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starboyshoyo · 1 year

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Unspoken Words

Characters: All NRC students x reader (seperately)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Genre: hurt/comfort

Unspoken reasons why the NRC boys love you!

HEARTSLABYUL

Riddle Rosehearts seems like perfection; like the very image of what one should strive for. Anyone who knows him can admire his hard work and diligence, because that is the extent to what they can see. But you see his delight at the simplest of things; things that he never got to experience in childhood. Riddle holds you dear to him because you encourage his rare moments of whimsy, and love them wholly- just as he loves you.

Trey Clover is always being told that he should aim higher, because the talent he holds would be squandered should he go down the path of the simple village baker. He smiles and politely tells them that he’ll consider it- but really, he’s tired of the input he never wanted in the first place. It’s all the more reason to appreciate the way you trust in his dreams. Trey knows what he wants, and you won’t push him for anything more.

Cater Diamond has two different sides, like the faces on a card. Sometimes he’s the party-loving Cay-kun, and other times he wants nothing more than to collapse in his bed and sleep the day away. Being Cay-kun is exhausting. It’s not entirely him but he can’t seem to bring himself to show the real Cater to anyone but you, because you understand that the mask is necessary sometimes. It’s okay if he’s not ready to show the world his face yet. You’ll be waiting for him when he is.

Bluntly honest is the best way to describe Ace Trappola. If someone asked, he’d call himself a realist. He’s not here to mess around or play the hero. And sometimes that can hurt people’s feelings and push them away. But being truthful and being mean are two different things, and he knows he can always trust you to tell him when he oversteps. Ace may fumble from time to time, so he’s glad you’re always there to help him back up.

Deuce Spade was reluctant to begin dating you at first. He wasn’t proud of who he was in middle school, nor is he proud of who he is at the moment. He thought that he was unworthy of you, that he needed more time to grow. When he first figured out that you weren’t the most perfect person either, it didn’t turn him away. In fact, it relieved him. Deuce loves that you can be imperfect together- and that you’re willing to grow alongside him even more.

SAVANACLAW

Leona Kingscholar is used to being the spare; the disposable one. Even though he’s the second prince of the Sunset Savannah, even though he was born into a life of privilege, he knows what it’s like to have to fight for yourself and your place in the world. When he met you, he could hardly believe that for once, a fight wasn’t necessary. It took a while for him to trust, but now Leona knows that he will always be your first choice, as you will be his.

From the outside, Ruggie Bucchi’s obsession over food is a bit excessive. Does one really need to defend every scrap with his life? He’s tired of others laughing at the way he packs snacks in his bag and sneaks crumbs off the tabletop. It’s telling that you hand him extras when you don’t have to, that you make sure he always has more than he needs. It shows that you value the things he values, so that he can do the same in return to you.

Jack Howl is a lone wolf, just like his name. He’s always relied on his own strength to get by. Owing a debt is like putting his life in someone else’s hands, so accepting favors is something that he’ll never do. When he first realizes he loves you, it’s hard to accept that another person now holds a part of his heart. But give him some time and he’ll begin to appreciate having someone to share the burden with. It’s refreshing to have company without debt or guilt.

OCTAVINELLE

They say those who have suffered the most have the most empathy. Azul Ashengrotto thinks there must be something wrong with him, then. After all the ridicule he’s endured, all he wants is to watch his tormentors cry as well. So why does his heart beat so fast then, when he sees how kind you are to others? There’s so little logic to it- but the heart wants what it wants.

Jade Leech gives only as much as he takes. In his mismatched eyes, it’s only reasonable that a transaction is balanced on both sides. So it’s a surprise to him when you don’t demand everything to be split, fifty-fifty. It’s with you that he learns the connection between trust and equals. Not having to count out every exchange leaves Jade more time to love you with all his heart.

Floyd Leech is notorious for his mercurial behavior. It’s a laughing matter for some students, and the target of frustration for many others when he fails to show the same enthusiasm he had before. If he’s already in a bad mood, then why are they making it worse by nagging him? You’re his retreat in times like that, because you take his emotions seriously, no matter how ridiculous they seem in the moment.

SCARABIA

Kalim Al-Asim knows he can be dense. As the heir to a merchant empire, he’s got some level of self-awareness in him, even if he doesn’t always know how to use it. He can tell when he’s said the wrong thing to you. The wringing of hands, the twisting of brows make him so nervous, but he can’t do anything but laugh it off lest he say something to make it worse. So he appreciates it when you patiently explain to him how you feel, even when you’re not in the mood to. Sometimes he just needs help to understand.

There’s no doubt that Jamil Viper has… questionable methods of obtaining his means to an end. With the precision and patience of a snake, he can use any means necessary to strike. But when you’re around he finds himself thinking more of what’s right than just what he wants. You are his conscience, in the best and worst of times; and he can’t help but love you for it.

POMEFIORE

Vil Schoenheit’s entire life has been publicized since the day he stepped into the spotlight. While he takes pride in his looks and envies anyone who can shine brighter than him, he finds that when he is with you, he can be whatever he wants to be with no eyes on him. No cameras, no rehearsals, no pressure, just two hearts beating side by side.

Rook Hunt has a lot to say, and so little time to say it. He is always on the move, always examining something else to find the beauty in it. And though it’s hard to be patient, he loves you for always listening when he talks, even when he rambles for hours about the smallest things. To sit still for that long is a feat in itself.

The frustrations of Epel Felmier are evident when others treat him as lesser simply because of the way he looks. He’s still learning how to use his charm in other ways, but it’s hard to unlearn so many old habits. Punishments from Vil don’t help either. So when the work gets too harsh, you make him forget about being weak or strong- and when you’re in front of him, all he wants to be is yours.

IGNIHYDE

Idia Shroud is used to watching the world go by without him. Sometimes he feels like an outside observer, or even a roadblock for others to climb over on their way to greatness. But with you, he never feels like an inconvenience. He feels wanted and needed- something he hasn’t felt for a long, long time.

DIASOMNIA

Malleus Draconia is lonely. It’s plain and simple as that. He wants the company of others, outside of those assigned to guard him and bow to his every whim. So Malleus covets the fact that you are simply here, by his side of your own volition. For the first time in his life, Malleus thinks that he might be content.

Lilia Vanrouge has lived through centuries. As a human, you cannot even begin to fathom bridging the gap in time. There is just so much that he has seen that he can’t share with you. So please, just let him hold you while he has the chance. Let him cherish the way you live in the moment. Together, you can forget the coming of the future.

Sebek Zigvolt is constantly under pressure. Not from others, but from himself- but either way, the stress gets to him. He would never admit it, but the stolen moments you spend together make him happier than he’s ever been. His shoulders ease, and his scowl disappears for a time. Just don’t point it out, or they’ll be back again full force- accompanied by a blush.

It’s not that Silver doesn’t care about what people are saying- he really, really does. But when he falls asleep so easily, some people come to think that he’s bored out of his mind. He was anxious that you’d think the same, but to his surprise, you understand his struggles. He’s trying his best to be more attentive to you, and you welcome his efforts with open arms.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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alexias-putellas · 2 months

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bittersweet // k.mccabe x reader

k.mccabe x reader

based on this request! just a lil katie fic for my fellow katie girls

fifteen minutes.

you glanced up at the clock again just to make sure. fifteen minutes left until the end of the match. you were up 2-0 against ireland but they had really started to take control.

aoife mannion had successfully taken the ball from alessia’s feet and booted it down the pitch. it landed by katie and you watched as she took a shot, hannah saving it with relative ease.

as per your agreement, you and katie hadn’t talked in the run up to the game. but your eyes still strayed towards your girlfriend every now and then when the ball wasn’t by you.

with a small shake your head, you got back into the game. after drawing with sweden it was important that all three points went to england to keep the dream of heading to switzerland alive. but it hurt your soul to know that you’d have to crush katie’s dreams to get there.

a sudden roar of the crowd caught your attention and you whirled around in time to see the referee running towards hannah, taking something—two somethings out of her pocket.

you raced down the pitch as leah and some of the other girls talked to the referee but she was not budging on her decision to give hannah a second card for time wasting.

and then it suddenly dawned on you.

there were no subs left. all five had been used. everything seemed to happen in slow motion and before you could even blink, you were being pulled into a huddle.

“i’ll do it,” you blurted out, shocking the defenders stood around you into silence. “rach and fran are at the front, they’re holding it down, they don’t need me. but we do need a solid defence. none of you can go in for hannah and georgia and keira are killing it in the midfield. it has to be me.”

“are you sure?” leah asked you and you nodded, swallowing thickly.

“yeah, yeah, we’ll be fine.”

your teammates quickly patted you on the back, murmuring their good lucks as someone raced over with a spare goalkeeper shirt and gloves.

with a pounding heart, you slipped them both on and made your way into the goal, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself.

as the game restarted and both teams got going, your heart seemed to sink further and further in your chest. why on earth had you volunteered?

that question flew around your head frantically as denise o’sullivan ran down the wing with the ball and you prayed that the girls could pull it together enough that you wouldn’t have to deal with it.

thankfully, keira was the one to do it but the relief didn’t last long. you pulled at the goalkeeper jersey anxiously as katie made her way over to take the corner, desperately calling for your teammates to cover you.

katie had scored from there before. you played alongside her for arsenal, you knew what she was capable of on the pitch when she really put her mind to it. and there was no doubt in your mind that she’d do anything to put that ball in the back of the net.

with a newfound fire in your stomach, you moved forward as your girlfriend kicked the ball, somehow managing to catch it despite the sea of green and white surrounding you.

not wanting to suffer the same fate as hannah, you quickly threw the ball lucy’s way, turning to shoot a thumbs up to the away crowd behind you. they cheered in response and you let yourself feel proud. ignoring the pull at your heart when you thought about katie.

but you needed to not think of her. you had a job to do. your girls were relying on you. they were what you needed to think about. you pushed any thought of katie to the back of your mind, giving leah a quick thumbs up when she looked over at you.

you glanced up at the clock, eyes widening slightly at how much time had actually passed. there were five minutes left. five more minutes.

at the very last minute you saw the ball flying at you and with every ounce of energy you had left, you jumped up, the ball rebounding off your fingertips to go over the back of the net.

the sounds of the girls and the fans cheering is what you focused on as you hit the ground, breathing deeply as someone helped you up.

“you good?” alex asked and you nodded, smiling as she patted you on the back.

hearing the whistle to end a game had never filled you with more relief and you almost cried with happiness. not only had you won but you had also kept the clean sheet. and as you made your way further onto the pitch, your teammates showed their appreciation with hugs, hair ruffles, and even more back pats.

when the huddle broke slightly, you immediately looked for katie. and when you found her, the happiness quickly turned to guilt upon seeing her crouched on the ground with her head in her hands.

“hey,” beth said softly as she approached you, shrugging her coat off and slipping it onto your shoulders. “it’s going to be okay.”

you nodded although you did not believe her. this was new territory for you and katie. you had never played against each other and you had never before been the reason for katie’s sadness. and whilst you desperately hoped it wouldn’t change your relationship, you had a horrible feeling it would.

as you made your way through the irish players, the anxiety grew bigger in your chest at the thought of seeing katie. when you got to her she hugged you like she did everyone else, squeezing your waist before moving on.

“there she is!” you heard georgia shout before her arms were around your waist and you were hoisted in the air. “england’s saviour!”

for a few minutes you let yourself relax and sink into the arms of your relieved teammates. when the huddle separated, you once again looked for katie, your heart sinking as you realised she was no longer on the pitch. whether she had left of her own accord or had been pulled for an interview, she was gone.

“come on you,” leah wrapped her around your shoulders, pulling you into her side. “it’s gonna be alright you know?”

ᡣ𐭩

arriving back in london was both a shame and a relief. it somehow eased and elevated your anxiety. but your mind was still reeling.

instead of heading over to katie’s like you usually would, you went back to the apartment you and alessia shared, automatically assuming that katie would want her space.

you were halfway through ordering takeout on alessia’s phone when your phone buzzed. you reached over for it, lips pursing as you read the text on the screen.

are you coming over tonight?

“i think you should go,” alessia said as she peeked over your shoulder. you shrugged her away quickly. “she loves you.”

you sighed. “she loves football.”

“she loves you more,” the blonde gave you a pointed look. “so go see her and talk to her. otherwise you will drive yourself insane.”

“fine.”

the drive to katie’s apartment seemed a lot longer than usual. and by the time you’d made it up to the front door, you were half tempted to turn back around and go home.

but you didn’t. deep down you knew that your friends were right. everything would be fine. and you took the open door and the smell of your favourite takeaway to be the first sign of that.

“were you really going to ditch me for less?” katie asked as soon as she heard the door close.

“you did not know that was me,” you scoffed, kicking your shoes off. “anyone could’ve walked in then. you should really lock your door.”

“i unlocked it when i saw your car, genius.”

you mocked her quietly under your breath as you made your way into the kitchen. even though the dynamic between you clearly hadn’t changed, you still lingered nervously in the doorway and played with your fingers.

“so? were you actually going to ditch me for alessia?” katie asked again, turning around with her arms crossed over her chest.

you immediately studied her face. her eyebrows were slightly furrowed but she didn’t look upset. you cleared your throat and looked down at the floor. “i wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me.”

“ah so this is what leah warned me about.”

you opened your mouth, ready to ask what exactly leah had been saying when something hit you in the face. you blinked rapidly, looking down at the tea towel that fell onto your arm. just as you looked up, another one hit you and you quickly flung them both back at katie. “what are you doing?!”

“knocking some sense into you!”

“well can you do that after we’ve eaten? i’m starving and this smells really good.”

katie rolled her eyes but relented, handing you your plate of food. you’d eaten about half of it when she gently kicked your leg. “i’m really proud of you.”

“ugh, don’t start–“

“no, no, you clearly need to hear this so shut up and listen,” she told you, standing up and making her way behind you. you let out a sigh when she plucked the fork from your hand and placed it down before wrapping her arms around you. “i’m not mad at you and i definitely don’t hate you. you stepped up for your team when most people would probably be too scared to and you made some pretty decent saves. does it suck that it was against me? of course. but i love you and i’m proud of you. always.”

“i’d love you a lot more if you’d shut up and let me eat my food,” you muttered, smiling as she pressed a kiss to your head. “you are a pretty good girlfriend though, anyone ever told you that?”

katie grinned. “of course they have.”

“stupid question really wasn’t it?” you rolled your eyes, picking your fork back up as soon as she walked away. before you could load any food up onto it, she picked up a tea towel and twisted it in her hands, cracking it against your thigh. you yelped loudly, glaring at your girlfriend. “ow! what the hell was that for?”

“that was because you doubted my love for you. don’t do it again.”

“yes ma’am.”

#woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #katie mccabe #katie mccabe x reader #katie mccabe imagine

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cleo-fox · 3 months

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Conquer

Part 1 of 5

Series Masterlist

Summary: The king intends to take a bride.

You just never thought it would be you.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex (fem receiving), teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: I’m kind of fascinated by the concept of a soulmate AU where Loki wins and this is just another take on that thought. If you've read my fic Surrender, this one is a different universe (an AU of an AU? Is that a thing?)

I am indebted to @infinitystoner, who was kind enough to talk me through some of my doubts about this fic. This one is for you, K. (Also, everyone should go read her work, it's fabulous).

The king intends to take a bride.

At first you think it’s just a stupid rumor, but with time, it becomes clear that it’s not merely a stupid rumor, but a true rumor about a stupid plan. He hasn’t found his soulmate; the speculation is that this is about producing an heir or something similar. Which is also stupid because he’s the one who took over your fucking planet. He can make new rules for succession if he wants to. He doesn’t have to make other people suffer.

You, like most people, still harbor a lot of anger and resentment toward Loki.

You don’t know who he’s going to rope into this plan, but you feel bad for her already. Imagine not only having to be married to that monster, but being in this weird second place to whoever is unfortunate enough to be his soulmate. Imagine having to fuck him, to try and have his kid, all the while knowing you’ll be discarded once he finds his soulmate. Imagine having to go along with all of this and never being able to say what you really think.

The only person you feel sorrier for is whoever turns out to be his soulmate.

Later, all of this will strike you as absurdly ironic.

But you don’t know any of that yet.

You took a job at the hotel because you needed a change of pace after Loki took over. It was just a front desk job—you checked people in and out, answered questions, and said “let me get my manager” whenever there was a serious problem with a guest. It wasn’t glamorous or fun, but it was straightforward and you never had to bring work home with you.

The one thing that you never really considered was whether you were inadvertently choosing a job that would bring you into closer proximity to the man you were trying so desperately hard to not think about at all.

You probably should have considered it—you knew when you took the job that he did a fair amount of travel. You never really understood why—he conquered the entire fucking planet, you think he’d be content to just chill in his palace or whatever. But no. He was constantly on the move, constantly showing up and demanding to be accommodated, and people put up with it because what else are they supposed to do? You can’t exactly persona non grata the guy that successfully took over your planet and made himself king. If that worked, he wouldn’t be here in the first place.

You kind of assumed that he wouldn’t show up to your hotel—it wasn’t conveniently located to anything useful and while it technically had a five star rating, you didn’t think it offered the same caliber of accommodations as the places he was known to stay.

As it turns out, you were wrong on all counts. Hilariously wrong. Because now his steward is here in your hotel lobby. Or his…emissary? You’re not sure what this guy’s official title is. You recognize him from the news—he can often be spotted in the entourage of guards and staff that accompany Loki everywhere, but you don’t know his name. He is rattling off a monologue of sorts—the king requires accommodations, only the finest rooms, and so on. You feel as though you are having an out of body experience as you click through the booking software and confirm that the penthouse is available. You breathe an inner sigh of relief—it would have been manageable to evict whichever rich person had booked it, but it would have fucked up the cleaning crew’s scheduling for at least the next week and you know that corporate is already up Marisol’s ass about your location’s overtime.

You don’t really expect him to show up during this transaction. If you had, you would have said “let me get my manager” and washed your hands of it—you don’t get paid nearly enough to deal with self-proclaimed kings. But as you are booking the room (who the fuck are you supposed to list as the guarantor on the invoice? This wasn’t covered in your training), Loki storms in, followed by a cadre of guards.

You’re not really prepared to see him in person—that’s partly why you freeze. He’s so tall and well…real. It sounds stupid, but it’s jarring seeing him in front of you instead of on a screen or in a picture. He’s not exactly more frightening, but looking at him makes your pulse quicken.

He’s scolding the steward (emissary?) about something—you’re so distracted that you miss exactly what it is that has him so annoyed.

And then you realize that the mark on your left wrist is burning.

You swallow hard. No. Not him.

Loki looks up and his eyes lock with yours.

Fucking hell.

The wedding is a spectacle, to say the least.

