#I know there’s a bit of a lack of actual plot right now but that will start around Part 4
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So it means something when Tommy is awarded and the camera pans to Buck, and Eddie is awarded and the camera pans to Marisol, but it means nothing when Buck is awarded and the camera pans to Eddie instead of Tommy?
This is the stuff I be talking about when I say BT shippers are being intentionally rude. Of course it may have just been an oversight on the editing team, but we don’t know that, do we? So when added to all the other times Buck and Eddie have been framed as a couple or parallel the other couples on the show… why are they mad?
Claiming the editors had to put the cut of Eddie there because he was up next, as if they chopped up the scene for any other character being awarded, is ridiculous. Because it once again proves BT shippers do not care about Buck, just his bisexuality. Because in what world is everyone else getting that wholesome little moment perfectly fine and sensible, but for Buck it’s suddenly meaningless and was the only editing choice left because Eddie was coming up next? Again, if we learn it was an oversight, sure. But until then, they’d rather we believe it to mean Buck didn’t get a shot of his loved one because the editors didn’t care enough to do it? Huh?
And no, BT shippers aren’t delusional, because at least their ship is canon, but they sure can be goofy. Like, even though we didn’t see it nor were told, it’s fine for them to headcanon Buck as having gone to Tommy’s place after his talk with Eddie, to get railed out of his sadness. But it’s the reach of all reaches to wonder why Buck and Eddie were yet again framed in a questionable way?
I don’t agree with majority of Buddie shippers in thinking BT will be over before s8, but I truly cannot understand where their shippers come from most of the time. They’re getting less than bare minimum screen time and plot, and as of right now, not even the editors thought to include Tommy in a scene where every other loved one was shown.
What makes how I feel about this worse (funny worse), is that I also don’t think any of this is intentional. The Buddie framing, yes, even if Tim or whoever tries to say it isn’t. But I’m referring to the lack of BT development. People keep saying they think Tim is purposefully keeping Tommy on the sidelines or as a Debbie downer to prove he and Buck are incompatible, but I really don’t think so.
I think they think they did their big one by having Buck come out, and I think they’ve convinced themselves that because fans will eat up whatever queerness they shovel out for Buck, even the smallest of bits, they don’t need to do more. I can 1000% see BT lasting as it is, because people love it. They don’t care that the nicest thing Tommy said to Buck was he’s adorable. They don’t care that Tommy did more exciting things with Eddie. They don’t care that Tommy has never mentioned anything he likes about Buck at all. They don’t care that Buck hasn’t talked to anybody about Tommy beyond telling two people he’s dating him, and coming out to the rest in one fell swoop.
I would love for s8 to bring up the possibility that Buck is both frightened by and idealizing his relationship with Tommy and that’s why he won’t talk about it, and Tommy’s lack of screen time and sarcasm is the “reality” of their coupling. And I wouldn’t be mad about that. It would actually be a solid story for Buck to have, because he does idolize people and bury his own wants in order to be accepted and loved. So imagine him learning something new about his sexuality being the catalyst for him to stop just letting relationships happen to him?
But again… I don’t think they’ve gotten that far in brainstorming for s8, and I don’t think they even really see what we see once the finished product airs. The actors and creative team have so many different versions of the stories they’re telling, I imagine it’s impossible for them to recall all the correct emotions and tethers needed to react and respond accordingly. That’s what show bibles are for though, and based on the timeline and ages in the show in general, it’s clear Tim doesn’t have the best one or at least it’s not being used to it’s fullest. Either way, I think BT shippers are absolutely loose in the brain if they think the only scenes that make it to air that matter, are all except Buddie.
No, Buddie isn’t canon and fans have spent six seasons theorizing, but in a season where the show runner has stated he’s open to making them a couple and has made one of them canonically queer, it doesn’t make any sense to act like Buddie shippers are reading too far into things. The only reason Buck is bisexual, is because of Buddie shippers latching on to the ship and Oliver and Ryan saying they’d be down. The only reason BT is canon, is because Tim wanted to canonize Buck’s queerness and didn’t want to write a new character into the show.
It was not built up. It was not some red string of fate inevitability. Tim and Oliver both have spoken about how it came to be at the last minute, but BT shippers flat out refuse to listen. Buddie may never become canon, but it won’t change the fact that because of the dedication of Buddie shippers, and Tim and Oliver liking the idea of Buck being queer, BT is happening. Which is not a gotcha or me trying to be petty. It just is the unbiased truth.
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speaking my truth on npmd because im thinking about this alot. i think the reason it falls flatter than tgwdlm and bf as a musical is that tgwdlm and bf have a running theme — want.
(whole thing undercut)
the cast of tgwdlm want human connection - charlotte wants sam to love her, bill wants alice to love him, mr davidson wants his wife to choke him while he jerks off etc etc, and eventually paul goes from 'i want what anyone wants, money, kids, a partner maybe idk' to - to put it simply - wanting emma (putting it very simply, if i went into detail this post would go off the rails). this switch is what makes him vulnerable to the hive and this want to live and to survive and to be happy with emma is satiated by pokey by giving him the connection he craves via hivemind, this is how it works for everyone. they want to be happy, pokey makes them happy by removing any need to want anything in the first place.
similarly, in bf, the adults of hatchetfield are still miserable and they want to be happy, they have this void within them that they feel they need to fill with products and consumerism. if they buy this stupid fucking doll their kids will love them, they will be happy, etc etc. and this want to be happy is similarly satiated by wiggly via the cult - they have something to worship, or - in lindas case - people who worship them. they have purpose, or at least they think they do, but whether their problems have actually been solved or not - they are still content.
but in npmd, this is less solid. theres that bit where they have to sacrifice what they want the most, but this is near the end. its kind of all over the place, and this wobbliness(?) is sort of just emphasised by the fact that there is no specific lord in black, its all of them. now i loved the summoning when i first watched it because im obviously a huge hatchetfield fan so i like. know who these characters are but as ive seen others say, alot of npmd does rely on knowing hatchetfield lore - understanding injokes. and in hindsight it just... isnt great for the cohesion of the plot.
tgwdlm and bf both have specific themes, specific lords in black, they have subplots but they have a solid throughline that is easier to follow. to me, npmd feels like its all over the place and it just feels kind of...mid for lack of a better word.
i think there were some moments that were just kind jarring? i guess? like if i loved you coming directly after ruths death was really strange, tonally. i wish they spent more time on ruths death tbh she deserved better. richie got two songs and an opening scene. anyways i digress- i feel like whenever i think about it im always like. i just wanted More. which is weird cuz its already like 2 hours long but idk. IDK!!! if i loved definitely felt unnecessary to me- like just conflict out of nowhere. i would have liked more build up to it. maybe im just salty that it took up stagetime that could have been used to grieve ruth but. sorry for the random if i loved you slander i think my point here is that some moments and some subplots felt more tropey, injokey or like fanservice??but not in a sexual way?? - is that the right word to use idk - than actual compelling plot moments. tgwdlm is an incredible work of theatre and uses subversions of tropes to communicate a great story, bf is a detailed criticism of american consumerism and how capitalistic societies force people to rely on products to make their lives better, npmd is. high school drama with ghosts. it just doesnt hit as hard on its own.
i dont want to be one of those "im a better writer, and THIS is how i would have done it!!!! im going to fix this!!!" people so im not going to do that but i think something i would have liked to see was focus on just one lord in black, probably nibbly because i feel like he fits the most and has the least preexisting story. i mean for gods sake, why does wiggly have the most speech time out of all the lords in black again!!! he already has an entire musical about him!!! greedy bitch- well i guess thats kind of his thing. i think i just want to see more of nibbly tbh, he has one nmt story and he only shows up at the very end. anyways that was kind of a side rant sorry gang. there isnt a problem with having a story featuring all the lords in black, but i think it just doesnt quite work in npmd for like structural reasons as well as plot cohesion.
i did enjoy npmd, im not pretending i didnt, but narratively it is the weakest hatchetfield musical and i just wanted to put my finger on what it is specifically. please dont take this as like hate or slander, i am a huge starkid fan, but i think it is important to consume media critically.
also i am not a professional i am a teenage drama and english lit student who likes media analysis and narrative design so just. take everything i say with a grain of salt :)
if you read all this, thankyou and if you disagree please lmk what you think(civilly.i do not want discourse in my notes)!! i could be hugely wrong about this and just need to think more about npmd and id love to see others' analyses!
#long post#sorry gang#i feel like people are gonna be like “oh but its fun and silly sometimes things are just fun and silly” and yeah i know that#look at my url and pfp. starship is my favourite starkid musical like yeah i Know that#but within the context of the hatchetfield series#it just feels...weak. compared to the other musicals#IDK! idk#this was inspired by that one starcanwrecked confession btw i should go back and rb that#please dont crucify me for this#npmd#starkid#hatchetfield#npmd analysis#hatchetfield analysis
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Please don’t answer if you don’t want to but now that some time has passed what are your likes and dislikes about season so far?
I love the first kiss scene, the awkward willow tree scene, all the Polin moments and obv the carriage scene.
I’m not so keen on the balloon scene (I find it unnecessary) the too many side plots in a short season at the expense of Polin & I can’t but my finger on it but something feels missing from it.
I do have my qualms that I’ve kind of mulled over now that I’ve watched it several times. I do feel sometimes the pacing is odd, and I don’t know if it’s bc we have so many side plots (maybe they’re the same amount and it just seems like a lot bc there’s only 4 episodes rn) but either way something does feel slightly off. I think it all comes down to splitting the parts up honestly. In my mind if it had been released all at once I don’t think there’d be so many people finding faults or nitpicking things as much.
That is to say, the only real complaint I have right now is just the journal scene. I’ve talked a bit about it in another post but I wanted that to a moment where Colin’s anger comes to the surface for the first time since it’s something vulnerable of his that he’s never shared with anyone. I know they changed the contents of the journal to fit the rake narrative a bit more, but I really would have liked a passage about the landscape of his travels and what he actually saw while away. It would have contrasted all the talk he’s been giving about women and his rather ‘naughty’ escapades while away that he keeps reiterating to people at events, if that makes any sense. I understand why they went the route they did, but overall the scene lacked a lot for me personally.
BUT THAT ISNT TO SAY IM NOT IN LOVE WITH THIS SEASON!! I think no matter what happened/happens I’m going to be ecstatic and pleased with it no matter what, because it’s all we’re going to get of Polin in show form. So I will take what I can get and enjoy it!
#bridgerton#polin#bridgerton s3#bridgerton season 3#bridgerton spoilers#colin x penelope#colin bridgerton#penelope x colin#penelope featherington#ask#answer
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Timeline of the Lost Cities — Part Two
Notes/Reminders:
Most of this is fanon/headcanon
Variant theories/thoughts/rambles are welcome and encouraged!
Link to masterpost — other parts have been linked in it
TOTLC — PART TWO — The Intelligent Species and a Breakdown of Their Ancient Customs
Dwarves’ homes are in the earth; they do not eat much, and live near underground rivers where there are ecosystems of plants that chemosynthesise, as well as some fish and underwater creatures. It is these things that they eat. Dwarves initially kept their records in song, although stone-carved runes later became common. Their language has developed independently of all others, and sounds somewhat raspy. Originally, they did not possess the need for clothing, although they adopted some after coming into contact with other species. They experimented at first with metals, but later left metalsmithing to other species, preferring stone for themselves. They were the ones who discovered magsidian. The dwarven city of Loamnore was made c.11000 BCE.
Gnomes live with plants and trees, and have long memories; their knowledge is recorded only in song, and they have no writing system of their own, nor any other species’ system that they have decided to use — they have little need of it. Their ancient home was by the river in Serenvale, and it may have been many millions of years old. They speak as the trees do, and the sounds of their tongue are modelled on the sounds of nature. They were the first species to practise agriculture, and the first to start making some sort of clothing, although it never evolved past the rudimentary stage. They can photosynthesise to an extent, and used to be semi-nomadic, looking after trees all over the world by travelling the root-systems. Much of their famed industriousness and energy, at least during ancient times, usually went into looking after plants and animals and protecting them to ensure that the Timeline to Extinction was averted. They were in a very long period of hibernation during the glacial periods of the Ice Age.
Trolls lived in large, bare mountains, where their young could be raised with minimal destruction. Older trolls would often come into contact with gnomes, and also with dwarves who might be living in or might have travelled to their mountains. They had established settlements, but these did not evolve into cities for some time. They took much of their writing from dwarf-runes, although these were modified somewhat. They rarely farmed, and were hunter-gatherers. Their capital, Marintrylla was established c.8000 BCE.
Goblins were the first to properly explore metalsmithing. In this, they favoured gold for ornamentation, although this came about much, much later (around 50,000 years before the present day, near the end of the Ice Age, when the first proper cities were being formed — all other Intelligent Species had dwellings and settlements, but no ‘cities’). They had their own system of writing, and of music. The first metalsmithing goblins did was used to make weaponry. Their cities are the most ancient cities of the Intelligent Species in the world — indeed, the concept of cities came from the goblins, and was adopted by the other species.
Ogres began their experimentation with microbes from the very beginning of their existence. Their culture and development was influenced heavily by gnomish, dwarven and goblin culture — they learned the custom of wearing metals from goblins, their inclination to live in underground or covered places from the dwarves, and their first exploration into the mysteries of nature from the gnomes. Their breeding of microbes and bacteria rather than simple plants was unique to them. They had their own customs of tattooing, art and music. They developed their own weapons and fighting techniques, and based their writing off their tattoos (these were created together). The ogrish city of Ravagog was built c.8100 BCE, on the site of the old Serenvale.
Elves, when they separated from primitive humans by developing long lifespans and eventually by developing skills and abilities, used these for their survival; Frosters and Pyrokinetics were very helpful during the Ice Age, and Psionipaths often erected shelters around people while they slept. Elemental abilities, such as those of Flashers, Chargers, Pyrokinetics, Frosters, Gusters, Shades and the like developed first, after which came abilities such as Empathy, from which came Telepathy. Conjuring also developed around the same time. Technopaths, Polyglots and Vociferators did not exist for a very long time, and Beguilers, Mesmers and Inflictors came about because of a very specific need, of which more is told later. Elven language was standardised quite early in their history, and soon enough, elven children began to be born with a base vocabulary of words that were essential to them (words such as those for ‘mother’, ‘father’, ‘self’, ‘food, ‘ability’, ‘life’ and ‘death’ were some of the many that were instinctive, although specific words like ‘portico’ would be learned early in their childhood). It took them quite a long time to devise their most defining inventions — these being crystal-crafting and jewelcraft.
The history of humans is much as it is in our world, save that some of it was influenced by the other Intelligent Species. This also includes the Sinking of Atlantis.
Up Next: Early Elves (so just headcanons on early elven society before stuff started happening)
#timeline of the lost cities#kotlc#kotlc theories#keeper of the lost cities#kotlc gnomes#kotlc dwarves#kotlc ogres#kotlc goblins#kotlc trolls#kotlc elves#kotlc humans#kotlc headcanons#I know there’s a bit of a lack of actual plot right now but that will start around Part 4#And this is a mostly worldbuilding series so
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never say sorry -sub!art donaldson x fem!reader smut
notes- this was literally supposed to be super short but i got carried away cause i am a whore (and proud of it)
cw- art is a little insecure:( , mentions of him having sex with tashi before (NO TASHI SLANDER I LOVE MY GIRL BUT IT'S FOR THE PLOT😭) , he cums prematurely (like...really..) art's a whiny little slut, art keeps calling reader love ( i got a thing for that pet name sorry y'all) , reader calls art 'artie' once cus it's cute&idc.
thinking about art constantly apologizing while having sex :( like ur unzipping his pants and he's already bucking his hips up into your hand, and then immediately muttering "sorry":(( my babyyy
so at first you think that okay, whatever, it's just something that slips out
but then he does it SO many times that you're actually starting to be concerned
like, you're giving him head and he moans a little too loudly- he's apologizing again. while kissing, you pull back for air and he still follows you, mouth half-open, wanting more - but then he realizes and he apologizes again.
but one time he really caught you off guard-
it had been a long day for him, spending almost all day training for his upcoming match. he barely had any time to rest, so he comes back to his dorm, taking off his shirt and pants, getting into bed with you only with his baby-blue boxer briefs on.
he kisses you. he's so fucking tired, but he still kisses you. 'cause he needs you, especially after the day he just had. you could feel his hard cock, practically begging you to take his boxers off.
"please love, wanna see you" he says while tugging at your top, watery eyes glistening with tears waiting to be spilled.
you take it off and unclasp your bra, little whimpers leaving his lips at the sight of you over him, with your tits out. you would love to take your time with him, really. to hear him beg and plead for you. but he's so eager, and so polite about it too- you just can't do that to him right now. so when you take off his boxers, his cock immediately jumps up, slapping his lower abdomen, right over his strawberry-blond happy trail.
"aww baby, look at you. you're so pretty aren't you?" you smile down at him, admiring how his legs shake slightly at every word you say. "hmm? aren't you?" you repeat. "mmghn- yeah, i- uhh i am" he says, eyes almost rolling back from the lack of touch. "you're what? say it." he sighs. you do this a lot. 'self love is important' you usually tell him- but not now. not when his dick is out, aching and leaking and begging to be touched. but just for the sake of it- just because he wants to please you, he says it. "i'm pretty"
"good boy," you coo, finally bringing a finger down to his cock, only to circle his pink, wet tip. and with that, he loses it. his mind goes blank, and he can't help it- all the waiting, the anticipating made him lose control of his body. he really didn't want to cum, he wanted to be good for you, but you were just so hot, he couldn't hold back. so immediately after his white, thick and warm liquid lands partially on his stomach and a bit on your hand, he starts babbling out apologies.
"i'm sorry, i'm so sorry love, please don't be mad, please- i'll clean up after myself- oh my god i'm so sorry-" he was so obviously tired, he could barely make up the words, yet he still continued apologizing. until you cut him off.
"art, baby- you dont need to apologize to me! what's up with this" you ask, softly. "you know i love making you feel good. and it's even better when i get feedback like this" you giggle. his cheeks turn bright pink as he covers his face.
"but i literally came the second you touched me" he mumbles, shyly.
you kiss his shoulder, smiling. "and it was hot."
"i- I don't know how to explain it to you, love- i just don't want to disappoint you. tashi used to hate it when i did any of this, she hated hearing me, and stuff like that- sometimes it made me feel like i was an object to her or something, y-you know? she'd get mad at me, and uh- it wasn't great."
"oh." you could actually feel your heart breaking for the boy. he was so sweet, he never deserved any of that. "well i'm not tashi, and i definitely won't get mad at you for anything like that. i like hearing you, and believe it or not, this was really fucking hot. you're letting me know i'm making you feel good. what's wrong with that?"
"just don't wanna upset you." art shrugs.
