#drabble fill
Text
DRABBLE/ Insomnia!READER X THE GRABBER
Fandom: Black Phone 2022
Pairing: The Grabber/ Albert Shaw x Reader
Rating: Explicit (18+)
Warnings: Kidnapping, Dark!, Non-con/Dub-con, Forced!Blowjob, Smut, Insomnia!Reader, Kidnapped!Reader, Victim!Reader. Implied age gap/ older man/younger woman, somnophilia, use of Little/good Girl.
AN: for @ninakuli How would the Grabber react if the reader couldn’t get to sleep? Well, this might be one of the ways.
->
“Can’t sleep?”
The rough voice made you look up from your position lying on the moldy mattress. You wondered how anyone could sleep here. A stranger’s house, a damp basement, an unknown environment. The walls were bare except for the painting peeling down. The tiny barred window that let in the only light, whether it was day or night because of the lamp that hung in front of it, was up too high. The walls absorbed any sound. It was a prison made with hellish barriers.
And then there was that stranger who came watching. You never knew when he would be down here. Never knew what he would do next. It had you on edge. How could anyone ever sleep when he was around?
So far, he’d mostly been down to watch you, talk to you, work on your mind until his words confused you and you started to believe you’d ended up here all because of your own doing. That you deserved being here.
But there had been that one time when you had pretended to have been asleep, eyes closed, in hopes he would become bored and turn away. But instead of leaving, you had heard his breathing deepen. And then you had felt his hand between your thighs, fingers pressing deep into your clothed skin until one finger curled against your covered cunt. You could still feel his fingertip press against your sensitive bud. The touch hadn’t lasted long, for you’d shot up instantly and his hand had been back by his side almost just as fast. But you were certain it had not been a dream.
And now you were scared of him. Frightened, that if you were to go to sleep, he might take you in it. That he might claim your body as his own when you could not fight back.
Anxiety ate you, piece by piece until it wrecked your nerves and made you shiver with fearful anticipation. Any sound would trigger a panicked reaction and would have you sit up and open your eyes. Because he is here again, isn’t he? Even when he wasn’t. You were constantly alert, ready to shy away from any advances he might try to make.
And so, you blinked up at him fearfully while you wondered what he would be doing next. He’d commented on your lack of sleep the past few times he’d been down there, annoyed that he couldn’t watch you sleep like he had the others. You didn’t know how many had been here before you, only that he somehow seemed to enjoy observing them when they weren’t awake.
Creep, you thought. You wondered if he got off of it. And why he couldn’t just enjoy you while you were awake?
Perhaps that had been a wrong thought to have, because what he said next made shivers run down your spine.
“I know just the thing.” Just the thing for what? To make you sleepy? You wondered for a moment if he referred to some kind of drug, or if he might just knock you out with one of his fists. But he did neither.
He cocked his head to the side, the mask’s chin pointed at his right shoulder. He was observing you, his stance pensively. What was he thinking? But then you regretted that thought when the man came over to you, coming closer than he had in the past few days.
“An ancient old medicine,” he said, voice low and gruff, while he started to unbuckle his belt. And that was the moment you realized what he might be implying. What he might want from you. He probably had wanted this all along.
Your eyes grew wide with fear as you tried to crawl back on the mattress until your back hit the wall and you couldn’t back away any further. “It has proven to be very effective over time,” his husky voice sounded. Then a chuckle emerged from behind the mask as he pushed his pants and underpants down to reveal an achingly hard cock, pre-cum dripping from the tip and glistening in the faint light that fell in from the window above.
The belt was wrapped around his right fist, the end of it dangling in front of you.
You tried to shield your eyes with your hands. “Please,” you begged when you noticed he’d stepped even closer and completely ignored the fact that you had tried to get away. “No, please,” his hand was upon your wrist, yanking it away to uncover your eyes. You looked up at him, tears glistening in your eyes, while you pleaded for him to spare you. “I’ll go to sleep,” you said, voice choked by tears. “Please, I’ll be good. I’ll go to sleep. You don’t need to do this.”
He paused in his actions and there was that tilt of his head again as he studied you through the hole-eyes of the mask. The belt dropped from his hand and fell to the basement floor with a clank.
His right hand came up to your cheek and you flinched, afraid he might slap you there. But his touch was gentle, his palm lightly upon your skin. You opened your eyes again to look up at him mistrustingly and wished you could tell what kind of expression he held behind that darned mask he was wearing.
You couldn’t tell. All you knew was that he was taking his time, standing there, only inches away from you. He was gently caressing your cheek, his thumb tracing circles. The motion was soothing as if he was trying to comfort you. It worked as well, for you felt your shoulders relax somewhat, despite your brain being on full alert.
His other hand was holding his cock. The aching hard member twitched in his grip as a new spurt of pre-cum droplets emerged from the tip. You tried not to look at it, which was hard as his shaft was on eye-level with you, ready to be brought to your lips.
Would he do it? You wondered how far he would go. He hadn’t touched you before like this. He’d been mostly at a distance. Except for that one time. But it figured he would eventually succumb to these primal desires. Why else had he taken you? If it had been just to kill then he would have done so already. Why keep you alive if not for this?
You whimpered, slightly trembling under his caress. A low hum escaped the masked man, then he stood straight again and you saw him move his upper body. The vest he was wearing fell open, his naked stomach showed. Round, you thought, pudgy. Yet, the muscles that showed on his chest betrayed your kidnapper was a man of strength. A strength that was confirmed almost instantly when he suddenly reached for you.
You felt your head being yanked towards him, and his shaft that had been angled at your lips was now pressed against them, begging you to spread them wide. He kept pushing, roughly, until the meat was between your lips and the head of his cock was upon your tongue. The salty taste of flesh mixed with the bitterness of the pre-cum filled your mouth and you hollowed your cheeks. And then he started to thrust.
You looked up at him, pleading silently for his mercy. But at the sight of your tear-stained eyes, his thrusts grew even fiercer and his grip on your head even tighter. You were left with no alternative but to suck, accepting his cock deep inside your throat.
Low, deep rumbles came from the depth of his chest when you started to cooperate. He was pleased, humming and moaning ‘oh yeah’ and ‘just like that’. Sounds that vibrated through his cock until you felt them in your mouth.
Dirty, your mind provided you while he moved you up and down his shaft. The salty and bitter taste of him filled you completely. The curly hairs around his manhood pressed into your nostrils when he pushed your head forward, blocking off your chance to breathe. You sputtered around him, feeling the tip at the back of your throat, feeling his cock spasm between your lips.
You gurgled and sputtered, trying not to choke. A moment of respite when he slid your head back again and his cock nearly left your lips, but then he pushed forward again until his hips met your cheek and your nose was nestled deep within his pubic hair.
You gasped and tried to claw at his hips, but all you felt was how he kept a tight grip on your head and stilled his movements, leaving his cock deep between your lips, the head pushing the back of your throat.
The process repeated itself a few more times, until his cock finally slipped from your lips and you were left gasping for air. A trail of sperm and saliva dripped from your lips and ran down your chin. You moved your hand up to wipe it away, but he caught your wrist before you could get there.
Staring up at him with wide eyes, you heard a chuckle derive from behind the mask. “Na-ah,” the man tusked, his low gravelly voice making something twist deep inside you. A longing, a tingle that had you squeezing your legs together. A foreboding feeling washed over you, that he wasn’t finished just yet. That this was only the beginning.
“Leave it there,” the man hummed. The pause that followed felt too long, making you writhe uncomfortably while you waited for him to either speak or let go of your hand. In the end, he did both, nearly at the same time. “I think I will have to cover your face in a layer of my spunk next time,” there was that rasp again. You had heard it before, how he could slide from a normal, almost gentle tone, into a demonic rasp that was usually used when he was angry and full of curses. “Paint your face a nice white with my cum,” he clicked his tongue behind the mask. His voice became lighter again.
“But for now, there’s another way I have in mind to tire you.”
You shivered at the promise and tried to back away again. The man in front of you got hold of his throbbing cock, wrapping his left hand around it. You saw how his fingers curled around the glistening shaft, still covered in your saliva, and watched how the veins throbbed when he moved his hand up and down at a firm but gentle pace. The ring on his finger glinted in the weak light, skin rippling as he pumped his hand up and down his throbbing cock. Still hard. Balls underneath heavy with cum.
“Undress, sweetie,” he cooed, voice soft like honey. But when you refused to do as he said, his tone turned drier and more menacing again.
What happened next was much of a blur. He made you undress for him, tweak your nipples for him, rub your hands up and down your bare chest for him while he watched and laughed and licked his tongue past his teeth at the show. His hand never ceased moving up and down slowly, hardening himself underneath his touch until he thought it was enough.
“Spread your legs, sweetheart,” it took only one command and you were back on your back on the mattress. Your bare back scrubbed along the mold. Even covered in the dark shade of the mask, you could see the glistening of his eyes, pupils wide. You hesitatingly spread your legs for him.
He crawled over you, cock still in his hand, and pressed your legs apart to fit himself in between. His right hand was on your thigh, palm pressed against your soft skin. His left hand guided his cock to your quivering cunt until you felt the head kiss your labia. A wet feeling against your pussy lips and you realized he was smearing his pre-cum at your entrance, deliberately rubbing the head of his cock up and down your entrance while some of the pre-cum came seeping out.
Your fingers clawed at his shoulders and your lips parted in a gasp. “Please,” you begged, knowing it to be futile. Then he dipped in, just the head. Careful fingers pressed the tip in. Not enough to hurt yet, just enough to tease.
He paused in his actions just to bend down, his hair brushed against your cheek as he whispered near your face. “That’s my good girl.”
Then he thrust forth without mercy.
You were speared upon his cock that night, in the basement that was your prison. He left you sore and tired as he forced orgasm after orgasm out of your trembling body beneath him.
He’d been right. You closed your eyes and fell into a dreamless slumber afterward, relieved when he finally rose from the bed and left you alone. You were too tired to notice when the Grabber returned for you in the midst of the night to get some more relief. Until you faintly awoke to wet sounds and the odd feeling of something thrusting deep inside you.
“Hush, pretty girl,” the low voice whispered in your ear, hips moving relentlessly while he kept pushing himself inside. One hand was on your breast, squeezing it tightly while he toyed with you. His other arm was around your waist, his knee between your legs as he held you from behind, your cunt squeezing down on his cock which was covered in your mixed juices.
“I’ll make you go to sleep soon, little one. Don’t you worry. I’ll make you sleep real deep.”
#Going real deep here#the grabber x reader#dark smut#grabber x you#albert shaw x reader drabble#drabble fill#prompt fill#insomnia reader dark fic
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey can you do shadowpeach with 7 3 10 17 and 21 pls (sorry if I put to many
7. “I know you’re here.” / 10. “I’m not scared.” / 21. “That’s it, you’re getting a hug now.”
Wukong woke up in the dead of night to pure silence.
That...that was strange. Wukong didn’t normally wake up in the middle of the night for no reason after all. If he’d been sleepwalking then maybe, but he was still in bed in the same position he’d fallen asleep in.
Which meant there had to have been something that had woken him up.
Slowly sitting up, Wukong’s red eyes flickered gold as he activated his true vision and let out a faintly visible breath, taking in the state of the entire mountain.
And then he...paused.
The golden glow faded from his eyes, and he let out a tired, irritated sigh as he pulled himself out of the bed, glamouring away any traces of the fact he’d been asleep.
He opened the window and flew down to beach.
He landed on the sand with enough strength to send bits of it flying as he dispelled his cloud. Upon a first glance, it seemed like there was nobody there.
But Wukong knew better.
“I know you’re here.” He said, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited. After a few seconds, there was a small noise of a bush shifting, and then Macaque slowly stepped out from behind a tree. Wukong let out another tired sigh at the monkey’s appearance. “What are you doing here?”
“Just passing through.” Macaque said, and Wukong raised an eyebrow as he watched Macaque’s hand twitch for his scarf, before he used his other hand to grab his own wrist, stopping the movement. “I didn’t mean to trip your magic monkey sense or whatever stupid shit you’ve got set up.”
“Macaque, your house is on the mainland in the outskirts of the city.” Wukong deadpanned, Macaque’s fur bristling, though whether it was from being caught in a lie or from Wukong knowing where he lived, Wukong couldn’t tell. “Give me the real reason why you’re here, and maybe I won’t toss you out into the ocean.”
Macaque let out a huff, leaning against the tree he’d been hidden behind, an evil smirk appearing on his face as he opened his mouth, likely to give some random excuse-
But Wukong knew that smirk, that look.
“Ah.” He said, interrupting Macaque before he could even begin. “You’re scared.”
“Wha- I- hah!” Macaque stuttered, before letting out a singular laugh, and Wukong watched in faint amusement as Macaque’s eyes briefly flashed magenta, though whether the shadow monkey had noticed that or not was up for debate. “I’m not scared.”
“I remember that expression Macaque. You’re scared.”
“You’re misremembering things.”
“C’mon now, tell me what’s got the ‘great Macaque’ all freaked out.” Wukong leaned forwards slightly with a smirk on his face- which turned to a concerned frown when Macaque glanced away. “Hey, seriously, are you okay?”
“Fine.” Macaque hissed, pushing himself off of the tree and walking towards the shoreline, Wukong quickly following him. Upon noticing the Monkey King’s proximity, Macaque startled, whirling around-
And bumping into Wukong, who, not having prepared himself for the impact, fell down into the water, a wave gently hitting him and soaking his fur and clothes.
Both of them paused for a moment.
And then Wukong was slowly standing up.
“Right,” He said, “That’s it. You’re getting a hug now.”