Your dress is fucking ridiculous. Instead of the traditional white, you are draped in yards of green fabric covered in thousands of emeralds and diamonds and painstakingly embroidered with thread made of real gold and silver. It is very much a statement about who you are and who you belong to. You don’t care for it, but you don’t really have a choice—the details of the ceremony have been largely left to other people to decide. Part of you thinks they must have been planning for this for years, based on the number of things that are already prepared. Or maybe having access to magic negates the need for planning ahead.

You are much too angry to actually ask Loki about any of this. Not that you see much of him before the ceremony anyway.

You go through the motions of the ceremony, trying to keep your cool. It’s only been a week since he found you at the hotel, so the fact that you haven’t consummated your soulbond is more akin to an annoying itch than anything more disruptive, but when he kisses you at the conclusion of the ceremony, it's…intense, to say the least. The mild ache that settled itself between your thighs last week seems to swell, sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core. When he slides his tongue past your lips, all you want to do is release a wanton moan directly into his mouth and rub yourself shamelessly against him. The fact that you’re standing on a platform while the entire world looks on is really the only thing that stops you.

The fact that this is your immediate reaction scares you a bit. You know it’s biology—soulbonds are meant to be consummated isn’t just a saying—but there’s part of you that feels like you should have a stronger handle on that impulse. You are mad at him, you remind yourself. He took over your entire planet, installed himself as king, and then had the audacity to be your soulmate. Focus. Be angry.

You wonder if your family and friends are watching. Your phone ran out of battery the night after he found you and you haven’t had the heart to charge it. You’re barely managing your own emotional reaction—you’re not ready to invite anyone else into it just yet.

The rest of your wedding day is a blur. You meet a bunch of important people and retain exactly none of their names or roles. There is an elaborate multi-course feast and you manage to eat without spilling food on your dress, which feels like a small miracle. You meet more important people and somehow retain even less information. You dance—a few dances with important people whose names you’ve forgotten, but mostly with Loki. The sun sets. They bring out an elaborate dessert course. You dance again. Loki’s hand on your waist fans the flames of desire that you’re trying so hard to ignore.

Finally, you’re whisked away to prepare for bed. It took three people to get you into your dress, and it takes just as many to get you out. They help you into a nightgown that you also didn’t get to pick out—and in fact, it’s the first time you’re seeing it at all. It’s almost too pretty to sleep in, though you suppose that’s the point—you’re supposed to fall asleep naked and sated in the arms of your new husband (god, it’s so weird that you have a husband). You’re not so sure that this is the specific fate that’s in your cards, but you anticipate the nightgown will be coming off at some point this evening. In the interim, you look stereotypically virginal in white lace and chiffon, a glittering emerald pendant resting in your cleavage.

You’ve been staying in a guest suite since he found you, but tonight, they bring you to his rooms. Your rooms, you suppose. Somehow, you doubt he’s the sort who believes that husbands and wives should sleep separately.

The lights are on, but it’s quiet. You wonder if he’s even here.

You approach the couch that sits in front of the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. You can see fireworks and twinkling lights of different celebrations and your stomach clenches like a fist. It’s supposed to be in honor of you. Earth’s new queen. A title that shouldn’t even exist, let alone belong to you.

You turn away from the window and sit down on the couch. You stare at the wall, hands twisting the delicate fabric of your nightgown in your lap.

You hear a sound in the other room—his study, you think—and your heart leaps to your throat, practically buzzing with an emotion that feels like the strange cousin of anxiety and anticipation.

You keep your eyes locked on the wall as you listen to his footsteps draw closer.

“It’s customary to announce yourself when you enter someone’s quarters, you know.”

You pause for a moment before letting your gaze trail to him. It’s a conscious, obnoxious power play on your part—you are trying to show him that you still have agency, that he has not yet won your respect or admiration.

You’re not even sure that it registers, which only serves to irritate you further.

He is still wearing most of his wedding clothes, though he’s taken off the fine surcoat from the ceremony, exposing the soft tunic he was wearing underneath. He is smirking—that seems to be his expression of choice, you’ve noticed.

“Aren’t these my rooms too?” you ask. “Is it customary to announce myself in my own space?”

You are trying to be rude, but it doesn’t seem to matter: he simply laughs.

“You are spirited,” he says, looking you over appreciatively, stirring a wild and burning need in your hips, slickness collecting in the lacy white underwear that had been chosen for you.

“And you intend to break me, is that it?” you snap with more venom than is perhaps wise.

“Of course not.” His answer surprises you, though you are determined to not let that show in your face. “Your will is part of your appeal. I’d no sooner crush a rose beneath my boot.”

You are skeptical of this claim given the amount of damage he did to New York City, but your traitorous cunt throbs at his words nonetheless.

“I’m not happy about any of this, you know,” you say, hoping that your anger will act like roiling floodwaters on the firestorm of lust that’s continuing to build in your hips.

It doesn’t, of course. What’s worse: he laughs. Again.

“I’d gathered,” he says. “You are wonderfully unsubtle when you’re angry.”

“I mean, are you surprised?” you say irritably. “I didn’t even get to pick out my own wedding dress, for fuck’s sake.”

“This is the burden of the office, I’m afraid,” he says. “Your wants and desires are often secondary to the needs of the crown.”

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from screaming at him. “I think you’re missing the point.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not.”

You let out one long breath. “Are you trying to irritate me?”

Another smirk. “I’m afraid I simply have a gift for it.”

You finally give in and scowl. “Great. This is going about as well as I had expected.”

His eyes drift down the column of your throat to the emerald pendant resting in your cleavage and then to the bodice of your nightgown. “Perhaps it’s time we concern ourselves with activities that require less talking.” He licks his lips and brings his gaze back up to yours.

“I’m not entirely convinced anything would stop you from talking,” you say.

“I suspect letting me bury my tongue in your cunt might do the trick.”

For the first time today, you are entirely speechless. The fire burning low in your hips roars into an inferno, like someone has poured accelerant along your nerves and Loki has struck a match. You take in one shaky breath, your heart thrumming in your throat.

“That’s what I thought,�� he says with a dark sort of smugness. “To bed, wife.”

You steadfastly ignore the way your stomach jumps when he calls you ‘wife.’ Why is that hot? It shouldn’t be hot.

You’re tempted to argue with him some more—you don’t like giving him even the vaguest impression that you’re following his orders or anything like that—but one smoldering look from him has your heart pounding and another wave of fresh arousal flooding between your legs. You follow him to the bed, trying to keep your expression neutral and indifferent.

He pulls you firmly against him and you wonder if he can feel your heart pounding in your chest. There’s no space between you—you can feel his stomach muscles expand and contract with every slow intake of breath, the press of his slowly hardening cock against your stomach.

He tilts your face up to his and claims your mouth in a devouring kiss, and this time, the moan that you’d held back during the ceremony slips from your lips almost immediately. He makes a low growling noise in return, his hands sliding to the row of small pearl buttons that hold up the back of your nightgown.

You suspect that beyond aesthetic and functional value, the purpose of these buttons is to facilitate a slow, sexy reveal; Loki undoes exactly two and a half buttons before roughly pulling the edges of the fabric apart, the remaining buttons snapping from their threads and pinging against the floor.

You pull away from him, immediately annoyed. “Do you make a habit of ruining other people’s things? What if I wanted to wear that again?”

He laughs, tugging the fabric off your shoulders. “Perhaps you forget the extraordinary powers I have at my command,” he says, staring greedily at your breasts as he tugs the nightgown down your waist, pulling it off your hips so it falls to the floor. “I could tear this gown off you every night and remake it every morning with no more than a click of my fingers.”

Fucking magic powers undercutting your goddamn fucking point.

“Yeah, well, you’re still a jackass,” you say sourly, unwilling to concede the point any further.

His smile is sharp in a way that makes you shiver and he slips his hand into your underwear, his smile growing as he feels how slick you are. “It doesn’t seem to bother you all that much, does it?”

You try to keep your expression stern, but his fingers find your clit and you can’t help the moan that falls from your lips.

“Your sweet cunt is so ready to come.” He slides a finger into you and you whimper. “It’s obscene how wet you are for me.”

You bite back a plea and kiss him instead. His mouth is rough on yours, teeth nipping at your lower lip, tongue plundering your mouth. He slides a second finger into you and you keen.

“Yes,” he groans against your mouth. “Take it like a good girl.”

You clench around his fingers and your hands seek purchase in his hair. You tug on it lightly and he growls with pleasure before he pulls away, his hands moving to the waistband of your underwear and tugging it off your hips.

“Get on the bed.” His tone brooks no arguments. “Now.”

It’s tempting to talk back, tempting to resist. You are still angry about every aspect of this relationship and this stupid fucking wedding. But you know you need this—the dull ache in your hips is only growing more pronounced with every passing moment and the brief feeling of his fingers on your clit was nothing short of heaven. Soulbonds are meant to be consummated and your body seems to be doing everything it can to propel you toward that end.

You kick your underwear the rest of the way off before sitting down on the bed and lying back on the pillows.

He pauses for a moment to look you over, his gaze trailing lazily over your bare skin, his hand absently moving to palm his cock through his trousers. “Spread your legs,” he says. You do and you catch a breath of a groan from him as he stares at you. Your cunt throbs in response and you bite your lip to keep yourself from whimpering.

He allows himself one moment before he crawls on the bed to join you. He kneels between your legs, staring greedily at your exposed cunt, running a thumb along the edge of your folds. Your hips rock upward involuntarily, chasing his hand, seeking friction.

“Such a pretty cunt,” he murmurs. “So soaking wet, so desperately needy for my touch.” He pauses again, licking his lips. “I think I might need a taste.”

Your breath stutters in your chest and he kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly licking and sucking his way upward in a tantalizing preview of what’s to come. You’re already soaking and you can feel yourself growing wetter as his sinful mouth draws closer and closer to your aching need.

You’re not entirely sure whether it’s a moan or a whine that passes your lips when he finally licks that first long, lazy stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. He groans low and wanting against your cunt, his tongue rolling over your clit once more before he catches it between his lips and slowly begins to suck.

There is no getting around it: Loki is a pro at eating pussy.

It would be easier if he wasn’t, you find yourself thinking somewhere in the haze between orgasms. If he were mediocre, it would make it so much easier to be angry at him, to resent your current situation. This is not to say that you’ve abandoned your anger at all—you are still mad. But your anger feels so much less effective when he’s spent a solid ninety minutes with his head between your legs and you’ve lost track of the number of times he’s made you come.

He is—predictably—infuriatingly smug about all of this.

Your first orgasm arrives so quickly that it seems to take you both by surprise. And indeed, he lifts his head moments later, already smirking.

“That was awfully quick, wife,” he says. The glint in his eye tells you that he absolutely noticed how you reacted to that name earlier and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from scowling.

“Maybe you’re out of practice,” you say. Even as you say it, it doesn’t sound convincing (it doesn’t even make sense when you think about it later) and Loki laughs outright.

“I think not,” he says, carefully sliding one long index finger inside of you. “I think your poor cunt has been sorely neglected, either by you or some subpar lover you took to ease the ache of missing me.” He adds a second finger and you bite your lip to keep in a moan. “I think you’ll be begging for me before the night is out.” His fingertips press teasingly against that spot inside you and you take in a sharp breath.

He starts lazily moving his fingers in and out of you and while it feels good, you know it’s not going to be enough to get you there. You suspect, from the way that he’s smirking, that he knows this, too.

“Do you want my mouth again? I don’t think you’re done.”

“You’re trying to be a jerk and I don’t like it,” you say.

He laughs and draws his thumb briefly over your clit. “Darling, I only want you to tell me what you want.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why?”

“I think you can understand the appeal of hearing a beautiful woman beg for your touch.”

His compliment immediately clashes with the suggestion that you begging for him is a possibility.

He smiles, catlike, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“You need my mouth again,” he says, fingers curling inside you. “You need more. I can feel how wet you are, sweet thing.” His thumb presses against your clit and retreats as soon as your breath hitches.

“I could keep you like this for hours. Days, even,” he says, lazily stroking his fingers inside you. “I could keep you right on the edge, begging for your release. But I don’t think you want that. Even I don’t want that. I think you want to come again right now and I think you want my mouth.”

“I’m not begging you for it,” you say.

“I’ve only asked you to tell me what you want,” he says. “I’ve merely expressed that I find the idea of you begging very appealing.”

You want to smack him. With your luck, though, that would turn out to be one of his kinks and then you’ll really be in for it. Your fingers flex against the sheets.

“Do you want to come, darling? Do you want my mouth again?” he asks with a feigned innocence that suggests it’s not a loaded question, even as the glint in his eyes tells you it is.

You’re silent for a beat and then his thumb returns to your clit, pressing and stroking as his fingers curl inside of you. Your hips rock with his hand and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning aloud when he stops a few seconds later, his eyebrows raised like he’s expecting your answer.

This exchange repeats four more times. On the fifth, you finally break.

“Please,” you whimper. You sound more desperate than you would prefer, but your overwhelming need to come has quickly superseded whatever shreds of decency you have left.

“Please what?” he asks, radiating smugness.

You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl, which he only laughs at.

“I’m waiting…” he says, his fingers curling in a teasing way.

You know there’s no getting around this. “I need to come.”

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, like he’s expecting more.

You resist the urge to sigh. “I need your mouth. Please.”

He barely spares a second for a wicked grin and a growl of praise that only elevates your need before he’s lowering his mouth again to your clit.

Your second orgasm is somehow even quicker than the first, only this time, you’re already whimpering for the next one as soon as you catch your breath.

Mercifully, he doesn’t lift his mouth from your cunt this time, though he does give you a wicked look that more or less says the same thing.

His fingers are wonderful, but you know they’re no substitute for his cock. And while he has made you come so many times already, the need to have him inside of you continues to grow, settling into a dull ache in your hips.

“I need you to fuck me,” you finally breathe as the aftershocks of your latest orgasm fade back to that ache.

He lifts his head for a minute. “I intend to, but I don’t think you’re done yet.”

Your eyes widen as he seals his lips back around your clit.

“I mean, I’ve just—fuck—I’ve just had more…c-consecutive orgasms than I’ve ever had before in my life, you’re—oh my god, yes—you’re not exactly leaving me wanting—oh fuck.”

He stays silent, but it’s because his tongue is working over your clit. You, on the other hand, are in the process of undercutting your own point. A few more strokes of his tongue and you are coming again, your hips jerking hard against his mouth.

He doesn’t stop after that, either—he draws more orgasms from you, groaning into your cunt when you pull on his hair.

Your pleas for him to fuck you become increasingly desperate with every orgasm, until he finally lifts his head.

“What was it that you wanted?” he asks with a smirk that tells you he needs absolutely no clarification whatsoever.

“Fuck me, please. I need to be fucked, I need your cock,” you say. You feel restless and desperate, the ache inside you growing with every passing second.

“Oh, darling, all you needed to do was ask,” he says, his tone overly cloying.

You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl. “I have been asking. Repeatedly.”

He laughs and begins to undress. You suspect he’s doing this to torture you—you know he could remove his clothes in one go if he wanted to.

He peels his shirt off first and your lips part involuntarily as you take in the firm expanse of muscle of his chest and abdomen, your fingertips itching with the need to touch him. You grip the sheets instead in the vain hope that it might make a difference (it doesn’t).

But even the enticing expanse of his chest is no match for what’s to come.

He removes his trousers with achingly precise slowness. You expect him to be hard; what you’re not expecting is the primal response that it invokes in you. His cock is long, thick, and hard, the head already slick with pre-come. It’s not just for you—it’s because of you.

You swallow hard as he turns to face you fully. You’re so distracted by his cock that you almost miss the smug smirk, which he makes no attempt to hide. He knows he’s hot, he knows he has a beautiful cock, and he knows that you are absolutely aching for him. It is profoundly irritating.

He wraps his hand around his cock, wetting his lips as he casually strokes himself once. “Do you want me?” he asks with the sort of tone and expression that tells you he absolutely knows the answer.

You could yell at him. The prospect is certainly tempting. But you’re not sure that it’s worth it, not with the way your cunt is throbbing with the need to be filled with his beautiful, thick cock.

“Loki, please.” It comes out as more of a whine than you’d like, but you decide that you can live with it.

You are treated to a particularly wolfish grin before he starts stalking towards you.

There’s a large part of you that expects him to flip you over and take you from behind, rough and fast and impersonal. But instead, he climbs on top of you and draws you into a kiss. It’s deep and slow and heightened by the heavy weight of his bare cock pressing against your belly, drops of pre-come smearing against your skin.

Your back arches and your right leg snakes around his waist, trying to pull him closer, urging him to finally ease the ache inside of you. But he takes his time, kissing you slowly, running his hands over your breasts and hips, rocking his cock against you, but not inside of you.

You don’t like begging—it feels too much like offering up a vulnerability—but it becomes increasingly difficult not to give into the urge the longer he stays on top of you like this.

“Loki,” you finally say when he starts peppering sharp, sucking kisses against your throat.

“What is it, my love?” he asks with a faux confusion that you can see through right away.

“You know what I want,” you say as evenly as you can manage.

“Mmm, let me hear you say it just once more,” he says.

“Please fuck me.”

You’re expecting another negotiation, another battle of wits, but instead, he gives you a rather sharp grin and adjusts his hips so he can rub the tip of his cock up and down the length of your cunt. And then, to your surprise, he lines his cock up at your entrance and slowly begins to ease inside of you.

There’s a part of you—a large part of you—that’s surprised by how careful he is. He’s gentle, slowly pressing into you, giving you time to adjust, his movements careful. He does this all in such a way that you might not notice if you didn’t think to look—he wants you to think that he’s not doing any of what he’s doing. He wants you to think he’s not thinking of you when he is, that the care and precision of his movements are merely a pleasant coincidence. You’re not sure how you know this, but you feel certain.

He waits to kiss you until he’s pressed fully inside you, and you realize this is another illusion, another cover so you don’t realize that he’s giving you another moment to adjust to him.

It’s oddly considerate—irritatingly so. The coals of your anger still burn bright in your heart, but they flicker for just a moment.

But then he begins to move and coherent thoughts flee your mind entirely.

He feels so good. You’re not sure if it’s the soulbond itself, the dopamine and serotonin, or if he just knows the perfect way to move, but the first thrust has your toes curling and that warm heat stirring in your belly. You’ve already come so many times tonight that it feels impossible that your body should be capable of more, but you know immediately that he’s going to bring you right back over the edge if he keeps moving the way he is.

And he’s showing no signs of stopping, either.

“Norns,” he breathes, pressing a kiss against your neck, “you feel perfect. So warm and tight.”

You shiver, your cunt clenching reflexively around his slowly stroking cock. He grins and presses his lips up against your ear.

“Do you like hearing how your snug little cunt fits me like a glove?”

