#maybe even in the next essence (wishful thinking) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rinhaler · 8 months

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first, i want to kiss you for your amazing smut. especially the stepdad toji one 🤭🤭 second, will you pretty pretty please with a cherry on top write some noncon with yandere stepbro yuji? im ovulating and deprived of some nasty ass fics with my favourite boy, please? 👉🏽👈🏽🥺🫶🏽

I have like zero experience writing yandere. If I've done it before it's deff not been intentional so I hope this is okay! Also making Yuuji mean was so hard and did not sit right with my soul but bon apetit.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, noncon, fem!reader, yandere!yuuji itadori, stepcest, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, use of yuuji-nii and nii-chan, marking/cutting, blood, spanking, jealousy, creampie.

words: 1.4k

“Get out.” your brother speaks, voice brimming with hatred as he drags you by your wrist into the boys bathroom. The guys in the room look at him, then at each other. They don’t think he’s serious, he can’t be, can he? They stare at him and their eyes catch the way he’s squeezing your wrist. Tight enough to bruise. “Get. Out.” he repeats himself, calmly.

The guys hurry up, putting their dicks away and leaving without even washing their hands. It’s revolting, but the last thing on your mind as Yuuji waits for them to leave before shoving you further into the room.

“Yuuji?” you whisper soothingly. Though when he gets closer to you and shoves you again, you wish you hadn’t said anything at all. Your lower back connects with the sinks behind you. You’re sure more bruises will follow the contact, but right now that’s the least of your concern. He turns you around, and you instinctively bend over. You yelp when you feel him kick the insides of your ankles harshly, but your legs spread beautifully for him. “I-I’m sorry.” you whine. You aren’t sure what you’ve done, but he seems cross with you. Maybe an apology will make everything better.

He doesn’t respond. The sound of his zipper being pulled down reverberates through the icky bathroom. Your eyes scrunch closed as you whimper, knowing what’s coming next. He moves your panties aside, a stinging slap landing on your slick puffy folds.

“I wish you were sorry.” he tells you, coldly, “But I’ll make you sorry when we get home.”

You opt not to respond, knowing that anything you say will be misconstrued and he’ll use that to punish you. He slaps your cunt again, and the force propels you forward as you jolt at the pain. He flips up your skirt, smacking your ass again and again until even the softest touch fills you with pain.

You won’t be able to sit comfortably for a while.

He slots his aching cock between your swollen pussy lips, dragging his length up and down, coating his tips with your shimmering essence. You hear his heavy breaths as he enjoys your dewy cunt. Your unprepped hole fights him every step of the way as he bullies his cock into you. Your walls feel like home as he forces himself to the hilt.

“You’re bein’ quiet.” he points out. You look at him through the mirror, your crying has made a mess of your makeup. Black tear leans stream down your face as you can’t quite accommodate his horrifically thick cock. Lithe fingers yank at your hair, shoving your face into the reflective glass in front of you.

“I dunno what I did, Yuuji.” you pout, turning your head so that you can look back at him through the corner of your eye. You yip when he pushes your head into the mirror once more. You definitely said the wrong thing this time.

“Isn’t it obvious? Look at the slut staring back at you in the mirror.” he tells you. You start to protest, telling him that you aren’t a whore, and you didn’t do anything wrong. But you get the perfect view of his fist coming towards the mirror, breaking it, shards of glass falling onto the counters and into the porcelain sinks below. You hiss a shallowly as a little piece cuts you as it falls.

His hips stay still as he sees blood begin to seep from the small cut on your shoulder. You do nothing, choosing to stare at your reflection again in the cracked mirror. Though your eyes wander when he picks up a larger piece of glass.

“Yuuji-nii? What are you— aah!” you cry as his hand wraps around the back of your neck and pushes your face down into the glass filled sink.

“Move, and you’ll regret it.” he warns you. His painful hold doesn’t cease, but you feel his wrist balance on the plush flesh of your right ass cheek. You wince as you feel a pointed edge push down into your skin, you bite your lip and try to repress the noises desperate to leave your throat. It’s agonising and it’s unabated. And before he’s barely gotten started, you’re screaming.

His hand leaves your neck, coming down harshly on the marks he’s cutting into your behind. The stinging sensation is unbearable, you think you might pass out.

“Shut the fuck up.” he warns you. You cover your mouth with both hands, desperate to keep the screams locked deep inside of your lungs. He takes his time, with you. Making sure he writes his name on your skin in big perfect letters so there is no longer any question on who you belong to. He spanks you again, his hand becoming covered in blood. “I’ll get you some bandages from the first aid kit in the gym if you’re good.” he explains.

“What did I do, Yuuji-nii?” you pout, keeping your eyes fixated on the base of the sink as he begins to fuck into you. His entire weight poured into each and every thrust. “Haah—!”

“Saw you fucking flirting with a guy in your class.” he tells you, his palm landing on your bloody wound once again. “You’re meant to be mine. So I’m giving you a reminder.” he continues, his cock slamming into you again and again while his balls slap against your neglected clit.

You shouldn’t be enjoying this. You told him you weren’t in the mood and you didn’t have time. But the fury in his eye as he dragged you all of the way to the boy’s bathroom told you that what you wanted wasn’t really up for discussion. And it makes sense, now, he doesn’t care if you want him when he’s jealous. When he’s jealous, you’ll take what he’s giving you whether you want him or not.

“I w-wasn’t.” you sob, sniffling quietly as his tip hammers against your cervix. “Jus’ gave him some notes from a class he missed!” you inform him, hoping it’ll clear up this whole misunderstanding.

“You’re fucking stupid.” he spanks your wound again. “He didn’t want your fucking notes. He wants you. If you did anything but think with that stupid cunt of yours you’d be smart enough to talk to any guys except for me.”

“’m sorry, nii-chan.” you wail, you can tell by his sloppy thrusts that he’s close. And you’re ashamed to say that your cunt is responding favourably to him ruining you like this. You’re conditioned, unfortunately. Whatever he offers you is sure to make you cum, no matter the circumstance.

“Nii-chan knows best, doesn’t he?” he asks, though you aren’t sure if it’s rhetorical. You find yourself nodding, anyway, but a particularly harsh thrust tells you that he’s looking for verbal confirmation. “Remember what’ll happen to you if you talk to boys other than nii-chan.”

“Nii-chan knows best.” you pout, moaning as he continues to fuck painfully into you. “W-Won’t talk to anyone… promise.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. I didn’t lock the door, y’know. Hope he walks in and sees how much you like getting fucked by your brother. Should I cum in this slutty cunt? Make sure everyone knows whose pussy this is.” he babbles, you feel your insides turn warm before you can even answer. He curses repeatedly as he empties his balls into your unprotected womb. The feeling is like a loving hug, and your body unwillingly returns the feeling as your walls squeeze tightly around his length as you spasm from your high.

“T-Thank you, nii-chan.” you tell him, quietly.

“Good girl.” he praises you, pulling out. Your spread legs attempt to close to keep his cum inside, but he kicks at your ankles again to make sure they stay nice ‘n wide. “Gonna go get the first aid kit for you, don’t move.”

“What if—” he slaps your ass and shoves your body back down into the counter. And you realise that he didn’t mean don’t leave the bathroom. He meant don’t move from this exact position.

“What if someone walks in? Good.” he smirks, heading for the exit. “I want every guy in this fucking place to see how much you like your big brother’s cum dripping out of you.”

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fishermanshook · 2 months

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F!CK BOYS GONE SOFT

( mercenary , batter & prospector ) + gn!reader

# MINOR WRITING SMUT , #ihatewritingdialouge , grammar and spelling warning

INTRO

It was a mutual agreement between the both of you that you were fucking for the pure reason of letting off steam after being stuck in this hell hole.

No feelings were supposed to be caught. No hearts were meant to be thawed. And yet, they find themselves yearning for your touch long after your last session.

꒰wc꒱ 1.7k ( longest fic so far !! )

✦— THE MERCENARY

If being between your legs was where he wished to be, then who were you to deny him access to the most private part of your body? Where Naib works his magic and milks you of your essence while paying you back in waves of pleasure.

The Mercenary looks so lost in his work that you think he doesn’t notice the change in pitch. That you’ve adjusted your grip on his hair to a softer, gentler hold. Your moans are light, airy, and not at all the ones that left your throat hoarse and raspy the night before. No, that can’t be right. And it doesn’t take him long before he finds the spot that pushes you over. The spot that has your back arching off the mattress. The spot that has you screaming his name like it’s going out of style.

And god does pleasure look good on you, as Naib refuses to remove his eyes from you as he watches the aftermath of you coming undone in front of him. Such a passionate and intimate thing for his eyes and his eyes only as your essence coats his hands and tongue. To think he’d pull his head away after you came is just stupid. Have you not learned from previous sessions? You coming only gives him more reason to drop down there and give you more, but Naib holds himself back.

The next few moments are a blur as you try to calm down after your orgasm, but it seems Naib won’t let you. The sound of something being unzipped and his pants hitting the floor pulls you from your recovery. He’s prepped you enough, hasn’t he?

“It’ll hurt a little, but only for a second.” The Mercenary whispers in your ear as a warning to brace for what’s about to come. It makes him wonder, and only for a split second, if you ever realized how much he loves you. The amount of thought and care that goes into every move he makes towards you. Maybe you’re just dense, or maybe it’s not like that. He won’t know until he tells you. Or, until you tell him.

Your hands rush to clamp themselves over your mouth in an attempt to stifle the moans flooding from it. This isn’t the first time you’ve done this (and certainly not the last…), but it’s always a tight fit. A tight fit that neither of you can get enough of. Your hands don’t last though, as the Mercenary is quick to rip your hands away from your mouth. He shakes his head and clicks his tongue. You don’t need him to say anything else.

It’s not long before you feel the familiar warmth strengthen between your legs. By now, Naib’s memorized your every tell that you’re going to come. By the way your legs tighten around his waist and the way your hands reach to clasp his biceps to try and hold on. It’s the way you attempt to not pass out when you feel everything just snap.

“God, I love you so much,” Naib admits before even realizing what he just said. You’ve never seen the man freeze so fast, or go so red. Before his hands cover his mouth you pin his wrists down to the bed.

“Wait—! H-hold on,” you say, still recovering from your orgasm that happened just seconds ago. “What did you say?”

The Mercenary stares at you before opening his mouth to say: “I didn’t say anything.” He’s trying to play it with a convincing tone in his voice, but it’s hard to believe when he practically shouts it.

“No, Naib,” you huff out “Are you playing me?” You question. Your face molds into worry and concern. Instead, he avoids your gaze. There’s nothing else for him to do in this situation is there.

“Fine. If you won’t say it, then I will.” You state before grabbing Naibs face and pressing it into yours. The Mercenary tries (and he really does) to do anything but melt into your touch. In the end, it proves to be no use. Pulling away, you say: “Naib, there is no one else I love more than you.”

“Thanks for confirming what I already know, babe.”

✦— THE BATTER

Not every affair starts with a heated make-out session, but every heated make-out session ends with the two of you having sex. With your lips entwined as your fingers roam through his hair, the two of you make a mad dash to whoever’s room is closer as playful giggles slip out along the way.