“Wait- wait- Wukong hold on- you’re all wet- hold on no-” Macaque held up his hands in surrender, and, upon seeing that Wukong was being completely serious, turned to start running down the beach.
He didn’t get very far.
Wukong tackled him to the ground, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close, succeeding in getting Macaque’s clothes and fur wet, as well as getting the both of them practically covered in sand. Macaque hissed and struggled, kicking his legs and hitting Wukong’s chest with his hands, but despite his wiggling and squirming could not break free from Wukong’s grip, and ended up accepting his fate, stopping his struggling and just... laying there.
“Ready to tell me what got you all freaked?” Wukong whispered into Macaque’s ear, making him let out a strangled noise.
“Don’t do that!” He hissed, wiggling a little again when Wukong laughed, before settling back down with a sigh. “...It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing if it made you come here in the middle of the night.”
Macaque was silent for a few more moments, and Wukong waited patiently.
“...The ice made things...quiet.” Macaque eventually whispered. “On that side. It was just...quiet. I made my house quiet so that the noise of the city wouldn’t bother me, but now it’s...too quiet.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you chose to come here though.” He said, and Macaque’s fur bristled as he tried to adjust to hide the lower half of his face within his scarf. With Wukong’s arms blocking the way, he only half succeeded.
“The mountain..has this kinda...song to it.” Macaque muttered, before continuing, even more quietly, like he was somehow hoping Wukong wouldn’t hear; “You have a nice song.”
Wukong let out a small inquisitive hum. Macaque didn’t say anything further, and Wukong could feel Macaque’s tail shift underneath of him from how it wanted to wag back and forth. He watched in slight amusement as Macaque’s ears took on a faint glow.
He must be pretty flustered if it was breaking through his glamours.
“Ugh, just, forget I said anything!” Macaque eventually yelled, once again struggling to escape from Wukong’s grip. “Just let me go and I’ll leave.”
“Hm. No.” Wukong said, and Macaque just barely had a moment to process that Wukong was shifting-
And then Wukong was lifting him up, bridal style.
Macaque let out some sputtering noises, and it took all of Wukong’s will to not laugh again.
“I don’t know if I can believe you.” Wukong said, shifting his grip when Macaque tried to struggle free again. “So I should probably keep an eye on you for the rest of the night just to make sure you’re not up to anything.”
Macaque let out a noise that was probably supposed to sound offended but honestly just sounded a bit pathetic. Wukong allowed a bit of a smirk to slip onto his face, and Macaque responded to that by turning and hiding his face against Wukong.
Wukong actually did let out a laugh at that.
“Come on you scaredy cat, I’ll keep you safe tonight.”
225 notes
·
View notes
Text
oranges
gojo knows how to peel oranges
a/n: just something simple inspired by the poem oranges by jean little, i cried the first time i read it, hope you guys enjoy <3
wordcount: 843
masterlist
there was a lot you did for satoru.
you helped ground him, reminded him to drink water, made him food, taught him how to fold clothes and do laundry, showed him all your favorites- from places to eat and videos to play.
you reminded him what love felt like, your tender touches late at night, gentle thumb pads wiping away hot tears, soft whispers and proclamations of love.
satoru always wondered what he did for you.
he didn’t think much of the quality time he’d spend with you, he thought that was a given. he often brushed past the shower of compliments he gave you daily, figuring that was the standard. the little gestures of holding doors open, buying you flowers, remembering your favorite candle scent and buying your shampoo seemed too natural to him for it to be considered and outward act of love.
“you want some oranges?” you asked, looking at him with a smile from the kitchen.
“i could go for some oranges” he replies, getting up from the couch and joining you in the kitchen, taking an orange in his hand.
his thumbs easily tear into through the peel, gently digging his finger and separating it seamlessly from the sweet fruit, continuing his motion until the peel comes completely off, all in one piece.
you on the other hand, are putting too much force into your thumb, your finger piercing straight into the flesh of the fruit, shrieking when the juice gets on your face a bit.
“how do you always peel it so neatly? i have never once been able to” you huff, setting the now punctured Orange on a towel, washing your hands in the sink before drying them off.
“cmon sweetheart it really isn’t that hard!” satoru grins, taking your orange and easily peeling it apart neatly. “you have to do this, and then… get it there and boom!” his smile widening as he stares at you, a pout on your lips and an annoyed look in your eyes.
“yeah yeah mr. ‘I’m so good at everything’” you tease, tasking the orange from his hand and munching on a piece. “they’re sweet today” you smile, putting both your pieces and satoru’s in a bowl, heading back to the couch the two of you were on.
two weeks later the two of you are cooking dinner, reading off the recipe and realizing the dish called for an orange.
“can you hand me an orange?” you ask, turning around and thanking him as he hands it to you. you were determined to not make a mess this time, it’s just an orange after all.
but as gentle as you were, the peel wouldn’t budge, and the little force you applied proved to be just a little too much as your fingers pierced through the flesh again. you groaned in frustrations satoru already taking it from his hands, a smile on his face as he so easily peeled it.
“coulda just asked” he hums, handing you the orange, you’re glaring at him, giggling when he misses your nose.
“thank you angel boy,” you mumble, chopping the orange and adding it in.
one year later you’re sitting together in a grassy field, the wild blowing past the two of you, your laughter and love filled gazes scattered in the wind.
“i got some oranges from the market today!” you grin, taking them out of the wicker basket and showing them to your snowy haired lover. “you owe me breakfast in bed if i can finally peel this damn citrus fruit” you wager, satoru easily sitting back, a small smirk on his face as he nodded.
“I’ll do so breakfast in bed for a month if you peel it in one piece” your eyes widen at his proposition, nodding before looking at the fruit in your hands.
it’s only ten seconds later that you’re throwing yourself back, saying the fruit was obviously defective because ‘there’s no way the peel was that easy to cut through!’
satoru takes the oranges from you, peeling them perfectly and separating them into neat sections.
“I’m glad i have you to peel my citrus” you smile one night, taking the mandarin slices from his hand and humming in delight as the sweet taste hits your tastebuds.
“I’ll always peel your oranges for you” he replies, voice soft, his blue eyes seem a little lighter and his face a bit more relaxed as he looks at you.
it’s been years since then, and you never learned to peel oranges, the times you’d attempt to, juice would get everywhere and the peel coming off in chunks, the aftermath looked like an orange massacre.
satoru’s heart flutters when he sees the citrus fruit, knowing you’ll hand it to him, for him to peel for you. he knows you’ll always ask him to do this for you.
satoru is grateful everyday that you can’t peel oranges, because with the boundless things you do for him, he knows this is the one thing he’ll always be able to do for you.
taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @luna0713hunter @torusmochi
#there’s oranges at ur wedding#and if u have kids he peels them for them too#you just watch him with love filled eyes#gojo ‘I’ll always peel your oranges for you’ satoru#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru fluff#gojo satoru#gojo satoru drabble#gojo x reader#gojo satoru imagine#gojo satoru one shot#gojo x y/n#gojo x you#gojo fluff#gojou satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo x reader fluff#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo drabble#satoru gojo fluff#satoru gojo fanfic#satoru gojo one shot#satoru gojo imagine#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen imagine#jujutsu kaisen fluff
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
punkflower where hobie likes to crochet in his spare time bcs it keeps his hands busy; he does it while he’s daydreaming and it’s great! it’s fun! it’s relaxing!
the problem is that he can’t stop making things related to miles.
he picks up his hook and when he looks down again he’s made a little crochet spider in red and black. he doesn’t even remember reaching for the colours.
he tries again a few days later and by the time he realises he’s daydreaming about miles’s face and miles’s hair and miles’s smile, he’s already nearly done with a loose-knit navy cardigan. he ties it off temporarily and tries it even though he already has a feeling it won’t fit properly, and he’s right.
it’s too short on him.
because he’d subconsciously made it to miles’s measurements that he’d eyeballed.
fuck.
he finishes it anyway, passes it to miles all nonchalant just to get it off his hands and off his mind but the next time they hang out miles is wearing it and hobie has to stand in the corner with his mouth shut before he puts his foot in it, because the cardigan fits perfectly and if he talks he’s absolutely going to embarrass himself. miles is laughing with his head thrown back and hobie desperately wants to kiss him.
but obviously he can’t, so he crochets more instead and it gets even worse. he’s burning through his red and blue yarn like paper; he’s made headphone accessories, keychains, beanies, a whole collection of loose-knit tops bcs he can’t get the image of miles wearing the first one out of his head.
it’s ridiculous and he drives himself up the wall with it, but he gives them to miles anyway and says they’re just practice pieces until gwen and pav ambush him in his flat and yell at him to finally fucking confess or they’ll do it for him, bcs miles is decked out in swag knitwear and they keep getting stopped on the street by strangers asking where he gets his clothes and you know what he says?
he says they’re just his friend’s test pieces. with a sad little smile.
and hobie can’t stand it anymore, because he practically CUSTOM-MADE everything, test pieces his ass. he opens a portal right to miles’s room and his heart squeezes when he sees that miles is in one of the sweaters he made, cream-coloured with a maroon star on the front, a little green knitted sprout tied to his headphones on top of his head.
miles slams his sketchbook shut, blushing like he’s been caught, and hobie walks right up to him and says, “they weren’t practice pieces.”
miles blinks at him, still clearly flustered. “o…kay?”
he soldiers on. “i made them for ya. with you in mind. by accident.” see? he opens his mouth and puts his bloody foot in it IMMEDIATELY. he fumbles to do some damage control but miles is smiling crookedly, pulling his headphones off.
“you handmade me enough things to fill half my closet… by accident.”
“yeah.”
hobie has to force himself to breathe because miles is standing up and then they’re kissing and every damn thought gets wiped clean out of his brain.
“was that by accident too?” miles asks, close enough that hobie can smell the cocoa butter he uses on his skin, something warm tucked beneath his wry smirk and hobie wants to kiss it off his damn mouth, so he does.
(afterwards, they tumble down to dinner grinning like fools. miles’s parents don’t question, and they miss gwen and pav fist-bumping just outside the window.)
#punkflower#flowerpunk#miles x hobie#across the spiderverse#atsv#hobie brown#miles morales#drabble#spiderverse#yes miles was drawing hobie in his sketchbook#yes the entire sketchbook is in fact filled with hobie#and yes they’re both IDIOTS
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
There's something so hypnotic about Soap's mouth...
NSFW below the cut
Soap’s mouth is like a force of nature.
He kisses you like you're air and he’s been suffocating for weeks. He’ll hold your face within his hands, keeping your head still as he tilts his just so. Sealing his lips over your mouth as he devours your luscious and life-giving essence.
And he savors the taste of your mouth like a fiend. Soap’s known to have a very enthusiastic tongue, and making out is no exception. And if you tease him by biting his bottom lip, he’ll lose it. He’ll either fuck you right then and there or, if you’ve been successfully riling him up, come right in his pants. So tread lightly.
He trails his mouth over you skin like a pilgrim traversing a fantastical landscape. Delving into every curve, tasting the subtle changes in your flavor, and putting to memory your reactions to the gentle caresses of his lips along your more sensitive areas.
Soap especially enjoys the way you whimper when he trails his mouth over your calf. Lightly dragging his teeth along the sensitive flesh, just below the bend of the knee as he teasingly pumps his cock at a glacial pace into your soaking core.
And he eats you out like a man on death row, and you are his last supper. He savors the taste of your heat, how it changes depending on your diet, and the subtle shifts in acidity in accordance with your changing hormones. He says he prefers you taste right before your cycle. Your flavor is sweeter, more robust. As if your body is preparing him for a feast that only he had been lucky enough to pick up on.
Before Soap, you were reluctant. Shy even, to let a man take advantage of you in such a vulnerable way. But now, you can’t see your life being anything less than pleasurably dull without him.
But it isn’t always what Soap does with his mouth that has you caged like an animal inside his languid prison. It’s what comes out of it.
His voice.
That low, rumbling brogue that echoes from the speaker when he’s halfway across the globe and all he has is a cellphone and fifteen minutes at his disposal. His words generating the most pleasurable and obscene images in your mind, a talent only he can possess.
“Tha’s it, bonnie. Add ‘nother finger fo’me. Stretch tha’ sweet fuckin’ pussy like y’know I do.”
“Steaming hell. Can ‘ere how wet ya are, love. Keep goin.”
“Donnae hol’ back, lass. Got’a ‘ear ya moan fo’me.”
“I cannae…I canne cum…until ya moan…my name, bonnie.”
His deep Scottish accent rolling off his tongue and straight to your pulsing core. Pumping your fingers vigorously, doing your best to mirror his actions. Yet nothing can compare to the reality that is him.
And after his verbal torture he calms your trembling mind, still reeling from your orgasm with the affection of a gentle lover. Using that rumbling purr you’ve grown to adore in the afterglow of a powerful climax.
“Ya so good fo’me, bonnie. So fuckin’ good.”
“Bet ya made a mess, didn’ya? Mhmm. That’s how I want ya, lass. A mess an’ beggin’ for me.”
You didn’t know what your life was like before him, besides unfulfilled in pleasure. He opened you to a world you had only read about in romance novels and seen within the stories on television. You didn’t think it was real. Unachievable. Until the Scottish siren that is John ‘Soap’ MacTavish thrusted himself into your life.
Now, you couldn’t imagine living a life without him.
Addicted to a man and his mouth. Naturally. Like the continuous flow of oxygen deep within your lungs.