"i promise you artie, you could never upset me." you peck his lips and he smiles. "now let's clean you up"
#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson smut#art donaldson fic#challengers fanfic#mike faist x reader#challengers smut#challengers x reader#patrick zweig x reader#artpatrick#mike faist smut#mike faist#challengers movie#challengers 2024#patrick zweig#tashi duncan#josh oconnor#josh o'connor#sub art donaldson#smut#x reader#dom reader
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Okay but? We of the DPxDC? Are COMPLETELY Sleeping on DPXBNHA?
And not even for the Main Plot Shenanigans!
Just?? It has ALL of DC's super powers? But MORE OF THEM. And like 80% of the population has um! Danny can?? Finally achieve his DREAM of being???
JUST SOME DUDE™!
Yeah, he's in Japan. That's a bit of a learning curve. And YEAH, there was a cataclysmic war like a few centuries back that sorta... fucked everybody up. No one wants to talk about it. There may be mass graves and Never Forget memorials. But?
On the SURFACE!
This place seems utopian!
No ghost hunters! Advanced technology! Robust social services*!
Wait... what was that asterisk? What do you mean "corrupt shadowy government organizations"? What do you MEAN "Immortal Supervillians"? NO SPACE PROGRAM!?!? AaaaaAAAAAAAAAAH?!?!? I'M IN HELL!!! This is ACTUALLY THE BAD PLACE, THIS IS HELL, OH GOD NOOOOOOO-!!!!!!
Cause see?
There are SO MANY REASONS he'd end up there?
Think about it! Wish that he lived somewhere his weird biology wouldn't exclude him from becoming an astronaut? In Quirks having Bnha Japan EVERYBODY has weird biology! Y'ain't special! You could TOTALLY be an astronaut!..... if we HAD those! We do not. Shut down that program during the Quirk Wars and never really started it again. (And somewhere, Desiree LAUGHS)
Or MAYBE? Things are getting a little hot on the ground? Bit TOO spicy. The Family Fenton and Friends have fallen back, behind the barely holding shields. Not even the Mansons considerable political maneuvering could stop the inevitably of human fear and blind unthinking hatred. Money can't buy everything, in the end. There is only ONE(1) way out.
Through the Zone.
Plan: Strangers In A Strange World is a go.
They're all Limnal enough to fake it. Sam with her plants. Tucker with his technology and persuasion. Jazz with her limited empathy. Their parents with their... well, weirdness. And with a touch of ghostly assisted meddling? Well, they've always BEEN there! Haven't they?
And that's not to MENTION the random 4 year olds with no control! JUST coming into their powers! With all those big emotions in tiny bodies? Startling events and tantrums? Villian attacks? What could THEY possibly hope to do to control or guide that fresh new power? It does what it does and the rest of us are just along for the ride!
If Danny happens to be minding his business and gets accidentally kidnapped by a VERY distraught 4 year old? Well, that's hardly the KIDS fault, now is it? They're FOUR! That is basically a toddler! Tiny child! They are upset, confused, and didn't mean to do ANYTHING. He's a hero. And Heros don't blame little kids from accidents, no matter HOW stressed it makes them.
No, the curse like a sailor INSIDE their head. Like an ADULT.
Just? Imagine~☆
The slow transition from *starry eyed shoujo sparkles* "This is SO COOL~!" to "huh, that's... kinda weird. And Sus. Weird Sus. Maybe nothing... oh! A distraction!" To "okay, this KEEPS happening, that was shady. You all saw that right? You realize that's not NORMAL, right? That that's fucked up? Not cool?" To "oh god, oh God, OH GOD! I'm in HELL! This is actually HELL! I'm trapped in HELL!!! WHAT THE FUC-"
Like? This kid LOVES space. LOVES the stars. And this is one of the few Superhero Cannon that SPECIFICALLY MENTIONS that IN CANNON? Thanks to Quirks? As in Superpowers? That VERY THING got fuckin SCRAPPED. Gutted. Consigned to be a relic of the past so they could all focus on punching each other Real Good.
He would weep BLOOD. Chew the WALLS. The LEVEL of unhinged this child would unleash? Not as Danny Phantom... but as DANNY J. FENTON? Beautiful. Vaguely psychotic. Definitely doing the Fenton Name proud. God, the NOISE HE WOULD MAKE would be inhuman and yet somehow? Come entirely from his human half.
They👏 Would👏 Hear👏 BOSS👏 MUSIC👏
I don't even know if he'd CARE about the main characters. They'd be tangential at best. The man would be in a one man war with I-Island over their lack of space program and hoarding of scientific progress. Probably living out of an abandoned building or forgotten subway station. Just? The MOST bedraggled, feral genius to ever haunt Japan.
As opposed to the REFINED feral genius. Who is Nedzu.
I bet Danny stands outside his school at one AM waving his scientific papers at a camera and YELLS. Like a deranged lunatic. Mismatched slippers and a "haven't slept in a week" crazed glint in his eyes.
He's Nedzu's new best friend. They GET each other.
And, yes, Nedzu COULD let him in... but it's faster to just let him yell and read the papers through the camera. Who CARES if they both seem insane! Let's shout about advanced physics and engineering at 1 am! Over the speakers!!! Oh? You need to physically SHOW me the notes? Well I COULD unlock the gates... OR just wait for you to finish scrambling up the walls like a feral Racoon, to then throw yourself OVER them.
Either, Or.
I'm just SAYING! We are SLEEPING on this! There is so, SO much fun to be had! Danny breaks rules and minds! His outrage over injustice and the complete lack of SPACE! His protection instincts going BUCK FUCKIN WILD. The INDESCRIBABLE hate boner he would have for Mr. "Lemme just rip parts of your soul out so I can collect your powers like pokemon cards" AfO.
There? Is SO MUCH, guys. SO MUCH!
@hdgnj @the-witchhunter @babbling-babull @hypewinter @nerdpoe @lolottes @dcxdpdabbles @mutable-manifestation
#dpxdc#dc x dp prompt#danny phantom#dpxbnha#dp x bnha#dp x mha#dpxmha#minji's writing#dp prompt#dp x bnha prompt
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NOW PLAYING…. FANTASIZE
I know what you fantasize about
TAKUMA INO x SUCCUBUS! READER.
sum: ino, desperate to feel the touch of a woman, seeks out alternative options. which includes, summoning a demon into his house.
cw: ooc characters, modern au (no cursed techniques), lowkey loser ino (i love him), virgin!ino, switch (both of you), handjob, blowjob, cowgirl, praise, pussy-drunk ino, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, pet names (on both sides), demons, demon rituals, angst if you squint, porn no plot, chubby reader, gojo is a bit of a dick, etc.
it was so funny looking up rituals for summoning a succubus, i know the person watching my phone activity is concerned. also, does this count for kinktober? idk i’m new around here. but i got this idea while working so…:) hope you enjoy. unedited, please excuse typos & grammar mistakes.
Takuma Ino was having a bit of dilemma. It wasn’t anything serious like a sickness or losing his home, rather— it was actually quite silly.
He has never, in his twenty-one years of living, made love to a woman. Or anyone for that matter.
Now he’s been on dates before. Has flirted with woman, hell; even kissed a few. But, it never went farther then that. He wasn’t sure why, it ate him up inside that he didn’t have such experience like his seniors Gojo and Geto, even Nanami. And as much as he’d like to find the root of the problem, Ino refused to ask any of them for some perspective.
The thought alone made him want to curl into a ball and die.
But him being inexperienced wasn’t a secret, given Satoru teased him on it constantly. Much to the younger man’s dismay.
Things really took a turn one night, however, when Gojo said something a little off-putting.
At this point, you should just summon a succubus.
The statement was quickly overshadowed by Geto stating the white-haired male was being rude, along with Nanami agreeing. But in that moment, Takuma Ino wasn’t focused on Gojo’s lack of manners, rather; his mind swarmed with that idea.
Was it possible? Were such creatures real? Could he really summon one?
Ino was desperate. He felt something was lacking inside of him having no experience and all. So, just the thought of a solution like this.. well, it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?
Which brings him to tonight, the man seated crisscrossed on his bedroom floor; staring down at the pentagram and candles in the middle of the room. He had spent hours before searching the web for summons, deciding on a relatively easy one. Drawing the pentagram took much more time then he wanted it to, along with placing the candles down. It was currently dark out, the moon shining into his already lit bedroom.
Ino pursed his lips, a bout of anxiety developing in the pit of his stomach. What if, he messed it up somehow? The thought of dealing with something worse then a succubus scared him much more than never having sex. However, another thought plagued him..
What if it didn’t work? Was it really worth wasting time on some stupid comment Gojo made?
It took a moment for Ino to decide his next choice of action, leaning on his crossed legs as an exasperated sigh escaped him. Moments of silence passed before he rose up, a small fuck it, escaping him. Leaning against his bed, the man glanced at his phone, reading through the remaining steps quickly.
“Okay, blood.. then chant.” Ino gulped softly. Settling his phone back beside him, he reached for the pocket knife off to the side. Flipping it open, he placed the blade against his palm, squeezing the handle of the small weapon. His breathing got heavy for a moment, bottom lip caught between his teeth— glaring down at his hand. Quickly, Takuma slid the blade across his skin, a sharp hissing escaping him once the wound started to sting. He watched as scarlet red blood slowly bubbled from the cut, breath hitching as the sight.
Ino breathed, lifting his hand over the pentagram and rose petals in the middle; watching droplets of blood slowly fall from his hand, into the pile. His lips moved, softly chanting the spell he had found on the internet, dark eyes glaring at the ritual.
The chant escaped his mouth five more times before he stopped, resting their silently for a moment. Waiting for.. anything, really. A signal, a sign the ritual had worked. That his desperation wasn’t all for not..
That he hadn’t cut his palm for some odd fantasy.
Unfortunately, nothing happened. Nothing, except for the sting of his hand and the one of his dignity. He was such an idiot— taking Gojo’s word at face value instead of as a joke.
Takuma Ino, felt pathetic.
Silently, he pulled his hand back, ignoring the sting of it as he began to collected the dirtied petals. He moved to blow out the candles next, collecting them as well to throw away. Once that was completely he exited his bedroom to his bathroom, coming back with a wet rag shortly after to rub away the pentagram.
Still silent, still completely mad at himself.
That was about five hours ago, Takuma deciding to push the event to the back of his mind and sleep. He couldn’t dwell over his stupidity for too long, he had work in the morning.
Curled up under his blankets, the man slept soundly, face pressed into his pillow. The room was quiet, atmosphere soft, his legs, heavy… heavy. Why were his legs so heavy? The half-asleep man turned, pulling his blankets a bit, thinking it was simply that.
But, no. Ino quickly realized it wasn’t that. Sleep was slowly drifting away, annoyance traveling into his body. Did he accidentally place something on his bed? Did something fall? Such question entered his mind, blinking away sleep as he turned— shutting his bedside lamp on.
Takuma Ino blinked slowly, eyes peering down at.. something, someone. A woman. She was, pretty. Cloaked in warm mocha skin, a form figure will full hips and curves; pudge pushed against the blankets underneath her. Her hair was neat, styled in long braids that rested in curly ends just below her ass.
And from what Takuma could see, she was completely bare.
“Wh—what..” The man stuttered under his breath, slowly pulling his legs from under her body, backing to the headboard of his bed. Biting the inside of his cheek, he reached over, planting a hand onto her shoulder. “Hey.. uh— miss?” He spoke, watching her stir just a bit. To his horror she turned from laying on her stomach, Ino quickly tossing his blanket in her direction. “Miss— its time to wake up!” Ino spoke again, voice holding much more urgency then it did before.
You slowly stirred from your sleep, blinking and yawning softly. You tilted your head to spot Ino already staring at you, a look of shock and nervousness painting his features. You only smiled, turning once again to rise up on your hands. “Hi..”
Ino gulped the moment your voice hit his ears, range a sickeningly sweet tone, soft; traveling into his mind so easily. He bit his cheek, clenching his pants in his hands. “How did you..get in here? Are you lost?”
You blinked at him for a moment, coming to sit comfortably on the bed, nearly smiling at the way he refused to look at you. Or rather, your body. “I’m not lost.. you summoned me here, right?”
As the words left your mouth, his breath hitched; eyes widening in shock. The ritual, actually worked? He had really summoned one, a succubus? There was no way, this had to be a prank.
“You look human.”
“I look how you want me to look..” You spoke softly, leaning back, sliding your hands down your body. “Or rather, your type.” You grinned, watching a warm red spread across his cheeks. You leaned, crawling up to him until you were far too close for comfort; watching as he sunk into the headboard to gain some space. “But, would you like me to change? Is there something else you wish to see?”
Ino breathed heavily, eyes finally falling from your face and to your body; trained on your soft plump breasts, your thighs, your hips.. everything was just so, perfect. Change? Such a thought would never pass his mind.
His trance was interrupted the moment a pretty giggle escaped you, his entire body stilling the moment your hand rested upon his lower stomach. You pushed up until your mouth was against his ear, speaking lowly;
“Looks like your body answer the question for you..” He hissed softly as your hand breached his black tshirt, gliding your fingers along his vline. You were so close, yet so far from he really wanted you to touch him; his head leaning back as you continued to rub gentle circles into his skin.
“Please..”
“Hm?” You feigned innocence, pulling back to glance at his face. His eyebrows were pinched a little close, eyes closed as he gently bit his lips. The sight was very pretty, you had to admit. “You want me to touch you more?”
“Yes—“ Ino spoke far too quickly, raising his head to look at you. His cheeks were flushed with red, embarrassed out of his mind— but he didn’t care. Not one bit. “Please.. please touch me more.”
Your glossed lips curled into a small smile, leaning over so you two were only a breath’s away. “You’re so cute, Ino.” You spoke softly, closing the gap to capture his lips. Slowly, you two enjoyed the other’s mouth, pressing your body against his own. You felt his hand twitched with uncertainty, slowly lifting to gently grasp your waist. You smiled against his lips, gently biting them in response. The moment a soft gasp escaped him, your tongue intruded his mouth, while your hand.. reached into his pants.
His fingers gripped your bare skin as your own traced his shaft, feeling him slowly harden under your touch. You wrapped your hand around his cock, slowly pulling him out of his pants and boxers. The man groaned softly as your thumb traced his tip, feeling precum slowly drip from the slit. You pulled back, cooing at the sight of his strained face. How cute..
You leaned over, lips pressed against his neck as you began to drag your hand up and down his shaft, slowly, watching him twitch with each glide across his sensitive tip. You sucked a kiss into his skin, switching around to kiss against his throat; relishing at the gulp you felt under your lips. Your hand quickened around his cock; focusing around his tip, grinning at the way his hips rose up into your hand.
“So cute..” You murmured to yourself, watching him carefully. He felt so sensitive from your touch, gasping out; soft groans escaping him every so often. The hand on your hip was bruising by now, fingertips digging into your skin, holding on for leverage. He’s never felt anything like this; your hand completely differently from his own. You played like him as if you knew his own body more than he did, grazing across secret places he’s never known about.
“O—oh, fuck..”
“You’re close, handsome?” You questioned softly, eyelids lowered as you hand got even faster. The man was bucking up into your hand at this point, fucking it, chasing his release. One he reached easily, lips parted as a husky, prolonged moan escaped his throat. You hummed softly as his warm release coated your fingers, glancing down as your hand slowly came to a stop. You tilted your head with a little simper, traveling down the bed. “You made a mess of yourself, Ino.”
Your voice brought him down from his high, blinking tiredly over at you. To his horror, you were leaning down towards his cock; the man gasping the moment your lips brushed his tip. “F—fuck..” He whined softly, gripping the blanket under him, a stuttered groan escaping him as your tongue traveled up his shaft, collecting his cum. “‘M too sensitive, please—“
Ino’s own pornographic groan interrupted his words the moment you took him into his mouth, eyes rolling back at your warm cavern. He could only lay there, overstimulated whines escaping him as you took him deeper into your mouth, tongue gliding across his cock; allowing his tip to hit the back of your throat.
You bobbed up and down his length, eyes closed and focused on your breath. Your hands resting on his thighs, feeling the muscles shake and clench with each movement of your head. It didn’t take long for the poor man to come again, his voice much louder than before; painting your mouth and throat white. Your moaned around his cock, slowly sucking him dry, feeling his hand press against your shoulder— gasping from the sensitivity. You pulled back slowly, swallowing the rest of his release, eyes peering over at him.
You warmed as his hand traveled to your face, feeling his thumb gently wipe away your mouth. You leaned into his palm, “Did that feel good, Ino?” You questioned sweetly, watching the man nod rather quickly; still breathless. You gently kissed his palm — right above his wound —, slowly traveling up his body, settling on his torso. His hands found your ass, gently caressing the warm skin— clenching when you pressed against his chest lightly.
“You want more, don’t you?” You spoke softly, leaning closely. Your noses brushed, moving in as if to kiss him, only to back away the moment you saw his eyes fluttered. His hand clenched your ass, a small chuckle exiting you as a result. “Use your words..”
Ino breathed sure his cheeks and ears were terribly red. He never imagined his first time would go like this, but, he wasn’t complaining. He glanced into your eyes, “Please.. I—I want to feel you.” He spoke, watching as you moaned softly at his words. He felt accomplished the moment you rose your body, scooting down a bit to hover above his crotch.
Your hand collected his cock, breathing slowly as you lined it up with your entrance. Pressing your knees into the bed, you slowly lowered yourself on his length; feeling his hands grasp your thighs the moment they began to shake. You moaned as he stretched you, velvety walls clenching the deeper he went. Soon, you settled into his lap, pressing your hands against his stomach to still yourself.
“Ar—are you okay?” You glanced up to spot the tinge of worry in his eyes, your cheeks warming at this. You leaned over, kissing his chin.
“Of course.”
Digging your knees into his soft blankets, you rose yourself up until only his tip remained inside— dropping down in one swift motion. The action caused the both of you to moan, his hands clenching your skin; resting his head on his pillows. You hands pressed against his stomach, fucking yourself on his cock; pretty moans escaping your swollen lips.
Ino was holding you so tightly at this point, allowing you to do anything you wanted; trapped under the pleasure you were giving him. Your plush walls clenching him, your hot skin pressed against his own— it was all so much, but he loved every piece. Hazy eyes slowly focused on you, watching work yourself up and down his length, how erotic your expression was.
“Look.. fuck— You’re so pretty.” Ino gasped out, hands traveling to your waist, slowly meeting your thrusts. His hips circled, watching you clench his shirt, pretty babbles of his name escaping you. He wanted to see more of it, needed to. You were far too much, yet he craved it.
A surprised whine escaped you the moment he began to fuck up into you, his feet flat on his bed, holding you tightly on his cock so you could do nothing but take it. The sound of skin on skin contact entered the room, your jumbled noises of pleasure surrounding the space too. Your bodies moved against each other, desperate for release— for the other’s as well.
Repeated fucks escaped you, leaning over to wrap your arms around his neck as he rose his hips more; reaching even deeper inside your messy cunt. You held onto him tightly, eyes pinched close as your nails dug into his covered skin. “F—fuck, so close, so close— Ino!”