You would prefer to be able to lie in this particular moment—instead, your body immediately betrays you and your legs tighten around his waist as your cunt shudders around him.

You can practically feel his sharp, hungry smile as he nips at your earlobe. “I can feel how much you do,” he murmurs. A devastating swivel of his hips has you uttering a gasping whine that you are not at all proud of.

“That’s it.” He’s swiveling his hips on every other thrust now and you know the moment he switches to that exclusively, it’s all over. “You’re so close,” he purrs with confidence that annoys you just a little, even in your pre-orgasmic stupor.

But then he swivels his hips again and you shudder before you can hide it and he notices…and does it again.

And again.

Fuck.

Your orgasm starts barreling toward you at an impossibly fast pace and his eyes glitter because he knows.

“You’re going to come for me.” It’s not even a command—it’s just a statement as he rolls his hips in those devastating thrusts.

You whimper, your back arching.

“Give into it. Let me feel you.”

One more push of his cock against that sweet spot inside you and you can’t fight it any more. Your muscles tense one last time and you cry out as you come hard on his cock.

“Oh, beautiful,” he groans, his eyes closing as he fucks you through it.

It seems to last a long time, drawn out every time the head of his cock drags against that sensitive spot that sent you over the edge in the first place. He pauses briefly to bring your legs up over his shoulders, which makes his cock hit a spot even deeper inside you that feels so good it pulls a strangled sob from your throat.

Loki groans, his pace increasing, one hand falling between your legs to rub at your clit. It’s so much, but it feels better than anything. You feel another orgasm rising in your hips and you whimper.

“Good girl, fucking take it,” he slurs. You can tell that he’s getting close from the way his thrusting is becoming more frantic, how he tips his head back and grips your hips even harder.

“Come for me,” he growls. “I’m going to fill your lovely cunt with my seed. Come for me.”

Your vision whites out and your back arches as you come. If you were capable of rational thought, you would be angry that your body simply obeyed this simple directive; as it is, it’s hard for you to process anything other than how good he feels inside of you.

You can tell he’s approaching his end and he’s utterly captivating to watch. His eyes are screwed shut, brow furrowed and lips parted as he lets out a low groan that makes your toes curl.

His eyes open in the final throes and he surges forward to kiss you. He moans softly into your mouth as he comes, his whole body shuddering.

You feel dreamy and sated as he slows to a halt, lowering his head to the crook of your neck. The restless ache inside you is finally quiet—at least for now.

You expect him to roll off you and fall asleep—the portrait of a cliche. Instead, he stays with you, the warm heat of his breath ghosting over your shoulder. You can feel his cock still throbbing inside of you.

You should push him away, reclaim the distance between you. You’re angry at him, after all.

But also…it feels nice.

It’s just the endorphins, you tell yourself. It’s hormones. It doesn’t mean anything.

You can feel the lie prickling at the edges of the thought, sharp and needling, like ground glass pressing against bare skin. It means a lot of things; you just wish it didn’t.

Be angry.

His lips brush against your shoulder. More of your muscles relax. It’s nice.

Be angry.

You’re tired though. It’s been a really long day and the bed is soft and the weight of Loki on top of you is oddly reassuring.

Maybe just for tonight. Maybe just this once you’ll allow yourself to fall asleep in his bed.

“I’m still mad at you,” you say. It feels too sharp, too strident. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. He doesn’t know you, though, not really, and so you can only hope that he misses the subtle catch in your voice, that little note of uncertainty.

“I’d expect nothing less.” His voice is slightly muffled against your shoulder.

Goddammit, why does this have to be so comfortable?

He shifts slightly, easing out of you. You feel the resulting mess vanish before it even hits your thigh. At least he’s considerate.

You scowl at the thought.

“Sleep,” he says after a moment. “You’ll need your strength to rage at me in the morning.”

“I can rage at you in my sleep,” you say as your eyes slide shut.

“I’m sure you can,” he says. “Sleep.”

And despite all your complicated feelings—your anger, the inherent feeling of ease you get from his embrace, your unease with your new title, your homesickness—you find that the pull of sleep is too tempting to resist and the world slowly fades away.

Next chapter

#loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson smut

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biioshocker · 1 year

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Why Spider-People Suffer

Subtitled: How “Othering” Miguel Killed Hundreds of Cops

I loved seeing Miguel getting othered by his fellow spider-people so casually during this movie, both intentionally and unintentionally, and I believe it’s the reason he convinced everyone their loved ones had to die.

“Othering” Moments in the Movie

I’ve only seen the movie twice so I may have missed something more subtle, but here are the moments I remember where the main cast othered Miguel:

Gwen (unknowingly) making a joke (from Miguel’s perspective, re: “You’re not funny!”) of the fact Miguel doesn’t have a spider sense by letting him get decked by the Vulture.

Peter B. Parker commenting, “You’re not funny, spider-men are funny.”

Miles blatantly in fear of Miguel, on the tram shouting, possibly half-joking, “You have claws? Dude, are you sure you’re a spider-man?”

These seem like inconsequential, even humorous, moments but I believe they’re a lot more meaningful to Miguel than he lets on. It’s not that these moments are massively consequential in and of themselves, but more so that they are part of a persistent, consistent assault on Miguel's Spider-Man Authenticity™ that began with his very…

Origin.

In the comics, and what it appears to be in the movie, Miguel isn’t a “natural” spider-man. Not in the ‘bit and changed’ sense. There actually wasn’t even a spider surrogate for the virus in Miguel’s origin story. Instead, in Miguel’s universe the lab he worked in was attempting to directly recreate their original, dead-slash-vanished Spider-Man by splicing actual spider DNA with human DNA. This immediately deviates from the “typical” spider-person origin story as, usually, tests were being done on spiders and the subsequent escape, bite, and transformation that followed was a complete accident. The only actual accident within Miguel’s origin story was that it was Miguel at all, every other aspect was more or less exactly what the institute Miguel worked for was actually trying to accomplish.

A pretty notable difference between the comics and the movie is the introduction of Miguel’s injections. From what I know of the comics, Miguel doesn’t need to ‘re-up’ his spider-human powers, but we see in the movie that this Miguel needs some kind of supplement. Whether it be to replenish his abilities or to keep his delicate spider-human balance stable, we don’t know yet, but what we do know is that no other spider-person does this and it seems like a private, shameful ritual. A subtle nod to this theory, in my opinion, is Miguel’s “I’m different than them” line taking place at, or almost at, the exact moment he injects.

So, his origin is “wrong,” his creation was a “mistake,” in some manner he has to supplement is spider abilities, and believe it or not those aren’t even the most obvious discrepancies he has from other spider-people. Actually, some of his most noticeable differences lie with his…

Powers.

Compounding that “otherness” Miguel already feels within spider society, he doesn’t have “typical” spider-person powers, notably lacking a spider sense. This is because he wasn’t made the same way other spider-people were. As a literal spider-human hybrid, Miguel derives his powers — talons, paralysis, fangs, light sensitive eyes turned red by super sight — from just some normal, non-radioactive version of whatever spider breed was used in the splicing experiments. The lab didn’t actually know what gave the original Spider-Man his distinct powers, and so what Miguel ends up with is a lot more off-putting than other spider-people.

Humans, and even other spider-people (re: Gwen feeling she needs to reassure Miles he doesn’t need to “be afraid”) are frightened, or at the very least are put-off, by Miguel. I believe this can be attributed at least somewhat (if not entirely) to his powers. Yes, he doesn’t have a very approachable demeanor, but I would hazard that that wall he puts up is in response to the reactions he gets to his powers (ex: “I’m a good guy!” “You don’t look like a good guy!”). They aren’t the pretty, petite, charming powers that other spider-people have. They’re very gritty and raw, and they’re lifted directly from a species of bug that people are notoriously afraid of. And while it’s true that the other spider-people also have behaviors that associate them with the creepy crawler as well, those spider-people have a way to combat their negative character associations that Miguel doesn’t. They’re funny.

Humor is an under-appreciated, though well-established, part of a typical spider-person. The movie even goes so far as to call spider-person humor a “crutch,” but it's more than just making light of dark situations. Humor is how other spider-people connect with their community. This is why despite a persistent hate campaign from the Daily Bugle and calls of vigilantism from local police organizations, spider-people are almost always able to stay in the good graces of the communities they serve. Spider-people, through humor, are able to reassure, console, and win over the hearts of millions of New Yorkers.

So, it is especially obvious to other spider-people that Miguel is distinctly not funny. He is reminded both in comics and in the movie that he’s not approachable like a spider-man “should” be. Miguel doesn’t have humor to use as a “crutch” to offset his unsettling characteristics and because of that, he’s not well-liked by… really anyone.

These perceived shortcomings take a toll on Miguel, and are why he is so convinced of the importance of…

Canon.

Miguel views canon events as the holy grail of spider-person origins because he didn’t have one himself. I don’t think Miguel fully believes he is a true spider-man. Not only were his (atypical) powers acquired through a (botched) scientific experiment, and not only is everyone constantly reminding him that he’s not a “normal” spider-person, but Miguel’s universe already had its “canon” Spider-Man, and he died.

Or, at least he did in the 2099 comics. We can’t be certain about the movie-verse yet, but on the assumption it and the comics share a backstory, Miguel knows the full extent of his Spider-Man’s life. Beginning, middle, and end. That Spider-Man’s story is over and done within Miguel’s universe, which means that Miguel isn’t a “real” spider-man. He’s a knockoff. He was an accident, a fluke, a recreation.

With this in mind, I feel Miguel’s reasoning for dedicating himself to The Canon is two-fold:

Firstly, I think it stems from the idea that because his universe’s Spider-Man story is “complete” that is how the story must be told. There was a set beginning, middle, and end to the Spider-Man of his universe, and he’s easily able to reference it. There’s no guesswork around his Spider-Man’s story because it’s concluded. And to him, that finality is infallible, so he plays it out over and over and over in other spider-verses.

Secondly (most speculatively, but most importantly), but I don’t think Miguel has told anyone that he isn’t a bitten (or born) spider-person. In his introduction, we don’t get the usual “I’m the one and only Spider-Man” cinematic intro we had with the rest of the main cast (excluding Jess). He keeps his introduction short, sweet, and secretive. This leads me to believe he hasn’t told anyone of how he became his universe’s Spider-Man. He might think that if he did, the other spider-people would shun him. He might think they would hate him. He might think they would leave him.

A very, very prominent theme across many of the main cast’s stories is that they felt alone in the world until they found other spider-people, and I believe Miguel feels this isolation the strongest of all of them. He set up the Spider Headquarters in his own home universe. He recruited hundreds and hundreds of spider-people to join him and it looks like many of them live there for at least some period of time. I believe he’s so afraid of being left out of the social spider network that he has outright lied about his origin story, calling on the only Spider-Man story he knows the entirety of— his universe’s Peter Parker. Then, to cover his tracks he began collecting similarities across every spider-person’s reality, enshrining them in gold, and cementing them as The Canon.

And, unfortunately, what many spider-people have in common is…

Suffering.

Suffering isn’t unique to spider-people. Prematurely losing a loved one isn’t even unique to spider-people. Sadly, it’s not very uncommon at all, and those moments are often defining in people’s lives; they can be even more impactful than the joyful moments. I believe because of their efficacy, tragedies are something that Miguel could most easily use to connect with the spiderverse. Not because these tragedies were meant to happen, not because they’re a part of some greater, cosmic prophecy— but, sadly, because they’re so prevalent in every person’s life.

And most compelling of all, tragedy rarely ever has any reason behind it.

Miguel wasn’t able to find some incredible, world-defining Canon Event among the many hundreds of spider-people he met— he was simply able to find tragedy. The senseless, horrible, incomprehensible moment in every person’s life where they’ve lost someone they cared very deeply for, and no one could tell them why. There was no rhyme or reason to it, their loved one just simply ceased to exist— and what was so insulting about it was that the world didn’t end. The planet didn’t stop spinning, the sun rose the following day, and no closer came. Everyone else’s story just continued to be writ, and that was just as painful because it left them alone with their grief in a moment where they felt helpless, hopeless, and inadequate; in a moment that was impossible to reconcile because they wanted so badly, just like all of us, to understand why it had to happen. But there isn’t a why. The universe is random and underwhelming and every day a few unlucky people will draw a card that ends their game, completely by chance.

And then Miguel came along and he assigned the importance to that tragedy that the spiderverse, and all of us, felt like it deserved.

Miguel told them that their suffering wasn’t random. He told them it wasn’t just another case of wrong place, wrong time. He told them there was a purpose to their suffering. All the pain they endured, it had served to make them better, stronger, more resilient. Finally, there was a reason for it to have happened.

Miguel told them they weren’t alone. He reassured them that this horrible Thing that seemed to happen to all of them was cosmically indomitable, universally inevitable, and entirely inescapable— it was Canon. It was the price of power, it was the universe’s exchange. But now, in that tragedy, they would never be alone in their grief again, and that made all the difference.

When Miguel gave them a reason for their hurt, it became a rallying point among the spiderverse. Not only could they alleviate the guilt and the grief their loss has crippled them with, but they had something more tangible to blame it on— The Canon.

The Canon Miguel introduced to them didn’t have feelings, it didn’t feel anger or resentment or spite. It didn’t hurt them for no reason— it was simply the vehicle navigating them through to the landmarks of their lives. And there was comfort in believing that these tragedies were ordained by some unfathomable, all-knowing narrative. And so the spiderverse seemingly collectively decided it was easier to believe in the Canon than it was to believe in an unpredictable universe, until…

Miles.

Miguel sees his own perceived “flaws” in Miles.

Miles wasn’t supposed to become spider-man in his universe.

Miles has an atypical spider-man origin story.

Miles’ “canon” Spider-Man is dead.

For all intents and purposes, he and Miles are likely the most closely related spider-people to one another, but a key difference between them is Miles… doesn’t care. Sure, Miles is lonely in his own universe; and sure, Miles is overwhelmed by the expectations heaped onto him social and familial; and sure, Miles doesn’t even know he’s an accident. But he’s happy. He’s a happy kid and he was close friends with other spider-people who love and accept him, trained and mentored him. That’s not something Miguel had, and he resents of Miles for it.

We still don’t know for certain if there were other reasons Miguel chose to isolate Miles, but from what we can gather in Part One, it seems like Miguel only had the “original anomaly” excuse. Which he used to prevent Miles from interacting with other spider-people, and other spider-people with him. His reasoning doesn’t really add up though. In theory, the “damage” to the multiverse “caused” by Miles was concluded at the end of the first movie. Outside being an anomaly, Miles isn’t causing any harm to the multiverse by just existing in it (that we know of currently). So why restrict his access to other spider-people? It certainly wasn’t because Miles hasn’t experienced a crucial story beat (Dead Police Captain), because as we saw in the movie, Pav hadn’t experienced his either. Yet, Pav was allowed to join the spiderverse. From this perspective, there was no actual reason to exclude Miles from the spiderverse when he could have helped the cause.

Instead, for what appears to be no other reason than jealousy (or fear) that Miles was (and would be) so well liked by other spider-people, Miguel isolated him in his own universe for a year and four months, barring him from a society he had every right to join, and forbidding any other spider-person from even visiting Miles.

I think that’s what it comes down to with Miguel, really. Jealousy that Miles is an anomaly like himself, but unlike Miguel, people don’t question Miles’ Spider-Man Authenticity ™. They don’t make a joke of his shortcomings. They don’t “other” him. They like Miles. No one likes Miguel.

And on top of it all, probably the most infuriating (and frightening) part to Miguel is that Miles isn’t ashamed. He isn’t ashamed of being an accident; he isn’t pouring over his Spider-Man’s history trying to meet made-up expectations; he didn’t even parody the spider-people who were right in front of him when he was just coming into his own. Miles decided at 14 years old that he wasn’t, and couldn’t, be a Peter Parker copy. He accepted himself as his own, unique Spider-Man, and in breaking that mold and allowing himself to take a leap of faith, he became something incredible.

I think that scares Miguel, not only because his entire organization is founded in the belief that all spider-persons must experience specific events, and not because if Miles refuses to follow his story beats then the entire multiverse will unravel, but because if Miles is right and the multiverse can be as diverse and varied as it wants to be, then Miguel has hated himself for so long for no reason.

And I think that fear and jealousy and resentment all comes to head on…

The Tram.

Miguel’s meltdown during the tram scene felt like it came almost out of nowhere. The abuse he hurled at Miles just didn't correlate with what could reasonably be expected of an annoying chase around the city— and it was completely unnecessary. By the time it happened, Miguel had already subdued Miles. He was pinning him to the tram, he had already caught him. There was no reason to be so viscous at that point.

Except Miles had just moments ago done what everyone else had been doing to Miguel this whole time. Miles had “othered” him.

“You got claws? Dude, are you sure you’re a Spider-Man?”

The skepticism must have felt different coming from Miles, because Miles was supposed to be like Miguel. They were both mistakes, they were both the product of a dead Spider-Man, they were both supposed to be outcasts, but instead, here was Miles acting like all the others. Treating Miguel as different and lesser, and I think that was the final straw for Miguel.

I wouldn’t say Miguel had kept his cool up until that point, but he certainly hadn’t set out to hurt Miles— at least emotionally. In fact, he had previously just been trying to ease Miles into his Canon. Miguel had been trying to console him in the same way he had consoled hundreds of other spider-people before Miles.

But then Miles made a hurtful joke because spider-people make hurtful jokes (a theme, maybe, since hurtful jokes had been what provoked the Spot into a rampage, too: “I’ll become strong enough to be your nemesis. Then you’ll take me seriously.”) and Miguel, who already saw so much of his own story in Miles, was enraged by his audacity— dragging Miles down (to him, to his level), pushing his way into Miles’s personal space (look at me, hear me, respect me), and forcing him to listen to just how “other” he was too (we’re anomalies, carry the shame of it like I do).

There’s really no excuse for it. Miguel was clearly in the wrong. No one should be told they were a mistake, or that they’re the reason someone else died— and especially no one should be made to believe that the value of their life was less than another’s.

It’s horrible what Miguel said to Miles. I do believe Miguel was venting his own self-loathing, but he leveled his abuse squarely at Miles and now Miles is forced to struggle through the aftermath, and there’s no excuse for that.

Conclusion?

I don’t think Miguel is a villain, I think he’s just a damaged man. That doesn’t absolve him of the shitty things he’s done, especially to Miles, but I do think it helps to explain them somewhat. Ironically, as much as he feels ostracized from spider society, I think he’s just like every other spider-person. He’s looking for friendships and acceptance and his happy ending, and above all, he doesn’t want to be an outcast. Much of that feeling probably comes from his unwillingness to accept himself as he is and pave his own way as Spider-man.

