, the Dutchman just laughed. “Well, I ran into the person I spilt a Red Bull in a coffee shop on in one of my favourite places in Switzerland, I’m sure I’m bound to run into you again. Things happen in three’s, don’t they?”

Max ran a hand through his hair as he smiled at you, before either of you could get the chance to say anything else, one of his friends was clapping a hand against his shoulder with a boisterous laugh.

“Time to get out of here, mate. Say goodnight to the pretty girl,” he said.

You felt your cheeks heating again, as Max smiled at you in farewell, a small wave from both of you any indication of goodbye as you both walked away.

Time, mystical time Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine Were there clues I didn't see?

F1 race weekends were as fun as they were busy. Any race you had attended since you were an intern was always focused primarily on working. Getting the opportunity to attend a race with your friends, in Melbourne, without having to worry about work or advertising, or anything else, was obviously the best way to spend it.

Lou, one of your friends linked her arm with yours as she basically skipped through the hospitality area, pointing out the different garages as she got a glimpse of them. Her boyfriend, Nick, had gotten both of you passes through his own work, a long-term employee of McLaren meant that the both of you had been spoiled for the weekend.

"Maybe you’ll end up running into Max again, imagine? A third little meet-cute,” she said, with a giggle.

Rolling your eyes at her, you just laughed as she grinned back. “Don’t roll your eyes at me! It’s totally possible, I’m sure Nick could totally convince Lando to convince Max to pass by the garage or the hospitality. We could totally orchestrate it.”

“Babe, it’s pure coincidence I’ve run into the guy more than once. I’m not like... going out of my way to run into Max Verstappen.”

Huffing back at you, Lou sent a mock pout in your direction as she continued to drag you through the hospitality center. Passing a stand full of travel cups of coffee, you were eager to grab one as you walked by.

Before you could even press the lid of the cup to your lips, you were interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice, yet again.

“Is it your turn to spill something on me, then? I’m having a pretty bad day, and I don’t know if I can handle that.”

Both you and Lou whipped around to the sound of the man’s voice, the man who just a short time ago had been forced to retire his race due to a faulty and on fire brake. You could practically feel Lou humming with excitement as she looked between you and Max.

Shoving her hand out in his direction, Lou introduced herself to Max who did the same back.

“With that, I’m going to see how everything’s going in the garage. Call me if you get lost, yeah?” Without giving you the chance to argue, she bolted away.

Silently groaning, you looked back towards Max. For someone who just retired from a race he was probably going to win, he seemed relatively calm and relaxed.

“So, are you?”

“Am I what?” You questioned back, confused.

“Are you going to spill your coffee on me, in retaliation for the Red Bull?” Instantly shaking your head, obviously the retirement from the race couldn’t have affected him too negatively, if he was already cracking jokes in your direction.

“You don’t even know my name, and you’re accusing me of wanting to go out of my way to kick a man when he’s already down?”

Watching his face fall, you could tell he was about to defend his words. A smile began to cross your face, his eyes jokingly narrowing in your direction.

Sticking your hand out towards him, you finally introduced yourself, your name falling from his lips as if it was a beautiful word from a testament as he took your hand. It would be embarrassing to say a small spark shot up your arm, but the racing driver had inevitably shocked you, an apology dropping from his lips almost immediately.

“Terrible race to stalk me at, though. You couldn’t have at least made it a race that I actually stood a chance at winning? Pretty embarrassing to have to retire for such a stupid reason, in front of such a pretty girl.”

If there was one thing other than racing that Max was good at, it was making your cheeks warm and the butterflies in your stomach spike.

“Well... I am here as a guest of McLaren... maybe I was just really hoping for a Piastri win. Gotta root for the hometown boy, right?”

Shaking his head, Max mockingly pressed his hand to his chest and looked at you like he was internally wounded.

“You’d support McLaren over me? The man who runs into you in the weirdest of places? Who gave you a free Red Bull without a can?” he said.

You could barely help the small snort that fell from your lips at his words, your hand instantly slapping against your lips in horror. Max openly laughed at your reaction, arm gently hitting your shoulder with a grin.

“Just for that, I’ll support Ferrari before I support you and your Red Bull’s. I don’t think Charles Leclerc would spill a Red Bull on me.”

In response, Max grinned and pointed in the direction of the Ferrari garage, the red and yellow prominent amongst the stone. “Shall I go introduce you to Charles, then? He’d probably spill an actual hot coffee on you, at least I didn’t leave any lasting damage.”

“The trauma of smelling like an original Red Bull for more than 2 hours isn’t enough damage?” you questioned, your eyebrows quirking up at him.

Max looked at you in horror, “You can’t possibly be saying you don’t think the smell of an original, cold, fresh out of a fridge, Red Bull isn’t just simply lovely. This is potentially the biggest red flag about you.”

You were quick on your feet, the words dropping from your lips before you could contain them.

“I guess we’re all on fire today, then. Red flags left and right.” you said with a smirk.

All Max did was laugh at your words, his head rolling back while his hands placed themselves on his hips.

Just as he had been the last two times, Max was interrupted before he could continue the conversation, a lady in a Red Bull sweater tapping him on the shoulder to let him know he needed to make his way back to the garage for some interviews that had been requested of him.

“Nice seeing you again, I’m sure next time I see you, you’ll probably heal more of my Red Bull soaked shirt trauma.”

The only response he gave was a loud laugh and a wave, as he walked away.

Time, wondrous time Gave me the blues and then purple pink skies

The FIA year-end Gala was exquisite. Everyone was dressed to the nines, the lights were twinking, the service was lovely, and the atmopshere was electric.

Even though, for almost all of the people there, it was a requirement of their jobs, everyone seemed as if they were having a wonderful time. Mingling with those around them, actively engaging in conversation with co-workers, friends, long-time acquaintances.

Your boss had elected that you and a fellow co-worker attend in her place, admitting that although she loved the excitement of the night, she needed a break from the glitz and the glam of Formula 1 for a tiny bit. She knew you were more than willing to take her place and do an incredible job.

Which is exactly how you found yourself at a table with Jack, one of your co-workers, a wide grin on his face as he observed everything going on around him. He was new to the company, just having recently completed his internship and been offered a full-time position with the organization. It was his first time at a Formula 1 event of any kind.

“Isn’t this brilliant? I’m a huge motorsports fan, I wanted to get into karting when I was a kid but it was just too expensive, my parents couldn’t afford that. I’ve never even had the opportunity to go to a race, and now I’m in the same building, the same room as literal race drivers. Have you been to a race before?”

You forgot how much he could yap, an almost over-eager human equivalent of an excited golden retriever. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for your answer to his question.

“I’ve been to a few races for work, and a few privately with some friends. They’re always a great time, you’ll have lots of fun when you start going for work.” you said.

Grinning at your words, you began to tune him out as he launched into another rant. You were pulled out of your thoughts at the sound of someone saying your name, your head swiveling in the direction of the voice.

You were almost positive Jack was squealing out loud, as Max Verstappen once again entered your view. Smiling up at him, you stood up to greet the Dutchman, which resulted in him pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, his hand gently patting you on the back as he did so.

“I just wanted to come by and say hello. You look very beautiful.”

Unable to contain the anxious laugh that fell from your lips, you immediately smiled at him. Accepting compliments was obviously not your forte, especially when they were coming from Max, who looked more handsome than ever in his suit, and the wide smile on his cheeks pulling everything together.

“Never thought I’d see you in anything other than jeans and a Red Bull shirt, Max. You look lovely, as well.”

“Making fun of me, and a compliment all in one? I will say, I probably would’ve worn jeans if I could, but my public relations manager likely would’ve murdered me and I quite enjoy being alive,” he said.

Shaking your head in silent laughter, you barely even noticed as Jack thrust his hand out to introduce himself to Max.

“Your girlfriend is lovely, mate. This is what, the fourth time I’ve run into you?” Max said in greeting, a somewhat tight smile on his face.

Jack instantly shook his head, “Oh god no, we’re co-workers. I don’t mean she’s not lovely, she is. I’m not her type, or actually she’s not my type. I’m yapping, this is embarrassing. Mr. Verstappen, it was really nice to meet you. I need a drink. I’m sorry.”

He practically sprinted away, both you and Max looked on with amused grins present on your faces.

“So, if he’s not your boyfriend, does that mean one of the guys you were with in Switzerland are?”

Shaking your head, “God, no. Those are friends I’ve known for years. I’m very much single, right now.”

Max looked like he was in complete contemplation as he debated what to say next. You were secretly hoping he would take the bait, maybe ask if you were free after the gala, or ask how long you were going to be in town for.

Running into him again once was by chance, twice was a coincidence, and thrice was obviously a sign. The universe was obviously trying to tell you something, there was a reason this man, who had first shown up in your life just after one of the worst heartbreaks you had ever experienced, continued to show up. It was hard to not get your hopes up, to not get ahead of yourself.

It was hard to keep the butterflies at bay, truthfully.

“Hypothetically, does that mean you’re free after the gala?”

“Hypothetically... I man be free after the gala,” you responded.

Nodding his head, Max smiled in your direction. “I think it would be a crime to let this beautiful dress, and my efforts to wear a suit for something go to waste. I’d love to take you out after.”

And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some Invisible string Tying you to me?

Max had been transparent from the beginning; he wasn’t overly affection nor was he a fan of excessive cuddling. He got warm often, and the moment he got too warm when he was in bed, he got miserable. But when he wanted to cuddle? You had to take what he would give you.

Which was exactly how you found yourselves right now, Max playfully attempting to whack your phone out of your hand, his other arm wrapped around your waist as he burrowed his head into your neck.

“Schatje, I just wanna cuddle for a bit. Give me a little attention.”

Slapping gently at his arm, you looked at him in mock exasperation. All you ever did was give him attention, he almost took the words out of your mouth when he muttered, “I know you give me plenty of attention, don’t yell at me.”

You just shook your head silently as you used your free hand to gently twirl small tuffs of his hair, a small hum of content falling from his lips at your movements.

“What are you looking at?”

Attempting to look over at your phone, you moved the screen so he could see it better. It was a video from your first ever Formula 1 race, back when you were still a little intern and your boss had wanted you to gain some exposure to the sport.

“I’m just looking back at some videos. Found this one from my first ever race. I didn’t even know I still had this.”

Max instantly perked up and looked at your phone, his eyes squinting as he tried to decipher something in the video.

“Do you remember which race it was? Looks like it’s a few years old, yeah?”

Nodding your head, you tried to do the math in your head, thinking back to what year you first started your internship. “I think it was 2016? It was definitely in Spain, but I’m pretty positive it was 2016.”

“Do you know what that means?” Max questioned, a soft smile on his lips as he pressed a small kiss to the junction between your chin and throat before looking back up at you.

Shaking your head in confusion, you tried to determine what he could be talking about, giving him the chance to continue.

“My first ever win in Formula 1, for Red Bull, was the 2016 Spanish Grand Prix. Isn’t that so ironic? Guess things were always meant to be.”

Maybe he was right.