His breathing was ragged, face stuffed into your neck as he felt his hips began to stutter. “Me.. me too, fuck— can i come inside? Wanna.. fill you up, oh fuck!” Ino’s voice came out in harsh whimpers, thrusts turning desperate, slamming into you as his mind grew cloudy. In the midst he heard your soft pleas for his cum, your pretty whines enough for him— pushing him over the edge. Spilling into your, fucking his seed into you; stuffing you full.
You gasped, eyes rolling back as you came as well; wet walls clenching, milking him of all he’s worth. The two of you panted heavily, his hips slowly falling to the bed as his arms wrapped around your middle. Your fingers curled into his hair, eyes closed as you simply laid on him.
“… Are you leaving now?” His tone was soft, voice scratchy from its previous abuse. You smiled at his words, shaking your head. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”
To your surprise his arms wrapped tighter around your waist, pulling you flush against his body.
“Good.”
#mani writes ━━ ★#mechahrt#mdni#jjk smut#jjk x poc!reader#takuma ino#takuma ino x reader#takuma ino x black!reader#black!reader#fem!reader#x reader#chubby!reader
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bitter
dunno what brought this on but reader has good taste;P also let's pretend that lyla is team reader x miguel for plot reasons
word count: 2.3k
WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, MDNI, f!reader, ex!miguel, aged up bf!hobie<3, miguel has some v descriptive sexual thoughts about you (p in v sex, f!receiving oral), swearing, jealousy, ANGSTTT
English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any misspells, errors or grammatically incorrect sentences.
Miguel often thinks about how he ended up giving in to his desires and starting a situationship with you, how he regrets it when he can tell how you've fallen for him. How your eyes crinkle when you smile at him, looking at him like he hung the moon. He regrets it because that's how he looks at you as well.
Why’d you have to ask him on that stupid date?
“That’d be unprofessional.” is what Miguel had said in reply. Because it was the truth. You were only fucking, nothing more.
You’d scoffed, “Oh come on, Miguel, we’re not office workers. Surely we can go out together?”
“What, fucking me ain’t enough for you?”
You'd huffed, your expression dull, shaking your head in disbelief, “No, actually, it isn’t. I genuinely like you, is that so bad?”
Miguel had ignored the flip his stomach did at your confession “You know why we can’t, now drop it.”
“No, I want you to tell me why.”
“It’s not in the canon” He cringes every time he remembers what he’d said, but it doesn’t change the fact that he was right. He was, but fuck, how he wanted to be wrong. He so desperately wanted it to be him that you were meant to fall in love with, him you were meant to build a life together.
“Fuck the canon.” had been your reply, before you turned to walk away and he'd made no move to follow you.
He'd failed to ignore Lyla when she'd whistled, “That was painful even for me,”
“Jesus- can you not?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, can't interrupt your brooding time. I'm just saying. You prevented the woman of your dreams from falling in love with you, because she's meant to fall for someone else? But that's stupid- Your heart literally jumps when you see her-”
“Lyla I swear to God, if you don't stop talking-”
And now, as he stands in front of your house months later, waiting for you to answer the door, Miguel found himself to be annoyed. Annoyed that he hadn't gotten your mission report on time, and had to come and fetch it for himself.
Some sick, twisted part of his brain wanted you to have forgotten it on purpose, and ignored his calls in order for him to come over, maybe reconcile- fuck your brains out till you're begging him to take you back, even if it meant putting your feelings aside.
“She better be home,” Miguel hisses to himself, his hand massaging his temples, and he doesn't even flinch when Lyla shows up out of nowhere “Oh, she is. The thermal scan picks her up, see? Wait who’s-”
Miguel was thankful for the interruption, but what he saw when you opened the door was not at all what he expected, or was even prepared for.
You were practically naked, an oversized t-shirt covering your body, stopping just under your ass and- Jesus Christ were those thigh highs? Yes they were, pretty ones, too. They were sheer white tights, that ended just in the middle of your plush thighs, the material hugging your legs beautifully, the very top of them decorated with a lace material, giving them a sexy twist.
God, he'd get on his knees right here and now if you just asked-Miguel licked his lips and cleared his throat, quickly averting his gaze, praying that he doesn't appear flustered.
“Miguel! Are you okay? Is something wrong? Hey Lyla-” you seem out of breath as you talk, clearly not bothered by your lack of clothing in front of him. Lyla offers you a bright hello and wave, one you softly smile at.
No, he's not fucking okay.
“I'm great.” he hisses, but really he was trying to convince himself of it. You study him for a bit longer before humming, not believing him for a moment.
“I need the report from the mission that you were sent to do yesterday. The one you forgot to send me.” Miguel inhales sharply and stands taller, trying to hide the fact that your presence damages his brain functionality severely, by trying to look more intimidating.
Memories of last night flash in your mind suddenly, being pressed against your bookshelf, the furniture rattling loudly, books almost toppling to the floor, but you didn’t have the heart in you to care. Not when he was grinding up at you, hand under your thigh to keep you upright as you moaned against his mouth crossing your legs around his waist and bringing him closer, the sound of your watch beeping pulling you out of your trance, “Fuck, wait. T-the reports-”
He undid your watch expertly with one hand, and you gasped trying to snatch it from his grasp, but he held it up above your head, placing it on top of your bookshelf carelessly, before grabbing the top shelf to brace himself and grind himself harder against you, moaning under his breath, “Fuck ‘em.”
Your eyes widen comically, and you sputter, “Right! Shit- fuck. I'm sorry, umm, wait here.” and you slam the door right in his face. Miguel's eyebrow twitches.
There's shuffling from inside before Miguel realizes that you're talking to someone-
“Can you go in five minutes? Please?”
“Nah, ‘m afraid I need to go right now, love. Got things to do, places to be.”
“Can't you open up a portal here?”
“When there’s a perfectly usable front door? I don’ think so,” “C’mon pretty.. what are y’so afraid of?”
“He’s our boss.”
“He’s your ex. Now, if you’re ashamed to be seen with me, I get it-”
“No! Baby, no. I just don’t want to rub it in his face, don't want him to think that I am either,”
“But that’s so boring. Let’s make ‘im suffer, you’ll thank me later-”
“Hob-”
The door opens suddenly and Miguel could act surprised, could act like he’s been waiting for quite a while not knowing what’s going on inside, but he doesn’t.
Not when he’s face to face with Hobie. Not when he obviously knows how good Miguel’s hearing is, how he could definitely hear every word that was spoken, not when you’d tried to be nice- tried to whisper and be subtle, not when Hobie blatantly did the opposite out of spite.
So he just stares ahead with a blank face, as Hobie leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest lazily. There’s a hickey on his neck and Miguel feels like he might throw up.
And somehow, Miguel still thinks that this is all some sick joke, a prank, a dream. Anything to explain what he's seeing. Because there’s no way you're dating Hobie. There’s no way you fucked Hobie fucking Brown- the single most annoying person in Miguel’s life (after peter, of course). And after what, only eight months after you stopped seeing him? That's how long it took for you to get over him? He can almost hear Lyla laughing in his head, 'You're just bitter that you're not over her yet'
Hobie smirks at him “Hello mate, long time no see.”
Miguel at least has the human decency to offer him a curt nod, which Hobie apparently finds hilarious as he huffs out a laugh, “'S alright if I send my report later, right? I'm kind of exhausted right now, did a lot of runnin' yesterday, y'know,”
Lyla visibly winces and disappears a second later.
Running. Miguel needed breathing exercises and he needed them now-
Miguel's eyes snapped to yours. Were you just gonna let Hobie talk all that shit, without saying anything? (Knowing Hobie's life was in imminent danger?) Apparently so, because you just scoffed and rolled your eyes with a smile on your face. What a great couple you two made.
He refused to believe that this is who you chose, refused to acknowledge that his anger was pointed at himself and not you. He’d never, ever, admit it, not even at gunpoint, but Hobie was a good kid, he’d treat you right and that's what pissed him off the most.
“Fuck the canon.” Hobie would have laughed and nodded in agreement at your words, not Miguel though. Miguel had said nothing and it had cost him his future with you.
Sensing that Miguel wouldn’t reply anytime soon, Hobie just shrugged nonchalantly, “Thanks for understanding, boss.”
Miguel felt like he could hear his own veins pulsing. Boss, he'd called him boss. That little-
Turning to you, Hobie throws a hand around your waist and squeezes you against him, pressing a kiss on your cheek “I'll see you later love, don' forget to put some ice on that, yeah?” he lays a slap on your ass that makes you almost tumble forward, and Hobie's smirk widens when he sees Miguel ball his fists at his sides, nostrils flaring. Hobie throws a wink at Miguel before squeezing through him to walk out, seeing as Miguel didn't make any attempt to get out of the way.
Miguel doesn't turn to see him open up a portal to leave, he's too busy looking at the way the multi-colored lights illuminate your face, how you grin and wave shyly at your boyfriend.
“So sorry about him.. d'you wanna come in?” you ask, shifting from one leg to another once the portal disappears. Miguel just stares at you, eyes hooded, mouth pressed in a tight line.
“Ookay, I’ll just go get the- yeah” you trail off and turn to walk deeper into your apartment, and Miguel hates himself for craning his neck to catch a glimpse of your ass. And then hates himself even more when he thinks about how smug Hobie would be if he knew Miguel was checking out his girl. He'd say some dumb shit like "Wanting somethin' you can't have again, boss?"
Meanwhile, you're standing on your tippy-toes in front of your infamous bookshelf, arm outstretched, trying to grab your watch but to no use, cursing Hobie in your mind for putting it so high up. You had no idea that by trying to get your stupid watch, you were giving Miguel the perfect view of your backside, seeing as your shirt rode up each time you stretched out your arm.
No, fuck that. You knew exactly what you were doing, and Hobie was right. Let him suffer. He chose this, so now he can deal with the consequences.
Miguel wanted to give everything up right then and there. It's funny how quickly you could strip him of his morals, and he just wishes he could have done that before realizing he'd lost you forever. He could picture his future in his mind so clearly, if only he'd just said yes to your question.
“Will you go out with me?"
He’d resign, move out some place nice, next to a beach preferably. Spend his days laying on the sand and drinking piña coladas with no care in the world.
Except you’d be there. Straddling his lap to steal his drink, giggling and laughing when he tried to take it back from you. He’d grab your hips and with a swift motion you'd switch places, your back against the hot sand. The drink would spill from the movement, the liquid falling over your bikini covered tits, and you’d gasp oh-so prettily when he’d bend to lick it all up.
You’d moan even sweeter when he’d move lower, when he’d eat you out till you’re a crying, babbling mess, whining that you can’t take it anymore. Oh, but you could. You would take it, and he’d prove it when he’d later fuck you against the pool, and he’d make sure he fucked you good. Your mewls would be panted against his ear as he’d thrust into you relentlessly, your fingers digging into his wet back, and all he’d taste would be your pretty moans and the faint taste of rum against his tongue.
His cheeks would hurt from how hard he'd be grinning as he stared at you when you both would go for a walk by the beach later. He'd jog up to you, springing you in his arms, nuzzling his head against your hair- your distinctive smell fogging up his brain- your laughter mixing together, as you chased each other through the waves.
When you'd had enough, and stood panting, your -now wet- dress clinging to you like second skin, he'd drop to his knee, pulling out a ring from his pocket, one he was anxious not to drop when he was chasing you around, and you'd gape at him, tears already welling up in your eyes.
You would have said yes that night. In fact, the word would have been repeated against his shoulder as he fucked you later, rolling his hips into you slowly, kissing your pretty tears, holding you, loving you–
“Done! I just sent it–,” you could have sworn you and Miguel shivered at the same time when he blinked down at you, his mouth parted. His eyes were glistening all of a sudden, and it made your whole being fill with a sense of longing and dread.
“Lyla?” you swallowed harshly at Miguel's hoarse tone, gnawing at your lip as you avoided his gaze.
It was as if Lyla knew not to fuck with him either, because she didn't even make him beg for it, instead pulling up a hologram that showed the report, “Yup, got it!”
You cleared your throat, eager to get back into bed and forget the look on his face just now, suddenly feeling nostalgic for a memory you couldn't quite place- “I'm sorry that I forgot, it won’t happen again, promise.”
Yes it will.
“See you back at HQ?”
Miguel hums, not saying anything, not even caring to correct you, because he’d sooner see you in his dreams than at headquarters.
2023 © l13 | Do not steal, copy, edit, translate or re-post any of my works.
#•ूᡣ𐭩 — hobie#•ूᡣ𐭩 — miguel#miguel ohara x reader#miguel x reader#hobie brown x reader#spiderpunk x reader
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Quick notes on Netflix's Avatar: The Last Airbender Live Action (No spoilers)
Watering down of character traits, leaves them strangers to the audience
Characters speak with each other too much yet say too little.
Speaking so much but showing too little
Making good characters be "flawed" for no reason
The main plot of the OG show/season - to learn how to bend the elements, takes a backseat for some reason.
In fear of being problematic and in ambition to seem progressive, they made changes that simply make the story seem lacking and dishonest. It feels so forced.
Cast: Weird age gap between Aang and Katara's actors, knowing what happens later in the original. Ian Ousley might not even be Native. Gordon Cormier suffers from child actor tone of line delivery (not bashing a child, I'm sure he'll grow out of it but for now it's a bit annoying bc I'm so aware that it's an actor saying lines)
TOO DARK. More light and saturation, pleasee
The CGI was good, The sets look reallllyyy cool, I wanna go there. And the costumes are well designed even if they look too new, right off the rack.
Yue's wig was so awful it deserves a separate point.
Can we please let characters have emotions and actually deal with them?
Sometime plain illogical changes or plot from the writers
I can give full spoiler examples for all of the points, I just wanted to make this short. Just say a word and I'll rant
#atla#netflix atla#netflix#avatar: the last airbender#avatar the last airbender live action#avatar the last airbender#A:TLA#a:tla live action#avatar the last airbender netflix#atla live action#soulsintheashes
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Take Out for Dummies - Part 2
Ship: Dead on Main
Previous | Masterpost
Note: So I was planning on sitting on this until I was about done with part 3, but then @yeetyeetedyote, who tumblr doesn't allow me to tag, did a meme for part 1 and I couldn't help but post it. So hope you enjoy.
Jason did not know what to wear. It was Red Hood who had a date, but going in his full uniform seemed very excessive somehow. But there was also no way he was going unarmed. He pondered his closet with a frown. What clothing did he even own that were suitable for a date? He’d never had to ponder this before. What level of formality was expected? Probably not formal, considering there would be no dinner. Also he was Red Hood, there was no way he’d do formal, he had an aesthetic.
He finally settled on jeans, a red henley and the brown leather jacket he used as Red Hood. He held up the jacket and inspected it critically for blood spatters, that at least he felt certain wasn’t appropriate.
One hour later saw Red Hood rolling up to the curb in front of the building. Only one person was leaning against the brick wall there, absorbed in their phone; it had to be Danny. The rest of the people there were just walking past. It was Crime Alley, Red Hood barely got a glance of interest. Gotta love Gothamites.
Jason had not been able to really get good visual on Danny in the dark, aside from the fact that he was rather short and had dark hair, the night vision in his helmet could only do so much. He had not been prepared for how he looked up and the wide blue eyes crinkled as he smiled. Nor the way the button down shirt and the jeans hugged close to broad shoulders and slim waist in a way the hoodie he’d worn previously had clearly not.
Somehow in all his musings about how this would go Jason had never considered the possibility that Danny would be hot.
“Hi,” Danny said still smiling as he came up to him. He raised his arms out from his sides a bit helplessly before letting them fall back. “So how do you want me?”
Jason’s brain screeched to a halt as those words brought a decidedly not appropriate image to his head. He was so glad he was wearing his helmet right now. Jason must have stiffened or given away his embarrassment some other way, because Danny’s cheeks flushed as he too realized how his question could have been understood.
“I meant on your bike.”Jason hunched over, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter. Because that was not helping at all.
Wordlessly Jason held out the extra helmet. Danny took it gratefully and stuffed it over his red face.
“Front.” Jason said over the radio connection between the helmets.
Jason had to give Danny a hand to get him situated in front. He had to hold on near the center of handlebars and he didn’t really have good place to place his feet and had to hold them curled up.
It was neither safe nor legal, but Jason was not about to have a potential assassin at his back and besides who was gonna arrest Red Hood for traffic violations? The small hitched gasp when Jason curled around Danny’s back to reach the handlebars had his lips quirking up, and he might have pressed him just a bit further forward just for that.
“Where to?”
“Sommerset.”Jason raised an eyebrow at that as he kicked off the curb. Carefully, as he got a feeling for the different weight distribution, he drove them in the direction of the Trigate Bridge.
“If a tour of Old Arkham is your idea of a date, I think I’m gonna have to shoot you.”
Danny scoffed.
“I promised you fun, didn’t I?”
At Jason’s lack of response, he slumped further.
“There’s a traveling carnival on the fair grounds at the edge of town.”
“Huh.” Jason was trying to think of a time he’d actually visited a carnival as a visitor and not a vigilante to stop some villain plot. He was coming up short. There was a feeling in his chest he had a hard time identifying, an uncertain thing, but it wasn’t bad. If nothing else he was gonna have an experience?
Oo o oO
They parked the bike in the attached gravel parking lot near the fair grounds. Jason had to step off the bike first and then promptly had to catch Danny as his legs refused to carry him when he stepped off the bike.
“Oh wow, my legs fell asleep there.” He laughed and stepped away on wobbly legs as he pulled the helmet off. He handed it to Jason who put it into its compartment.
He took another wobbly step forward and Jason couldn’t help the way he reached for him to steady him. Instead Danny grabbed his hand firmly. Jason was baffled at the action looking from Danny to their hands, uncertain how to react, but Danny just smiled and changed his hold so their fingers were twined together.
He looked mightily satisfied about it too as he tugged Jason forward toward the fair grounds. A fair bit of the rides were visible because of their heights and Jason could easily imagine how the place would light up with multicolored lights once evening came.
Once they entered the fair grounds they drew quite a lot of attention. Lots of people stopped and pointed at Red Hood and his companion. Phones were pointed in their direction and Jason found himself tensing.
Danny leaned closer and spoke lowly, “Don’t worry, nobody will believe them. Regular digital cameras are odd around me, so they won’t get usable footage.”
Jason’s mind raced, what did that mean? Did he have some sort of jammer? Was it a meta ability? Was it related to his ability to sneak up on vigilantes on Gotham rooftops?
“And,” Danny continued, “if anyone asks, we can always say you’re a cosplayer.”
Jason grimaced. Danny slapped his chest as if he could see right through the mask.
“Hey! Cosplay is a great creative hobby.”
“That’s not- I’m a former crime lord. I don’t understand why anyone would dress up as me.”
“Pffft, don’t sell yourself short. Also you have a cool recognizable thing going on with the helmet. It will be especially funny if someone critiques it for not being accurate.”
Jason couldn’t help his chuckle at how gleeful Danny looked at the prospect.
“This is the real reason you want me to claim I’m cosplaying?”
“It would be so funny, admit it!”