I hope in the next movie Miguel begins to consider the similarities he has with other spider-people rather than focusing on the differences, because while the Canon may not be real (or maybe it is, guess we’ll see in Part Two), the connections he made with others through loss and grief were. He helped the entire spiderverse find comfort in one another and because of him, they aren’t alone anymore.

#atsv #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #spiderman: across the spiderverse #atsv spoilers #miguel meta for the thirsty soul 😌#corrected this bc i said he didn’t make organic webs but i misremembered lol

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aglaias-blog · 9 months

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"Sleep well, my Queen"

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Author's note: This is pure smut. Porn without a plot. MDNI!!!

I felt inspired by this post, found on @hamatoanne 's blog, made me want to write again. Please be gentle with me, it's been a while 😭 anyway, have fun!

TW: afab!reader, corruption kink if you squint, somnophilia, just porn basically

Summary: Aemond wakes one morning, needing you badly. But you are fast asleep. What is he to do?

“Fuck”, he cursed under his breath, as he turned on his back, hiding his face from the sun under his arm. You were still sleeping next to him on your side, your soft body naked under the covers.

The sun rays playing on his face were the first thing that woke him up. The light that was reflecting on his sapphire eye drew colourful patterns on the wall. The warmth was pleasant, the blinding light – not so much. And then came the crushing realization that it was all a dream.

It was a dream that made him wake up with his cock already leaking precum. The dream being a continuation of what happened last night, when you gave yourself to him completely, allowing him to take control. Your body writhing beneath his, no way to escape. And yet you looked so content, so in your own blissful space, so vulnerable, so pure, so open with him - submitting yourself to him, knowing that you were completely safe…

He groaned at the thought, and he couldn’t help himself as his hand travelled down, over his chest, his abdomen and down to his cock that was laying hard on his belly. His fingers wrapped around it, hard, trying to give himself some form of relief as quickly as possible. He kept yanking at it almost angrily, but it wasn’t enough – it wasn’t enough! Fuck!

It never was enough when he tried to pleasure himself, he always ended up frustrated! It was as if he betrayed his own body, knowing that he needed you, but still trying to find release by himself.

The exasperation was clearly written on his face. His lower lip began to swell slowly as it was trapped between his teeth and he bit down on it hard, his brow furrowed in desperation and his cheeks flushed. It was clear that this wouldn’t do, it wouldn’t do, he needed more, he needed you, he needed-

He snapped around the moment he heard the moan. The moan that he was sure left your mouth. He wasn’t imagining things now, was he? He turned on his side hastily, laying one hand on your upper arm gently. Were- were you awake?

“My love?”, he tried, now slowly tracing your spine with his fingers.

No response. Just another one of those damned soft moans that he usually loved, but now he was sure they were going to drive him mad. If only you knew how badly he wanted you right now.

“Don’t do this to me…”, almost sounding pained, he threw himself back on his back, rubbing his hands over his face.

He was suffering at your hands, and you didn’t even know it! The situation was ridiculous, if he wasn’t so frustrated, he would laugh at it. Running his hand through his loose hair roughly, he tugged at the strands, his other hand buried in the sheets with his knuckles turning white.

Your soft breathing continued, but the quiet moans that kept coming from you made him wonder if you were having the same dream that he had not long ago. He remembered slowly that you two had talked about situations like this - but until now the opportunity had never presented itself, he always had to be somewhere, he always was required by somebody early in the morning, but now…If he had any doubt about taking action, the soft whine that left your body made sure to make any resolve falter. He couldn’t fight the storm that was raging inside him any longer.

“Gods”, he murmured. Turning back on his side, he brought his hand up to your shoulders and traced them gently, before moving down to let his hand slide down your sides, and over your hip. Goosebumps rose on your skin, but there was no change in your breathing pattern, no sign that you were going to wake up. And no sign that you knew what was happening. His heart was beating brutally in his chest - never had he thought that he would find this so arousing. But when his fingers finally found their way to your cunt, every thought was wiped from his mind. He bit back a moan when he realized how wet you were, your wetness already smeared between your upper thighs. It was clear now what kind of dream you were having.

His mouth found its way to your shoulder, pressing open-mouthed kisses there. He easily slid a finger inside, then two, groaning into your shoulder at the obscene wet sound. Pumping them in and out of you slowly, he quickly knew that you were more than prepared.

If he wasn’t so frustrated, he would be embarrassed about how desperately he wanted to be inside you. But his precum had already formed a wet spot on the bed linen and his mind was foggy with the need for you, for anything you could give him. Any thoughts about his dignity and virtues like patience were left for later. And so, not wasting anymore time, he lined himself up with you quickly, grabbing your hip gently. He couldn’t help the guttural moan that tore from his throat as he finally, finally, was sheathed deep inside you. Your wet, hot core enveloping him completely. He stayed still for a while, doing other wise would have surely made him cum embarrassingly quickly.

He fought the urge to rut into you savagely, trying to keep some form of dignity, trying to hold back, trying to prove to himself that he wasn’t doing any of this selfishly – but there was no denying it. You made him lose control. And the worst part was that you didn’t even know it. You weren’t even aware of the kind of effect you had on him.

Slowly, his hand found its place on your breast, tracing slow circles around your nipple, feeling it harden. He squeezed it hard, the flesh spilling over between his fingers. Then, his fingers slowly ran between your breasts, down over your soft stomach, further down, down, until he finally reached your clit.

He tried to be gentle when he pulled out slowly and pushed himself to the hilt inside of you again. But there was no use, the moment he felt your heat and wetness again, he couldn’t hold himself back. It was addicting.

So he slammed himself into you, over and over again, whimpering into you shoulder, praising you, although he knew that you weren’t even awake.

The moment he touched it, he felt you clench around him. Hard. And he couldn’t hold back his pathetic moan at the sensation. He wanted to feel it again and again, so, encouraged, he rubbed lazy circles around it, circles that quickly became more urgent, the more he felt you squeeze around him.

..................................................................

You awoke with your body spasming, not knowing what was happening. The hot, white pleasure you felt was almost akin to the one you felt in your dream – but this one felt so much more real. A desperate moan tore from your throat before you could realize why it even formed, and you felt him inside. Instinctively you knew it was him. Only he could reach that spot deep inside you, only he could make you shiver and tremble like this. You felt his warmth, his tall body behind you, moving in and out of you ruthlessly, his moans falling freely from his lips, his hot breath on your shoulder…

And then your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, unforeseen. It completely overwhelmed you, your body trembling so hard you thought he would slip out of you, your body searching for the sensation he gave you, but at the same time trying to escape it, it was too much, too much…

“Aemond!”, you gasped out, your hand blindly reaching for him behind you.

He heard your unsaid plea and held you close, grabbing your hips in a bruising grip and stilling his movements, so that he could feel you completely, holding you in place. His angel, his only salvation, spasming on his cock; the only innocent being in his life was having no part in his doing and he almost felt guilty, like you were losing more of your innocence the more time you spent with him.

“Oh, Gods”, you heard him groan through gritted teeth, only now did you realize what was truly happening. The fogginess of sleep had left you now, the confusion you had in the beginning making place for giddiness. You had fantasized about mornings like this, but now that it was happening, you couldn’t believe it. The thrill you felt went through your body like an electric shock.

He knew now that you were awake, if your reaction and the way you held his hand in a tight grip was any indication. Your moans became louder the moment he picked up his merciless pace again, touching that sensitive spot inside you over and over and over again.

“My love – fuck, you’re going – you’re going to make me cum- please”, you heard him moan behind you, as if you were the one in control. He was the one who had his arm wrapped tightly around your torso, while his other hand now had your throat in a tight grip – and yet it felt like he gave himself over to you.

Your moans turned into desperate sobs, the moment he lost control. You were so close to the edge again, your senses heightened to the max. You felt him trembling behind you, drawing one shuddering breath after the other, trying to restrain himself, trying to keep some form of control, but his thrusts grew rougher and rougher and when he felt you clench around him, he couldn’t help himself. He came inside you with a growl, his hips thrust up into you involuntarily, spilling everything inside you, while sinking his teeth into your shoulder, trying to stifle his helpless moans. He felt you clenching down on him hard, your own whimpers and moans spilling from your mouth. His jaw went slack, engrossed in the sensation, he pressed you down on his cock to feel every squeeze of your peak, not allowing you to escape his bruising thrusts.

“Gods, you feel so good, you’re being so good for me”, praises fell from his lips, as he kept you close to his body, littering little kisses on your shoulder. “So, so good for me, princess.”

His frantic breathing slowly calmed down; he was still reveling in the aftershocks of your second orgasm.

“Holy Seven”, he groaned behind you, coming down from his high. His grip on your relaxed slowly, and he began to gently stroke your side with one hand, the other caressing your chest. You relaxed in his embrace, the weight of sleep on your eyelids.

“You did so well, my love”, he murmured, “I’m so proud of you.”

You only hummed in return, your sleepiness catching up to you. But when he tried to pull out of you, your hips chased his to not let him slip out. You heard him chuckle lightly. “Alright, alright…”, he said, and if you only turned around, you’d have seen a cocky grin on his face.

He pulled you close by your hips again, his hand caressing them lazily.

“Sleep well, my Queen”, he whispered in your ear, before drifting off to sleep himself.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 4 months

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Mating seasons with the boys 😈

Mating Season (18+)

2003!Turtles x reader

A/N: It wasn’t specified what version of the turtles, so the lucky wheel decided on the 03 boys💚 I have this idea that the 2003 boys are Yellow-bellied sliders (mainly from their appearance, green shells and yellowish plastrons with no markings). I don’t focus a lot on nesting, as male turtles don't partake in the creation of nests, so I had a hard time writing it and therefore decided to skip it.

All characters are aged up.

Warnings: Talk of masturbation, sex and all that.

Important For All:

Yellow-bellied sliders usually go into mating during the months from March to July, and the mutant did not make the guys immune to that. The boys quickly found out that their season usually lasts for around a week, often around the month of April. Normally they would all go into their season around the same time, hiding out in their rooms, not wishing to be “interrupted”, nor embarrassed by what they were doing.

However, it has happened that the brothers have entered their seasons at different times, and at different lengths. It has occurred before that they have entered their seasons at different months from each other, with poor Donatello suffering throughout all of May that year, while Michelangelo was lucky with five days during March, all while Leonardo forced himself through two horrible weeks in April, and Raphael powered through a hard week in June.

Each year, they could never really be sure when their season would fall. They would just sort of feel it come up a few days before, and would scramble around to prepare themselves, making them anxious and nervous. For that reason it wasn’t hard for outsiders to understand what was going on. Splinter, being the observant father that he was, would notice and know exactly what was going on, letting them skip training until their season was over.

Leonardo:

Leo had never been a big fan of his mating season. Before he got a partner, he found that it got in his way, clouding his mind and making it hard for him to focus. He often tried to push it away, acting like it wasn’t there, hoping that it would let him gain back control in some way. But he found that everytime he did so, it only came right back around, hitting him even harder than before, causing him to bite down on his blanket in order to stay silent while he mounted his pillow in the middle of the night, praying that no one would walk in on him.

With the exception of that one time where Donnie was stuck in his room for a whole month, Leo was typically the one with the longest seasons, most likely a by-product of him trying to push his animalistic desires away, not wanting to give into something he did not decide for himself. But then he met you.

Leo’s first season after meeting you, was much shorter than his seasons usually were. That week, he just couldn’t keep his hands away from himself, for the first time not pushing his natural instincts away. By finally not holding back and letting his animalistic instincts kick in, he found that his mating season became much more pleasurable and easier to get through. Even if it meant ruining a good pillow…

When you and Leo finally got together, he finally learned how great his mating season actually could be. It took some time before he was comfortable sharing this time with you, but when he finally did, he wished he would have done it sooner. Finally he was able to let go of all this pent up sexual frustration in a way that felt satisfying, bringing pleasure to both him and you. And it was during these times with you, that he for the first time wished that his season would continue on for another week, just so he could keep this experience going with you.

Raphael:

Raph had a love-hate relationship with his mating season. He loved how he could get a whole week, where he could pleasure himself and feel good. Raph did and still loves taking care of himself and his body - he eats pretty healthy and works out quite a lot, and he looooves making his own body feel good. However, he hates how it’s never enough for him. He could fuck his hand or fleshlight for hours, feeling the amazing high rush over him, only to feel the need to do it all over again. It was almost enough to drive him mad, causing his mood to get rather dark very quickly, causing his sessions to turn into angry sessions very easily.

But when Raph first started crushing on you, he absolutely HATED his mating season. He felt like a crazy cave man in his room, fucking whatever he could get a hold on with the thought of you in his mind. Raph did not like what this time did to him. He found himself tempted to steal things from you, just in order to have your scent around him. He felt sneaky, like he was tricking you. In the few days he could feel his season come up, he would ask you to spend time with him in is room, so he wouldn’t miss you as much during the week he wouldn’t see you, only to fuck himself sensless in the places you had been.

His lucky break and mental relaxation came when you started dating, and it didn’t take long before Raph asked if you wanted to join him for the week. Although you didn’t spend the season with him the first year you were together, the second year you definitely were, and finally, Raph came to a point where fully enjoyed his season. Letting go and letting his instinct flow, making him feel whole during this time with you. It was almost surprising, maybe even scary how intimate it was to do this. It was a depth none of you had felt before. It was a bonding experience, and Raph would forever be grateful that you agreed to do this with him, finally letting him have a season where he didn’t feel like a crazy, angry mad man, but someone that was truly in love.

Donatello:

Donnie liked to think that he was too smart for his mating season. That his intellect took up a bigger part of his brain than any of his animalistic urges ever did. But in all honesty, Donnie knew that his mating season had nothing to do with that. He could fight it as much as he wanted, but in the end, he was still a mutant turtle that had to go through his mating season. But with his second longest mating seasons of all the brothers, it was evident that he did not fully embrace it. There was that one year that he decided to fully deny his mating season, ignoring it, thinking it would disappear after a week or so. But in the end, Donnie ended up with a whole month of constant boners, wet dreams, ruined bedsheets and almost painful orgasms at the end of the month. Never again would he try to ignore his natural urges, nor try to fool himself into thinking that he was “too good” for them.

When you entered the turtles’ lives, and Donnie first started gaining a crush on you, he almost felt ashamed for his season. The fact that he would hide out in his room and think of you while he touched himself made him feel awful. What kind of horrible friend was he, in order for him to think about you like that? Horrible enough in Donnie’s own mind, that he did nor gain much pleasure from his sessions alone, but a lingering feeling of shame and longing.

But the world decided to smile down upon Donnie, giving him the opportunity to start dating you. And boy, did he jump at that opportunity. It made him feel less self continuous when he touched himself to the thought of you. It took some time before Donnie let you spend his season with him in the lair, but that did not stop you from sending him pictures or even calling him, letting him know that it was okay, and that you did indeed want to spend that time with him. And then, finally, he let you come down to the lair for the kinkiest sex you had had in a long time.

Michelangelo:

Mikey might actually be the only one of his brothers that sort of looked forward to his mating season. A week or two where he could do nothing but jerk off in the comfort of his bunk bed in his bedroom, no training and only getting up to eat? Oh, don’t mind if I do, as Mikey liked to say as he skipped off to his room, at the first signs of his season coming up. He liked to have fun with it, trying different things, and at times even sneak out of his room to help himself out in other places, just for the giggle. But sadly for Mikey, he was the one with the shortest seasons on average, rarely giving him enough time to enjoy himself before it was time to go back to training alone with his brothers. That’s at least how it was before he met you.

After Mikey met you and developed a crush on you, his mating season took a whole new turn. It was no longer just fun and enjoyable with a bunch of self pleasure, but almost painful. Like he hadn’t eaten in days, and no matter how hard he tried to feed himself, nothing worked. All he could think about was you, and how he wasn’t buried inside of you at that very moment. His seasons became longer during this period, and he did not like it one bit, wishing back to the days where his own hand was enough to satisfy him. He no longer ventured out of his room to have fun, but stayed in his bunk bed, wishing and dreaming that the pillow he was plowing into was you, moaning his name and begging him to keep going.

With you and Mikey then getting together later on, Mikey wasted no time asking you to spend his season with him, and help him out with his undesirable painful hunger. You happily agreed, and once again Mikey found his season to be fun and enjoyable. He once again started to have fun with it, trying all sorts of positions with you, going so far as to fuck you different places around the lair, making this time of year a very anticipated one for the two of you.

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zombyjuice · 6 months

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<3 💿 LOVE AND LUST >~< wonbin ﾐﾟ ∋

in which all you guys want is to crawl into eachothers skin.

bsf!wonbin x reader

warnings! smutty and so lovely >< playlist I listen to while writing LOL!!

You always drove binnie crazy you were perfect, the big smile you wore when he’d come into your view the way you’d stretch your arms out to hug him he’d never miss the way you’re boobs would move or how they felt pressed against his chest and of course he’d watch the way your butt would sway walking away in that annoyingly short skirt.

He loves the way you so gently scratch his back while in his distress you always know the right time to make him feel better or when he’s feeling blue.

The way you’d listen to him ramble about stupid things he believes no one else cares about so intently and look at him with so much admiration “What?” he’d smile awkwardly “Nothing I just like listening to you talk”.

He wasn’t like that with anyone else he loves how he feels so vulnerable to being himself around you and he loves the way you do the same. You were so good with people but just so much better with him.

He would go mad, consistently red in the face and shifting to make the problem in his pants a little better poor baby suffering constantly because you just so pretty in those little cute outfits just wanna give you everything you deserve.

When it’s finally that time of day when he can give you everything. Oh my… he’d be a mess softly whimpering the moment he slid into you melting in your neck pinching at your cute tummy you were hugging him so good, so tight.

He’d moan and groan he loved the way he could feel all your love radiating onto him, oh how you loved him so. “mm baby doing so good, so big, feel you in my stomach” he’d look down and look at the bulge poking out, his favorite he smile lightly pressing on it knowing what it did to you. Going back to kissing you all over, he goes feral rutting and huffing so eagerly “mm feel so-so good baby you're taking me so well mmph”.

With one hand tangled with yours and the other pulling your leg up, he’d pump his pretty dick in and out of you till he shoots his load deep into those cute gummy walls.

“Hi my love, are you feeling alright” You come into the room with a glass of water and such a warm smile on your face, Wonbin melts or malfunctions he’s not quite sure face going red.

“m-mhm” his big boba eyes go a little wide when you go in for a gentle kiss, just like yesterday, fuck.

“that’s good do you wanna rest for a while or do you want me to make some pancakes, it’s grandma's recipe, do you remember? you loved it when you came over the first time” You look deep into his eyes and sit across from him on the bed.“let’s… let's rest yeah? Come here I miss you” he smiles sheepishly. “You miss me? I’ve been with you all night” you giggle a bit “mm whatever just wanna be close to you, listen to you talk” he mumbles tugging you into his arms and letting you cuddle into his side “mm I don’t know what to say now” you sigh lifting your head and loving gaze up at the beautiful boy with doe eyes and trailing them down to his neck.