Maybe there was always a string, a small, invisible string, tying everything together, tying you to him.

genuinely i got this into my mind and felt like i was legally obligated to write it asap. i hope you LOVE it and i would so appreciate it if you told me if you do. thank you, love you all 🫶🏻

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 one shot #max verstappen one shot #writing #f1 #f1 x you #max verstappen imagine #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 writing #max verstappen writing

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leqonsluv3r · 2 months

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hii could you do some headcanons abt re4 leon dating a coquette reader? i loved your abt re2 leon but got me thinking how would re4 be <3

bf!leon kennedy

—re4!leon kennedy x soft!croquette reader, a headcanon list

masterlist taglist

an: the brainrot is real, it’s like ur reading my mind anon <33 thank you :,)

bf!leon kennedy who will spend hours after getting back from a mission just laying in your pink frilly sheets, hundreds of stuffed animals around. he doesn’t even care. the sheets smell like you and it’s a welcomed reprieve after being back from spain

bf!leon kennedy who helps you reach things on the top shelf of your shared apartment because you can’t reach. no matter how much he loves seeing you try to wiggle and grasp for something despite your short height.

bf!leon kennedy who keeps one hand on your thigh and the other on the wheel when he drives. you insist on driving but he refuses, he loves driving you around. his attention split between you and the road.

bf!leon kennedy spending almost all of his hard earned government paycheck just so you can have anything your heart desires. pretty pink dresses, ribbons, clothes, perfumes and books. anything that makes you happy makes him happy.

bf!leon kennedy teasing you for your endless supply of stuffed animals and books. saying you act like a doll or a child. even though he secretly loves how deep your love for the stuffed things goes.

bf!leon kennedy who hates pink but it’s slowly learning to love it as you guys live together. the pink and white things seem to overrule his heart and his hatred. seeing how much you love it, makes his heart melt. even if he hates pink sheets, he’ll sleep in them, make love to you in them and cuddle you in them, if that’s what you want.

bf!leon kennedy letting you kiss and smooch all over his face with your expensive lipstick. he doesn’t mind, not if your way of claiming him is kisses in different kinds of lipsticks and shades. not when you get all giggly when you finish and he returns the favor in a different way.

bf!leon kennedy who nibbles on your neck and jaw, getting you all worked up and getting you back for the markings of lipstick all over his face and neck. he marks you in his own way, pretty hickeys that will fade onto your skin once he’s finished.

bf!leon kennedy watching you the next day as you dab concealer and foundation onto the hickeys, sending him a glare over your shoulder. he has no shame, he doesn’t even care. just marking what’s his the same way you did with your silly lipstick.

bf!leon kennedy letting you tie one of your ribbons around his bicep, doing it loosely on each one. pretty pink just as he suspected. he knows what your doing, the way your gaze eats up the ribbons loosely tied around the muscles of his arms.

bf!leon kennedy flexing his muscles on his biceps as the ribbons come untied and drop to the floor of your guys shared bedroom. you eat it up and keep making him do it until your practically drooling all over your pink frilly comforter that your kneeling on.

bf!leon kennedy who teases your stupid ribbons but has fun tying your wrists to the headboard with them, devouring your body with his lips and hands until your whining and begging for release.

bf!leon kennedy grabbing onto you from behind when your doing something in the kitchen or in your guys apartment. pressing kisses to your neck that make you blush and giggle. he will never get tired of your laugh or the little noises you make.

bf!leon kennedy who watches you devour a romance novel on the couch next to him, making noises when something happens in the book, your attention not on him for once. he’s jealous of fictional characters bound in the pages of a book, figures.

bf!leon kennedy who will gladly take you out, let you dress up and get pretty for him. he loves seeing you all made up in whatever you choose, your hair all pretty and styled. and lipstick that he has no doubt will get ruined later.

bf!leon kennedy letting you take your time eating and sipping on your drink. your hand rubbing on his knee absentmindedly having no idea what your doing to him with that innocent little touch under the dinner table of the restaurant.

bf!leon kennedy who waits until your back at your guys apartment before devouring your lips, smudging your lipstick and running his hands into your hair. he’ll untangle the ribbon and run his hands through your styled hair, making it messy. just because he can.

bf!leon kennedy who fucks you like his life depends on it, he knows you can take it. always the good girl for him. he will press kisses to your lips, your legs over his shoulders as his hips slap against yours, making the prettiest sounds slip from your lips.

bf!leon kennedy who is big on aftercare, wiping the insides of your thighs and rubbing soothing circles on the length of your spine as you relax against him beneath the pink sheets of your guys bed. pressing kisses to your hairline and showering you with praise and affection.

bf!leon kennedy who tells you he loves you every single day. doesn’t ever not tell you, he doesn’t have it in him. one look with those eyes of yours and he’s a puddle of a man, confessing his love for you.

an: u guys know the drill <33 reblog, like and my asks are open. you can find all my other shit in the masterlist linked at the beginning and my asks are open!! i’ll be posting a one shot soon, promise. i love you guys <33 kisses xx.

#leon kennedy #leon x reader #leon kennedy smut #re4 remake #leon kennedy au #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy #re4 leon #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy headcanons #leon kennedy hc #leon kennedy x fem reader

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luveline · 9 months

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hi i just got a haircut and feel very cute :) can i request r getting a haircut and the bau team fawning over it (with derek or spencer it’s up to you)

ty for ur request! this ended up being reader x the whole team, but heavily derek, and more subtly spencer !! fem!reader

cw readers hair was longer, and is now short

You take a deep, slow breath before you open the door that leads to the office. The first thing you see is Derek, to your horror, perched like he's waiting for you on the lip of his desk.

Hotch must have known the agony with which you'd be subjected sitting across from someone like Derekz and he did it anyway. Handsome, caring, flirtatious to a fault, it was a recipe for heartbreak in the making. You quite like your new haircut; if Derek or the others don't feel the same you'll be mortified.

You keep your head down as you walk to your desk. If you see Derek's expression, you'll lose all steam. You don't look up until you're close enough to smell his warm, understated cologne, raising a nervous hand to a button on your shirt.

"Hi, Morgan," you say.

"Oh, no, baby, we're on a first name basis," he says, raising his eyebrows at you. "Is this a joke?"

"Am I usually joking?" you ask weakly.

Derek shakes his head from side to side, crossing his arms over his chest, a ball of kinetic energy like the mere sight of you invigorates him. Safe to say he likes it, safer still when he brings a hand to his jaw and scrubs at it. "I don't even know what to say," he remarks, with all the intonation of a man disappointed.

He sighs tiredly and pulls his phone out of his pocket, hitting the first button on his speed dial. Within seconds he's been answered, the phone pressed to his ear. "Hey, babygirl. You better get to the bullpen stat. It's an emergency."

"Derek, you'll give her a heart attack!"

"Am I lying?" he asks.

"Let up, Morgan," Emily says, coming up behind you to squeeze your shoulders. "It looks amazing. When did this happen?"

"Why wasn't I informed?" Derek asks.

"Oh my god!" JJ cheer-whispers, a stack of case files in her arms as she approaches from her office. "You cut your hair! It looks so good, why didn't you say anything?"

"It was kind of a spur of the moment decision," you say, flushing from all the attention.

Derek's still pretending to be mad, though an undeniable appreciation lines his mouth. Frowny brows, poorly hidden grin.

"Spencer," Emily says, nudging a hyper-focused Spencer in the shoulder where he sits huddled at his desk.

Spencer looks up from his book and it promptly falls between his hands. He reaches down to grab it in a panic and smacks his forehead on the desk.

"Spence!" JJ yelps, rushing forward to help him. Her files slide out flat onto his desk as she pulls his head up. "Jesus, Spencer."

You're about to lend a hand when a familiar and bubbly voice shouts unashamedly across the bullpen. "Oh my god! Y/N? Y/N! Oh my god, you look so pretty!"

You spin on your heel to offer Penelope a thankful smile. "Pen, you said that before you even really saw it."

"I'm seeing it now, aren't I?" she asks, rushing forward in a cloud of curly blonde hair. The hot pink ruching on her corset top scratches your arms as she grabs you in a sideways hug. "We don't see you for a week and you cut all your hair off?"

"Hey– hey!" Derek says. "Don't act like this isn't the best thing to happen to this department since Prentiss joined. You were something else before," —Derek nods appreciatively, a low whistle escaping pursed lips— "but now? You better clear your schedule, baby. Me and you are going out."

"I think he's serious," Emily says, her jaw dropped.

You raise a hand to your eyes, completely overwhelmed by the chaos. "Is something wrong?" Hotch asks from the balcony, killing your stolen reprieve immediately. You look up to find him watching over you all with a boss brand of disapproval.

"Haircut," Penelope says nervously, pointing at your face.

Hotch visually notices your hair. His smile is genuine. "It looks nice," he says.

"Thank you, sir," you say, well and truly spent. In the best way possible, your team smothers you with love. If you'd known they'd react like this you would've cut your hair a long time ago.

Except for what it's done to poor Spencer, nursing a sizable red welt atop his eyebrows.

"You okay?" you ask, bending at the waist to smile at him apologetically.

The excitement must be getting to him too, his usually pale cheeks kissed by a rosy twinge. "I'm fine."

"Round table," Rossi suggests where he stands to Hotch's left, "before young Reid passes out."

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lets-just-daydream · 8 months

Note

PLS only if you want to but i have been searching the web infinitely for a fic where astarion has a nightmare about tav being taken/injured/turned by cazador, and when he wakes up he can't find her. your writing is so beautiful ik you would do this justice omg ty in advance if you decide to do this

AS IF YOU COULD SEND ME THIS AND I WOULDN'T WRITE IT ANON

Your body ached as you hunched over the cold, damp floor. The shackles dug into your wrists as you looked around helplessly, hoping for something, anything to happen. On one hand you wanted to get out of here and you knew only one person would be able to help. But on the other, you knew being saved was a death wish for your saviour. For Astarion.

I mean, you two weren't really a thing or anything but you'd had some late night trysts and had become close friends since then. Well, you had feelings for him but you were quite certain he didn't see you in that way. Why would he? He was the cool, sexy, aloof vampire that had shut the world out. But you did hope he cared about your friendship enough to come save you.

You looked around at the suspended vampire spawn, clearly in pain and with no reprieve visible. How did you get into this mess in the first place? You weren't sure.

"I'm almost disappointed in that pathetic boy. I thought he would come for you," a grating voice said, pulling you out of your thoughts. "But, I'm not surprised."

You turned to look up at Cazador, his red eyes shining in the dim candlelight. He bared his fangs in an unhinged smile as he knelt next to you. "No matter. You will take his place."

You were used to the feeling of fangs piercing your neck, you'd let Astarion feed on you many times and you had learned to enjoy the sensation. But as Cazador drunk you dry, you felt burning cold and pain flood your entire body. You began to scream and writhe as he took deep, sloppy gulps, your fists weakly crashing against him to no avail. A tear rolled down your cheek as you felt your life force slipping away, a blurry vision of a white-haired pale elf entering your mind before your eyes closed permanently.

Astarion woke with a hoarse scream, sitting up in his tent and looking around. His body was tense and coated in a sheen of sweat and little half moons had imprinted in his palms where he had been clenching his hands in his sleep.

He didn't care about his physical state. His mind was on you. Was that a dream? Was it a vision of the future? Was Cazador showing him a play-by-play of what was happening right now? How could Cazador possibly know about his feelings for you? He kept them so well-hidden and hadn't even confessed to you that he… loved you.

At the thought that maybe Cazador did have you in his clutches and was sending Astarion a warning, he sprung up from his bedroll and to his feet, not bothering with a shirt as he stumbled out of his tent. His eyes locked onto your tent and he rushed over, nearly tripping over his own feet in his panic. His head was thundering and he knew if his heart could still beat, it would be beating out of his chest.

He called your name softly as he approached, pulling back the entry flap, looking for your sleeping form. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw you weren't there. It was the dead of night! Where were you? Did Cazador take you? Why? Wouldn't he just take Astarion instead?

His mind was racing as he started to hyperventilate, his body shaking. He had to go find you. Curse him and the feelings he had developed. Of course Cazador would take advantage of that, he couldn't believe he let himself be so stupid. If he had never gotten involved with you, you'd still be safe.

Astarion shook his head. Now wasn't the time for 'should haves.' He turned and exited your tent, coming to a stop as he gasped. You stood in front of him, squinty eyed and confused.

"Astarion?" You asked sleepily. "What are you doing here?"