Jason huffed. It would be pretty funny.
“Ha! I’ll take that as a yes. Okay, time to show off some of those shooting skills and win me a plushie.” With that statement Danny pointed towards a game booth with truly ridiculously large unicorn plushies hanging from it and tugged Jason forward. It was only at that moment he remembered they were still holding hands. It was…
It was nice.
Danny glanced back at him and he was smiling, warm and excited. Jason didn’t remember the last time someone had smiled that much at him. Jason found himself smiling back, and he was suddenly grateful he couldn’t be seen behind the helmet.
The shooting booth operator eyed Red Hood warily until Danny broke the tension in a voice that carried, “my friend’s cosplay is pretty awesome right?”
The operator’s shoulders fell and he chuckled, “pretty brave of him to wear that this close to Gotham proper.”
“Sure is! But not to worry if there’s any trouble I will protect him,” Danny said seriously, with a glance and a wink at Jason.
The man took in Danny’s skinny and less than imposing appearance and burst out laughing, and just like that any remaining tension was gone.
The operator explained the game. There were different tiers with bottles lined up on shelves and flat rings of different widths balancing on top. You got points if you knocked the ring down over the bottle neck. The slimmer rings offered more points.
It was a pretty simple game.
Danny put down cash for the game and looked at Jason expectantly. “Show us some of that Red Hood skill.”
The operator chuckled. Jason rolled his eyes and stepped up.
Immediately, as he picked up the air gun it felt clunky in his hand. It was sharp-edged where it should be smooth and was weighted all wrong especially with the pressure cable attached to it, but that was not going to stop him. He loaded it with one of the five cork stoppers the operator handed him. He seemed to be enjoying Danny’s teasing as much as Danny himself.
Out the corner of his vision he saw Danny lean forward expectantly as he took aim.
He pulled the trigger.
The cork stopper was ejected with a loud pop and promptly hit the edge of a shelf bouncing backwards to land on the floor where it rolled around three times before stopping.
Danny looked at him wide eyed before bursting out in helpless snickers. Jason shoved him in revenge, but he couldn’t help smiling. There was just something refreshing about how despite knowing he was the real Red Hood he was so completely unafraid of him. Not even his family was that relaxed around him.
He didn’t want to bring his mood down contemplating that, so he reloaded the clunky gun and took aim again. He considered the points on the rings and the available prize tiers. Four shots left, with a bit of luck he could still do decently.
Aiming higher and slightly more to the right of how he would aim a real gun he shot the first maximum point ring down around the bottle neck. Three more fell in rapid succession.
Danny cheered, pumping his fist in the air.
“That’s four hundred points, that gives you the choice of a large prize,” the operator said impressed.
He pointed at a large unicorn plush, it wasn’t quite the extra large ones that hung on the outside of the stall, those required cumulative points from at least two games, but it was still a very decent size.
Danny was the very opposite of disappointed when Jason handed it over. He squished it in his arms and absolutely beamed up at Jason. Jason looked away, embarrassed for feeling so satisfied and warm just for winning a silly game.
The operator snorted giving them a knowing look. “Have a nice evening boys.”
“You too,” Danny replied, sidling up close and entwining their fingers again as he pulled them away and off towards the various rides.
Jason eyed their once more joined hands in bemusement, not really sure what to think, but he’d already allowed it once. It sold the appearance of a date, made it all the more likely to the bystanders that Jason was just some cosplayer with a death wish, so it was smart to keep holding hands. And Jason found himself reluctant to give it up.
It was an easy illusion to give into.
He squeezed Danny’s hands and he turned his head to look at him, smiling like this was a real date and not one of his odd jobs. Jason nodded towards the bumper cars and Danny’s grin turned into feral delight as he dragged him in the new direction. It was so easy to pretend Jason was just here to have fun with a friend who was maybe just a bit more.
That was something he could have had maybe. If he hadn’t been Robin. If he hadn’t died and come back wrong. If he wasn’t a former crime lord just trying to find his footing with a family he wasn’t sure wanted him and not just the dead boy he’d been.
But for just a little while he could pretend.
Until Danny turned out to actually know he was supposed to kill him, until everything crashed and burned like usual, he could allow himself a little fun.
Like ignoring every sign saying the bumper cars were not meant for driving into each other. The bored teen operator certainly didn’t care to uphold that rule. The bumper car ride was a war zone, a giant free for all and yet Jason managed to have only eyes for Danny. He was a tricky driver to catch. Jason had no idea how he managed to maneuver the car like that, it was verging on supernatural.
They were both laughing when they exited their cars after Jason had finally managed to bump into him proper instead of the earlier glancing blows.
“Remind me to call you if I ever need a getaway driver.”
Danny snorted knocking their shoulders together. “Only if I get part of the cut.”
I’ll give you more than a cut, Jason was about to say, but thankfully didn’t. Because what did that even mean? Instead he knocked his shoulder back.
They continued on towards another ride, a small rollercoaster, and as they queued Danny started telling him about how his dad’s driving was so infamous in his hometown that the local news included a segment to warn for it when he was on the roads. Because of that nobody had wanted to give Danny driving lessons and that’s why technically he didn’t have a license, but he’d once landed a space shuttle, so that should count for something. The story verged on so impossible it had to be true, but Jason was sure if a civilian had actually landed a space shuttle it would have been all over the news or at least known among superheroes - it was entertaining nonetheless.
Jason wasn’t sure when they’d started holding hands again only noted the absence when Danny left him by a bench several rides later with stern instructions to protect the princess with his life, aka the unicorn plushie.
The lights had flickered on a while ago and bathed the darkening grounds in multicolored lights. Jason leaned back relaxing against the bench. Taking in the lights and the happy atmosphere as people passed him by. There were a few people who pointed and snickered as they walked by, but clearly the unicorn plushie was just as good as Danny to convince people he was just a guy in a costume.
“It’s a pretty good costume.”
Jason turned his head to find a man with a superman shirt had stopped. He stayed silent waiting for him to elaborate. He obviously wanted to, there was something in his drawl.
“The casual look is pretty well put together while remaining recognizably Red Hood.”
“But-“ somehow there was a but- “if you were actually from Gotham you’d know that the real helmet is matte and the brow section is more slanted giving it an angrier expression.”
Jason stared incredulously at the man in the Superman shirt accusing him of not being a Gothamite. Never mind the helmet thing, that was just ridiculous but accusing him of not being a Gothamite, now that was an insult he wouldn’t be taking. Jason stood up to his full six feet and saw the way the man shrunk as he realized he might have made a mistake.
“There you are, babe,” Danny inserted himself smoothly into the situation snaking an arm around his waist and pressing close. It was distracting. “Come on let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
Jason snorted as he let Danny move them forward. He didn’t need the intervention, he wouldn’t have attacked the man or anything.
He couldn’t help but pull them to a stop however as they passed him.
“Your information is outdated, this is the current helmet.” He spoke lowly and ominously only made more ominous by the voice modulation.
The man eep’ed and scrambled to get away.
They watched him go with no small bit of amusement.
“I thought we agreed to keep it on the down low.”
Jason shrugged, “he asked for it, besides you said it yourself, nobody will believe him.”
“Alright then.” Danny left the place beneath Jason’s arm, he had only a moment to feel bereft however until his hand was grabbed again and pulled in the direction of the parking lot. “Speaking of proof, do you mind me taking a selfie of us so I can prove I took you out?”
Jason frowned. “I thought you said cameras didn’t work around you.”
“They don’t, I’ve had to modify it to be able to take any pictures.”
“You gonna tell me what kind of meta ability you have?”
Danny chuckled. He pulled their joined hands up and pressed a kiss to Jason’s scarred knuckles. Jason was so distracted by the action he almost didn’t hear the, “I like you Hood, but that isn’t a first date conversation.”
There was a pause in their conversation as Jason contemplated the absurd idea of there ever being a second date, the fact that this one was nearly over and how he’d actually had a lot of fun.
“So, selfie?”
“Uh sure.”
Danny juggled the white plastic bag that Jason only noticed now onehanded as he pulled out his phone. It was a broad phone with actual buttons and Jason would believe it was modified alright. Danny smiled and leaned close as he raised his hand, a small flash went off and Danny looked the picture over in satisfaction.
“What’s with the bag?”
“Huh, oh this is food. Our next stop, if you’re still willing, is the ice rink, but I figured we could take a break on the roof and eat back to back or something, what with the whole-” he indicated the helmet by waving a hand in front of his face.
So it wasn’t over yet. Not if Jason wanted to continue. It was an easy out, Jason could just chose to drive Danny to wherever he wanted to be dropped off and he could go home and still make it easily in time for patrol - or he could prolong the evening.
Jason popped open the compartment under the seat of his bike and took the warm bag of food from Danny to put in as he considered. Danny had already put on the extra helmet.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
Jason could practically hear the smile in his voice even if he couldn’t see it through the opaque helmet.
“Okay,” he confirmed.
The small fist pump was kinda adorable.
So first part of the date, it was getting a bit long so I cut it in two, but hey that's the only reason I could even upload it. Jason is in trouble, he's just not quite realizing it yet XD
I enjoy hearing your thoughts on the story, so please continue to share <3
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‧₊˚♫ ⋅* ‧₊✮𝐓𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥✮‧₊˚ ⋅*♫ ˚₊⋅
Tate Langdon x fem!reader
tags: smut with a plot and some fluff.
warnings: obsessive behavior, kind of a switch!Tate, oral (f receiving), dry humping, p in v.
summary: Tate encounters a Tumblr girl. (Inspirated a lot by the song I linked under.)
character count: 12k.
full fic under the cut ↓
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2014.
Tate had never really cared about looking ‘stylish’ or ‘fitting in’ when he was alive. He had his own style, which wasn’t trendy nor one of a kind just…his. He didn’t need anyone else’s approval to believe he was cool, mostly because the girls that were attracted to him were just as fucked up as him and the popular ones tended to ignore him.
Ironical how that changed in his afterlife, once he saw you. After dying, Tate’s time was spent either with the other trapped souls or by himself. Hardly ever people moved in the Murder House, and whether they did, they were a low-budget couple in their 40s. So Tate’s knowledge of the modern outside world was poor and lacking, especially when it came to his ‘peers’. That’s why when you first moved in the house, Tate was stunned, if not flabbergasted even.
You were struggling with carrying your heavy luggage, muttering curses as the wind blew your colorful hair in your eyes. The first word that came in Tate’s mind as he watched you from the front window was “cool.”
He spent the first days of your sojourn watching you from afar, admiring the way you acted. Tate found out the way you styled your outfits in the fashionable way, how you talked to your friends in slangs and how you spent your evenings taking pictures on your polaroid and on a glowing little box, that for some strange reason you called phone, to post (that’s the term you used) on a little blue icon marked with a white t. He didn’t know what was considered popular now, but he was sure you belonged in that category, judging by the way you looked and the way your pictures had high numbers under them whenever you uploaded them. He needed wanted to approach you, and the perfect opportunity showed up when he saw you type on your glowing box:
“PARTY in the MURDER HOUSE tonite!! >_< :33!!”
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The house had never been so full of alive people having fun. The doors were open, colorful lights were shining and high volume music was blasting. Tate tried blending in, although the more he looked around the more he felt…lame. The drunk teens around him were all different from each other, and none of them matched his vibe. And he even wore his favorite sweater!
Still, he had nothing to lose, so he took a deep breath and searched for you in the crowd. Tate made his way past people as they pushed him to the left and to the right. It felt weird to be seen, to be touched. He found you circled by people asking questions about the house. Was it haunted? Were there ghosts? All of which you answered with a simple “No.”.
“Of course there aren’t any ghosts, I’m keeping them away from you.” Tate thought. Since he was too nervous to actually take a few steps and start a conversation with you, he figured he’d get some punch, just to loosen up a bit. He walked towards the punch bowl, and as soon as he reached to grab a cup, his hand met yours. You both grabbed the same solo cup.
“Sorry! You can have it.” You giggled as you let him take the cup. Tate blinked a few times, eyes locked to your bright smile, before grabbing the cup and filling it up. “Be cool, Tate. Don’t mess it up.” He thought.
“Uh. So…this is your party, right?” He gulped, eyes darting around the house as if he didn’t know every single inch of it by heart.
“Yes! Thought it would’ve been fun to host a party in a so-called Murder House. Plus, this house is giant, it gets lonely after some time…You live near here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you.” You smiled.
“Oh…yeah. My name’s Tate. I live nearby.” Tate’s eyes trailed upon your figure, he had never been able to see you from so close. You simply nodded, sipping from your cup. He cleared his throat.
“You know…I used to live in this house.” He added nonchalantly, trying so hard to sound interesting.
“Really?! No way!” Your giggles rang in his ears.
“Mhm. You probably noticed some of my things still laying around in my bedroom. No one has stepped in since I last did.” He nodded.
“Oh, do you wanna see? Maybe there’s something you left that you want back.” You replied, slightly raising your voice so that it could be heard over the music.
“I uh-There’s no need t-” He was interrupted by you grabbing his hand and leading him upstairs anyways. You opened the door of the bedroom and kicked out a couple that was making out on your bed.
“Ugh!! I should’ve locked the door!” You exclaimed, closing the door behind you two. Tate looked around, some of your things were laying around, but it was mostly all his.
“Dude you left everything here!” You giggled. Tate forced out a chuckle, everything was of course still there, since he ‘lived’ there normally and never moved.
“Yeah, uh…Guess I left in a hurry.” He muttered awkwardly and grabbed some of his Nirvana CDs.
“There they were…!” He pretended as if he didn’t just play them everyday before you came.
“CDs? Didn’t you use an IPod or something?” You gave him a confused look.
“Oh uh…no, I prefer CDs.” He nodded, as if he knew what an IPod was.
“You don’t use your phone?” You asked, raising up your glowing box.
“No, I…don’t have one.” He gulped.
“Damn, how do you handle that? I could never live without Tumblr or Instagram.” You chuckled.
“...Yea, um…just not my thing, y’know?” He cleared his throat, trying his best to change the subject.
“Oh, yea. I’ve met some people like that. I envy y’all, y’know? Tumblr’s literally addicting to me. Can’t help it though, love when people comment nice stuff and see you as inspiring, y’know?” You chuckled, sitting down on his your bed.
“Uh…can’t really relate. I’ve always been pretty invisible.” He shrugged.
“Oh…you don’t seem so bad. I like the whole grungy vibe.” You grinned, pointing to his outfit.
“Oh- uh…thank you.” He hoped it was a good thing to be ‘grungy’...or whatever you said.
“Yea, looks good on you. Doesn’t really fit me tho.” You giggled.
“You’d look gorgeous in anything.” Was what Tate wanted to say, but he didn’t wanna push his luck too far, so he just forced a shy chuckle.
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You spent something like 30 minutes just laughing and getting to know each other while laying on the bed. During this whole time, he couldn’t help but think about how breathtaking you were: your smile, your eyes, your body, your personality, your whole being. You were perfect. Perfect for him. He found himself to be completely mesmerized by you, he needed you to be his, he needed you to make him feel loved, alive. He wondered how you did it, how ever since the first second you spent next to him, his heart started beating for the first time since he died. His body felt warm, his skin didn’t feel so cold anymore, he started breathing again. He was addicted to this feeling, so he did the only reasonable thing he would’ve done if he was actually alive, he gently grabbed your cheek and pressed his lips against yours. Everything felt just better after he kissed you, as if after that whole hell he had been through he finally reached paradise. He felt even more surprised when you kissed back, your lips moving in sync with his. He moved to lay on top of you, balancing his weight so he didn’t crush you, his lips never leaving yours as his fingertips danced across your body. His tongue slipped in your mouth, swirling around yours in a passionate dance. He let out some deep throaty groans, he felt his desire grow as it coursed through his veins. He needed to feel you, so he deepened his kisses. When you moved your lips down on his jaw and then his neck, he almost lost it. He felt embarrassed for moaning so much and basically becoming a mess under your touch, but he relaxed as soon as he felt your lips curling up in a smile against his skin. He moved on to devour your neck, grinning as he felt you moan now. His hands gripped every inch of your body.
“You’re so…beautiful…” He mumbled against your skin, grabbing your breasts through the fabric of your shirt. He looked up at you while tugging at your shirt, silently asking for consent to peel it off of you.
“You can take off whatever you want...” You winked, giving him a cute smile. He immediately peeled off both his and your clothes, groaning at the sight of your body. His lips worked hungrily on your collarbone, leaving marks that will most likely turn into hickeys the next day, then placed kisses on the valley between your breasts, a tiny whine leaving him when his fingers failed at desperately trying to undo the clasp of your bra.
You giggled and helped him, throwing your bra somewhere on the floor. He immediately took one of your nipples in his mouth, suckling gently while looking up at you with those brown puppy eyes of his. You smiled and twirled a strand of his blonde locks between your fingers, soft moans escaping your lips. He kept switching between sucking your left then right nipple, his hand groping the one he wasn’t attacking with his mouth. He felt himself getting harder as he felt the warmth radiating from your body, so while his mouth worked wonders, he desperately brushed his growing bulge from under his boxers on your leg. He let out some needy whines, and he couldn’t help but mutter sweet words against your skin as he lowered down to trail kisses on your tummy.
“So perfect f’me…” His words came out muffled as he trailed his kisses down, pressing his lips against your inner thigh and then on the fabric of your panties. You moaned when his fingers hooked under the waistband of your underwear, slowly pulling it down, as his lips immediately worked on your clit.
“Ah…just like that Tate…don’t stop…” You moaned when he started to suckle gently, soft whines leaving his mouth as well. As he got more needy himself, his mouth lowered on your entrance, his tongue gently brushing against your wet folds, finally entering you after teasing you a slight bit. What you felt was pure bliss, unholy sounds leaving your lips every time his tongue sped up. When you looked down, you found Tate looking up at you with those brown doe eyes from between your legs, as he worked his magic. The sight only drove you to the edge, your moans getting louder as you came on his face. He groaned and cleaned you up with his tongue, making sure not to miss any single droplet of your cum.
“So good…you taste so fucking good…” He moaned into your ear, pressing wet kisses on your neck and collarbone.
“Wanna be inside of you…please? please let me…” He whined while rubbing his hard dick against your flesh. You nodded and just like that he didn't waste any more time, he abruptly pulled his boxer down, groaning as the cold air hit his shaft, and lined up with your entrance. While you were still coming down from your high after the intense orgasm, Tate pushed his dick inside of you slowly, moaning uncontrollably once he felt your tight walls clenching around him. You were relieved that this encounter happened when you threw a party, or every single soul nearby would’ve heard the throaty groans and moans leaving his lips.
“Mh…tight…so tight…so pretty-can I move please? I’ll be- ah…I’ll be careful-please-” He whined against your neck, as his blonde strands caressed your face gently. You agreed, and just like that he was thrusting in and out of you, first slowly, then at a steady pace. The room was filled with filthy moans, yours and his, and the repetitive sound of skin against skin, as your sweaty bodies were sliding one against each other. He felt like he was going insane as his mind couldn't help but focus on you and you only. Every moment was more pleasurable and he felt like he was closer and closer, so he muttered in your ear, still thrusting into you.