It started as just another way to let yourself go and cut loose a little after another night of terror from Ganji. How could you not tell that the Batter saw you as more than just some fuck buddy? That his eyes weren’t only filled with lust, but love for you and you entirely?

Maybe this can be his way of showing you, whether you get it or not. Whether you understand the soft kisses he lays on your chest. Whether you understand the praises that fall from his lips. Whether you understand it's taken him too long to finally muster up the courage to confess to you.

You’ve stripped each other of your clothes leaving both of you bare naked. The only thing covering you are the multiple hickeys decorating your chest as well as between your legs. The pleasure overrides any pain felt from when he initially pushed his way inside of you. Before you know it, you're babbling all over his cock while he presses gentle kisses all over your face. You look so cute like this—all flushed out and pink.

Ganji's smart, but overlooks your cock drunkenness and traces his finger along your jaw and other places. Eventually, his finger meets your back and traces along your spine. His finger does weird swoops along your backside. It's all just a simple way of telling you 'I love you.' without having to utter a word.

Maybe it's the way you moan out his name as your hips move up and down on his cock. Or maybe it's the look in your eyes when he meets them. The Batter's not sure where the courage comes from, but all he knows is that he can't stand another moment of you not being his.

"[name] I- fuck, I love you." He barely manages to grunt out, snapping you from your thoughts to look at him with wide eyes.

"What-?"

It's then he thinks he fucked up. That he has demolished all of the hard work he put into this relationship. This is it. This is the end of your bond.

"No, shit I'm sorry just forget what I said," Ganji mutters out, immediately flipping you over so that your lying down on your back. "I'll make you come real hard if you just forget everything I just said, 'k?" Ganji says with caution in his voice. Maybe you're not the only one oblivious in this relationship of yours.

"Really? You love me?"

Ganji tears his eyes away from wherever he is looking at looks right at you. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. If not for you I don't think I'd ever get the chance to say this," you chimed, pulling him in for a long and passionate kiss first. "Ganji, I love you more than the stars themselves."

✦— THE PROSPECTOR

The bed will break long after the Prospector, Norton Campbell, has had his way with you. He won’t stop until his sheets are soaked in your combined essences until your scent has been embedded into his mattress, and until he can get the words out to tell you how he feels.

For too long has Norton been labeled as your “fuck buddy” and he wants out of it. Every round feels like another chance to prove he’s perfect for you. How many people know your favorite book? Your favorite place to relax? Your favorite position? The sensitive spots on your body? Who else knows exactly where to touch and what to say? All he needs you to answer is if you like him or not.

“Shit—always feel so good,” Norton manages to grunt out after thrusting into you. He knows he’s found your sweet spot (again…) when he pulls a loud moan from your sweet lips. So attentive to your wants and needs that he can’t help but hit the spot again and again, listening as your moans grow louder with each thrust.

The Prospector mutters something under your breath he thinks went by unnoticed. Pulling you from your aroused state to ask him what’s wrong. All he can do is sigh and shake his head as his arms wrap around you. A bit tighter than usual, but not uncomfortable.

“Norton—! What’s the matter?” You manage to huff out. It’s obvious something is plaguing his mind, but the Prospector is as stubborn as ever and refuses to tell you. “Fine then,” you tell him “I guess I just won’t let you come.”

Now that gets his attention, and he instantly slows his pace. You allow him to keep going, but only if he starts talking.

“I’m too scared to say it,” Norton states.

“Why?” You ask.

Norton looks down at where you're still connected. It’s only then you notice he’s stopped. “Because I don’t want it to ruin whatever we’ve got going on. I don’t want to lose everything.” He admits through gritted teeth.

“Do you think it’s that bad that you’d lose everything?” You ask, concern now seeping into your voice.

All he does is sigh before bringing his face closer to yours. “God, is it seriously not obvious enough? Shit, [name] I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time and I didn’t want to say anything in fear of ruining—“ he gestures using his hands to the both of you. “this. A-and I get it if you don’t want anything to do with me after this but you asked so—“

He doesn’t get to finish as you cover his lips with yours. “Silly prospector, I love you more than you could imagine.” You confess before feeling Norton melt into your kiss once more.

note: hiii fish nation…sorry about the random hiatus, it will probably happen again 😆😆😆. thank you all so much for 100+ followers! it means the absolute most to me knowing there are actually people who enjoy reading what I have to write. I wouldn’t be here without you, thank you for everything so far. 🩷🩷🩷. this is so ass oh my gosh

(2024) ©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

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thewulf · 4 months

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Time is of the Essence || Legolas

Summary: Request - Heyy I was wondering if I could request a Legolas imagine where gimli tells the reader that Legolas likes them, maybe before a battle. Then throughout the battle they are distracted or thinking about what gimli said. Then after the battle the reader goes to tell Legolas that they feel the same or something like that :)

A/N: This one got away from me lmao but I had so much fun writing it. THANK YOU for all the requests. Wouldn't be here without each and every one of you!

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.3k +

TW: General LOTR triggers, blood, talk of death, shooting, stabbing etc

“Who is that?” Asking quickly your eyes snapped up to the dark-haired twin standing tall next to you. His eyes turned to see the prince from Mirkwood ascending the steps to meet his father, Lord Elrond.

Elladan smirked at your curiosity. For in all the years he had known you, you had never so much given another ellon the time of day. Your interests always seemed to lie elsewhere, until now it seemed, “That is Legolas Thranduilion. Prince of Mirkwood.” He spoke lowly so only you could hear.

Elladan watched as your eyes seemed to be captured by him. You watched as he walked up the marble staircase leading to Elrond before turning back to him, “Prince?” You attempted to bite back the discontent at that one word for you would never have a chance with someone of such stature.

He nodded slowly, “As I remember. It has been a few hundred years since we have had an actual conversation. King Thranduil has Legolas all over middle earth bidding for Mirkwood.”

“Very well.” Turning your attention back to the woodland elf your eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets seeing that he was staring right at you. A soft smile graced his lips as he caught your eye. He had far more courage than you as you turned back to Elladan swiftly with an evident burning on your cheeks.

He snickered softly knowing that every single one of them could hear if he laughed or talked any louder. You elbowed his side trying to get him to quiet down. The last thing you wanted was even more attention on your party of two. Lord Elrond had asked you and his son, Elladan, to receive the guests of the Council of Elrond as they arrived.

You had been taken in by Elrond and his family after your mother and father were called to the sea nearly a thousand years ago. You were a relatively young elf, just over five hundred years old, when your parents had decided it was their time to go.

You had tried to assure them that you would be just fine being alone. You were young but you were still an adult. They wouldn’t go until they knew you’d be taken care of as you didn’t have any siblings to lean on. Your closest kin resided in Lothlorien, a place you had no desire to go even though they begged. But Rivendell was your home, and you had no desire to leave it behind.

Celebrian had always wanted more children but could bare no more. She had heard of your parents predicament from her many visits throughout the city. See, most elves were natural gossips, so it was not even like she had to ask for it. It was just given to her. So, she decided it was time for her to act on it. It felt natural for her to take you in with her, Elrond, and the children. Then she met you and just knew you would fit right in with their family. You were moved into their home no longer than a month later and your parents had set sail the very next one.

No ill will was held toward your parents. You could only imagine how long their lives had been as they had only told you the bits they wished to divulge. They had decided to have you late in life. After nearly four thousand years. They had no plans on leaving you that soon, but the call was so strong they could no longer ignore it for the Valar had its reasons. It was a great sacrifice to stay is middle earth when the sea was calling so longingly. You could no longer be selfish as you were plenty capable of living on your own. Being taken in by Elrond and his family was a gift upon itself, you’d flourished under their eye. You had nearly mastered the art of healing in the one thousand years you’d been under his instruction.

After your parents left, not a hundred years later Celebrian had found the same calling. It broke your heart all over again watching Elrond and his children, your dear friends, let go of their wife and mother. You had almost felt guilty thinking your parents departure had something to do with hers. The calling must have been strong if she was willing to leave her entire family behind. You had thought maybe they would cast you aside now the Celebrian, the one who had wanted you the most, had gone. The opposite was true though. They held onto you stronger than ever before. Sooner, they were more your family than your own. Later, you’d lived with them longer than your parents. New memories with Elrond, Arwen, Elrohir, and Elladan began to overtake those of with your parents.

“Prince Legolas.” Lord Elrond’s voice brought your eyes back to the top of the stairs instead of at Elladan, “Rivendell is most welcome to host your visit for the Council of Elrond.” On cue you bowed to the revered prince. You’d heard nothing but good things of him. Nobody spoke of how handsome he was though. Striking in the best ways. You should have known he would be of that stature after seeing his father, King Thranduil in passing once. That as an intimidating elf if you had ever of seen one.

“Hir nin (my lord).” Legolas bowed back to him, “It is always most welcome to visit Rivendell.” To your horror he looked right at you before continuing loud enough for all to hear, “I have met your son, Elladan. Who might the lady be?”

Your face must have been aflame by now with all the attention keyed in right on you, “Ah, that is my youngest daughter. Lady Y/N.” You’d so rarely been referred to as his daughter it had caught you off guard. For whom else might you be? Everybody in Rivendell knew of your status why should he not claim you for his own? He had known you and cared for you well-being longer than your very own parents had.

He smiled hearing your name on the Lord’s lips, “Youngest daughter? Have I been so distant I did not know you had another daughter?”

Elrond smiled looking over to you. Trying your very best to remain stoic you were sure your father could see right through it, “My daughter has been mastering the craft of healing.” He turned back to Legolas before muttering something in his ears that he did not let you hear no matter how hard you strained to. Maybe Elladan caught it but he just shook his head at you as you looked over to him.

Legolas turned giving you another bright smile. He bowed right at you before walking over, “It is a pleasure, Lady Y/N.” He was much bolder than all the ellon you had met in Rivendell.

You let out a strangled cough. One that your brother knew was one of sheer panic. He let out another chuckle which meant another elbow was sent right to his ribs, “All the same Prince Legolas.”

His smile was something you had rarely seen in an elf. It was so pure. One that made you want to smile right along with him. What was it? What with you? Why was this ellon making you act like a fool? You needed to get it together and quick. Elrond would see right through your little coy act. He was far from dumb. Perhaps the opposite. He was the smartest elf you had ever met. It was impossible to try and get a leg up on him as he was already ten steps ahead.

“Legolas is fine, Lady Y/N.”

You nodded quickly, “Then I must insist, Y/N is fine as well.”

“Indeed, it is. Y/N.” He spoke to you before turning his eyes towards your brother behind you, “Elladan. It is nice to see you once more. I trust Elrohir is faring well?”

“He is well, Legolas. He is away seeing to personal matters in Minas Tirith at the moment or else he would be here.” Elladan turned serious as the prince’s eyes were on him now.

“That is not a worry. It is good to hear he is doing well. Elladan. Y/N.” He bowed to you once more before turning and walking back to Elrond, clapping him on the back like they were old friends. You were sure they actually were. You’d never been privy to life outside of Rivendell. You’d also never really cared. You never needed to. Not until things started turning dark. Suddenly you had to care about everywhere but Rivendell. Elrond sent you on small quests at first. Then longer and harder ones. You had no idea what he had planned next, but you were sure it was going to be big considering what was happening with Sauron. He tried to keep it quiet, but you heard whispers. It was an impossible darkness to hide.