He said nothing, only gaping at your uninjured form before letting out a shuddered sigh of relief. You stared at him, confused as to why he was having a freakout in your tent. Before you could ask him what had just happened, he leaned forward and wrapped you in a crushing hug. He had never felt such intense relief in all his long life. He nuzzled his face into your hair and breathed; you still smelled like you - no scent of any other vampires on you.

"Gods, you're okay," he whispered. He pulled back and glared at you. "Where the hells were you?! I was worried sick."

Your eyebrows shot up in confusion. "Not that it's any of your business, Astarion. But nature called."

He scoffed and mumbled something about 'humans and their annoying necessities.'

You weren't sure where this shitty mood was coming from so you pulled out of his arms and took a step back. You tried peering at his face to read his expression but the moonlight was limited and the campfire had gone out.

"What happened?" You asked.

Astarion looked a bit sheepish as he glanced left and right, making sure none of your other companions had left their tents. You sighed and stepped into your own tent, waving him in so you could have the extra privacy. You could tell something was on his mind that he wanted to talk about which was rare - you often had to prod him further before he would open up.

You sat cross-legged on your rolls and furs and Astarion joined you, mirroring your position. Neither of you spoke for a minute before Astarion sighed and looked up at you. "I… I had a nightmare."

"Oh, that's awful," your heart squeezed for him and you wanted to reach out and comfort him.

He'd mentioned a couple of nightmares to you previously, how they always manifested his absolute worst fears; Cazador capturing him and sacrificing him, Cazador burying him in a burning coffin as he tried to dig his way out. One of the saddest he had told you about was one where Cazador plucked him from your camp in the dead of night and Astarion had to watch as you and your merry group continued on like nothing was amiss. So, you had an idea that he'd had another awful dream about being kidnapped by Cazador.

"I'm here to listen if you'd like to talk about it," you said, deciding to reach for his hand and holding it.

Astarion looked down at your joined hands and couldn't help the slight flush to his face as he felt your warm, soft hand on his.

"This one…" He began with an inward hiss. "Was the worst nightmare I've ever had."

Astarion shuddered and you could have sworn he was on the verge of tears. You rubbed soft circles with your thumb into his skin.

"It felt so real and when I woke up, I was convinced it was real… especially when I thought you were gone."

Your brows furrowed in concern. "What happened?" You asked softly.

Astarion pressed his lips into a thin line. Telling you about this nightmare now was more-or-less a confession of how much he truly cared for you at this point. But he needed you to know. He wanted to tell you just how much his dead heart yearned for you, lusted after you and would beat for you if it could.

"I dreamt that Cazador had taken you," Astarion whispered, his gaze down and fixed on your hands.

"Me?" You whispered back, confused.

He nodded. "He had taken you to lure me back to the palace. He knew I'd come for you and when I failed to come save you he…" Astarion faltered before looking into your eyes. You hadn't noticed he'd started crying. "He killed you. Turned you into a vampire spawn to take my place."

Your heart shattered and you let out a gasp. This was the worst dream he had ever had? You dropped Astarion's hand and at the loss of the warmth and contact, he looked away in shame. He had overstepped. He had been so stupid to fall for you, of course you were disgusted he was having such horrible dreams about you. He moved to stand and excuse himself when you'd crawled across and sat in his lap, your legs straddling his.

"Oh, Astarion," you whispered as you wrapped your arms around him in a soft embrace. "I'm so sorry you had such an awful nightmare."

Astarion could hardly believe it. You were in his lap. Comforting him with a warm embrace he was certain he would never feel in his lifetime. He blinked in surprise and then breathed a sigh of relief before he wrapped his arms around you in turn and rested his face in the crook of your neck. He didn't want to feed, he just wanted to feel you, smell you. Hold you in place so you could never leave. So Cazador could never take you away from him.

"My love," Astarion whispered into your skin. "I'll never let anyone take you from me."

You pulled back, your arms still around your vampire love as you gazed into his watery eyes. "And I will never leave your side."

At your words, Astarion let a small and sincere smile grace his features. His eyes flicked down to your lips before shooting back to your eyes. You parted your lips slightly and he licked his lips and slowly leaned forward, his eyes closing as he pressed his lips to yours in a gentle and loving kiss. You smiled into him and returned the kiss, a soft sigh escaping you as you separated. His lips were so soft, his moves so smooth and practiced. You could could kiss him forever and you almost leaned back in for another.

Astarion let out a soft laugh and nuzzled into your hair again, hiding the blush and smitten look on his face from you. You giggled in turn and could have sworn you heard a very soft and very muffled proclamation of three little words from him but when you asked him to repeat himself, he only laughed and kissed your neck instead.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #red writes

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astrophileous · 6 months

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What about bau!reader who gets shot on a case and Morgan gets angry? like really angry. i leave the rest up to you but i’m kicking my feet and giggling to the thought of morgan getting all angry and mad🤭

if any of you saw this post I made abt agent anderson, it was about this blurb lmao. ty for the request sweetie! I hope this is to your liking 💞

Warning(s): gn!reader, injured reader, talks of gunshot, derek is angry 😠, profanities

This blurb was written as a part of the "Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K" celebration.

Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

Heavy footsteps thundered along the white stark hallway. People scampered like hunted rabbits when they saw him, but Derek didn't care. Nothing else mattered to him right at that moment except for reaching the destination in his mind.

Emily Prentiss was the first person Derek saw in the pristine waiting room. The black-haired woman stood to her feet the second her eyes landed on him. Emily had never seen such fury in the man's eyes. She didn't think she would even recognize him in this state if it weren't for the familiar face drilling holes straight through her skull.

"Anything?" Derek bellowed, his voice echoing against every available surface in the room.

Emily shook her head.

"How bad is it? Tell me."

"I don't know," the brunette lamented. "They already ushered (Y/N) inside when I arrived. I don't know anything."

"Well, somebody has to fucking know something." Derek started to pace, his posture domineering in the middle of the room. "Where is—"

Before he could formulate the name in his mind, the person in question appeared from the hallway with Spencer hot on his heels. Agent Anderson faltered in his tracks when he spotted Derek in the waiting room, his countenance getting paler as the latter stalked towards him.

"You," Derek seethed. "You tell me what the fuck happened out there, right now."

Anderson couldn't even look at Derek's face without trembling. Spencer stepped in between the two, trying to push Derek away by his shoulder but the older man wouldn't even budge.

"Morgan, this is not the time nor the place," Spencer warned.

"I'm not doing anything. I'm just asking a question," Derek sneered. "Am I right, Anderson? We're just having a conversation, right?"

"R-Right."

"Good. Now tell me what fucking happened."

The atmosphere thickened in the room. Anderson's eyes darted everywhere as if looking for a reprieve. It was a futile attempt, really. There was nowhere that the man could run where Derek couldn't follow.

"It was supposed to be routine questioning. We didn't—we didn't know that the guy had a warrant against him. I only heard the gunshot before I found (Y/L/N) in the backyard."

"Where were you? Why weren't you two together?"

"We... we, uh, we split up."

"You what?"

"(Y/L/N) said—" Anderson stopped himself when Derek proceeded to glower, forcing the younger agent to backtrack and choose his words more carefully, "—like I said, we didn't think the guy was any threat when we arrived. He shot (Y/L/N) and ran while I was calling for help."

The muscles on Derek's face twitched. "So, not only did you put (Y/N)'s life on the line, but you also let the shooter go free?"

"What? I didn't—we weren't—the injury isn't even that fatal!"

Anderson regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth. Spencer physically winced after hearing the sentence, and from across the room, Emily was frowning, shaking her head in disapproval as if she was reprimanding her young child.

"I see. It's not even that fatal, is it?"

"T-That's not what I—" gulping down, Anderson tried to scour for his voice, "—I just meant that the, um, the bullet? It didn't even go through. It only grazed (Y/L/N)'s side."

Spencer let out a tired sigh from between them.

"Yeah? You're lucky it didn't go through, Anderson." Derek stepped forward, his index finger blunt but piercing as it fell on Anderson's chest. "Because if the bullet did go through, I would've made sure that you'd fucking pay—"

"Excuse me? Anyone here for (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?"

Derek's threats were cut short by the doctor's appearance in the room. Anderson breathed out his relief as Derek approached the physician.

"I'm the fiancé, Doctor," Derek informed. "Can you tell us anything?"

"Well, I've cleaned and patched up the wound. The bullet only grazed the side so there aren't any shrapnels in it. Just needed a few stitches, really. It could've been worse," the doctor disclosed.

Derek nodded along during her entire explanation. "Can, uh, can I...?"

"Oh! Yes, of course. Just head down this hall. It's the second room to the right."

Derek barely managed to rush out a quick thank you before sprinting down the hallway shown by the doctor. He knocked on the second room to the right, hearing you yell a come in! before he went to open the door.

"Hey, you," Derek said once he was inside the threshold.

You were sitting on a stretcher, your shirt buttoned only at the top as your fingers deftly did the rest. Derek caught a glimpse of the bandage on your side and his heart was in a peril of jumping straight out of his chest. The harrowing feeling was eventually chased away by the sight of your blinding smile.

"Hi, handsome," you greeted.

Your voice was still the same exultant lull that he knew and loved all too well. In fact, if he didn't know any better, there was no visible indication to reveal the horrific encounter that you just went through a couple of hours prior. You looked the same. Normal. Derek allowed the relief to flood as this knowledge dawned on him.

"Why do you look like you just suffered through a massive heart attack?" you asked, bemused as you reached out a palm to his direction.

"Because it feels like I did just have a massive heart attack." Derek accepted your palm and kissed the knuckles before securing your joint hands inside the pocket of his jacket. "You scared the living shit out of me, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry, love. We were blindsided. Didn't mean to worry you."

"You're okay, though?"

"Uh-huh. Just a little sore. And it kinda hurts when I do this." You extended your arm, flinching when a surge of pain instantly ran down your side.

"Stop it. Don't do that. Why would you do that if it hurts?"

"To demonstrate," you replied nonchalantly. "By the way, you shouldn't have been so harsh on Anderson."

"What? How did you know?"

"I didn't. But I know how you are, and your answer just confirmed everything to me." Derek didn't know whether to feel deceived or impressed by what you just said. "You should ease up on him. It's not his fault, you know?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. When two people are paired together and one of them ends up in the hospital with a gunshot wound, I think it's fair to blame the other half of the pair for it, don't you think?"

"But it's the shooter's fault, Derek, not Anderson."

"The shooter may have pulled the trigger, but Anderson didn't have your back." Derek used his free hand to brush a knuckle against your cheekbone. "You wouldn't be here right now if he did."

You huffed an aggravated breath, detangling your fingers from his own in a rebellious act of frustration. "If the situation were flipped, and it was Anderson who lay here instead of me, you would've gone well out of your way to convince me that what happened to him wasn't my fault."

"If the situation were flipped, Anderson wouldn't even be lying on this hospital bed in the first place."

"You don't know that!"

"Maybe. But you don't know what could've happened, either." Derek's hand slipped along your elbow, tugging it gently as he shuffled closer to you. "C'mon, baby. We need to get you home."

"No." You shook his hand away from your arm, getting off the bed as Derek blanched in surprise. "I can do it myself."

Derek watched dumbfoundedly as you staggered towards the table where your jacket, gun, and credentials were stowed. He kept an eagle eye on you as you tried putting on the jacket by yourself, cringing internally when he heard the wretched hiss escaping your lips.

"Okay, baby, stop. That's enough. (Y/N)." Derek snatched the jacket off your back, rearranging its position before helping you slide each arm into the sleeves. "Just let me help you, dammit. Why are you so stubborn?"

"I don't need help from someone who berates other people for fun," you grumbled.

"That's what you think? That I'm doing it because it's fun?"