“Close…so close…don’t think i’m gonna last-ah…longer…please please please…want you to cum too…” He babbled as his brain turned into mush.
“Ah-! Mhm…m’close too…” You breathed out, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten even more.
“Please-mh…cum on my dick? yeah? wanna feel you..please…” He whimpered, he felt like he couldn’t contain his upcoming orgasm. You couldn’t even respond as the repetitive brushing of his tip against your G-spot drove you to the edge. Letting out a loud moan, you came for the second time while he was still inside of you. That caused Tate’s eyes to roll back, his groans only filling the room as the feeling of your cum dripping on his length and your walls squeezing it, was too much to bear. He quickly pulled out and came all over your stomach, then he collapsed next to you.
He spent the next moments cuddling up against you, thinking about everything. His hands were playing with your hair, and when he looked down he found your eyes closed and your breath steady. He smiled at the sight, wanting every night of his afterlife to end like this and determined to make that happen. He kept placing sweet kisses on the top of your head, while he wondered how he was gonna explain to you that he died before Tumblr even existed.
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taglist: @cxndiedvi0lets @angeldollw @doll3tt33 @marchsfreakshow @fear-is-truth @dykejugheadjones @happy74827 @evpeters87 @dont-look-behind @brightanshiny
a/n: rahhhh tate's such a loser needy boy. BTW spent sm time on this fic, I'm pretty proud of how it turned out!! hope you like it! this is for my tumblr girlies🩷
all rights reserved!!
#Spotify#tate langdon#american horror story#ahs murder house#evan peters#ahs fandom#kyle spencer#violet harmon#james patrick march#kai anderson#taissa farmiga#ahs hotel#ahs asylum#ahs coven#ahs freakshow#2014 tumblr#smut#evan peters x reader#tate langdon x reader
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478 drabble: the baby blue couch sex
alternatively, jungkook gifts you a watch and you repay him with something of his choice.
[ 99% smut but of course there’s still plot, oc is the one who’s a little mean this time, 478jk asks to be choked, he says the word mommy one (1) time, they r so in love it’s almost annoying ]
[ 478 masterlist ]
Jungkook’s your cheerleader.
He does what’s given to him with grace and giddiness, sometimes going so far as to do things without actually being asked to. He’s been planning your celebratory party ever since it came out that you were nominated for the Daesang for your role in your latest drama. Without fail, Jungkook’s been praying for your win everyday since then, even if he wasn’t the type to.
Was he completely ambitious (he calls it a feat of manifesting) to start planning your celebratory party even before the award ceremony itself happened? Completely. But was it a far shot for you to win the grand prize? Absolutely not, Jungkook argues. You’ve peeked over his shoulder a week before the ceremony and scolded him for being presumptuous that you’d automatically win, but he only turned the tables and scolded you for being too hard on yourself.
You won last night, and everything felt like a fever dream; from the way you’ve bested all of the veterans you went up against, to the whole public roaring in cheers, to you crying to your palms and Jungkook sobbing even harder than you did. You won the Daesang just last night, and after weeks of preparation and second-guessing himself, your husband throws you a party larger than life tonight.
To be completely loved by everyone in attendance made you feel extremely warm and grateful, the whole night revolving around you just like how Jungkook planned it to be.
“That’s my wife for you!” Jungkook must’ve uttered atleast a thousand times tonight, because as much as he wanted to be glued to your side the whole time, he can’t complain because seeing you getting whisked at every direction with praise had put a permanent grin on your face.
Your husband’s social battery conveniently runs out when the last of your guests leave, unable to recall a time that he’d been more eager for people to stop complimenting the foyer on the way out. He finally breathes a sigh of relief now that the two of you are alone, immediately untucking his polo and undoing the first few buttons of it.
“Finally-…”
“Isn’t it so crazy how we’re still so hyper?” you blurt out at the same time as him, making him blink because he doesn’t exactly know what we were you referring to. He’s not sleepy but it’s clear how you’re the one who’s more energetic between the two of you. “Are you hungry? Do you want takeout? Wait, what if we cook? I think-…”
Jungkook tunes you out, not out of irritation, but out of clear realization that he’s forgotten to give you his present. He finds you adorable when you’re droning either out of sheer excitement or fatigue, but in this light where you’re hit just perfectly in front of him, hands on your waist and silhouette illuminated, Jungkook blanks out.
For a lack of a better method to catch your attention, Jungkook tugs you down to his lap, his abruptness almost making you stumble with your high heels. He doesn’t even look the least bit sorry; in fact, he looks a little nervous.
“Bought you a watch,” Jungkook mumbles, spawning a box from right behind the couch when you weren’t looking. It was the only hiding spot he could think of this morning, albeit a risky one to think there were hundreds of people that have piled in and out of your house tonight.
You’re a little bit perplexed, both from the whiplash and how Jungkook hid it (you’re nosy and it’s physically impossible for him to hide a large Rolex box in his pocket… right?), but you move on as soon as your eyes land on your husband.
He actually looks nervous, his eyes practically glistening when they look up at you with more trepidation the longer that you don’t open his gift.
“Kook, you didn’t have to,” you start, the smile that forms in your face widening when you finally open the package. It’s the Lady-Datejust that stares right back at you, the white gold casing and the pale pink watch face reflecting your awed expression. It’s the same watch that Jungkook stumbled upon in your old Pinterest board before, dating back to the year where you started taking your acting workshops and wanted to take note of all the things you wanted to buy when you make it big.
You did make it big, yet truth be told, you’ve almost entirely forgotten of the things you used to dream of. Your old to-buy lists and manifestation boards come back right to your head with Jungkook’s gift, the memory and sentiment he has for these sorts of things– for you— making you reel back.
“It’s so pretty,” you speak at last, making your husband sigh a breath of relief because he thought you completely hated his gift. You take the timepiece out carefully, looking at Jungkook playfully as you do. “Is this why my debit card was missing the other day?”
Instantly, Jungkook rolls his eyes and shifts suddenly, joking to drop you from his lap as if he’d ever let it happen. He rests his chin on your shoulder as you wear the watch, his large hands running up and down your bare legs.
“Bought it with my own money, silly,” he answers, voice lilting when he presses a kiss to your shoulder. He noses the curve of it up until he reaches your earlobe, the low giggle that erupts from him in faux arrogance making you shudder. “The couch we’re sitting on? My money too.”
“Your money,” you snort suddenly, the mischievous upturn of your lips making him raise his brows in provocation. He’s a little tipsy and with just the tiniest bit of alcohol in him, Jungkook’s filter is nowhere to be found. He makes it known that he’s entirely amused, even when you’re poking fun at him. “From where, baby?”
You already know where Jungkook could’ve possibly gotten the funds to buy you a luxury watch, especially since he worked for a large firm after college and was thrifty (maybe too much, even), but you wouldn’t be surprised if he does surprise you with a different answer entirely.
It just happens that you love playing with Jungkook as much as he loves riding along.
Jungkook chuckles again, squeezing your arms with his hands. He figures that you have goosebumps because the airconditioner you have on works extremely well so he keeps touching you, but unbeknownst to him, its his ministrations in the first place that are making you shudder.
“Well against my dignity, I became Jimin’s virtual assistant. Did the bookkeeping for like, decades worth of records.”
“My Jimin?” you ask in surprise, voice pitching because as much as you expected Jungkook to surprise you, you didn’t think it was to this extent.
He’s unfazed by your reaction for the most part because after all, he did confess to working with your manager behind your back, but what Jungkook really takes offense to is the way you word your shock.
Your husband flicks your forehead as gently yet as pettily as he could, the roll of his eyes coming like clockwork. “What do you mean, my? He’s just your manager.”
You laugh at the brief childish display, not being any better, when you gently pull on his hair. You’re occupied with getting back at him that you don’t notice the hitch in Jungkook’s breath; how his eyes close briefly in bliss.
“Right. Sorry, accounting nerd.”
“This nerd got you a couch and a watch.”
The hum that leaves you is playful in good nature, and if Jungkook didn’t want to ravage you alive at the moment, he would’ve cackled. “That’s cute. I got us a house.”
“Mhmm, yeah you did. Pretty house,” he instantly agrees, closing his arms around your waist before he leans back on the baby blue floor couch and takes you with him. “It’s like you’re my sugar mommy, but we’re in love and we’re married and we’re not only fucking.”
“Greatly put, Kook,” you chuckle, the new position you have making the hiccups of your chest from your laughs reverberate right through Jungkook’s.
He’s still amused with you, the glassy look on his eyes evident not just from the liquor and the banter, but from the pure need in his chest. He zeroes in on your face when you look back at him, the intensity in his stare shutting your laughs up effectively.
He looks you over like it’s the first time he’s ever did this night, the desire in his eyes trumping everyone else’s who had looked at you in wholehearted yearning and jealousy — he figures that everyone knows and should know that you’re taken by him.
Jungkook traces you from your high heels, to your stunning legs, to your pretty face, and finally, to your wrist that bears his gift.
“Thank you for the pretty watch,” you mumble, lost in the way Jungkook’s drinking in your appearance.
“You’re welcome. It’s pretty, isn’t it?” he hums, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. Jungkook’s speaking an afterthought, one that’s the only thing that’s been plaguing his mind recently. “Maybe you should choke me with it on.”
The skip that your heart makes isn’t out of fear, but instead, it’s out of excitement. Your sex life with Jungkook is the furthest thing from boring, of course — it’s just that this is the first time he’s ever pitched the idea to you and you want to kick yourself for not thinking of it sooner.
Against the popular misconception of your closest friends (and even non-close, prying people invested in your life too), it’s actually Jungkook who follows your lead. It’s proven by how he clung to you even from a distance during your break, to how he waits for you to come home from work and adjusts to your schedule, to how he craves your validation, and now, to how he wants you to choke him while wearing his gift on your wrist.
“Yeah? That’s what been in your mind all night?” you lick your lips, the drag of your teeth against them assuring you that this is actually happening and it’s not just a lust-crazed dream.
Jungkook’s mind cannot be any more present than now, the nod that he gives you highlighting his desperation. “Heels too, please,” he mumbles, chest starting to rise rapidly in anticipation.
You squint at the volume he regards you at, the way you tower over him as he’s sitting on the couch making him violently shudder. “What’s that? Don’t mumble if you want something, Jungkook.”
Jungkook snaps out of pent-up neediness, the roll of his eyes unmistakeable. “I said, keep your watch and heels on when you fuck me.” He blinks slowly the more that you keep your face straight at him, realizing his mistake belatedly so he rectifies his request sheepishly. “Please.”
“Could’ve said that without the attitude.”
“My fault,” he tests you purposely, knowing that you hate it when he doesn’t say sorry in verbatim. It’s a way of getting to you and on your nerves that he’s mastered. “You should choke me as punishment.”
As much as you try to feign indifference, an amused smile keeps trying to break out of your lips when Jungkook utilizes your moment of silence to scamper out of his clothes quickly, getting out of them in record time. The temperature the room is in should technically make him shiver, and yet the cold doesn’t get to Jungkook at all when his skin’s already hot just by thinking of you getting your way with him.
He has both arms leaned against the cushions, deceivingly composed when everything that’s just running through his mind involves you left alone in your watch and your heels. You undress in front of him like you’re bored and just want to get it over with, and even if it’s merely a show of your pride, it oddly makes Jungkook want you even more.
“I’ll use you however I want,” you croon, testing the waters that Jungkook’s already drowning himself in. He feels woozy already, the manicured nails with the color he picked out scratching against his chest. You’re perched on his thighs and not on his cock and so he bucks up into nothing, the realization that he’s not the one calling the shots making him hiss.
“Y-you’re right. I’m sorry.”
Jungkook’s docile underneath you, prim and proper even when he’s hard. The tiny nudge you give his chin makes him immediately look up, eyes attentive and pleading.
“It’s okay, baby,” you give in, the gentleness of your tone almost making him forget that he’s not dying for you to ride him already. “Wanna be a good boy for me?”
The question barely manages to come out of your lips fully before Jungkook leaps to kiss you, sloppily and messily. He’s whimpering with his mouth open, brows furrowing in frustration when you take control but it’s just not enough until he fills you up.
He’s noisy now, even more vocal than before. You inch closer to fill the space in between the two of you, and even if you aren’t sitting on his cock just yet, your clit brushes against the underside of Jungkook’s cock and it automatically makes him arch, the choked-out groan that comes from your throat making him whine.
Your pussy throbs at the mere attention but you’re sure that neither of you are gonna last either way, making the most out of the little room Jungkook has left before he cums.
“I know, I know,” you hush Jungkook when you finally line your dripping hole with his cock, the combination of the easy slip and his tip maxing out in your core making him see white. He clenches your hips so hard that you involuntarily squeeze around him, his eyes almost bulging out of its sockets.
“Too — you’re too perfect for me,” he wheezes out when you grind against him before bouncing down again, riding him like you mean it. You’re flush against him, tits against his chest and mouth painting hickeys on his neck like he couldn’t feel any more insane.
Jungkook makes the sweet mistake of looking away from where the two of you connect and onto the couch, seeing that you did keep your heels on and it makes him choke up over nothing. You pull away briefly from his neck just to see what his attention was on, and you realize that it’s one of the two things he asked you for.
“You’re making this too easy for me,” you huff, the roll of your eyes looking too genuine that your husband’s heart skips. He’s too preoccupied in his pleasure and the feeling of you that he momentarily forgot what he even asked of you in the first place until your hand comes up to his throat. Jungkook gutturally moans at your first, slow squeeze, eyes rolling back immediately.
Even if he hasn’t cummed yet, Jungkook looks completely unraveled beneath you, his moans and whimpers unlike any other. “Tighter. I-I can take it. I’m not gonna break,” he convinces you with his lips trembling, the nod that wracks his head making him even more dizzy.
Your grip on his neck momentarily loosens and Jungkook was just about to whine for more like the brat he is, but he stops in his tracks when he feels you gradually increase the pressure. “But what if I do wanna break you?”
“Gonna– gonna be the fucking death of me,” he whimpers, voice pitching out highly to the point it’s almost recognizable. The groan he releases next scratches the undeniable itch in your brain, setting goosebumps all over your bare skin because Jungkook’s possessed with pleasure. “I’ll let you. I want you to.”
His lips part open without you even saying a word, blinking up at you wordlessly and you take it as your cue to spit in his mouth. Jungkook whines because your hand temporarily betrays his neck to grip his chin in place and so he attempts to move it back himself, only to be swatted.
His eyes are blown-out with nothing but pleasure, snapping out of his daze when you go back to choking him. Jungkook plain-out mewls as your fervent bouncing on his cock transitions back to slow, deeper stroking against your walls.
Your hand presses down all the right points and Jungkook feels like he’ll go cross-eyed just looking at the watch on your wrist that glints, the slight tremble that’s starting to wrack his body making you realize that’s he’s close to cumming.
“Read the time,” you practically spit as you slowly go back to bouncing on his cock at an angle, the fit tight and obscene with how your walls squelch around him. He’s inside you so deep that you feel the tip of him brush against your cervix, each thrust being the equivalent of you coming closer to being undone.
Jungkook’s close to incomprehensible, his breathing all over the place. “W-what? The– t-the time?” he squints, the tears of pleasure in his eyes making it harder and harder to see.
You bite back a moan when your other hand descends to your clit, digging yourself a grave as you tease. “Read the time, Jungkook. Do it correctly.”
“B-but I can’t-…” he starts to blubber, able to look down on your watch when he cranes his neck down enough, but unable to read the time when he’s this teary and close to cumming.
“Stupid,” you huff, making him whimper. You forego rubbing your clit in favor of roughly pulling his hair back, making him look at you even with the tears in his eyes. “Told you I wanted you to be a good boy. Not a stupid one. Can’t– fuck— can’t even read the time, baby?”
Jungkook’s mouth dries the more that you harshly ride him with no reprieve, the whimpers coming out of him being too high that they barely make a sound anymore. “I-I feel so good that I c-can barely see.”
He shakes underneath you, cock starting to twitch uncontrollably as you rock your hips to a rhythm he can’t keep up with. It feels too good that it’s paining you, swallowing your moans instead by taking out your pleasure by choking Jungkook. “Read the time correctly and I’ll let you cum.”
He feels like bursting already but he wants to please you still, gathering every last bit of clarity in his head. “It’s — t-the time is-…” he stutters, chest rising up and down rapidly. “12:45. It’s — shit! It’s 12:45 i-in the morning.”
You hum, finding the newfound energy to tease him before you see yourself ultimately crashing in the next few seconds. “I don’t know, Kook. You’re off by a few minutes.”
Jungkook’s so frustrated that he can tear his hair out, a new wave of tears running down his cheeks as he repeatedly chants under his breath. He’s begging and pleading and whining underneath you, lip jutting out in an insistent pout. “Y/N, m-mommy, please.”
“What did you say?” your jaw snaps, the breath in your throat hitching that it makes your hand loosen up slightly on his own. Jungkook’s insistent for your hand to remain though, shaky hands darting up to keep the pressure there. “Where’d that come from, baby?”
“Huh? What did?” he mumbles, so blissed out and lost in pleasure, he feels drunk and sleepy at the same time.
You finally take mercy when the knot in your stomach starts to unravel out of control, breathless when you take the last step to tighten your hold on his throat. “You think 12:45’s a good time for you to cum, baby?”
“It’s perfect,” Jungkook manages to get out, his vision turning white now that all it takes is one final roll of your hips before he cums inside you.
“Let go, baby, hm? Don’t stop cumming until I tell you to.”
Jungkook finally gets his release and his cum bursts in waves inside you, setting off your own orgasm. He shakes and cries continuously, whining as you slowly rock back and forth through your high as if you’re soothing him. He screws his eyes shut the moment that you grind against him, beyond sensitive to the point of no return. “Can’t — I c-can’t stop cumming! I-…”
You catch your breath as you cease your movements, feeling your husband tear it all out beneath you. “Just until the minute is up,” you assure him, your own vision hazy from how hard you came. “You can take it, crybaby.”
“I can, I can! I’ll be good,” Jungkook whispers, the very last few spurts of his cum draining everything from him. The two of you are completely fucked out, one more-so than the other.
You’re convinced that your husband has already succumbed to sleep if not for the small deep chuckle that escapes him, eyes glazed and slitted.
You don’t hold back this time, indulging Jungkook fully because this time, he says the right thing at the right time.
“If I get you a bracelet next, how far can that take me?”
#478 drabbles#jungkook imagine#jungkook imagines#jungkook oneshot#jungkook oneshots#jungkook smut#jeon jungkook smut#jungkook smut imagine#jungkook drabble#jungkook scenario#jungkook fanfic#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jeon jungkook imagine
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These Destined Ends
Part Fourteen
Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?
Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader
Word Count: 4.8k
Warnings: and they were cousins, poison, brief descriptions of violence and death
A/N: Thank you to everyone for being patient with me while I slowly update TDE🥺❤️🩹 Hopefully this chapter was worth it, I apologize beforehand for the lack of smut and the abundance of plot
You stare at the document in your hands, realization trickling in slowly, then with more force — a dam eroding before the subsequent flood. The longer you look at it the more the words and symbols swim before your eyes. How could this be? Had Jessica known about this?
She had to have, you puzzle, if it was in the study. Why didn’t she tell you? Could it be that she just never got the chance?
Or was she hiding it?
“You could at least look a little bit excited to see me.”
“Oh, Asha, I —” the content of the document promptly vanishes from your mind as it works instead to compute the image of Asha standing in the doorway of the study. “Asha!”
A shriek tears from you and you race across the room to your friend, embracing her tightly. She laughs against you. “There’s the welcome that I was expecting.”
“I’m sorry, I — actually, it doesn’t matter. What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.” You hold her at arms length, examining her to make sure that she looks healthy and unharmed. “Are they treating you well?”
“The servants went sent ahead to prepare the rooms,” Asha says. “And I’m fine. How are you? Am I an aunt yet?”
There’s nothing you can do to suppress your eye roll, but you squeeze her hand assuringly. “You’ll be the first person to know.”
“Mm. The na-Baron needs to get on it.”
“Get on what?”
“Me,” you say. At the same time, Asha blurts, “Nothing!”
Feyd has replaced Asha in the doorway. He looks unfairly handsome, his skin retaining a little more color than usual from the Arrakis suns. Well, a red color, one that you’ve assurred him would fade.
Probably.
Seeing him makes your stomach flip. You’ve left the document out on the desk, and you glance at it quickly. But if he picks up on your panic, he doesn’t mention it.
“I suspected it was you when I heard all of the shrieking,” Feyd says. Then, this time to Asha, “I’m glad that you’re here.”
“Thank you, na-Baron,” Asha says with a dip of her chin.
“Do you need something?” You ask him. As casually as you can, you return to the desk and slip the document into your pocket.
Feyd’s lips twitch. “Can a husband not just visit his wife?”
“A husband can,” you retort, “but I have the sense that you are here as the na-Baron. Not my husband.”
“Is there a difference?”
You look to Asha. “I’ll be right back,” you promise her. Not daring to say anything in front of Feyd, she nods. You trail after Feyd into the hallway, who sets a swift pace, striding away from the study and out of ear shot.
“There’s a problem,” he tells you in a hushed tone.
“Other than the fact that you just stole me away as soon as my best friend arrived?”
Feyd ignores this. “My brother has generously invited Irulan and her family to the feast tomorrow night.”
“What?”
“The Emperor has declined the invitation but Irulan has elected to attend. Even though her father won’t be there, I suspect he’ll send an army of reinforcements for her.”
You mull over this new information. Both of you fall silent as a pair of soldiers pass by, then you whisper, “Could they suspect our plan?”
“No. Impossible.” Feyd shakes his head. “I’m sure the Baron just wants to remind House Corrino of their hand in…this.” He waves his hand to encompass the palace as you walk through it.
“Dethroning my family by having them killed?”
Feyd stops and pivots to you, grabbing your wrist. “I haven’t forgotten. But neither have they. We must keep our wits about us if we hope to be successful.”
“Right. I know.” You free yourself from his grip.
“You can’t let your emotions distract you.”
“They won’t.”
Feyd inspects your face, and he’s quiet for quite some time. “You’re hiding something from me.”
“No I’m not,” you reply reflexively. Feyd raises a brow. A scowl crosses your features and, reluctantly, you ask him, “What do you know of my…lineage?”
“I told you, you must not —”
“Just answer the question,” you snap. He’s acting as if you’re a petulant child, liable to pitch a fit.
Feyd recites what he knows, what you’ve told him — how your mother’s parents were never revealed to her. His mouth forms a severe line. “Why?”
There’s a fleeting moment in which you debate whether or not you’ll share the information with him. Ultimately, you know that you will never be able to keep it a secret. With hesitance you draw the document from your pocket and give it to him. Feyd’s eyes flash curiously to yours then back to the paper before reading it.
His expression remains unchanged. He hands the paper back to you. “I’m not surprised.”
“You’re not surprised?”
You were cousins. Cousins.
“I didn’t know, obviously,” he says, his voice nearing a growl. Then something in him softens slightly. “I’m referencing the inexplicable…connection that I have always felt. That you must’ve felt. Our hearts knew the same blood ran in our veins before our minds did.”
“You’re okay with this?” You ask.
Feyd lifts a shoulder, diplomatic as ever. “It is not unheard of. Besides, I am too entranced with you to let this affect me. If anything it just cements the bond that we have.”
He draws you close to him, his chin resting on the top of your head. You find comfort in the pulse of his heart under your ear, the familiar scent that you’ve associated with him. “You are me,” he says finally.
You smile softly. “And I am you.”
Late into the evening you help Asha with prepping for your esteemed guests, working alongside the other servants and sneaking sips of the spice wine. They’re unsure of you, at first, but Asha quickly puts them at ease with a few unflattering anecdotes. You laugh with them. It’s been too long of a time since you’ve really laughed, spent time with people who didn’t have any expectations of you except the ones that Asha dashed — you were not quite as scary as you looked, and you did not lash out at others at the slightest provocation.
“You’re confusing me for my husband,” you told them then, to weary laughter. You might not have been a threat to them, but they were all afraid of Feyd-Rautha. Understandably.
It’s a nice reprieve until you awake the next morning with a twinge of a spice headache and a spiraling sense of doom. What if your pain failed? What if something happened to you — or Feyd?
“Quit it.”
You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, draped in your finest dress. Feyd stands before the vanity and you watch him slip the Gom Jabbar into a hidden compartment in his sleeve. “Quit what?” You ask, fear tightening your chest.
“Worrying,” he says.
You meet his eyes in the mirror. A protest forms on your tongue but you know it would be futile to pretend that you aren’t worrying considering that he knows every subtle change in your expression. When you fail to reply, he turns to you, straightening out the cuffs of his smart jacket.
“Everything will be fine,” he tells you.
“You don’t know that.”
“I have never made a habit of being wrong.”
You fix him with an exasperated look. “We have no idea how this is going to play out.”
“We’re going to take back control from the hands of our oppressors,” Feyd says, his rasping voice like a lullaby. His long stride devours the space between you until he’s positioned himself practically between your legs. “We will finally take what we deserve.”
“I know. I know,” you say again with more conviction. You roll your shoulders back and try to emulate some of Feyd’s unwavering confidence, but he hardly looks convinced.
Gazing down at you, Feyd brushes his knuckles over the bannister of your cheek. “No harm will come to you. I won’t allow it.”
“And I won’t allow any harm to come to you.”
His hand pauses. Feyd’s thumb and forefinger captures your chin, lifts it up. “Promise me that you will not jeopardize your safety for mine.”
Not for the first time, you admire the angles of his face — the smooth brow, the dark eyes looking down at you over his straight nose; the plush lips that you cannot look at without picturing them over your most sensitive parts. Your heart pangs. You would do anything for him.
You tell him in an equally soft tone, “I can’t promise you that.”
“You must.” His grip on your chin tightens.
“We’ve already established that you are my blood. My past, my future,” you whisper fervently to him, brave in the face of his obvious disapproval, “if the moment comes to it I would lay down my life to protect yours.”
Feyd leans down. His mouth slants over yours, a phantom of a kiss. “Then you’re a fool,” he breathes, words chilling you.
“So be it.”
Feyd releases his grasp on you, stealing the air from your lungs. Even the faintest touch of his leaves you wanting more.
“Come,” he says, holding out his arm, “my foolish wife. We have guests to receive.”
Glowglobes dance over your heads as you venture, arm in arm, to the front of the palace. No one has been permitted to enter without the na-Baron and na-Baroness and at your arrival begin to trickle in slowly, each guest stopping to greet you and praise you for your hospitality.
A few stop to ponder at the lack of wash troughs but after a series of dead-end interactions with Feyd cease to ask. It wasn’t a popular choice among the Arrakis staff, you had learned from your previous stay that they liked to sell the towels from which cleaned up the mess from the troughs. Your Harkonnen guest frown on this as well. Even Feyd was skeptical about your insistence on removing the tradition, but he supported you regardless, and you couldn’t be more pleased by your decision.
Water was sacred here and you would not flaunt your access to it, not even to those who had never had to safe keep it.
It’s difficult to maintain the smile on your face as you welcome noblemen and bankers, wealthy businessmen, and even the occasional individual that you sense dabbled in the more seedy side of entrepreneurship. The duel suns have just started to set when you notice a familiar dark shape approaching you.
“Uncle,” Feyd greets the Baron.
“Feyd-Rautha, na-Baroness.” His voice slips over you like grease and his eyes are even more beady than you remember. Your grandfather. “It is good to see you again and to celebrate your victory.”
“Indeed,” you reply, not meaning it in the least.
From behind the Baron, his suspenders whirring with the effort of lifting him, emerge Rabban, clutching the wrist of one of the most beautiful women you have ever seen. Her dress gives the appearance of armor but still impressively elegant, blonde hair slicked back and green eyes latching onto you immediately.
“Princess Irulan,” Rabban says. “Though she hardly needs an introduction.”
“It’s a pleasure,” you say, curtsying.
Irulan smiles wistfully at you. “There is no need for that. We are destined to be family, after all.”
“My apologies,” Feyd retorts.
“Don’t mind him,” the Baron directs at the princess. One of his massive hands clamps down on Feyd’s shoulders, a gesture that you do not mistake for anything less than threatening. “He jests as all brothers do.”
“I understand,” Irulan says with a melodious laugh. Though as the five of you take to joining the rest of the party (along with Irulan's small army of guards), you can’t help but notice the way she glances at you. You have trouble deciphering the look but it slips from your mind after another session of small talk before the first course is served.
The table has just been set with plates of all sorts of delicacies when you feel a small hand grab you. Bodies press against you as guests hurry to claim the most coveted seats at the table. A chord of surprise is struck in you when you realize that the hand is not that of someone hoping to steady themselves amongst the sea of bodies but, rather, the intentional grip of Princess Irulan.
“We must talk,” she says. “It’s not every day that you find yourself in a situation like the one we have both been put in.”
“Did you not think your father would arrange your marriage?” You ask stiffly.
Something reminds you that Irulan is studying to be a Bene Gesserit, a feat that you could never hope to accomplish. You have to admit that it’s admirable. But the less tolerant side of you resents her for it.
“I could never hope for that, much like you were unable,” Irulan says. “I meant in the nature of being engaged to Harkonnens.”
“Oh.”
Distractedly you let your eyes wander until they fall on Feyd, who is sitting in his place at the head of the table and entertaining a small audience. Rabban, on the other hand, glowers at the food heaped on his plate, fork gripped in his fist as if he wants to launch it at someone.
“Do you have any wisdom to impart?” Irulan asks.
“I’m still trying to learn myself,” you tell her. “The Harkonnens are a…unique people.”
Irulan leans closer to you. “Is Feyd-Rautha as psychotic as they say?”
“Even more,” you say in interest of feeding the rumors. They weren’t wrong, of course, but you could hardly consider him as such when it was Irulan’s own betrothed who worried you.
And they both had a hand in your family’s deaths.
Before you can say anything to this effect, however, Feyd beckons you to the table. You smile at Irulan placatingly — the expression of a wife under her husband’s control — then find your place beside him. Irulan sits down on the other side of Rabban. Is she still staring at you?
You can’t help but feel as you did when Jessica would scrutinize you, analyzing your every move and word. It unsettles you.
The dinner starts without a hitch. You do your best to move the food on your plate around convincingly and avoid Irulan’s gaze. Everyone seems content to listen to Feyd’s stories about dismantling the spice smugglers, though, which leaves you mostly adrift with your thoughts. In fact, you’re so surprised when someone speaks to you that it takes several moments for you to compose an answer.
“Pardon my niece,” the Baron interjects with a sickening smile. “She certainly has a lot on her mind. Arrakis is grueling for even the weakest of individuals, though she’s had experience with it before.”
The noblemen who spoke to you nods. “That’s right. You’re of House Atreides. My condolences about your parents. Duke Leto was a magnificent man.”
“If only other men were possessed of such magnificence,” you mutter in reply, angrily spearing a vegetable on your plate. You shoot a glare at the Baron. “My father inspired cowardice in those who could not even hope to compete with him.”
“True cowardice lies in refusing to admit when you’ve been beat,” the Baron says coolly. He licks sauce from his thumb.
You stare back evenly at him. “You would know about true cowardice.”
The nobleman stuck between you both clears his throat awkwardly and drains the rest of his glass. Conversation swells again and thankfully diverts the topic of your family, and as the dinner transpires you’re itching to enact your plan. Finally dessert is cleared and after-dinner drinks are set before all of the guests.
Feyd rises to his feet and draws the attention of the room, holding up his flute to indicate a toast.
You stand, too, and smile endearingly at him.
“Tonight we have gathered to celebrate the prosperity of the House Harkonnen,” he rasps. “In the face of adversity we have yet again come out the victors on the other side.” This is met by a small smattering of applause. Feyd continues, “Of course, where would we be without our patriarch? The Baron has…provided for us for many years. I can only hope to return the favor.”
Feyd and you both drink from your glasses, as do the rest of the party.
It takes only a few seconds for panic to arise.
While you and Feyd gaze out contentedly at your guest, they find themselves paralyzed and unable to move a muscle. It’s a temporary poison — it won’t last longer than a few minutes — but it’s one that you both have acclimated to. You are free to round the table to Rabban at the same time that Feyd strides to his uncle on the other side.
You pull the Gom Jabbar from your corset. Every Noble House is in possession of one, which is why Feyd also had to steal his own. In a movement that seems almost choreographed, you and your husband bring the needles up to the necks of your prisoners. Adrenaline soars through you.
“It was always going to end like this between us,” Feyd murmurs almost lovingly to the Baron. He brushes his finger down his uncle’s face.
You turn your attention to Rabban. Although he cannot move, the muscles in his eyes strain to glare at you. You hold the needle just centimeters from his skin. “I will give you the same mercy you gave my family,” you whisper. “None.”
“STOP!”
Time ceases to move as, from your peripheral, you watch Irulan shoot to her feet. You’re unable to refuse the call of The Voice, and you’re rendered as paralyzed as the guests who drank from their poisoned glasses.
Which, apparently, the princess had not.
“You two are both fools,” she hisses. Her fingers form claws at her sides. “Did you not think I would notice what you were doing? That I would let you unravel the hard work of my father?”
Using The Voice, she orders you to drop the needles. They clatter to the ground.
You manage a glance in Feyd’s direction. His expression is grim, jaw clenched and eyes burning with rage at having been thwarted. Out of all of the outcomes of this evening, you hadn’t expected this to be one of them. A leaden feeling fills your entire body.
Irulan holds you, frozen, until she can call her father’s guards into the room and command them to seize you for treason.
“Irulan, please,” you beg her once liberated of her hold over you.
She simply gazes at you with contempt.
Guards descend on the room without warning and, without any verbal agreement, you and Feyd do your best to fend off wave after wave of them. They drop like flies, but there’s too many of them for you both to dispatch. You step and whirl over fallen bodies as you fend off the guards with nothing but a butter knife, the Gom Jabbar having been the first thing the guards kicked out of your grasp.
“We have to get out,” Feyd snaps at you. He throws a punch over your shoulder, hitting a guard and giving you enough time to spin and kick the offender in the gut. “Now.”
You pant, “Where?”
Irulan was tending to Rabban, who had stirred and was glaring murderously at you as he waited for the rest of his body to cooperate. The Baron simply stared from his seat. You had no idea if he was fully awake or not, but you didn’t want to wait for the punishment he fettered out.
“Here.” Feyd pushes a torn up napkin into your hands and demonstrates his intention by forcing them deep into his ears.
You quickly do the same. If you can’t hear Irulan, then the Voice won’t work on you.
Right?
It seemed as good a plan as any. Like a conjoined beast, you and Feyd tear through the swarm of guards like cutting through tall wheat. Blood splattered his face and his knuckles had broken open — you were sure you looked just as deranged, hair loosened from its pins and dress ripped from where a guard had taken hold to try and stop you. You had promptly struck him in the head with your foot, knocking him out and releasing his grip on you.
A roar from behind alerts you to bigger troubles. Rabban staggers after you, face reddened.
“Y/N!” Asha cries. You’ve made it to one of the adjoining hallways, and she latches onto your arm, pulling you towards her.
“Asha, no —”
“Go! Take her!” Feyd yells.
You wrench yourself free from Asha but Feyd has already been swallowed up by a wall of guards. A keening sound escapes you. You try to push yourself back but Asha won’t let you. “No, Feyd! Feyd!”
“He made me promise that I would help you escape,” Asha tells you, panicked. “Come on.”
“I won’t leave him.”
Asha tugs your arm. “I doubt he will be able to tolerate being apart from you for very long. But he will not tolerate it if I let anything happen to you.”
A guard with a lasgun splits from the dining room towards you and Asha and, with one more prompt from her, you take off running in the opposite direction, tears of frustration streaming down your face. The lasgun fires off two rounds, narrowly missing you. You pump your legs as fast as they will go, completely disconnected from the task at hand as you remember the image of Feyd interlocking with Rabban before he was obscured from your view by the guards. Would even your husband be able to escape such force?
“Turn here,” Asha instructs, your feet thundering loudly on the polished floors. She turns and thrusts you into a segment of the wall that has fallen away, moving swiftly to replace it. Stupidly, you hover, ensuring that you’re not being followed. The sound of the guard’s heavy breathing passes by you, then disappears. Asha turns to you, her face in shadows. “Move.”
Once you’re safely away from the door, tunneling through a narrow passageway, you ask her, “Where are we?”
“Abandoned servants halls. They used to use them to travel through the palace without being detected.”
A rush of adrenaline keeps you moving. You trail after Asha as she guides you through the winding passage, relying only on touch to navigate. You can barely even lift your arms at your sides without touching the walls, and its pitch black, no glowglobes to light your way. There’s no saying how far you go until Asha is grunting and pushing her shoulder up against another segment of wall.
You blink rapidly as you encounter a burst of light and the grit of sand on your tongue. Somehow you’ve bypassed most of the palace for the hangar. It’s shaded by an awning but open on one side to the harsh elements.
“Come on, we don’t have much time. If they’re smart they’ll know where we’re going.”
Asha leads you to one of the idle thopters. “I have no idea how to pilot one of these,” you say, alarmed.
“It’s been preprogrammed to at least get you out of Arraneen,” Asha says. “The rest is up to you. It’s not hard. This is the throttle—” she points to a lever, then another, “and this is the clutch.”
“I —” the words die in your throat.
I, what? Can’t land this thing? Can’t believe this is happening? Can’t leave without Feyd?
“Come with us. They’ll kill you if they find out you helped us,” you say instead.
Asha shakes her head. “There’s no room.”
