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danwhobrowses · 3 days

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One Piece Chapter 1113 - Initial Thoughts

It is time

One Piece is back again and the big announcement is almost underway. The Gorosei are circling though, much of the Straw Hats are cornered, will the revelation turn the tide?

Let's find out

Spoilers for the Chapter, Support the Official Release too!

A chess-themed colour spread this time; Robin playing chess with the crew as chess pieces

Contrary to the message the King should not be the attacking piece but other than that I did find it funny that Usopp is a Bishop with a bow and arrow, this cleric does harm!

Also lil Chopper pawns!

Picking up where we left off, Markus Mars has been stopped in awe of a sight in Punk Records

The remains of Vegapunk's humungous brain, as big or maybe even bigger than a giant, kept in a pod and still working even after his death

Mars does wonder if this is more Vegapunk's true self, which I guess if it has his brain it's probably the main part that's biologically living

People around the world brace themselves though

Syrup Village! Kaya, Merry and the old Usopp Pirates get a cameo

Despite her wealth being enough for Kuro to plan a murder/retirement spree, they do not have a Video Den Den Mushi

Though it seems like it's more size than price, and Kaya is already keen to hear what Vegapunk is saying, given his role in the medical field

Also lil' Merry details on the Den Den Mushi

The Marines are monitoring it too

Laboon and Crocus cameo!

And we even get to go to Baldimore, birthplace of Vegapunk

Some dialogue from the group that found Franky during the separation too

'I heard he's turned himself into a ship now' XD because of the bounty poster, and the bad timeline SBS image maybe, though I still think we could in the future get a Sunny mecha

Also got Chopper's bird and medic island listening in

The tribespeople even know about Vegapunk, they call him a 'king of modern science'

Even despite the Garp and SWORD attack, some pirates from Fullalead are listening in - some still wanna fight each other though

Mars tries to stamp out the Den Den Mushi, but it's of course a fake! It shatters to reveal just another regular Den Den Mushi

Fooled again motherfucker!

Vegapunk does introductions once more but now everyone wants him to get on with it XD

For the most part the more obscure world shots seem somewhat familiar, I couldn't tell what the rainy place was but it could be Water 7, the other one looked a bit familiar, the Longarm place looks like to have Brook's old talent agents too

But this campfire one, a child is hushed back to sleep by their likely mother, they're in tipi tents, what's interesting is the other person there, almost like Oda's pulling something sneaky

Through their collective telepathy, Mars announces his failure, it was a decoy so they have no leads

They wonder what Vegapunk intends to say, fearing that he'll carry on what Clover started before he was silenced

Back to Sanji and he hears a woman's scream

Bonney is being targeted by V. Nusjuro, Franky standing between them but Sanji demands to be the white knight

He jumps off the sword to kick him in the jaw

By comparison V. Nusjuro is pretty damn huge

His body sets on fire - fitting to his Yokai lore - but then the horse's head comes out to bite Sanji

Lots of crackling of bones, I wonder if his Healing Factor is still a thing

As Oimo and Kashii tackle V. Nusjuro (about the same size as them), Vegapunk's broadcast begins, admitting to committing two grave sins

Bonney turns into a giant with her fruit to attack V. Nusjuro, who has returned to his hybrid form

Vegapunk's broadcast admits that he is likely to be executed, and that this broadcast would start when his heart has stopped

Sabaody reacts first, realising that this means Vegapunk is dead

Duval has trouble processing this, since the news said that he was a hostage for the Straw Hats

Caesar's also mad, he and Judge went through that whole cover story alliance for nothing, so now they can promptly fuck off

And Morgans is angry because Vegapunk is giving BIG NEWS without him like it's not in his name

Interestingly, Vegapunk is quick to state that his killers should not be portrayed as 'evil' - because they're looking pretty damn evil to me

It seems maybe this is because he expects Luffy to have been pinned as to blame for his death, though it could be scanlations saying 'him'

Saturn faces off with the Labophase group, demanding they move away

Saturn and Robin however recognize one another, Robin from his voice back in Ohara and Saturn by her image

Seems Saturn blames Akainu directly for Robin's escape, I mean he did blow up the hostage ship but still, there were more marines out there

He goes to attack Robin, so all the other Straw Hats go into protection mode

Brook cuts a few limbs, but worryingly Chopper blocked some with his Guard Point - those limbs are poisonous remember? Though it's impressive that he could suppress a claw that could go straight through Kuma

Nami also remembers that she can use Zeus to block attacks

Mars is still on recon, but his senses can't pick up any 'telepathic waves' - wonder if that's a Haki feat or something relative to the Gorosei's shared thoughts?

York is also having trouble figuring out where the Stella would've put it, since her position as a Celestial Dragon is on the line

Vegapunk's about to deliver his mission statement, which is putting the Gorosei into a panic

Mars considers blowing up the entire place, but Saturn and Warcury are weighing it against the possible losses; men, equipment, and any chance of recreating the Mother Flame

Wait. What?

"Our World...is going to sink into the ocean!"

Well you can't deny it: Global Warming is Real.

It's not just Water Seven and Aqua Laguna then, it's all going to sink, there's a lot of thematic consequences to that when you think about it.

Did the World Government ostracize the Fish-Men because of this? Knowing that they would inherit the world? Does this have any connection to Devil Fruits and why the Ocean really saps their strength? Did the ancient kingdom like Old Wano sink to the bottom of the sea?

It begets a lot of questions, in true Oda fashion.

The rest of the chapter was a lot more jam-packed than the last, even without Luffy. The carried tension of the announcement is followed by Saturn and V. Nusjuro's confrontations with the crew, giants and Bonney. As expected, Sanji took on V. Nusjuro, the hit didn't seem to do much in the long term as expected, though I kinda wish Franky also got a hit in but the extent of his own injuries is worth wondering.

I'm glad the Labophase crew are stepping up against Saturn, at least until the expected arrival of Zoro and Jinbe, but it does show their furthered growth versus Enies Lobby if they can successfully repel Saturn from Robin - her injury being validated by this scene, though I still wish we saw a flashback of the Straw Hats vs Seraphim and them uncovering York as the traitor.

Still it's bad PR from the Straw Hats either way, they're likely to be accused of killing Vegapunk, who was last deemed their hostage by the fake news machine (is Morgans still going to Egghead? I mean with Vivi with him we continue to tease a reunion), and while Punk Records still has a chance to live on this is definitely going to be something each crewmate will have to re-evaluate given the bigger picture. Still, that can come after getting off the island; Edison and the Sleeping Giant are still at play after all, Stussy still needs to release the barrier, it's looking more likely that we might finish up around 1120.

Still there has to be more to the announcement, if Vegapunk was waiting for a video display it means that there are visuals to corroborate his revelation - I wonder if the Gorosei are more open to this reveal coming out than what they expected with the Ancient Kingdom reveal they destroyed Ohara for? Like did Vegapunk dupe the WG into Buster Calling Egghead over a reveal they didn't care much for? He mentioned two grave sins too so there seems to be much more to his announcement than just the opening statement.

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cum-villain · 11 months

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i think we all forget too easily that the heavenly demon mark doesnt just stay on the forehead. when bingbing is really going nuts his entire face and neck and some of his shoulders have glowing red marks. see maigu ridge.

#that shit was terrifying to picture #hes going mad and his brain is on fire and it looks like his body is on fire too #braincell posting #svsss #luo binghe

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kiwisbell · 8 months

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Boots [joel miller]

Joel doesn't like the idea of someone else gettin' all your best.

pairing: joel miller x female!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: jealous joel giving you a lesson in who really likes you best, birthday sex, (over)protective joel, softie joel, dominant joel, oral sex (m and f receiving), face-sitting, riding, no plot just porn and some fluff because it's me, possessive sex, praise kink, squirting, established relationship

word count: ~ 4.5k

hello, all! i'm beginning to unload my fics onto tumblr for those who prefer reading in this format - and as a result, some of you lovely folks who follow me will likely see works you've already read before. i sincerely apologise for that, but many new projects are in the works as well because i love y'all and i live to please. that aside, if you're new here, welcome, and i hope you enjoy this one-shot!! <3

BOOTS

If there's anything you know about Joel, it's that he can get real angry.

It ain't like he's always mad. He lives a lot of his life in utter silence, but you like to watch him. Sometimes, in the dark, he sits on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers and bringing them to his chin. He’ll sit like that for hours without moving, barely shifting to take in air, and you know never to shake him from that trance. It’s how you’ve learned to read between the lines.

After fifteen years by his side, you can gauge his moods better than the weather. He’s got a restless spirit, but his voice is midnight water. It’s calm and dark and clear, and it rumbles: the ripples left behind by skipping stones. He never lashes out at you, never raises his voice.

Except for that one time in New Jersey.

“Are you goddamn fuckin’ stupid?”

This was a little while before you could patent your Joel-handling techniques, so you did what any woman would do when a man calls her stupid: you folded your arms over your chest and got just as mad. “Stupid?” you said incredulously. “I saved your ass in there. Multiple asses, actually.”

Above you, the canopy of brilliant red leaves felt like a bloody shawl, and they crackled underfoot. You sported a limp thanks to a sprained ankle and your lip was bloody, but you were fine. Truly. And yet, Joel’s anger was pulsating. You could see it: heat waves, distorting the air around him, his brows flattening over his eyes and his nostrils flaring. A bull ready to charge. He was brimming with the need to release this energy.

Behind you, a building burned. The fire was a monstrous, lively thing, and it scorched the hairs on the back of your neck. Inside lay the bodies of the men you’d stolen the medical kits from, along with two of your own crew. It was only you and Joel left. It was autumn, and the breeze was welcome in such relentless heat.

He’d been ambushed just as much as the rest of you, but rotten fuckin’ luck had pinned a man on top of him—armed with a knife, inches from Joel’s eye. Not trusting yourself to make a shot without hitting him, too, you had tackled the man without thinking much. It had worked well enough to send his knife clattering across the burning hut. He’d landed a punch to you before Joel had blown his head clean off. Brain matter still clung to your jeans, but you tried not to look. When you’d rolled the body off you, Joel shot him again. He was covered in blood from his greying hair to his boots.

“Your job is to look out for yourself out there,” he snapped, “not me. The fuck were you thinkin’?”

Your frown only deepened. What had you been thinking? Maybe leaving him to die would teach him a lesson or two about what it was like to fear for someone’s life. Even if it was his own. “We need to go. You can yell at me later.”

Joel didn’t say anything when he kneeled at your feet and lifted your ankle up onto his raised knee. You yelped when you almost toppled over, but he kept you steady and inspected the swollen flesh. He was achingly gentle when he prodded at you, his expression softening into something more like concern. “This hurt?” he asked.

“Of course it hurts, Miller.” You lifted a brow at him, but he wasn’t looking up. “Want me to try on a glass slipper, or can we go?”

“Still think that was stupid,” he grumbled.

You snorted. “Yeah, well, you’re the only one who can navigate for shit, and I don’t fancy getting lost without my own personal compass.”

When he stood, Joel surprised you some more by gently patting your leg. “Real nice,” he said under his breath, shrugging the strap of your pack farther up your shoulder. “Stay behind me.”

You grinned up at him. “Happily.”

He never gets angry for long. Not at you.

There’s a knock at his door in the rhythm only the two of you know. He still checks the peephole, but it’s you. You slip inside, practically bounding on the balls of your feet, that cute fuckin’ grin on your face as you hide something behind your back. “Guess what day it is,” you say.

Joel will never let it leave this room that he indulges in your stupid game. “Sunday,” he tries.

Your pout is extravagant, but he’ll be damned if it doesn’t make him want to bite it off your pretty mouth. “Rhymes with smirthday. Y’know… the only day I ever ask you for anything.”

He clicks his tongue. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

You roll your eyes and bring your hands around from behind your back. You’re holding a cupcake.

“Holy shit. Where the fuck did you get that?”

“The FEDRA guy who monitors my building likes me,” you tell him, honest as ever. Too honest for this world and too damned sweet to be anything but a liability. And yet, here he is, digging, indulging, sinking his claws in. “Enough to sneak this to me from the kitchen, apparently.”

That makes him feel real fuckin’ grumpy. Nobody with eyes would be enough of a fool to deny that you’re gorgeous, but it doesn’t make him sleep any better knowing other men are chasing that brilliant twinkle in your eyes. He wants to tuck it between his ribs and let it illuminate his insides. He doesn’t want anyone else to see it, not ever.

“He’s tryin’ to make a move on you,” says Joel. “That’s what that is.”

If there’s a second thing you know about Joel, it’s that he lives with his foot in his mouth. Unfailingly.

You have long since learned the tactics of Joel-handling. You'd be offended if it were anyone else, but you just pat his cheek affectionately. “Sit down.”

To his credit, he does, but not after some grumbling. You scrape the second chair along the floor until it's right next to him. You split the cupcake in two as best you can and pass him one of the halves. Joel eyes it suspiciously. “You sure this is edible?”

You just take a bite and groan. It's been a long time since you've tasted chocolate, let alone the decadence of over-sweet frosting. Joel watches you carefully. Your lashes flutter in your trancelike enjoyment, a small speck of white frosting on the top of your nose. He's overcome with the knowledge that people in this world would try and take you from him. That people have put guns to your head, that they have harmed you, that they'll do it again and again. This world does not leave a woman like you untouched.

It's a good thing you've got him to make sure the world goes nowhere near you.

“Got frosting on your nose,” he says gruffly, trying to suppress his smile as he swipes it away with his thumb. “Some killer you are.”

You kick your legs up onto his lap. His thumb idly circles your ankle bone. “I don’t pretend to be a killer. I get by just fine, Miller.”

“Yeah?” He lifts a brow. “And if I wasn’t here?”

You shrug. “Dead, probably.”

Joel takes a bite of the fucking cupcake and he's a little mad when it's not bad.

You sit at the window on his bed later, your knees drawn up to your chest and your cheek resting atop them. You like to watch the lights of the FEDRA vehicles and the occasional star that winks at you from high above the QZ. You're a pretty sight to look at all the time, but it feels somehow more delectable when you don't know he's looking.

It's nearing midnight, and you're getting up to leave. Curfew means you have to scurry back to your apartment across the street or you'll be stuck here all night. It also means you have to walk right past the same officer who snuck you that cupcake.

“You asked me once if I ever wanted to end it.”

Across the fire, he looked like a spectre: a thing you could not touch, sizzling tendrils of silvery air curling around crackling flame. You’d stopped for the night, and neither of you wanted to sleep. Even though you’d both seen enough fire for a lifetime, you still extended your palms toward it and let it warm you as you watched his dark brown eyes grapple for a way through the thistly wood of his past.

��I tried,” he told you. “After I lost her.”

Somehow, you felt undeserving. Like wrapping your fingers around a piece of Joel Miller’s steel-hard aorta and yanking out all the precious bits that came with it. Like licking the blood from the heart and shoving it back inside. Would he ever be the same knowing another soul in the world had this information? Would he come to regret telling you?

He watched you stand and shuffle up next to him on the piss-poor, blood-stained excuse for a sleeping bag. When your fingers lifted to the scar on his throat, he did not flinch away. Your hands were warmed by the fire. It filled the very soul of you, that flame. He did not meet your eye, but you looked into his nonetheless.

“I’m happy you missed.” A hand, warm and kissed by a tenderness he would never deserve, settled at the nape of his neck. Fingers gently combed through the grey strands, and he leaned into your touch, not quite understanding the pull but giving in nonetheless. For the first time in years, he thought he might be able to sleep if you just kept touching him like this.

Your next words were soft, but they were not afraid. “But I’m sad I never got to meet her.”

His head turned, and at last, his eyes met yours.

“Me, too.”

You smiled sadly. “Joel.”

“Don’t ever,” he said slowly, his hand squeezing your knee, “play fast and loose with your life again. Your life happens to fuckin’ matter to me.”

And that was that.

At some point, this began. Neither of you attempt to define how or when. Perhaps it has always been. It isn’t like time matters anymore.

When you pass Joel on your way to the door, he grabs your wrist.

“Does that FEDRA fucker know whose place you go to every night?”

You sigh, turning your head to meet his eyes: glimmering black beetles in the dim light. “Joel. Don’t be an asshole.”

But he’s long past trying not to be an asshole, especially when it comes to people honing in on his fucking territory. He tugs you by the waist so your back is pressed against his chest. His fingers are splayed over your belly. “You like him?” he says into your ear.