You paid Derek no regard as you teetered towards the lone chair in the room, sitting yourself down slowly before bending to fix your shoes that had become untied. It turned out to be an arduous feat to do with your injury, and for the next minute, you found yourself shifting into various positions to find one that wouldn't feel like a dozen knives being plunged straight through your flesh.

Across the room, Derek stared at every one of your movements in agony.

"C'mon, baby. Let me do that for you."

"No."

"You're literally in pain as we speak."

"I can take it."

"Why the hell are you doing this?"

"You know why."

Derek sighed.

"Fine," he relented. "I'll apologize to Anderson. Happy now?"

You stopped fiddling with the end of your shoelaces. Your entire face lit up like a kid in a candy store when you found his eyes from the distance. "Really?"

"Yes, really." Derek strode forward, kneeling in front of you so he could help you tie your shoelaces. "Just let me help you when you need me to, okay?"

"Okay!" you exclaimed, leaning down to leave a kiss on Derek's forehead.

Your fiancé had to contain his smile from your adorable but unexpected gesture. "You're lucky I love you, sweetheart."

Even as he said it, Derek knew that deep down, he was actually the lucky one.

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toxicanonymity · 7 months

Note

First of all: I love your fics - every one of them - but especially Raider!Joel.

I have a question or idea: how would Joel react if he saw Sweet Pea doing yoga... She could have found an old book with yoga exercises somewhere and tried it out - be it out of curiosity or boredom... I think he would be quite surprised - and would find such poses "stimulating"... Just a little fantasy on the side... ;-)

yoga drabble

1.3k, raider Joel x f!reader

raider master list, latest: ✨hunger 👅

ty ily 🖤 i can see this happening SUMMARY: just a little PWP - a reprieve from action/violence but kind of emotional. WARNINGS: I8+ Joel POV, Unsafe P in V, he poses you, ass slapping, creampie, brief light anal play/scare (reader flinches), joel's guilt, dark fluff, praise. reader can do some version of downward facing dog and child's pose. no y/n.

You're in the living room--that room Joel never goes in with the bookshelf and busted tv. Joel can only see your bare feet and ankles from the kitchen. You’re on the balls of your feet. He’s intrigued. He approaches and stops in the doorframe, quietly leaning against it and crossing his arms. Your hands and toes are planted on the blue, threadbare carpet, and your ass is in the air, exposing your panties under your dress. He lets out a little “Mm,” so quiet you must not hear it.

Damn, it really does something to him, seeing you at a new angle--one he didn't even put you in. He watches the pose for as long as you hold it, getting more and more turned on. He imagines himself on the floor, lying face up underneath you, reaching up and taking an asscheek in each hand, pulling you down on his face, licking and gnawing at you through your panties like he could eat them right off you.

You walk your hands back on the floor, creating an even steeper angle, and your dress falls down to your arms. You grumble a rare curse, and he inhales sharply. You look toward the door. Even upside down he sees your eyes go wide when you look at him. You smile shyly as you let yourself down onto your knees, fix the dress, and turn toward him.

“Don’t stop,” Joel murmurs with his eyes fixed on you like an animal. He palms himself over his pants, fully hard. He’s gonna watch you for as long as he can stand it.

"not really doing anything," you claim and he cocks an eyebrow at you, looking at the yoga book on the floor next to you. "just stretching,” you add.

“Mm,” his head tilts back. “look good doin’ it,” he murmurs. You glance around, wet your lips and look down at the carpet then back up at him. He gives a simple nod that says for the love of God, keep going. You stretch out your arms in front of you on the floor as you fold the rest of yourself into a ball. He admires your arms and the cute way you spread your fingers out when you try to reach further.

He steps into the room, and you lift your head. “I can help you do it,” you offer.

“Maybe later." He runs his palm over the bulge in his pants. He gets down on his knees beside you, facing your hips. He slides his hand up the back of your thigh, under your dress, and palms an ass cheek. “Mmmm,” he sighs. His hand nudges you up off your heels a little bit and you let your weight onto your arms as you move your upper body forward. Close to doggy style but down on your forearms. He throws the dress up over your hips, out of his way, and gets behind you, straddling your ankles so he can see it all. He holds your hips and nudges your position so he can look straight at your crotch, and the pretty little hairs that poke out of the panties, and the white and floral fabric where where a tiny damp spot is forming.

“God damn,” he whispers. He scoots forward and presses the hardness in his pants against you, takes a deep breath, then backs up enough to urgently take his cock out. He spits on his hand and pumps it just a little, returning his free hand to your ass. He nudges between your legs and you spread your knees a little for him. You're such a good girl, letting him pose you how he wants.

He strokes you through the fabric and you moan softly and tilt your hips.

He slips a finger into the crotch of your panties and growls at how wet you are. His cock bobs heavily as he uses both hands to take down your panties. He runs his middle finger through your folds then slips the thick digit inside, and you whimper. He watches your glistening hole as he swirls his thick finger inside it, gathering moisture. He wants his cock inside you more than anything right now, but he can't resist your smell. He craves it. He closes his eyes and allows himself a little lick that makes his cock twitch. He'll get more later, he tells himself. He can go down on you anywhere, but he rarely gets to see you like this. It's so sexy that you put yourself on the floor with no intention to seduce him, and here he is, bending you st his will. And there you are, on your arms and knees with this hard cock behind you.

He gathers more with his finger, wipes it on his cock, mixing it with his precum before notching it at your entrance.

He pushes into you, just slow enough to watch your pretty little cunt swallow his length. You gasp and his cock twitches as he bottoms out. All the way inside you, he has one hand on your hip. With the other, he experimentally smacks your ass and you moan. He does it again a little harder and your walls squeeze him. “Yeahhh,” he sighs as he begins to withdraw his length. He holds onto your hips with both hands and pulls you back hard as he pushes into you, then abruptly starts railing you, jackhammer speed.

“Ohhh,” your moan is broken by his quick rhythm.

He fucks you like that for a minute, grunting and sighing. “look so goddamn good like this,” he pants, glancing at the yoga book beside you. “Feel so damn good.” He smacks your ass again as he pistons in and out of you. He watches the ripple of the jiggle when he smacks it again.

“Ohhh, baby,” he groans. You whimper and twitch around him like you’re close. He slows down and watches the way your body grips his cock, trying to pull him back in.

“Joel,” you whine. “don’t stop.”

“oh sweet pea,” he sighs and watches you suck him in again. “how bad ya want it?”

"Bad," you whimper. "Please." He slaps your ass again, then speeds up. You whimper and moan, "yeah, like that--ohhh." You clench around him. He pulls you back on him so your ass is flush against his hips while you cum.

“Good girl," he sighs. He retreats half way then groans as he fully sheaths himself in your pulsing cunt again. His balls tighten and he feels a twinge. He leans forward to reach under you and feel your breast, his other hand braced on your ass.

As soon as you clench on him again, he erupts with a shudder, returning both hands to your hips, holding you tightly against him as he finishes his release, and you finish yours. He curves his body over yours and his beard scratches your bare shoulder. "Good girl," he mumbles again into your shoulder and you meet his eyes with a little smile. He withdraws his cock and some cum dribbles down. He pushes it back in with his fingers.

His finger trails up to your asshole and you flinch. Shame rises to his face remembering the day you escaped. "I know, sweet pea," he coos, gently prodding but not entering your hole. "Ain't gonna. . ." Ain't gonna stuff all your holes like it's a goddamn emergency, like it's gonna fix everything. "pretty hole, though" he mumbles as he abandons it. He pulls up your panties for you, trying not to think about that day, reassuring himself it's not gonna happen again--any of it.

"You're a real good girl," he says quietly, mostly to himself.

He lets your dress back down. He tucks his cock away, and lies on his side facing you, elbow on the floor, head resting on his hand, silently admiring you.

He wonders how you feel. He wonders if you need anything, but he doesn't ask. "K," he whispers. He pushes himself up so he's sitting. You push yourself up into another pose on all fours and he gives a low whistle, then stands up with a groan to leave you alone.

----

Thank you so much for reading 🖤🖤🖤

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller drabble #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #toxicanonymity ☠️#raider!ask #raider!joel #raider!joel miller

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 4 months

Text

Good Cop, Bad Cop feat. John Wick

Basically Soft!JW and Mean!JW brain rot - can’t get this shit outta my head or my drafts. Do not read this. I had to take a damn shower after I wrote it. NSFW / Eplicit Content / hitting & name-calling & dubcon

Of course, he’s soft John, who holds opens doors, pulls out chairs, gives away his coat

Little kisses all over your face til’ his jaw is sore just to make you breathless and giggly

Sickeningly sweet and charming, magnetizing in his kindness

Master of tickle fights

Deep laughter that rumbles through his entire body

Languid, big tongue never in a hurry

Of course, he takes mental note of your erogenous zones and sensitive spots

Makes sure you come first

John Wick sucks toes. If you’re ticklish, oh well, he’s putting your foot in his mouth and holding you down or tying you up. Also gives fantastic foot massages with hands and tongue.

Patient, frustrated John, big plump tip leaking and twitching, giving your fluttering cunt time to stretch and settle around it

Holding your hips down into the mattress and suckling your bloated pussy until the blue light of dawn - until he drinks you dry - don’t worry, though, he’s got the bottle of unscented, water based lube right there and plenty of saliva to keep you slippery - “we don’t want you to chafe, baby,” he coos, worrying a sloppy kiss to your overworked clit

He’s self-aware enough to recognize that his smooth voice is an effective weapon, especially when he’s talking you through taking his cock. Man of few words doesn’t mean he can’t use them the exact right way

“That’s my girl.” “Yeah, that feel good?” “Right there?” “Look at you.” “Gorgeous,” thrust, “irresistible,” thrust, “so fuckin’ sexy.”

Don’t get me started on the Russian dirty talk. Do you know what he’s saying? Absolutely not. Is it still more effective than English? Absolutely yes.

But, realistically, there’s also bully John, who always gets what he wants one way or another

Doesn’t matter how tough you think you are, this man is made of tall, corded muscle.

Huge, mean, committed and determined, stalking toward you and letting you know, without words, that you’re fucked

Doesn’t matter how soft he tries to be, there’s still that rough undertone that always gets the best of him

You know he’s such a sweetie, but he gets so jealous sometimes. It’s to the point where he doesn’t let you touch yourself or use vibrators unless he’s controlling the scene

The charade of your innocence is over when, one night, you’re drunk, straddling his lap and kissing his collar and you can tell he’s trying not to fuck you stupid

“John,” you say, “you know I’m a big girl. You can do what you want.”

“It’s gonna hurt,” he replies, smoothing over your flushed cheekbone

“Good,” you tell him, “hurt me.”

You’ll live to regret it

He feels a little guilty that that’s all the more coaxing he needs to keep you stuffed full of his dick and crying from overstimulation as often as he can

“We’re lucky you’re on birth control,” he grits out, the wet slap of his balls against your ass as he destroys your cervix

More filthy, awful shit from his mouth as he manhandles you into a position where he can bite your flesh and whisper in your ear and bottom out in the sanctuary of your cunt

“Cockdrunk slut, huh?” - “It would be easier if this stubborn pussy would ever loosen up a little bit. Shame.”

He keeps you fat and red and sore and full of cum, always

You stopped begging him for reprieve - eventually

Heavy handed John, bruising your ass a little too much, hitting you hard enough to make your teeth knock together.

One day, he’s gonna keep you locked up in a big house, collar around your neck, always wearing too-tight clothes and overly feminine fetish outfits that would make a stripper blush

Run, hide, fight

There’s no getting away from the Boogeyman

Plus, he likes the chase

#john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x reader #john wick x you

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flowersosa · 15 days

Text

There are so many things to unpack from last nights episode of Fantasy High Junior Year.

The blaring fact that Fig was right about Porter being an evil guy.