Drabbles Masterlist
@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @glitterypirateduck @punishmepunisher @homicidal-slvt @jynxmirage @kkaaaagt @mykneeshurt @shotmrmiller @astraluminaaa @obligatoryghoststare @writeforfandoms @haurasha @havoc973 @macravishedbymactavish @ang3lc @luismickydees
#Soap's filthy mouth fills my soul#the Scottish Siren#johnny soap mactavish#john soap mactavish#john mactavish#soap mactavish#soap x you#soap x reader#soap x fem reader#cod#call of duty#cod drabble
516 notes
·
View notes
Note
Can I ask for headcanons for Raphael and Gortash? How would they show their love for their partner in subtle ways?
I feel like both their 1st instinct after they fall in love is shower their partner with grand gestures and the small stuff might only come a little later, when they are more comfortable.
this is so cuuuuuute thank you here have cute raph and gorty
Raphael
I'd think Raphael would seek you out even more often than he already does. Standing around, waiting for you, practicing more lines, with more care, throwing in more and more teases and flirts until you can't listen to a whole sentence coming out of his mouth without blushing.
He'd court you with extravagant pleasantries: Your favorite boutique, open exclusively for you. Your favorite meal, suddenly appearing on the menue of the tavern you're staying at. Your favorite book getting a sequel out of the blue.
Raphael would never acknowledge that he organized that, however. He'd wave you off, smiling quietly, and you see the knowing tease in his eyes but he'd be damned before he'd ever admit it.
Then, one day, you visit him and he's painting, hurrying over to you so you don't see. Later, once he's freshening up, you sneak away to take a peek at what he's been working on. Which posture he's painting himself in, which setting, which scene, but your breath catches in your throat when you see your own face on the canvas–
Gortash
The first thing you notice is that he makes time. For someone as busy as him, that's quite a lot – he moves his meeting back so he can lay in bed with you a little while longer, or sit with you at breakfast. He cancels a meeting so he can take you out to dine. What would be the bare minimum for almost everyone else is quite the effort for our Gorty, usually so laser-focused on his work.
The next thing you find is that he seemingly remembers every detail of anything you tell him. He asks about your friends, your acquaintances, about the shopkeeper that you shared a laugh with the other day. He wants to know everything, and somehow, he remembers everything, even months later.
The biggest most subtle change that happens however are his quarters. While he always prided himself in having you at his side, he was very hesitant at changing anything about his room. Then, one day, you spot that half of the wardrobe is emptied out. For you. There are more pillows on the bed so you can sink into your own.
He doesn't announce it, doesn't even ask you to move in, he just decides, and knowing him you know how difficult this was for him. You belong – with him.
#enver gortash#bg3 raphael#bg3 headcanons#drabbles#my writing#filling more asks from the waitlist!#gortash x reader#bg3 raphael x reader
495 notes
·
View notes
Note
Since you asked so nicely…and I’m nothing if not a giver… Steve very seriously saying to Eddie “That’s rich coming from the guy who tried to kill me less than two hours ago” in whatever scenario your Big Brain can come up with (ily ur amazing btw)
“Can’t believe you let a twelve year old drive off with your car,” Eddie snorts as he tosses another bottle cap into the hole in the floor of the boathouse.
“Can you stop that?” Steve clips. He doesn’t understand why Eddie’s bothering to do it, anyway. It’s too fucking dark to see the caps once they hit the water, but the steady plunk plunk plunk is starting to drive him a little nuts. Eddie is starting to drive him a little nuts.
You have to stay with him, Steve.
No one else is strong enough to protect him if someone comes looking for him, Steve.
Goddamn horseshit, is what it is.
Without Eddie’s little game of toss, the boathouse is… really creepy, actually. All creaking wood and nocturnal animal noises and Eddie’s shaky, rattling breaths.
“She’s fourteen,” Steve says to fill the silence he regrets asking for.
“Huh?”
“Max. She’s fourteen, not twelve.”
Eddie scoffs, lets his head drop again, hiding behind a curtain of hair. He brings a strand up to his mouth, mumbles, “Like that makes it any better.”
Okay, you know what? Steve doesn’t need this. He just does not need this. Not from the fully grown drug-dealing goth weirdo he’s being forced to babysit.
Seriously, who is Eddie Munson to go questioning his judgement when he’s trying to do the guy a fucking favor?
“That’s rich coming from the guy who tried to kill me less than two hours ago,” he bites, rubbing at the spot on his neck where the jagged glass pressed in.
“Oh, fuck off, man,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “I didn’t try to fuckin’- I wouldn’t… w-wouldn’t-”
Oh, no. Goddammit.
Eddie’s eyes go all wide and wet, his lip quivering around the word ‘kill,’ and Steve can just hear his mother tutting about his lack of decorum. The boy just witnessed a murder, Steven.
“Shit, man, Eddie, I’m-”
Eddie makes this sound — this pathetic thing, stuttering and damp, like mildew in his lungs, and his cheeks burn red as a tear tips over his lashes. Shit.
Shit.
“Hey,” Steve tries, reaching out to clap a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, but Eddie rears back, voice cracking as he snaps, “Don’t touch me!”
Eyes hot. Breath wet and heaving.
Steve’s gonna get decked for this.
“I’m- just… Just come here, man,” Steve says, wrapping an arm around Eddie, pulling him in, and Eddie folds like crumpled paper, collapses into Steve’s side and sobs, shaking them both so violently that Steve scoots them back a little from the edge of the hole in the floor just to be safe. He wraps Eddie up with both arms, and Eddie slumps down into his lap, and they’re-
Jesus. They’re cuddling. Steve Harrington is cuddling with Eddie Munson. What the fuck. What the fuck?
“You’re okay,” Steve murmurs, rocking them gently and brushing damp curls out of Eddie’s eyes, because, like. Might as well, right? This is already so weird.
#steddie#steddie drabble#always the goddamn babysitter#and then they kiss or something idk#love youuuuuuuu#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie fic#my writing#prompt fill
719 notes
·
View notes
Text
“I think I’m seeing things, man,” Eddie spoke from his spot on the Harrington’s couch. His white skin appeared paler still against the brown leather.
Steve didn’t blame him. He was on all kinds of painkillers. It’d been two weeks since the world fell apart. Two weeks since Vecna disappeared. Two weeks since Eddie almost died.
Steve liked to treat those memories as others treated head-on collisions. It was better not to look at them directly. It was better to treat it like it’d never happened.
“What’re we looking at?” Steve asked from his spot on the floor, following Eddie’s line of sight to the gap in the curtains.
“Don’t know. Thought I saw somebody outside,” Eddie confessed.
The Harrington house had always been filled with spectres, whether that of partygoers, like front lawn flamingos in need of an exorcism or the body in the backyard pool. But those were Steve’s hang-ups, not Eddie’s.
If all it took to be a ghost was to haunt, Eddie might be included in the ranks of his own private phantasmagoria. He kept checking each night to make sure the boy was really there, that he’d really gotten out. People shouldn’t have that much blood in them, and they definitely shouldn’t have that much blood out of them.
Steve went to the window because that was something he could do for Eddie. He wasn’t sure why he kept feeling the need to apologise. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but hell if Steve knew if he’d done anything right either. He’d gotten Eddie out of the Upside Down. He’d put his hands inside the boy’s body, shoved his shirt beneath his skin and held it in the dark cavity that oozed and throbbed warm blood like the rise and fall of the tide.
Don’t think about it. Check the window. His hands at his side felt cold. He wondered if they’d ever be warm again. There was a figure across the street.
A boy in a basketball jersey circled passed the house.
Things never ended smoothly. Steve liked to think once Jason went down the rest of the vigilante crew would stop looking for Eddie, but there were some stragglers who hadn’t got the message.
Hopper had his hands full trying to clear Eddie’s name. Eddie’s uncle was still looking for him. The whole town was holding their breath in the midst of destruction, waiting for someone to blame. Steve shut the curtains, turned the lights off and moved to Eddie’s side in the darkness.
“Hounds of hell still circling then?” Eddie guessed after one glimpse at Steve’s face.
“I’ll call Hopper,” Steve reasoned, reaching up to squeeze Eddie’s knee. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Maybe to make sure he was real. Maybe to tell him he was sorry.
“Don’t worry about it, Steve,” Eddie spoke, reaching out and snagging the hem of Steve’s sweater.
“No one thinks I’m here. If the cops show up at the Harringtons’ it’s going to turn some heads,” Eddie reasoned, and he was right.
So where did that leave them? Sitting alone in the dark with Eddie fading in and out of sleep and Steve watching car headlights dance across the curtains, waiting for the moment everything went wrong.
“Steve?” Eddie breathed beside Steve’s ear in the blackness. He hadn’t realised they were so close.
“Yeah?” Steve moved his eyes from the window to look at Eddie.
“I think I’m crashing,” he noted, a grimace dancing across his face. Steve had never felt smaller.
“Doc said we’ve gotta wait six hours,” Steve replied, hoping he didn’t sound as worried as he felt.
“How long’s it been?”
“Three.”
Steve always wanted to appear cool in times of crisis, but he had no idea what he was doing. Some of the government agents Steve had signed countless NDAs for over the past four years had patched Eddie up as best they could and had started scrambling for a cover-up.
In the meantime, Eddie would stay at Steve’s place. It made the most sense. Eddie was nobody to Steve. No one would go looking for Eddie at the Harringtons’, and unlike the other older teens, he didn’t have parents to answer to. Big house. No parents. Perfect place to lie low.
Steve was nobody to Eddie and yet for the past week, they’d been an island unto themselves, trapped indoors together, watching shadows on the walls and trying to keep each other alive and sane. He felt completely unprepared.
“Alright. Come on. Let’s go to bed,” Steve muttered, kneeling in front of Eddie. He watched the boy rise to a sitting position over his shoulder. Eddie snorted.
“What exactly is the plan here, Steve?”
Eddie had been stuck oscillating between the living room, kitchen, and downstairs bathroom for days. They could both use a change of scenery.
“Piggyback,” Steve spoke, trying not to think about the connotations that the word had garnered. He wasn’t going to think about Vecna. Not today.
He expected the boy to argue, but instead, he felt Eddie’s arms snake around his throat. He held tight, but not as tight as he should. Steve had to hold on to his forearms like backpack straps as he stood. Eddie’s legs were stronger. They held firm around Steve’s waist.
Eddie’s head flopped against Steve’s shoulder blade, nuzzling into the space. He was warm as the sun. Too warm. He was running a temperature. Steve tried not to think of the last time he carried Eddie. The boy was uncharacteristically quiet. Steve needed to do something.
“Saddle up, buckeroo,” Steve spoke, hoisting Eddie further up his back. He felt a puff of air against his neck, a barely there laugh.
“Hi-yo, Silver,” Eddie grumbled against Steve’s skin.
Steve moved deftly through the dark, taking the staircase slowly and methodically. The last thing either of them needed was another broken bone.
“I think I owe you one once all this is over,” Eddie noted. Steve was already shaking his head.
“You stick around, and I’ll call it a favour. I think Henderson would kick my ass if you died.”
“The kid’s got spunk. I’ll give him that,” Eddie noted as the two reached the top of the stairs.
“He’s got an attitude and a problem with authority,” Steve corrected, taking Eddie to his bedroom.
He moved to the edge of his bed and let Eddie extract himself. When they broke apart, Steve felt cold again.
“That’s our boy,” Eddie chuckled, shooting Steve a lopsided smirk. He was definitely still high on painkillers.
Steve rolled his eyes and helped lower Eddie down onto his favourite pillow, the one worn down with age but all the more comfortable for it. He pulled the covers up around the boy’s shoulders.
“Yeah, our boy,” Steve echoed in a too-fond tone.
He’d never let Henderson hear the term of affection. The kid had a big enough head as it was, but in the too-quiet world of just himself and Eddie, he felt okay admitting it. Once it looked like Eddie was settled in, Steve sat on the edge of his bed, feeling as he always did, like a stranger in his own home.
“When did you last get some shut-eye, boy wonder?” Eddie asked, his foot tucking beneath Steve’s thigh.
Friday. What day was it? Sunday. Not good.
“Well, come on then, don’t make a guy beg. Lay down, Steve. It’s your bed. I could sleep in the spare room if it’s a problem.” There was something cautious about the offer Steve didn’t understand.
He flopped down beside Eddie, so close the two shared a pillow. It changed the shape of the thing. It made the familiar strange.
“You know, I had this dream last night,” Eddie began, his dark eyes still open, glued to the ceiling. He cringed, knowing all the ways dreams could go bad, but Eddie shook his head.
“Not that kind of dream,” He insisted, his hands balling into fists on the bedsheets.
“I had a dream I was a pinball machine,” the boy stated plainly. The absurdity of the statement shocked a laugh out of Steve.
“These painkillers are legit, Harrington,” Eddie spoke, shooting Steve a sidelong glance.
“What kind of pinball machine?”
“You know the Centaur one? It’s black and white, mostly. The arts got this topless guy who’s half man, half motorbike,” Eddie explained.
Steve had no idea what he was saying, but it was nice to hear him talk.
“Wait, if you were the pinball machine, how did you know what you looked like?”
“Great question Steven. I’ve got no clue. Dream logic,” Eddie reasoned.
Steve screwed up his nose at the use of his full name. Only his dad called him Steven. Eddie raised a brow, seeming to take note. One of them had shifted closer. Steve wasn’t sure who. Eddie’s hand brushed against his side as he played with the sheets.
“Remind me again why I needed to know about your pinball dream?” Steve asked. The sound of the wind in the trees outside his bedroom window set his teeth on edge.
“Because you’re too damn serious and I thought it’d make you smile... Which it did.” Eddie added the last part in quietly and Steve rolled his eyes.