“mmm” he grumbles as you softly get on top of him and go straight for his neck “Baby, what’s up” he breathlessly said with a giggle as you start leaving kisses along his neck “wanna be close to you so close”.

And just like that, you end up with his cock shooting loads deep in that pretty little pussy all day while watching silly little youtube videos.

sometimes he forgets your not even his girlfriend and he’s to nervous to ask you to be his.

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biniminisblog · 11 months

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easy | lee minho oneshot

pairing: lee minho x reader

prompt: “did i do something? why are you suddenly acting so distant?” “just… because.” link to post here

genre: angst, fluff at the end, nonidol!au, kinda grumpy x sunshine, friends to lovers

word count: 1.6k

a/n: …idk what i wrote lmao. this is what happens when im in my missing minho hours. anw as always if you liked it pls reblog, comment, or send an ask and share your thoughts and feedback! also thank you to @dumplingsjinson for the prompt that inspired me to write this!

minho hates you. he hates you for making him fall in love with you. this wasn’t supposed to happen. this was all your fault. yes, your stupid smile and your stupid laugh and the way your eyes twinkle every time you look at him is the reason why he’s currently spiralling from his emotions.

despite his aloof attitude towards you, there was never a day where you failed to annoy him, even in the slightest. before, it was easy to just brush you off every time you try to get his attention. so easy to ignore the members whenever they talk about you. everything was easy back then. why couldn’t you just take the hint?

when you greet him enthusiastically so early in the morning, which he would usually just roll his eyes at, now makes his heart beat faster than it should have. and unlike before, his attention would instantly be diverted to the person who so much as just mentions your name.

he’s actually starting to think he likes spending more time with you, and not just as friends anymore. which is why he stopped hanging out with you. so when you suddenly appear before him outside of his apartment at eight pm on a friday, he knew he was fucked.

“hey…” you greeted him, and minho notices you slightly shiver from the cold. he gently grabs your arm and pulls you inside so you both don’t suffer from the harsh weather. after he closes the door, he turns to see that you were already sitting comfortably on his couch. another reason why he hates you is because of all the fond memories you both shared on that same damn couch. movie nights and cuddling were only some of the things he despised, recalling those memories where his heart fluttered the most.

“so, uhm, it’s been a while huh?” you lightly chuckle, but it was different to the usual joyful tone it had. now it seem more dejected. “you haven't been answering my calls lately, is there something wrong?”

he didn’t know how to answer that because yes something was wrong, but not in the way you think. he just settled with a simple shake of his head and plops down on the couch next to the one you were sitting on. it was hard not to notice the amount of space between the two of you, however the both of you don’t mention it.

“don’t worry about it, i was just busy so i couldn’t answer your calls.” to further prove his claim, he points to the copious amounts of paperwork stacked on top of each other on the coffee table. it was true that he was busy with work, but he always made time for you despite that. though he didn’t know that his feelings for you would be deeper than just a friend he would occasionally be annoyed at.

“minho, i’m not stupid. i know you’re ignoring me.” of course you’d catch on immediately, it was you after all.

“well if you knew that, then why are you here?” minho’s words come out a lot meaner than he expected, and he immediately regrets it once he sees the look of hurt flash in your eyes.

“sorry, it’s just that a lot has been going on lately and i—”

“did I do something? why are you suddenly acting so distant?” you cut him off, feeling frustrated at your friend’s lack of communication. you start to stand up from the couch to get closer to him, but minho was two steps ahead as he gets up first and heads to his kitchen. you follow him there and see that he took out a glass and poured himself some water to drink. you’re not sure why, but you think it’s just to prolong him from answering your question.

“minho please, i miss you! i miss hanging out with my friend, don’t you miss me too?” you plead, and minho’s facade breaks. his eyes soften and he puts the glass down so could walk closer to you. he stops right in front of you and moves his hand to caress your hair. you lean in to his touch, already missing the way his fingers would comb your hair soothingly. minho just smiles at your reaction before pulling away slowly.

“of course i miss you yn,”

“everything was fine so why are you doing this? why are you avoiding me?” yes, everything was fine and easy until you decided to mess with his heart. but you didn’t know that.

“just… because.” you scoff at his explanation, resisting the urge to smack him for not giving you a clear answer.

“because what minho? am i too annoying for you? do i talk too loudly? what is it minho!? i can’t take this any more, i thought we were friends—”

“and that’s exactly why!” you stop, and minho takes this as an opportunity to finally let it out.

“the reason why i stopped hanging out with you is because i don’t want to be friends anymore! don’t you see yn? i like you! hell, i’m in love with you! but i don’t want to be because i know you don't feel the same way. i mean, why would you? all i do is just say mean things to you.” minho breathes out a sigh and watches as you take in all the words he just said. however, he was too scared of your rejection, so he moved past you and headed towards the living room. you were still too stunned to move so you stay rooted in the kitchen.

“please just forget everything i just told you and i promise i won't ignore you anymore.” minho almost raps as he maneuvers his way towards the coffee table and he distracts himself by arranging his paperwork. some part of him wants you to just accept that and go home, but the other, more hopeful side, wishes for you not to forget and return his feelings too.

when you arrive at the living room, you see minho crouched down beside the coffee table. you quickly grab his arm, startling him from the sudden contact. you pull him up and give him time to regain his balance before giving your side.

“what if i don’t wanna forget?” minho only looks confused, so you elaborate further. “what if i don’t wanna forget that you like me? what if i like you too, have you ever considered that?”

you almost laugh at the comedic look on minho’s face as his eyes suddenly widen in shock. you don’t, instead you grab his chin and pull him down towards you. your lips touched and it was still for a moment before he finally kissed you back. only then do you both pull away from lack of oxygen. your arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer and you rest your forehead against each other’s.

“so… does this mean we’re dating now?”

“do friends go around kissing each other like that?” you quirk an eyebrow and minho shakes his head at your sarcasm. it seems like he’s finally rubbing off on you.

“no they don’t.”

“good, ‘cause i don’t want you kissing your friends like that.” you both laugh and minho lifts you off the ground to spin you around, causing you to squeal in surprise.

“for the record, i don’t want you kissing your friends like that either.” after putting you down, minho gives you his signature smirk before kissing you once more and wrapping you up in a hug.

“and to answer your question, i’m in love with you too. so yes, we are dating.” you can’t stop grinning as minho continues to hug you, but he abruptly pulls away, causing you to look at him with confusion written in your features. he suddenly seems anxious, but he collects himself and takes a deep breath before talking.

“i’m just going to have to warn you that i may not be the best boyfriend in the world. i get moody a lot and say a lot of sarcastic things that may come off as rude. there are also times where i—“ he stops rambling after he hears laughter coming from you. he gives you a look that resembles an offended cat and you all but acknowledge it as you wipe away the tear that came out of your eye.

you cradle minho’s face with both of your hands, and he looks at you with such pureness in his big eyes that you can’t help but fall in love with him more.

“minho, i already know that you are all of those things, yet i still stuck around because i love you despite all of that, and i will continue to do so until you run out of snarky things to say,” you tease, and it gets a small smile from him.

“you’re right. if you were tired of me, you would’ve already dropped me while we were still friends.” minho jokes and you hum in response, giving him a peck to his cheek. you intertwine your fingers with his and with your other hand, run your fingers through his hair. “yes now stop worrying about that, you still owe me all the movie nights we missed because you’re an idiot.”

minho only replies with a laugh, silently agreeing that he is indeed an idiot. it surprises him how easily you break him free of his worries. and that despite everything that just happened, you still manage to crack his walls. but he guesses that’s how love works, it makes everything so much easier.

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staytinyville · 9 months

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Stay Alive (1)

BTS ot7 x Reader

Magical Creatures AU

Series Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N I am very excited for this story! It has a good amount of world building that I enjoy doing so much! I took inspiration from Stay Alive by Jungkook/Suga in case you guys didn’t know! The beginnings are of course slow but that’s how most stories are to build up the tension. I hopeful for this story and I hope you all like it! Please feel free to ask if you want to be added to the taglist!

People walk among the same earth constantly. However the thing that sets us apart is the path we all take. Sometimes it's the same, other times it's the opposite. Some of us are meant for higher things while some are meant to suffer until things start to look up for us all.

In a lifetime sometimes we won’t ever get the chance to see ourselves reach the peak we want. There are struggles we all face that will cause setbacks in the path we are taking. Only the ones who are strong enough to see the road to the end make it out alive.

There will always be those out there who will achieve their goals in life some way or another. Those are the ones who don’t allow those setbacks to dictate their entire life. And maybe along the way someone will come along to help you grow stronger. Whether it’s one person or a whole group. You will see to the end of your path one way or another.

“Most often than not you will be working on filing. If we are understaffed on a day, like today, we might send you in to write reports on the medicine we have already administered.” Suho, the lady who was placed as your preceptor, explained to you.

You had a grateful smile on your face, happy to finally get to start working. While it wasn’t the place you had been hoping for, you knew the pay was well for the kind of student debts you had. The pharmaceutical lab was meant to administer different kinds of medicines to the people who would sign up for a trial. They did the test on patients before they were given out to people.

While you were being placed on the front desk for the most part, you knew you would need to work your way up to the spot you wanted and you were more than happy to reach for it.

“What kind of medicine do you guys make?” You asked, trying to think about all that you had read on the company's website.

It didn’t really give much about what they focus on so you found it really odd that they were so wide when it came to the things they were trying to cure.

“You applied here and don't even know?” Suho frowned, looking at you appalled.

“I tried asking at the interview but they just gave me vague answers.” You explained. “The website doesn't tell you anything either.”

“We are very on top of the things we do here at HYBE.” She began to tell you. “There aren’t many people we trust to be hired onto the team so consider yourself lucky to be apart of it.”

“We make sure that our patients here are taken care of because we are a company that is trying hard to reach their goals. Because of that we are detail oriented when it comes to the patients we accept. Not just anyone can be a patient here.”

While she did a bit more about the kind of company you were working at, it still didn’t really tell you about what it was you were working for. You didn’t choose to question it, knowing that the paycheck they gave you was a luxury for a lot of people.

“Here are some of your patients for the day. They have already been given the medicine, it's up to you to check up on them for daily research.” You took the six files the lady handed you, nodding your head.

You placed them onto the small desk area they had given you before going through them to check on the appointment times and ordering them correctly. The first one on your list should be waiting in the lobby by now so you were quick to take the papers and move along to the waiting room.

“Mrs. Han?” You called, a smile on your face.

An older woman with a younger one came to a stand, slowly shuffling over to where you waited for them at the door.

“Hello, Mrs. Han. How are you today?” You asked politely, leading the two women towards the scale.

“I'm doing great! I'm so excited to share some news about the medicine you gave me.” The older woman exclaimed, a bright smile on her face.

You hummed, keeping the friendly look as you wrote down her weight on the paper. You told them to follow you to a patient room to speak to her privately.

“I see it was something for your dementia.” You spoke, moving the laptop in the room closer so you could take down everything the lady would tell you. “Is everything going okay?”

“It's wonderful!” The other lady exclaimed for her mother. At least you assumed it was her daughter from the notes that people already had written for you. Her daughter was the one who was in charge of all Mrs. Han’s things.

“You would not believe it but it's almost as though she's regressed in her illness! Mother was in a terrible state when she was offered this trial medicine. She took it and suddenly it was almost like she went back to before it grew to be terrible.”

You tried to write down what the woman was saying, but you knew there were more questions to ask before concluding the entire meeting.

“Maybe she can get back to normal if she takes more.” The daughter spoke in a hopeful tone.

“One step at a time, Mrs. Byun.” You kept the smile on your face so as to not let them think they weren’t going to find the help they needed. “We have to see how long this medicine will last first before giving her more doses.” You explained.

“Also, memory loss is nothing to be overly worried about if it's on occasion. Even I forget something's as well.” You told them.

If there was one thing you studied, it was medicine. You knew the consequences of taking too much or too little. This company was in the slow movement of developing them so they had to be careful about how they administered their projects. People probably came in thinking they could get more if they worked perfectly the first time. However these kinds of things were tests, not the real deal.

“Of course.” Mrs. Byun nodded in understanding.

The rest of the visit went by smoothly as you took down all the older woman’s rants and aches about the whole thing. With these kinds of surveys it was really about asking how each patient felt even if it was the smallest of things. You wouldn’t be able to tell if it had to do with the medicine or with something else.

As you told Mrs. Han and her daughter goodbye, scheduling the next appointment, the rest of you patient trickled in one-by-one.

There was a man who had come in for a bad liver–he was an avid drinker–so the medicine was for corrosion to that organ. While you really tried not to say something about it, you felt annoyed that the man had explained that he still had a drink every once in a while. He was like Mrs. Han, the medicine was doing wonders.

There was a child who had chickenpox, who’s mother explained that the rash that had taken over her son’s body was slowly dwindling down. Another lady who had come in for amnesia which only said that her memory was returning to before she had gotten into an accident. The others had external injuries like scrapes of their knees or a deep cut that needed stitches. From what you could see they were just given some sort of pain medication. They had expressed that their wounds didn’t hurt and it was actually healing at a fast rate.

“They really work with a lot of medicine.” You spoke to yourself as you looked over the last file you had. You frowned your eyebrows when you saw the patient was in another level of the building. It was the lower levels, which meant in the basement of sorts. From what you knew that was where the labs were.

“That's odd.” You tilted your head in confusion but made your way over to the elevators anyway. With your ID card, you pressed onto one of the underground levels, leaning back against the metal wall. When the doors opened, you were met with a lobby that had a couple of different doctors moving about.

Following the signs, you found the door that led to some of the rooms patients were stationed in. You showed the security guard your ID explaining you were in that level of the building to check up on a patient. He took a look at the file you had in your hand, humming as he opened a door to the back for you.

Overlooking the file once more to make sure you had the right number, you quietly counted the doors. As you passed by one, you felt a shiver go down your back causing you to halt in your tracks. The number three stared back at you as a weird feeling flowed over your shoulders. It felt like something was brushing up against them, pushing at your form.

You quickly turned back around making your way to the room next to it. You checked over the file one more time. It didn’t really give you much about the medicine the patient had been given. All it said was that they were someone who was meant to be staying in the building for better observation. There were a couple of papers that you seemed to be missing, you noticed.

Before opening the door, you knocked politely. “Hello?” You softly called as you stuck your head in.

The only light on was the bedside lamp which illuminated the dark room. You frowned at the aspect of there being no windows that would allow light from outside to come in. As you walked in closer, you let go of the door to have it shut by itself. “Mr. Jeon?”

“Who are you?” You gasped, nearly tripping on your feet from the hard flinch you felt take over.

You took in the man who was standing behind you, trying to regulate your breathing. He only looked at you with a raised brow, his expression passive. You took up his large form, noticing the blue scrubs he wore were almost tight around his physic. He didn’t wear any shoes–was even foregoing to wear socks.

“Oh,” You said as your breath returned to your lungs. “My name is (Y/N). Today is my first day so I guess I'll be your new nurse.” You explained to him.

“What are you doing here?” As he took a step closer to you, you subconsciously took one back. “You don't deserve to be here.” His voice went quiet as his eyes turned soft.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you took in his worried expression, smiling awkwardly as you patted your hands to wipe the sweat forming on them.

“I needed a job. Got school debt to pay off.” You tried to joke with him. He looked too serious, which made you anxious to touch him for his vitals. “I'm here to do a check up. Would you mind?” You asked, trying to build up the courage to get close to him.

He didn’t say anything, just poked his cheek with his tongue, moving to the bed. You smiled in thanks, looking around the room to find the equipment needed. You purse your lips when you realize you would need to check his heart rate manually. Finding the padding needed to place around his arm, you made your way over to the man.

He flinched back as your hands moved to touch his arm, causing you to stop. “I’m going to check your heart rate.” You explained, remembering that you were the kind of person to make sure people knew what it was you were going to do.

As he kept his dark eyes on you, he allowed you to softly touch his scrub sleeve as you moved the fabric up to place the padding in the right area of the arm. You moved your stethoscope from around your neck. “It’s going to be a bit cold.” You whispered.

As you moved on with the check up, you watched the numbers on the dial move carefully counting to yourself. When you finished getting what you needed, you quickly let go of the air and moved the padding off his arm. As you did that, your eyes seemed to blur over the ink the man had.

Your fingers gently squeezed his bicep, softly moving down the length of his arm. Your gaze drifted over each color and picture the man had, trying to figure out where one picture ended and the next started. As your fingers glided over his pulse on his wrists, the man involuntarily shivered at the touch.

“Sorry.” You quickly pulled back, looking back up at him. “Your tattoos are really nice. I've never seen so many.” You bashfully smiled at him.

He only looked at you curiously, his big eyes taking in your facial expressions. It made you feel flustered as he looked at you so deeply, causing you to lick your lips and look away.

“You have a very strong heart. Very good blood flow.” You told him, turning away to write down his vitals. He slowly got off the bed and moved closer to you.

“It doesn't say which medicine you've been taking which is really weird.” You frowned, looking over all the papers that you were given. There were some things missing but you assumed the high ups were looking over it.

“You're different.” You jumped at the voice that spoke directly behind you. Turning around you tilted your head up at the man.

“How so?” You asked.

“You're nice.” The boy squinted his eyes at you, like he was trying to figure you out.

“Are the others not?” You frowned.

“Not the ones who come down here.” He told you.

You tried to quickly cover up your upset expression, looking up at the doe-eyed man with a smile. “Well I hope I'm able to come down here again.” You took up the paper you had written on. There wasn’t much explanation on what you had to ask him so you chose to go back up and see if you could figure out what else to do.

“Have a good day, Mr. Jeon.” You smiled brightly, waving from the door.

Jungkook tilted his head to the side as a warmth spread through his chest from your words. Not a day had gone by that he wasn't thinking about the dreaded place as though it was a sentence in hell. He had never met someone like you; someone who spoke to him as though he too was a person.

It made him light headed to think about the way your words affected him. He couldn't think of the last time someone had ever uttered those kinds of words to him. It had been so long-alone thinking this was what life was going to be like for the rest of his life. But suddenly things changed in the blink of an eye.

“Maybe.”

Series Masterlist

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flufffilleddonut · 4 months

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Radio Waves

Summary - Alastor is suffering from a lee mood. He wants to be wrecked, and plans to indirectly persuade someone into doing so. But who would dare to touch the Radio Demon?

Word Count - 1600

- Alastor was in his room at the Hazbin Hotel, resting in one of the two armchairs situated in front of his green fireplace.

He was experiencing feelings that he could not explain. Usually, he hated being touched, but his mind was being flooded with visions of wiggling fingers, soft pokes and carefree laughter.