The next few days went the same as the last. You’d received a few humans from Gondor, Boromir, and his crew. He was as funny a human as you had ever met and crass as ever. You quite enjoyed him. Next up were the dwarves and the harsh stares you received from Gimli and his kin. The dwarves were no fans of your elven kind. You had already met Strider and the four Hobbits to which you had taken quite the liking to towards as well. You’d never received so many different people and creatures from across middle earth and you were having a wonderful time. Elrond had suspended your studies while the council was in session leaving you to wander during the daytime on your own free will.

You had taken to shooting your bow trying to get in as many reps before all out war commenced. Elrond would never admit it, but it was coming. You could sense it. Things had never been so cold and dark as long as you had been in middle-earth. Lord Elrond had all but admitted it had not been this bad since Sauron came around the first-time thousands of years ago.

Being wrapped up in your thoughts your senses had betrayed you. The Prince of Mirkwood had snuck up on you. A usually impossible task that was easier as you had been distracted by your very own thoughts, “Raise your arm a little.” He spoke from beside you. Letting the breath, you’d been holding in out you turned to him lowering your bow in the process.

“Legolas. What are you doing here?” He was indeed the last person you had expected to see. He had been locked in your fathers study for the better part of the week. He was a part of the strategizing crowd not even your brothers were privy to. Elrond had done a masterful job of hiding his children away. He had no desire to put you in harm’s way on the front lines. But even as he tried he could no longer hold you back.

He shrugged giving you the eye as your bow was still loaded in your hand. You pulled the arrow into the quiver connected at your hip in a hurry before slinging the bow itself over your shoulder, “Needed some time away. Things were getting a little personal in there.” He smiled but it wasn’t the bright smile you’d seen on his face prior. It had been dulled.

“So, you come to the practice range?” You asked curiously. Knowing so little of the elf you knew you were digging for something hoping he would give you a little more.

“Exactly, my lady.” He grinned holding his hand out for your bow.

“Y/N.” You corrected him not liking how that sounded. Far too mature for your stature.

He gave you a lazy smile, “That is right. Exactly, Y/N.” He kept his hand out waiting for you to hand him the bow. Slowly you pulled it off you back and handed it to him. To your surprise he started inspecting it. You’d felt terribly self-conscious as you had crafted it far too quickly. It was just your practice bow after all and it was one of your first attempts.

“This is lovely.” He grinned over at you as he held his other hand for your arrows. To which you gave him as you were now far too curious to see how this prince would do. He was nothing short of a whispered fear around Rivendell. The stories your brothers have told of him made you far too curious of the blue-eyed elf.

“That is a lie.” You laughed.

He shook his head, “It is fine work. I, myself, could hardly do better.” You watched as his hands traced your woodworking. You were not overly proud of the piece. In fact, you’d all but thrown it away finding yourself frustrated at not being able to carve in the finer details as you had planned. Eventually, after a few too many attempts you’d succeeded at getting the right shape but gave up on the detail.

“Are you trying to flatter me?” You questioned letting him know it was you who had made the bow.

He looked over at you curiously, “Did you make this?” Asking as if he didn’t quite believe you he waited for your response.

“I did indeed.”

He looked you over once more before trying the bow out himself. You’d heard of how good he was, but it was hard to believe until you had seen it. In a matter of seconds, he had not only shot all of your arrows but had placed them perfectly around your target. It was more than impressive. Wood elves were known for their skills with the bow, but this was nothing like you had ever seen. Not even your bow master could keep up with something like this.

He turned back to you with an even bigger smile on his face, “It shoots even better than it looks! You have a talent.”

You gawked at him without so much as a care of how dumb you looked, “You just shot like that, and you are saying that I have the talent?”

“Aye.” He set the bow down before heading over to retrieve the arrows. He looked back waiting for you to follow, “This would not be possible if your work was not as balanced as it is. I must ask you to make my next bow. I will pay you handsomely for your work.” He spoke as if money was the issue with his request.

“Oh!” Your cheeks were surely there usual fiery hot selves as they usually were when Legolas had come around, “I hardly doubt I could make…”

He shook his head cutting you off, “You must not doubt yourself. I would not ask you to if I did not think you could.”

You nodded knowing there was no actual point in arguing with him. He was as stubborn as you were and nobody was going to win the fight that was surely going to ensue, “All right then. I will make you a bow. On one condition.”

“And that condition is?” His smile only seemed to grow as he talked to you. It’s infectiousness wearing off right on you for how could you not grin when he was smiling at you like that?

“You do not pay me. Let me make it for you as a friend?”

He nodded, “That is a condition I can accept. As long as you let me return the favor?”

You giggled feeling his eyes wash over yours in bliss at your reaction, “You cannot give me a condition for my very own condition!”

“Please?” He asked with such a softness you could only nod at him.

“You may return the favorite, mellon nin.”

The two of you had spent the better part of the afternoon chatting, laughing, and avoiding the reality of the situation of the world at present. You had one of the best afternoons you probably ever have had in this lifetime goofing around with the prince. He was certainly not the ellon you’d expected. He had become more than you could have ever had imagined and more.

It did not take long for you to fall for the prince. After Elrond had volunteered you for The Fellowship you had grown close to him. About halfway through the journey, after Pippin and Merry had been taken and you’d been running for days is when you knew. That was when you knew you had feelings for the elf. The signs had always been there, but it was his constant care and checking up to make sure that you were all right that made you realize where your heart had actually lied with the elven prince.

It was decidedly not a good position to be in. He could never be with you. The king would never approve. You would be left longing and loving for an elf who was strictly off limits. The journey to Mordor had been nothing short of rough. You were constantly amazed and astonished at Gimli and Aragorn keeping up, the Hobbits trail, the wizard coming back. It was almost too much too believe. When Aragorn rose from the dead in Helm’s Deep you could not believe it. That was why you had decided to fight. For him and middle earth.

“What are you doing?” Legolas looked at you desperately as you placed the chain-link guard around your torso.

“Preparing.” You spoke matter of factly not noticing Gimli behind him.

“For what?” He asked. For what? Was he mad? Playing dumb surely.

The look on your face let him know you were not playing, “The battle, Legolas. I will not let you all go out there without me. Not once more while I sit behind. I am more than ready and far more than prepared.”

“You will not. I will not have you go out there. You must stay back and tend to the wounded. Your skills are needed here!” For the first time Legolas sounded frantic. Out of control. Worried as if he knew you would go against his wishes. He was right, of course. Legolas had gotten to know you well over the course of the journey from Rivendell. He’d learned of your ticks and habits. Your nature and goodwill. How your morals had outweighed your better judgment for yourself. He’d learned why Elrond had hidden you for so long. You’d be a danger onto yourself more so than he could protect you.

You shook your head slowly, “My skills are needed in the battle and even you know that ernil nin (my prince).” Looking down you were almost afraid to look into his eyes at this moment.

He walked up to you before whispering a low, “We are not done discussing this, mellon nin.” Though his words were kind his tone was off. You gulped. But before you could even open your eyes the prince had stormed off. Likely to cool down. He’d made it clear he didn’t want you anywhere near the field yet here you were doing everything he wished you wouldn’t do.

When you finally looked up you saw the cheeky smirk of the red-haired dwarf staring right at you, “Gimli.” You bowed, “How long have you been standing there master dwarf?”

“The entire time.” He confirmed, “You have given our favorite elf quite the scare.”

You eyed him knowing that he was digging and pressing for something, “He will come to his senses.”

“Or you must come to yours.” He countered with a wicked smile. One that made you feel like you were missing out on something.

“What is that supposed to mean Gimli?”

He gruffed at you, “You cannot be that blind! I was lead to believe elves have some weird, enhanced vision or something.”

“There is no need to be so hostile young dwarf.” You smiled at Gimli letting him know you were surely playing along with him even though you were clueless to what he was actually insinuating, “I unfortunately do not know what you are attempting to tell me though.”

He shook his head with a swift movement, “The Prince of Mirkwood has feelings for you lassie.”

Simply blinking your eyes, you surely could not have heard him correctly, “Has feelings?”

He rolled his eyes, “Aye... are you going to make me come outright with it then?”

You nodded, "I am indeed. Elves are blunt and I am unfortunately very oblivious.” You smile only grew as he huffed and puffed almost looking embarrassed to have to say it out loud.

“The Prince of Mirkwood likes you lassie. He will not stop bringing you up whenever you are not around. He is driving me mad. Gold sickness isn’t even this bad.” As your cheeks grew a blush so did Gimli’s.

It was obviously all in good fun to tease him but what he had actually said struck a chord within you. How was that possible? He was actual royalty. You were a commoner for all intents and purposes, “He cannot.” You said not letting your hopes rise for you had liked Legolas deeply. From the moment your eyes laid upon him in your home all those days ago. What an adventure you had been on as you trekked across middle earth with the ellon you may have loved.

“Oi lassie! He can and he does. Did you not just see his reaction to you going into this battle?”

You shook your head, “Well, yeah but…”

“No. He likes you. Very much so. Drones on and on about how pretty you are. How smart you are. How sweet you are. It is exhausting Y/N.” Gimli dramatically sat down on the bench near the wall.

“I should be offended you find talking about me so exhausting master Gimli.” You raised your brows to challenge him as you sat down next to him.

“Nary the case my lady. It has been months you see. And he will not say a thing to you. Months of it lassie! You are lovely. He would be quite lucky to have you. I am simply tired. He will not listen to me. That is why I am telling you this now.” You only gave you a smirk as he leaned his head against the wall.

“Months is not a long time for an elf.” You giggled knowing how much it would set the poor dwarf off. He was almost too easy to poke and prod at. A simple action would result in an explosive reaction out of him.

He eyes lowered in on yours, “Insufferable. The both of ya. Truly meant for him aren’t you?” He got up before giving you a quick bow, “I will see you on the battlefield my lady.”

“I’ll beat both of you this time.” You grinned trying to lighten the darkening mood taking over Helm’s Deep. Time was of the essence now.

“You will not!” He boomed, “I will kill the most orcs!” He walked out of the room before you could object. With a deep breath you finished putting on the chain link armour. You’d wished Elrond would have prepped you a little more as you sheathed your sword. You could do this. You absolutely had to do this. You had to tell Legolas you liked him back. It was rare, to feel the connection you’d felt with him. Truly, time was of the essence.

You had lost him early on in the battle. You were holding Legolas’s hand before you had to dodge away from an axe being thrown. From there on out it was you and yourself against too many orcs to count. Terror began to consume you as you fell back in the crowd of men and elves. But you could do this. You had to do this. Legolas liked you! You could have a life with the most handsome ellon you had ever laid your eyes upon. You just had to kill every single disgusting orc around you. Easy. You could do it. For Legolas. For you. For a life you craved.