Your lashes flutter on your cheeks. “Joel.” His name sounds like the citrus of the oranges you like from the cafeteria. It’s sweet and tangy and somewhat discrete. “You know I need to meet with Robert about the battery tomorrow. You’ll keep me up all night.”

A grunt rumbles deep in his chest. “You’re not goin’ to see Robert alone.”

“That was part of his deal.” You gasp when he buries his face in your neck, sucking at the skin beneath your ear. He’ll make it show up angry and purple for the FEDRA officer and, fuck it, the entire QZ to see. He’ll litter your whole body with bruises and hickeys like he's a goddamn teenager if that's what it takes to keep you here.

“Shit fuckin’ luck.” His fingers dip to the waistband of your jeans. Your hips rock subtly and he smirks against your skin. “Robert doesn't get to decide how this goes.”

“Yeah, he does. He’s the one with the battery.”

The scratch of his beard is rough and deliberate against your neck. “If he doesn't wanna see me,” says Joel, unbuttoning your jeans and sliding the zipper down, “he can tell me himself.”

“He’s terrified of you.”

Joel turns you around and presses you right up against his chest. You feel his hardness at your belly, the sear of his gaze through yours. “Good,” he says. “Get on the bed.”

It’s already midnight, which means you’ll get chewed out if you try to leave now. Joel’s plan, you guess. “You jealous of a little FEDRA officer, Miller?” Backing toward the bed, you smile up at him, coy and teasing.

“You never answered my question.” He chases your body, stalking toward you as his hand juts out to squeeze your hip. Your legs hit the edge of the bed. “Do you like him?”

His lips are so close you could just surge toward him and end this suffering. But he's keeping you at arm’s length, keeping you pliant under his touch because he knows—the bastard—that he’s winning.

Still, getting a rise out of Joel Miller is your birthright. “Would you rather I fuck a Firefly?”

A faint sneer twists his mouth, and this is his anger. This is the simmering, thrilling thing that infests your very blood. He’s jealous, and you're surprised at how deliciously it thrums in your lower spine, knowing he’s furious at the thought that someone else could even come close to the way he knows you.

The kiss begins slowly. For the heat you can feel through the press of his chest against yours, his nose only gently nudges yours as he works his way up to claiming your mouth. When he does, it’s a bizarre and dizzying shift compared to the rage you know he feels. The desire to march out onto the street and beat that officer to near-death. He compensates with a unique tenderness, taking his time with you, his hand pressing down against the exact spot on your lower back that forces his hips to mould to yours. His other cups your face, his fingers winding into your hair and curling at the back of your neck. It forces you to look up at him.

His beauty loops like a knot through your nerves. If you prodded any spot on your skin, the blood beneath would sing with the topography of him. You know the lines of his face better than your own. There is a patch in his beard that resembles a heart. There is a twinkle in his eye that lingers when he frowns and smiles. It’s a rare thing in such a sullen person. But you like finding those eyes in the dark. Somehow, for you, he’s hope.

When his lips finally meet yours, they're soft, and he lets you reach up to tangle your fingers in his soft, messy hair even though he’s doing everything he can to keep you under his control. Not that you mind. He knows you're his.

He deepens the kiss with a soft groan, curving his body over yours, tongue seeking the seam of your lips. You part them willingly, gasping when he lurches forward and slides his tongue along yours, biting and sucking at your lips. Joel growls softly at the faint noises you make, your fingers tightening in his hair, the pleasing sting in his scalp sending jolts down to his hard cock.

“MmmmmJoel.” You’re panting, desperate for air he won't give you. He likes this—making you gasp, making you weak, making you forget entirely that you’re supposed to be teasing him.

“Careful,” you gasp, barely able to form words around his mouth on yours. “Gonna hurt your back.”

That only seems to egg him on. He may not be young and agile anymore, but that’s never stopped him from giving you what you need. He turns you around and lies on his back, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you down on top of him. Your jeans go quickly, sliding down your hips with your panties and dropping somewhere on the floor. Your shirt follows, his fingers enjoying their path along your shoulders as he slips your bra straps down: a rare moment of indulgence and appreciation in a world that does not allow either.

For a moment, he just looks at you, brushing the pad of his thumb across your chin. Your eyes glimmer from the light through the window. “You only like me,” he says. Matter-of-fact. He knows.

But you smile, because he decided to say it anyway. “I only like you, Joel Miller.”

A hand kneads your ass, giving it a smack. You jump in his grasp, but he just gives you that crooked smirk and whispers: “Come take a seat.”

You rear back, frowning at him. Is he—

“You waiting for a sweeter invitation, baby?” His voice is low and gruff, unused to compromise. You feel his fingers dig into your ass and pull you up onto his chest. Your cunt is slick with anticipation and the ichor of desire.

He wants you on his face.

“What if I—”

“Sit.” Every letter feels like a deliberate strike, bone-deep. “C’mon, now.”

Let me show you how much I like you.

Your bottom lip between your teeth, you shuffle gingerly up his chest until you can brace your hands on the wall, your cunt hovering over his mouth. Joel doesn't like that. He wraps his hands around your upper thighs and forces you down onto his face. You gasp his name, one hand flying to his hair and locking your fingers in his locks. “Fuck.”

He grunts, squeezing your thighs up to your hips as he pulls your clit into his mouth, lathering it with his spit and your wetness. It’s white-hot: the pressure on your sensitive little bundle of nerves, the insistent bump of his nose against your clit as he teases his tongue around your tight hole. “Joel, Joel, fuck,” is all you can manage, sweet little gasps that he drinks in, his hips bucking involuntarily with the delicious pain of your fingers pulling at his scalp. You're losing grip on the real world and slipping elsewhere, and he wants to get you there.

One of Joel’s hands slides between your legs, easing them open even more, and rests on your belly, shifting to your ribcage and helping you steady yourself atop him. His fingertips graze your breasts, reverent and gentle despite their roughness. Those hands have been split and bloodied, but they hold you like they’ve never known anything but kindness. His eyes closed, savouring the taste of you, his fingers trace a scar on your sternum from an incident at knifepoint six years ago. He cannot see it, but he knows it nonetheless.

Joel is greedy when he has his face buried in your pussy. He doesn’t get the opportunity to take his time like this often; the both of you have only ever been acquainted with impermanence. But now, tucked comfortably between your thighs, licking between your folds like a starving fuckin’ dog, taking what he wants from you.

The sounds are slick and obscene, mingled with your drunken sighs and words of encouragement as you curl your fingers against the wall uselessly. “Joel,” you whimper, your hips rolling against his face, moonlight bursting on your eyelids. “I… can’t… so good—”

He groans, his hand smacking your thigh, feeling your cunt gush on his tongue as he flicks his tongue against your clit repeatedly. He’ll imprint the feeling of him on your skin forever—if he hasn't already. He’ll make sure you never have another man like you have him.

It’s a selfish thing, love. He's mastered clutching it to his chest and keeping his palm closed right around it.

“I’m… oh, fuck, I’m gonna…” Your hips buck wildly, and a growl rumbles deep in his chest, holding you steadfast and firm to his face. He sucks your clit back into his mouth and fixes his tongue to you, wiggling slightly as he feels you stiffen above him. “Oh, my—gonna come!”

He knows. You're already coming. Your hand leaves his hair and braces next to your other one on the wall, ensuring you don’t fall over as your thighs shake uncontrollably and your mouth drops open in a keening whine. Joel keeps lapping at your clit long after your orgasm fades and you cry out from the overstimulation. Gently, you reach down to tug his hair, and he reluctantly pulls away. He’s so hard he can’t conjure much mental activity besides getting his dick wet.

Your chest is heaving as you try to pick your leg up and get off him, but your strength fails you. Instead, Joel grabs your hips and sits up, your cunt sliding down to sit on top of his erection. Experimentally, you grind down on him, watching a muscle in his jaw feather. “Are you going to let me take your pants off?” you ask him, teasing, your finger tracing the metal of his belt buckle.

He grits his teeth, letting you take control for a moment, sliding the belt achingly slow out of each loop. Your wicked little smile is so pretty in the darkness, illuminated briefly by passing patrol vehicles through the window. Unbuttoning his shirt, you dip your body low to his chest and press gentle kisses all the way down to his soft belly and the trail of hair disappearing under his waistband.

Joel moans brokenly when you shuck his jeans down his legs and squeeze his hard length before it can slap up against his stomach. There’s a tattoo on his inner thigh that you like to trace with your fingers, something he got with his brother when they were young. Your tongue darts out and licks up the precum pooling at his slit, making his cock twitch in your grasp. “Jesus,” he groans. “Baby, c’mon, let me—”

Your soft lips parting around the throbbing head of his cock destroy whatever end to the sentence he had planned. Squeezing his strong thighs to ground yourself, you swirl your tongue around the tip and take him deeper, your throat expanding to accommodate his thick, heavy weight in your mouth. He huffs, grumpy that he can't think straight for long enough to stop you and overcome with pleasure all the same. You squeeze his thigh again, your thumb rubbing circles over the little tattoo, and he meets your eyes. They're watery, blinking hard to expel the tears, his hand instinctively cradling the crown of your head to keep you on him, keep you choking around him.

When your nose meets the thatch of hair above his base, he’s the one who chokes, his head tipping back. “Jesus, fuck, goddamn—” His fingers curl in your hair and gently urge you off his cock; you pout, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his length. His dick jumps at the sight, lying hard on his stomach.

“Come up here,” he rasps. You do, crawling up his body until your hips are flush, his hardness slotted, thick and throbbing, between your folds. The hum that leaves your mouth is wanton, your teeth tugging at your bottom lip. His hands move to your lower back, digging into the flesh just above your ass so you’re forced to roll your hips along his shaft.

Your mouth drops open at the jolt of pleasure to your cunt. “Oh…”

“That’s it, baby.”

He cannot come inside you, but he can come like this. And he will, probably faster than he likes; your pretty lips parted, your eyes lidded and boring into his even as you grind along his cock, unwavering. You look good like this. You look happy and soft and all his.

Joel’s hands clutch you a little harder, roll you a little faster, your hands supporting your weight on his firm chest. He’s so fucking close, your wet pussy soaking his length and his tip catching on your sensitive clit with each roll of your hips, but he needs you to come again. You come first.

“Joel,” you sigh, your thighs locking tight around his hips, nectar and frosting and citrus.

“I know,” he says, “I know. Keep goin’, baby. C’mon. Doin’ so good. Jesus, so good.”

The first orgasm was a meticulous build-up. This one crashes down with the ceremony and courtesy of an ambush: it seizes your whole body and leaves you helpless. You moan his name—maybe you whisper it; everything is loud in your ears—and double over, your cheek pressed into the hollow of his throat. He keeps you moving, seeking his own high, bucking up against your cunt.

“That’s it.” His praises gently puff out across the top of your head, tucking your head under his chin, admiring the curve of your back and the supple taste of your skin under his fingers. His balls draw up and his core goes tight with imminent release. “Fuck, baby. Fuck—”

There’s a hot, wet splash against your belly, then another, and another. When you peel yourself away to watch his cum spurt onto his stomach, your cunt tightens with the pulsating rhythm of his shaft under you and another brief, but devastating, rush of pleasure surges through your whole body. It almost fucking knocks you over. You lift yourself off his cock in time to see a burst of wetness soak him, dribbling out around your bodies onto the mattress. Joel groans, his brows lifting, another spurt of cum landing on his belly.

“Jesus Christ.”

You list to the side, unable to hold yourself up in any capacity. You land next to him, your arm belted across his chest, fondly nudging a pec with your nose. “Me, too,” you mumble. Your voice is hollow.

Joel turns his head to face you, and you swipe some cum off his belly with your index and middle fingers, looking him in the eyes as you lick it up and swallow. He grabs you by the back of the neck and kisses you hard. “No fuckin’ FEDRA asshole,” he grumbles into your mouth, “is gettin’ anywhere near you. And neither is Robert.”

You forgot that was what this was about. “Joel,” you whisper, lips migrating from the corner of his mouth to his jaw, his scratchy beard, “you can’t keep me safe forever.”

He reaches around to grab your ass and then hitches your thigh up onto his hip. “Yeah, I fuckin’ can. Stay here.”

“We aren’t related, or married.” You pin him with a stare. “They would never let us.”

Joel lifts his brows. You roll your eyes. “We aren’t married.”

He’ll pick a fight in the morning. But you already know you won’t be going to see Robert about the battery with your big guard dog standing just behind you. Robert can suck it the fuck up, for all Joel cares.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he says, squeezing your thigh. “It was a shitty cupcake, though.”

You laugh, kissing him on the nose. “No, it wasn’t. For all you know, you may never have one again.”

“For the fuckin’ best,” he grumbles, chasing your mouth again. You let him kiss you, and neither of you get much sleep.

He really didn't mind the cupcake.

#kiwisbell's fics #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal fic

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samodivaa · 4 months

Text

Lust looks pretty on you

Bucky x Reader : One Bed Trope. But he is your crush and his body is too close. He can't tell that you are masturbating, right...?

Warnings - soft smut, masturbation Words - 2.5k AN - I want to make a filthy version as well, but this felt just right.

Somehow you cannot help being reminded of a him, you look at him with compassion, sometimes with sympathy—though suddenly in one instant he becomes, as though by chance, lovely and exquisite, you can’t comprehend the power of those pensive eyes flashing with such fire—between the shadow and your soul, you love him, feelings can’t be repressed. But sometimes his eyes, his soft features burn with anguish and you grieve, in silence, that his beauty fades—your eyelashes glisten with tears Bucky never knows of.

When he comes close to you, there is already a gleam of a smile on your lips, faintly blushing and looking down.

“There is a room, but it has only one bed” he says uneasily. “I am okay with that” you say with an indescribable gesture, a gravest face, but your heart begins throbbing. “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable and-” Bucky speaks timidly in an ingratiating voice. “I assure you” you say in a whisper, full of affection, eyes beaming with delight as you take his human hand.

Finishing your answer, you pause pathetically, because there is an intense desire to force yourself to laugh, already feeling that a malignant demon is stirring inside, making you imagine curtain scenarios and suddenly there is a lump in your throat. You are always so tender, so solicitous with him—your soul is full with loving sympathy. “I can sleep on the floor-” Bucky begins in a plaintive voice, in which there lies a hope, though a very faint one and bends his head. “No, I would never allow that” He is looking at you intently, while a strange curiosity gleams in yours. Bucky stops, with his mouth open, because he can’t speak for delight as you continue to hold his hand. Your lips are quivering and you try to say something as well, but can only convulsively squeeze Bucky's hand in silence. You continue to look affectionately at him as a smile passes over his lips. “Okay” he brings out at last.

When you enter the hotel room, you say tragically “Oh, the bed is small” Your eyes meet, he is gazing at you with a sort of wonder that evidently surprises you. Then, he tilts his head, his thin lips threatening to break into a smile

“But we will manage!”

You say briskly, quick to add to the previous statement, and, indeed, on the mad idea that flashes on your giddy brain—you will take a long shower in the hopes that he will fall asleep. That position is desperate, but you are hot with shame, because he keeps staring at you, grasping at once that you might be up to some mischief. Bucky always does that—studies every gesture, every movement you make, listens to every vibration of your rich voice, but strange to say, as the result of all his observations tonight, he feels, mixed with a sweet and timid impression, a feeling of intense curiosity. It seems as though he is on the verge of uncovering the mystery of your unusual behavior. But with your masterly acting, trying to keep you together, the whole process goes on in you unconsciously as you approach the other side of the bed in wide steps after having closed the door behind and sit on the mattress. You have purposely chosen this solitary spot, your eyes facing the wall. “You go shower first, I want to call my mom” Bucky grows suddenly confused, and a faint trace of vexation is betrayed in his impatient movement and he is glad that you can’t see it, but he remains quiet, in his heart there is a sort of haunting worry—are you scared of sleeping next to him? Is it because of his nightmares? He is irritated, boiling with indignation and hate, towards himself, for it is the first time that he has felt like that in your presence. Feelings so coarsely handle him—he is reminded of what he truly is.