Typically, when it came to tickle fights around the hotel, Alastor was on the giving end. He was feared by the residents for his ability to deduce a person’s worst spots and attack them mercilessly.

However, at this moment, Alastor found himself craving the same treatment he gave out to others. He wanted to experience being tickled to pieces, laughter flowing from his mouth in an uncontrollable stream. He wanted to be the sole focus of a demon’s attention for the duration of their attack, with the rest of the world serving as background noise.

But who could fulfill this desire? Who would be daring, no… crazy enough to go after the Radio Demon? This is the dilemma Alastor was facing as he looked out the window opposite his armchair.

The residents of the hotel were a no-go. Charlie was too soft. Vaggie either wouldn't be willing or would never let him live it down. He didn’t trust Angel Dust not to turn it into a sexual thing. He didn’t want to let Husk or Pentious hold that power over him. In all honesty, he was afraid of what Niffty might do given the opportunity. So, who was left? It would have to be someone ruthless, who would jump at the opportunity to wreck him, but wouldn’t have any intentions of harming him during the fact.

Suddenly, Alastor had a realization. He knew just the demon.

Alastor heard a tapping at his window.

Of course he would scale the walls of the hotel to reach my room instead of going through the front like a normal person, Alastor thought to himself.

Alastor stood, his microphone disappearing in a swirl of black and shock of green electricity. He had to make this look convincing.

He made his way to the window, unlocking it and shifting it up and open. A slightly winded Vox quickly lunged through, Alastor taking a step to the side to avoid his path.

“Why hello there!” Alastor said, his trademark grin ever present on his face.

“Alastor,” Vox said sternly as he rose to his feet, gaining his composure. “I have come to once again propose my offer for you to join my team.”

“And in such a dignified manner! I’m sure most business proposals begin with scaling the wall of a building and entering through the window.” Alastor remarked.

Vox grumbled. “I didn't want anyone to see me coming here, and I assumed the inclusion of your room number on your… delivery… wasn’t intentional, so I had to make sure that there was no forewarning.”

Alastor’s grin grew. He had sent Vox a package containing a spring-loaded mechanism filled with glitter. A card was attached reading “Add some sparkle to your life!” Alastor had purposefully included his room number in small lettering on the sender address, knowing full well that Vox wouldn’t be able to resist a chance to confront him alone.

“Well, all of that changes nothing. I refused your offer before and I am refusing it once again. I never want to associate myself with such frivolous technology, chasing power and fame with no real passion or talent behind it.”

This angered Vox, sparks beginning to fly from his head. In an instant, he lunged once again towards Alastor who, instead of dodging, caught Vox’s hands in his own. Alastor matched Vox’s force, the two of them locked in place, pushing against one another.

“I’m gonna wipe that grin off your face! You think you’re so~ much better than me? Ha! You don’t understand what I’m capable of!” Vox shouted.

Alastor took this as his opportunity. He purposefully shifted his foot to the side, causing him to lose his balance and fall backwards onto his carpet with a thud.

Vox wasted no time and quickly planted himself on Alastor’s waist, effectively pinning the demon down.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s at who’s mercy now.” Vox said menacingly with a smirk.

Alastor’s heart rate began to rise. Everything was falling into place. Now, Vox just had to tickle him instead of trying to harm him, but how could Alastor ensure that? Had he made a mistake in choosing his rival to help him with this predicament? Did Vox even know that he was-

Alastor’s thoughts were cut short by Vox lightly trailing the nail on his index finger across his neck. It was obviously meant to be an intimidating gesture, but the anticipation Alastor was feeling, mixed with the unexpected soft dragging of the claw, managed to choke a giggle out of him.

Vox blinked. Was Alastor really enough of a maniac to find Vox pretending to scratch his neck funny? No. It was something else. Vox’s mind went back to a few days prior, when he had been dancing with Valentino. His claw had accidentally grazed the base of Valentino’s wing, eliciting a chuckle from him. When Vox inquired, Val had stated that his claws would be a force to be reckoned with in a tickle fight. Vox’s eyes gained a mischievous glint, which Alastor was quick to pick up on.

“Vox, let's be civil about this...” Alastor said, his grin now strained.

“Oh, I think the time for that has passed, Alastor. You’re gonna regret denying my generous offer.”

And with that, Vox latched his claws onto Alastor’s ribs, skittering them up and down with no real rhythm or coherency. The sudden switch to a more sensitive spot, coupled with the unpredictable motion of Vox’s fingers easily drew laughter from the Radio Demon, who very soon realized that he had underestimated the power of his blue-tipped claws.

“Vohohohox! Nohohoho!” Alastor laughed, gripping Vox’s wrists but not pushing them away. Vox was enjoying himself too much to notice.

“Wow, who would’ve guessed? The Big Bad Radio Demon can be reduced to a helpless little deer with a few tickles!” Vox noticed the amount of radio static coming from Alastor increasing after his tease. Clearly it had an effect.

“They say that video killed the radio star. I wonder if he was tickled to death. Could’ve been if he was this sensitive.”

“Rahahadio’s nohohot dehehead!” Alastor managed to choke out through his laughter.

“Yeah? Well, it might be after this…” Vox said before he moved his hands down to Alastor’s sides. He switched to dragging his claws up and down, tracing the occasional pentagram. The effect was immediate.

“NAHA -crack- HAHAH -pop- AHA!” The sounds of static coming from Alastor seemed to fill the room, as his laughter got much more intense. Vox couldn’t help but laugh along as well.

“Oho my gohosh, this is pricelehehesss! Alastor, how could you have hidden this from me? I wonder how long it takes for you to break…” Vox remarked, taking on a more sinister tone with his last sentence.

Alastor attempted to provide a witty retort, but found that the sensations were too intense for him to be able to get a word out, let alone put a response together. All hope was lost, however, when he felt something further lighting up his nerves. Vox had begun shooting out small volts of electricity from his fingertips. Not enough to hurt Alastor, but enough to somehow make the sensations even worse.

“Maybe this will do it.” Vox said smugly, smirking.

Alastor was no longer able to think clearly, and simply gave into the sensations at his sides, uncontrollable laughter flowing freely from the demon.

Vox continued for a few minutes, until the static from Alastor began to include screeching sounds. Worried that he might blow a fuse or something, Vox cut the electricity and slowed his hands to a stop, keeping them rested on Alastor’s sides. Alastor’s static quieted down to a low hum, and his laughter died down to residual giggles.

Vox had one more thing he wanted to try. If he hadn’t sealed his double-death from this encounter so far, he was definitely about to. As Alastor was regaining his breath, Vox reached his hands up to his ears and gave them a light scratch. Alastor’s breath hitched and his giggles intensified, but this time he didn’t reach for Vox’s wrists. Vox continued to scratch and swore that it almost felt as if Alastor was leaning into the touch.

Vox eventually stopped and pulled his hands away, remaining on top of Alastor.

Alastor was able to formulate thoughts again. He was overwhelmed with an uncommon emotion for the demon: joy. While he would never admit it to Vox, he just had the most fun that he's experienced in years. These positive thoughts filled Alastor’s head as he laid there, content with himself.

That is, until Vox spoke up.

“Mahan, nobody’s gonna believe this! I need to get a pic.”

Alastor’s eyes widened. He could be wrecked by his rival so long as he was the one who had orchestrated things, but his pride would not allow for him to be photographed, the moment then being shown to others.

As Vox reached for his phone, Alastor dissipated into the shadows, leaving Vox alone in his room.

Vox sat there for a moment, stunned.

… he could have done that this entire time?

Vox wasn’t sure if he should be amazed or terrified, but one thing was for certain.

He had learnt something new about the Radio Demon.

#hazbin hotel tickle #lee!alastor #ler!vox

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multific · 1 year

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Push and Pull

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: A couple of months ago you were arranged to marry Aemond Targaryen. The Princess of the East they called you, somehow you fell in love at first sight with Aemond. But now, your insecurities come forward regarding the woman from his past.

Aemond was beyond confused.

Just that morning, you told him how you never wished to be his wife.

And now, there you stood, crying your heart out as you kept going on about Alys.

Aemond would be a liar if he said he didn't love Alys, he sure did. His relationship with her however had to end when his mother announced his marriage to the Princess of the East.

Aemond broke off his interest with Alys the moment he was told he would marry someone.

He didn't wish to bring suffering to a woman. While he did love Alys, he knew his duty as a prince.

Then you arrived.

And what a lovely Princess you were. Much like him, you were reserved and he often found you with your nose in a book.

Your beauty took his breath away.

You were much like him, yet so different.

Aemond learned that you were the fourth child in your family, meaning no one really took care of you.

All your siblings were boys.

But nothing broke Aemond's heart more than seeing you cry so much.

"I know you wouldn't even look my way if it wasn't for our marriage. I know I will be never her." you whispered the last part.

It made Aemond move.

He was now standing in front of you, he grabbed your hand as your other hand grabbed his wrist, afraid he would hurt you.

"I do not want you to be her. I want you to be you. Princess of the East. My Wife. As you are. I do not want you to suffer."

But it was clear, you didn't believe him.

And he was not blaming you for it.

Everyone often reminded you just how beautiful Alys is, how much Aemond loves her.

"I will not lie to you, I do have feelings for her, but I also have feelings for you. You are my wife, the woman I will live with for the rest of my life. I wish to have a great relationship with you. So we could try and be happy."

Aemond let go of your hand but you didn't let go of his. Holding his wrist, he felt you pulling him closer.

Your other hand came up to his shoulder and started to push him away.

Pulling him and pushing him at the same time.

It was confusing.

He was confused.

You could see it in his eyes.

"I want nothing more than for us to be happy. But I refuse to live in the shadows of another woman. Refuse to be a second choice because I know you would go running back to her the moment you would be allowed to. Your duty keeps you here, your mother keeps you here. If I cannot be the only one you love, I don't wish false promises of happiness from you." Aemond looked straight into your eyes, his free hand moved to remove his eyepatch.

He honestly thought you might get scared or disgusted but no, you didn't even blink as you looked into his eye and the sapphire which replaced his lost eye.

"I want to have you as you are. You are my wife. You are my only love. I do not wish to have anyone else. She is the past, you are the present and future." he tried to take a step but your hand on his chest pushed him, while your other on his wrist pulled him.

It was clear to him, you were conflicted.

You wanted to be held by him but you were also scared of empty promises.

He understood, bringing your hand to his lips he kissed the back of it.

"I swear on my dragon's and my own life. I am not lying when I say these words to you, Y/N." suddenly your hand on his shoulder stopped pushing. Instead, you grabbed his shirt and pulled him close with both of your hands, arms moving around him, Aemond hugged you back.

You really hoped you didn't make a mistake by trusting him.

You really hoped he was not lying.

You weren't sure what you would do if you found out that he did.

But somehow, as his breath tickled your neck and he pulled you close, smelling your hair, you had a feeling he really wasn't lying.

He will have you as you are, his perfect wife. And you will have him as he is, a great husband who promised you the sky and the stars as he pulled you in for a kiss.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

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obessedwithfictionalmen · 3 months

Text

Co-Stars pt.3

Callum Turner X Actress! Reader

Summary: The moment Callum and Y/n got together, and the interviews that followed...

Warning: Kissing/ allusion to sex/ use of Y/n/

Word count: 1.1k

Before they admitted their feelings, they flirted a lot. Especially on set, but today, they were filming a sad scene. It was Bucky finding Y/n character letters letter after she got captured. She didn’t tell anyone except the makeup artist, but she wrote real love letters, only changing the name. She confessed her feeling for Callum and decided to make him read these love letters as his character. But the letter that Bucky was reading was already recorded by Y/n. Tom Hanks asked her to write a love letter so he could react to one. But today, Callum was getting make up on, by the only person on set that knew… ‘’Callum, you should know that the love letter that your about to read, Y/n wrote it for you, confessing her real feelings for you’’ she whispered. The makeup artist wanted to help the two of them getting together, so that’s why she broke her silence vow. ‘’How do you know that?’’ he asked. ‘’She told me’’ she winked. Callum didn’t know how to act, but he sure was going to read every line of this letter.

‘’Action!’’ the director yelled. Callum came in the room, showing the emotion that needed to be shown. He grabbed the letter and opened it. He was nervous to read it, but he had to act.

Dear Bucky,

When we met, I couldn’t have predicted the place that you were going to have in my heart. You’ve been there for me since the beginning. I am truly thankful for you. You’re my best friend, my partner, my other half. I never told you how much I love you, more than a friend. I don’t really believe in the soulmate stuff, but you and I, I think we’re soulmate in every universe. I love you so much, it pains me to just be your friend. The sleepless night I’ve spent, thinking about you and I. You have the special ability to make me feel like the most important person on earth when I’m with you. My body aches when you’re not in a room with me, my heart hopes that you feel the same way. Because I’ve suffered enough, I want to be with you. I want you to be my tomorrow. I want to wake up next to you, and smile because my dreams are finally reality. When we’re in the same room, I feel like a 12-year-old again, waiting for my crush to look at me. You belong with me Callum Bucky. I loved you yesterday, I love you today, and I will love you tomorrow.

Forever yours

Rose

He couldn’t believe what he just read. When the director said cut, he stayed seated, that letter was filled with true emotions. He had to find her, to tell her that he was feeling the same way. He got up and walked towards her trailer. Y/n heard a knock at her door, when it opened, it was Callum, with her letter in his hand. She looked at the piece of paper, then her gaze went to his eyes. ‘’Callum I, uh, someone told you? Right?’’ she whispered. He nodded. ‘’Listen I – ‘’ Callum cut her off by walking up to her. Their face was so close, Y/n tried to hold eye contact, but she was panicking. She took deep breaths, waiting for him to say anything. ‘’Y/n, you have no idea how long I’ve waited for you. I was afraid to ruin our friendship. I love you too, I love you so much’’ he said, smiling. Y/n blushed and put her hand of Callum’s cheek, caressing his skin with her thumb. ‘’Please, can I kiss you?’’ she asked. Callum nodded and they pressed their lips together. It was gentle, but filled with passion, a tear of joy rolled down Y/n cheek. She was finally with the men of her dreams. ‘’I wanna be yours, Callum’’ she whispered. ‘’You’re already mine, Y/n, and I’m yours’’ Callum replied, between kisses.

‘’It’s time to address the rumors about you two!’’ Jimmy Fallon said, taking out pictures. The first pictures were one of Y/n and Callum passionately kissing/ making out against a telephone pole. The crowd screamed, and the couple wasn’t official yet, so it was awkward. ‘’You two are clearly kissing.’’ Jimmy said, laughing. ‘’Uh, we wanted to give the paparazzi something. I mean, they followed us all night, so we wanted to give them good content’’ Y/n blurted out. It was the first thing that came to her mind. ‘’Okay, I’m not convinced, what about this one?’’ he said, switching this picture. It was Callum carrying Y/n that was in a koala position on him. ‘’She twisted her ankle, and I offered to carry her’’ Callum said. They both looked at each other, blushing and trying their best not to giggle because they knew what happened after these photos. They went back home and had sex. ‘’But your hand is on her butt’’ Jimmy argued. Callum giggled and Y/n, too. ‘’You don’t but your hand on your friend’s butt?’’ Y/n laughed. ‘’I, no I-I-I don’t’’ Jimmy stuttered. Even if the internet wasn’t convinced, at least they tried to avoid more damage.

They with Drew Barrymore, after the date thing, they tried to act normal. ‘’What’s your favorite Rom-Com?’’ Drew asked. ‘’The Weeding Singer’’ Callum said. ‘’10 things I hate about you’’ Y/n replied. ‘’Wait, you love The Wedding Singer’’ Drew said, with tears in her eyes. ‘’Yes, the gestures are amazing and yeah, it’s really great’’ Callum says. ‘’Yes, chasing her on the plane. Y/n what’s your favorite love gesture a man as ever done to you’’ she asked. She thought about it. ‘’Uh, I think it was when I was 17, I was feeling really sad, and this guy drove 2 hours to come and give me a hug. Or when I was 24, I really wanted a ring, it was so pretty, not as an engagement ring, just to have jewelry, and the guy bought me the ring. I still wear it today.’’ She was talking about Callum. She showed the ring to Austin and Callum, to not be suspicious and when Drew saw it, she gasped. ‘’That’s so sweet! If a man gives me a ring one day, I think I’ll cry’’ she said. ‘’I did cry’’ Y/n laughed. Callum remembered that day like it was yesterday. She drunkenly said to him that she wanted to have a ring to fidget with, when the passed in front of a jewelry store, she pointed at a ring. The next day, he went to buy the ring and gave it to her when he got home. Saying it was a promise ring of friendship. Y/n bawled her eyes out and fell more in love with Callum that day.

#callum turner x reader #callum turner imagine #callum turner #actress!reader #co star

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xxblairexxss · 11 months

Text

Flushed

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader

Theme : Angst / fluff

Requested!

Your attempt to move on from your ex, Charles went terribly wrong.

Based on Google, the symptoms they mentioned were dizziness, abdominal pain, visual problem, trembling and reduced sense of control so I wrote based on it. I’m sorry if it wasn’t accurate! Thank you for the request, anon! I hope it lives up to your expectation!

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“Excuse me?!”

You jolted awake when your friend came bursting into the room with a bunch of chocolates and chips in her arms. Your hair was looking all disheveled, your eyes were red and puffy.

“What?” You brought the tissue paper to your face to blow on your nose before laying back down, tugging on the quilt to cover back your entire body.

“Y/N! It’s been months! You can’t seriously still crying over this. I mean, I get it, break up is sad but is this all what you gonna be doing?”

“I miss him!” Your voice became a muffle under the quilt and you heard Y/F/N groaned as she pulled the quilt away.

“Then call him. Tell him you miss him.”

“Should I?” You looked at her in surprise. She had always been telling you to move on, to just find someone else so you were expecting her to say the same thing over again. “No, I can’t do that. See, he doesn’t miss me as much as I do. I’m the one suffering here!”

“How do you know the break up doesn’t effect him?” She took a seat in front of you and went through all the chips she had bought with her. Her brows raised in excitement as she picked a salt & vinegar flavoured chips, offering you one when she opened it, to which you took and crunch on it.

“Because he doesn’t look like it? Have you seen his Instagram?” You scooted closer and dipped your hand into the chips packet to get another one.

“He’s a freaking Formula 1 driver. Have you ever seen Lewis Hamilton post a crying picture of him when he go through a break up?” She rolled her eyes, looking very much done with you. “What about the guy you were talking to last week?”

“Oh, I stop replying to him. Got an ick. But! I met this other guy.” You took your phone to click on the picture of the guy you were talking about and showed it to Y/F/N. “What do you think?”

“Let me see.” She took your phone away and stared, more like analysing the picture. “Sketchy. I would say no.”