Porter was grooming the Rat Grinders, particularly Kipperlily Kopperkettle, which I have thoughts about.

Oisin and Ivy are massive dickheads, and they are totally the messy ones in the group.

Fig and Porter are semi-parallel in their actions, utilizing psychological warfare and simultaneously playing each other, which I also have many thoughts about.

Fig inadvertently confirmed that Zara was talking about Fig's shit to Porter. Also, there is this constant laying trap for each other, tying into my previous note about their behavior.

The fact that Fabian never hired a maid, and in doing so, made it possible for Oisin to play them for fucking fools.

Bucky, the sweet, adorable boy, needs a reprieve from his family and his church to flesh out his relationship with divinity.

Porter and his relationship to others, particularly vulnerable girls like Kipperlily and Fig, and trying to use that against them.

Ruben being scared.

Buddy being tricked.

A child might have to die because an adult is selfish and ambitious.

Jace Stardiamond and Porter being in cahoots, maybe in a relationship, maybe by force? This gives Jasper and Lapis vibes.

Fucking Bobby dawn doing the same thing his fucking predecessors did to Ankarna, with Porter, by suggesting the devils honey.

Fucking Bobby Dawn in fucking general being so piece of shit, also Kristen giving him a lead that they are working on this shit is so funny.

Porter, and gods can I rip into him, using his juiced-up ass power against Fig, while Kipperlily watches.

#dnd #fantasy high junior year #fhjy spoilers #d20 fhjy #dropout t #brennan lee mulligan #kristen applebees #fig faeth #riz gukgak #adaine abernant #gorgug thistlespring #fabian seacaster #fabian fantasy high #gorgug fantasy high #kristen fantasy high

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chelemlem · 4 months

Note

For the prompts: 5 times Oscar takes care of Lando and 1 time Lando takes care of him Back!

ty anon! hope u don't mind that i combined 2 prompts + made it LOVE ISLAND AU ↓ (why is this 1k)

"Watch your step," their driver says sharply, half a second before Lando's loafers slip on a particularly wet patch of earth climbing out the car.

"Cheers, mate," Lando says, heart thundering. Jesus. Fine way to start off his reality T.V career. Week one and out of the running 'cause he split his head open on some fucking rocks.

Lando extracts his fingers from around the guy's bicep. Huh, not bad. He wasn’t trying to cop a feel, but.

"Anytime."

And he’s back to squinting at something on his digital notebook. Pale and rumpled, he looks out of place in the Majorca sunshine. There's a subtle furrow between his brows, like he’s got a long list of tasks to get through, and Lando’s just the first.

"That was close," George fusses, strategically sliding an arm around Lando's shoulder in a way that both highlights their height difference and show off his delts. One of those posh Cotswold types; harmless enough. Lando'd picked him for his first date because at the end of the day, they wanted the same thing—to win.

"Yeah, scary," Lando blinks up at him. Giggles for the cameras.

Lando's going to quit.

Or like. Sue someone. He stares down at his pre-packaged meal, stomach turning. This was the one thing, the one thing he listed as part of his dietary restrictions, and still—

A shadow falls across his lap.

"Here," the PA from before says. Brown hair, thighs. Oscar?

Lando eyes the unmarked takeaway box hovering in front of him with suspicion. It smells okay. And anything's better than fish.

"Chicken rice," Oscar clarifies, handing him a spoon to match. "Thai okay?"

Oh. Lando gives him a smile, small but genuine. So someone did read the profile they made him write. Who would've thought?

Oscar clears his throat. "If you need anything else, just—I'll be over there."

He hightails it to where Luisa and the other girls are holding court around the firepit, sliding his headset back on as he goes. Nice arse too.

Crew aren't allowed to speak to the islanders, if Max’s rudimentary Reddit trawl is to be believed, but whatever. Lando's not one for rules anyway.

He tucks into his chicken rice and tries to think of other things he needs.

"There's a new bombshell arriving today," Oscar casually lets slip at mic-up. Quietly, under his breath.

The fuck? It's only been forty-eight hours since Nyck got here. Or maybe longer—who the fuck knows with the way time passes in the villa. There's nothing to do but tan and flirt, the sun setting on the same listless, lazy day forever. Forever.

But more importantly—

"They hotter than me?"

Oscar's face does this put-upon little thing before sliding back to neutral. Instead of responding, he winds the mic pack around Lando's waist, bending down to secure it at his hips.

Lando knows how to do it himself by now. Oscar knows Lando knows.

"By a fair bit, I reckon," he says finally, and escapes before Lando can call him a liar.

"Also, you've got a terrible poker face. At least pretend to be touched when he surprises you with breakfast."

"He made me eggs and toast, mate. Not exactly Michelin-star, is it?" Or chicken rice, for that matter.

Oscar sighs. "Next week's vote's going to the public. Just so you know."

Lando's not worried. He's survived this long—longer than Daniel, even, who won fan favourite, week two—so clearly there's something he's doing right.

He sort of wants out, anyway. He misses his phone. God, he misses sex. Everyone talks a big game, but when it actually comes down to it they're fucking, like, shy about doing it in front of the cameras. And the cameras are bleeding everywhere. Lando would know.

The only reprieve, or something like it, is—Oscar.

He's not exactly forthcoming with chatter, but through the power of being cute and annoying, Lando learns a lot about him anyway.

Like how he's a fan of the cricket. And he's got three sisters, none of whom give a fuck about the show. And how apparently being a former cub scout makes him some kind of authority on tying people up.

"Just saying those knots seemed loose, is all."

Lando feels a smirk coming on. "Watching, were you?"

Oscar rolls his eyes. "I review the Hideaway footage to make sure it's fit for broadcast, yes."

"Kinky."

"Good job. Really defended my honour there."

"Fuck off," Oscar says, surprisingly calm for someone with bruises trawling the side of their face.

"Dunno why you thought you could take him. He's got like two stone and six centimetres on you. And Charles heard he's done amateur boxing—"

"Got one decent one in there, at least?"

"Element of surprise, s'all it was."

Lando gives up with the bandages. He has no idea what he's doing—and his hands are shaking too much to be of any real use. Best leave it to medical.

"Oscar," he says, rubbing his eyes. His thumb comes away damp. Christ, this better not end up on telly. "The fuck were you thinking, mate."

Oscar exhales long and hard. His voice is softer when he says: "Sorry. Wasn't really… thinking."

Lando punches his arm lightly—the good one.

"Next time, just. Ask me out normally, alright?"

"They're not firing me," Oscar's voice sounds stunned through the phone, coloured with relief. It's the most emotion Lando's ever heard out of him. Well, second most. "Did you—?"

"My agent said me and Carlos can call it quits two months after the finale," Lando interrupts. It's important, after all.

There's quiet over the line. He can hear Oscar breathing. In out, in out.

"And what did you say?"

Lando leans forward, against the dash of his borrowed McLaren. The one he's being paid to drive around in, posting selfies with wine and roses in the passenger's.

Runner's up is first loser and all that, but. It's still a pretty good deal.

"Told her I'll do two weeks."

#landoscar #ch. fic #love island finalist and tech heir lando norris spotted getting HOT AND HEAVY with SOME GUY #who is this MYSTERY MAN. he is SO UNREMARKABLE #op81 #ln4

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the-words-we-sung · 2 months

Text

Season 3 ending

So... It's been almost a week since the last episode, almost a week trying to wrap my head around the end of the show, trying to manage my feelings about it all.

It's hard to end up feeling the complete opposite of nearly everyone on my dash but I've come to terms with the fact that I didn't love the ending. I didn't love this last episode. (I shouldn't feel ashamed or weird for saying so but you guys loved it so much that I feel a bit like an outsider right now 😓)

I haven't been a fan of the show for as long as most of you, but it means so much to me. These characters carved a place in my heart and in my head, and they've made me happy for months now. They helped me get through some stuff, made me discover some amazing artists, meet even more amazing people through this fandom. And I loved the story. Even in its darkest, saddest parts, I loved it. I was invested.

I love Wilhelm and Simon, together and separately. They mean so much to me. And I loved season 1 and 2. It made me happy, and sad, and frustrated, and exalted. But overall, I trusted the show and I was not disappointed.

Season 3 was a lot. I liked the first 5 episodes. I can't say that I loved everything about them: I was not expecting things to get so hard for Simon, with no reprieve in sight. I was not worried about Wilmon being endgame (I know it was a big stress for the fandom but honestly I never doubted that they were endgame), but I was wondering how the show would go about tying all the knots it made (I should even say all the knots it added during this last season).

(Under a read more because it's a bit long and I don't want to bother those who don't wanna read more of my frustrated thoughts ^^')

And unfortunately the last episode was a huge let down for me. Yes, it's partly because nothing I was hoping for actually happened, but mostly, it's because the choices they made did not feel very satisfying to me: ⁕ Simon was barely there. We went from him being bullied online/offline non stop for 5 episodes to almost nothing. It makes 0 sense to me. ⁕ Kristina suddenly feeling better: she was having break down upon break down for an entire season, could barely look at her son or even just talk normally and all of a sudden she's back, smiling and agreeing to everything Wilhelm says? I'm sorry but I don't buy it? Where did this Kristina hid during the entire show? ⁕ Wilhelm deciding to not be king, talking for 3min to his parents about it, them agreeing and him running into the sunset with Simon. I'm sorry, what?? I love that they end up together of course, but it makes very little sense to me? It won't change any of the issues they had this season? They're still gonna be famous? And bullied online/offline? (Probably even more so now?). I'm not obviously saying that Wilhelm staying in line to become king was the only or the best solution, but I wanted more from this storyline. I wanted to believe it. And right now, what we got? It feels a bit cheap (and I feel bad for saying that because the ending was cute and romantic and all, but it felt too disconnected from the rest of the show for me ><)

And apart from these few points, the big issue I had with this episode was: The Angst. So that might be a me-problem, but it was too much for my poor little heart (I haven't rewatched the episode yet, and I'm not sure I'll be able to anytime soon ><). I spent like 40min of the episode with a huge knot in the stomach because the heartbreak between Simon and Wilhelm was too much to handle for me. I can see how it was beautifully made, that having lots of throwbacks to the previous seasons, the Wille song, all of that was great cinematography. But it was just too much for me. I got in the season spoiler-free but for this episode? During the lake scene I had to take a break and check online if they were actually endgame because it was starting to actually give me a stomachache. So yeah, this part might be me being too sensitive but I did not like that they made me see them fight for each other for 2 seasons and 5 episodes, but then just giving up for 40min before finally running back to each other during the last 10min. It was just too much sadness for me ><

So yeah, maybe my expectations were too high? But I feel sad, and kinda cheated. Too many things are left wide opened. Too many things make zero sense to me. And of course I'm happy we got our Wilmon endgame, but I'm less happy about how it happened.

It's a bit hard being on Tumblr right now and seeing everyone who thought it was the perfect episode >< And I don't want to "yuck anyone's yum" (as the saying goes), but I still wanna be able to share my thoughts! I probably won't write super angry/unhappy/complaining posts about the season/the finale, but I still wanna be able to chat about it. I did see some posts on my dash from people not being entirely satisfied with this ending so it's a bit comforting. And I hope we can share some nice headcanons, or just discussions about different plot points.