The sound of running water echoes as he decides to go and turn the faucet on, adjusting it to a comforting warmth. Heaven. He winces as his back is met with hot water, swapping through his hair, through the curls and then running in streams down his shoulders, muscles protesting with each movement, but the warmth provides a reprieve from the ache that is a companion throughout the whole night. Bucky is analyzing the situation while he showers. His heart leaps and shudders when he exits the bathroom, but he is thankful that you are still talking on the phone so he lays on his side in despair and misery, hiding his face in the pillow, and is alternately feverish and shivery—he will make sure not to sleep, because his mind is too frightened by the the idea of scaring you with his nightmares, in his exhausted state all the emotions of the day come back to him in a rush. Whatever lies hidden in both your secret and behavior, he understands, but it causes moments of anguish of which he won’t forget. You longed to cheer him up, to relieve his anxiety if only by a glance, but when you see him sleeping, you tip-toe to the bathroom as Bucky lays with his eyes shut. When you come back into the room, his eyelashes quiver, but he controls himself and does not open his eyes. Was he that tired? When you begin pulling up the quilt over you, shame or some other feeling drowns him, wishing to hide from this moment, but he can’t fall asleep so he persisted in lying in bed in silence as you obstinately pull the blanket higher and higher.

A terrible, awful weakness overcomes your senses, you try to lay with your eyes closed, because desire is the kind of thing that eats you and leaves you starving and you can’t master your need for him—that realization leaves you rather embarrassed, and at once flush crimson. This feels all so humiliating, and then you make that blunder, a very important one—you think about pleasuring yourself. That’s just what makes you so ecstatic, that you have a presentiment.... and though it’s so dreadful, it’s all for the best. In fact, you believe nothing better could have happened, because this is once in a life's opportunity. Involuntarily, you find your eyes scouring the darkness, looking for the outline of his bulky body, but you can only feel the warmth radiating from it. You move your fingers slowly and strainedly, working your way down your torso and swallow when you reach your panties as your nipples harden, poking through your shirt. You swiftly pull your panties to the side, strings of your wetness part from your underwear and you realize—there is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable. You breathe meekly and squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, because you hate the notion of being reduced to pleasuring yourself merely because of his close proximity, an embarrassing, desperate thing to do, but even so you keep on gently touching yourself.

You begin sliding your index finger between the folds of your entrance, it makes you shiver and your mouth slightly hangs open, heat rushing to your puffy cheeks, eyes halfway shut. The magic that coils through your own touch leaves you breathless, and your back arches a bit into the sensation as a strange euphoria. You struggle slightly to stay motionless, the other hand trails down to your breasts to squeeze them slightly, purposely avoiding your nipples for now. You use the gathered wetness and press your finger firmly against your clit, making your thighs twitch. A sinner who sins boldly—but that makes you freeze. And yes, you have a sordid soul in many ways, but on the contrary, it is full of a fine feeling—of love for him. You are anxious, worrying is using your imagination to create something you don't want —but what if that movement woke him up? What if he somehow knows?

You start to rub slow circles around your clit as you tilt your head to his side, taking a shallow breath in through your nose. You are so aware of your sin that you fully cherish it and your imagination is a wonderful thing, it allows for all manner of undiscoverable thoughts —will he rub your clit like that? Maybe he will eat you out and moan into your cunt as he devours it? The soft flesh of your inner thighs ripples just a little as your legs shake, even though you try to control it, your chest heaves up and down just by thinking about it. You knead violently at the flesh of your right breast, pinching and flicking at your own nipple as you stimulate yourself. Then something unexpected happens. He sneezes. “Sorry” he says quietly, distinctly. It feels like you are caught, tried, and condemned to death. “Bucky? Bless you” you talk with as much composure as you can. And he was not supposed to hear, because It's a horribly private moment, a vulnerable moment on your part and he should be sleeping.

“Are you—” begins Bucky, but pauses in confusion. “No-” you interrupt suddenly, with a look of weariness, focusing on your lungs, on your ability to take a deep breath, to soothe with oxygen as the word rolls off your tongue while a deep blush suffuses your face. “Because I am” He is jerking off—? Well he was sliding across the painfully erect cock slowly through the fabric, making sure he didn't cum. His tone is so natural and respectful that you can't possibly suspect him of any insincerity. He feels instinctively that some such well-sounding humbug, brought out by him, will soothe your worries, and will be specially acceptable to you in such a delicate position. It is clear from his radiant face that he considers his words for the right ones in this moment, despite you not seeing his features in the darkness. Bucky gets up on his elbows, there is no glamor, no attempt to hide it, nothing: his lust takes over all his senses. The unwelcomed bubble of intrusive need, sinking into an even more heavily occluded state. His hard dick twitches and arousal trickles down his spine, because of his own confession. You feel him shift on the bed and he turns on the light on his nightstand.

His eyes narrow until they have faint darkish glitter. You feel stuffy, there is not enough air to breathe as he stares at your face, his consciousness already vanishing and deforms itself in something primal, there is a delicious animal fire in his gaze.

You have curiously thoughtful and attentive eyes, eyes that are very pretty and very nice, he loves when you turn to stare at his blue orbits—but you are fantasizing right now—which is utterly inappropriate for the part of your mind which wants to just hug Bucky all day long. “Were you thinking about me?” He asks innocently as he shamelessly stares—swallowing you whole. Slowly, you nod. He pushes off the blanket and your gaze drops to the outline of his cock, pushing up his heart into his throat—your breathing is eager and exciting—lips are faintly chapple, but soft in the corners.

And then, his hot mouth is breathing into your ear and before you can even blink, he is on top of you, lips ghost over your earlobe. His hot mouth is breathing into your skin, your chest is pressed against his and he can feel the swell of your breasts through your shirt. You gasp as you feel his broad chest and toned abdomen holding you down as the hard bulge in his boxers rubs deliciously against your clothed pussy lips. For where all love is, the speaking is unnecessary—he kisses your neck, lips, cheeks, worships your skin, because holding you in his arms is more natural to him than his own heartbeat. He doesn't want just sex—he seeks passion. “Bucky-”

You keen between short breaths, between his gentle kisses as your fingers find the hairs at the nape of his neck. He rips your panties down with his metal hand and then reaches into his own to help his cock spring free. Drop of precum lands on your abdomen as he runs his thumb over the veins that run along the underside, barely audible as he drags his fingers across his tip, gathering the wetness before moving his fingers in front of your face. He gently rubs your lower lip, a finger working its way inside of your mouth, pressing on your tongue, eliciting a gag before removing it completely. “God, baby girl” he growls in your ear as his fingers brush up your soaking cunt “You look so innocent yet you were mastrubating right next to me” he goes on as he runs the tip of his finger back and forth, collecting your slick. Your eyes are pinched shut, lips parted ever so slightly, panting softly, a rosy flush coloring your cheeks. If it is the dirty element that gives pleasure to the act of lust, of his words, the dirtier it is, the more pleasurable it is bound to be—you are shameless, he thinks, swallowing the guttural groan that escapes him. You moan when he puts his fingers in his mouth, feverishly licking them, tasting you.

He is eagerly holding up his cock then he lines up your hole, he thrusts his hips forward, his cock pressing into your front, earning a squeal from you as he runs back and forth dragging his length across your opening and then slowly plunges into you. It is a slow, torturous process as your cunt stretches around him, accommodating his girth. Love is something he wants to nurture and grow, a connection that exists within each one of you—he has not missed a single one of your gestures, not one of the indications of your body and now it occurs to him that your eyes themselves have the color of love, they speak the language of both emotions and pleasure.

He breaks the intense eye contact to attack your neck, sucking and lightly biting on your weakest spot. Never have you been more aroused than, more needy as you continue to be relished by him by cock inside of you. "You are so bold sometimes. It's why I love you" he smiles against your hot skin, wondering how on earth he'd been lucky enough to find you. Whiny, stranded pleads leave your lips. His words are so sweet in comparison to the filthy trusts. His lips find yours as he feels you getting closer and he pushes you farther to the edge as he begins to fondle with your clit, your breathing becomes more labored. He keeps circling his finger in just the way that you love it and you can feel the beginning of the orgasm, sending your body into a wave of pleasure. You clenching around him—shuddering against him, as an orgasm washes over his own body. Bucky lose himself in your eyes—in the vocabulary of them as the pleasure goes through your body. The words became unnecessary. He made you feel loved.

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky one shot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #one bed trope

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mondaymelon · 4 months

Note

first time in this account lol Idk if you're taking requests but I saw that post some minutes ago and... Idk, wanted to request something lol, if you didn't do it yet! What about headcanons with a reader who doesn't show physical attention until some years of knowing them? Like, they know each other for about 5 years and just then the reader decides to do some small act of physical affection... I wanted the headcanons to be with Childe, Arlecchino, Wanderer and Furina! If you can <3

₊˚ෆ 𝐈𝐅 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔… | childe, wanderer, arlecchino, furina x gn!reader

( childe's part might be a little ooc. havent done that part of the archon quest yet cries. also mwah arlecchino we love her in this household !! )

[ You were always someone who wasn’t fond of physical attention. Fleeting touches and kisses to the cheeks were never your forte, yet what should happen if the lover you’ve had for years is suddenly on the receiving end of such affections? ]

"physical affection... ah- it's okay if you can't show that to me, there's plenty of other ways to tell that you love me!"

CHILDE was the one to say those words to you, and the held the most certain truth. You were his lover, and a hug or two couldn't sway the fact! While the harbinger is quite the puppy and often yearns for your warmth, he'll respect your boundaries and allow you whatever. A lover like Childe places your happiness as a priority over his, wanting more to see your eyes sparkle than his own.

"Love, you wouldn't believe what happened in the courthouse today." You glance up from your spot where you're curled up on the couch, snuggled into a fluffy blanket and holding a warm drink in your hands, one of Inazuma's light novels sitting on the armrest. You hear the door to the two of you's home shut and lock, and listen to... Childe's footsteps. How strange, is he stumbling?

Glancing up, you internally gape at the cuts on his body, your eyes instantly drawn at the red splattered across his features. "'Taglia, what hap-"

He lets out a dry chuckle, grinning sheepishly as he rids his shoes at the door. "No worries, the blood isn't mine. Most of it, at least. I managed to get out of there in time, so all's well, yeah?"

As if that'd provide you any comfort. You narrow your eyes, glaring at him unyieldingly, until Childe has no choice but to force out another tasteless chuckle. "Come on now, I'm home, so let's do something fun instead of just being mad at me, 'kay?"

"Tartaglia."

The man flinches, his deep ocean eyes rounding. When you call him that and not his nickname, he knew that he had landed himself in deep shit. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry." He says that, but the sentence rounds up in a change of his tone, sounding almost suspiciously like a question. "It won't happen aga-"

The world itself seems to stop.

Your head is buried into his chest, arms wrapped around his waist. Archons, can you hear how fast his heart is beating? You've made him into a complete and utter mess. He's blushing, his ears practically on fire, and any thoughts once in his brain have been seared away in single second. It takes him to the count of three to remember how to breathe once more, his chest erratically heaving up and down as his shaking arms wrap around you hesitantly, wondering if it'd be okay to do so.

"...Love?"

"Mhm?"

"I- I thought you-"

"If it's with you, I'm okay."

Oh, how those words tug at his heart. You look so perfect in his arms - yes, you looked simply perfect all the time, he'd admit in a split-second. The messy nest of hair atop your head when you woke up in the early mornings, the dark bags under your eyes when you didn't sleep until late at night, your smile, your laugh, even your scowl. It silenced any effort to not fall in love with you.

A smile tugs at his lips. A bright one, a warm one, if that was even possible. Perhaps his eyes are shining with tears, or perhaps it was merely a trick of light, but he holds you all the closer, not wanting to let you go.

"Love, I... Archons, I don't think I'd be able to love anyone but you." ₊˚ෆ

"..great. i don't want your filthy hands on me anyways, so there shouldn't be a problem, hm?"

WANDERER's words were just that, would it kill him to be a little nicer? It didn't matter... you knew your lover well, or at least well enough to tell that what he said wasn't the complete truth.

Sure, you had seen him shrug off and make expressions of disgust directed towards particularly touchy people that he'd become somewhat acquainted with. And you most certainly had witnessed his frustrated outbursts and rants when he returned home to your shared abode, whining and grumbling about any trivial error someone had made - that is, brushing fingers with him while passing him papers. Something that couldn't exactly be avoided, yet he had glared at the wall for a good amount all the same.

Ah, but then there were moments when he thought you weren't looking, and that was when his eyes would drink you in. Grazing over your eyes, to your lips, then to your hands, where'd they linger on your fingers for perhaps longer than they should.

And you'd catch the times where you were inclined to say something flirtatious - words that were never all that flirtatious in the first place, Wanderer just happened to be unusually susceptible. Chin resting on your hand, eyes staring into his, you'd say something about how pretty he was, and then he'd just about go into neurogenic shock, likely not speaking to you the rest of the day, the tips of his ears, if one squinted to a certain extent, pink.

"Love." You glance up at him, a slight pout fixed on your lips. He'd been immersed in minor tasks, and those pesky things were what stole his attention away from you. An ironic twist of fate, as you were usually the one to be drowning in work, and he'd be the one practically begging for affection.

He hums, yet doesn't even bother to look at you.

"Do you want to go for a walk?"

"No."

"Go get something to eat?"

"No."

"Visit the... House of Daena?"

"No."

"Shall we feed the finches?"

A slight pause. "...No."

"Then... let's hold hands?"

He froze at your words, and it seemed that the male lost the function of inhaling, for he sat there unmoving for what seemed like hours, his expression petrified in its form of his large eyes, raised eyebrows, and mouth slightly ajar.

"...Excuse me?" It seemed that he doubted his own ears, for he set his work aside and fixed his focus upon you, fingers trembling just the slightest.

"Hmph, have you suddenly forgotten how to think?" You frowned, yet your eyes curved into crescents all the same, and Wanderer felt his breath hitch at how ethereal you were. The sly fox you were, you took his moment of shock, settling by his side and intertwining your fingers with his. "Like this, is it not?" You were smiling now, and for the first time you glimpsed the red on his ears, but now on his face too, a rosy red descending upon his cheeks.

"What's..." Perhaps you were right. His vocabulary had suddenly dwindled, and now he had nothing but questions - that, and the growing warmth in his chest. "What do you think you're doing right now?"

Whatever attempt he had to sound "mean" had failed. You knew him too well for that. "Holding hands, what else? Your hands are cold you know-" And at that he flinched. "But it feels nice."

D...Did it really?

"You, no... love, let's stay like this. You're... warm." ₊˚ෆ

"when you sought me, i thought it'd be a serious matter. there's no trouble in it, truly, so there's no need to look so dejected."

ARLECCHINO hadn't even batted an eye. Was there a reason to? Yes, this certainly crossed off any thought of romantic couple things like kissing and hand holding, but it wasn't like she'd gasp dramatically and fall to the ground, blaming you for setting boundaries-

As if she'd ever. Your imagination was running wild today, perhaps it was the lack of sleep finally catching up to you? It was a stark contrast compared to Arlecchino, who went days without rest, shuffling through paper after paper on her desk and constantly relaying messages to her subordinates. She was a hard worker - a trait most easily overlooked, but it was a point of adoration for you. A point among many. Arlecchino was an easy person to love, despite the bristling thorns she'd show at first glance.

"Darling, a cup of tea, please?" Her gaze flicked up from her work to you, a thin smile decorating her lips. It was more a less a habit the two of you established - that is, pouring her tea. Her favorite cup was the one you had gifted her when you first started your relationship, shaded in a dark hue and embellished with roses, their blooms, petals, and thorny branches spreading across the expanse of porcelain. You placed said cup on her desk with a breath of satisfaction, tilting you head in questioning at the unusual amount of papers on her desk.

"Arle, did something happen?"

She merely chuckled to herself, her eyes shining with delight. "Ah, why don't you wager a guess?" You were her "subordinate" of sorts, although your true association was far more intimate. You knew of her plans with Fontaine, and helped carry them out. She revered your loyalty, but your warmth far more.

"...Has the hydro gnosis been secured?"

She snapped her fingers in one swift motion, her small smile widening into a true one that played across her ruby lips. "Correct, I'd expect nothing less of someone as capable as my lover."

"Then, Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet..."

"They've done well." It'd be hard to forsake the note of pride in her voice. Setting down the sheets in her gloved hands, she stood from her seat slowly, letting her eyes scan over your body. "You've asked your question, now shall I ask mine? Darling, I did quite well myself, did I not?"