“Why! He’s cute though.” You took the phone back and scrolled to a different picture. “See?”

“Oh, so now you are all interested with other guys just when I asked you to call your ex? I swear you be doing the exact opposite of what I told you.”

“It’s not like it was serious or anything. I still miss him. None of the guys I talked with could make me feel the same way like he did.” You turned off your phone and laid down by Y/F/N’s side, eyes trailing the details of your room for the hundredth times.

“Why don’t you try and go out with him?” She scowled at you jokingly when you turned to look at her. “Not Charles, idiot. That guy. Who knows a proper date could make you stop thinking about the Ferrari guy. One step at a time?”

“Do you think so?” You sat up and gazed at her in hesitation.

“I would prefer to see my best friend all dress up and going out on a date so I could hear some tea instead of hearing you wail over the same guy for another month.”

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“Too much?”

The date didn’t happen until another week after your conversation with Y/F/N as you weren’t exchanging texts everyday with the guy, Alan, and he didn’t mention anything about a date until the weekend arrived. You were actually contemplating to say yes because you had a hunch of something but you weren’t sure what it was and decided to dismissed it as ‘a feeling everyone gets when they try to move on from their exes’.

“Too much? Are you really asking me that? You look absolutely phenomenal!” Y/F/N walked to the dressing table and picked a few shades of lipsticks. “Try this one. It’s gonna pop your look even more.”

“I feel like I’m betraying Charles for this.” You closed the cap of the lipstick once you put it on and fixed the smudge on your eyeliner with your picky finger.

“Stop talking about Charles! You are on to a new adventure and a new dic–“

“Okay, I’m off!” You immediately stood up after applying perfume on your insides wrists and neck, walked back to the bad to get your handbag along with you.

“I just finished the longest shift in the world! Don’t wake me up and keep the tea hot until I wake up tomorrow, okay? Enjoy your date and go crush that dic–“

“Stop it!” You yelled back and slammed the door.

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“You look beautiful.”

“Hi!” You stopped when you were by the side of the table that he had sat. He looked exactly like how you pictured him. Fancy and well formed would be the words to describe him. He had told you beforehand that he would arrive a little early to the restaurant, asking you if you would mind about it to which you said no because it didn’t feel right to make him wait for you.

He greeted you with a hug and you were slightly taken aback when he ran his fingers through your hair, sniffing it as he pulled away. “You smell nice.”

“Oh, thank you.” You smiled back and took a seat as he pulled your chair out.

“I was actually going to wait but the waiter recommended a drink so I ordered it for you. I hope you don’t mind?”

“No, not at all. Thank you.” You placed your small bag on your lap and took a sip from the drink. It looked like a pinã colada so you were expecting a sweet taste on your tongue but this one had a weird smell and tasted salty. “Wow, it’s really strong!” You cringed as the drink hit your throat, thinking it could be a twist drink menu from the restaurant.

“Is it? Should I order a different one? Excuse–“

“No, no. It’s totally fine.” You waved your hand and he retreated his hand from calling the waiter.

“So, what’s up? Wait,” He shook his head and laughed in disbelief. “That was really bad. You are so beautiful it made me speechless for a while.”

He carried the whole conversations and you knew he would. He was also the one who had been picking new topics for you to talk about through texts. He looked exactly like his pictures, yes, but the way he approached certain topics were somewhat interesting, you would say. You saw the way he talked about women and though it was very subtle, he sounded haughty but you weren’t gonna jump into conclusion as maybe, just maybe, he had a bad day today so some of his emotions were conveyed through his way of thinking.

But it was hard for you to deny the discomfited feelings when he kept on touching your hand whenever you put it on the table and you had to continuously taking a sip from your drink just so it gave you a reason to pull your hand away.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah? I’m– I’m sorry I got distracted. What were you saying?” You shut your eyes as you felt yourself spacing out.

“I was asking if you ever had a pet.”

“Yeah? Yeah! I used to have a dog but he passed away like, last year. I’m sorry but I think– I am not sure– but–” You placed your fingers on your temple area and applied a pressure on it. You realised that you started feeling the room spinning around when you focused on him but everything around him swayed, making you nauseous. Everything he said went from clear words to a mumble to nothing at all. Your ears were ringing so bad they were no longer registering anything he said and you only see the way his mouth moves over and over, as if you had put it on mute.

“Is there anything wrong?”

“Yeah, I don’t– I don’t feel really good.” You winced from the pain on your head and took his hand as he stretched out his arm.

“Do you want me to bring you home?” He stood up and for a split second, you saw a smirk. You realised you had been spacing out, disoriented every second now. You didn’t know why, but you knew something was wrong. It couldn’t be from your food as you never had any food allergy. You felt completely fine before you left the house, exhilarated, even. But the little smirk that he had divulged as he offered you a hand sealed everything together.

You quickly retracted your hand and struggled to push the chair back, feeling suffocated as if it was trapping you. “I– I need to go to the bathroom. Excuse me.” You took your bag with you and tumbled when you tried to walk past him.

“Are you sure? Do you want me to walk you there and wait for you?” He held your waist, even pulled you closer as you felt his breath on your neck.

“No, it’s– it’s okay. I’ll be back. I– yeah.” You pushed him away and saw he trailed his eyes from your neck down to your chest, making you grapple to breath. Stepping aside, you held the wall as you took a few steps, leaning against it as you shut your eyes, trying to shake off the dizziness.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

“Yeah– yeah, I’m fine.” You gave a little smile and continued walking to the bathroom, nearly toppled over a couple of times. You could feel the eyes on you from the workers and customers and there it was, again, the smirk from Alan as he looked at you from the table, hands in his pocket, looking full of pride.

The bathroom was empty, which was a relief and you scurried inside one of the stall and clumsily tried to lock the door, your hands shaking as it felt as if someone was chasing after you. You were now on the floor, your legs gave away as soon as your felt, not safe, but shielded from whatever it was outside.

You tried to unlock your phone but your blurry eyesight and trembling hands made it hard which caused your phone to lock itself from the repeated wrong passcode inputs. “No, no, no, no. Please.” You pressed everything that appeared on the screen and it was finally ringing to which you quickly placed it to your ear. “Please pick up. Please, please.”

The ringing stopped and you were greeted with a soft breathing sound from the other hand. You took in a shaky breath and wiped your tears with the back of your hand. “H–hello?”

“Y/N?” It was Charles.

“I– I don’t know– I don’t–“ Your words were stuck in your throat and you couldn’t stop sobbing so everything became a mess. None of your words were spoken, every sob you took made you feel more and more breathless.

“Y/N? Hey, hey, hey. Slow down. Where are you?”

“I’m at La Table and– I think– something in my drink– my head hurts.” You mumbled and pulled your phone away where you heard footsteps coming.

“Y/N, hey, Y/N, listen. I’m coming to you, alright. Stay on the phone with me. Can you do that?” You nodded but he was expecting to her your voice. “I need words, Y/N. Say something.”

“Yes…”

“I’m heading to my car. Can you tell me where you are?”

“I’m in the bathroom. Can you please–” You flinched when you heard a knock coming from outside your stall.

“Baby? It’s me.” It was Alan. Then came a woman’s voice after his. “Ma’am, we thought you weren’t feeling well so we brought your boyfriend.” The knocking sound came again.

You were trembling so hard that the phone nearly slipped off your hand. You pushed on your leg to scoot as far as you can from the door. The bathroom was big, bigger than usual but it still made you feel like as if there wasn’t enough room for you.

“Charles– I’m– I’m scared.” You whispered, and flinched when they knocked on your stall again. “They– he is outside.”

“I’m 5 minutes away, Y/N. I promise. Fuck!” He slammed his hand on the steering wheel when the traffic light turned red before he could pass.

You turned you head to the door when you heard the clicking sound as the door came unlocking, the handle being pushed down from the outside. “Ma’am, we are unlocking the door for you.” The worker had an extra keys and they had permission from Alan, which they assumed was your boyfriend and guardian to unlock the door and you scurried deeper against the wall. Your phone had now fallen on the floor and long forgotten.

“Baby,” Alan crouched down on his knees and brushed the strands of your hair away, one finger trailing down to your neck and you shook your head in urgency, shutting your eyes and you trembled in fear.

“No, no. I– please, no.”

“What do you mean? I’m your boyfriend. I’m taking you home.” He pulled you by you wrist so your hand were no longer covering your face but you kept your eyes shut, too scared to look at him in the face.

“Look at me, baby.” He gripped on your chin roughly, jerking you which made you opened your eyes in fear. You saw he was looking back, checking if the worker was still there before bringing his face to your ear. “Behave, or I’m gonna make it worse for you.” You felt his tongue under your ear and it caused you to shiver with feart.

“I– go home– I wanna go home.” You saw he pulled a face, nodding as if he was mocking you.

“I can’t wait to go home too, baby.” He bobbed your head, his grip on your face still stayed.

“Move.”

“What?” You heard he said and as you shut your eyes, refusing to look at him in the eyes any longer. You were no longer felt any force on your cheeks but you could still feel his presence near you, in front of you.

“I said move, bastard!” Charles pulled his back by clenching roughly on the back of his collar, pulling his out of the stall, away from you.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!”

He ignored the man and immediately went in front of you. You had your face hidden against your knees. “Y/N,” He timidly tried to hold your trembling body, hands went to grip on your shoulders. His touch was different though you weren’t aware of your surrounding. The significant difference between the touches made stop quivering a little. “Y/N, princess, it’s me.”

“Please– please don’t leave me.” You unable to form any words, slowly lifting your head to seek comfort from whoever in front of you when you found yourself in someone’s embrace as Charles pulled you into a hug, the familiar comfort inundated your heart when his arms tightly wrapped around your shaky frame.

“I’m not, I’m not. I’m right here, Y/N. I won’t leave you.” You didn’t see it but when he stroked his hand on your back, it was shaky. It felt like he had been holding his breath ever since he received your call and now only could he finally filled his lung with air. He didn’t know and hadn’t properly check if you were hurt but you were in his arms, no longer a phone call away where he could only imagine the worst.

“I am so sleepy– I can’t– everything hurts.”

His hand went to stroke your hair as he shushed you, realising that you still couldn’t speak properly. “It’s okay, princess. It’s okay.“

“Who the fuck are you? Let me handle her.”

“Lay your hand on her and I’ll fucking break it. ” Charles pushed the guy away, sending him tumbling back. “Can you stand up? Y/N, hey, look at me. I need you to stand up. Can you do that for me?”

Charles patted you on your cheeks when he saw you were spacing out, your eyes getting droopy. “Fuck it.” He went from crouching to kneeling down as he wrapped his arms around your back and your knees, standing up and your head was leaning against his neck.

“Head hurts. My– stomach.” Your words became a mumble against his skin as you were falling asleep and he leaned his cheek against your forehead, trying to reassure you.

“I know, Y/N. I know.” He took your phone and bag, hanging it on his arm before trying to walk out from the bathroom.

“Y/N–“

“Go fuck yourself.” Charles pushed the guy by his elbow, causing him to crash against the sink. “I’m not done with you yet.”

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When you woke up, you were in an oversized shirt, Charles’s shirt. Your skin didn’t feel moist from all those skincare and makeup products and you had a gel-cooling pad on your forehead. Your head was still throbbing but it was better than what you felt last night.

“Y/N?” Your turned your body to the back, facing the door of the bedroom and saw Charles walked in. “No, no. Just lay down.” He straighten his arms to halt you from sitting up and he crouched down by your side of the bed so he could meet your eyes. He the. caressed the side of your face, letting his hand so stay cupping on your cheek as he gently stroked the temple of your head. “You scared me a lot. Does your head still hurt?” The warmth of his hand, the comfort of his gaze, the reassuring smile could pull you back to sleep. Long gone all the insecurity and perilous feelings from yesterday. You felt sheltered and secured just from his touch. The touch that you had been yearning.

“No, not anymore.” You smiled at him back taking his hand in yours and brushed your lips on the palm. “What’s wrong with your hand?” You frowned and trailed the cuts on his knuckles, stopping when you see him grimaced.

“I got into a fight. It’s nothing, princess.” You haven’t heard the nickname for the longest time ever but it still gave you butterfly.

“A fight? With who?”

“No one. It’s not important.”

“Can you lay down with me?” You saw he blinked, looking at you as if he was asking you to repeat the words.

“Is it– is it okay? I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Please?” Charles gqve in when he saw your look, almost pleading and stood up to get on the bed. You scooted closer, your head finding its way to its home, against his chest as you felt his fingers playing with your hair.

“Why did you do it?” Charles asked, breaking the silence in the room.

“Do what?”

“The date. Why did you go on a date?”

“I–“ You drew in a breath. “I was trying to move on from you.”

“Why?” His hand is now on your back and you felt your shirt tugged a little as if he was trying to snake his hand under it but held himself and went back to stroke your back, hand against your shirt.

“Because I miss you.” You fixed your head on his chest, your legs are all tangled up with his.

He didn’t say anything else and you felt like you were chagrined, feeling rejected, even slightly ashamed for being too blunt with your feelings. You knew you shouldn’t have said that. He probably had been talking to someone else by now.

“I miss you too.”

“Hm?” You tilted your head when you heard his voice cut all the thoughts in your head.

“I actually miss you a lot, princess.” He looked down and beamed when he met your eyes on him.

“But you don’t look like it.” You muttered, making him chuckle.

“What do you mean?”

“Your Instagram, it doesn’t look our break up effect you.” He chuckled even more and leaned his head against your hair. Your voice was so full of diffidence he found it adorable.

“My Instagram doesn’t speak for my feelings, silly. I miss you, a lot. I always wanted to call you but I couldn’t, scared if you would find it annoying. When I got a call from you last night, I thought you were gonna said something, anything about us but I heard you whimpered and my blood ran cold. God knows how many speeding and disobey sign traffic tickets I have gotten by now.”

You giggled and turned yourself facing him, your hands fondled with his chin, feeling the stubble poked against your skin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even know I was calling you. I didn’t want to call you, actually because I wasn’t sure if you would come because, you know, we broke up.”

“We broke up but you are still important to me, Y/N. You always will. I would even take the damn flight if you called me from a different country. Just– don’t call me when you are on a date. No, no more date for you.”

“Why? How am I able to move on if I can’t go on a date, Charles. I can’t keep on crying over you.” You shook your head, looking dejected. You needed to move on. That was what Y/F/N had been telling you. You couldn’t keep on hoping for something that you, yourself didn’t even know if it was worth the wait.

“You don’t have to move on. I’ll be taking you out on your next date. And your next next date. And your upcoming date. All of your dates, basically.”

You sat up almost instantly, hand was still on his chest and you blinked. “What? What do you mean? Are you doing this just because you felt bad for what happened to me last night because if that was the reason, then it’s totally fine. I–“

You felt his lips on yours. It was the kind of kiss that was enough to speak for all of the unspoken words to which he didn’t even have to say anything else. The kind of kiss that erased all your insecurities, all unanswered questions you had been keeping in your head. He pulled away and leaned his forehead against yours. “It means I still love you, princess.” His lips is back on yours as he pulled away, again. “A lot.” Lips were back to mould against yours. “And I don’t want to see you go out on a date with someone else. No more silly date, okay?”

✧.* tags! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @aundercover @love4lando

let me know if you would like to be removed or added to my tag list! or if I missed anyone!

Wanted to also point these out. The other symptoms mentioned were difficulty to speak and slurring words, hence why none of the words she said made any sense. Feeling confused, where the reader asked Alan to bring her home and memory loss, where she didn’t ask about what happened last night since she couldn’t remember large sections of it. Hope it makes sense! 🫶🏻

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 imagines #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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anxiousnerdwritings · 1 year

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If Daemon’s bby ever died on the battlefield so young: how would her loved ones react? And would anyone (the dragon literally symbolizes their house ofc) fight over her humongous three-headed dragon? Just imagine if it just casually flew away after the funeral without giving anyone a opportunity to claim them.

Daemon would absolutely lose it if his beloved child died in any way. There would be a sense of pride and respect for his bby dying in battle and fighting till the very end, but you can bet he will absolutely destroy whoever had a part in his child’s demise. And he will burn them all to the fucking ground. He wouldn’t rest until the entire lineage of the people involved in his child’s death were wiped out.

Rhaenyra would be in such a severe state of mourning for her most treasured friend/cousin. She would want to fight alongside Daemon and bring down the people who stole their beloved one from them. Rhaenyra’s hurt and anger would be more than enough to fuel her till the end to see the downfall of everyone involved in her cousin’s death. And she would make damn sure she got her vengeance for her late loved one. No one would go unpunished for taking away her bestest and dearest friend.

Given that I imagine this happening before the Dance of Dragons takes place, I can’t help but imagine Viserys’ reaction and how he would be towards Daemon. I feel like this would be something that would very well bring the two brothers together. Viserys can understand the state his brother would be in and he can’t possibly imagine going through it himself. He wouldn’t know what he would do if anything happened to Rhaenyra but he knows damn well he would go to war over it too. He wouldn’t hold anything against Daemon for what he does afterward, he can’t bring himself to knowing he would do something of the same level himself if his child faced the same fate. Viserys would ensure that the Reader got the most deserving funeral of any Targaryen there ever was.

Don’t even get me started on Rhea’s reaction. She would 1000% blame Daemon. Whether she blames his blood running through their child’s veins or his teaching them to never run from a fight. She puts it on him but she blames herself just as much for not keeping her child by her side. There really wasn’t much she could do but that doesn’t stop her from ripping herself apart. I don’t doubt that Daemon blames himself too but Rhea really throws it in his face, especially if this happened in a battle that Daemon and their child were fighting on the frontlines together. Her loss and grief would be too much for her, Rhea wouldn’t know what to do with herself once her child is gone. She would demand their child have a funeral fit for a Royce while Daemon fights tooth and nail that his child deserves nothing less than a true Targaryen send off. The death of their beloved child would only drift the two further apart and bring nothing but more hostility and hatred towards each other.

When it comes to the Reader’s dragon, I can’t help but think of two things. The dragon either pulls a similar stunt to Drogon and takes its’ treasured rider away to somewhere for just the two of them to be, or it sticks around until after the funeral and goes off on its own to live the rest of its days in mourning in solitude and forever being without its beloved companion again. No matter who had the gall to even try and claim the Reader’s dragon for themself the dragon would have absolutely none of it. I could see it taking on a similar disposition to Cannibal after its rider dies. It becomes extremely hostile towards anyone or anything that comes near it, all three of it’s heads retaliating and going after anyone and anything. Hell, I can even see the poor dragon going after itself and the three heads turning on one another in a form of self destruction. Just overall the Reader’s dragon acting out in its own way of suffering and being grief stricken by its detrimental loss.