But yeah, I guess that's why I haven't really been active this week! Trying to get over the double heartbreak of the end of the show + being disappointed with the ending! I'm gonna come back though! I miss hanging out here, I just need to strengthen my heart a little bit more :p Gonna get back to writing about my thoughts episode by episode for this season (I can't promise I can rewatch the last one though 😖 It might take me a bit of time to get there). And I want to continue my song analysis of the show!! I'm not even done with season 2 yet, I have some work to do there ^^

So see you back here very soon 😘

#young royals #wilmon #prince wilhelm #simon eriksson #yr season 3 #young royals ending #it's hard to feel negative about something everyone seemed to love ><#I still have a lot to say #to try to express #I have a hundred emotions about this finale episode #all mixing and fighting in my poor brain #and it's hard to put them into words #but I'm gonna try #because I think it'll help me feel better about this whole experience #and I did like some things!!#not everything was bad!!#lots of plot points were actually great!!#(Sara for example!!)#but yeah #a lot to process #(and I'm super up to chat about it all if anyone else feels a bit or a lot disappointed too ^^)#(and thank you Lisa for being there to lament with me 💜)#(also yeah me watching gåsmamman this week was clearly a way to not think too much about young royals ^^')#but on another note #I got my Omar concert tee shirt and it made me super happy #and I still love the cast #to the moon and back #and I'm excited for their next projects #and and and #that's too many tags

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scotianostra · 6 days

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On May 11th 1685 Margaret Lachlane, or McLachlan, and Margaret Wilson were put to death.

The sins of our past are sair tae bare at times and this is certainly one that qualifies as such, what makes it all the more sad is that they had been reprieved, but the distance from Edinburgh to Wigtown but for reasons unknown it never made it to save the women.

Here’s the background, some of you might know but not all, back in 17th century religion was very important to most people in Scotland, indeed the worldover. The reformation waa over and Protestants were in the vast majority, especially in the more populace lowlands. By now The Stuart Monarchy ruled both Scotland and England, having survived a civil war in which Charles I lost his head, eventually his son, Charle II was invited back to take the throne. You would have thought that Charles II had learned his lesson, his old boy had tried to enforce the English form of the Protestant religion in Scotland but failed, young Charles tried again but the Scots were not having it, many Scots signed what is known as The National Covenant that pledged to defend “their” true religion against innovations like those down south. Many were put to death for refusing to swear allegiance to the King and “his” prayer book. Over the years there were many battles and lives lost, it is now known in Scotland as “The Killing Time"

ny way the people thought it might come to an end in February 1658 when Charles II died, those who had been hiding from persecution started returning to their homes, including the young Wilson girls who were sheltered at the home of Margaret McLachlan, a 63 year old widow who lived at Drumjargan in Kirkinner Parish. A local man betrayed them when they came into Wigtown, and the two girls were taken prisoner. At the same time, Margaret McLachlan was seized while at prayer in her own home, and held in custody with them. The women were required to take the Oath of Abjuration which had earlier been administered to everyone in the County over the age of 13 years. This had been introduced on 25 November 1684 by the Privy Council, in order to catch sympathisers of Richard Cameron. In a public declaration at Sanquhar Cross, Cameron had denounced the King as a tyrant and declared war on him.

Refusal to swear the Oath allowed execution without trial; men could be hanged or shot; a new sentence had been introduced for women: death by drowning. The women refused the Oath and were brought before the Commission. The Commissioners, Grierson of Lagg, Sheriff David Graham (Claverhouse’s brother), Major Windram, Captain Strachan and Provost Coltrane of Wigtown, have been described as “five of the most vicious scoundrels in Scotland”.

Margaret McLachlan with Margaret and Agnes Wilson were found guilty on all charges and they were sentenced “to be tyed to palisadoes and fixed in the sand, within the flood mark, at the mouth of the Blednoch stream, and there to stand till the flood over flowed them, and [they] drowned”. Agnes Wilson (aged only thirteen at the time) was reprieved, when her father promised to pay a bond of £100, a fortune in that day.

A pardon was issued in Edinburgh, dated 30 April 1685, for both women

It remains a mystery what happened to it, since no record of it remains beyond the Council Chamber. They were taken out and tied to stakes in the waters of the Bladnoch on 11 May 1685. The older woman was tied deeper in the river channel forcing young Margaret to witness her death, in the hope that she would relent. Instead, she seemed to take strength from the older woman’s fate, singing a psalm, and quoting scripture.

The events are recorded in the Kirk Session records of both Penninghame and Kirkinner parishes, vouched for by elders and ministers who were present on the day, and the records confirmed by the Presbytery of Wigtown. The Penninghame records say that Margaret Wilson’s head was held up from the water, in order to ask her if she would pray for the King. She answered that she wished the salvation of all men, but the damnation of none. When her watching relatives cried out that this proved she was willing to conform, Major Windram offered her the Oath of Abjuration again, but she refused, saying “I am one of Christ’s children; let me go”.

The Kirkinner records state that Margaret McLachan’s head had been “held down within the water by one of the town officers by his halberd at her throat, til she died”. A popular account adds that the officer said “then tak’ another drink o’t my hearty”. Legend has it that for the rest of his life the man had an unquenchable thirst, and had to stop and drink from every ditch, stream, or tap he passed, and he was deserted by his friends.

Likewise the constable named Bell, who had carried out his duties with a notable lack of feeling, allegedly said, when asked how the women had behaved, “O, they just clepped roun the stobs, like partans and prayed”. Clepped means web-footed, partans are crabs. Bell’s wife bore three children all with “clepped” fingers, and the family was referred to as “the Cleppie Bells” which was believed to be the sins of the father being visited on the children.

It was not only women who died, William Johnstone, John Milroy and George Walker were hanged in Wigtown the same year, for refusal to take the oath, but Margaret Wilson, due to her young age has become the most famous of the martyrs and is the subject of a famous painting by the English artist John Everett Millais called The Martyr of Solway.

Art conservators have x-rayed the painting and found out that Millais had originally painted the upper torso of the young woman naked. However when the painting was exhibited in 1871 there were strong puritanical views on nudity in paintings and Millais’ work offended Victorian sensibilities. It was badly received and was the butt of many negatively critical reviews. Hence it was painted over to save the Victorian eyes of such a sight!

The photo is from Stirling Old Town Cemetery a monument to the Wigtown Martyrs, further afield a Victorian statue of Margaret Wilson’s martyrdom is on display at Knox College, University of Toronto, Canada, as seen in the second pic, the third pic is the Martyrs' Grave, Wigtown parish church, Dumfries and Galloway.

#scotland #scottish #history #maryrs #religious zealots #judicial muders #dumfries and galloway

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vasito-de-leche · 1 month

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Ooooh, just saw your Self Aware!6 and I love how you portrayed him! You mentioned that he can hear the player, but not see them, right?

What if 6 encounters a player who has him as their favorite character (yk putting him as the main character in the interface), hearing them gushing about how 6 looks so handsome and how they prefer him over 37 and the people at Apeiron, mumbling about how he doesn't deserve the trouble, and actually rooting for him reading his event story? Basically just talking about him, unaware that 6 could actually hear them.

Anyways, I'll let you cook <3

;R1999 6 - Self-Aware AU (2)

Compilation of headcanons about how a self-aware 6 would react to a Player who gushes over him. Related to this Self-Aware AU post.

ty for your ask, nonnie! sorry if this isnt what you were hoping for, I cant exactly see a character like 6 enjoying this sort of treatment!

Right away, I think this sort of thing would make 6 extremely uncomfortable.

We know how he feels about receiving attention or being on the spotlight, how he prefers to stay by the sidelines and only put himself out there when others need mediation or whenever his people require him to play the role of leader--so to have a voice constantly praising and gushing over him would be really tiring. 6 is the type of person who enjoys--perhaps it's better to say that he needs--time alone, with nothing but his thoughts and some peace and quiet, after all.

Is this, somehow, his unchecked ego? Are these his own deepest thoughts manifesting as a voice coming from above, muddling the truth? No, that can't be. 6 knows that his self-esteem and opinion on himself is much more humble than this.

Once he finds out about the existence of the Player, he grows even more confused. Or rather, a bit more timid now that he knows you're watching over him, scrutinizing and observing each and every gesture, every little thing he says. He's your favorite character for reasons he cannot even fathom--not due to a sense of inferiority or inadequacy, but genuine confusion. Did he mess up somewhere? He's not supposed to receive this much attention beyond his contributions to the main story.

I think 6 would be indifferent to any comments about his appearance. His entire bloodline is praised for their unique complexion, this isn't new at all. Comments about how the Player prefers him over 37 or the people of Apeiron--HIS people, HIS community--wouldn't sit well with him, since they're people he cherishes and considers important, even if he keeps his distance from them.

Overall, treating him like this and putting him on a pedestal just further enforces those themes of isolation from the previous post, so to speak!

A much younger 6 would've definitely appreciated the support, to have someone in his corner, especially after losing his aunt to the Revelation. But I like to think that 6 as he is right now is mature enough to recognize the importance of everyone else's points of views. He, more than anyone, understands that he had his faults and that his actions should have consequences, and his humble and pacifist side would also lead him to defend the actions of others, such as 210, despite the previous tension between them. There's a reason his number represents harmony!

And because he represents harmony and perfection, I think he would just tolerate this for a long time. He's spent years in isolation, he's had people talk at him about things he cannot find himself to care about--this is no trouble at all. 6 would simply sit there, or go on about his day as you ramble about him. But I can see him wishing to be turned into a painting in the main screen as often as possible, just for a moment of reprieve.

The more you praise him, the less he talks.

For 6 to truly listen what you have to say, you'll have to talk about something that isn't him. He is curious, especially when he catches you murmuring about other things, such as your next strategy to win this UTTU Special Week, or complaining about the lack of materials to level up others.

I think what 6 would like the most is catching glimpses of the life you lead when you're not focusing on the game, when you complain about responsibilities and how eager you are to unwind by playing the game, when your pet interrupts and you stop playing to shower it with attention and love... These small, fleeting flashes of who you are when no one else is around. Aside from this, he would also love to hear your opinion on the events of the game, without this obvious favoritism for him--what do you think of the allegory of the cave? Do you ever wonder about your soul number?

These are the things that would get 6 to slowly warm up to the idea of the Player watching over him, that would get him to speak back to you one day, on impulse or on purpose. And only once 6 sees you as more than a distant voice, when you finally bond with him in a more meaningful way, perhaps your praise will actually mean something to him. Perhaps he will thank you directly with a small smile, perhaps he will ask you to explain why you feel so strongly about him, genuinely curious about your point of view.

But in the mean time, silence is a virtue.

#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #reverse 1999 6 #6 #self aware au #6 wouldnt like this type of stuff #but you know who would?#diggers. he would eat this shit up #he would love to have his very own disembodied voice hyping him up and agreeing with him. the guy needs a single win

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arabaka · 1 year

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ hayakawa aki x (fem)devil!reader. CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ !!! MEAN AKI. light dacryphilia. hair pulling. tail pulling. ROUGH sex. cervix fucking. light belly bulge. choking. m!receiving oral. references to gagging. THIS SHIT IS TOXIC.

WORD COUNT: 3.7K PSD CREDIT !!! MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI !!!!!!!

NOTE: THIS IS PART 2 OF MY AKI x SEX DEVIL PIECE. recommend you read part 1, but also can't blame you if you just wanna get down 'n dirty with this one lol.

TAGGING: @jotar8 (ty for ur patience <;3)

Of all your contracts, Hayakawa Aki has to be your most coveted. You miss him, crave him when he’s not around.

The memory of the taste of his dick on your lips is so vivid, you can revisit it anytime you like. You can practically smell it, his musk that permeates your nostrils as he runs the tip deep down your throat. Thoughts of Aki infiltrate your brain and trick your senses, allowing you a blissful reprieve from whatever poor schmuck you’ve got writhing underneath you. Not a contract, just a wealthy benefactor you keep under your thumb so Public Safety doesn’t get their grubby little hands on you, the acclaimed SEX DEVIL. The thought of wasting away in an over glorified prison cell is revolting… But you would get to see your treasured Aki more.