Her expectant gaze read one thing, but instead of the usual quality time spending the two of you'd share, this time, you had rather differing plans. Smiling, you walked up to her, not letting the way her eyes sparkled just the slightest escape your sight. Promptly, sneakily, you flung yourself upon her, beaming as your hands found refuge winding about her torso, nearly instantly trapping her into your death hug. "You did, Arle~!"

"..." At her silence, you glanced up, only to be met with a sight that drew blush upon your own cheeks. Her usually composed, mystery-shroud features were now conflicted with crossing emotions... of what, however, was rather indecipherable. Arlecchino was a person of many masks, yet now it seemed that her "mask" displayed but one thing - love.

"Darling, I... you look perfect in my arms, so shall we stay like this a moment longer?" ₊˚ෆ

"is that so? a trivial matter, is it by law that i must hold you in my arms in order to prove my love for you?"

FURINA's multicolored irises and teardrop pupils twinkled, their shine dancing on the moonlit breeze. A hand daintily held a teacup, its fragrant contents swirling about the porcelain basin. Her laugh accompanied the cool evening wind, and she fluttered her eyes shut in a smile that brightened her expression. "Come now, why so shocked? Wouldn't this be expected from someone as benevolent as I?"

It was a scene that would remain forever painted in your mind, like a beautiful mural that one's eyes could not possibly forsake. The way her mouth tugged upwards and the manner in which her eyes curv-

"Hey, are you even listening to me right now?" A familiar voice tugged you out of your reminiscence of the confrontation months prior. Furina displayed a childish frown on her lips, her partly furrowed eyes sharpening her gaze into a rather particular one.

Oh, lost in thought once more. You let out a soft sigh, nodding sheepishly. "Yes, love, I am.."

"Mhm..." Your words left a no, you clearly aren't!" Furina sat up, her intensifying discontentment apparent on her features. "I said I got you access to front ticket seats to the hottest new court case! You know, the one involving the robbery... the one that's quite literally got the entire Steambird in a chokehold? Yet, you're not excited in the slightest!?" She sounded offended, and she likely was, for her cheeks were flushed the slightest in rash frustration and her narrowed eyes creased at their corners. "Appreciate my efforts, why don't you?"

"Appreciate" indeed.

Ah, but was a sudden, tight embrace overshooting it? For she tensed in your arms, her frame absolutely suspended in your hold, her slack jaw giving the slightest tremor. "Mon amour, just w-what are you-?"

"Come now, Furina, am I not permitted to hug my own lover now?" The jesting in your voice faded as the sarcastic grin on your face formed a smaller, more genuine one. "I'm... ah, I'm okay, if it's with you. I'll be okay."

She paused at your words, contemplation of them flashing in her gaze, and let out a gratified exhale. "Then..." she nearly melted in your embrace, leaning her head into your arms compliantly.

"Don't you dare think I've forgotten about your previous transgression, but... ah, it can be forgiven, can't it, mon amour?" ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) hc hc hc hc furina calls youfrench petnames because french oui oui baguette.. AHEM my sincerest apologies to any french or french speakers...

REBLOGS APPRECIATED!! please consider following me as i amm soosososoo close to a follower goal ive been wanting to reach and itd be crazy if i could reach it before christmas!!!

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader

-> teehee what if yall left a message on my christmas tree 😶😶😶

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crypticminx · 4 months

Note

hello! could I request Felix and reader leaving together at an Oxford party and their night? THANK YOU<3 could be smut or fluff whatever you prefer

Hello lovely!! Here you go!!! Hope you enjoy xx 🩷

AN: smutttt, Dom!felix, small breeding kink, daddy kink and little bit of flufff <3 P in V, unprotected sex xoxo

Oxford parties.

Drunk people scattered around like zombies, making complete utter fools of themselves on the dance floor as loud hip music blared through the drums of each speaker. Copious amounts of strong liquor was always passed around and one could only hope they didn't get sick from sharing the mouth stained bottles.

Trashy to say the least—but classy in each partygoers pumped heart.

Felix Catton was known for always being in attendance at such parties and stemmed to be the heart throbbing crowd pleaser—that is for all the enraged horny females.

Practically throwing their limp, alcohol filled bodies at him, Felix wasn’t known to be a rejecting heartbreaker, but curiosity always got the best of him, leaving himself to never turn down a good night. Even if that meant following those girls back to their messy dorms.

However, All good things must come to an end, and what—or for a better word, who was finally good for Felix was none other than the most gorgeous girl on campus: Y/N Y/L.

Cuffed, taken, bagged; Felix could proudly admit for once, with a cheery smile, that he was in an amazing relationship.

So when Y/N and Felix started to arrive at every annual party, dashing hand in hand, they received the usual jealous stares from snotty singles and the more pleased ones from their tight knit group of friends.

This night was no different from the same, besides the new arcade fire song that was blasting on repeat. Although parties were a fun festivity to end off a tiresome week of studies, Y/N didn’t find the vibe as enjoyable as previous events.

Standing in the corner holding a red solo cup that was filled with more juice than vodka, Y/N kept to herself for the most part and only encouraged herself to drink by taking a few ditzy shots with Oliver while her beloved Felix was challenged to a silly game of beer pong.

Typical, she thought

Gulping the rest of her drink, Y/N tried her best to look for Felix and while she did so, she gave herself the time to elaborate a good excuse on why they should ditch the party.

The atmosphere was sweaty, humid, and a small stench of some lightweights nasty vomit sprouted it’s aroma from the bathroom. If that wasn’t a good wake up call, what was?

Lost in the haze of people who were doing some new stupid dance trend, Y/N groaned as she felt herself bumping into someone. Nearly spilling her drink, she managed to stop herself before becoming the embarrassment of the night.

She was too full of mental exhaustion—rather more frustrated to even look at up at the soul she collided into.

“Hey,” she knew that voice anywhere and instantly felt relief.

“Jeez fel,” she called him by his proufound nickname she granted him when they first started dating, “I’ve been looking for you like a mad man!”

He chuckled and wrapped a lose arm around her shoulder. Y/N’s eyes fluttered with awe as he did just so and she quickly wondered how in the midst of the grossness around them, Felix could still manage to look so perfect.

Ugh, just a quick glance at her man and she could feel herself growing internally hungry.

Dressed in a loose throw over that appeared to have not a single alcohol stain and his hair—heavens his hair, not one strand of his neat chestnut locks was out of place. He always kept his composure, at least that was one thing different about him and his inseparable sister, Venetia.

“So, ‘m thinking,” he began as he pulled Y/N closer into his chest, the smell of his lovely cologne filling her nose with its radiant clove scent.

“Oh, so you managed to actually use your brain tonight?” Y/N interrupted him, earning a swift tap on her button nose as he goofishly grinned at her.

“Quiet you,” he cooed before leaning closer to her frame, “wanna get out of here?

Her eyes widened in delight as she felt Felix slyly move his needy hands down to the hem of her plaid skirt. A slight clench of his hands that grabbed her bottom made her want to run as fast and far away into privacy with her loving man.

“I thought you’d never ask, love,” grinning like her face had no end, Felix offered his girlfriend his hand as they were about to politely escort themselves out of the way and into the young night.

That was until-

“Oi,” a voice chirped from behind them, causing the couple to swing back as a natural reaction, “and just where do you think you two lovebirds are going?” Oliver entered his way into the picture, something he managed to always do.

“Ollie,” Felix deviously beamed, “I have things to do.”

Felix could be such a smug little asshole.

“More like a special someone to do,” Oliver winked and lifted his cup in Y/N direction, earning an annoyed look of disapproval.

Oliver was just as much as an asshole, but that’s why him and Felix hit it so well.

“Catch you in a bit,” it was more of a statement as opposed to a question, but Oliver knew what the couple was up to.

Oliver knew better than to ever insult Y/N, but the more time Felix included her in things, she developed a strong bond with his pals, but Oliver had slithered his way with getting to know her the most.

He was welcoming, kind and graciously humble, unlike some of the many pricks that marked their way in Oxford, not caring who they belittled or how they did it.

“Whatever you say Mrs. Catton,” she playfully flipped Oliver off as he shook his head with a small chuckle, turning his back away from Y/N and Felix and into the crowd of people.

——————————————————-

“Felix!” Y/N giggled before she fell to the ground, laughing all the way down as she felt long, uncomfortable pieces of grass embrace her body. It was almost a tickling sensation.

“Shhhh,” Felix cupped his hand over her lipstick stained mouth, feeling her warm breath on his palm as it seemed nearly impossible for her to stop herself, “I don’t want to cause a scene my darling.”

With all her might, she moved Felix’s hand away from her face and contently sighed, “oh, but you always do, my love.”

“Feisty now?” He cocked an eyebrow down to where she layed like an angel in the field, waiting for him to avenge her with his sweet love.

“For you, always.”

“Then let’s stop wasting time,” he groaned, feeling his cock twitch at the thought of getting to put it in his sweet girl, tension rising within him to get the job done right, but to also make it lasting and worthwhile.

There was nothing more he loved than making her release herself in waves of pure ecstasy that came with her angelic moans of delight.

Throwing his shirt off somewhere in a small bush behind him, his graceful fingers took absolutely no time in undoing Y/N’s silk, button down and uncuffing her bra.

He was marveled at the sight before him and without any hesitation, he leaned down and began to mark her smooth skin with aggressive kisses that were filled with passion.

Y/N being half naked and about to do it in a forest; it seemed like something from a cheesy movie.

Doing the deed at a house party was cliche and reminded Felix of his past more than he liked to remember and doing it on one of the various campus balconies was adventurous—but a total letdown once it started to rain over Felix and Y/N.

However, now felt like the right time.

“Love,” Y/N gently spoke in between long kisses from Felix, “are you gonna take off my skirt?”

Y/N startled in place as Felix almost ripped off all of her bottoms, fearing he had broke one her favourite skirts he had purchased for her.

Fully naked, Y/N felt an immediate sensation of heat rush over her body and instantly forgot about all the outdoor surroundings as Felix yanked off his belt and threw away his jeans and boxers into mid air.

It was just her, Felix, and all the nights starry glory that was upon them.

“Fuck,” he moaned as he hands fondled her breasts, hard nipples graced the tips of his palms, “you’re beautiful.”

It might’ve been too dark for Felix to see it, but Y/N still managed to blush every time he complimented her—which was practically every heartfelt second they spent together .

“Fel,” she started to beg, “I need you.”

He eagerly placed himself back on top of her, leaving his hard cock to graze the outside of her already soaked cunt. In any regular situation, he would’ve been thrusting with all his might, but tonight he was feeling different.

“Not until you say my name, darling,” he demanded.

“Please daddy.” Y/N squeaked, panting for him to enter himself inside of her.

“That’s my good girl,” he smirked in delight, pushing himself with ease as his rock solid cock glided into Y/N.

“Mmm,” she tried to fight back a moan, but it was no use. She needed him more than ever.

She felt her legs twitch as they melted into bliss as Felix steadily did what he does best; fucking her.

“Baby,” he groaned as he maneuvered himself to grab her soft hair as he dove into her neck for more kisses, “you always get so damn wet for me.”

Y/N moved closer to his frame as his hands tugged her head to his face, his cock continuing to puncture her in all the right ways.

He violated her mouth as his tongue swirled in fast pace with hers, Y/N having to breakaway from his kiss just to catch her breath.

“Oh Felix—daddy,” she bit her lip, feeling himself plunge harder into her as she mistakenly called him by his name, “I want to cum.”

“Not yet darling, let me feel you more.”

Y/N toes curled as he let out a loud groan of pleasure, looking down at her flushed face, he was so proud to call her his girl.

“Mmm sweetheart,” he panted in between breaths, “aren’t you tired of Oxford.”

Oxford? Why the hell was be going on about school during intercourse?

“N-Not really,” she squeaked in response.

“Well baby,” he lingered his way back to her face, planting sloppy kisses as he felt her nails scratch deep into his lean back, “when can I take you out of here and make you my pretty little wife?

Y/N hummed in response, closing her eyes as they relaxed into bliss, “you plan on knocking me up too, yeah?”

Felix couldn’t tell if she was being serious—what is said during sex is not always reality, but just the mild thought of him getting the chance to plant his seed in his beloved made him turn ravenous.

He would do anything for Y/N, but if he could keep her away from any thirsty Oxford boys and make her his wife and potential mother of his children, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“Jesus,” he croaked, already feeling himself starting to lose his pace due to his cock becoming seconds away from releasing into her. “You have no idea, my baby.”

“Daddy—“ Y/N shouted through the bushes of the forest garden, “come with me.”

And like the perfect scene from a porno film, the couple came in unison, wordlessly twinkling at each other with a strong glimmer of love in each one of their eyes.

Y/N let herself be free and rolled her head back, enjoying the climax of her orgasm, feeling more than satisfied with Felix’s overwhelming stimulation of an erotic performance.

She sighed, “I love you.”

Felix, already trying to find her clothes so she wouldn’t freeze in the cool night. “I’m serious, y’know.”

“About marriage or…”

“All of it, my darling,” he gently patted Y/N’s head of messy hair due to their rough embrace.

“But right now?” Y/N sounded hesitant, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t up for it.

“Whenever,” he sat down to her side, passing her ruffled clothing, before leaning to kiss her gracefully on the cheek. “I’d wait an entire lifetime for you, angel.”

Y/N knew the time wasn’t right, they had their whole lives ahead of them, but then again, she could always stop taking her birth control and see what fate would have in store for them.

Though—for now at least, she felt at ease and more than happy to have another memorable shared night with her lover.

#felix catton smut #jacob elordi #saltburn #felix catton x you #felix catton x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton #jacob elordi x reader #saltburn 2023 #oliver quick #felix catton fanfic

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floralpascal · 5 months

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Taking Care of You

Summary: You've been stressed out and working like crazy lately. John finally has enough and devises a plan to take care of you and make you forget all about your work.

Pairing: John Price x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.9k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only, minors do not interact)

Warnings: stressed reader, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex (you know the drill, wrap it y'all), orgasm denial, praise

A/N: This one goes out to all my stressed and busy babes out there! This is 100% self indulgent since I've been working day and night recently. We all need us some Price to take that stress away

You knew that you had been distant for a while. Work had been piling up on you, responsibilities pressing in from all sides. It seemed like all you did was work, work, work these days.

Your husband, John Price, was as supportive as he always was. He, of all people, understood that sometimes you just had to put your head down and get work done. When he was home with you, he always made sure that you ate and stayed hydrated. He limited your caffeine intake. He made sure you took breaks. In all, he was the most supportive, understanding man on the planet.

…which was why his reaction now was so surprising.

You saw him approach the makeshift office that you had set up at your kitchen table from over your laptop screen. In a soft, even voice he ordered, “Close the computer, love.”

Continuing to type, you spared him a questioning glance as you shook your head. “I just took a break like… an hour ago.”

“Three,” he corrected. “It’s almost eleven at night.”

You whipped your head up to look at the clock that hung on the wall behind him. Sure enough, he was right. Dread spread through you, your brain already kicking into crisis mode. “Shit. God, I’ve got to get this done.”

“It’ll be there tomorrow,” he countered. “You’ve been workin’ like mad all weekend long. I’m not gonna let you run yourself into the ground. So. Shut. The. Laptop.”

He stressed each word, and suddenly you felt what it must’ve been like to have John as a Captain, calm but commanding. Your eyes met his, your mouth open to fight him on the matter, but you found him ready for it, a testing eyebrow raised. It was rare that he would ever tell you what to do, but it always came when he was worried about you and trying to take care of you. Any time you had gotten a significant injury, he had made sure that you stuck to every word of the doctor’s orders.

You huffed and leaned back, already sensing defeat. Instead, you tried to plead with him, “John, I won’t be able to sleep unless I get this done. I’ll just keep thinking about it.”

He put one hand on the table, leaned toward you, and pushed the laptop closed with the other hand. With his face barely a breath from yours and his eyes darkening, he rumbled, “I can fix that.”

Your body reacted to his sultry insinuation immediately, your heart rate jumping in an instant. You couldn’t help but drop your gaze to his lips for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “And how’s that?”

“I’ll make it so that you can barely even think anymore. I’ll wear you out so much you’ll fall asleep without even a thought about this,” he said, tapping the closed lid of your laptop.