You hadn’t a clue what overcame you as you fought and fought for hours. You witnessed more death than you ever had in your life as the never-ending siege kept ticking on. You fell back and fought. Fell back and fought. Fight or die. Fight to live on with Legolas. You tried to search for his golden hair as you fought but begrudgingly came up short time and time again. It was only when dawn broke with Gandalf and the Rohirrim showing up did you feel a twinge of hope as the orcs turned to them instead of charging on into Helm’s Deep. You stood on guard as the Rohirrim charged on. It felt like you would collapse from the relief seeing the help pour in. Emotion truly overtook you as you saw that flash of golden hair on the war horse down the bridge. Legolas was alive and well. It was going to be okay. You were going to get to tell him that you liked him.

You watched in awe as the orc army was slain. Some tried to run but were devoured by the very forests that once protected them. Sheathing your sword and throwing your bow over your shoulder you found your way back to the dining hall turned emergency healing ward knowing they would need all they help they could get. You had a lifetime to tell Legolas how you felt, the men and defenders of Helm’s Deep needed you more now.

Despite your own cuts that were too deep to heal quickly you pressed on. Throwing some bandages on the worse ones you rolled up your sleeves and got to work. You were in your element as you ordered people around as efficiently as possible and got to as many men as you could.

But that voice broke your stupor. It always would, “You must give yourself a break.” Legolas. He had found you faster than you would have thought.

You spun around on your heal after patching the man up, “I am fine. These men and elves are not.” Holding out your hand you showed him the growing number of beds that were becoming occupied from small wounds to life threatening ones.

He shook his head agreeing with you, “I know I will not change your mind. But please rest when this is all over?”

You bit back the smile. Ever since you met him he had cared for your wellbeing more than you did, “You have my word.”

He gave you a once over with a frown and concern in his own eyes, “Will you also see a healer when you are done?”

“I am fine Legolas.” You persisted shaking your head before heading to the bed next to the man you’d patched up.

He was hot on your heals not believing you for a second, “You are bleeding through your bandages, mellon nin. Please?” Gimli’s words rang through you as he looked at you wish nothing but pain and concern.

“All right.” You weren’t sure what else to say as you looked over him in return. You really should see a healer but your wounds just felt so miniscule compared to the horror you were seeing now.

He eyed you looking for any lie, “I will check on you tonight to see sure of it.”

“I told you that I would, do you not believe me?” A smile rose to your face as you knew your words took him aback.

“You are stubborn. You will work until you collapse. Of course, I trust you. But I do not trust that you will see through to it.” He grinned seeing your expression clock what he was saying, “I will check in on you tonight in your room. How does that sound?” He tried again asking as if it were a question as you knew it was not. Legolas would be checking in on you whether you agreed with him or not.

He was giving you a chance now. You had to take it, “I will see you tonight.”

He gave you a quick bow before making way towards the door, “Please see a healer soon. And rest.”

“I will. Do not fret Legolas. My help is needed first.”

He nodded, “They are fortunate to have you.” He walked off before you could get another word in. You shook your head getting yourself back in the right headspace to see and heal the gruesome wounds left by the attack.

You kept true to your word as your own energy was depleting rapidly. As soon as the bodies stopped flowing in and you became overly exhausted you finally saw another elven healer who pulled the orc poison from your open wounds and patched you up. Legolas was right, a few too many orc blades had made it impossible for your body to heal them as quickly as it usually would.

You had only been settled in your room after bathing and changing for a few moments before a familiar knock rang out at the door. You had been given a room near the kings chambers for the time being as you were the only female in the company. And who were you to turn down such a luxury after months on the road? Certainly not you.

You opened the door to the smiling elf. He quite literally took your breath away. He was so handsome, “Legolas.”

His eyes traced you overlooking for any signs that you had not in fact taken care of yourself, “You look well.”

You moved to the side to let him know it was okay if he wanted to come in, “I am.”

He sighed bringing your eyes to look into his, “I was so worried when I lost you. I had broken my promise to you.”

All you could think to do was grab for his hand. A small sign of comfort as your laced your fingers into his, “It is not your fault Legolas. You know this. We would have both been struck had I not jumped away.” Giving his hand a soft squeeze, you pulled him in through the door. You didn’t want the prying ears of the company or some random elves hearing the conversation if you could stop it. You knew it was getting vulnerable fast. The adrenaline from the battle had long worn off leaving the raw emotion of what just happened to linger.

He looked down at your fingers intertwining his, “I was so afraid that I… I kept looking for you as the battle wore on but could not find you, I feared…” He could not say the words that kept binding on his tongue as it scared him the most. From the moment he laid eyes on you in Rivendell he too felt that pull you had felt so strongly that same day. He’d lived a couple thousand years and had never seen any ellith quite so striking as you. Legolas had been convinced he would never find the elf he was destined to love.

“I am here. I am alive.” You gave his hand another comforting squeeze you just looked at him. He was closer than he’d been before. The air between the two of you felt electrified as you looked up into his eyes. His blue ones met your own. The concern gave way to the happiness of the first part of this hell being over. As Gandalf had said. The Battle of Helm’s Deep was won but the War for Middle Earth had just begun.

His eyes met your smooth hair, fresh out of the baths, “You have no braids in?” He could not recall a time he had not seen braids laced throughout your hair. He had not known you for a long time, but it seemed jarring to see you without them.

You nodded, “You are correct. This is the first time I’ve had a comb since Rivendell.” You paused unsure of if you wanted to ask the next question or not. It was now or never really. Gimli had assured you he had felt the same, why would he lie?

He spoke before you could ask your question, “I must admit, I am envious.” He tried running a hand through his long, usually silky, hair that had been tangled in the battle.

“You can borrow mine.” You offered up without a second thought, “And uh…” You stopped once more having a hard time getting it out. It was now or never. You’d fought that hard for this. Why was it so hard to spit out?

“What is it?” He nodded, encouraging you along.

You closed your eyes, letting out a long breath, trying your hardest to regain some composure. His hand felt like it was burning in your palm as you decided you just needed to spit it out, “Do you… Would you like to braid it?”

Your ears were trained to pick up upon the slight falter in his breath, you’d managed to take him by surprise for once, “Are you sure? Are you asking me what I believe you are to be asking me?” He looked at you with a gentle desperation you had yet to see on his face before.

“Legolas.” You tried stopping him, but he just continued. Spiraling.

“I, of course, would gladly accept but I need to know if these are your intentions. If what you are asking is true.” He looked concerned that you might not be telling him exactly what he was wishing you were saying.

“Legolas!” You pulled your hand away from his before grasping onto his shoulders above you.

He stopped finally hearing you, “Yeah?”

“I like you. Quite a lot. More than a fellowship member probably should. And Gimli might have told me you were driving him a tad mad at all the mentions of me throughout the months.” Your smile grew as you saw his expression drop into shock. You had decided it was fun to surprise the Prince of Mirkwood. His face was the most precious you had seen it yet as it went through the uncommon emotion of being surprised.

“That dreadful dwarf! He promised he would not tell.” For the second time in a short period, you had seen Legolas in a panicked state. Legolas was best with everything under his control. You had often thrown his plans under fire when you came into the picture though. So often before he would be annoyed but he welcomed it with you.

“Him telling me that got me through it all. If he had not told me you had feelings for me I do not think I would have made it out alive. I was fighting for us. For a future with both of us in it. I know exactly what I am asking you for when I asked you to braid my hair.” You spoke freely for the first time in a while. It had been hard keeping the feelings you felt for him locked down and hidden away as you travelled with the fellowship.

He grinned taking your hand in his this time. He led you to the chair at the desk in the room and had you sit. He stood behind you as he brushed his hands through your hair slowly. You tried you best to fight the shiver and chills that erupted at his touch, “I am honored you asked me to braid you hair. If it was not obvious before, I do feel the same. My dwarf friend seemed to want to tell you that before I could.”

You laughed softly relishing in his touch, “We should thank him. Who knew how much longer we would have pined from afar.”

“I do not wish to give him credit. His head will grow too large.” His nimble hands began braiding small intricate braids in your hair. He’d decided he was going to take his time and make the perfect braid he had never had the patience to do before.

Giggles erupted from you at that. Watching Gimli warm up to both you and Legolas to eventually turning into one of your closest companions had been one of the most unexpected twists from the journey, “It does not feel right picking on him when he isn’t here to blow up on one of us. It is not as fun.”

You could see the grin on his face through the reflection in the mirror above you, “Enough about the dwarf. How are you? Truly?”

You closed your eyes thinking about his question, “I am tired and growing more nervous the closer we get.” It was the first time you had admitted it out loud and it felt good getting it off your chest.

He tied an elastic on the last large braid he laid down the center of your hair before letting his hands fall to your shoulders. Just the touch provided a comfort you weren’t sure you could express adequately, “I am keeping my promise. Nothing will happen to you. I will protect you through this. I promise you that.”

You turned your neck to look up towards him, “Thank you. For everything. And the braids.” You ran your hand along his work all too curious to see what it had actually looked like.

He brushed a hand along your cheek, “It is my honor. I should be the one thanking you. You look beautiful as always.”

Relishing in his touch you pushed your face into his hand, “Let’s not tell the rest of them until after this is all over.”

Legolas gave you a hesitant look, “We can try. Gimli will know immediately, and he does not have the quietest tongue.”

“Aye that is true. We shall try then.”

He knelt down to your level so that his eyes were staring right back at you, “Yes we shall. Now come, we must have some dinner and get some rest.” He held his hand out to you after he stood, not giving you another option knowing you would rather just jump into bed and snooze the night away. But Legolas being exactly who he was had made a promise to your father and he would protect you. And now he got the privilege of loving you too. He had no plans of losing this after he had prayed for it for so long.

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eyesxxyou · 11 months

Text

that's what they all say pt.3 (finale)

↳ ❝ [dbf!miguel o'hara x black!reader] ¡! ❞

rating. m

word count. 5k

synopsis. you wish your father would stop making you be near miguel but when you arrive at his house to drop something off, you meet the most important person in his life

you and miguel finally get together

warnings. p in v sex, unprotected sex (stay responsible), creampie, breeding/pregnancy kink, oral (f receiving), Miguel's ready to wife you up, sweet little Gabriella, Miguel being so father, Lyla's here! I also changed it so that Miguel's ex-wife is dead instead of them being divorced because I could. Let me know if I missed anything!

tags: @ihateuguys @chshiresins @futuristicpandakid

part 1 | part 2

It’s been all of a week since the gala and you were right, things with you and Nathan didn’t work out. You had broken up with him the very next night and of course, it didn’t feel good but you thought it better to end it now before he thought things were getting serious. Then the slew of curses came from him ranging broadly from calling you a “fucking bitch” to telling you that “you’re not even that pretty anyway”. All the usual bullshit.

It was no chip off your shoulder all in all.

It has, however, been growing more and more difficult to be around your father. You’ve fucked Miguel twice now and he was absolutely none the wiser. Someone so technically smart but when it comes to everything else he was completely unaware. All the while, he spoke more and more fondly of his friend. “Miguel” this, “Miguel” that, “that man is a genius!”

‘Yeah, so smart I bet his head game is insane”, you think to yourself, hating yourself for it. But you smile all the same at yourself because it’s a joke for you and only you.