Now the gears in that perverted little brain of yours are turning. You’ve never lingered in the government building for long but they’ve got to have offices in there, right? Maybe Aki has his own, a nameplate on his door signifying professionalism and prestige but you’d be in there, on your knees and sucking him off until all you can taste is his cum, salty and erotic. You could picture it; dressed so poise and clean, Aki with his hands on you– oh how rough he’d be and cursing you under his breath but you’d know it’s because he’s ashamed to be so weak for you. Your pencil skirt wrinkled, pushed up and over your hips, Aki would fuck you over his desk until his papers are all strewn and forgotten because nothing else would matter so long as he’s stretching you to his length and width.

“Hey,” You breathe wistfully, uncaring that your suitor hasn’t finished, “Can you drive me to Public Safety?”

On a mission, your strut into the Public Safety offices is laser-focused. Click-clack-click-clack go your heels in hurried succession, each step imbued with filthy determination. Your thighs, hugged tight by your narrow skirt, tend to the budding friction in your panties. Your mouth watering with every rub, you buzz all over with anticipation. Now all you have to do is find him.

An easy feat, a thwip of your tail and you’re pointed in the right direction. You just know these things; it’s part of the connection that forms when you create a contract. Now, devils running free in Public Safety is hardly acceptable. You attract attention anywhere you go and now is no exception but all you have to do is bat your eyes at the nearest agent, wrap your lithe fingers around their forearm and ask, in that alluring, coquettish voice of yours, “Where’s Hayakawa Aki?”

You have time to kill in this office they stuck you in. It’s not Aki’s, doesn’t have a shred of his identity but it has been lived in. You spot a black suit jacket hanging on the leather chair’s back post, its outline highlighted by the flood of sunshine pouring in from the rear. Drawing near, you start to see flecks of some sort of animal fur, probably a cat, littering the sleeves and canvas. You swipe a finger along the cherry oak desk, you come up free of dust but there are coffee stains that litter the surface, but only on the right side.

Curiosity piqued, you rifle through the drawers. The first is brimming with manila folders, every tab color coded and titled with neat handwriting. You see the names of devils, past and present, no doubt eradicated by the office’s last habitant. Your lips crease to a frown on instinct; you hardly spare a second to mourn, it’s unlike you, but seeing so many names, realizing you could easily be one of them if Public Safety sees fit brews a discomforting feeling in your stomach. Enough of that.

The second drawer proves more interesting. Now there’s some personality. Fake plants in ceramic pots litter the flooring. There’s postcards, some from places you’ve never even heard of but the pictures easily transport you there all the same. Then there’s cards of condolences. You flick through them, reading references to hunters you’ve never even heard of. Probably part of their team. Then you come across a photo frame. Still within its borders rests a picture of a man, most likely in his early 30s. An old age for a devil hunter. He isn’t alone in the photo; accompanying him is his family, a little boy the spitting image of his father in his mother’s arms.

You recline on the chair with the photo in tow. You don’t recognize any of the faces. You don’t feel too much either. How could you? But you do start to picture Aki. Whoever is in the photo, whoever last occupied this space is dead and gone. You don’t care. But Aki? You care. A little.

And that irks you. In all your time on earth, you’ve stuck to the same creed. Don’t chase but take what’s yours. And what exactly are you doing? You came to the office on a whim and now YOU’RE waiting for a human, a devil hunter. You tell yourself it’s because you had a craving. You’re simply fulfilling a selfish desire. You hate what the silence in the room is doing to you. Making you think too hard about what should be nonissues.

Fortunately, the quietness is ripped right from under you when the door opens. “Excuse me.” He must not be expecting you for him to be so cordial. You toss the frame back in the drawer and lean forward with interest, propping your chin up with hands clasped. You have a smirk as devilish as your nature, keenly watching Aki’s expression and body language cheapen when his eyes land on you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” The stoic glaze over his pretty blues melts away by flames of indignant annoyance. You’ll extinguish them soon enough. There isn’t much he can do to keep himself from going under, not with your innate ability to charm and seduce.

“Don’t be so mean.” You say with your bottom lip jutted out in a mocking pout. You won’t take anything he says to heart. You have enough on your hands in that area. “I was bored.”

He’d roll his eyes but he can’t seem to part his gaze from you. It’s already started. A chill crawls up his spine. He wasn’t expecting to see you, not when he still hadn’t called on your power in battle. That was your whole deal, wasn’t it? You’ll lend him your strength, so long as he takes care of you beforehand. If he never summoned you, he’d never have to see you. That’s what he’d rationalized, anyways. You left him feeling far more vulnerable than he would have liked, than a devil even deserved, during your last encounter and as good as it felt, your cunt clenched so tight around his cock he couldn’t imagine pulling out, Aki struggled with the compromise.

“Not my problem.” He tells you, still curt and clearly inconvenienced. But you spot the slight wobble in his knee, the fight in his body to walk away and that’s when you strike.

Rising from your spot, you saunter over to the front of the desk. His chest tightens, dress shirt creasing under his tie, as he watches your full outfit come to view. Your attire says office but your body screams sex. Every inch of you is hugged so perfectly by your getup, it’s downright sinful. You bask in his gaze, taking a seat with your legs dangling off the counter. “You like?” Your nylon covered thighs brush against each other, making for a tempting sight.

His response is slowed, careful even, “Are you going to leave?” The hook in his voice still indicates frustration but you can see from the way his brows are knitting tight that he’s buckling. His fists ball up; maybe if he hits a pressure point, he can subdue your effects. He’s only kidding himself. He hasn’t forgotten how quickly he fell under your spell the last time. He knows how virulent your succubus scent is.

“Mmm,” You muse aloud, feigning contemplation, “Didn’t you just come back from a mission?” You leave your seat, heels stamping the tiled floor as you work on closing the sizeable distance between the two of you. “You must be frustrated. Don’t you wanna work that off? I can help.”

To be frank, the last job was a bust. What they thought was a lead on a piece of the Gun Devil turned out to be a farce. Not only did they have to clean-up work, they had to expunge the lying fiend associate. So yeah, you’re right on the money when you pinpoint his attitude.

Now you’re standing, body pressed to his while your fingers trickle up his chest. “Oh, what’re you so upset about?” Fingers now admiring the plane of his neck, you murmur, “Are you still hung up on our little arrangement? It’s not like you were conned into anything.” You look at him through narrowed eyes, watching his lips curl. Still not rousing an answer from him, your voice starts to sing, “You humans are such fools. You’ll give up an arm, your golden years, even your first born. But sex is where you draw the line?”

Your fingers twiddling with his earrings, Aki’s hand comes clasping over your wrist in a grip rivaling that of a constrictor’s. His bite is venomous however, when he snaps, “You ever think with that head of yours?” Your chest stills. You’ve never heard him speak so loud before.

What’s that look in your eyes, Aki wonders. Could it be… Fear?

No. That would humanize you.

No, the look on your eyes is foul. It’s wicked. It’s aroused.

You’ve caught him off guard again, you can tell by the way his pupils dilate and his lips part for a small gasp. “I guess not.” He grunts. Now just when did he get his hand on your other wrist? He starts edging you backwards, jawline clenched before releasing to say, “You sure do a lot of talking for a devil whose only good for their pussy.”

“Oh yeah?” Your footsteps stutter at first, but once you acclimate to Aki’s pace you’re set. Your gaze is aggravating. Aki wants nothing more than to stamp it out. You can tell now that the fire in his eyes is from a different source, that the blood is flowing south entirely now that you’ve irked him. How your little devil heart rattles with lust.

Your bottom bumps against the desk’s trim. Aki’s hand swipes, balls up your hair so fast and so hard that tears prick your waterline at the sudden force. “Yeah. What makes you think you know shit? You think fucking around makes you an expert on humanity?” You can practically feel the frustration erode as he manhandles you, whipping your hair higher until your heels struggle for support. He watches your nostrils flare, the column of your neck flexing with every strained gulp. The tension in his slacks tightens the longer he stares at your eyes, already glossy with tears.

Your head bobs with a sharp inhale, your legs trembling out of sheer thrill. “You wanna know what I think?” He doesn’t, but he’s quiet long enough for you to answer, a devious lick to your words as you taunt, “I think you’re scared of intimacy. What was it? Your mom? Your dad?”

Aki’s last tether to all rationality breaks.

You didn’t know. How could you have known?

Aki kicks, striking behind your knees, your balance wavering as your legs give out. He shows little regard for how rough he then spins you, forcing you to the desk at record speed. Your chest is crammed against the surface until it hurts, until you’re sore.

Your tail whips wildly, thrashing from the slit in your skirt until Aki seizes the appendage in an airtight fist. He tugs at first, watching you screech and wriggle in pain until he pins you down with his other hand flat on the slope of your back. “Huh, I wondered if you felt anything with this.” He’s vile, openly taunting you but it’s what you deserve. You really shouldn’t have brought up his parents.

Your cheeks, squished and hot, might as well be searing circles into the desk. Right next to the coffee stains.

Your limbs scramble under Aki’s hold, though you freeze, if only for a moment, when Aki jerks your skirt up and over your ass. He digs into your stockings with the ridges of his nails until the fabric runs, then tears over the mound of your pussy. You gasp, but make no mistake; you are rife with lewd adrenaline at this turn of events. Now with access to your panties, he yanks the useless fabric until it slithers down your legs, still encased by your stockings to a degree. You arch your back, sticking your ass out and expect his fingers to plunge right into your heat but you’re asking for a nicety you haven’t earned.

No, because the next thing you hear is a zipper and then his slacks dropping a heap. You feel the contour of his cockhead tickle your entrance, but only for a fleeting second because the next thing you know, Aki’s slammed his entire length into your pussy with no warning, no warm up.

“S-Shiit.” He groans. Loudly. You cough and choke, spit flying as Aki hoists your ass up with calloused hands curling madly into your hips. They find the groove of your bones and latch on, like a lion to its prey. You’ll have friction burns curved into your flesh by the time he’s done with you.

The singular rip in your tights multiplies under Aki’s animalistic grip. Now your whole ass is exposed, the flesh jiggling every time Aki throws his entire weight into his thrusts– which is neverending. The vibrations, they engulf your entire body. Your frame goes thump-thump-thump against the desk and you can’t do anything to stop it. But would you want to?

Your pussy puckers around his girth, slick squelching right out of you everytime Aki gives you an inch of breathing room. Joining the chorus of scandalous sounds is the sharp smacking of his balls, drooped and weighty, and on the apex of their swing, they graze your clit juuustt right. Your moans waver with unconstrained panting, spit dribbling off your bottom lip. That’s the only downside with this position; Aki’s pressing so deep, manically drilling against your cervix, but he can’t even see the pain in your face as he splits you open. He wants to see those tears stream down that smug face of yours. Maybe some other time.

“This is – hmph, hhng – what you wanted, right?” His throat teems with thunderous groans, pummeling into you and bullying your walls until he’s certain you’re bruised on the inside. “Speak up, can’t hear you.” He’s at your ear, teeth threateningly close to snapping. For all the shit you were talking, Aki’s surprised you’re suddenly so pliant.

Your cheek drags along the desk, smearing your fluids, be it spit or tears, together until you’re wet and messy in the face. Your lips smack together, trying to find words but your brain is overwhelmed each time Aki stuffs himself so far inside you, you swear you can feel him bulging in your stomach. “Y-Yes, A-Aki!” You manage but it’s not enough.

“Hayakawa.” He snarls with a smack to your ass and then another. He doesn’t stop until his surname is the only audible thing coming out your mouth. It’s addicting, the burn that scorches his palms on every impact. The fat of your ass swells, flaring up and quivering under the harshness of Aki’s palm. All the while his cock, twitching and engorged, pierces you mercilessly. He even starts pulling on your tail again, knowing you feel the burn. He wants to hurt you.