At times like this, you hated how easy it was for him to get you riled up. He knew exactly how to play you, exactly how to make his gravelly voice even more enticing, exactly what to say to get you squirming in your seat for him like you were now.

You pressed your lips together, thinking for a moment. You couldn’t pretend that you didn’t want this. You were so tired of all the work and John knew exactly how to play you. But if he was going to have some fun, then so were you. With a provocative flit to your voice, you challenged, “Then prove it, Captain.”

For a moment, all he did was let a sultry smile pull at his lips. Then he was on you, his hands guiding you up from your chair and his lips finding yours. It was all fire and passion, but yet not too rushed. No, John never rushed this early. He loved to work you up slowly and leave you begging for him to just touch you already. He followed that playbook now, walking you backwards to press you up against the wall, his hand guarding your head from hitting it.

As he tilted your head to give his lips access to your neck, he rasped against your burning skin, “Never too stressed to tease me, are you?”

Your breath hitched as he found the sensitive part of your neck, your hands clawing at his back and tangling in his short hair. After a moment, he moved back up to kiss you, his tongue dancing with yours for a long while.

Eventually, his hands on your hips guided you to walk with him towards your shared bedroom. You took turns pulling at the other’s clothes, leaving a trail haphazardly in your wake. By the time you both passed through the doorway, John was only in his boxers and you in your plain black bra and panties. As he laid you back onto the bed, he eyed you as hungrily as he did when you wore lingerie for him.

“D’ya know how fuckin’ sexy you are, love?” His hands pressed against your stomach before roaming up, up, up as slowly as possible. Your eyes fluttered shut as he ghosted his hands over your bra, arching shamelessly into his touch. Still drinking the sight of you in, he rasped, “Gotta take care of you. Gotta make sure I get rid of all that stress, all those worries.”

“John…” you whined, already needy and falling for his plan. One side of his mustache raised in a smile, clearly understanding that he already had you right how he wanted you. “Just touch me, please.”

John chuckled, giving your breasts a quick squeeze before placing a kiss just over your heart. “I am touchin’ you, baby.”

“Fuck, John, you know what I mean.”

He pressed the faintest of kisses up your chest and to your neck. Against the skin of your neck, he teased, “Maybe I don’t. Tell me. Use your words, love.”

Despite his insistence, he gave you no time to answer. Instead, his lips found the sensitive column of your neck, the touch no longer feather-light like it had been before. Now, he kissed and nipped with a passion that had you gasping beneath him.

“Hhm? I didn’t catch that. Gotta speak up,” he mumbled next to your ear, the heavy timber of it sending shivers down your spine. But you could feel the curve of his lips against your soft skin, his beard prickling you as he did.

“Don’t be a tease,” you grumbled halfheartedly. Even now, though, you couldn’t resist him. Giving in, you begged, “God, just fuck me, John.”

He made a sound of appreciation, deep and reverberating, the kind you could feel in your own chest. Leaning up over you, his icy blue eyes came to meet yours. “Now, was that really that hard?”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing your own smile as you grabbed his neck and leaned up to give him a bruising kiss. Returning the heat immediately, he dropped the act for a moment. Lips moving in tandem with yours, urgency lacing every movement, you felt him get lost in it. Surely enough, as he adjusted over top of you, you felt his hard-on graze your lower stomach. You chased him, hooking a leg over his hip to roll your hips against him. He groaned into your mouth, eyes squeezed shut.

“So impatient today,” John chided. He pulled away and sat up, his hands coming to unhook and discard your bra on the floor. As he went to do the same with your underwear, you breathed a sigh of relief thinking that the torture of his teasing was finally over.

Settling between your thighs, a man in heaven, he brought his mouth close to where you needed him. However, at the last second, his breath dusting your sensitive skin, he turned and brought his lips to the inside of your thigh instead. He still couldn’t hide his smile when you groaned in frustration.

You were in for a hell of a ride. When he got in a teasing mood like this, there was no stopping him.

Beard and mustache picking deliciously against you, he kissed up one thigh. Then, when he almost reached your center again, your breath hitching, he switched to the other thigh. There were some days when he did this that it felt like heaven — days when you were already losing yourself to the feel of him before he even got going. While you tried to conjure up that more present, more patient version of yourself, it didn’t seem possible now. You needed him so badly it ached.

When your fingers found their way into his hair and gave him a light tug in the direction you needed him, he finally let you have your way. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, a small chuckle shaking the broad plane of his back. As he lowered his head, his hooded eyes meeting yours, he purred, “If tha’s really what you want, love. Have it your way.”

With that, he finally brought his tongue to you. Ever so slowly, he licked into you, drawing a gasp from your chest. Sliding his hands up from your hips to hold the sides of your stomach, his tongue made a twin journey up to your clit. He flicked his tongue a few times, slowly testing you.

Though it was all too slow for your liking, he steadily built up the pace. The scrape of his beard. The flick of his tongue. The reverb of his moan as you tugged on his strands. It was a delicious cycle, speeding up each time through.

You let your head tip back into the pillow as you finally felt that tension in your stomach — a coil winding tighter and tighter. Your breath was ragged now, your legs already bracing around John’s head.

“Yes,” you panted, eyes squeezed shut. “Just like that. I’m so- I’m so clo-”

Right as you were about to crest that hill, John pulled away all at once. Your orgasm dissipated like a wave against the beach — there one moment and gone the next.

You whipped your head up to look at him, disbelief and righteous fury in your eyes. You were met only with a hungry, conniving smirk from the infuriatingly sexy man between your thighs. In this moment, even with his beard and the signs of age on his face, he didn’t seem a day older than the first time you had seen this smirk. The John Price that smirked in triumph at you now was the same as the John Price who had done it for the first time nearly a decade earlier. Had you not just had euphoria ripped away from you, you probably would’ve been more sentimental about this revelation.

“Jonathan Price, I swear to god-”

You were cut off by another one of his chuckles. He licked his lips slowly, making sure you watched as he tasted you. “Still too stressed, love. Don’t think you’re ready yet.”

“You teasing asshole,” you huffed, but the edge was lost to it.

It only made him smirk even more. “Fine,” he acquiesced, leaning back down. “Let’s try this again.”

At the same time that his mouth found your clit again, one of his hands traveled down to slip a finger into your dripping entrance. A small moan escaped you at the new sensation. As he started to build you back up again, his mouth and finger moving in tandem, you couldn’t help but forget his past transgressions. All that mattered now was the buildup leading to the big drop, the wonder that John could work between your thighs.

Suddenly, he slipped a second finger into you, drawing a surprised whine from your lips. “Ohh… oh, fuck…”

He groaned in approval, the vibrations of his mouth against you only upping the unbearable pleasure.

You were there again, so close to the edge that you could practically see it. Your body tensed in anticipation of the drop like a rollercoaster. It was just-

John pulled away again, shattering the buildup to your orgasm for the second time.

You let out a pained hybrid of a groan and a whine. Now, rather than annoyance coursing its way through you, all you had was desperation. “Fuck! John, please!”

“Hmmm, there we go,” he mused. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.”

“Please let me come, baby,” you pleaded. “I need it so bad.”

Pushing himself up, your heart sunk at the thought that he might keep teasing you and leave you hanging. Though he was never, ever one to leave you wanting, you were too far out of it to think straight anymore. All you knew was that you needed him and he was holding that just out of reach.

Instead, he climbed up to lean over you. With a gentle hand, he cradled your jaw, making you look at him. Your slick glistened on his chin and beard. His pupils were blown wide, the icy blue of them nearly lost to it. With how much self control he had, his eyes and the tent in his boxers were the only indications that he was as affected by this as you were.

“D’ya think you’re ready for me, beautiful? Think you can take me?”

You nodded immediately, still breathless. “Need you so bad, baby. Please. I can take it.”

He searched your eyes for a moment before nodding. “That’s my girl.”

Finally, he stripped off his boxers, revealing his red, leaking cock. You couldn’t stop the small whine you made at the sight, your need for him overriding any coherent thought.

John pushed into you in one swift stroke, drawing your nails to scrape across his back. The stretch was delicious, tearing you apart and soothing the insatiable ache in your core at the same time.

“Feel so fuckin’ perfect. So fuckin’ perfect for me,” he praised. If the feeling of him seated inside you wasn’t already enough to set you ablaze, his praise was. It always was.

His arms came to rest by either side of your head as he leaned down and stole a heated kiss from your lips. Then, he drew himself slowly out of you before sharply driving back into you again. Your body shook with the force of it, forcing you to break from his lips as you let out the most lewd moan of the night.

But, of course, that was just the beginning. John continued like that, fucking you harder with every quick snap of his hips until the only sound in your bedroom was the slap of skin on skin and both of your grunts and moans of pleasure.

“This what you needed, baby?” John asked, voice gravelly and breathy. “You needed to get fucked this good?”

Your voice caught in your throat, a strangled sound coming out in place of an affirmation.

He sped up his pace, his cock hitting so deep within you that you had to squeeze your eyes shut. He groaned, “My good girl. Always workin’ so bloody hard. You deserve this — deserve to just let me take care of you.”

Your pussy clenched around him at his praise, drawing groans from you both. You clawed at his back, searching for some sort of tether in the tidal wave of pleasure you were trapped in now. For the third time tonight, you could see the salvation of your orgasm on the horizon. Having been denied it so many times, its immensity and force was almost alarming.

Though you were too lost in John to think clearly, you were able to gasp out one plea. “Don’t stop! Baby, don’t- don’t stop!”

Rhythm growing sloppy, John assured, “Not gonna stop this time. Been so fuckin’ good for me. Come for me, love.”

That’s all it took to have you falling apart on his cock, the tension in your stomach snapping in an overwhelming flood of euphoria. Breath catching in your chest as you rode out the high, John continued to fuck you through it, murmuring deep praises all the while.

Just as you were coming back down to earth, your body finally feeling like it was yours again, John was nearing his high.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He groaned, head lowered by your ear. With a few more sloppy thrusts, he was burying himself to the hilt in you, his warm cum coating your walls. You gasped at the feeling as he ground his hips into yours a little.

Still propped on his arms, he sagged down over you, his breath ragged like yours. You dragged a hand up from his shoulder blade and into his hair, letting your fingers card through the soft strands as John came back to you and pulled out. Then, he lifted up enough to meet your gaze again. He took you in for a moment before leaning down and giving you one last heated kiss.

The two of you clearly spent, he leaned his forehead against yours after he broke away. He brought a large, calloused hand to brush against your cheek.

“You’re so bloody gorgeous,” he mused. “I love you.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “I love you.”

“Feelin’ better?”

“So much better,” you answered. The stress and pressure you had felt for days was gone now, replaced only with the feeling of John. For the first time in a long time, you truly felt relaxed.

“I told you I could fix it,” he said triumphantly, wiggling an eyebrow at you.

After taking a moment to clean you both up, John crawled back into bed and shifted to spoon you from behind. With his strong arm over your stomach and your legs intertwined, you let him envelop you. As sleep slowly pulled you under, the only thought on your mind was him.

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bellaxisworld · 2 months

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february 16 @jegulus-microfic prompt: tear. word count: 759

Regulus had been receiving love notes and love letters and letters of admiration from peers since fourth year when he’d come back to school with short hair and a mean look. He thought people simply admired him in a way that resembled desiring what you can never have—because he would never be theirs, and they would never be his. He was his own, whole entity without needing the validation of a romantic love.

That was, he thought this until he bumped into James Potter in the halls of his sixth year, and James went from boy-next-door to someone from Regulus’ very own fantasies.

Regulus’ brain quickly became a ball pit of thoughts about James Potter and James alone. He thought about James constantly, and he thought he was fucking ill. How could he let this happen? He was possessed by the divine being that was James.

And James wasn’t leaving Regulus alone.

It was bad enough that Regulus couldn’t avoid him in his own head, but now James was popping up everywhere. He made himself present wherever Regulus was, and it was driving him mad.

Because James was stunning, and Regulus was obsessed. He wanted James to push him up against a wall and kiss him senseless. He wanted to kick James and for James to look back at him with a gleam in his pretty, pretty brown eyes. He wanted James to wrap his arms around him and whisper sweet nothings in his ear(his arms were big and just the sight of them made Regulus weak in the knees). He wanted James, and James, and James and James and James and then everything was about James. Regulus wanted James.

And then James Potter began flirting with him.

It was subtle, at first. Just a cocky smirk when they talked, and a glance down at his lips. Then he made suggestive comments, calling Regulus pretty, and Regulus went to his dorm to bury his blushing face in a pillow. Then there was the arm touch, and that time Regulus stuttered on his words and dropped his books. James Potter made him a mess.

It didn’t help that when James knelt to pick up his books for him, he looked up at Regulus with big eyes and said this isn’t exactly how I pictured getting on my knees for you for the first time.

Then James got enough courage to ask Regulus out on a date, and Regulus was helpless. He said yes, acting reluctant, but he was sure James knew how desperate he was for him.

So, they were dating—and Regulus learned how very possessive James Potter was over the things he cared about, and he could not be more pleased about being included in that category. Regulus was profoundly and deeply happy with James, and he knew James owned him, heart, body, and soul, through and through, claimed by James Potter. Regulus would never complain about the possessive side of James, because it meant James was just as territorial over Regulus as he was over James. Mutually beneficial satisfaction.

James was sitting with Regulus during breakfast at the Slytherin table, and back-for-scheduled-programming, an owl dropped by with many pink and white and gold love letters and notes, addressed to one Regulus Black.

Regulus sighed and picked up his wand to incendio them when James’ hand snapped out to capture them. James looked shocked as he flicked through them, mystified by the sheer amount of admiration Reg received daily.

“You get these everyday?” he asked.

“Yes,” Regulus said. “I get rid of all of them.”

James scoffed, a mischief and fire lighting up his eyes. “Crazy,” he muttered, tearing up every single letter and scattering the scraps. “I’m going to tear up every one you get.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “They’re stupid and silly notes, nothing to go crazy over—”

“Regulus,” James said, voice steady but firm. He turned Regulus’ face by grabbing his chin, forcing him to look him in the eyes. James’ gaze was burning, and his jaw was set. He looked fierce like that, and Regulus felt overly warm. “You’re going to bring them to me and I’m going to tear up every single one. Understood?”

Regulus nodded, looking at him a bit dumbly.James smirked and fell forward, capturing and devouring Regulus in a kiss that was too obscene for the breakfast setting. He was making a statement, right there in the Great Hall in front of everyone. Regulus melted into him, mumbling against his lips, “Yeah, yes, please tear them up.”

find the full collection of february microfic prompts on ao3: february, i'm yours.

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thicc-ray-of-sunshine · 9 days

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Of course he had to be there, why wouldn't he? The very object of your frustration right in the very spot you came to cool off. You'd recognize that stupid busted up stetson anywhere. He was lounging back, long legs posted up on the table in front of him while his chair was tipped back. Part of you itched to swipe your foot under it and knock his chair down, taking the smug grin he was giving you with it. You turned back to the bar with a huff and ordered two fingers of whiskey from James. Typically you were a nuka cola and rum kinda girl but tonight you were here to get drunk and needed something with some bite to it, especially since you knew there was no way you were going to avoid Cooper.

Realistically you didn't really have anything to be mad about, it was the wasteland after all so of course nobodys gonna be upfront or honest so you really shouldn't have been surprised when he jilted you and skipped town with three quarters of your radaway. He at least had the decency to leave you some caps but overall your profits took a hit because of the whole debacle. Well that and your pride. But that wasn't really what you were mad about, no not at all, you were upset because you wanted him, pure and simple. It was all encompassing and ate at you every time you even thought about his weathered face and dangerous demeanor. Sure he was mean but you always liked it when men had some bite, it was more of a snark anyway.

James offering you your drink pulled you out of yourself. You took your whiskey in hand and knocked it back, willing your face to not scrunch up at the harsh feeling it left in your throat. Speaking of keeping cool, you were having an increasingly hard time ignoring the stare Cooper was burning into the back of your head. Taking a deep breath and sliding your caps onto the countertop you slowly turned in your seat. As suspected he was just staring at you, his body relaxed and languid in his chair, drink held loosely in our and and a smoke in the other while his eyes pinned you with a stare that made you feel like you were on fire. You watched him as he clicked his teeth together and tilted his head to the side, motioning you over. Again you felt anger welling up underneath your skin at his smug attitude, yet that wasn't the only thing that was itching at you.