Honestly, I really can’t see the Reader’s dragon allowing the Reader’s funeral to take place. I could see the dragon seeing this as the Reader’s family and everyone else in attendance further harming the Reader more, especially in the sense of the other dragons being the ones to set alight the Reader’s funeral pyre for their send off. The Reader’s dragon taking this as more of a threat to the Reader than what it’s actually supposed to be and a chaotic dragon fight ensuing with the Reader’s dragon trying to take its’ rider’s body back with it where it can be forever safe and protected.

#anxious answers #yandere daemon targaryen #yandere rhea royce #yandere rhaenyra targaryen #yandere viserys targaryen #yandere house of the dragon #yandere game of thrones #yandere house of the dragon concept #yandere game of thrones concept #yandere concept

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the-californicationist · 5 months

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Excerpt from Gunslinger - "Appaloosa"

OMG!! I commissioned this artwork from the incredible @captain-natey who RETURNED TO ME WITH THIS MASTERPIECE!!!! I just wanted to plug their work (their commissions are OPEN! visit their website here!!) and I wanted to post the chapter excerpt from "Gunslinger" (Price/Reader) that it belongs to. Hope you enjoy! Please go show Nate some love! Thanks for reading. TW: reference to past domestic abuse, Reader has call sign and speaks Spanish

Price sat beside you and pulled your chair closer to his, looping an arm around the back of it,

“Look, love, you don’t have to do anything you don’t -”

“Capitán! Quit whispering your sugary words into her ear. This is the woman who survived Miguel ‘El Matador’ Moreno for diez pinche años. She may look like a little lady, but she’s done nastier work than all four of you perritos combined. She is the reason why the infamous Jefe Luis Villagomez doesn’t travel north of the Rio Grande. Charon doesn’t ferry the living very often, amigos. She only takes the dead. Porfa,” Alejandro waved a hand in the air dismissively, unamused by Price’s coddling tones.

Ale may have been embellishing a bit, but he wasn’t wrong. You didn’t need your hand to be held.

“I can’t leave the animals,” you said, checking to see how far these men had thought this plan through.

“Laswell called Tony, and he’ll be here Wednesday,” Gaz told you.

Tony had watched the ranch for you once before. He was a sharp-witted veteran that had run his own ranch for decades, so you felt good about leaving the farm to him. Tony could take care of himself. He did tend to spoil the goats, but there were worse things.

“How long?” Your question hung in the air like a balloon losing its air, floating, surrounded by silence.

Vargas and Price shared a look. Price repositioned himself in his chair, not thrilled about having to answer you,

“Not sure, love. Is that alright?”

It was a test. What were you willing to sacrifice for this man and his makeshift band of brothers? Your peace? You’d fought so damn hard for that peace. You’d survived a devil of a man in order to sleep warm and safe and knowing you could take care of your damn business unaided. After giving up years of your life to unrest and fear, your reward had been the reconstruction of your independence. Price was asking you for your hard-fought freedom. You weren’t ready to give that up. You weren’t ready for sleeping on floors and reloading guns. You weren’t ready to face more devil-men.

But what else could you do? Price had you, threatening your heart. If you woke up tomorrow to his empty bed, you didn’t know if you could take that pain. You imagined that Kahlo’s Wounded Deer felt much the same; shot through the chest with nowhere to run, stuck between the cliff’s edge and your lover - your hunter - both promising suffering in different ways. No escape.

The captain studied you like a heeler dog studied its herd, watching for even the slightest movement to strike, to react. He witnessed the fear flash in your face, and in turn, you saw the despair shadow his. It was so slight, that change in his expression, but to you, it was like he was screaming. You, too, were screaming.

“Okay, but just for this mission. Then, I need to get back to my life,” you decided, making your limitations known, quietly but firmly.

The relief that washed through Price’s eyes was palpable.

Vargas served dinner in his chaotic way, family style, sharing plates. Everyone was eating with their hands, cradling the homemade tortillas like little flowers, using them to scoop up meat and sauce that dripped down their palms like nectar, spicy and sweet.

Ghost didn’t take his food into the other room this time, feeling secure enough to flip up the mouth of his painted mask to eat. It was like seeing him naked; he was always covered up, so any skin was somehow too much. Soap crowded Ghost from his corner of the table, trying to steal more asada, laughing and joking with Ale. Gaz and Price were huddled, murmuring about something, talking with full mouths in low tones.

It was almost too serene. There were times in life where you understood that you were in a moment you could never return to. You may have similar ones in your future, but somehow, you knew when certain wrinkles in time were singular. As you watched your guests, you knew that this was definitely one of those moments.

Price had his arm draped across your chair, keeping you near him. You crafted a bite for him in your hand, pinching the soft tortilla until it held the perfect amount of Ale’s asada.

You nudged Price with your free hand,

“Toma, come esto, papi.” Here, have a bite, daddy.

He turned away from Gaz and found you there, his bite of food in your hands, and his face lit up like a flame. Bending his head down to meet your hand, he grabbed your wrist in his huge fist, trapping your arm. Then, slowly, he put his mouth around the morsel, lips touching the pads of your fingers, tongue licking the sauce from them.

Vargas watched your interaction from the other side of the table, open-mouthed. Soap smacked him on the shoulder as if to cash in a bet.

“No, animales! Not at the table!”

The men shared a lighthearted groan and laughed good-naturedly, giving you and their captain a hard time about your little display of affection.

You smirked, feeling accomplished. Price had wanted to tell them, so you thought a dropped hint or two would be alright. To your relief, he laughed with them, chewing his food before making a comment,

“Sabe buena.” Tastes good. His voice, still badly accented, was mirthful and suggestive, dragging out another round of playful jeering.

Then, to your surprise, the captain pulled your chair back away from the table, leaning it on its rear legs, holding it at an angle, and kissed you deeply. You let out a little cry of shock, silenced by his mouth. But, you recovered, kissing him back, wrapping one hand around his jaw and the other running through his hair.

It was all in good fun. Normal. Just a couple flirting with each other, but for Price, you could tell it meant more. It was one thing to bare your souls to each other in front of the farm animals, or to sneak off and rediscover original sins in the quiet of your room, but it was something else to show the world that you chose him. To show his men that you were committed to their captain. That you weren’t just a rest-stop on their long journey. You got the sense that by committing to him, you were also committing to them: his family.

The rest of the meal passed in that same warmth, filled with laughter and jokes, stories and questions about each other. Intimacy. The whole time, Price couldn’t keep his hands off of you. Your thigh, your hand, the nape of your neck - he was grabbing you like a lifeline. He shared his food, making you try his chili relleno, giving you sips of his drink when yours ran dry, doting on you.

“Okay, time for dessert, yes?” You asked the others, picking up dirty dishes as you retreated back to the kitchen.

You heard exasperated groaning, their bellies full and struggling, but you didn’t hear a no. Vargas followed you into the kitchen, pretending to help,

“Dios mío, necesito un cigarrillo después de verlos a ustedes.” My God, I need a cigarette after watching you two.

“Cállate, cerdito.” Shut up, piglet. You smiled to yourself, cutting up what was left of the cheesecake, giving Price’s plate the largest piece.

“¿Estas enamorado, morena?” Are you in love, darling? His voice was a quiet whisper. It felt like a gunshot wound in your chest.

“I don’t know,” you said, in English, not trusting yourself to tell such a lie in your native tongue.

Your old friend covered his mouth with his hand, eyebrows heading skyward, giving you an obvious look. He replied in English, understanding the secret you’d been trying to conceal,

“You know better, Charon. We are not men who should be loved. I hope you know what you’re doing, mija. ”

You didn’t reply out loud, but on the inside, you heard yourself say, “Me, too.”

Even though they lived in the shadows, you weren’t sold on the idea that they should be priests for their causes. Men like Price typically followed two paths. The love of a woman, if she becomes his family, could break his heart, making him forget his purpose, distracting him from his quest for justice. Or, she would light a fire in him, turning him into a dragon. You were afraid to find out which path he would choose.

You wondered if he loved you.

You delivered the cake and poured more tequila into all the little cups that were thirsty for it.

John was rolling a cigar in his fingers absentmindedly, and you could tell he was aching to smoke it.

“You wanna come outside with me, love?” Price invited you, rubbing your thighs in big, sweeping strokes, making your blood rush through them, somehow knowing what you wanted.

Everyone else was chatting, or watching Gaz play that video game of his, backseat driving, telling him where to hide and who to shoot. Which gun to use. You slipped out onto the porch with Price, avoiding any more ribbing.

You stood against the porch railing, facing the yard, staring out at the darkness of the night, the rain finally dying out to a drizzle, casting little blue galaxies in the flooded grass, reflecting the light from a huge moon. Price stood directly behind you, pressed against your body, wrapping one hand around the railing, closing you in. He held his cigar in the other hand, smoking it in circles, trying to make the ashes burn evenly.

“You surprised me at dinner,” he commented, obviously looking for a response.

You feigned ignorance,

“Oh, why?”

“Feeding me by hand like that. Can’t be doing that in public. Makes me go a bit hard, love.” His voice was right next to your ear, gravelly and delightfully threatening.

You smiled sweetly, your words coated in pretend innocence, playing with him,

“What do you mean? I just wanted you to have a bite. One little bite can’t hurt, can it, John?”

“It’s bloody mental, the way you make me feel,” he took a long drag from his cigar and let the smoke tumble out as he spoke, leaning over you, “I’d fuck you right here, pretty girl, given half a chance.”

He took a deep breath along the side of your neck, smelling your skin beneath your hair, and when he exhaled, a moan was wrapped quietly inside it.

You pressed your ass into his crotch, finding him nearly hard. Touching his hand gently, you took his cigar and stuck it in your mouth, the wet leaves tasting like him. You curled the smoke with your tongue, locking eyes with him over your shoulder, watching him suffer deliciously,

“I dunno about ‘mental’, John. But it seems like you have an oral fixation.

You punctuated your last two words, saying them with a soft, sultry undertone. His eyes narrowed as he smiled down at you in a sinister grin,

“Do I ever.”

He stole the stick back from you and smiled even wider, teeth gleaming, his incisors seeming like fangs in his wolfy smile.

“Think they’re watching us?” You let your eyes turn over to the window, covered with a sheer curtain, fully aware that the view outside was more visible than your view into the house. Trick of the light.

He shrugged,

“Not if they know what’s good for them.”

Price’s cock had fully hardened now, and he thrust it up into your body ever so slightly, rubbing himself through layers of clothes, rocking his hips once and then twice like a promise of things to come. It made you feel a deep, primal lust, understanding his need without his words, your bodies engaging in an ancient art that had remained untainted by eons of time. You returned his invitation, rolling your hips back onto him, your ass pressing soundly into his pinned shaft.

“We should get some sleep. Early start tomorrow. It’s five hours to El Ojo,” Price groaned, whispering, rutting against you mindlessly, burying his face in your hair, staining your scent with his smoke.

You turned around to face him; he didn’t stop his idle grinding, looking tranquilized by his heady tobacco. Hypnotizing you with his casual eroticism.

“You don’t seem sleepy,” you commented, letting your hands roam over his chest and belly, tracing his nipples beneath his smooth shirt. He shuddered at your touch, sighing deeply.

With his cigar perched carefully between his fingers, he grabbed your jawbone, and you could feel the wet end press into your cheek. You could sense the warmth of the ash on your skin. He began to kiss you, all of the smoke and musky scents of him blended together, and his strong, masculine cologne made your head spin. His kisses were controlling and long, moving your head where he wanted it to be, sucking your lips and tongue, keeping them from exploring on their own. He was the guide for your passion, showing you all the ways he would be able to please.

He broke away, but only far enough to keep your lips from touching, his breath hot as it warmed your mouth when he spoke,

“Early. Tomorrow. We have to get up early. We should sleep.”

“Okay,” you sighed, a little dramatically, easing past his grip, removing yourself from him, untangling his vines from your bones, “if you say so, John. Buenas noches.”

You walked inside, swaying your hips a little more than you needed to, knowing he was looking, his blue eyes burning into your curves. Just before you went through the door, you glanced over at him. In the darkness of the porch, cast in shadow, the smoldering tip of his cigar glowed in his open mouth, the light from it gleaming off of his teeth and coloring his lips and beard a fiery orange. He was grinning, like a fox in a henhouse. When he saw you looking, he made a small show of readjusting himself, pawing at his swollen rod to release it from where it was trapped, and in the dimness, you could see its threatening outline.

You shut the door behind you, hands shaking. The other men mostly ignored you, but you caught them glancing your way, trying to sneak looks. Soap was not as sneaky as the rest, staring blankly as if he had a secret he shouldn't have.

As you wished them good night, they returned the sentiment casually, but it was then that you noticed the window. Price was still at the railing - in full, clear view, smoking. Blood rushed to your cheeks, and you could feel the flush tingle against your skin with embarrassment.

An hour or so later, you were already asleep when Price came upstairs. His heavy footsteps pulled you from your slumber. He was pacing in his room, packing perhaps. You went to the bathroom and pulled open the door. Upon hearing you, he opened his as well.

“Hey,” you whispered, squinting from sleep.

“Hey,” he was breathing heavily, dressed in nothing but the jeans and boots he had worn that day.

The captain watched as your eyes feasted upon his skin, gazing longingly at his thick waist where his pants were slung low on his hips, showing off just a bit of hair from below his belt line. One of his giant hands gripped the door frame, high on the plank, stretching his chest into a sweeping display of muscle. His armpit, arms, and torso were covered in the thick, dark hair you had let your hands roam across last night during your joining, and you knew how it would feel to touch.

Price slid his hand down the frame, making a slow scraping noise, stepping fully into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a click, his icy eyes never leaving yours.

He was enormous in the small space. His body was a powerhouse of visible strength. The meat of him hung heavy on his large bones, and he seemed, in the clean white tile of the bathroom, as if he was a specimen in some sort of display. Some museum exhibit, showing off, in sterile composition, the ideal form of Man. Built to fuck, to kill, to dominate the beasts of Eden from the lamb to the lion. Top of the food chain.

Still a little shy from realizing you’d given his team quite the show earlier on the porch, you averted your gaze, turning toward the sink. Before you could run the water, he was behind you, quick, crowding your space exactly as he had on the porch.

He positioned himself behind you and, much more luridly this time, began to kiss and lick your neck, grinding himself into you as he did so, slipping a warm hand under your loose top, finding your soft flesh waiting for his touch. You could feel the roughness of his denim jeans through your cotton shorts, and the contrast between his soft, melting kiss and the hard, unforgiving feeling of him trying to fuck you through your clothes was too much to handle. Your body was trying to reconcile the two, splitting your thoughts, making you love-drunk on his ministrations.

Price pulled off your shirt, raking it over your head, tossing it to the floor. He laced his hand through your hair and began to tug your head back, forcing you to look at yourself, bare to him, in the mirror. There was only the nightlight, more like a small Christmas bulb attached to a plug, so the room lacked any harsh contrast. Your bodies, your faces, the walls - everything began to swirl together, all colorized in the same, peachy glow.

You felt his hands on your breasts, and you watched him touch you in the mirror. Seeing yourself being pulled and manipulated by such a large man was gratifying. His hands massaged into your softness, leaving warm trails on your skin, the tell-tale feeling of where he had touched and where he still had left to go. The captain saw himself in the mirror for the first time, then, looking up from leaving erotic kisses on your neck and shoulders.

He sighed, locking eyes with you in the glass. That sigh trailed off into a groan, a ghost of the one he’d given you last night in the midst of his ecstasy.

“Fucking hell, look at you,” he said in his lowest tone.

Suddenly, he was tugging at the button of his jeans and unzipping the fly, freeing himself and stroking his cock to attention using your plump ass. Through your flimsy shorts, you could feel the burning heat that radiated from him. Reaching behind you, his hardness fell into your palm and you watched the sensation crawl its way through his expression in the reflection. He gasped, resting his head against yours, whispering - yes, yes, yes - into your ear in a hiss through clenched teeth.

John’s hand found your pantyline and pried it away from your skin with a confident finger, traveling down into your folds, searching for the swelling bundle nestled in the crest of your slit, rubbing it in long, loose ovals.

It wasn’t feverish; it was measured. His was the hand of a practiced man. As he worked, you joined him, rolling your wrist to rub his foreskin up and down in achingly long pulls, letting his wet head graze your skin as you teased him. The thick length was drooling with precome, and you could feel its stickiness on your palm.

It didn’t take him long to find your particular rhythm, the one you used when staring at Pinterest photos on your phone of Keanu Reeves in his John Wick era; sweaty, bloody, and great with a gun. Price’s movements felt personal, like he’d read about what you wanted in your diary somewhere, as if he was in on the secret. It brought you to the summit very quickly, and he noticed the flush in your cheeks and breasts, only then increasing his intensity.

You tried to continue to stroke him, but as you began to come in Price’s hand, you could only hold onto his cock, grasping it like the handle in a car driving too fast, careening downhill, rushing to its inevitable crash.

“Yeah, love, come for me. Just like that, you gorgeous fucking thing,” he watched you tumble over the edge, crumpling in the mirror, reaching for him.

“John! Please,” you cried.

You felt the tension burst inside of you like a mortar, hot and molten, pouring out of your core and into your body in waves of climactic pleasure. No one had ever made you come that hard, that quickly. It was hard for you to stand. Price steadied you, using his talented hand to hold you to him while you remembered your legs.

Once you regained your senses, you removed your hand from him to pull down your shorts and panties, letting them pool at the floor beneath your feet. You returned to his cock, now swollen and throbbing, and fed it into you. Your come made his entry smooth and slippery, and he filled you up, your body celebrating his return.

He returned to his slow, grinding dance on the porch, thrusting himself into you rhythmically in aching, rolling motions. It was not the slamming pugilism of two people trying to find release. This was a concerted effort for him to fuck your walls into his memory, rubbing his dick along them to sense every ridge and sweet spot, and to find the ones that made you scream.

When you let slip a desperate moan, he would pause, reflect, and return, hitting it again and again, watching you writhe and begging for him to help you.

“You feel so good in me,” you admitted, talking to him in the looking-glass.

His eyes were full of mismanaged control, and his grip on reality was slipping,

“Bloody beautiful. So warm and wet for me. Goddamnit, I’m not gonna last.”

But, he did. Your beast had stamina. He returned to your clit as he thrust in and out of you, dragging his fat cock through your body, ripping two more orgasms from your lips before he surrendered.

You watched him come, crying out darkly in his reflection. He had pulled himself from you and was painting your generous ass cheeks with his load. The tacky fluid was searingly hot, and it ran down your skin in drips.

You smiled, bending back to kiss him,

“Messy boy,” you chided playfully, a naughty tone in your voice.

“Wanna clean you up,” Price sighed, satisfied and spent.

Do you want 30 more chapters of these two? Read "Gunslinger" here.

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

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