Eddie craned his head to look around Steve’s room before screwing up his nose.
“Anyone ever told you your wallpaper is gaudy as hell? Your curtains match your walls. Dude, I thought rich people were meant to have taste,” he observed, the boys’ shoulders pressed together.
“This coming from the guy who eats cereal out of the box with his hands,” Steve countered, no heat in his voice.
“Are you still mad I used to stand on your lunch table?” Eddie muttered, shoving Steve’s shoulder before tensing. When had Steve last checked his dressings?
He flipped the bedside lamp on, leaning over Eddie to do so. He’d been helping the guy shower for days now. Privacy was a word reserved for other people. Intimacy was a necessity.
“Once you stood in my mashed potatoes. It was disgusting,” Steve uttered, gently peeling up the hem of Eddie’s tee shirt. Really, it was Steve’s, but it seemed strange to make distinctions.
Eddie’s eyes trailed down to Steve’s fingers, half-hooded and slowed with sleep or inebriation, Steve didn’t know which. He wondered how much of all this Eddie would remember when he got better. He would get better.
“You never ate the potatoes. You’d bring your stupid bagels from home,” Eddie remarked, as Steve carefully unwound the bandage and gauze. It was stained brown with dried blood, but it looked better than it’d been a few days before, no longer as red or swollen.
The bagel comment made Steve look up. Seemed like Robin wasn’t the only one that’d been watching him. Maybe Eddie had a crush on Tammy Thompson, too. Maybe it was something else. Steve’s friends had crappy taste in women. Eddie could do better.
“What’s the verdict, doc?” Eddie questioned, noticing Steve’s sudden silence.
He cleaned the wounds as best he could. Eddie’s fingers had found their way to Steve’s thigh, gripping so tight he thought it would bruise. It would be another to add to the collection. Steve hadn’t been thinking of how his battle wounds were healing. He was in triage mode. Eddie’s wounds were worse than his.
“We're going to have to amputate,” Steve deadpanned as he found the first aid kit he’d hidden beneath his bed years before, starting to redress the wound.
“How the hell can you amputate a side?” Eddie asked with a shaky laugh, his breathing more ragged again.
“Well, you see, there’s this new experimental procedure that lets you transplant your brain into a pinball machine,” Steve began and felt Eddie’s elbow in his side.
“Screw you.”
Steve laid back beside Eddie, less space between them than before, if it was at all possible. They braced against each other, the contact grounding Steve. Eddie was alive. He was alive. Maybe one day they could look at each other and not think about death. That day wasn’t today, but Steve could hope for it.
As Eddie drifted to sleep, his head fell on Steve’s shoulder. He wouldn’t sleep for long that night, but he was used to that. He knew the weeks and months after a run-in with the Upside Down were full of fitful sleep and nightmares, but they never lasted.
On a long enough timeline, you could get used to anything. It was strange how short that timeline was when it came to getting used to Eddie.
More days came and went with the same imperfect routines. The two boys woke at all hours of the night and spent the daylight hours behind closed curtains, trying to heal.
By the third day, Steve got sick of the quiet. A sombre mood hung over them, shifting and changing like the phases of the moon. It never entirely disappeared, but there were moments it seemed almost absent.
One of these such moments arose when Steve hijacked the boombox from the living room and dragged it upstairs to his bedroom, where a slowly healing Eddie sat bored out of his mind, aching and itchy. Steve knew the feeling. The wound on his neck had scabbed and begun to fade into a scar.
“Hey, Munson?” Steve spoke, sitting beside Eddie, spreading his tape collection between them.
“You wanna hear some real music?” He asked, watching Eddie’s nose scrunch and his teeth worry away at his bottom lip.
“These are all horrible, Harrington.”
Eddie turned over several cassettes in his hand, treating them gently as though they were something special.
“You have every WHAM! album, dude. The Outfield. Halls & Oats. Tears for Fears,” Eddie listed off, his tone one of disgust.
“You’re going to have to pick something, or I’ll pick WHAM! out of spite.”
Eddie rolled his eyes and shuffled through the tapes, tossing one Steve’s way.
“Bowie isn’t horrible,” Eddie mumbled as Steve placed The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, into the player.
The two sat shoulder to shoulder, as always, listening to the quiet swell of drums. Steve realised too late it was a song about the end of the world. He realised, later still, that it was a love song. Eddie’s fingers drummed against his knee. Steve tried to ignore the way the action made his heart swell.
Steve couldn’t sit still any longer as Moonaged Daydream began. He remembered another life in Nancy Wheeler’s garage, asking her to pretend things were normal for a couple of hours. God, he wanted that. He needed a few normal hours.
He wasn’t the same person he’d been back then, but parts of him had stayed the same. He didn’t know how to change them. Nancy Wheeler faced problems head-on, but Steve? The passage of time had taught him how to stand his ground in the face of danger, but he hadn’t yet learned how to stop being chased.
He caught Eddie’s eye and watched as a wicked grin spread across his face. Without words, he knew exactly what Steve was about to do. He grabbed the nail bat he kept by the bed, the same one from the Wheeler’s garage and sang, using the gnarly weapon as his makeshift microphone. He was a little too loud and a little off-tune. He sang about alligators and space invaders, lyrics he knew off by heart, without understanding them.
He watched as a grin threatened to crack Eddie’s face in two. There was a reckless abandon to his smile. It was different from the glazed-eyed, half-high smiles of the past week. His eyes were keen and sharp as he watched Steve fling himself across the room in the way only someone who’d learned to dance drunk could.
By the time the album finished, he’d worked up a sweat. Eddie joined in, singing a couple of lines when he could before tugging Steve back to bed, his hand in Steve’s hair, smoothing it back in place. The action was intimate, yet familiar.
“Alright, Starman. Maybe Bowie doesn’t suck so hard, but when I’m not on the run from the law, I’m going to show you what real music sounds like.”
“Promise?” Steve asked, his chest heaving.
Then, Eddie did something so unlike anything the populous of Hawkins would expect. To them, he was a Satanist and a murderer. Steve had always known better, but he’d seen Eddie as a wildcard. He was loud and rough around the edges, but he also had the capability of being endearing when the moment called for it. Still, Steve had never expected Eddie to roll over, extend his pinkie and link their little fingers together.
“I promise,” He assured, placing his lips to the knuckle of his thumb as though sealing the deal.
The action was equal parts childlike and intense. Steve looked down at their interlaced fingers and knew he was in over his head. Warmth pooled in Steve’s fingertips.
“Eds, I—,” A knock at the downstairs door made the words die on Steve’s lips. The boys pulled apart. Steve was cold.
“I’ll get it,” Steve spoke, picking up the discarded nail bat and trudging down the stairs.
He hoped it was one of the door-knocking jocks. Some primal part of him felt like hitting something. Years before, he would have questioned if he was the kind of person who could do it, but now he knew he could.
Steve clutched at the bat hidden behind his back as he swung open the door, coming face-to-face with an older man dressed in too-short jean shorts, holding an armful of paper bags. He looked familiar. He’d seen the man with Hopper. A furrow etched its way onto his brow.
“Aren’t you going to let your beloved uncle in, Steve?” The man spoke, loud enough for the people in the next neighbourhood to hear.
“Right,” Steve mumbled, pushing the door open and stepping to the side.
The man walked through the house as though he’d grown up within their walls, dropping the paper bags on the countertop, switching on the lights and examining the space.
“Hopper sent me with supplies. It’d draw too much attention having the feds at your front door, but a visit from your favourite Uncle Murray? That’s incognito. I’ve got groceries and painkillers, slipped in some vodka too, on the house. Personally, I was thinking of making my homemade ravioli for dinner. Trust me, it’s to die for. Where’s the other one by the way?” The man, Murray, breathed, spinning on his heels to examine the interior of the house. Steve let his nail bat fall to the floor.
“You really should invest in a gun, kid...Was I interrupting something?” The older man asked, gesturing absentmindedly to his balding head. Steve touched his hair and found it still out of place. He ran his fingers through it in an attempt to tame it.
“No, we... I was sleeping. Eddie’s upstairs. I think he’s okay, but I could use another set of eyes. I don’t know exactly what I’m doing here. Are you staying?”
“I’m just staying for dinner. It’d look strange if your uncle only showed up for a few minutes, wouldn’t it?” Steve didn’t dignify that with an answer.
“There’s the man of the hour,” Murray spoke, glancing up at the top of the staircase where Eddie stood, leaning heavily on the banister.
“What happened to staying up there?” Steve spoke through gritted teeth, making his way back up the stairs.
“You were taking too long,” Eddie muttered with an unbothered shrug.
“And if it’d been one of Jason’s asshole friends, we’d have been screwed,” Steve rebutted, letting Eddie lean on him as they made their way to Murray in the kitchen. At least he could walk.
“But it wasn’t,” Eddie huffed, his breath warm on Steve’s neck.
Steve kicked out one of the kitchen chairs and lowered Eddie into it. The older man watched them as a scientist observes a specimen. There was a morbid fascination to it.
“I see you two are getting along well,” He spoke.
He’d found where Steve’s mother had stored their pots and had begun some strange kitchen alchemy. Steve had made risotto. This guy looked like he was completing a summoning ritual. The ingredients were splayed out on the countertop like objects of adoration.
Steve sat down in the chair beside Eddie. It felt strange having someone else in the house. For what seemed like a lifetime, his world had consisted of one other person. He missed Robin, Dustin, and the rest of the kids, but he hadn’t let himself dwell on it. He’d known their isolation couldn’t last forever, but he’d never have guessed Murray would be the first person he’d see.
“Tense mood. Why is it I always end up in the middle of couples in denial?” Murray breathed to himself.
Eddie’s head snapped up with a speed Steve hadn’t seen him manage all week. Steve didn’t look at Murray, he was too busy trying to unpick the pained look on Eddie’s face. His eyes searched the boy’s body for some torn open wound he’d missed.
“What? Don’t look so surprised. Contrary to what kids these days think, we did have homosexuality in the sixties,” Murray informed before pausing. He gave Steve a once-over that made his skin crawl. He felt as though he were a bug, pinned beneath a glass plate.
“And bisexuality,” He clarified.
Steve averted his eyes and reached over to squeeze Eddie’s knee. He was hopelessly lost in the conversation, but he knew something was wrong with Eddie. The boy jumped at the sudden contact and Steve pulled his hand away as though burnt.
“So, what’s the problem? Still in denial?” Murray asked, levelling Steve with a knowing look. He scowled back at the man, ready for him to leave.
“No. I think you know how you feel, maybe even how he feels.” Steve didn’t know how to respond.
“You, however,” Murray continued, turning his attention to Eddie, the boiling pot on the stove, forgotten.
“I don’t think you have a clue. Self-esteem issues, maybe. You try to hide it, but you couldn’t imagine that someone in a house like this would look at you twice.”
“What the hell, man?” Eddie breathed with a huff of indignation. Murray showed no signs of stopping. His eyes were back on Steve.
“So, what’s holding you back? You got your heart broken after Nancy Wheeler. Let me guess, you keep saying how much you want commitment, but you keep dating the wrong people, people who don’t want to be tied down. That, my boy, is self-sabotage and him,” Murray spoke, indicating Eddie with a wooden spoon he’d been using to stir the rice.
“He looks like a long-haul kind of guy.”
“Dude,” Eddie interjected.
“What? You’re both obviously attracted to one another. Don’t lie. I have eyes. You’re telling me that all this near-death stuff hasn’t made you re-evaluate your life a little? It’s just been you two, locked away together at the end of the world, helping each other heal. Seeking comfort in one another. You’ve got shared trauma. That kind of thing bonds you for life.”
“Leave it alone,” Steve said, standing as he spoke. The chair scraped on the tile floor. A nails on a chalkboard kind of sound.
Steve pushed past the older man, pulled the pot off the stove, and let a tense silence settle over the three of them. The subsequent dinner dragged on in uncomfortable silence. Steve and Eddie kept their eyes glued to their plates. Murray talked but neither paid attention. He gave Eddie’s wounds a once over, appearing as lost as Steve. He didn’t seem concerned, so Steve took it as a good thing.
He thought he’d known what tense silence between himself, and Eddie felt like, but he’d known nothing compared to the moment Murray left. His whole body was on edge. Eddie wouldn’t meet his eyes. They needed to talk, but neither wanted to be the first to cave.
“I was thinking of turning in early,” Steve spoke, not knowing what else to say.
“Yeah. Me too.”
The boys lay side by side, but sleep didn’t come. Eddie’s body was wound tight as a tourniquet. This time, Steve was the one bleeding out.
He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. Maybe that he was sorry. Murray was right. Steve had known Eddie liked him and he hadn’t said anything because it wasn’t a problem he could throw himself in front of. It’d be easier if he thought telling Eddie would end up with him getting hit. There were worse things.
Eddie’s feelings had become more apparent as their time together wore on, but on some level, Steve had known long before. When Eddie had leaned over into his space smelling of cigarette ash, dried earth and sweat and called Steve some god-awful pet name, he’d known. He also knew the feelings weren’t one-sided.
That revelation came later. Eddie had been fading in and out of consciousness. Steve had shaken him awake to redress his wounds when it happened. The boy awoke, shooting him a lopsided grin, gazing at Steve with his drowsy, doe eyes.
He’d crooned, ‘Good morning sunshine’. And that had been enough.
Steve’s heart had stuttered to a halt as it had all the times before when a pretty girl had called him a prettier name.
As much as Steve hated to admit it, Murray had been right about a lot of things. There was one thing Steve desperately wanted him to be wrong about.