It didn't help that he downright grinned when you stood up and wandered over to him. You chose to stand in front of him, a little to the left of his legs but enough to be directly in his line of sight, hands crossed over your chest, displaying your displeasure.

"Aw it ain't gotta be like that sweetheart. It ain't like I did nothing untoward."

He said playfully as he leaned forward and set his glass on the table.

"Yeah nothing but stealing my shit. Totally normal friendly behavior."

You retorted, cocking your hip, knocking against his crossed legs at the thigh.

"You still owe me for that by the way. Not too pleased to have been robbed, especially after giving you some of my supplies on the house."

His eyes followed the line of your body down to where your hip touched him, giving you a brazen up and down that had you barely suppressing a shiver.

He took a long drag from his cigarette before he spoke again, eyes never leaving yours.

"You and I both know that ain't what this is 'bout darlin. You're mad because I left you high and dry."

You didn't know what to say, the way he said it was so matter-o-factly, like he was making fun of you. Yet the look on his face was damn near salacious. You felt naked, uncomfortable and unbearably angry that he had the absolute gall to even say something like that. Before you could even think about raising your hand to slap him you felt pressure on the small of your back your whole body suddenly tipping forward. Just as quick as you fell, you were hauled up into Coopers lap. Some part of your brain registered that he had kicked you but the rest of it was focused on the sudden close proximity and the gloved hand that had made its way to your hip. You watched him through your lashes as he worked his cigarette in his mouth before he exhaled, leaving you in a haze that burned your nostrils.

"So how 'bout we cut the shit and you let me show you what you've been missing out on?"

#RAHHHHHHH #i wrote this at work #its gonna be smut #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #fallout #i cant wait to be irradiated 🥰#working progress #wip

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holybibly · 2 months

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i know i’ve seen one like this out there but like sports players ateez… just holy 🙃

like can you imagine what it’d be like to be a cheerleader (literally) and then finding out they’ve been perving over you in your uniform and they decide that they have to have you and slowly one by one they add themselves into your little reverse harem … MM!

I LOVE harems, and I have no shame about it. I hate to have to make choices when I can have it all.

You just piss them off—literally everything about you, from that extra-short puffy skirt and that cute tight top to those damn pom-poms and those stupid ponytails with the pink ribbons on them. You're so cheeky and proud that you don't even look in their direction.

You don't admire them, and don't drool all over the floor. You don't put your wet knickers in their lockers or send them naked pictures. These facts literally scratch them from the inside out. The burning hatred eats away at their brains. Who do you think you are? They're a bloody star football team—titled, rich, and sexy. And you—you're just a pathetic bouncing girl, and they won't talk about how much they stare at your tits when you do jumping jacks.

This whole nonsense is Hongjoog's fault. It was his idea to drag you into the shower after the match, and Woosan evil accomplices just added fuel to the fire. But you gave them hell. You nearly ripped out Hongjoong's beautiful cat eyes, you kicked and bit them, making them look like they survived a fight with a wildcat.

God, all that fire in your little body set them off in such a way that from that moment on, well, nothing went as planned.

You were terribly annoying; that's what Yeosang told himself as he pinned you against the shelves in a corner of the library. He didn't like girls like that—so loud and so rude. That's what he told himself over and over again as he feverishly tore off your shirt and kissed everything he could get his hands on. He just wanted to get a taste of it. Just a taste. He said to himself pushing his fingers into your pussy.

All those little skirts and cute little bows-you're definitely an attention whore. You just begged to be fucked.

And Wooyoung was driven mad by the fact that it was never him who did it. All your smiles, all your sweet words, all your sultry looks - you gave them to everyone, but never to him. And it fucking irritated him. It annoyed him so much that one day he just grabbed you in class, bent you over the table and spanked your juicy, perfect bottom until it was red and covered in his handprints. Of course, he took your knickers with him.

You were such an arrogant, bloody teacher's pet, and God, Seonghwa just wanted to shut your smart mouth with his fat cock, which is pretty much what he did. It was amazing to see you kneeling as he fucked you in the mouth. He was holding your head in place as he slid his big cock over your tongue, pushing it deeper and deeper until the head hit the back of your throat and you were choking on it. God, it was exactly what he'd had in his mind all the time. And he wanted more of it.

Mean, aren't you? You're so damn mean that everything about you sets Jongho's cold, collected temper on fire.

Bad girls have to be punished. They're taught to obey by having their cute skirts pulled up and their slutty wet cunt spanked until they learn to behave. And he teaches you that lesson by pinning you to the dressing room bench with one hand while he mercilessly spanks your pussy with the other. He will do this until you're squeal and squirm, begging him to stop, or do you just want more?

"I'm gonna fuck you, baby. You are going to beg for my cock until you start to sob. You know how to beg, don't you, or is that mouth just for cock sucking? If so, you can put that pretty tongue around mine immediately. Mingi used to love to tease you by whispering the dirtiest and most horrible things in your ear during the lessons. You used to blush so beautifully, and he couldn't help but wonder if your pussy was as beautifully pink as your chubby cheeks.

San didn't love you. Absolutely not. And he told himself that over and over again, as his tongue slowly fucked your sweet cunt and his strong hands held your hips in a dead grip. He was angry, not at all jealous that you were paying attention to some dickhead guy. And he just needed a bit of relaxation before he broke the bastard's jaw, and you were just about perfect for the release. It's not jealousy, San assured himself. His mouth pressed greedily against your damn tasty pussy. Not jealousy at all.

You were so tiny, so fragile. And Yunho just wanted to destroy you. And your bloody temper didn't help. You looked so beautiful as he stretched you with his fingers. You had orgasm after orgasm, so many that the stimulation was painful. Your juices were all over the place, you were squrting so hard that your whole body was shaking from the overwhelming power of the orgasm. Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your eyes rolled back in your head. But that was just training before he fucked you hard, dumb and drooling. And as captain of the cheerleading squad, you knew very well that the only way to get the perfect result was to practice endlessly.

You were on his mind all the time. He thought about you all the time, and it was driving him crazy. Why don't you look at him? Why aren't you crawling at his feet, where your place is? When you could be sucking his dick or moaning his name, why do you spend all your fucking time talking and being rude? Hongjoong couldn't stop asking himself the same questions. You had wrapped him around your finger faster than he was able to comprehend and you had him in a choke hold. He hated you with the same passion as he wanted to fuck you. And God, he was going to do it. Left alone after his next win, he couldn't control himself and as a result you're on all fours with his dick deep inside you. He fucked you mercilessly and hard. Every thrust of his hips was filled with hatred for the stupid feeling of love he felt for you. You were like a drug to him. Hongjoong never wanted to stop experiencing this ecstasy.

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 2 months

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What is Broken!Aemond NSFW Alphabet

All of this applies specifically to the Aemond that is featured in my series What is Broken. Therefore, he is only discussed in his relationship with his wife (Wifey) and Alys. I'm going to do my best to not unintentionally spoil anything.

This may be the first NSFW alphabet to make people both horny and angry...

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

With Wifey, Aemond is an aftercare king. He showers her with praises, kissing every inch of her face while he holds her tight against his chest. He'll help her clean up then fall asleep with her in his arms, still murmuring praise in her ear.

With Alys, there isn't a lot of aftercare. He either gets up and leaves with a curt "thank you," or just roll over and tries to sleep. Every time he sleeps with Alys, he is flooded with a guilt that basically immobilizes him for about half an hour. Sometimes he cries, and sometimes he gets so mad at himself that he calls Alys back and fucks away his frustrations until he's so tired he passes out as soon as he cums.

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

Aemond has two favorite parts of Wifey. First, he loves her eyes. The same deep brown as Alicent's, he feels like it makes her softer and warmer somehow. Second, he loves her hands. He's always held her hand, since before they became romantically involved. Now, her hands do so many other wonderful things.

His favorite part of Alys (other than her big titty goth gf titties) is how little she looks like Wifey. It helps him not think about what he's doing to her while he's with Alys.

His favorite part of himself is his lips. There is very little he likes better than worshiping Wifey with his mouth, kissing every inch of her he can.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Always inside, whether its a mouth or a cunt. When he's close, his brain just shuts down, so he never has the forethought to cum anywhere else.

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

I mean... Alys.

But other than that, he did used to go a little further with Wifey than he technically should have before they got married (see here for an example).

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

Before Alys, he had like two or three techniques down pat, and not much beyond that. If Alys did anything positive, she at least taught him a little bit more.

F= Favorite position

With Wifey, missionary. He wants to be able to see her face and kiss her. Plus, he loves how it makes him feel like he's protecting her, surrounding her.

With Alys, he likes anything where he doesn't have to look directly at her face.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

1,000,000% serious.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

He doesn't trim the silver bush, but he keeps it clean.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

Almost sickeningly romantic with Wifey. Fully rough with Alys - there's no love there, just sex.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

Before he and Wifey got married, he had to take care of himself pretty often. But after, he could just go to her whenever he was in the mood and she'd be happy to help. Up until she started getting really sick at the start of her pregnancy, she never refused him.

After he started things with Alys, it was basically the same thing.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

Wants to fuck Wifey while on dragonback, but she's never agreed to it.

Nothing with Alys, its straight to the point.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

With Wifey, he prefers their bed. He's also enjoyed it on their couch, on the rug in front of the fire, and in the bath. They once, and only once did the deed outside their rooms - in a dark alcove in the hall right after they got married. They simply couldn't wait for the official bedding.

But he'll fuck Alys wherever. He always makes sure they're alone, but he's never patient enough to wait until they're in a specific place before taking her.

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

Literally anything Wifey does has the potential to set him off. He's just horny for her 24/7.

With Alys, it's not really anything about her, but rather himself. Any time his emotions are high, he's ready.

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

There's nothing he wouldn't do if Wifey asked him to.

He always refused to kiss Alys.

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

Could live off eating Wifey's pussy, tbh. He's sloppy and overeager, but it works for her. He was hesitant to let her blow him, as he thought it might feel demeaning, but when she begged, he folded instantly.

Asked Alys for it, but never returned the favor.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

He's usually slow with Wifey until he's close, then he jackhammers a bit.

Since there's no romance with Alys, he goes as fast as he can.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

He's tried quickies with Wifey before, but he gets caught up in the moment and slows down so he can take his time.

Every encounter with Alys is a quickie.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

If Wifey asked him? Absolutely.

Alys proposed a few new things, but he refused.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

With Wifey, he lasts pretty long because he specifically paces himself to go as long as possible. He doesn't really know how many rounds he could go, because Wifey always gets tired before he does.

For Alys, he only does more than one round if he gets frustrated again.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

Nope.

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

Enjoys riling Wifey up, but he usually gives in before she does.

Doesn't tease Alys, and got so mad when she tried to tease him that she never tried it again.

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

Praise, moans, whimpers, and florid declarations of love are the standard with Wifey.

With Alys he's either entirely silent or he growls and rants the whole time about whatever got his emotions going.

W= Wild card (random canon of any sort)

Once fell asleep while he was going down on Wifey because he felt so warm and safe between her thighs.

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

A real beauty, his cock. Long enough to reach all the right places and girthy enough to give that perfect stretch.

Y= Yearning (sexdrive level)

He's 20, it's high.

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

He never falls asleep before Wifey. He want to make sure she has everything she needs first. So he only tries to sleep after she's already sleeping.

With Alys, he's either kept up by his guilt or so exhausted he falls asleep immediately.

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yanderemommabean · 1 year

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I love doctor Lee so much. Half of my brain is like 'haha he's so cute, he has a snake called Gilbert that's adorable'. The other half of my brain says:

'what if you were a patient at the hospital's mental ward, and Dr Lee was assigned to your case? He's generally caring and sweet, checking in on you every day to make sure you're alright.'

What if Lee comes in, asking you about side effects of the new medication that you're trying, but the line of inquiry soon grows uncomfortably invasive. Have you been feeling happier? Have you experienced a decrease in libido? How frequently do you think of masturbating? Do you think of anyone? Do you think of him?

Lee's a bit too friendly, actually. He examines you in ways that aren't strictly necessary, asking for you to disrobe so that he can check to see if you've injured yourself. The nurses would ignore you if you told them about what Lee does. He's already warned the staff that you're not the most trustworthy. Nobody would believe you. You're his lovely little patient, and he hopes that one day you'll accept it.

“I-I want to change doctors…I have a right to do that don’t I?!” you asked in a hushed, panicked voice. The nurse sitting before you sighs in annoyance, and while you don’t blame her, you’re also hurt because to her you’re just another patient causing problems.

“Dr.Lee has already notified us about why you’d want to change. You’re so lucky he hasn’t fired you as his own patient! You trying to get those drugs from other doctors could put you in jail you know? Lee is trying to actually help you”

You grit your teeth in frustration, trying not to lash out and shake the woman to get her to pay attention. You’re clearly not a fucking drug addict, or some psycho patient to just ignore. “No! No listen to me! Please!”

“Ah, I see our little butterfly is awake and eager today!” a deep, amused voice purrs from behind you. “Mrs. Williams, Ill take it from here. Go on, take an early break! It’s almost the holidays, you could use a bit longer to relax after working such a hard shift for me”.

Your face drains of color as the nurse happily leaves, thanking him as she walks away with a pep in her step. You shiver as he nuzzles into your shoulder and inhales deeply, murmuring something about how he loves the scent of your hair.

“You know, you trying so hard to escape me…It should make me mad” he sighs deeply, as if trying to keep himself calm. His hands wander down to clasp yours, pulling your knuckles up to his lips as he kisses them. “It should make me want to kill…but you have this way of being adorable even when panicked and upset”.

“You’re a sick fucker if you get off on me being terrified of you!” you hissed, trying to pull away, only to be yanked right up to his chest, face forced to look up at him as he grabs your chin. “Oh no no, dear butterfly, I don’t think you’re sexually appealing when scared. I think you’re adorable when scared of me. I get protective of you when you’re scared”

He forces you to press closer as he noses up the column of your neck, kissing right behind your earlobe “What makes my cock rock hard is knowing you can’t escape me, and that every night I get to indulge in you and your body…even if you insist that you hate me”.

You brokenly sob as his teeth begin to tease your skin, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to make your body betray you. “I feel those shivers” he states with a smirk, turning you to face the wall as he presses right against your back “I feel the way your body craves me, butterfly. Why must you always deny it? If you would just let me love you, this wouldn’t be so hard anymore”.

His hands cup your crotch, fingers pressing down firmly to massage and grope you, making your thighs tighten and shake as your breath quickens. “I-I hate you. I hate you!” you scream, but your voice soon becomes breathy and shaky while his hands slip into your underwear with ease. “Say that all you wish darling, I'm a professional. I know when my patient is lying to themself”

(Hiya! Sorry if this isn't up to par, I'm still recovering and work is kicking my ass mentally lol, but I love these types of scenarios! I hope you enjoyed! -Mommabean)

#yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere serial killer #yandere doctor #yandere noncon #dr lee my oc #doctor lee my oc #my ocs #yandere smut #yandere lemons #mommabean

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thebadboyfanclub · 6 months

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I Will Wait (Aemond x Reader)

This version of the song was the only I was able to finish and truly get in the spirit of combining the requests, hopefully you get the vibe of the whole slow burn and growing to trust type of hype and you don’t find my skill to turn a bit rusty, thank you for being patient. Also one of the requests was from @blue-serendipity I hope you like it and didn’t let you down

The house Whent was relatively new in comparison to others, yet their correlation to house Strong kept them in a comfortable situation and helped them become a noble house, they resided in one of the biggest castles of Harrenhall, the walls of it were gigantic and most of the people in it considered themselves safe from all harm.

That is until Aemond Targaryen went mad, fire surrounded the city and all one could hear was the screams of agony of any man, woman, or child that was running for their lives, Aemond upon his fury had ignored the yellow flag with the nine bats as he broke into the castle and commanded for everyone to be killed, from the corner of his eye he saw two figures sprinting across the hall, instinctively he ran after them, it was a woman with auburn hair and a child.

“Stop”

He commanded, his voice booming through the castle, surprisingly the woman came to a halt in a few seconds he caught up to them though the woman still had her back turned to him.