Don’t get yourself wrong though, you are on no good terms with Miguel despite the angry sex you two had in the bathroom of the gala. When you left him in the bathroom, you went to sit back down with your father and Nathan just as dinner was being served. Miguel didn’t return until maybe 10 minutes later, a thin sheet of sweat on his neck, his hair haphazardly restyled, and his once neat bowtie a bit uneven. There was no way he could come back to the party the way you left him, still hard and aching.

He ended up jerking himself off, his cock still slick with your essence. Was it shameful? Yes, utterly embarrassing too. His hand gripped the counter so hard, his hand stroking his length fast and hard with his eyes closed, trying to imagine you right there with him. God, your smell was still on his fingers and it was driving him crazy.

You didn’t spare him a single look the rest of the night and it drove him absolutely mad. You knew it too. That’s why you did it.

Anyways, spending your day running errands and doing chores for your father was not how you’d like to be spending a day off from your demanding job but you knew if you weren’t there to take care of him, he’d be wasting away in his own filth because he cares only about his career. You’ve been cleaning up the small amount of clutter he had around when he comes out with a metal box.

"I need you to take this to Miguel for me."

You immediately retract at the idea. "And why can't you do it? I'm already cleaning your house. Why don't you have a robot maid to do this anyway?" You know he's just too caught up in his own thing to do such a thing. You think you might gift him one to save yourself the energy.

"One, because I'm working on something incredibly important right now and I'm wasting precious time just by talking to you right now. Two, why would I do that when I have you?" He cracks a joke that doesn't even begin to bring a smile to your face but he brushes off your downer mood. "Look, Miguel and I are working on DNA splicing and he needs this sample ASAP. It's very important he gets it. I need you to take it because I don't trust anyone else with it."

You look at the box, your lip curling with the beginnings of a "no" but you know better than that. "I don't even know where he lives."

"Already sent you his address."

You try to find another way to avoid him. "Can I just leave it on his doorstep?" And the disappointment is palpable as your father shakes his head. "Nope, needs to be taken directly from your hands into his." His eyes narrow as you sigh. "Why are you so reluctant to go? You've never had a problem with Miguel before. You two are always messing around."

'Oh you wouldn't know the half of it, dad.'

"It's nothing. I'm just tired, that's all. I'll take it to him." It would be quick, in and out, you'd barely exchange a word, so much as a glance.

Saying that you'll take it and actually taking it were two entirely different beasts. The first thing you thought standing outside of his house was that his home was distinctly him, overly geometric, sharp edges and corners but with a surprising amount of large windows, all tinted with reflective sheeting making it impossible to see inside. What if he already saw you? What if he was standing there, looking out of one of those windows at you standing at the end of his driveway? The thought terrified you.

You approached the front door and jammed your finger at the doorbell. Oddly enough, there was no chime. To your surprise, a small hologram of a woman appeared in front of you. She wore a large, white, fur coat and pink, heart-shaped glasses. Her smile was broad. “And who are you?”

“Y/N. I’m here to drop something off to Miguel.”

“Ohhh so you’re Y/N!” She suddenly appeared on top of the box, sitting with her legs crossed in front of you. “Oh you have put Miguel through it. I’ve never seen him so stressed over one person. How’d you do it?” You never expected Miguel’s virtual assistant to be so forward.

“I-”

And then the front door swung open and the hologram glitched away. You expected to see Miguel’s towering frame in the door but it’s not there; instead, your eyes catch sight of a little girl maybe 9 or 10 years old looking up at you with big, brown eyes. It’s absolutely unmistakable that she is Miguel’s daughter. She looks just like him. “Who are you?” Her voice is sweet and small, timid even.

You smiled softly and knelt down in front of her, setting the box down beside you. “I’m Y/N, a friend of your dad’s.” You offer out a hand to her and she takes it, shaking firmly. “I’m Gabriella everyone calls me Gabi though.” She came out of her shell so quickly, smiling just like her dad. It warmed your heart.

“Lyla, I told you not to let Gabi open the door.” You could hear Miguel’s voice approaching from around the corner. He was in a black shirt that hugged him in all the right places and gray sweatpants hanging just at his hips. He was rubbing a towelette down his face, wiping off messily done makeup undoubtedly done by the unstable hands of his daughter.

Miguel saw you and paused for a moment. “Y/N?” He began to wipe his face harder. “Gabi, mija. You need to get ready. Your friend will be here soon.” He had a few remnants of glitter in the corners of his eyes that he missed and his lips were still slightly stained cherry red. Gabriella turned to her father. “I already got all my things together, Papa.”

“Do you have all of your soccer stuff together?” He asks and she nods vigorously. “Knee pads?” Again she nods. “Shin guards?” Gabriella wraps her arm around his leg. “Papa, I have everything. You already checked my bag twice.” Miguel sighed and gently patted her head. He looked to you again as you grabbed the handles to the sealed metal box and stood once more.

“I’m just here to drop this off.” You place the box inside beside his door, too uncomfortable to dare yourself to take a step inside. “I’ll take my leave now.”

“Hold on.” Miguel was quick to say. He had you here, at his house, for the first time ever. “Can we talk for a minute?” His eyes are soft, a bit pleading.

You look at Gabriella and think about how you don’t want to start anything in front of his daughter. You hesitate, chew softly on your lip. “Yeah, sure.” You come inside, pick up the box so you can hand it off to him.

You don’t like being so close to him. You hate the way his fingers graze yours has he takes the box from you. “Thanks,” he mutters, setting the box down on his coffee table. He tapped the table and it lit up with a screen. “Lyla, make sure this box remains secure until I pick it up again.” The holographic woman from before showed up like she was laying on top of the table. “Got it, Miguel and Gabi’s friend is pulling up.” She points to the door before disappearing again.

Gabriella grins and runs off to go get her things so she can go and for the first time, you and Miguel are alone again. You don’t look at each other, both trying to find something to say in the moment. All you really wanted to do was leave. You felt like you were intruding on something deeply personal. You’re in his home. His daughter is here. This is his whole life right here.

“Is it always this chaotic here?” Your voice breaks the silence. You feel like it’s too loud. Why are your ears ringing?

A small smile creeps onto Miguel’s lips. “No, not usually. Gabi’s just excited to go to her friend’s house.” His smile faded softly and cleared his throat. He turned his whole body to you, broad shoulders sloping to a small waist. God, you loved his body. “Y/N-”

“Papa, I’m ready!” Gabriella came bouncing downstairs with her duffle bag, ready to run off with her friend. She runs to her father and he catches her, lifting her with an exaggerated groan. “Oh, you’re getting so big, mija. Soon I won’t be able to carry you around.” You doubt that much, with how large he was. He could probably pick you up as you were now.

You see how gentle he is with her, how soft his voice is, how he holds her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

“Are you still coming to my soccer game tomorrow?” Gabriella asks him, her lips forming into a small pout as her hands grasp at his shirt. Miguel’s eyes softened. “Of course, mi amor. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Your heart warmed as he peppered kisses across her face and she let out a series of squeals and giggles. As much as you told yourself you hated him, he was a wonderful father and it was clear he adored his daughter. What a lovely little girl too.

He set her down and Gabriella looked up at you. “It was nice meeting you!” God, she was adorable. You smiled at her with a small hint of maternal kindness. “It was nice meeting you too, Gabi.”

She runs off out the door and Miguel follows her, seeing her off out the door before closing it. He sighed softly and looked back at you as you gaze around at his house. It’s decorated with a lot of pictures of him and Gabriella but none with a wife or girlfriend. Is that why he and your father are such good friends? Single fathers in their own ways whether it was by divorce or death. You’re too scared to touch anything, not knowing what’s a screen or not or what might activate Lyla.

“I think we need to talk about things.” Miguel begins with hesitation laced up in his voice, not knowing if this would spark an argument between the two of you. You squirm in your own skin. “I don’t know if there’s anything to talk about. I don’t know if you’ve finally decided where you stand but I know where I do.” You know the truth. The slightest push to sway you and you might come back around. You wanted him badly every single time you saw him. You always wanted his lips on yours, wanted his hands on your waist.

“I made my decision.”

You raise a brow at him, your arms crossing tightly over your chest as if to protect yourself from him. “Oh? And what is that?”

Miguel bites the inside of his cheek, his teeth clawing at the soft flesh. “I want you.” It took very little thought to come to that conclusion after the gala. He looked up at you while you were riding him and only thought that he wanted your face to be the first he sees when he wakes up and when he goes to sleep at night. He likes the way you feel in his hold, how you smell, how, for the first time since his fiance's death giving birth to Gabi, he thinks he could be happy with someone.

You hum like you’re not impressed. You tell yourself that you’re not going to give in so easily, he has to try harder than just that. You keep your back turned to him, not hearing how he approached so quickly and quietly. “Mía Carina, please.” His hand is suddenly on your waist, his fingers dipping into your flesh as he pulls you towards him

“What do you want me to say, Miguel? You want me to just fall into you and tell you I want you too?” You turn to look up at him and find that he’s much closer than you expected. “It’s going to take a lot more than just that.” You can see the way his mind whirls on his face as he thinks of what to do to get you to understand just how much he wants you and everything that comes with you.

You don’t expect him to get down on his knees in front of you, his hands on your hips as he pulls you close and presses his face into your stomach. “You don’t understand, mía carina. I want you. I want you and all the consequences that come along with it. Fuck– let your dad hate me, I don’t care. Please, Y/N. God, you don’t even know.” His voice strains as he looks up at you. He can see that he’s getting to you. The confliction on your face gives you away.

“You told me I was too young.” All you can think about is that first night. The idea of the two of you being together did seem a bit ludicrous but the way things fell apart that night.

“Baby-” Miguel’s hands gripped tighter. “What was I supposed to say? I’m in my 40s now. I have a daughter and you’re just beginning your life. I didn’t want you to be stuck with me and all these responsibilities.”

“That wasn’t for you to decide, Miguel.”

He kisses along the waistline of your pants. The softness of his lips grazing your hips sends a shiver skidding down the length of your spine. “You’re right and I’m sorry, muñeca.” His fingers slip beneath your shirt. “Please forgive me. Let me make it up to you.” His hands trace along the slopes of your body, the dips and curves that he so badly wants to commit to memory. “Lemme make it up to you, my pretty girl.”

He wraps your arms around your thighs and stands up, tossing you over his shoulder with ease. You squeal with surprise. “Miguel, what are you doing?” You hit his back but it has little to no effect on him.

“I told you, I’m gonna make it up to you.” He began to carry up upstairs to what you could only assume was his bedroom. You figured there wasn’t anything you could do about the situation at this point and that you might as well enjoy the ride and the amazing view of his ass.

He took you into his room and laid you down rather gently on his neatly made bed. Miguel stood above you with his hips between your legs. You made a motion to sit up but he shook his head with a disapproving click of his tongue. “No, you don’t do a thing. You’ll be a real muñeca now, won’t you?” His fingers play with the button on your jeans before undoing the fixture.

Miguel took his sweet time getting your clothes off, starting with your shoes and socks then continuing with your pants. He kissed your pelvis as he removed your underwear, this time keeping it intact. His kisses are wet, gentle, and teasing as he maintains eye contact all the way through. He leaves marks where his lips meet your skin, littering you with blossoming red marks all across your stomachHe takes your shirt next and finally your bra, leaving you completely bare before him.