He and Eddie were bonded because of what they’d been through. That’s what the man had said. Shared trauma. Was that all they were?
Steve was back in the bathroom with Nancy, her white shirt, red. The whites of his eyes the moment she left, red.
He knew where shared trauma got him. He’d try to bury it. To move past it. He wanted to be more than what was done to him. People would say he was running. He was bullshit.
How was he meant to sit with the kind of stuff he and Eddie had been through? How was he meant to fight it? Would Steve always look at Eddie and see his death? Would Eddie always look at Steve and feel like dying?
“I wished I’d met you later,” Steve spoke to the dark room. Eddie’s locked body loosened, and as it did, he started to shake. In a moment, he’d start to bleed too.
“You know, normally people say they wished they’d met you sooner.”
“I mean... I wish we’d met after everything with The Upside Down. That you hadn’t gotten dragged into it. I wish that we’d gotten to know each other the normal way,” Steve explained. Eddie snorted.
“Can you imagine me doing anything the normal way?” He had a point.
Steve didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say. The silence was back, looming large as a lunar eclipse.
“You aren’t... weirded out by what he said? About me liking you?” Eddie’s voice was small. The only time Steve heard Eddie whisper was when he was dying.
“I think he also said something about me liking you back,” Steve replied, glancing at Eddie’s profile only to find the man was already watching him. His face was contorted in confusion.
“Then... what’s the problem here, Stevie?”
Steve had never been good with his words.
“What if we’ve ruined it?” He tried. At seeing a frown cross Eddie’s face, he knew he hadn’t done a good enough job at explaining.
“With what’s happened between me and you. You never would’ve looked at me twice if I hadn’t saved you, and what if that’s all we’ve got? Shared trauma.”
Bullshit. What if all they had was bullshit? Eddie finally understood.
“I don’t like you because you saved me, Steve. I like you because despite all the terrible shit you make me want to laugh. I love that you’re shit at dancing, but you do it anyway. Also, screw that guy your risotto is better than his. You’re a good cook. Your stupid hair makes me want to slam my head in a car door and before you say anything, that’s a compliment. You care so damn much about everyone.” To Steve’s surprise, Eddie’s hand reached up to touch his cheek.
“I don’t like you because we’ve been through bad shit together. I like you because you make me feel like one day, we’re going to get out on the other side of it, that things aren’t going to be like this forever,” Eddie finished.
Steve’s heart was a cardinal, beating itself bloody against a windowpane.
“Can I kiss you?” Steve breathed. For the first time in a long time, he was nervous.
Eddie’s smile was a lightning strike, bright, beautiful and something they’d shape gods after.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Eddie’s lips were warm.
#steddie#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#steve harrington#eddie munson#bi steve harrington#murray bauman#match maker murray#stranger things#st4#drabble#hurt/comfort#prompt fill#'murray knows what's up'#you know when I got this prompt#I thought I was going to write#something so silly fluffy and short#instead what I ended up with#was a hurt/comfort#character study#about dealing with trauma#because my mind kept thinking about how#other people in the fandom#have written about Murray strugglingly more#with the lgbt+ dynamics of the group#here I offer you#Murray gets that they are queer#but does not understand the queer experience#like hello everyone who's gay in the 80s#has the shared trauma of being gay in the 80s
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
love is gone
pairing: reader x jeon jeongguk
anon suggested: “I had this idea for a fic it's angst with a lot of heartbreak with soft smut based on love is gone by Slander ft. Dylan Matthew, basically the oc and jungkook have been in a relationship for two years but recently she's felt him drifting away from her and things aren't the way it used to be so she plans a super cute date night in hopes of saving their relationship which he agrees too but he doesn't come home that evening....when he does come home the next day and mentions they have to talk she knows what he's going to say but she thinks if she can show him one more time he'll feel how much she loves him...but in the end his love is gone.”
summary: Jeongguk tries to let you down easy.
genre: angst; smut; 18+;
content/warnings: POV shifts; boyfriend!jeongguk; established relationship;break up!au; hurt/comfort; make up sex (kinda lol); fingering,unprotected sex
soundtrack: love is gone— by slander ft.Dylan Matthew (highly recommend listening to the acoustic ver)
a/n: writing this made me… 😮💨 mark me down as sad and horny byeeeeeeeee. Also reader has brown eyes bc of reasons. Brown eyed girl supremacy, mwah!
word count: 1.4K
♪ It tears me up when you turn me down. I'm begging please, just stick around♪
"Baby, let's talk."
Something about the way he said it made your heart crack. The tone of his voice, the softness of Jeongguk's words, there's a finality to it all that made you anxious for what came next.
"Can you come with me for a minute?"
You didn't want to have this conversation. You already knew where it would lead.
Everything in you wants to say no. But it's the first time you've seen Jeongguk in 24 hours and the first time he's held your hand in weeks, so you let him lead you outside, helpless against his touch.
You couldn't face him when you sat down on the park bench, and you're sure the words you've been avoiding will be written all over his expression, so instead, you look out at the horizon.
It was hurting you. Sitting at the bench with Jeongguk so close but so far away, the distance between you verging on strangers.
You had half a mind to lash out and accuse him of breaking up with you in public so you could accept it quietly and not cause a scene. But you know him.
You know your boyfriend was kind and gentle-hearted. He probably brought you out here because you loved sunsets, and he wanted to give you a nice memory even as he said goodbye.
In the distance, the sunset was a red-orangey glow, casting everything the light touched in golden warmth—but you can't feel it. All you feel is ice-cold dread for what's about to happen.
So you beat him to the punch. "You're breaking up with me, aren't you?"
All the air rushed out of Jeongguk in a sigh. "Am I that obvious?"
You would have laughed at his question if it hadn't hurt you so much. "You've been avoiding me all week. Last night, you asked me for space, and now you want to 'talk.' We haven't talked in days. I might be blindly in love with you, but I'm not an idiot," you said, trying hard to keep the words from coming out bitter.
Jeongguk ran a hand through his hair, nerves on edge. Masked behind your anger, he could hear the hurt in your voice, and he hated being the cause of it. This wasn't easy for him, letting you go. But he couldn't keep you either.
"I think," he started. "I think we should start seeing other people."
At his confirmation, a hot tear slid down your cheek. Before you could wipe the tear yourself, Jeongguk reached out, closing the distance between you, and brushed the tear away with his thumb. He never could stand seeing you cry.
"Did I do something wrong?" You asked, barely keeping yourself together.
"No. Of course not. It's not you—"
"—It's me?" You finished, offering him a wobbly smile. "You don't have to say that just to be nice."
The look on your face made Jeongguk's chest ache so much he could barely breathe. "I don't wanna hurt you. . ."
"But you don't want to stay either?"
He doesn't answer that question; somehow, the silence between you only makes you feel worse.
"I see. . . "you said, nodding your head. "So that's why you didn't come home last night."
You fell asleep on the couch, waiting for him to find his way back to you so the picnic basket you packed remained untouched on the counter. You thought you could remind him of how great things used to be by recreating your first date at the park.
It involved fairy lights, wine, and homemade sweets filled with the love you hoped to remind him of. The love you hoped was still there.
Now you realize Jeongguk was never going to come back home to you. Not last night or any night after.
In a way, you're grateful. Considering the surprise you had planned, it would have been embarrassing if he had come home the night before.
Of course, you still made it to the park, but the situation was dramatically different now. But instead of making up, you were breaking apart.
"I'm sure you noticed how different things are between us now," said Jeonggguk. "Last night, I needed time alone to think. I tried to imagine myself without you. And the thing is, I could….and it all felt so."
You bit your lip, holding back more tears. "Is there anything I can do to convince you to stay?"
Jeongguk was quiet for a moment, and hope built in your chest, but it died just as quickly when you saw him shake his head no.
Jeongguk forced his face to stay neutral. "I will always love you, but just not in the way I wish I still could."
"So this is it then? We're over? Just like that?"
You want to cry, scream, and beg, but Jeongguk is still and calm beside you. So calm you know he's already decided to end things, and you know him well enough to know how stubborn he is that he won't change his mind now that he's made it up.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I understand if you don't want to be around me, I've already made plans to stay at Joons tonight if you prefer me gone."
That was the last thing you wanted. "No," You said, pushing down the sobs that threatened to come from your mouth. "Can you stay, please?"
Jeongguk hesitated, looking away from the face of the setting sun. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea…" He didn't want to give you the wrong impression that there was any way to salvage your relationship. And more than that, he didn't want to lose his resolve because a night with you would make it that much harder to walk away.
"Just for tonight? I don't wanna be alone." It felt stupid to want him there now when he was the cause of your pain, but Jeongguk was one of the few people in your life who knew how to comfort you. You wanted him close, even at the most inopportune moment.
The word 'no' was at the tip of his tongue, but he turned to look at you, and the hurt he found there in your big brown eyes had him saying 'yes.'
And he knows he shouldn't, but Jeongguk can't help but comfort you like he always has. Even though you broke up, it didn't change the fact that he still cared for you, still had love for you. He told himself it was just a reflex that had him reaching for your hand on the walk back home.
It's reflex that has him curling up next to you in bed and wrapping his arms around your waist to be the big spoon, as always.
Reflex that has him kissing away your tears, neck, and shoulder.
Reflex that has his hands sliding underneath your clothes to rub you through your underwear, desperate to make you feel good.
At least, that's what he tells himself.
And before he knows it, he's sinking into you with a groan, getting lost in the familiar warmth of your body.
You're so wet it was easy to slip inside, and even though he's already inside you, so close, naked body flush against yours—it's not enough.
Jeongguk still wanted more.
He couldn't help but grip your thigh, lifting your leg to push in deeper, to feel more of you as his cock slid in and out of your heat.
It has to be a reflex because it can't be love that has his hips driving into you, over and over and over again.
It can't be love that has him moaning into your mouth, kissing you until you are both out of breath, till you clench around him and he spills inside you, filling you up so perfectly.
Because if it is love and not the memory of loving you that makes it so hard to pull away hours later when your tears have dried, and your heart beats steady as you sleep dreamless on the side of the bed that used to be his—then Jeongguk is making a mistake. It was possibly the biggest mistake of his life.
Jeongguk isn't sure he can live with being the one to break both of your hearts. But he'd rather end it all before your relationship's indifference could turn to something cruel. He'd finish it now before you could hurt each other further.
If he had thought about it more, Jeongguk might have seen the love hidden in his actions. That there was something here worth saving, worth fighting for.
But that wasn't what he wanted. Jeonguk didn't want to think of everything he was giving up walking away from you.
It was much easier to pretend his love for you was gone.
#bts fic#btshoneyhive#bangtanbathhouse#jungkook smut#jungkook angst#bts scenario#bts drabble#jungkook fic#jeongguk fic#jungkook drabble#jeongguk drabble#jeongguk x reader#poc reader#songfic#req fill.📦#my fics.🍪
779 notes
·
View notes
Note
Aaa!!can I request NSFW with Yandere! toji? I was thinking... Reader is binding from Toji and he's taunting her even though he already knows where she isz going "here,kitty,kitty" thank you for reading!!💗💗
Yandere Toji is 100% into the neko franchise. Absolutely I will! Darling in this will already be broken by Toji. Enjoy★彡
★ RUN BUT DON’T HIDE ☆
Yandere! Toji x Fem! Reader
Warnings: NSFW•Implied kidnapping•Stockholm Syndrome•Dom/Sub relationship•Edging•Fingering•Size Kink•Penetration (V)•Patronizing•Pet Names•Spanking
What started as something that should’ve been fun has now turned into a small nightmare.
He’d been smug that morning staring down at you, arms crossed and eyes narrowed with a familiar mischievous glint in their depths. Standing barefoot in the kitchen wearing only his silk pajama pants, he’d made you a proposition you couldn’t turn down. You evade capture for 10 minutes, and he’ll take you out to the mall for the entire day tomorrow. It’s clearly impossible to win against him, and you were suspicious in accepting such a deal because even 10 minutes seemed to too long… but he offered a head start of 5 minutes.
Foolishly, like always, you believed for just a moment you stood a chance.
You were given one rule though. Toji told you very specifically, “Run all you like baby, but don’t you dare try and play hide and seek with me. I’m not in the mood for that.”
He blindfolded you and drove silently to an unknown destination, and when you’d taken off the blindfold, you realized you were at some sort of abandoned factory surrounded by forest.
Toji was dressed casually, but even then his muscles strained beneath his black shirt and jeans, his sunglasses pushed on top his head as he eyed his watch and then you curiously.
“Not gonna run? Time has already started baby. If I catch you before ten minutes… well, you’ll find out won’t you?” You didn’t waste anymore time, his smile telling you he’s up to nothing good, taking off in a pair of sneakers not meant for this sort of activity. Your goal was to make it to the forest line and use the trees as cover.
You had severely underestimated your own stamina and how big this site actually was. How could you possibly run the entire time? You barely walked around the house, because despite Toji’s insistence that you’re a little brat, he never hesitates to carry you and baby you.
You really intended to listen, you weren’t trying to disobey him, but you had panicked the first time his voice had sounded close, it’d been instinctual to hide.
You’d ducked inside one of the warehouses, enormous and filled with heavy machinery haphazardly hidden by yellowing tarps. You’d unintentionally trapped yourself, and when you realized it too late, you’d heard his voice.
“What’d I say kitten?” His normally cool or somewhat boastful voice was deathly neutral and had you struggling to pull air into your lungs. The fight or flight instinct within you choosing flight despite knowing what happened last time you’d disobeyed so blatantly. You fled deeper into the warehouse, passing equipment and conveyer belts and the like until you reached an area with a plethora of crates and forgotten trash.