But he also can’t continue fucking you without acknowledging how otherworldly you feel. The blood’s gone to his cock and his head, leaving him with a sense of euphoria that has his thighs tensing every time he pistons in and out of that sloppy and wet pussy of yours. Your walls crown him with a warmth that has his dick twitching against that firm cervix of yours. He can’t stop now that he’s felt you this way.

Your walls bump and grind against the prominent veins snaking up and down his foreskin. The friction they gave you has the color draining from your knuckles as you claw at the desk for some semblance of support. You knew Aki was a monster in bed, learned that the last time, but you had no clue you would wake up this level of beast in him. He’s practically feral.

The next moan from him goes on for a stretch, breaking in between breaths as he rolls your cunt up and over his cock. You aren’t calling the shots here and your pretty little mouth isn’t running a game it can’t handle anymore. “Now, how about you say sorry?” Punctuating his suggestion with a harsh plunge, the red tip of his cock directly on your cervix, he laughs when he sees you squirm. He could get used to this, come to terms with using you as a walking fleshlight if it meant he could unleash pure havoc on your body.

“S-Sorry?” It’s not an attempt at an apology; you’re just not sure you heard him right. The constant, raucous noise of your ass clapping and jiggling against his pelvis as you take him all the way to the base has your eardrums feeling dulled, numb even. Your folds ache and your clit pulsates as Aki ruts into you, rounding out his spine as he lurches forward again. This time he has his fingers wound so taut around the width of your neck, it’s making the room fuzzy and your head dizzy.

“Not good enough. Try again.” He hisses, his hips never once stopping their abuse on you. You can feel the density of his cock bloat around your walls, a rush of blood no doubt fattening him up. You cry and whine, your stomach distended by his dick. Still not what he wants so he takes to standing upright again, dragging you along with his hand still at your throat, forcing your back to arch until you feel your nerves seething.

A string of apologies comes out so quick and so fucking weak. Look at you. Getting fucked within an inch of your life, feeling pain and pleasure mix in your folds, skin slimy with your essence and Aki’s precum, and apologizing. “I-I’m sorry, H-Hayakawa! S-Sorry! Sorry!” You yowl until he’s satisfied, but not before he lifts your feet an inch or so off the ground and beats your throbbing pussy with all his anger, all his resentment, all his cock. His hand still on your throat, he squeezes and he makes you see stars– no, the whole fucking universe.

He knows he’s going too far, but by whose standards? His? Yours? You’re a devil; mercy should have never been awarded to you in the first place. You were one that had a foul mouth and an even more rotten tongue, taunting him like that. All you cared for was his cock so how could he be wrong for giving it to you, albeit rough and wild?

When he cums inside you, it comes gushing out. It’s so dense that globs of it come seeping out your pussy, your entrance so swollen you feel the hurt radiate in your bones. It’s a good hurt though, because you’ve cum all over him in splashes that rival his just moments after.

He lowers you but then he has you on your knees, glowering when he barks another order,

“Clean me up.” Flicking his wrist, he smacks his cock, drenched in your juices and his load, against your cheek and enjoying the popping sound that comes from your lips as he does.

You blink, lashes absolutely soaked in tears, but do as you’re told. You take his cock to the hilt, cheeks hollowing at the very size of him. The room is quieter, but now flooded with the sounds of you slurping and lapping him up. You swirl your tongue swiftly and deftly as you run your mouth along his cock but you start to gag, not because you can’t take him but because you haven’t had a good gulp of air in so fucking long. He isn’t letting up though, keeping you at the base of his shaft until your nose is scrunched and squished against his pelvis. He looks you dead in your eyes, brows furrowed nice and deep but he’s obviously winded too.

He’s trying to hide it, the rise of his chest with every shallow inhale through his nose. His head feels hazy, clouded with the remnants of lust that still linger in the air. All your doing.

“You gonna behave?” You have never nodded faster. He slides his cock so smoothly out of you, but you’re left to sputter and drool on yourself. “Shit.” He stumbles on his footing, his orgasm clearly still wreaking havoc on his system but you hold your tongue. You still haven’t stopped your lungs from burning, after all.

When Aki is fully dressed and you’re still a mess he’s left on the floor, he speaks, “Don’t pull this shit again. You should know better, exposing a devil hunter’s contracts like that.” You stammer, something akin to an apology but too incoherent to string together. That’s fine. He’ll take it. “You want to fuck so bad? Then you’re gonna be at my beck and call.”

Oh, he’s cold… But you got what you came for, didn’t you? “O-Okay.” You manage, lips puffy and voice strained.

“Here.” Aki offers a tissue– no, it’s a handkerchief. “Keep it. You’ll need it.” His soul is a little wracked with guilt for the brutality he just unleashed but he’ll sleep just fine at night. “I’m leaving now. Don’t follow me.” He orders you like a dog and like a good bitch, you listen.

And when you’re the only one left in the room, handkerchief wrinkling your hands, you exhale.

Shit. And you still have those fucking feelings of yours.

#aki #aki hayakawa #aki x y/n #aki x you #aki x reader #aki hayakawa x y/n #aki hayakawa x you #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 🍰 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ a little treat for aki. ꒱

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seiya-starsniper · 4 months

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There were so many good ones to choose from! But here we go!

'A puts a blade by B's throat, be it seriously or as a joke/teasing. B's reaction is…enthusiastic.'

(Maybe Corintheus? I love how your mind works so anything you're inspired to write will be amazing!! Though as a potential premise I was struck by the idea of Dream holding a knife to the Corinthian's throat. Maybe even one of the Corinthian's own knives.)

I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS IMAGE IT'S HAPPENING APSODAODKADOPAKDKOAD

I have written so much porn these last few days, what a way to celebrate my birthday, thanks so much for the prompts ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

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“You,” Dream of the Endless growls as he pins the Corinthian down to the silken sheets, the nightmare’s own dagger pressed at the edge of his throat, “are not supposed to be here, little dream.”

The Corinthian barks a laugh as thin black ropes appear from the bedposts, wrapping themselves around his wrists and tying him down.

“Then maybe you should’ve hidden this place better,” he says, darting his eyes around the room to take in his surroundings. It had taken him a long time to find Dream’s private quarters in the Dreaming, and they looked pretty much as he’d imagined them. The walls were barren of color or any sort of personal touch, and other than the bed, the only piece of furniture decorating the room was a single, black, slatback chair. There wasn’t even a rug on the floor. Even the bed, soft as it was beneath the Corinthian’s back, was plain and dull.

“All the imagination in the world, and you dream up the world’s most boring bedroom for yourself,” the Corinthian complains, grinning when he feels the knife on his throat press closer, cutting into his skin. He doesn’t bleed, not here, not in this nothingness where Dream thinks he can escape and hide from the messiness of the universe. But the Corinthian doesn’t need to bleed in order to feel pain.

“This place,” Dream says, narrowing his eyes, “is meant to be a reprieve from my duties. It is meant to be a peaceful space, so it is sparse on purpose. You, my little nightmare, are not peaceful, nor are you a reprieve, so you must leave. Now.”

“I could be,” the Corinthian replies, prompting a noise of confusion from his creator. “A reprieve that is,” he adds, trailing his eyes along the opening in Dream’s star-lined robe. It had fallen open in their scuffle, exposing the moonlight pale expanse of Dream’s neck and chest. His skin is immaculate and unmarked, and the Corinthian wants to put his teeth all over it.

When the Corinthian has had his fill and meets his creator’s eyes again, Dream's eyes are no longer pale and blue, but darkened to that pitch black shade the Corinthian both loves and fears. There's no pupil there in those depthless eyes, only stars that hold the weight of the entire universe within them.

The Corinthian is so hard, he’s certain he could hammer nails. He knows that Dream knows it too.

After a few moments of charged silence between them, the knife is removed from his neck in favor of cutting away at the Corinthian's clothes. They both know that Dream could wave them away in an instant, but Dream seems to find some enjoyment in destroying something of the Corinthian’s with his own tools.

“Be still,” Dream commands when the nightmare squirms, pushing against his bonds. The Corinthian cannot help it. He wants to feel more than just the light kiss of a blade, and Dream seems intent on teasing him to death. He stills his body anyways, and waits as the seconds pass agonizingly by. It feels like an eternity passes before he is entirely naked, for Dream also focused on popping off every button from each garment with the Corinthian’s dagger. The Corinthian has a mad thought during it all to switch all of his future clothing to t-shirts and sweatpants.

The last thing to be removed are the Corinthian's glasses, and Dream places them gingerly along a newly appeared side table. It is a surprisingly soft gesture, considering everything that would soon come after.

Dream discards his robe, and it disappears into the ether of the room, leaving the Endless completely naked. Though he is hard, Dream’s cock isn’t leaking with need like the Corinthian’s is, and it make the nightmare want to put his mouth on it, to make a mess of it, to make a mess of Dream.

Dream smirks down at the Corinthian, as if reading his mind. He probably did.

“Show me, then, little nightmare,” Dream murmurs, as he crawls up the Corinthian’s body, placing his knees on either side of the blond’s head. He positions the tip of his cock right at the Corinthian’s lips. “Show me how much of a reprieve your mouth can be.”

The Corinthian grins, before he parts his lips to take the tip of Dream’s cock inside. He sucks lightly at first, with small kitten licks, and shallow movements, trying to see how much teasing he can get away with. Then, in one abrupt motion, Dream thrusts his cock all the way to the back of the Corinthian’s throat.

It's brutal and unyielding the way Dream uses him, uncaring of whether the Corinthian can take it or not. He can, of course. The Corinthian knows how to swallow cock without gagging but he has a feeling that Dream wants him to gag, so that's precisely what he does. He swallows just a little too tightly, letting Dream hit all of the sensitive spots he’d normally try to avoid. Soon the Corinthian’s face is a drooling, crying mess, a mix of bloodied tears and saliva and the slick from Dream’s cock.

The Corinthian can feel his own cock bouncing uselessly against his stomach, untouched and completely ignored in favor of his lord's pleasure. The thought makes the nightmare moan around the cock in his mouth which in turn elicits a growl and an especially deep thrust from Dream.

Then Dream braves his hands against the wall and changes the angle of his thrusts. The Corinthian is practically choking now with each thrust and he cannot do anything about it. It feels so good to be used like this, to be nothing more than an instrument for his lord's pleasure, a reprieve from his duties as Lord of the Dreaming. It is yet another thing that makes him better than the other dreams and nightmares, another thing that makes him the favorite.

The Corinthian can tell when Dream is getting close to orgasm. His movements become less sharp and unfocused, even as the brutality of the thrusts into his throat remain. He hollows out his cheeks and swallows down Dream’s cock, expecting the Endless to come down his throat.

He doesn't.

Instead, Dream pulls his cock out just as abruptly as he'd pushed it in earlier, and then he is spilling his release in thick, warm ropes all over the Corinthian’s face. The Corinthian can taste Dream’s spend in all three of his mouths, his ocular ones seeming particularly keen at licking it up. Dream watches as the Corinthian licks up the come closest to his mouth, then drags a finger through the mess of fluids pooling at the Corinthian’s cheek.

“My precious nightmare,” Dream coos, leaning in to lick up the rest of the mess of the nightmare’s face. The Corinthian purrs underneath the attention, nuzzling unashamedly into Dream’s face.

“Was that a sufficient reprieve for you, my lord?” the nightmare asks cheekily, chuckling when Dream rolls his eyes in response.

“For now,” Dream says, flopped down next to the nightmare. “You may stay,” he adds, as if the Corinthian can even leave. He’s still bound to the bedposts, and at some point during their activities, Dream had bound his feet as well. He still hasn’t come either.

It’s still a win as far as the Corinthian is concerned.

#the sandman #sandman fanfiction #dream of the endless #the corinthian #corintheus #dream x corinthian #seiya writes corintheus #seiya writes #seiya's birthday prompt fills

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