Miguel’s large hands come to fondle your breasts, squeezing and manipulating the soft, malleable flesh against his warm palms. He thinks about how nice you’d look with swollen, tender breasts ready to feed his child. God, now he was thinking about impregnating you. Making his family all the bigger.

You’re so soft, every part of you drives him up the wall. He nudged the bulge of his cock against your core, feening to be inside you. “So pretty.” He murmured. “Mi linda muñeca. So beautiful.” Miguel trailed his fingertips along your body, between your breasts, down your diaphragm and naval and smiled at the way your body reacted so violently to his touch. He got on his knees at the end of his bed, placing either of your legs over your shoulders. You tremble as his large, calloused hands gripped and massaged the soft flesh of your thighs.

Miguel began his descent with a few kisses at your knees, slowly trailing his lips across the sensitive, supple flesh of your inner thighs. His breath is hot and each exhale builds an anticipation that begins to grow unbearable.

"Miguel please." You whine, desperate to know all he can do with that tongue of his. His teasing was killing you slowly and softly, the more torturous way to go. And how can he refuse you when you sound so pretty like that for him? He nipped at your thighs a little more, growing closer and closer to your wanting cunt growing wetter for him by the moment.

Finally, he kissed the slickened lips of your pussy. A sloppy, wet kiss with his tongue circling your swollen clit. Miguel spat on your pussy and watched it pool at your entrance. He put his fingers in the mess of it, humming softly as he eased his middle finger into your wanton hole. You whine again, buckling your hips down because his pace is excruciatingly slow.

Miguel placed his hand on your pelvis to keep you still. “Be patient for me. Can you do that for me, mía carina?” He fucks his middle finger into you a couple times before pushing his index finger in with it. His digits were long and thick, pushing and curling and massaging your silky walls in search of that soft spot that could have you crumbling in seconds.

His tongue was on your rosebud again, lips latched and suckling while his tongue flicked against the little bundle of nerves. Miguel kept his eyes on you, watching the way your face contorted. Your brows pinched with concentration and your lips parted to let a few strangled moans escape. Your fingers were in his hair, grasping at his soft curls. “Just like that– God…oh fuck, Miguel!” His fingers were pumping in and out fast and hard. Your heels dug into his back and your toes curled with pleasure.

It was almost pathetic how easily he could coax an orgasm out of you. The right stroke of his fingers and swirl of his tongue and he had you seeing stars and left your ears ringing. The building of a climax in the pit of your stomach bubbled like boiling water. You let your eyes close, squeezed them shut to concentrate on that feeling, help build it into something more and let it come to complete fruition.

“Go ahead and cum for me, muñeca. Can you do that just for me?” The low rumble of his voice against your aching cunt was enough to do just that. Your back arched off the bed, your fingers twisted in his hair, tugging at his roots to keep him close. Miguel slips his fingers from your, replacing it with his tongue while his arched nose continues to rub your clit. He liked the taste of you on his tongue, liked bringing you so much pleasure that your muscles spasmed and seized uncontrollably. His fingers massaged your thighs and hips. “Good girl. Mi buena chica.”

Miguel kissed your thighs again, his teeth grazing across your skin as your legs trembled. He was hard now—harder than before at least. His lips were slick with the very thing he hopes no one else in the world will ever get the chance to taste. He stood against, looked down at your little fucked out frame with tenderness. God, he loved you.

“Can you sit up for me, mi alma?” He asks you. You loved how gentle he was being with you and wanted to please him, so you fought against the aftershock of your orgasm and sat up in front of him. Your face was just against his pelvis with the obvious tint in his pants brushing his lips. You grabbed his hips and looked up at him. The valley of his abs and all those muscles.

“You’re such a good daddy, Miguel.” You murmur, kissing the swell while your hands slipped beneath his shirt to caress his muscles. “How sweet you were with Gabriella. I love a man that’s good with children.”

“Oh really?” Miguel bent down at the waist to kiss you, purring softly against your plush lips. “Funny, I was just thinking about how nice and pretty you’d look pregnant and in my bed.” You moaned softly against his lips, your hand stroking the back of his neck. “Miguel.” His large hands were on your breasts again.

“You want to help me make another baby? Make me a daddy again?” His tongue was against yours. “I wanna make you a mommy. WIll you let me do that?” He wanted to cum deep inside you, press his hand against the exterior of your womb and know that his child was growing in there. It might just be a nice little fantasy, hormones running high, but it turned him on. It turned you on too. Birth control in these times meant you couldn’t get pregnant unless you intentionally stopped taking it. No risks involved.

“Yes, please.” You pushed Miguel back so you could stand up. The height difference was much the same but now you were at least at his chest. You looked up at him with wide, pretty eyes and offered him the same human kindness he offered you by removing his clothes. You grabbed the hem of his shirt and helped him take it off before doing the same with his sweatpants and underwear. You realize that for the first time, you two are completely naked in front of each other, bare and vulnerable.

Miguel kissed you again because he simply couldn’t help it. He kissed you because even though it hurt his back to keep bending down like this, he loved kissing you so much that it didn’t matter. He picked you up with ease and walked around the side of the bed to place you further up on it. He climbed up on top of you, caressed the side of your body as he grabbed a pillow.

"How do you want it?" He asked, liking to give you a choice in the matter. You looked at the pillow he was grasping and took it from him. Miguel watched as you lied on your stomach and quickly caught on when you placed the pillow beneath your hips to elevate them. He liked the way you thought.

Miguel mounted the back of your thighs, wrapping his hand around the veiny length of his cock while his other hand pulled your hips up a bit more to expose your tight, wet, little pussy. He tapped the head against your entrance before easing himself in just enough that he no longer needed his hand to guide. He leaned over you, pushing deeper until his hips met your ass flush and everything that made the two of you two separate beings disappeared.

You turned to look back at him from your position and hooked your arm over his shoulder and around his neck to pull him close. His hands were on either side of your body, supporting the both of you. Miguel kissed you and at the same time thrusted his hips sharply into you. “You’ll make such a great mom, mía carina. I’ll put a baby nice and deep in you and we’ll be a happy family.” He rocked his hips, pulling back until just the tip remained positioned against your wonton pussy before sinking back into his own personal heaven.

Miguel wasn’t fucking you. It wasn’t fast or rough or fueled by blatant, blinded lust. His pace was slow and steady, quite nice actually. Each thrust drew a placid moan from your lips or a whimper of Miguel’s name against his tongue. Thai kind of sex was the baby-making kind of sex. You never had it but you knew it all the same, you could feel it. This was the kind of sex that made his daughter.

“You’ll be such a good mom to Gabriella.” He kissed your cheek, tracing his lips across the curve of your jaw. He hoped saying something like that wouldn’t scare you away because he wanted you to be a part of his family. Gabriella never met her mother, grew up without any semblance of a mother figure at all. At first, it was just because he was heartbroken, freshly widowed, and now with a daughter. Then after a couple years when he thought he might finally be able to get back out there, the occasional date here but no one was allowed to meet his daughter. He didn’t want anyone who wasn’t going to be a lasting part of his life make an impression on her, get her mind going. He was afraid her real mother might be replaced, that Gabriella might be mistaken. So he made sure she knew who her mother was, showed her pictures of her, told her stories, etc.

It’s only been in recent years that Miguel has realized that Gabriella still needed a maternal figure in her life. And trying to find someone willing to step up and raise a kid that isn’t theirs is hard to imagine, no less you, a girl in her 20s with no children of her own and a whole life ahead of her. He wasn’t trying to tie you down like that.

You moan softly, loving the way his body pressed against yours. Your skin stuck to his with the thin layer of sweat that seemed to try and bound you two together. You loved how full you elt, his cock plunging in and out at you in firm, timed strokes. The two of you so desperately clung on to each other like someone was trying to pull you two away from each other.

The way you felt with Miguel was electric, like nothing you ever felt before and you thought that this might actually be love. This could be love right here and that terrified you and excited you. Because you were so in love that you were perfectly happy with the idea of being a close part of his personal life, eventually coming to help parent his daughter at your age.

“I’m close, my love.” Miguel was beginning to lose all sense of self. His breathing began to pick up as his hips buckled a bit faster. “Gonna cum in your pretty little pussy, claim it all as mine.” He sat up finally and suddenly you felt a bit cold without his body on yours. His large hands grasped your hips to keep you still and watched as his cock sank deep into you. God, the way your walls stretched to contain him, gripped him like no other.

You knew he was just on the edge when his hips began to slow into spaced, yet harsh thrusts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck– God.” He choked as his abdomen tightened and he pressed his narrow hips as hard as he could against your ass, pressing himself as deep as he could inside you.

You moan at the feeling of his hot cum filling you, painting your walls in nice, thick spurts. Miguel lets out a low groan, his eyes squeezing shut as you rock back and forth on his dick, milking him for all he had to offer you. There was so much that it began to leak at the corners, creating a milky white ring right at your entrance.

Miguel left you slowly, not truly wanting to leave the soft warmth of your body. Cum immediately began to surface and dribble down the front of your lips. It was quite the sight, such a beautiful one. He just had to take a moment to admire his work.

“You havin’ fun back there?” You ask after a beat of silence. You turn around beneath Miguel and sit up just enough to kiss his chest before he bends down to meet you halfway. His hands come to find purchase on your jaw, his thumbs rubbing circles on your cheekbones. Your smile into the kiss before laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

You stifle your laughter as you pull away from him and lay back down on top of his bedsheets. “My dad is so gonna kill you.” You look up at Miguel as he runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. He came and laid down beside you, wrapping a arm around your waist to pull you closer. “Let’s not tell him just yet. I have to figure out the best way to explain it.”

You roll over and murmur into his lightly hair-covered chest. “I don’t think there’s any good way to explain this to him. Might as well rip the bandaid off while he’s not expecting it.”

“That might be the right move.”

#i did it!#it's done!#finale #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #miguel o'hara #atsv #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fic #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 smut

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houseofoddballs · 5 months

Text

Loved and Lost

Based HEAVILY on @charliemwrites 1fur1 AU!! Recently fell in love with a dog that I can't have after reading through their "Woof Woof Johnny" things, and it absolutely tore me up inside because the sweet boy looked a lot like I imagined her Ghost boy to look. So you are given this. I poured a lot of that pain into this fic, and i hope you like it. (2,644 words)

They say that the more the loss hurts, the more you loved. Maybe that’s why you’ve cried yourself to sleep the past week, his favorite blanket clutched to your chest. “Grow up (Y/n), it’s just a dog.” Your sister had chided when she caught wind of the incident, your mother must have told her. She was never really an animal person.

A whiff of pin and gunpowder fills your nose, tantalizing you with the essence of that sweet dog who would sit patiently near you no matter where you were in the house. The fluff of the black blanket was soft, but nowhere near the dense fur of your cream colored good boy. If you closed your eyes, you could still see his face, his sweet sweet face. It didn’t matter what you were doing, those brilliant amber eyes were always trained on you, peeking up from the black skull-like patch of fur on his face. But he wasn’t yours anymore. Your Ghost had been wrenched away from you by the cruel jaws of fate, taken away from you in a horrible accident. It wasn’t abnormal for Ghost to disappear into the woods for a day or two at a time, but this time in particular was different.