It was so silent in the building it made you briefly wonder if he turned around to search for you elsewhere. You knew better though, Toji is a careful man and by no means foolish. You could only pray he was being lax in this game, his senses not sharpened like when he works. You could just hide for a little, until you’re sure he’s not inside anymore, and then escape out to the forest as planned and pretend to win.
Easy enough, in theory.
You really can’t be faulted. Whether intentionally or not Toji Fushiguro is a man who radiates danger. You running and hiding is as natural as a rabbit avoiding a fox.
Crouched down between some crates that concealed you very well, you held your breath for a moment and waited. You’d count to 100 and then you’d-
“Here Kitty Kitty…” Despite the playful twist of his words, you felt your spine tingle in anticipation as sweat dotted your hairline. It was slightly humid inside, no cool breeze blowing like outside. The musky scent surrounding you hopefully concealed your natural odor, Toji quite familiar with it. Heavy footsteps and a casual pace, Toji searched leisurely. You just wished he’d hurry up and call a quits to look somewhere else.
He started whistling.
A soft little tune, he paced just around your little hiding spot. You wished you could keep an eye on him, but it’d give your location away immediately.
“Not gonna come out?” He asked as if you had a choice. You would be getting punished no matter what now, and even as tears pricked your eyes a little at the unfairness of the situation. His punishment severity usually rested on his mood but today it was hard to get a read on him. You just didn’t know. It left you shaky and uneasy inside.
It was deathly silent for a moment, and as you finally counted to a 100 and found no more signs of him, you took a small peak around the crate to your right.
Empty. Your head barely had time to turn before Toji’s face appeared right before you, ripping a small shriek from your throat as you fell back on your ass in panic.
“What’s wrong? Don’t look so scared. This is what you wanted, I was pretty clear on the rule wasn’t I?” He’s standing to his full height, looking down at you with a condescending sneer.
“Get up” you’re scrambling to obey, shaking lightly and eyes watering just a hint as you keep your head down. Eyes glued to his dark sandals, anything to not look at his face right now.
“Turn around, hands on the wood.” Confusion and fear mingle as you turn to face the stacked wooden crates, putting your hands on the one directly in front of you.
Nothing happens for a moment, dread sinking deeper as you try to fathom what he’s planning. He’s likely going to fuck you, his favorite pastime using you as a cock-sleeve isn’t anything new, but he’s sadistic on occasions like this. You squeak pathetically when his large hands grip your hips and manhandle your pants down to your knees, underwear included. A hand is placed in the middle of your back, pushing you forward to lean slightly against the crate in front of you. “Put your thighs together” he’s kicking your feet despite his order, not giving you time to really catch your balance as you fall further forward.
His own clothing rustling alerts you, and you wonder if he’s really planning to shove all of himself inside you when you’ve had zero prep like this.
Toji can certainly be cruel, but he’s never done that before. It’d likely tear you-
You’re sniffling and crying before you know it. Shaking like a wounded fawn, so much it draws a deep frown on Toji’s lips, scar pulling, as he eyes you. What was going on in your head? It was irritating to him.
“Stop fucking crying” his crude words punctuated by a hand weaving into your hair and gripping tight enough to sting. Toji spits on his already aching hard cock, lubing it up a little, before slotting his cock not inside you, but between your closed thighs. You startle for a moment, whining as he twists your head back around to prevent you from looking as he pulls back and pushing forward again.
Oh
“T-Toji-”
“What’s got you crying, hmm? You sorry for something?” He sets a slow pace, just letting his cock slowly grow more lubricated from your dripping cunt by the second. His tip so generously brushing your clit but only lightly and nowhere near enough to get you off.
“I-I didn’t mean to…to hide, oh…” a little sigh leaves you, as does the adrenaline rush you’d been on. It was leaving you slightly limp in his hold as you calmed. Toji uses it as a chance to yank you softly back against him. His hand leaving your hair and moving to circle your waist, hoisting you up to dangle in his hold. His thick thighs cage your own, forcing yours together so your soft inner thighs become an even tighter place to fuck. Your back to his chest allows him to watch his fat leaking tip poke out as he thrusts forward between your slick soft thighs. Groaning, his pace increases, and as do your whimpers and the need to cum. Your hands hold onto his forearm keeping you up, and you feel like a doll for his pleasure more than ever. He moans and pumps his twitching cock in between your thighs over and over, riling you up as your own hips move to grind back against him. It’s not enough, but it feels good and has you heating up and craving just a little more than he’s giving. As you wiggle and whine in his hold, Toji merely chuckles and enjoys the sight as he uses you.
“Need something kitten?” He’s teasing, his free hand moving to touch lightly just above your clit. You jolt in pleasure as he so softly brushes your puffy little bundle of nerves. A sweet moan filling the musky air and echoing. You can’t get enough, your muscles tensing up and clamping even tighter around his cock sporadically, rubbing and trying for any sort of more.
“Please!” You break, finally begging despite knowing what would come next.
He chuckles, not changing a thing as his finger just barely applies pressure to your clit, somehow pulling away even as you buck and try to get more, keeping it constant. “I don’t think that’s how I taught you to beg.” As if to show you how pathetic your plea was, he leaves your clit and moves under your shirt to pinch your nipple harshly.
It has the opposite affect as your pussy seizes and gushes over his cock, soaking him enough it causes his hips to stutter as he takes a moment to process what you just did.
Your shaking in his arms, your whiny moan lessening to a small whimper as Toji stills between your legs.
“Did you just cum?” He’s not angry, more amazed and shocked than anything that this small amount of stimulus was enough to have you squirting all over his cock and down both of your legs.
“I-I’m sorry…” you wanted to die of embarrassment, but it was too late as Toji burst into a boisterous laugh.
“Fuck, you came so much, did that feel good kitten?” His tone shifted, causing you to tense up. It didn’t matter, he was marching you forward and pushing the heavy crates off one another until a flat surface was created. Ironically it was perfect height to fuck you while he stood.
He was stripping you naked and throwing you on top of the crates, yanking your poor hips to the edge and bringing his face to your sloppy cunt.
“You don’t deserve a reward for disobeying, but you just can’t help yourself can you?” He’s breathing directly over your sensitive wet cunt, causing you to shift and arch your spine. Dragging his thumb over your drenched hole, he brought it slowly through your folds to your clit, softly swirling and chuckling as you jerked against his iron hold on your hip. He repeated the motion a few times before becoming silently impatient, finally sinking a thick finger inside of you. The noises you were making sounded louder due to your location, causing an odd sort of embarrassment.
It wasn’t long before Toji was leaning over your form, pumping two fingers inside your pussy while crashing his lips to yours. His kisses were always dominant, possessive, and filled with hunger. His tongue invading every inch and turning you stupid beneath him as he stole your breath. Only when you become a panting sweet mess beneath him does he let up as you come for the second time on his fingers.
He looks sinful staring down at you, watching you fall apart and cling to him for comfort as you do.
Licking his fingers clean, Toji can’t help groaning, reminded of his neglected cock that didn’t get to finish due to your little surprise.
“Spread your legs, yes fuck, just like that.” He’s slotting himself easily between your thighs held open by your pretty hands. Lining his cock up with your entrance, Toji is enraptured by the way you stretch and suck him in. He slips into you easily due to the mess you’ve made.
“Still so tight, made to take my cock, aren’t you?” His teeth are gritted and bared as he finally sinks all the way inside you, loving how your little cunt looks stuffed of him. “Keep your legs open, don’t fucking close them.” You don’t have a choice anyway, as he grips your thighs himself and keeps your spread as he begins a slow rolling pace. His hips angling to hit that spot that has you seeing stars.
“F-fuck Toji-!” His name on your lips sounds sinful moaned like that.
“Poor thing… you can’t even run properly, are you struggling to take my cock now too?” He meanly sinks a little too deep, causing you to squeal in surprise before he drops the act and begins to fuck you for real. Watching in fascination as your tits move with each powerful thrust inside you, ignoring the way you claw at his chest. “T-Toji gentle p-please!” He’s not listening, instead one hand drops from your thigh to your clit to begin rubbing circles.
“You disobey and now you want to give me orders?” You can’t think as he jackhammers his cock inside you and stimulates your clit at the same time. Your eyes cross a bit as another fierce orgasm rips through you, clamping down on his cock and eliciting a sharp hiss from him. He doesn’t slow down, too drunk on the feeling of your tight hot gummy walls massaging his cock to care that you’re clearly overstimulated.
“I’m gonna fill you up fuck” Toji’s head rolls back before he’s leaning over you and taking your lips again, rutting into you with shorter thrusts now to stay as deep inside you as possible. He doesn’t let your voice escape, devouring your mouth as his cock twitches and he stills to come deep inside you. His hot seed shooting in spurts as he coats your walls.
You’re a sweaty tired mess as he finally peels himself off you, looked at your fucked out form so cutely struggling to regain composure he’s already obtained.
He doesn’t want to admit how adorable you look, limp and compliant under him, still hot come dribbling out of your pussy as he lets your legs drop and observes.
He’s hard instantly again at the sight, chest heaving for a different reason than being out of breath.
You’re flipped on your stomach, realization dawning too late again before he’s sinking inside of you once more.
“N-no! I can’t anymore Toji please- ngh!” His hand comes down hard across your ass, your pussy clamping down around his cock and causing your stomach to ache from the stretch and burn.
“You can’t?” He’s laughing as his hips pull back, cock nearly popping free from your tight embrace before slamming so deep your toes curl and nails dig into the wood. His hand comes down again on the other cheek as he thrusts inside again. You’re a whining pathetic mess as Toji pushes your head down, smashing your cheek against the wood too and holding you there as he picks a brutal pace.
You have no where to go, trapped by the crates and Toji behind you, forced to take all of it. You feel like you’re breaking as his huge cock bullies your insides.
It’s not your fault you come again, unable to resist the pleasure and pain of Toji’s passion.
“You keep that pretty cunt gushing baby and I’m gonna fill you again.” It’s not a threat but a promise but it hardly matters because you’re forced to come again before he finally finishes.
“Fuck you take me so well…” his forehead rests against your back as he composes himself.
He’s not the least bit concerned that you’re so overstimulated you’re crying. Softly sniffling as he slowly drags his sticky cock from your messy cunt. Strings of your combined release still attached to him before breaking as he takes a step back to admire you.
“Now… since I’ve caught you before the ten minutes…” you tiredly turn your head a little to eye him. He doesn’t look the least bit tired, if anything he looks too good. His hair slicked back now to keep it off his face while fucking you senseless.
You make eye contact. “Don’t I deserve my reward now?”
Your eyes widen, connecting the dots immediately as you realize this was a trap and you’d foolishly fallen into it all.
It’s useless even as you struggle onto the crate to crawl away. He’s got your ankle instantly, yanking you back on your stomach and positioning his cock back at your entrance even as you beg.
“I-I’m sorry I d-disobeyed! I promise to do better, promise, please Toji, I’m sorry-hiii!” He’s sinking back inside before you’re done pleading. You’re left to grit your teeth as the pleasure and pain mingle so deliciously it has your mind and vision going fuzzy.
“I know you’re sorry kitten, but not sorry enough.” You can’t see the victorious grin on his face, you don’t know about his internal bet he’d placed either.
If you ran and did as he told you, he was going to take you to the mall regardless if you won or not.
If you ran and hid though? He was going to have his complete fill of you. Your body not able to handle as many rounds as he normally can, he was eager to really show you how long he can go.
This was your punishment and his reward.
Still, sweetly petting your head and moving the hairs in your face away, he’s kissing your cheek and murmuring in your ear soft praises. Fucking you slower and more sensually than the last two rounds.
He’s so gently holding you in his strong arms as you sob and come apart beneath him.
Eventually, the sun sets and the warehouse is dark. Illuminated only by the moon.
It’s pity that releases you, not his stamina.
You’d fallen unconscious after the fifth round, and Toji was kind enough to put your clothes back on and carry you back to the car.
You would really be sorry tomorrow when you couldn’t walk.
At least you’d gotten out of the house he kept you locked up in without any broken bones this time.
#toji fushiguro#yandere toji#jjk#18+#mdni#fem reader#drabble#toji x reader#yandere toji x reader#x reader#request filled#not proof read
845 notes
·
View notes
Text
a/n: welcome to my attempt at kinktober. while i'd love to deliver new content every day of the month, and i will do my best to write as much as i can, you might find that some of the links below will take you to previous works that fit the prompt or won't be linked until after kinktober. i hope you enjoy my contributions and please check out some of the amazing work of my talented moots here.
one: handjob | neteyam
two: eating out | neteyam
three: thigh riding | neteyam
four: choking/spanking | loading███░░
five: daddy kink | jake (previous work)
six: blindfolded | neteyam
seven: blowjob | neteyam (previous work)
eight: voyeurism | loading███░░
nine: accidental stimulation | jake
ten: knife kink | loading███░░
eleven: restraints | neteyam (previous work)
twelve: fingering | loading███░░
thirteen: in public | neteyam
fourteen: sixty-nine | loading███░░
fifteen: size difference | loading███░░
sixteen: toys | loading███░░
seventeen: begging | loading███░░
eighteen: mirror sex | loading███░░
nineteen: threesome | loading███░░
twenty: edging | loading███░░
twenty-one: phone/comm sex | loading███░░
twenty-two: shower/tub/ocean | loading███░░
twenty-three: biting | neteyam
twenty-four: rough | loading███░░
twenty-five: caught masturbating | loading███░░
twenty-six: overstimulation | loading███░░
twenty-seven: anal | loading███░░
twenty-eight: praise/degradation | jake
twenty-nine: dirty talk | loading███░░
thirty: mutual masturbation | loading███░░
thirty-one: A/B/O | loading███░░
prompt list by @pandoraslxna
click to join the taglist
#this looks empty but i swear it's gonna fill up hahaha#lunaskinktober2023#avatar fanfiction#avatar fanfic#atwow fanfiction#avatar drabbles#avatar smut#atwow smut#neteyam smut#jake sully smut#jake sully x reader#neteyam x reader#neteyam x y/n#neteyam x you#atwow neteyam#atwow jake#jake sully fanfic#avatar x you#avatar x y/n#avatar x reader#avatar x human reader#avatar x na'vi reader#neteyam x human reader#neteyam x na'vi!reader
212 notes
·
View notes
Text
Little Bunny (A Black Phone Drabble) - Grabber x (F) Reader
Drabble fill for the Anon who so kindly donated to me.