“Asha —”
Your friend, her own tears in her eyes, pushes away your reaching hand. She ducks her head to check a watch-apparatus from her pocket. “The na-Baron should be here soon. If he’s not, he instructed me to force you to leave without him.”
You growl, “Nothing you can say will keep me from him.”
As if the universe felt personally challenged by this, the sounds of lasguns going off reverberate through the hangar. Asha and you both look towards the entrance, where Feyd can be seen sprinting from a group of guards. A scream climbs in your chest, bubbling with fear, as you watch him swerve and dodge to avoid the blasts.
“Feyd!” You cry.
His eyes lock on you and, seemingly emboldened, cycles his legs faster, outrunning the guards in their clumsy uniforms.
“Y/N, start the thopter!” Asha yells. She indicates a button on the mantle of the ship and you hastily press it, the bug-like wings snapping to life and kicking up sand in the hangar.
Feyd skids to a stop beside the thopter. A blast fires off, singing the mechanical flank of the ship. He uses his body as a shield for Asha. “Come with us,” he tells her, echoing you. Sweat and blood mingle on his face and his clothes.
“No. It’s too late. Go!” Asha all but shoves him into the thopter, crying out as another blast lands at her feet. With Feyd’s broad form next to yours, there’s truly no room for Asha unless she wanted to be smashed against the windshield. Feyd takes over the controls from you.
The thopter door closes right as the guards reach it, already jerking Asha into their grip.
You howl and scream in disbelief, pounding at the doors of the thopter from the inside as it launches into the air. Feyd hovers slightly before yanking on the throttle and piloting the thopter out of the hangar. “No, no, no!” Asha’s tiny frame is dwarfed by the guards, then by distance.
“Y/N, there’s nothing we can do now. She sacrificed herself for us. Let’s not put it to waste,” Feyd snarls at you.
You swipe tears and makeup from your face. Something inside you hardens, and you push down your anguish in order to focus on your escape. Feyd is a talented flyer, but it’s nothing compared to the league of thopters and ships encroaching in the distance. Worry clamps down on you like the jaws of a sandworm.
Arrakeen blurs beneath you as Feyd soars over it, the body of the thopter casting shadows over the buildings. You’ve nearly reached the shield wall when a shot collides with the thopter and sends it staggering to one side. Feyd curses. The Emperor’s ships have caught up with you. You grip your armrests, eyes widening as you watch the ships grow larger and larger in the rearview mirror. Feyd eases your ship through a small opening in the shimmering shield wall, effectively preventing any of the large ships from following.
More shots ring out, pinging off your thopter.
“What are we going to do?” Feyd’s dark gaze flickers behind you, then back to the desert unfolding before you. It’s then that you see it — a storm. “Feyd, did you get hit in the head? We can’t go into a sandstorm.”
“It’s our only option,” he grits out.
You want to protest, to persist that there’s another way, but you have no answer. Feyd forces the throttle of the ship down as far as it will go, the wings fluttering almost imperceptibly as he urges them to go as fast as possible. Pain explodes in your head when a blast hits the side of the thopter and you’re thrown against the inner wall; much like the pain, a fiery explosion erupts outside your window.
“Fuck! They shot off one of the engines,” Feyd yells over the clamor of the thopter stalling. Teeth gritting, he swoops it out of its downward spiral and back into the air. “We just have to make it to the storm. They won’t follow us.”
Giant columns of smoke billow from the decimated engine, the right wing also engulfed in flames. The thopters chugs along awkwardly, dipping and faltering as Feyd does his best to keep it in the air, relying on the gusts of wind from the oncoming storm. Your stomach churns.
And, quite literally jumping from one problem to the next, the storm seizes upon your thopter with furious force. From all sides you’re battered by wind and currents of sand and rocks, sounding like you were being pelted with boulders on all sides. You realize too late that the screaming you hear is from you. Feyd battles against the storm but at this point he’s at its terrible mercy, both of you being tossed around with no sense of control.
There’s a split second when you catch a glimpse of fear on Feyd’s face — the first time you’ve ever seen it — before another blast rockets into the thopter. One of the ships had followed you.
Flames converge with the whipping sand and an alarm starts wailing as the thopter plummets to the ground. Well, logical leads you to believe that it’s the ground, there’s no way of telling which direction you’re going.
Feyd releases himself from his seat’s harness and crosses over the console, throwing his body over yours right as the ship collides with something solid and everything goes black.
Part Fifteen
Taglist:
@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @m-indkiller @kpopnstarwars @dacreshoney @stopeatread @the-na-baroness @therealslimshady-1 @unnisumi @aoi-targaryen
#feyd rautha#dune#feyd x reader#feyd x you#feyd rautha harkonnen#fanfic writing#writers on tumblr#fanfic#writing#these destined ends
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Risky [Buggy x Reader]
warnings: fem reader, sex in a public area, risky sex, cream pie, squirting, Buggy being horny
a/n: I just realized I’m making a lot of smut posts. I need help I’m too obsessed with Buggy😭 the plot is kind of sloppy but I really wanted to write some smut so sorry about that lolllll
Buggy had no idea what was wrong with him today. He had locked himself in his office, he lost count of how many times he had came, jacking off for hours at the thought of you.
When a crew member knocked on his door they were met with nothing but harsh curses and shouts from him; not knowing that their captain had been rubbing one out into a rag. His jaw clenched, teeth grit tightly as he tried to conceal his grunts and groans. He was huffing like a damn dog thinking of Y/n.
Maybe it was the lack of actual sex over the past few days that got Buggy so riled up, they’ve just been so busy setting everything up as soon as they got back to bed they both just tuckered out.. but damn why the fuck was he so horny now?!
After what seemed to be his 5th cum of the day, Buggy came out of his quarters, his makeup smeared, and he looked a bit disheveled. He put his hair up into a ponytail as he walked to the green room, going to see what his girlfriend was up to. She preferred to work back stage and behind the scenes, mainly on the contraptions and the lighting.. much to Buggy’s disappointment— he would love for her to be another accessory to his acts, not take up the entire spot light, but.. serve as some kind of eye candy for the audience.
With the way she bent and moved for him she could easily be a good contortionist.. fuck he was hard again.
Buggy’s muscles tensed as he saw Y/n talking to Mohji. The blue haired man seemed to physically restrain himself from grabbing Y/n and dragging her off somewhere to get some sex.
“Stop letting Richie come in here— we can’t use these lights anymore because he chewed them all up, and he pissed on the costume wigs.” Y/n said as she chewed out the beast tamer. As much as she was an animal lover, working with Richie was… a chore to say the least, but it was mainly to blame on Mohji for his poor animal management skills. “Y/n.” Buggy grunted out as he walked over to her, standing at her side and putting a hand on her waist, “Are you busy?” He asked, his voice a bit lower and gruffer than usual.
“Umm.. not right now, no.” She said, looking up at him. Buggy then turned to Mohji and made a tilting motion with his head, that told the man to ‘get the fuck out’, which he quickly obeyed.
“Are you ok?” Y/n looked up at Buggy, noticing his smudged makeup and how slightly sweaty he was. He smelled a bit muskier than usual, and he hadn’t covered his scent with cologne like he usually would. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Buggy said under his breath, his hands roaming all over her body now that they were alone, which she noticed. Buggy shuffled closer to her, pressing his body against her side as he leaned in to whisper in her ear, “God I wanna fuck you so bad.” He growled. Y/n could feel his boner pressing into her hip, his hands squeezed at her sides.
“Buggy..” Y/n whispered, biting her bottom lip, “Wait not in here—”
“I don’t care, I really don’t give a shit.” Buggy grumbled and looked around, trying to find a closet or something, “We haven’t fucked in a good week, I need this.” He huffed, then slapped Y/n’s ass and gave it a firm squeeze.
Y/n yelped and blushed at that action, pouting at Buggy before she pulled away and walked over to the large crate wagon that the crew just used to haul a bunch of props covered with a huge tarp, “Here, we can take some of this stuff off.” Y/n said, moving some of the props out and to the side. Buggy rushed to her side, throwing off some stuff as well; god he felt desperate.. I mean yeah he fucked Y/n like it was a hobby but he was literally throwing things so he could get some pussy.
After they had gotten most of the stuff off and made some room, Buggy picked Y/n up, making her squeak before he laid her down on her back, immediately getting on top of her and throwing that blanket over the both of them. “B-Buggy..” Y/n whispered, looking down and seeing Buggy’s rock hard boner press against her crotch.
Truth be told she wasn’t as pent up as Buggy was.. she had been so focused on making all of his shows perfect for him, sex wasn’t the first thing on her mind— but now that she was pinned down like this, she was starting to feel that same heat.
Buggy yanked her shorts down below her hips, sitting on his knees before grabbing her ankles and pulling her shorts and panties off completely and dropping them to the side. However, he took her panties and held them up to his nose, inhaling deeply and groaning, “Fuck that’s good..” he growled.
Y/n blushed, already sweating from the enclosed space, Buggy’s heat radiating off of his body. He tossed her panties on top of her shorts before unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. She watched him with eager eyes; she didn’t know why but she found it so attractive watching Buggy get his cock out, the way his forearms and muscles flexed with each movement, jerking his belt until it was open so he could get his throbbing, sensitive dick out.
He was already so sensitive from how much he had been jacking off.. the fabric of his boxers squeezing on his boner had nearly brought him to his knees as soon as he walked in here.
His hard cock bobbed upon being freed from his underwear, he groaned and jerked it a bit, making it leak a little pre. Y/n reached down between her legs to grasp at it, wrapping her hand around his length and rubbing it with him. “Yeah, that’s it baby..” he grunted, his abs already clenching at the feeling.
He hunched over her, one hand keeping his balance and the other held onto her hip as he started to guide his penis into her cunt, his tip swiped against her wet clit a few times before he slid in; eliciting moans and groans from the both of them. Y/n’s arms wrapped around Buggy’s neck, whimpering and mewling like a kitten just how he liked it, her pussy twitched around his cock, struggling to take him after so long without a good fucking.
Y/n squirmed, making Buggy squeeze her hip, “Take it.” He growled as he began to thrust; he was rough like always, but there was more force behind it this time, more desperation on his end. “B-Buggy..!” Y/n whimpered, trying to be as quiet as possible. Buggy was not trying to be as careful as she was, grunting and growling like a beast as he plowed into her like they haven’t fucked in decades. “Mmm..~ Buggy..~” Y/n moaned softly again, making Buggy’s cock throb inside of her, urging him to thrust even more; it felt so good.. hearing her say his name while he was going in, balls deep. Fuck.
The hand on her hip slid up to rest at the side of her neck, gently squeezing before he tilted his head and gave her a rough kiss, groaning into her mouth. His hips slammed against her crotch in a rough, rhythmic motion, growling and snarling, probably drooling all over the poor girl. He was a fucking mess.
Though the stubble scraping across her skin made her feel a little itchy, the burning sensation of pleasure from Buggy hitting her cervix easily overpowered the stubble itching. With the way Buggy was fucking into her she was not going to be able to walk properly for days, again.
Buggy’s groans and growls got louder and rougher, he moved his lips down to the nape of her neck and began attacking it savagely, sucking and licking at the skin, the sensation made Y/n let out a loud mewl, her legs wrapping around his torso as his movements sped up.
Both of his hands moved down to cup the sides of her ass, squeezing it as he continued ravaging her. Y/n gasped, her walls fluttering and twitching around him as she came, squirting lightly due to the sensation, “A-Ah~!!” She moaned.
“I’m close baby, I’m so fucking close.” Buggy grunted, squeezing her ass harder and slamming his hips into her even rougher, making her jolt and whine. It wasn’t long before he was spilling his seed into her, coating her walls with milky cum. They were both panting and moaning heavily. Buggy’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his muscles were twitching; this was what he needed.
He threw the tarp off the both of them, the cold air instantly hitting their warm, sweaty skins. Y/n was still panting hard, an arm folded over her torso as she leaned her head back. Buggy sat on his knees, still deep inside of her as his cum leaked out around his cock. He smirked and let out a breathy laugh, “You’re so fucking hot.” He panted as he rubbed Y/n’s side. “Yeah I feel fucking hot. Jeez.” Y/n groaned, sitting up on her elbows and looking down at Buggy’s cock still inside of her, that dark blue tuft of hair down below that trailed up, fading out slightly below his belly button.
Buggy pulled out, then moaned lightly as he watched his cum leak out of his girlfriend’s pussy. He lifted her thigh up slightly to spread her wider and get a better view. “Wait- stop, it’s gonna spill everywhere.” Y/n grumbled and attempted to close her legs, Buggy kept them spread wide though. “It’s fine I’ll clean it up, babe.” He whispered, watching her pussy leak until it was all out.
After getting cleaned up and putting all of the props back, Buggy watched as Y/n put her panties and shorts back on. He eyed her up, finding her body so god damn attractive.. he walked over to her once she was finished and put his hands on her waist, “Hey, you hungry? There’s a buffet down town in this area and I’ve been meaning to take you there.” He said, hands moving over her body, over her belly button then resting at her sides again.
Y/n smiled and looked up at him from behind, “Yeah, sure!”
#one piece#buggy one piece#one piece buggy#buggy the clown#buggy x reader#buggy the clown x reader#buggy headcanons#buggy imagines#one piece x reader#buggy x y/n#buggy x you#buggy smut#opla#opla buggy#one piece live action
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fizz pop lolly - James Potter x Fem!Reader
smut, barely any plot. p in v. unprotected sex. language. james is a bit of a perv.
18+ work, minors DNI.
not proof read. 2k words.
...
It’s pervy.
James knows it’s pervy, but he can’t stop himself. You’re not even aware he’s ogling you, gone in your own world that he imagines has fairies, rainbows and butterflies floating around in that pretty little head of yours. He’s sure if anyone caught sight of him staring, they’d catch on immediately, know just how sick and twisted his mind really is because his eyes are dead set on the hemline of your skirt, his mouth open awaiting flies. You’re resting your hands on the table on the far side of the library, supposedly reading a textbook for a source you need for your essay on Care of Magical Creatures, and the way you’re bent over ever so slightly has your skirt rising from its already high placement.
It's sick. It’s downright fucking twisted. You’re so sweet, so innocent, such a pretty soul – for fucks sakes you run study groups and tutor first years in your rare free time – and all James can think about is how he wants to walk up behind you, put his hand between your shoulder blades and push until you’re flat against the table, flat against his dick.
But.
But it would be criminal not to look, right? Not to enjoy the way you pop your hip to the left when your legs obviously get tired of having stood up for so long. He swears he can make out the bottom of your arse cheek and he about chokes on his own bloody saliva. Your legs look so smooth, like he could run his hands up and down them, listen to the quickening of your breath and feel nothing but silk. God, he’s deranged. Guilt swirls in his stomach with lust, a never-ending battle that he shouldn’t be staring – actually, he should probably go over and tell you he’s likely not the only one looking, for your own sake – but that he physically cannot bring himself to stop.
He can’t stop thinking about you, about how you’d feel wrapped around him, soft and pliant under him, the sounds you’d make. He’s hard as a rock, blood rushing from his head to his dick and he finds it’s getting easier and easier to keep looking, guilt free, with the lack of blood up there.
He’s both grateful and ready to raise hell when Sirius appears behind you, returning from his hunt for a book he’d needed for a prank, and blocks you from James’ view. Sirius takes a seat across from James and he groans inwardly. Sirius’ stupid head is blocking your perfect arse from James’ view and that won’t do.
“How can I see the book if you’re sitting over there?” James tries.
Sirius looks up, brows furrowed, “Uhm, you don’t need to? I’ll just tell you once I find the spell.”
“Yeah, but- Like, I need to- wouldn’t it be better if I checked it? Made sure it was the right spell?” James stutters like an absolute fool, and he wants to bang his fucking head into the desk.
Sirius catches on immediately. James wants to die as his best friend looks around, spotting you behind him. His head whips around at breakneck speed, his eyes wide with mischief. James jumps into action, trying to cover Sirius’ mouth before he makes an announcement that James Potter is a massive fucking pervert in front of the entirety of the Hogwarts Library. Sirius dodges, laughing maniacally, breathless and sputtering and James just panics and shoves the table as hard as he can into Sirius’ stomach and ribs.
He heaves a breath of air, winded, eyes wide and accusatory. Problem solved, James thinks, whilst Sirius is doubled over, head no longer blocking his view. Until he looks up, eyes searching, and finds you sauntering over, brows furrowed. Shit, he thinks, shit, shit, fucking shit.
“What are you two up to, now?” You ask, brow raised and a hint of a smile on your lips.
And oh god, your lips. So full, so soft, so pretty. James feels like he’s the one who’s had a table slammed into his ribs. Sirius still has his head on the desk, groaning and gasping for air. James couldn’t give two shits when you take the seat next to his, give him your full attention, cross one of your legs over the other and sit oh so bloody pretty. Godric, James would like to ruin you.
“Oh, nothing. Just studying.” James tries his best at casual.
You look at the table in front of you with amusement. There’s no study material. Just empty sweetie wrappers, a couple marbles and the one book Sirius needed for a prank. James flushes red. Fuck.
“Hm. Clearly.” You say, eyes twinkling.
You’re so beautiful, James thinks. So fucking pretty.
“Well,” You chirp when James literally can’t think of anything to say, “Next time Sirius is about to out you for staring at my arse, I’d go for a silencing charm over bodily harm.”
With that, you stand and turn, and James is pretty much face to face with said arse. You bend a little, pretending to fix your socks and James thinks he’s going to die. Literally. Die. Like, on the spot. You’re so sweet, so innocent – or so he thought. He’s in over his head. Truly. His brain simply short circuits. You leave, walking away, swinging your hips as you go and James is up and out of his seat, hot on your heels. You feel him at your back, smile to yourself. Sirius holds a finger up to James as he leaves, only to be thwarted on the back of the head by Madam Pince as she passes.
James follows you through the hallways, up staircases, until he realises, you’re headed for the seventh-floor corridor. It’s dark and abandoned and a well-known area for hooking up. His heart rate accelerates. If he’d have known you’d catch him staring and bring him here? He’d have felt less guilty about it and done it way more often.
You stop and turn to face him at the end of the corridor, swallowed by shadows but he can still see the bright shine to your eyes, the wideness of your smile. You’re waiting, playing games and James always wins.
“You were showing off on purpose?” He asks, crowding you against the wall.
You look up, bite your lip and fuck James is pretty much gone already. Your head tilts, hair sprawling over your shoulder, picture of innocence. James knows now that it’s a farse. And he’s determined to break the act, have you begging, pleading, destroyed for and by him. Your hands, dainty and a little cold, reach out for his forearms, pulling him slightly towards you. He smiles, a hint of knowing in his eyes that has your knees buckling.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Jamie.”
James tuts, towering over you. He presses his lips to the side of your neck, inhales your perfume and fuck he’s hard all over again, “You know fine well what you were doing to me.”
You hum, hands running up his arms to rest on his shoulders, sliding around to the nape of his neck and grabbing a fist of his hair. “Maybe.”