You didn’t think anything of the way that Ghost sat in front of the door, blocking your exit stoically. A small huff of laughter pulled past your lips as you dropped to your knees and cupped your pooches face in your hands and went to place a gentle kiss on his fluffy forehead. Ghost wasn’t too keen on touch, preferring to initiate by laying on you or something, but in those rare moments where he did want affection he would express it by doing something like blocking your path like this. So imagine your surprise when he huffed and snapped his head to the side, pulling out of your hands like a pouting child. “Fine, have it your way big guy, but I still need to get to work.”

But he didn’t want that. He growled as you stood, His fur fluffing up as he also raised from his haunches to block your exit. He was adamant that you weren’t leaving. As much as you wanted to stay home with your pup, you were already going to be cutting it close to clocking in late. So, you tricked him. You walked into your room, closed him out, and climbed out your window. You were on the first floor, so it’s not like the drop was going to kill you. But you should have known better. As soon as your feet hit the ground, Ghost was there, growling with an unsaid threat.

He tried so desperately to get you to stay, you honestly felt so bad with the way that he chased your car well down the driveway and past. Your heart absolutely broke as you finally watched him give up through your rearview mirror, his chest heaving and his brown eyes looking so desperate as his figure grew smaller and smaller until he turned around and walked into the forest, his head hung low.

That was the last normal moment you spent with him. Brushing him to the side and heading to work. You wished you had just called out, or better yet, quit entirely. When you made your way home, it was with apology treats and even some new toys for enrichment (Even though Ghost had always preferred sticks to proper toys.) Pulling into your driveway, you hurriedly made your way inside, calling for your pup with a grin on your face. “Ghost! Ghost! I’m home!... baby boy?” You expected him to be laying on the couch or your bed pouting like he always did when he didn’t get what he wanted. But he was mysteriously absent. You shrugged it off, figuring that he was still in the forest doing whatever it was he did. You didn’t think anything when he was gone the next day either, chalking it up to you making him really mad. Ghost always knew how to hold a grudge, after all. It was the fourth and fifth days that began to drive you mad with worry. You had begun combing through the forrest until your legs were heavy and your throat was sore calling for Ghost, dreading the thought that maybe he was laying somewhere, hurt and alone. You didn’t dare entertain the thought that he might be dead. Finally, midway through the fifth day, a heavy knock came at your door. You must have looked a mess, heavy baggs under your eyes, sloppy unbrushed hair, still in your hiking clothes from yesterday. You opened the door to a strapping older gentleman with a kind face and an impressive set of chops. “Hello, mam. Is this the house of Miss (Y/n) (L/n)?”

His voice was kind, a british accent intertwining with his words like clouds in the sky. Any other day, you would probably be incredibly flustered by this attractive and muscular man ending up on your doorstep, but not today, not with Ghost gone. It just felt incomplete without him trying to push his furry head through the doorway to growl at the strange man. You had to swallow hard, biting back tears at the thought as you nodded your head. “Yes, that’s um- That’s me.” Your throat was too tight, voice too high, laced with too much stress and exhaustion.

A flash of remorse and regret passed over the mans face for a moment, and you definitely feared the worst. He cleared his throat and placed his hand in his pocket, pulling out a familiar leather strap with a silver buckle and silver tags. Your breath caught in your throat as a shaky hand reached out to gently brush against the collar. A whiff of pine and gunpowder caught in your throat, making you retract your hand to your chest so quickly as if you were burnt.

Tears flooded your eyes and down your cheeks as you let out a choked sob. “No, no, NO!” This couldn’t be happening, not Ghost. Not your sweet boy Who you couldn’t convince to get into bed with you at night, but you would wake up to him licking your face in the middle of the night as he laid on your chest. Not the big brute who would pull your dirty laundry into his bed while you were gone just because he missed you. Not your precious puppy who huffed and grumbled whenever you got the urge to have photoshoots because he was just such a gorgeous dog. Not your Ghost.

The man knelt down next to you, a comforting hand on your shoulder as he held the collar out to you once more, his voice deceivingly soft as it caressed your ears. “I’m sorry lass, he’s gone…”

Ghost sat in the back of a military vehicle, skull balaclava fit neatly over his face and covering the deep frown that pulled at his lips. Hybrids were never meant to find mates, it’s why they were supposed to be doped up with suppressants and kept away from normal society. They were the military’s bioweapons, nothing else. They weren’t people, they weren’t given the graces of normal lives, they didn’t get to enjoy life unless it was in the ridiculous way that Johnny seemed to milk joy from every part of their job to keep his spirits up. Simon almost forgot.

It was so easy to forget what kind of monster he was when your hands were so gentle, smoothing down and running through his fur so tenderly, cooing softly at him as you stared down at him with those big doe eyes of yours, humming softly as you filled his dish, surrounded by your comfort and scent, the comfort and scent of his mate.

His grip on his gun was especially tight, his teeth gritting as he imagined the devastation you were going to feel. He had fought tooth and nail against the entire squad to keep the collar, going as far as to challenge Price. But not even Ghost could hold his own in a fight against his squad and his alpha.

“Can ya’ believe the’re shippin us all the way to the bloody states? Downright mad lads.” Ghost shot a nasty glare at Johnny, making the poor boy practically wilt in place. Normally Ghost would be thankful for the distraction that Johnny provided, but not when he was being distracted from you. He could still remember the scent of your shampoo, the sound of your voice, the feel of your soft hands on his face as he ripped his head out of your grip. What he wouldn’t give for one last kiss right now. He had to bite back the tears that threatened to prick his eyes, a feeling so foreign that he couldn’t even remember the last time he cried.

He knew it was coming. It was all so perfect. He could leave during the day to meet up with the squad, go out on whatever stupid mission was required of them, whether it required the wolf or the man, and at the end of the day he would come back to you. He would come back to your soft giggles and your warm cuddles. He wasn’t the best at showing it, or the most affectionate, but god did he love you.

Turns out, they aren’t lying when they say one missed day is enough to knock medication out of your system. One day without his suppressants, and he had been drawn away from his pack formation by the most peculiar scent. Simon didn’t remember what he smelt like that day, but he remembered how it made him feel. Seeing you in the middle of the woods, humming so softly and sweetly to yourself through your earbuds, was like meeting god. His chest was suddenly tight, his knees almost too weak to hold him up, his heart thrumming in his chest, his fur bristling, a shiver running down his spine. He had to resist the urge to take off after you. But you were too sweet for him, too gentle, he would ruin you. So he turned away. Simon is nothing if not a man of patience and restraint, but walking away from you was the hardest thing in his life.

He had told himself that it was just not having the suppressants in his system that was driving him mad, that you were just a pretty girl and his instincts were reacting to the first female they found. But when he returned to base and felt no such thrumming in his heart or tightening in his drawers for any of the few females on base, he knew that it was more than instinct. Ghost stopped taking his suppressants after that. He would flush them down the toilet, throw them away, put them in his pillowcase, whatever it took to keep Price from finding out. Every day the pack would pass your house on their training regimen, just close enough that your scent could flood his nostrils and fill him with that shaky feeling of pure bliss.

One day though, you found him. Simon could never forget the look of pure awe and adoration as you caught sight of him through the trees, slowly getting down on your knees and holding your hand out as you cooed. “Such a pretty puppy, oh my goodness. Who do you belong to?” And that was the final nail in Simon’s coffin. Sweet thing you were, smart too. You didn’t even make eye contact upon first meeting, a surefire way to challenge any other wolf. Not Simon though, he knew that you would never challenge him like that.

When he returned to base that night, it was with a dopy grin under his skull balaclava, his hand absentmindedly over his heart. He had been careful to roll around in the dirt, scrubbing himself of any of your delicate scent. He made up some excuse to Price about disciplinary training, living in the wilds and whatnot. Whatever he had to say to stay with you.

God, it had been great. Getting to come home every night to you. Getting to relax on the couch with you, simply bask in your presence. You were like a goddess, his savior in this damned world. You would delight in playing with his paws that were almost as big as your tiny hands, completely unaware of how many lives they had crushed. You would let him lick at your face without the slightest idea of how many throats those jaws had ripped out mercilessly. You would change in front of him so peacefully, without the slightest idea that it was a man hungerly watching you. But Simon would never make a move. Even if you knew what he was. He didn’t deserve you, he couldn’t taint you with his filth. He was content to simply be with you, to exist with you, to bask in your presence as if it were the sun.

All it takes is one mistake.

“You wear perfume now Lt? Smells fuckin amazing, i’d rail ya smellin’ like that.” Soap’s teasing comment was easily brushed aside as one of his usual flirtatious remarks with no base, but the damage had already been done. Ghost had gotten complacent, used to having his cake and eating it too. So the one day that he didn’t fully cover your scent, of course a pack of male hybrids would notice. Simon made eye contact with Price from across the room, watching as he lifted his head and sniffed the air.

“Lieutenant. My office, now.” “Yes, sir.”

A deep sigh pulled from Price’s chest as he drug a hand down his face from his perch atop his chair behind his desk. Simon didn’t know what to expect, but he already had a million excuses ready on the tip of his tongue, just waiting for the signal to burst free. What he didn’t expect was for Price to reach into his drawer and pull out a plastic baggie of the little white pills that Simon had been decidedly not taking.

“Mind explainin’ why you’re clean fella?” A grunt. That was all Simon could muster. There was no reasonable excuse for that, and he knew it. Price’s eyes darkened with recognition as he gave a single curt nod. “That’s what I thought. You get one more night, Ghost.”

Simon’s eyes practically bulged out as he looked at Price, an obvious question in his gaze. Why? Price, ever vigilant, only sighed in response- the air leaving his lungs as if it were heavy and laden with history that Ghost could only imagine. “Say goodbye, son. You’re not gonna get another opportunity.”

This isn’t what Simon thought Price had meant. Moving the Task Force all the way to the bloody states. When you left for work that day, you took Simon’s heart with you. You surely didn’t even notice your favorite picture with your pup absent from it’s frame. A bitter chuckle left Ghost’s lips at the thought of how little you really saw about your environment. Even when Simon had been living with you as well as Ghost, you never noticed.

So as you laid in bed, sobbing your heart out and clutching his blanket close with one hand, the other hand so tight around the black leather strap what your knuckles were white; Simon was all too far away, pressing his chapped lips softly against the picture of you from a tiny cold cot in a base somewhere in america, trying not to do the same. He could picture your small frame, trembling as sob wracked through you and tore you up inside.

Why does loving something have to hurt so bad?

#simon ghost riley #cod #ghost mw2 #one shot #angst #no happy ending #Hurt #my writing #@Charliemwrites #1fur1 #my heart is breaking #but i'll live #it will just take some time #and some healing #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost fanfiction

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geeks-universe · 1 month

Text

The Fallen pt. 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Cooper Howard x F!Angel!Reader

A/N: The rating is going to go up after this chapter. This one doesn’t include any smut, but the next chapter definitely will.