“Turn”

The woman spun on her heel only to reveal something Aemond had given a battle to forget, the eyes that used to haunt his prepubescent mind, she looked the same except for the height and her figure, the same high cheekbones, same silk hair, same fire holding eyes the only difference was that those captivating hues were overflowing with tears, her lips pushed to a thin line and her chin quivered ever so slightly.

All the memories passed by his brain one after the other, how she helped him practice Valyrian, the first ride he ever took her on dragon back, her soft touch against his wound as she assisted with a balm the maesters had suggested would be helpful even though nothing could come close to how nurturing her grace was for his soul.

“(Y/n)?”

“Please, not my boy”

Her voice trembling and barely audible amongst the distant screams and curses, Aemond's gaze shifted from her to the young little man who was clinging onto her for dear life, he had her hair and her ever-defiant love if he was the only thing she could think about.

“I would not-“

He stopped himself from saying the rest, he had invaded her home, he had just passed dead bodies that were probably people she greeted every day, he had already caused her pain, and to say he wouldn’t hurt her was only going to be foolish.

“He is your son?”

“Yes, please my prince, let me escort him anywhere, I will not run… he is only 4”

“Prince Aemond!”

The guard interrupted, suddenly his face from a soft and confused expression switched to a coldness similar to the harshness of the winter's ice that they used to skate over the river when they were children, (y/n) clenched her boy's hand and prepared herself for the worst.

“Take them, they are our hostages, don’t kill them”

“No! Please! Let him be!”

“Mother!”

His yelling brought a certain uneasiness to Aemond, the scene that was unfolding in front of him was almost cruel, Aemond brushed it off as him being gracious, it was either that or instant death, a dungeon was better than an abstract result that is the strangers shadow.

Aemond instructed the guards to put the boy with his mother in one of the chambers that were previously occupied by the servants, locked of course, he figured it would be easier for her to consult her offspring if he had a bed to sleep on, even if it was uncomfortable.

(Y/n) had her entire life crumble beneath her feet in a matter of days, she had recently suffered through the death of the father of her child and now she was captured with her precious boy in a room, no clue of what could happen next, the uncertainty struck her airway though she did her best to cloak it with a smile and fairytales that helped the young boy drift into slumber, countless nights were spend with her head against her window, everything inside her screaming at her to break it, a side of her wanted to jump off but how could she leave her beloved boy behind.

Then came the question, why was he doing this? Why keep her? Was he merciful or was there a motive, Perhaps this was a scheme to gain power, but how?

“Has he fallen asleep?”

(Y/n) gasped at the sudden voice, Aemond had walked in for the first time in the room, partially he had stayed away at a loss for words, what was there to say? He had brought her here against her will and now what?

(Y/n) took her eyes off the floor and fixated them on his, he wasn’t wearing his eyepatch, it brought her a sense of familiarity to see the amethyst that decorated his lost eye, he used to take the eye patch off for most of the time they had spent together, (y/n) never asked why though she had been curious about it many times.

Aemond was grateful for her district nature, truthfully the act was his way of saying he trusted her, she never cringed or showed any type of emotion at the sight of his scar, quite the contrary she had been his only source of light, she had been the one to choose the amethyst “I think it will suit you” she had said with a smile and as passing as choosing a gown, (y/n) helped him view his mutilation as just a little mishap.

“Prince Aemond”

She spoke before she curtsied deeply, Aemond had to admit she was almost perfect at keeping her composure until someone gazed at her trembling hands, her voice was audible yet hushed in order to not wake the boy.

Silence fell between them, Aemond shifted from one foot to the other his mind scavenging on what he could do or how should he speak to her. She always made him nervous but not like this.

“What is his name?”

“Arthur”

“Your fathers' name”

“My father passed right before Arthur was born, I wanted to honor him, my husband was considerate enough to allow it”

“Generous of him wasn’t it?”

“It is not a matter to jest about”

That tongue of hers, “You have fire in you, daughter, you must master it or you will get burned” her father would always advise her, she had done her best to keep herself in a certain light still no one could prepare her for this type of scenario, it was similar to walking on a tight rope and this was her stumble.

Luckily, Aemond found it rather amusing, her little hiss brought a very toned-down giggle from the prince who kept his hands intertwined with one another in front of him, she was always smart and always had something to say no matter how much trouble it could have brought her.

“There you are, I was wondering if I had managed to just find someone that looked like you”

“You find this the right time to be sarcastic?”

“If we are fair there is no right time for that, especially not when the one that holds the keys to your room is talking to you”

“You are threatening me? That’s low Aemond”

“What else am I to do?”

“Free me, let us go Aemond and I swear we won't retaliate”

“I know you (y/n), you are not the one that will sit aside”

“So what’s your plan then? Keep me here forever?”

“In a way, yes, not how you picture it though”

“I do not picture anything, Aemond, please, let Arthur go, he doesn’t deserve this”

Aemond admired her selfless act of desperation, she wasn’t interested in negotiating her freedom, although when it came to her son she had no problem begging and pleading.

If he was honest he had to admit how much he had missed the sound of his name rolling off her tongue. Aemond had never put much thought into how his name sounded until it came from her lips, so elegant, smooth like honey, it was spoken like the best of compliments, even if it was just his name to him it brought goosebumps.

“Your son is safer in the red keep, one wrong move outside these walls could cost him his life”

“I would protect him”

“I know you would, who will protect you dear? Your husband has passed, you are on your own”

“I can do it”

Aemond took one step back, bathed by candlelight yet her spirit burned brighter than any type of candle, the way she raised her chin and squinted her eyes with perseverance, stubbornness ran through her veins.

“I know it is hard to understand my dear (y/n) but this is how I am protecting you, you know better than to step out alone with your son, they will eat you alive”

“Who’s they? Your supporters? Princess Rhaenyras supporters? This war was caused by your family and now I am doomed to this-“

“You are not doomed, I saved you, think (y/n), everyone knows that the lady of Harrenhall is now a widow, how long did you envision that it would take until men tried to jump over the walls or even worse, force you to remarry?”

“My son is the lord of Harrenhall, no one would dare-“

“You are foolish or way too optimistic and I don’t know which is worst”

“So what do you suggest? That I sit under your watch until when? Until I die?”

“No, I would never imprison you for your entire life”

Aemond was forcing himself into silence, his head ached from the torment that he had created for himself, wrapped under the iron spell of doubt, still when he gazed into those eyes, oh how he had missed her, her scent was enough to drive him into insanity, when he brought them to the castle his mother went wild, it was something she had thought about and now Aemond was willing to risk it all for (y/n).

“Accept Aegon as your king, declare that Harrenhall has fallen”

“It already has, last thing I saw was that you have turned my home into ash”

“And marry me”

(Y/n)s eyes grew wide at his audacity, how could he utter such a thing? He had invaded her home, taken her without her will, and her knees buckled after what he said,. Aemond's instinct was to catch her gently and wrap his arms around her, he felt her flesh grace his as her hands went over his to further support herself, slowly he sat her to the floor without ever leaving her from his grasp.

“Have you eaten today?”

“Yes, though your guards have not been generous”

“That is my fault, I did not inform them to feed you like guests”

“Cause we are not”

“You are, I- I- it sounds insane when I say I could have killed you, I did not, when I realized that it was you I just- I remembered the moments we shared”

“We had a few good moments I suppose”

“Remember the dance?”

“You had two left feet and you were so nervous”

It was a celebration, it was King Viserys name day and everyone that mattered was there, including house Whent, she looked splendid in that purple dress, she always favored the darker colors it was no surprise she chose such a thing, Aemond had stumbled over his words when it was time to ask her if she wished to dance, to make matters worst he tripped over his feet from being distracted by her smile.

They hadn’t exchanged a word during the entire time the dance lasted, their eyes spoke the same word as neither of them looked away, a string had been wrapped around their hearts and almost forced them to come together.

If there was anytime Aemond believed in fate it was when he met her, he was infatuated by everything about her, her laugh, her voice, her hair, the way she walked with her head high, how she liked to grace her fingers over the arm of a chair before she sat down, her weakness for peaches, even her fear of thunder he had found extremely adorable.

“Why did you marry him?”

“It was my father's wish”

“Did you love him?”

“He was kind and generous, he let me be after I did my duty and he was respectful, I… liked him and of course was grateful for his warm-hearted nature”

“I would have given you more, I can give you more, I can give you everything”

“You are a prince, I am not of your status”

“You are the lady of your town, you are a lady, even if you weren’t it wouldn’t matter, as long as I get to hold you”

“Aemond let us not speak of this, it is not the time nor the place”

“Fair enough, I shall leave you be my dear”

Aemond left a sweet kiss at the top of her hair while he sneakily took a nice whiff from her hair, it was the same sensation as stealing sweets from the baker before supper, sweet and the result made it worth it.

As he rose from the floor (y/n) stayed seated, contemplating what to do, the world was on her shoulders and she was shoved into walking on a rope, she always had a soft spot for Aemond, he had been the reason her adolescent heart beat erratically, if she could just turn back time perhaps everything could have been different.

“I will not pressure you into anything, I simply want to keep you safe and I even hope to make you happy one day, you shall be escorted into a different chamber on the morrow, this is not a proper home for you”

“Home, funny word”

Aemond pursed his lips at her remark, she was bitter and had every right to be however there was a part of him that yearned for her good graces, some would call him impatient if they saw how eager he was to earn a smile or a kind word off of her.

“We have plenty of time, I will wait, as long as you need my dear”

“I shall bid you goodnight, my prince”

“Sleep well, another day awaits you”

Requests are open!

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dovithedarklord · 2 months

Text

Stucked - Part 4

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

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Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains blood and gore, violence, some body horror, and some dubcon (lightly). Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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Author's Note

The story gets more complicated and violent, so be prepared!

I've been watching way too many horror movies again, and I was sick too, so I gathered some firsthand experience for some of the sensations our poor MC has to face. But now I feel much better, can't say the same about her... Well, there's that :D

Have fun! :D

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

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The sound of soft laughter fills the walls of the house, painted golden yellow from the fire, and the lingering shadows of your companions loom over the carved wood like nightmarish demons. And with each step, you get closer and closer to the deceptive cheerfulness that unfolds below, which flows like a sick play around the laid table. As if an idyllic moment was snatched from a comedy movie meant for children and families, every minute of which is full of perfectly written laughter and undisturbed joy, but every giggle crawls into your ear canals on the slimy legs of a disgusting maggot, to bury itself in your brain and push you closer to madness with each minute.

You sneak closer to the stairs with careful quietness, unable to take your eyes off the scene unfolding in the middle of the spacious living room, because you're afraid that if you draw attention to yourself sooner than necessary, you won't have a chance to escape. Although the treacherous little voice in your head warns you that all your chances of disappearing from this terrible, artificial world were lost when Simon closed his arms around you.

And you reflexively look for the blond man, and as soon as your strained gaze finds his burly figure sitting at the table, terror envelopes your stomach in an icy grip. Every bit of him is deceptively calm, and he rests next to Johnny in his chair with such careless relaxation as if he always belonged there at the birthday dinner. But you see the waiting danger in his eyes, which makes him look like a wolf killing some time before finally tearing his victim to pieces, who doesn't even know that they willingly laid their neck in his open jaws. And it seems cruel how the two girls engage in a light-hearted conversation with the two men amid wild gesticulations and cozy delight, because you know exactly that each carefree sound that leaves their mouths is a precursor to a painful scream in the dead of the night.

Every member of yours is protesting against going down, and your legs tug you back like leaden weights, as you try to drag your body, heavy with fear, forward. As if with each step, the thread that binds you with weak fingers to the fleeting promise of survival is unraveling a little more. You'll have to go down though. Because if you hide, you risk the wrath of the game. You need information to get a new clue, and if you don't join this miserable charade, you'll lose any chance of finding anything. You have to do it even if every cell of yours screams agonizingly with dread.

The polished wood of the stairs creaks as you slowly descend the steps, and the eyes of the two men fixate on you almost on command, like two hungry vultures before which the delicious meal has finally appeared. And you realize bitterly that it's not so far off from reality, because you're probably only a few hours away from someone quenching their thirst with your still-warm blood after they've hunted you down like an animal.

NO! Enough! You can't think that! Even though this wretched place wants to make it difficult for you to win, you must not let it get its way, because then you'll wither away in this quicksand of raw flesh and screams, stuck in endless suffering. You must not let it win. You won't let it win.

Your determination eases the trembling that shakes your knees wildly, and as you reach the bottom of the stairs, you straighten your back out, because these two bloodthirsty monsters must not see that they were able to plant the seeds of hopelessness in your mind. Even if this bitter feeling has taken root, you should not allow them to find morbid joy in it. Because that would be equal to your defeat.

"The birthday girl is finally here!" Pam exclaims enthusiastically as she turns back to you to look at you, and for a moment her kindness breaks your heart as you let her spring up and lead you to the empty chair at the head of the table with tender, friendly love. You don't deserve a minute of her attention, even if there's nothing real behind it. A fictional creature, whose empty shell is filled with life by the game, just so that it can take this temporary existence away as painfully as possible. But still, as she pushes you down to the chair with a warm smile and squeezes your shoulder excitedly, your throat tightens painfully with pity. You gave up trying to save them a long time ago, you forgot the compassion you felt for them, yet now your brain, overloaded because of the impossible events, allows you for a moment to feel sympathy for them. "The best place belongs to the celebrated!" She chirps, and when she's certain that you've made yourself comfortable, he strolls back to her seat, with such an unworried spring in her step that you recall quite cruelly how quickly this lightness turns into desperate fear as she runs for her life. And despite this sugary-sweet show, it'll happen soon enough.

And even to you, it's strange how the whole dinner scene begins with such familiar movements, even though Simon has intruded on the well-known story as an uninvited guest. And this might be because he only occasionally interjects a short comment into the smooth flow of events, otherwise not disrupting the dialogue that you have already heard torturously many times. If he does answer, the game bends the threads of its own story so smoothly that, in spite of the new change, you end up in exactly the same place where you have always been. And this fills your soul with such fiery hope that suddenly every cell of yours ignites with the wild desire to act, because if the presence of the masked man doesn't lead the story in a completely new direction, then there is a chance that the clues will still be there where they were before you discovered them... And that makes the doubts clinging to your gut seem to withdraw, and you feel that you can finally breathe for the first time since discovering the book.

"It's so nice of Johnny to put together this dinner, isn't it?" Rebecca chimes in, lifting another bite into her mouth with her fork, carrying her gaze around on the myriad of appetizing dishes displayed on the table with real delight. And you tear yourself out of the continuing web of your thoughts with a startled wince, in which you've been immersed far away, already browsing through the series of clues you've found so far. You run your confused eyes through the group at lightning speed, and when you meet the girl's puzzled expression, you reluctantly turn your attention back to them.

"Yeah... It's very nice of him." You blurt out your scripted, well-rehearsed dialogue, and although your tongue almost goes numb under the weight of the lie, you’re able to force the faint line of an authentic-looking smile on your mouth.

Although everyone seems to calm down, you see sparks of interest in Simon's eyes. And as you carefully look at him and your gaze intertwines with his, you see the unmistakable lines of a smile appearing around his eyes in the warm light. But there is nothing comforting about this gesture, because an almost condescending kindness emanates from his every cell, and this makes him look like no more than a spectator of an unfolding sad comedy. And if he really knows that you're not from here, then all ot this is really nothing more for him than watching a movie up close, the end of which he's perfectly aware of. But you can still surprise him. Because you won't let him think he's in charge. You just have to find a clue…

And you jerk back, almost startled, as Johnny's face swims into your vision, thus hiding the sight of his friend from you, and the change happens so suddenly that you just stare into his cheerful blue eyes, blinking with bewildered surprise.

"It's nothing! I'd dae anythin' for my wee lil' Bunny!" He utters enthusiastically, and although his words don't sound like lies, fear snakes into you along his deep voice. Because this sentence has never appeared anywhere before, and it's so new to your shocked brain that you're unable to register how one of his tanned hands slowly slides onto your fist gripping the fork, wrapping around it like an anaconda on its prey. And even though his touch is light as a feather, you feel as though he's squeezing you in a way that makes all your bones crack, like a couple of dry tree branches. What's this again? Why does the story diverge if it has followed the main storyline so far?