James smiles, nips the skin at the nape of your neck. He pushes his weight against you, you sigh in delight. His hands are everywhere, along your waist, the tops of your thighs, your tits. It’s not until he slides his hands up your skirt, desperate to feel the flesh of your arse that he realises you’re not wearing any underwear and he almost comes on sight. His breath is shuddering, mouth pressed against the skin of your neck and dear Godric, he thinks, how could he have ever assumed you were anything other than a dirty, filthy slut?
“I really wanted to take my time,” He huffs, pulling back until he’s centimetres from your lips, “But right now the only thing I can think about is ruining you.”
You nod, a huff of breath like it’s been punched out of your lungs at his words, “Please.”
With that, James kisses you. Hot and heavy and dirty and fuck he’s never been so glad to have been perving on you. You moan when he lifts you up, hands firm on the backs of your thighs, like you weigh nothing and keeps you propped up with his hips against the wall. It’s all consuming, having him everywhere, all around you. His smell, his sound, his tongue searching your mouth, his lips, his teeth, his hands, his dick, pressed so nice against your bare cunt.
He shifts, you squeal, head hitting against the brick wall.
His fingers trace you, teasing, only for a second, before he’s knuckle deep and you’re keening, bucking against him, fingers digging crescent moons into his shoulders. James swears he’s in heaven, the way he has you – desperate and soaking fucking wet. All because of him.
“James,” You moan, one hand cupping his neck and cheek, your hooded eyes are looking into his, “Need more. Need you. Please.”
James isn’t going to make you ask twice. Maybe when he has more time. Next time he’s going to take his time. Next time he’s going to be patient, watch you fall apart, make you beg. At least, he hopes there’ll be a next time. He thinks he might die if he never gets to see you like this again. Your head is thrown back, neck exposed, breaths coming in pants as he whips himself out of his trousers. He lines himself up, you keen, and he takes a deep breath before he slams up into you.
You practically scream, clenching around him, legs tightening around his waist. James swears he sees stars. You’re so warm, so tight, and you’re whimpering and bucking against him. He feels hot and heavy and he’s hitting spots you never imagined. The breath punches from your lungs when he sets a fast and hard pace, hands gripping at any skin he can find. He’s moaning into your skin, grunts and profanities and you’re sure that anyone who comes within a mile of the seventh-floor corridor will hear the sinful noises coming from the pair of you.
It’s hot and dizzying and your skin feels like it’s on fire with every thrust that he bullies into you.
“Fuck, you’re so hot, so tight…” James is aware he’s just speaking his mind, unfiltered and uncaring. He has no shame, not when he’s slamming into you like it’s his sole purpose on this earth. Maybe it is, he thinks.
You groan, clenching around him, “Jamie, I’m so close.”
“I know, I know, let go, pretty girl.” He coos, reaching between you to rub at the swollen bundle of nerves that’s been crying out for attention.
You spasm, coming on the spot at the stimulation and his words. He’s two seconds behind you, an embarrassingly loud moan escaping him, but he can’t find it in him to care when you’re still whining and bucking against him. You’re both seeing stars, pressed together, still fully clothed, breathless, and floating down.
Realisation sets in, the silence of the corridor is deafening.
Until you laugh.
You giggle maniacally like he’s said the funniest thing in the world and James frowns in confusion. He lets you down, tucks himself back into his pants all whilst you’re still giggling. It’s not until you stop, breathless, and reach up to press a kiss to his lips that he smiles dumbly.
“Took you long enough, Potter.”
James’ head spins. You’re there, standing in front of him, two seconds after being completely ruined, whining, and bucking on him, innocent act completely gone. He’s so dopily happy at the way you’re smiling up at him.
“How long-“
“The time you were staring at me eating a fizz pop lolly.” You answer for him.
This time, James laughs. Six months. You’ve known for six months that he’s been innately obsessed with you.
“Fucks sakes.”
You giggle again and fall into his arms, he pulls you backwards, pliant in his arms as you laugh and stumble all the way along the hallway.
#james potter#marauders#remus lupin#sirius black#peter pettigrew#james potter imagine#james potter smut#james potter fic#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin fic#sirius black imagine#sirius black fic#peter pettigrew imagine#peter pettigrew fic#marauders imagine#marauders fic#lily evans#marlene mckinnon#dorcas meadowes#fluff#smut
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Borrowed and Blue
Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader
Summary: In another brilliant plot to keep the agency afloat, Lockwood decides to marry you for tax benefits. Only he seemed to have forgotten to let you know. With an inspector from DEPRAC coming to ensure the legitimacy of your marriage, what’s left but to tell you the truth? Only you don’t take it too well. And you happen to be the world’s worst liar.
Warnings: Cursing, Minor angst, Unedited writing.
A/N: So “Lover” coded that I had to indulge myself with the title.
Word Count: 3.1k
“Luce, I’ll need you to go to Satchell’s and pick some salt-bombs; we’ve been running pretty low lately. And George, once you’ve hit the Archive for the day, if you could–”
As Lockwood’s incessant directions continued, you allowed your head to slump forward so as to obscure his looming figure with the shape of the quickly cooling mug in your hands.
“Oh, and that reminds me (Y/N), the inspector’s coming round this afternoon to ensure the validity of our marriage, so I’ll need you to be prepared for that.” That sentence alone was enough to pull you away from your own thoughts.
“Excuse me?” The question was followed by a soft chuckle, the kind you only managed when you’d been caught off guard.
“Did I forget to tell you about the visit?”
“You’re joking, right?”
Across the small table, George cleared his throat awkwardly, moving to make his escape before Lucy’s sweater-clad arm shot out, pulling him back into his seat, fully enthralled with the happenings before her.
“Lockwood?” From his place at the counter, he hummed back in response. Still, the brunet had busied himself at an unprecedented pace with making a piece of toast and refused to turn his head in acknowledgment.
“This is a joke, right? Because I would know if we were actually married, right?” He made no answer, but his avoidance of your gaze had already been enough to send you over the edge, and you nearly reeled as a physical spike of panic shot through your core.
“Anthony Lockwood, you answer me right now.” You were standing now and teetering on the edge of making your way out into the entry and returning with some choice words and your rapier.
“Well, it’s not like you missed the marriage. I did bring you along.”
“What?”
“You remember that day I brought you with me to the Register Office?”
“You said you needed someone to co-sign the water bill.”
“I gave you a ring–”
“You said you got that out of one of those coin machines full of toys! I thought it was just a silly gift!”
“Right, well, I’m not buying you another wedding ring, so you had better still have it.”
“Lockwood! You can’t just marry someone without asking!” By now, you had left your seat to jab angrily at his chest as you marked each new point. From her place beside George, Lucy slurped at her tea.
“Look, I had already mortgaged the house to hell and back, and we needed the money desperately, so I figured an extra tax write-off couldn’t hurt.” And though it shouldn’t have, the rage quelled itself a little.
“Why didn’t you just ask me?” But your voice lacked the anger from before, hitting sharper as each word was tinged with hurt.
“You would have said no. And besides, you’re a terrible liar.” Lockwood flashed you with his signature smile at that last bit, and you couldn’t help the warmth that began to bloom deep within you. You had to admit, being married to Lockwood wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Especially with the insufferable feelings you’d been housing for the boy for the last year and a half. Still, this was not how you wanted things to go.
“But wait, that trip to the Register’s Office was at least a year ago. Why are they coming for a visit now?” One of Lockwood’s hands which had planted itself on your shoulder in a soothing gesture, leapt up to scratch at the back of his neck.
“Well, the thing is, because we aren’t legally adults and neither of us have any parents to sign off on a marriage, I had to pull some strings with DEPRAC to get the license to even go through. So now, every year, to make sure everything is all legal, or whatever–” Lockwood raised his hands to form air quotes around the word legal but quickly retracted them as you swatted at the gesture.
“--they’ve insisted on sending an agent to perform a kind of check-in. To make sure we’re still in love and all that.”
“Still?” George questioned, only to be met with a prompt smack to the head from Lucy.
“So are you saying we could lose our jobs over this?”
“Let’s not forget the house,” supplied Lucy from behind her mug.
“And the house?” Lockwood didn’t answer immediately, instead selecting to fix his eyes on the floor.
“Presumably, yes, that could be one outcome–”
“Oh my god,” George groaned, moving his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“But not if all goes well,” Lockwood reassured the group.
“Right, so let me get this straight, the fate of our careers–”
“And our home,” Lucy interjected once more.
“And our home, is all in the hands of (Y/N), a notoriously bad liar, lying to a Fittes agent about a marriage she was unaware of until this morning?” George questioned.
“That would be correct.”
“We are so fucked.”
It had taken Lucy an hour to calm you down, let alone lure you out from under the covers of your shared bed.
“I’ll kill him if you’d like me to.”
“Urgh, it’s not that, Luce, it’s just–”
“It’s just that you wanted things to go differently?” Lucy raised a suggestive eyebrow as a slow smirk spread across her face, but there was no malice in her look. Embarrassed, you turned to hide your face in the pillow beside you.
“Look, Lockwood’s a twat, but he cares about you, and I’m sure if you asked, he would end the whole thing in a second. He was just, well, I hate to say it, but he was just trying to look out for us. In his own, extremely fucked up Lockwood way.” Lucy added the last sentence in a quick attempt to amend the ever-souring scowl on your face.
“And hey, who knows, maybe something will finally come out of this. I mean, you have to admit, being married is pretty romantic.” She smiled at you, and it was soft, encouraging almost.
“Besides, it’s not like the two of you weren’t going to end up together anyways. If anything, he’s just streamlined the process.” With that, you tightened your grasp on the pillow, swinging it in a deadly arc aimed at her head. Just then, a third voice interrupted your siege.
“Oh, hi Luce, mind if I have a quick word with my wife?”
Your eyes grew wide as they took in Lockwood’s lanky figure, leaning with ease against the railing at the head of the stairs.
“Too soon, Lockwood,” you grumbled, and for a moment, the suave smirk didn’t reach his eyes. Still, he moved slowly into the room as Lucy made her exit, throwing you a thumbs up as she descended from out of the attic.
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, careful not to crush your legs beneath the covers, he appeared almost nervous before his hand disappeared into his pocket and rematerialized, holding a small velvet box.
“This is for you.” He smiled to himself, sweet and boyish, as he was in moments like these. Moments with just you two. As you moved to take the box from his grasp, his fingers touched yours, lingering against them for just a second before pulling away.
The box was old. That much was immediately obvious. And the hinges keeping it together were rusty enough to make opening it a bit of an effort, but when the lid lifted, your breath caught in your throat.
“Oh, Lockwood, it’s beautiful.” You sat in awe of the small ring nestled within the box’s velvet folds. It was simple but elegant, with a single gem at its center, and you couldn’t help but reach out to trace the smooth metal of its shank.
“Where did you–”
“It was my mothers.” His voice was vulnerable, barely above a whisper.
“Lockwood, I can’t–”
“It’s fine, really. Besides, it's just for today.” But you could see the stress the simple action caused him from the way he toyed with the wedding band now looped around his own finger.
“Anyways, I really just came up here to go over the plan.”
“The plan?” You balked, eyes snapping away from the heirloom in your hands.
“Yes, we need a story, of course. How we fell in love, how we came to be married. You should know our wedding anniversary as well. April 14th, remember that.”
“April 14th? But that’s today.”
“And?”
“I– I haven’t gotten you anything.”
“Well, it's not like this is a real marriage.”
“Oh. Right.”
“I’m thinking we say I fell in love first, then you. Women love that sort of thing–”
“No, no, we should say we’ve been in love since the moment we met,” you argued, thinking of your own feelings.
“Well, that’s not very realistic.”
“Doesn’t mean it isn– can’t be true.”
“I suppose so.”
“Maybe we should both just think of our own moment. When we fell in love with the other.” Lockwood seemed suddenly to choke on air but quickly coughed his way past it.
“Great idea.”
“We can say you proposed on a bridge overlooking the Thames,” you suggested, but Lockwood only scoffed at the idea.
“Actually, I was thinking we could say it happened on a mission. Maybe you were hurt, and I was afraid I might lose you forever. That when I realized you were alright, I asked you to marry me on the spot. That I didn’t see the point in wasting any more time on anyone else.”
Your mouth grew dry at his suggestion, and the best you could attempt was a meek nod in response.
“Perfect,” he stood quickly, as though brushing off the intimacy of the moment, and began to head for the stairs, “I’ll leave you to finish getting ready then.” By the time you’d managed to grasp your words, he had disappeared from your line of sight, leaving you alone with your thoughts and his mother’s ring.
You were descending the stairs when the knock came, and you felt your hand move to twist anxiously at the ring newly decorating your finger. At the bottom of the stairs, Lockwood turned his head just in time to meet your gaze, the nervous look plastered across his face softening into one of ease. Probably just for show. You reassured yourself, straightening your shoulders as you reached the final step. Just before opening the door, the boy beside you cast some final words in your direction.
“Remember, I’ll do most of the talking.”
You could only nod in response as the door swung open, revealing the DEPRAC agent. She seemed immediately to be a severe woman with a stern look set deep within her face and eyes that scanned each of you suspiciously before entering the home.
“Is there somewhere you’d prefer for me to conduct my interview.”
“That would be the library,” answered Lockwood, jumping into action, “(Y/N) love, how about you pop the kettle on and maybe grab some biscuits.”
“Of course.” You smiled, but it was forced, the only mirth in your soul emerging from the sure knowledge that George would have a field day with Lockwood later on for his failure to follow the ‘Biscuit Rule’.
As he departed for the library, guiding the woman along with him, you could already hear the echos of his charming chatter as they bounced off the walls of the home. Everything will be fine, the words looped in a self-soothing mantra, filling every corner of your head as you prayed to any god that would listen to get through this interview in one piece.
“And when would you say you fell in love with Miss. (L/N)?” The woman made no reaction to her question, simply opting to continue scribbling notes on her pad. Thus far, Lockwood had done a successful job of veering most questions away from you, though it would be a miracle if your nerves had gone unnoticed between the incessant bouncing of your leg and your consumption of three separate cups of tea over the span of thirty minutes.
“In love?” Lockwood stuttered beside you, and you and the woman turned simultaneously to inspect him closer, his confident facade nearly shattered at the mention of the word. Still, he recovered rather quickly, retrieving his easy smile only a second later.
“Yes, well, I assume that came before the marriage.”
“Of course. Let’s see, then.” He stopped for a moment as though pondering the question though the movement of his hand as he toyed with his ring confirmed to you he was just nervous. In an action you could only hope appeared natural, you reached over, stilling his fidgeting fingers by lacing them with your own. Lockwood looked suddenly at you, and the quiet crack in his performance showed itself only to your eyes.
“It was six months after we first met. We’d been researching for a big mission all day, and when we finally got home, I passed out. I woke up; it was probably three in the morning by then. Came down to the kitchen for some water and– and there you were, in the library, fast asleep.” Lockwood had long since stopped looking at the inspector. “You were in my armchair. I’d probably seen you in that armchair a thousand times. And you had a case file spread out over your chest. You looked ridiculous. But I knew immediately something had changed. I could feel it as I carried you up to the attic that night and the next morning while I was sat listening to you laugh at George’s stupid jokes. Like those feelings that were just a bit of a bother before were eating me alive. It’s– It’s how I feel every time I look at you: like I’m more afraid than I’ve ever been in my life and yet perfectly at home at the same time.” He was quick to look away when he finished, flashing the DEPRAC agent with a smile and leaving you frozen in the wake of his words, struck by his ability to manipulate the truth.
“Just one more question then. Ms. (L/N), marriage at sixteen that’s not something you see every day. What made you say yes?”
Lockwood’s eyes flashed quickly to your face, but as he opened his mouth, the woman quieted him with a motion of her hand.
“Not you, Mr. Lockwood. I’d like to hear from Ms. (L/N).”
This had not been within the parameters of your preparation. Lockwood’s favorite color, how he took his tea, the date of your anniversary? Easy breezy. You might have even been able to fumble your way through how you’d fallen in love with the arrogant bastard, given its basis in the truth. But you weren’t really married, and you’d never really said yes, so where did that leave you? And like a saving a grace, a question made itself known in your head. If Lockwood had really asked you, why would you have said yes?
“I suppose I didn’t quite understand the proposal at first either.” That much was true; for fucks sake, you’d missed the thing entirely. “But after a while, it made sense. I mean, not a day goes by we aren’t risking our lives for our work. There’s no guarantee of any future with a job like this, so why not marry young? Otherwise, we might not marry at all.” The second part came out rushed, the lie forcing its way past your lips. It wasn’t in your character to be impulsive, even if time seemed to be your enemy. Still, you forced yourself to delve deeper. To seek a truthful answer to that lingering question. Your breathing slowed.
“And then, one day, I think I realized that for me, it was always going to be Lockwood. That had he asked me five or ten or even twenty years down the line when we were old and boring, I’d of still said yes. Because– Well, because I couldn’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.”
You turned your head slowly to catch Lockwood’s eyes lingering on your face. His expression was unreadable. Your brow creased in your efforts to learn more from the set of his features, and for a moment, you lost yourself in him.
The woman’s notebook snapped shut. You felt yourself scramble from the loveseat you’d been sharing with the boy, and he followed close behind.
“That’s all from me. The agency will contact you in a few days to follow up, but as far as I’m concerned, you’ve passed.”
Without giving time for the information to be digested, she stood and left. Turning to face Lockwood, you were quick to pull his mother’s ring from your finger and place it in his palm.
“Well, now that that’s finished–”
“(Y/N)--”
“I’ll be in the attic–”
“(Y/N).”
“Lots of research, probably.”
“How did you do that.” The look on his face was one of disbelief when you finally met his gaze again.
“What?” You knew what.
“You know what. You can’t lie to save your life. How did you–”
“Really don’t see how this is important, Lockwood–”
“Were you telling the truth?” You were silent for a moment.
“You got us into this. I could’ve– I would’ve stayed silent forever, but you had to come up with another insufferable plot. And I’m sorry, I can’t lie like it’s some sort of second language– That was quite good, by the way, the way you made me feel– made it seem like there was some chance in hell that you loved me back–”
He dragged you in all at once, catching you by the waist and interrupting your scattered thoughts with his lips. Kissing you. Soft at first, but deeper, harder, as you brought your hands up to his neck. As you kissed back. By the time he pulled away, you were breathless.
“It was never– I was never– God if I thought I could lie my way through this, I would’ve asked George or Lucy even. It had to be you because– because it was always real with you. I have loved you ever since I met you. That night in the library only confirmed it.”
“I thought that was unrealistic.”
“Maybe for someone who's never been in love with you.”
“Ask me again if I’ll marry you.”
“Again?” His eyebrows raised at the implication that there had been a first time.
“Just do it, you twat.”
“(Y/N) (L/N), will you marry me?”
“A million times yes, Anthony Lockwood. A million times, yes.”
#anthony lockwood#lockwood#lockwood and co#anthony lockwood x reader#lockwood x reader#lockwood and co fanfiction#anthony lockwood fanfiction#lockwood and co netflix#x reader
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