Anon Wrote: My prompt will be a girl gets nabbed by the grabber, & when he goes through her backpack, he finds she carries around a yellow comfort plush bunny (mocks and coos at her for it?) srry if thats weird lmao
AN: Thank you for your donation. With your money I am already on my halfway goal of buying a new pair of glasses :D Which I really need, so thank you loads. You have no idea how much this means to me <3
Rating: NC-17 Due to themes, smut-related words and references.
Little Bunny – Grabber x Reader
When you opened your eyes it was to the hunched form of a man. His lean, slender frame was bent over something, his back to you. You could faintly see the traces of his shoulder-length hair. Like Gollum hunched over his most coveted treasure.
Your vision was blurry, so you sat up and rubbed your eyes. Something sturdy was beneath you, not as soft as it should have been but no stones either. The room around you was dark and murky. There was a dull pounding in your skull and your lungs ached as if you’d inhaled too much smoke. Vague flashes of memories suddenly hit you. Of a man. A van. Black balloons. And you, polite and kind as ever, offering to help him.
Had your own kindness gotten you into this predicament? It did not seem fair.
Once your gaze slid back to the man, you noticed that he had turned around to look at you. But instead of meeting a human expression, you met the artificial smile of a pale devil with horns. No human face was visible. The man was wearing a mask to obscure his features from you, a sign that whatever he had in mind for you wasn’t going to be something good.
Devilish intentions, you thought, while a shudder of fear ran down your spine. A monster. Not a man.
“Ah, so you are awake,” his low voice groused. But there was a certain playfulness to it. As if he was somehow twisting his voice into a caricature version of his own. He was toying with you. You brought your hand up to your chest at the realization, breathing rapidly while you tried to remain calm.
“Where am I?” You asked the first question that came to mind. Your sight was still returning to you, but you’d quickly noticed your surroundings. The same plain walls stared at you, all around. The only piece of furniture, if it could be described as such, was the mattress you woke up on.
“What are you doing with my bag?” you asked, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the blotted mattress. You noticed something sticky beneath your hands and glanced down shortly to see the many spots that must have been created by fluids. But what kind, you didn’t wish to give a thought.
You quickly looked up at your captor again. He was squatted next to your bag. The horrendous mask was directed at you, his eyes glinted behind it.
“Where am I?” you asked once more, as he still had not replied yet.
But it was as if your words were absorbed. You frowned slightly, aware that something wasn’t quite right – other than being abducted. Still, the man did not reply. Instead, he seemed to let out a heavy sigh - judging by the way his shoulders rose and then slumped again. And then he finally turned his head away from you to bring his focus back onto the contents of your bag.
You watched how the man removed a pen from the bag and seemed to study it. The mask tilted to the side while his finger stroked sensually past the plastic pen. Then, his hand up until his wrist disappeared into your bag again. A low breath could be heard, muffled behind the mask’s lips. Was he excited? A shudder, then his hand slowly emerged from your bag again. You half expected to see the pen again, but he had taken out your phone instead.
He studied it with a quiet curiosity. And you watched him with the same silent morbid curiosity. His thumb stroked past the edge until it pressed the power button. Your screen flashed to life shortly before it was silenced and darkness consumed the screen. The man was studying your things, you realized, as he tossed the phone back in and pulled out the next of your belongings.
His hands stroked with reverence past each item that he took out. He rattled your keys gently, then revealed a few items you always carried with you, then your wallet. There was an erotic kind of curiosity to the way he studied each little thing. You thought he had touched everything inside.
Everything, except one thing.
“Now, what do we have here?” The man’s voice made your breath hitch in your throat. It was low, ungodly so. You felt how a spark of longing shot deep into your core. Slick gathered between your folds and you quickly pressed your knees together, forcing your legs to rub against each other in an attempt to ignore what his voice was doing to you.
How could you get this aroused from sound alone? Once again, it wasn’t fair.
You shyly glimpsed away, afraid that he would notice your reaction or see the blush that must be on your cheeks. Apparently, it did not work, for the man had turned towards you fully now and took a deep breath. You heard it. Heard the inhale, heard the slight rasp to it. Then a low chuckle.
“Isn’t that cute?” the man continued, and you would have tried to avoid looking his way if it hadn’t been for the plush bunny he held in his hands. Reverently, as with all of your belongings, he held it, carried it almost on his palms. A yellow plush bunny that gave you comfort when times were harsh – and they had been lately.
If your cheeks hadn’t been red before, they certainly flushed now. Ashamed, you stared at him and bit your lip, biting down any comments you might have wanted to make.
“Why would a big girl like you have a need for a thing like this?” And it was a good question he asked, one that you often had asked yourself during your weaker moments. But then you always reminded yourself of the comfort it brought you. Was owning a plush animal such a bad thing for an adult? Did it make you weak or foolish?
If anything, you thought daring to carry your bunny around with you had always made you stronger.
Then his voice broke you out of your thoughts. Any leering comments you had expected were swapped aside for something far more sinister.
“Is it that you want to have something to cuddle with?” he hummed, the tone’s implication clear. “Or someone?”
A shiver ran down your spine as you realized what he must be hinting at, and you carefully scooted farther away from the stranger and as far back onto the dingy mattress as you could, until your back hit the hard wall. Eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief, you held up an arm in front of you as if to stop him from getting any closer.
“Ah, suddenly getting shy?” the man cooed before you could even utter a word in your defense. You watched as he moved his arms to his sides. Your plush bunny was pressed against his hip, flattened with its soft face against the hardness of his hipbone, its ears tapped against the cold metal of the man’s belt.
And you winced. Your poor bunny.
“Please, sir,” finally you found your voice and the opportunity to get a word in between the man’s rambling. “It’s mine, my comfort bunny. Could you give it back?”
The mask tilted but there was no mistaking. His eyes were directed at your outstretched hand, your arm still in front of you, muscles slightly trembling. And something started to smolder in them. Some kind of perverted dark pleasure was visible in his eyes.
“That’s all right,” the man’s voice was low and leering. For a moment you expected him to hand back your plush toy. But then you saw him raise the bunny to his mask and heard the rough rasp of his voice. “You won’t be needing this any longer. If it is comfort you seek, then it is comfort I shall give you.”
And against all of your expectations, down the bunny went, onto the dirt-covered stone floor. Without thinking you dove forward to catch it, ending up in front of the man’s feet on the floor.
Your hand came to rest upon the plush fur of your most beloved toy, when suddenly a shoe was upon it, crushing the back of your hand under the rubber soles of a sturdy shoe. You lay vulnerably in front of the man, completely at his mercy. A pained groan escaped you through gritted teeth, and you looked up to meet the devilish silhouette that towered above you.
Your kidnapper seemed nothing more but a shadow, the mask’s features hidden in the darkness of the room. But his eyes, oh! They glinted like embers in the night. A pure evil shone within them; the promise of a devil.
“I think,” the low murmured words fell silent on the basement’s tiles and he added a little more weight onto your hand, just enough that the pain became unbearable, but not enough to crack bones. “You and I are going to get real comfortable around each other, sweetheart.”
Then, his foot lifted from your hand, making you gasp in relief. Your other hand cradled your hurt one, bringing it close to your chest, your bunny as well – no way you were going to let go of it now.
Your kidnapped looked down at you, hands on his hips, and huffed. “Oh yes,” his voice lowered another notch until the low vibrations sent tingles of pleasure down your sopping cunt. Despite being scared, you felt the thrill of being in this man's hands. Especially when his low murmur brought another promise:
“Real comfortable.”
#anon answered#drabble fill#black phone drabble#not quite smut yet#yellow plush bunny#reader x grabber#grabber x reader#comfort plush#I love bunny plushies myself so thank you for this request#albert shaw x reader#not beta read but I didn't want to postpone it any longer
198 notes
·
View notes
Note
so i just read your giggle glow fic and you got me. im fuckin hooked!!!! i hope this isnt a strange request but tickling would be fun to read, especially when you take into account that someone so powerful like monkey king could be taken down by something so childish
anon i miss the giggle glow au so much it’s ironically not even funny
-
Wukong stopped walking just in time to avoid bumping heads with Mei as she dangled upside down from a tree branch.
“’Sup Monkey King?” She asked, flipping herself out of the tree and onto the ground. Wukong raised an eyebrow.
“...I could be asking you the same question, Mei.” He said, crossing his arms. “What brings you to Flower Fruit Mountain? If you’re waiting for MK, he’s going to be at least another fifteen minutes.”
“Nah, I actually meant to run into you on purpose actually.” Mei rummaged through her jacket pocket, before pulling something out. “Y’see, me and Red Son built a new camera the other day-”
Wukong’s easy going smile dropped from his face in an instant.
He knew exactly where this was going.
“Mei.” He said, as a warning, which only made Mei smirk with a smile Wukong would straight up call evil. “You already have a bunch of pictures from our time on the ship- and not to mention you’ve already exposed me to all your jokes too. Why don’t you go to Macaque?”
“I already have.” Mei said, shifting the camera slightly to show Wukong a picture of Macaque, who was leaning against his couch, laughing, his silver and purple glow perfectly captured in the image in an almost ethereal way. “And besides, there are ways other than jokes to make you laugh.”
“What do you-” Wukong started, then cut himself off by biting his tongue when Mei reached foward and started moving her fingers over his sides. After a few seconds, he shook his head. “That kinda childish thing isn’t going to work on me, Mei.”
Mei frowned.
“It worked on you when Macaque did it before...” She muttered, and Wukong looked to the side, away from her face. As such, he didn’t see when she glanced up, her head tilting when she saw that Wukong’s eyes were faintly glowing gold. “...Are you using a spell?”
“What, no, of course not.” Wukong said, a nervous smirk replacing his blank expression as Mei lit her fingers up with small green flames, drawing upon a miniscule amount of the Samadhi fire, not enough to harm, but enough to break a spell. “Hey- Mei- there’s no need to get drastic here-”
Mei moved her fingers over Wukong’s sides again, and this time the Monkey King let out a strangled squeak, before bursting into laughter, glowing brightly, and falling down onto his knees.
Mei let out a triumphant laugh of her own, then tilted her head to the side again, wondering how she was going to get a picture when she was using both her hands just to get Wukong to laugh at all.
“What’s going on?”
Both Mei and Wukong startled slightly, though the only evidence of it from Wukong was a small hitch in his laughter, and she looked up to see MK staring at the both of them in amusement and confusion.
“MK, you’re just on time! C’mon, help me get a picture for the album.”
MK made a sound of interest, leaning down and grabbing the camera out of Mei’s pocket. “Is this the new one you made with Red Son’s help?”
“Yep!”
Wukong let out a snort as Mei’s hands moved up to his ribs, keeping him laughing and glowing even as he started trying to get away from her.
“K-kid- MK- help-” Wukong managed to get out, but MK just smirked.
“Sorry, Monkey King.” He said, holding up the camera and following Mei’s orders of taking a picture. “It’s a necessary sacrifice for the photo album.”
176 notes
·
View notes
Text
do you ever just think about how constantine is just so.. big.
like that white shirt she’s wearing? that’s literally his clothes and it’s fucking HUGE on her.
he is just so big and tall and huge. he towers over you so much, teases you about it so much. he is mean.
and his height isn’t the only thing that’s huge on him !! no !! never. there’s more !!
his cock is fucking huge. i’m talking about humongous. fat. hefty. HULK-LIKE. don’t care how cringy that sounded, but when i tell you his dick is huge, his dick is HUGE.
you couldn’t even take the half of it when you first had sex. john had the mere head in and you were begging him to stop and trying to push him away. but of course, even that didn’t stop him from forcing his cock into your tight little cunt.
you screamed. scratched his back with your nails until it bled as his balls slammed against your ass. you felt so fucking full and it hurt.
oh, it fucking hurt so bad you were shaking. your poor little pussy abused and stretched to her limit :( but too fucking bad constantine is enjoying every single second of it.
“i could fuck this tight little pussy all day, bun. mold it for my cock, make you my pretty cocksleeve who knows nothing but to cry and beg.” he whispered harshly, fucking you harder, not giving you time to adjust. you were sobbing hysterically, body shaking, pussy already sore and red. “so fucking dumb, can’t even form basic words out of your pretty mouth. is my cock too big for you, bun? is that it? your mind so full of my cock that you can’t think straight?”
you could only sniffle loudly, shaking your head, wanting it all to stop, but really, your cunt is just asking for it. constantine could see the outline of his cock on your stomach, so fucking big and huge, and it’s stretching you so much.
“look at that, bun. look how your god is just ruining your insides,” john sneered, wrapping a large hand around your throat but not quite squeezing yet. “who’s your god, pretty little bun? who do you serve again?”