"You're such a lucky girl! I would sell my soul to be treated so well by someone!" Pam sighs longingly, and as she folds her hands in front of her chest with feigned offense, your confusion deepens. Because suddenly this whole horrible interlude takes a turn that is completely unknown to you. Up until now, it's been Pam who has had any sort of romantic streak, because she's the one who gets killed for living out her lustful passion. Thus far, you've never been the center of attention in this way, not even at any level worth mentioning, and the realization that now this is just another complication and death flag cuts into your brain like a knife. And suddenly you feel that the taste of the food turns to ash in your mouth, the dryness of which drags the waves of nausea up your throat.

"Is there something wrong?" Rebecca's worried question cuts through your shock, and as you realize that every pair of eyes is staring at you, you’re filled with the desire to escape. But you don't even dare to move, because you're afraid that every irresponsible action you make will trigger an avalanche that will have harsh consequences.

"I think my stomach is a little upset. Maybe I caught something." You try to explain yourself weakly, and with every nerve you attempt to force authenticity into your features, slowly releasing your hand from Johnny's grip. You have to wait to see what else changes, and to have the slightest chance to search for hints later. Because if you're not careful enough, you lose all hope of even finding a clue.

"Oh, poor lil' Bunny." Johnny grumbles, and although there is some pity in his voice, a hideous undertone lurks behind the sympathetic words that make goosebumps prickle on your skin in an instant. And maybe an outside observer would think that there are indeed wrinkles of kind concern on his face, but you see the joy in his eyes. Like you've just given him something he's been waiting on pins and needles for. "Let me help ye!"

And you soon understand how he wants to help you. Because, as the chair cries out with an ear-splitting scream, when he pulls it uncomfortably close to you, then it's too late for you to escape. The wolf has already found you, and you can do nothing but watch with stunned helplessness as it starts to devour you.

Not a single sound can escape your mouth, as your protest gets stuck under the lump that jumps into your throat, and you freeze in fear as one of Johnny's big hands slides over your back with easy naturalness. And as his warm fingers begin to draw slow, soothing circles on your back, as if he really wants to drive away your growing sickness with his gentle touch, but you go as still as a statue, completely unmoving. You're unable to turn away from the man, whose gaze is fixed on you with such intense attention, as if someone had hypnotized him. But you already know better than that. You see those ice-blue eyes gliding across your face, and you know that he finds his joy in the frightened curve of your eyebrows, the motionless panic of your eyes, and the quivering line of your lips, like a hungry hyena feeding on terror. And as, during his seemingly innocent adventure, one of his fingers almost imperceptibly slips under the clasp of your bra, crumpling the soft material of your t-shirt, that hungry grin appears on his mouth, with which a beast flashes its teeth at its victim. And the scene in the kitchen takes shape in your brain so quickly that you're unable to hold back the frightened whimper that erupts from you.

"There's no need for that... I'd rather rest." You try to oppose meekly, carefully choosing each of your terrified words, and when you pull back from the man's suffocating proximity, his palm spreading over your back prevents you, holding you back as easily as if it wouldn't be more to him then just a minor inconvenience. And you’re probably right, because even though you can see the cords of the sculpted muscles dancing on his arm from the corner of your eye, his whole body still remains in your personal space with unmovable carelessness.

"Dinnae be silly!" Johnny silences your protest, and from the curve of the smile on his lips, the tentacles of anxiety growing inside you cling to every single cell of yours. Because it suddenly becomes painfully clear that you've fallen into a trap and you don't even have a chance to flee. "I'll help ye... ye'll let me, won't ye?" He inquires, but there is something very certain about his question, as if he asked it just for the sake of fun, because he already knows the answer anyway. And why wouldn't he act like that? He slyly lured you into his arms, and now it's time for him to enjoy the fact that you’re exactly where he wanted you all along.

And although your brain is feverishly working on excuses that you can use to escape, like a frightened little rabbit running from wolves, the man gets to work much sooner. His wandering hand on your back crawls up your spine with the deadly slowness of a snake, and as his fingers dance along each small bump, you instinctively get a chill from the condescending tenderness that mixes with his touch. And you feel how the tiny little hairs stand up in the wake of his fingertips, and fear spreads through all your limbs, as if a paralyzing poison had been injected into you. And if resistance had even crossed your mind, then all your stray thoughts disappear immediately, because as soon as he clamps his hand on the back of your neck to lock around it, you freeze as terrified as if you had turned to stone.

You see the cheerful sparks in his eyes as he recognizes how obedient he has made you become, and you helplessly let his free hand, which has been resting on the table until now, come to play on the feeble stage of your body. And although you’re unable to take your eyes off his face, you catch in your periphery as he touches your knee almost teasingly, and you can't suppress the trembling that moves inside of you as his fingers begin to slither toward your thigh. You can feel the heat emanating from him even through the material of your pants, and you swear that the imprint of his palm almost burns into you as he stops to grip the soft flesh.

And like a wild animal about to feast, he flashes all his teeth with the grin that moves to his face, and as he rests his forehead on the crook of your neck, the treacherous warmth in your stomach rises in addition to fear when, following the hoarse laughter that rises from his throat, as his hot breath fans over the sensitive skin.

You turn your eyes to your surroundings in desperation, but all hope is gone when you see the expression on your companions' faces. Because the mouths of both girls are frozen in languid smiles, and they're watching the obscene moment unfolding in front of them as if it were the most natural thing in the world that someone climbs on you in the middle of a birthday dinner. Like they're watching the finale of a romantic movie, not Johnny slowly eating you alive like a starved dog. But it makes you even more upset when you glance at Simon as a result of a thoughtless reflex, because you immediately regret that you dared to look at him at all. The man continues to rest in his chair with undisturbed calm, and as he carelessly throws his hand on the back of the chair and tilts his head to the side, he follows the wet path of Johnny's mouth as his lips travel to the pulsing veins on your neck with such morbid interest, as if it were nothing more to him then some light fun. And you realize with alarm that you can't hope for help, because the game is more than happy to let this whole horrible situation continue, even if it goes against its own rules...

And when you feel the blunt edge of one of Johnny's canines drawing his mark into your skin with almost mocking fondness, that something that has so far locked your body in a paralyzed shackle snap. Because now you know for sure that nothing will happen the same as before, and your only chance to survive is to disappear from here right now. An unknown strength of determination moves into you, and you tear yourself out of his arms so unexpectedly that even he flinches back in surprise for a moment as you spring up from your chair.

"That will be enough! I better rest." You break the stunned silence, and although it's impossible not to hear the fear hidden in your voice, the decisiveness grows much stronger. And despite the fact that you feel that this small rebellion is already disturbing the apparent calm of the game, you don't care. You have to escape, because if you don't get out of their sight, your hours are numbered. And you can no longer allow yourself to die irresponsibly, no matter what lies ahead.

But just as you would take advantage of Johnny's surprise to free yourself from the prison of his thick arms, someone who has been watching this madness as a silent spectator until now finally joins the events. Simon leans forward in his chair with nerve-wracking slowness to look up at you with his elbows on the table, and that's enough for the sinister spasms of panic to close around your stomach in a violent embrace. Because you see the light that dances in those dark eyes... And they tell you that you made a big mistake, and he'll punish you for it with the greatest pleasure. He warned you, didn't he?

"Sit down." The man motions his head towards your chair, and his statement sounds much more like an instruction than a request. You'd be foolish to think he's only making suggestions when you see how menacingly his hoodie stretches over his broad shoulders as he hunches over the festive table. "The party's about to start." He adds, and you don't like the amusement in his tone at all. Like he’s already amused by something, which you have no idea of yet.

"I don't want to." You squeeze it out of yourself, and although you try to put confidence on your face, it doesn't escape the masked man's attention as you force down the stomach acid pushing up into your dry throat with a frightened little swallow. Because you can see his mouth open under the dark textile covering his face, as he follows this small movement, and from the play of the light of the fire, it looks like he's grinning...

But before you can even decipher what kind of storm might be brewing, you're distracted by something completely different. And as you feel Johnny's hot breath penetrating the thin fabric of the t-shirt covering your belly, you turn back to him in fear, but it's too late. You were too irresponsible, and you lost sight of the monster, in whose claws you have been writhing on the fading edge of safety. And now, as his big hands find the round curve of your hips and his fingers playfully grip it, you already know that the fragile chance of your escape is drifting further and further away from you. You're not deceived by the innocence with which the man settles his chin on your stomach, nor by the way those beautiful sky-blue eyes stare up at you, because you feel the certainty with which he hides the escape route with the coverage of his strong body.

"And then what will happen to them?" Johnny asks, and the worry that enters his voice hits you unprepared, and the confusion instinctively takes over your features, as you take in the way the line of his troubled eyebrows meet. And from this tiny little move, his concern seems quite genuine, and it only pushes your mind even deeper into your ever-increasing shock. What the hell is he talking about?

"With whom?" The cautious question breaks out of you, because your brain, which is buzzing with stress, is unable to understand who he could be aiming at. But you don't have to wait long for him to clarify and dispel the doubts from your mind, because as his head finds a comfortable resting place on your belly, as he turns back to the table, smoothing his face against you, you immediately understand who you have forgotten about until now.

"With your friends." He answers easily, removing all the care from his tone, which he has smuggled into it so masterfully so far. There is something stomach-churningly intimate about the way he nuzzles your navel with his nose, and the way he almost burrows into the warmth of your body, which makes every cell of you instinctively scream for help. And as his arms close around you in a slow but deadly sure embrace, even though you don't fully see the horrible expression he's wearing because he's hiding in your clothes, your eyes find his reflection in one of the elegant glasses. And on the delicate surface of the glass, the corrupted, bloodthirsty smile that spreads across his lips is distorted almost like a nightmare.

"What are you talking about?" You hesitate, scared, and your voice comes out of your mouth like a pitiful whisper that it seems quite distant even to your ears. And you're unable to tear your gaze away from the glass, because you see the man's crooked smile widen further and become a twisted snarl on the glass, which suddenly brings back all the memories of when you were on the other side of that grin. With this exact expression, he plunged a knife into your beating heart and watched as the light of life faded from your eyes. And this makes you realize that, even though you waited for a soothing play, the time for bloodshed has long come.

"Dessert is comin' now." Simon joins in, and this simple little sentence sounds deceptively harmless from his mouth. But as he turns to your companions opposite him, who have been sitting in their seats in a happy stupor until now, you realize that you won't be the target now. However, this doesn't calm you down one bit. "Pam." He almost snaps at the girl, in a tone that sounds like he's asking a trained dog to show off the latest trick it's learned. And you're horrified to learn that the analogy couldn't be more accurate, because Pam shoots up with such enthusiastic joy, as if her owner had really dangled a reward in front of her nose.

"Oh, right away!" She gushes cheerfully, and for a split second, you can't understand why she reaches for the huge knife resting next to the cake so suddenly because of the fear sitting on your brain. You just watch, paralyzed, as she places her left hand on the table, and as the warm light glints on the cold metal of the blade, something quite uncomfortable grips your insides. And when the girl turns to you and her gaze sinks into yours, you see nothing but the bottomless emptiness shining in those bright eyes, as if all the life that the game had so graciously instilled in her had disappeared.

But even though she looks like a lifeless puppet, the sound of the knife piercing through bone is very real, as the next moment she cuts off her index finger with one simple and swift movement. The sick crack almost echoes in your ears, as if someone has just started slicing a deliciously fresh carrot, but as blood gushes out of the wound in rich drops and paints the snowy white of the tablecloth crimson, you know that your eyes are not fooled.

"What…. what the hell..." You stutter, and you feel your brain getting short-circuited by the sight. Because Pam just pulls out the knife buried in the wood of the table with unflinching glee, so as if nothing had happened, she raises it again and strikes the next finger with it. Moved by the force of the attack, the severed digit rolls away, plowing a trail of blood in its wake, drawing a grotesque painting among the multitude of bowls resting on the table. This awakes the pulsing nausea in you again, and you clasp your palm over your mouth to try to hold back the rest of your dinner, which starts gnawing up your throat. However, Pam doesn't even seem to perceive the outside world, the wide smile on her face stretches into a grotesque grin, and her teeth are pressed together with such force that you can almost hear them crack.

"Why dinnae ye sit down, hmm?" Johnny's voice breaks through your shock, and you startledly tear your eyes away from the horrible serenity on Pam's face to turn to the man again, because suddenly even this seems like a better idea. But as he glances up at you from under his dark eyelashes, and something quite predatory flashes in his eyes, you know that the dinner slowly soaking in blood would have been a more soothing sight. "If yer gonnae be the dessert, then she can stop..." He offers, and your stomach turns from the sugary kindness that sits in his words.

And when his arms holding you in check slowly let go of their hold, you'd think you finally can catch your breath for a moment, but much sooner the air gets stuck in your lungs, as his fingers grasp your thighs with almost painful force, and you can feel their marks soak into your skin like fresh purple bruises. His face is pressed against your lap, and his tongue sticks out of his mouth to draw a wet path along the small seam running in the middle of your pants, and you can feel the heat emanating from him even through the rough material of your jeans, then you would try to back away in alarm, but you don't get far. His grip locks you in place much more firmly, and the treacherous tingle that awakens in your frozen body pushes you towards dizziness when he finally finds that tiny sensitive bud through the fabric, which makes you tremble and grip his broad shoulders in terror. And a deep, almost animalistic growl erupts from Johnny's throat when he catches this instinctive little movement.

Another tears you out of the paralysis towards which you drift more and more surely, and as Pam, laughing joyfully, sweeps the stump of her ring finger away in the puddle of blood on the tablecloth, you're already glad that Johnny is so willing to let you cling to him. When you catch Simon out of the corner of your eye, you're unable to stop yourself and almost automatically direct your gaze to him. And you would swear that you have never seen a more beautiful man, because the lustful look with which his dark eyes fixate on you, while one hand caresses his stomach lazily, is not entirely of this world. You follow almost in a daze as his fingers dance leisurely along the bulging hardness of his pants, and only another snap brings you back to the present before you allow yourself to be lured into the trap they want to drag you into in such a vile way.

No matter the two men's angelic faces, no matter the sinful power emanating from them, it penetrates your paralyzed consciousness too strongly, as the sea of blood spreading across the table slowly reaches you and begins to drum in heavy drops on the floorboards. Because only monsters are capable of such horror, and it awakens the desire to escape in you enough that your heart rate, which is accelerating in dread, finally pumps out the adrenaline in your body so you can act.

You reach for your glass resting on the table so unexpectedly that you manage to surprise Johnny when you smash it on his head. And you know that it won't do him any serious damage, but the pain lasts just long enough for him to release you in the middle of a tortured hiss, and you can take advantage of this to get out of his arms so nimbly that by the time he comes to his senses, you're a safe distance away. No matter how much a faint sense of guilt awakens in you, when you turn your back on everything and sprint towards the stairs, for leaving your companions at the mercy of the beasts, the survival instinct raging inside you drives this weakness to the hidden corner of your skull much sooner. Because these bastards were trying to use this, and they wanted to take advantage of this to catch you...

Even through the pounding of your heart in your ears, you can hear the laughter that comes from Johnny when you reach the top floor, and you know exactly what that voice promises you. There's nothing in it but cruel amusement, and that just helps enough to speed up your steps towards your room. And as soon as the small abode finally envelopes you, you slam the door behind you with such force that its loud bang almost shakes the house. But for once, you don't care if you make noise, because the chase has already started, and there's no point in being subtle.

You lock the door with trembling hands, but you know that you won't be able to keep them out for long, because you've experienced Johnny's power enough times. That's why you rush to the closet resting next to the wall with lightning speed, and you push against it clenching your teeth, because it might delay them for a minute longer. The furniture sways with a creak, as it slowly obeys the violent urging, and as you shove it with your shoulder again and again with angry desperation, it finally gives in and falls in front of the door with an loud crash, spilling all its contents to the floor. And although a sharp ache shoots through your arm as you step back to examine your makeshift barricade, all pain fades when you hear heavy footsteps stomping up the stairs in the sudden silence. They're coming after you.

And you immediately search for a new way out, and as soon as your gaze settles on the open window, you already know what you have to do. Because even though you know that there are enough dangers out there, the uncertain darkness seems friendlier than waiting here to see what kind of retribution you'll receive for interrupting the two men's fun.

And when the doorknob turns for the first time, you're already outside on the narrow roof, and you only take one last look at the door, which is slowly beginning to shake wildly, before you disappear in the cold night.

And only one thought screams in your head: You have to survive the night.

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