“y-you.. m-my god,” you sobbed, gripping his wrist tightly as you felt your pussy clenching around his fat cock. “god, please, s-stop – i feel s-so full – i feel so full, y-you’re too big –”
“we’re barely even halfway through the night, bun. your god has so many things planned out for his little bunny, so be a good girl and fucking take my cock because this is the closest thing you’ll ever have of blessing.”
#thoughts...#dark thoughts....#drabble#concept#john constantine#my works#john constantine x you#john constantine imagine#john constantine fanfic#john constantine x reader#keanu reeves#PLEASE FILL UP MY INBOX WITH JOHN CONSTANTINE YALL#IM READY TO TALK ABOUT HIM
687 notes
·
View notes
Text
Look, I love BBC Merlin and how they told the lore, but I’m a sucker for the relationship between Arthur and Mordred in the mythology. Specifically, I love how Mary Stewart (author of The Arthurian Saga**) and Nancy Springer (author of I Am Mordred**) wrote about the father/son relationship between them. So naturally, my brain has been conjuring up how I can include that in my Flipping the Coin au.
Since the main premise is Merlin died/Arthur lives, and now Arthur is the one waiting for Merlin to come back, things would stay consistent with canon up to the last episode (when Merlin flips the coin of their destiny and sacrifices himself so Arthur can live and thus stop Camlann from happening altogether). Which is where this idea will start:
Gwen is barren. She and Arthur never have kids. Eventually, everyone Arthur knows and loves dies. He can’t rule Camelot forever, and after Gwen’s death, he no longer wants to, so he fakes his death and wanders off figure out why he’s still here. He never gets an answer for that. Arthur spends the next millennium waiting. He keeps living. He meets people, experiences things he’d never experienced before, and learns things he’d never dreamed of learning. He can’t stay anywhere long, or else suspicions will rise, but he gets to see the world change, how technology advances, and witness humans continuing to be humans. When war breaks out, he joins the battle. It’s familiar. The rush of adrenaline is the same whether he’s wielding a sword or a gun. Only, he can’t see the enemy’s face anymore.
Peace comes again. At some point, he sleeps with a woman, and she happens to become pregnant. Bisexual disaster that he is, he’s had all sorts of partners from both sexes, but has never had this happen, even before the advent of reliable birth control. Later, he’ll learn her name is Morgause. She doesn’t look like the Morgause he knew before, nor does she act like her, but her name haunts him. After the baby is born, she gives him to Arthur, says she has no intentions of being a mother, and leaves. The last thing she had said to him was the baby’s name.
Mordred.
That night, Arthur holds Mordred and weeps.
There is irony in his son being named Mordred. First, in that the legends surrounding him, Merlin, Camelot, the Knights of the Round Table, and all of it, had long ago decided Mordred was his son. And two, in a retelling of that legend, it had aptly phrased what he sensed was happening now. Granted, he isn’t a sorcerer, he doesn’t have magic, so he can’t support his feeling with anything other than he’d been around a long time and knew to his very core that it was true. Mordred’s birth is a signal of the beginning of the end.
Fatherhood brings him a new sense of purpose. Gone are the days of loneliness and drudgery. Every day with Mordred brings a new light into his life. Each smile is a miracle. Seeing Mordred experience things for the first time brings a new appreciation. Being there to watch him grow makes time fly like it never has before. But Arthur is afraid. He doesn’t want to be his father. He doesn’t know how to be a father, or what the right way to do it is. In all the years he’s been on the Earth, he’s never known a man who could concretely say, “This is the way to raise a son,” and actually reap the fruits of their efforts. Too frequently, he’d seen sons grow outside of the visions their fathers molded for them and receive only disappointment and disdain in return. So he was afraid, because he too had been that son.
*cue a series of fluffy father/son one shots of Arthur raising Mordred until Merlin comes back, takes one look, and is is like WTF????? No, I won’t have Mordred for a step son >:(*
**Mary Stewart and Nancy Springer have several other works, not just the stories I mentioned. The ones mentioned are the ones I’m pulling inspiration from ^^
Additional notes below the break:
Guinevere’s barrenness is not a headcanon I typically subscribe to for BBC Merlin. My headcanon is that after Arthur’s death, Gwen gives birth, and their child eventually succeeds her as ruler.
I’ve always seen Mordred’s appearance as the harbinger of Arthur’s downfall. Thus, the reason for the plot bunnies in my brain going crazy with this idea of how I could bring him in, still remain mostly canon compliant with BBC Merlin, and build off some of my favorite parts of the lore. (Mandatory disclaimer: for BBC Merlin, I don’t headcanon Mordred as Arthur’s son. But for the mythology, I do wholeheartedly support that canon.)
Arthur’s choice to participate and live once Camelot is gone is a decision to contrast my headcanon of how Merlin handled it. I don’t think Merlin thrived. I think he stayed busy, and tried to remain hopeful, but I think he was anxiously consumed with the anticipation of wondering when Arthur would come back. In this au, Arthur may or may not know that Merlin is supposed to come back (I’m still working on that detail), but he’s always been around others. I think he would seek camaraderie, and companionship, and that he would connect with others but only to a superficial level. I don’t think he’d exist in a void of loneliness. Plus, he doesn’t have the guilt of knowing he failed because the pressure from the prophecy is very one sided *coughcough*causemerlinnevertoldhim*coughcough*
Anyways, that’s enough rambling from me about this. I’ll probably share some snippets of writing next because there are some fantastic scenes coming together in the draft so stay tuned! ;D
#bbc merlin#merlin#arthur pendragon#mordred#flipping the coin#my drabbles#arthurian mythology will always be my jam#you can tear this au from my cold dead hands but it will live on#merthur#for the Merlin not wanting Mordred as a stepson joke the last Mordred he knew turned on them to join Morgana#as far as Merlin is concerned they’re the same person#he’ll come around eventually once Arthur fills him in on everything#btw Arthur’s son Mordred is unaware of all of this#he’s having to process his dad - who has never really been interested in anybody for any reason - is completely besotted with some guy#once he learns this ‘some guy’ used to be his father’s servant it does not make things better#but by then he’ll have learned enough that it does clear things up#he’s actually a big fan of Merlin#he just wasn’t prepared for love sick puppy dog Arthur 24/7 now that Merlin’s back
113 notes
·
View notes
Note
gax + corporate/law vibes + ‘The powerpoint was steadily taking over their relationship, something that Max was not willing to stand for.’
gax?? gax!!
power (you make some points): a gax ficlet
rated m, ~1.2k words
now also readable on ao3
author babble:
bear in mind i wrote this before i knew more about the Gax Lore i.e. karting together, actually being nice to each other blablabla. you could also just retrofit the vibes and hopefully they still work. anyways!
will throw this up on ao3 when i’m not sitting bleary eyed in an airport
————
If there was one thing that Max Verstappen wouldn’t tolerate, it was George Russell having the monopoly on good PowerPoint presentations. Max had won all four years of debate in College, as well as the dubious title of “most radical deployment of Google Slides templates” at his MBA, and he was not about to be usurped by the other guy in his department who actually knew how to use an animate transition.
“You missed an indent there.” Max says, pointing at the monitor. Yellow and red lights wink at them from the outside, as if to say: you’re both in your mid-twenties, quit wasting it on a computer screen at 11pm on a Wednesday, maybe?
Max is not staring, very determined not to look at his teammate’s facial expression. But George is almost certainly rolling his eyes right now.
“Was coming back to that, alright?” George huffs back. Max is very professional most of the time. But something about how wound up George is, how insanely pedantic he is about everything from semicolons to coffee cup placement for the Directors to taking insanely detailed minutes that nobody except Max reads after the meetings – well. What is it that Nietschze once said? We hate in others what we most identify with about ourselves. Or was that from Twitter? Max does not really use Twitter except to look at Bloomberg News updates and cat videos, so he does not know. And anyway Nietzsche never made a six figure salary.
“It would just be easier if you would let me do it.” Max says.
“Fuck right off, mate.”
“Oh, wouldn’t you like me to.”
“Not now.”
“Just share the link to this. I’ll do it.”
“We agreed to take turns on this.”
“Yes, Russell. But sometimes, the rules are meant to be bent.”
George swivels his chair to Max, then. Fully attempts to pin him with his gaze, commencing an awkward stare-off that lasts way too many seconds and makes Max once again realise that George’s eyes remind him of the expensive fish tank he saw at the Partners’ sushi dinner once. Max doesn’t think those same fish were the ones they ended up eating. But he does remember that dinner because it was the one where the Partners had dangled the promise of a huge promotion if they could help carry the company merger across the line successfully. The problem is, there was only one spot.
George’s distracting aquatic orbitals aside, fortunately, Max (i) never backs down, and (ii) has been told that he has the dead-eyed emotional stare of a robot missing an empathy software upgrade sometimes.
And clearly, the powerpoint was steadily taking over their relationship, something that Max was not willing to stand for.
Max leans back in his chair, stance all mock-relaxed. “Do you want to be out of here before midnight, or not?”
“We’re expensing the Ubers either way, so it doesn’t make a difference to me, mate.”
Fine. If George is so hyperfocused on The Tasks that he’s forgotten the fun part of being Questionably Close Coworkers, so be it.
Max deploys the nuclear option.
He sticks his leg out, nudging the toe of his Pradas onto George’s slacks. And strokes his foot halfway up to a sensitive point on George’s thigh. Max may even flutter his lashes a little.
To his credit, George does not react. Merely swings his eyes like a lamp to Max’s face again. His hand does, however, goes still on the mouse.
“What exactly are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” Max feigns. He knows that George hates, more than anything, anyone getting dirt on his precious Ralph Laurens. But at least he has his attention now. “Was hoping we could move onto the more fun part of the typical evening activities. Maybe.”
“We shouldn’t be doing that again anyway.”
“George.”
“What?”
“That is not what you said the last, hm, fourteen times that we have done this, eh?”
“Who’s counting?”
“I thought you were the most careful of rule followers and data analysis, knapperd.”
George is a human being, but Max is almost certain the other man shakes himself like he’s preening right now.
“Well. It’s what the team likes me for, and it’s what I’ll keep doing.”
“Oh yes. Surely we must keep in mind the team. And the shareholders. They are very important.”
“Quite.”
“But should we tell them that you like it so much, George. When I do this.” Max says. Rising up, fully crowding George in, hands gripping the cool handles of the computer chair. Leaning in to nibble the side of George’s neck.
George swallows. Max watches his throat move.
Next, Max mouths the words onto the side of George’s jaw, stubble prickling his mouth. “And this.”
The click of the mouse continues steadily as Max moves his mouth to the shell of George’s ear. “And let’s not forget. This.”
Max tilts George’s face up fully, then. George’s face is flushed, eyes sparkling, all surprise at the sudden change of pace, but eager, too.
When Max seals his lips over George’s, George groans, and his hands shoot up to Max’s waist immediately. It doesn’t feel quite like winning a deal or a pitch does for Max, but the completion comes pretty damn close.
Max sweeps his tongue into George’s mouth. George opens willingly, like he always does. In the back of Max’s logical brain, a warning sign blares that the computer chair may not be able to support the weight of them both – because they spend a lot of time pretending they don’t work out together at the gym but Max knows exactly what George’s deadlift PB is and it’s pretty damn high for a scrawny looking dude.
And despite the keening protest of said chair, the two of them are both lost to it now. Max jams one knee between George’s legs, George nibbles hungrily at Max’s lower lip, Max thrusts his hips all needy, and maybe if Max is nice about it George might suck him off under the table, and–
Outlook chimes again.
“Blasted piece of shit.” George says, breaking away. His hands go still at Max’s waist. “Why we’re using G-Suite and Microsoft Office at the same time I will never know.”
George squeezes his eyes shut, as if making himself stop this is causing him physical pain. Maybe it’s that or the workflow incompatibility when George tries to move his custom Excel-Trello gantts into a third party API.
And Max won’t lie. He kind of likes it when George gets so irritated about these things. When he cares a bit too much. Because what is Max but exactly like that, too.
“Hazards of a merger, I guess. But without that, I would never have met you, no?”
George makes a noise like he knows what Max means. The other man straightens his shirt collar, and Max runs a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, because George had made a passing comment at the bathroom sink once about it looking good.
Sleeping with the person competing for the same Chief of Staff position is possibly the worst decision he could’ve made, and Max once dyed his hair platinum blonde. But, they’re stuck here together. Hell is a slightly more tolerable place when Satan’s right hand man looks this good. And knows his coffee order without asking.
Besides. Max is not bothered. He knows that the promotion is his. This is just a minor plot inconvenience.
Later, they will expense the uber back to George’s place, where Max will put his mouth on George’s arse, and give him a practical demonstration of the three different ways he’s learned to elicit pleasure from the male prostate.
George will whimper and whine the whole way through it, and after they’re both sated, they’ll both roll over to check their emails, barely concealing their smiles. They will pretend that what’s happening between them could be as clean as their zero-email inboxes. As if their connection is not violently seeping through containment.
All in the name of team bonding. For the firm. Yes.
(Or this is what they tell themselves, to maintain the illusion, anyway.)
#gax#max verstappen#george russell#f1 rpf#3363#6333#max verstappen x george Russell#wisteriawritesstuff#if this feels out of character I am sorry simply LOOK AWAY#but I enjoyed it#snipey type A assholes#but they’re MY made up snipey type A assholes#prompt fill#THESE WERE MEANT TO BE DRABBLES 😭#anyway
90 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
reihikari09
My life is stranger than fiction
kula-the-dragon-wolf
Blog Of The Dragon-Wolf
monsteerose
monstee Rose
scarletttries
Scarlett and her Fanfic