The journey to finding the head was relatively uneventful.

Or, as uneventful as traveling through the Wasteland could be.

The group picked up a dog on the way, though somehow you were the only one surprised, and delighted. Among all of your father’s vast creations, they happened to be your favorite.

The feeling was apparently mutual, considering the dog had taken to sleeping on your chest every night and following close by during the day. You’d lovingly named her “Maze” after your favorite, albeit grumpy, demon.

It fit, if you were being honest, even though you knew the aforementioned demon would skin you alive if she ever found out. (Even if she’d secretly find it endearing.)

It was a nice distraction from Cooper too. When you’d first met him a few years ago, you’d been reminded of something so very human in his hesitation. It was buried deep, heavily denied, but there. Every meeting since then you’d been determined to find it, to find the man in the monster.

“Have you slept?”

Maximus had been a nice addition. At first, you’d been hesitant to trust him. Many, many factions had risen since the fall of humanity, and almost every single one of them became twisted, corrupted versions of what they were meant to be. The Brotherhood of Steel was certainly no exception, but Maximus was.

Maybe you’d been too quick to judge others before too.

“Was just thinking,” you murmured, absently petting Maze when she nuzzled further into your lap.

“About anything in particular?”

It was a kind question, and while you could see the darkness in him, the kind that came with growing in a world hell bent on destruction, there was a good heart in his chest. You only hoped he didn’t lose it.

“Nah,” you shrugged the question off, letting your mind wander through the twists and turns of your memory.

He studied you for a moment, before gesturing towards the other two sleeping bodies.

“Get some sleep, I’ll keep an eye out.”

Initially, you were going to object. You didn’t want to rest, didn’t have any desire to revisit the pain of the past that you were forced to witness in your dreams, but there was an exhaustion deep in your soul. Rest wouldn’t fix it, but it would help.

You muttered a thanks, not missing the way his eyes lingered on Lucy’s unconscious form. There was certainly something happening there, and the thought of a blossoming romance in a decaying world warmed your heart.

Sleep, like always, slipped through your fingers like sand. Even with the warm presence of Maze and the friends around you, it didn’t come easy. It hadn’t in a long time, and you doubted it ever would again.

Eventually, however, the lures of slumber found you, and instead of falling into a peaceful embrace, you woke to lungs full of ash.

You tried to call out, to yell to your friends, but the burning in your chest crawled up your throat, forcing you to your knees.

Before you, the world burned.

Not the Wasteland you’d been traversing, the endless desert and bloody terrain, but the world as it was before. Skyscrapers reached for the clouds, cars were like so many dots in the city, and there was so much life. Birds singing in the sky, the breeze swaying leaves, a smell so fresh it brought tears to your eyes.

Then the flames licked it, consumed it, swallowed it whole.

And you were left there to watch, your knees planted to the ground.

“Dad.”

A desperate, wretched sob. A wish. A cry torn from your throat, wrenched free by your heart.

“Dad, please.”

You were screaming now, begging, heart pounding with anguish.

“Don’t do this. Don’t let this happen.”

Each word shredded your soul, hopelessness bitter on your tongue. The brightness of your heart, the very essence of your being, dimmed to an ember. Your fists pounded against the Earth, the horizon disappearing in a cloud of smoke and ash.

A scream of rage, of agony, of desolation erupted from you, like the bombs that fell to the Earth around you.

Horror sliced through your back like a knife- blinding, hot pain coated your tongue like blood. You reached back, clawing at the pain despairingly, ignoring the splashes of blood as you tried to just make it stop.

But it wouldn’t.

Your nails provided no relief, the desperate slashing growing fiercer with the tears in your eyes, grasping with the last of your strength at the pieces of yourself.

It didn’t matter.

Made no difference, really.

The bond was severed.

Minutes turned to hours turned to days before you had the courage to move, to assess the damage. The fires still raged around you, days after the initial blasts, and the hollowness in your gut deepened.

Your hands shook as you reached out, first hesitantly, then madly, at the remnants of your once beautiful wings.

Golden Child.

Hope.

Growth.

Life.

Your father had called you all so lovingly, murmured into the ear of a child desperate for her father’s pride. It was all a lie, one that poisoned the air in your lungs.

Bloodied feathers and snapped bones lay behind you, the golden dulled with the death of an entire population. A crack formed in you then, one that would never heal.

“I hate you.”

A gloved hand pulled you from the clutches of unconsciousness, dragging you back to your prison.

The way you moved was instinctual- swiping your leg out and pressing Maze’s knife into the neck of your would-be attacker. It was fast, precise, a move taught over and over again by the demon until you’d been able to do it in your sleep.

Only, by the time the tears in your eyes cleared, you realized it was very much not an attacker.

It was Cooper.

And he looked far too smug for a man you’d just put on his ass.

“It ain’t good form, sneakin’ up on a restin’ man.”

Your words were an exact echo of the first time you’d ever heard his voice.

“It most certainly ain’t.”

There was an almost playful twinkle in his gaze as he pressed a little deeper into your knife. Your hand shook then, a reminder of what you were.

More importantly, a reminder of what you could never be.

Before he noticed that particular quirk, you sheathed the dagger, but didn’t move from your perch above him. He didn’t seem too keen on moving you off him either.

“You were squirmin’ in your sleep, sweetheart.” He explained, resting his top half on his forearms. That man surely did look too comfortable with you on top of him. “Makin’ a lot of noise.”

“Just… memories.”

You puffed a breath, nearly leaning your forehead against his. It was easy, natural, the way your body sought his out, like a moment of rest after a hard day.

Instead, your gaze zeroed in on an unassuming glint, a sparkle in a sea of sand. It was more than just glitter though, and upon the realization of exactly what it was, your heart dropped.

There, sitting inconspicuously in the sand, was a small, golden feather.

Your feather.

Cooper followed your stare, looking curiously at the object that was causing such a reaction. He didn’t understand though, couldn’t possibly.

Your feathers hadn’t shined like that since the day the bombs dropped. The few that remained were dull, bloodied and broken like the rest of your wings.

“Are we interrupting?”

Lucy approached, Maximus directly behind her with a curious look. Why in all the world were you on top of the ghoul?

While Max was shocked, Lucy wasn’t bothered. She was more astonished that she’d yet to walk back to the two of you fucking the absolute hell out of each other.

“Yes.”

“No.”

You and Cooper spoke at the same time, your movements quick as you disengaged. You didn’t see him grab the feather you seemed so mesmerized with and tuck it into his chest pocket, but after giving the two others a smile, you definitely did notice it missing.

“Okey-dokey,” Lucy drawled, another suspicious glance casted between you both.

“Are you okay?” It was Maximus who asked, and from the tenseness of his body, you guessed he’d probably heard more of your nightmare than anyone else.

“I’m okay,” you lied, standing closer to Cooper absentmindedly.

Maze trotted up to you, pressing her wet nose into your hand like she understood your pain. Maybe she did, in a way. Not the exact pain you felt, but the loss of something so fundamental to your person.

Animals had an easier time realizing what you were. Besides Chloe and Linda, you’d never actually told another human being. A few had found out through one way or another, but it was hard to trust that part of yourself with others.

“We’re close,” Lucy announced, gesturing towards the wide open desert.

Less than half a day, you’d all agreed on yesterday before you stopped for the night. Then, as soon as you retrieved what remained of Dr. Wilzig, off to Lucy’s dad and the mysterious Moldaver.

“Thaddeus had the head last,” Maximus explained, stepping up with Lucy as she led the way.

You hung back with Cooper, glancing over at him every few minutes.

The two at the front continued to talk, explaining something or another, but you were too focused on Coop. He’d been there when the world went to shit.

You’d known it for a while, that he was old enough to have witnessed the end. He hadn’t said it explicitly, but the pieces clicked together when he properly introduced himself. Lucifer had a week-long bender involving a piñata of drugs, a couple of Swedish models, and a whole lot of old cowboy films.

You’d passed on the drugs and sex, but he’d trapped you in his penthouse and forced you to marathon the greatest hits of one Mr. Cooper Howard.

Time hadn’t been kind to him.

That man had been good, altruistic. He, like so many others, had lost so much of themselves to the world.

“Any particular reason you’re starin’ at me like I’m the last piece of pie?”

You hummed a small laugh, more thoughtful than entertained.

“The world before…”

He held a hand up, stopping you before you could even start down that line of questioning.

“Whatever you think you know of the world before, you don’t.”

“I think you made a better cowboy hero than a cowboy villain,” you joked, a genuine chuckle sounding as he nearly tripped over his feet, shock on his face.

“And what’s that supposed to mean, darlin’?”

“Whatever you want it to, cowboy.”

The mischief in your eyes was rivaled only by the guilt. You’d never be able to let go of it, to not have it haunt you every moment of every day, but perhaps you could live with it.

Perhaps there was a future for you.

Not the kind of future Lucy wanted, with romance and children, but the kind of future you did- freedom and a person to share it with.

“Got jokes, do you?”

His smile was wry, not quite amused, but certainly interested.

“Just for you.”

He cut you a hard stare, one that saw far more than you wanted him to, and yet not enough. The relationship you’d built up was founded upon a mutual understanding of letting the past die, and yet you found yourself wanting to tell him everything.

Gazes locked together, longing mingling in the air, interrupted only by the sound of a growing melody. You snapped your head forward, surprised by the sudden appearance of an entire radio tower.

Perhaps Cooper had distracted you more than you cared to admit.

“Thaddeus,” Maximus called, drawing attention to your group.

Maze held back, sticking close by your side as you approached the tower. As unsuspecting as it looked at a distance, it grew more ominous up close. Bodies and debris littered the ground, blood speckled in the warm sand.

You frowned.

Death, in this world, was nearly constant. You’d never seen the uglier side of it before coming to Earth. Even knowing the eternal resting place for these souls didn’t make it any easier to see them strung up and displayed this way.

The brutality of man hurt almost as much as the abandonment of your own family.

“Maximus?” The man, Thaddeus, you assumed, approached with a look of surprise. “I thought you’d be dead by now.”

“Just give us the head,” Max bargained.

The mention of an ‘us’ seemed to garner a response. The squire finally looked at the group, a cursory glance to each of you.

When he saw you, a smile tugged at his lips. He blinked once, then twice.

“Hi,” he greeted, solely focused on you.

You sucked a breath in, not missing the clench of Cooper’s jaw.

“Hey,” you replied kindly, taking a step towards him. “Thaddeus, was it?”

“Oh fuck,” he rubbed his empty hand against his pants nervously. “I ain’t ever seen someone as pretty as you.”

You breathed out a laugh, holding both hands out in front of you as you approached.

“Flirting is definitely not a part of the Brotherhood’s curriculum, huh?” Lucy mused.

“We really need that head,” you told him cautiously, slowly, ignoring the vault dwellers' merriment.

His eyes were wide, following your every move with something a little too close to reverence for your liking. The divinity that ran through your veins certainly made you more appealing, but the look he was giving you was a bit deeper than that.

A bit hungrier.

“It’s too late,” he responded, and as if on queue, the distant sound of spinning blades cut through the air.

“It’s not,” you argued, another step as you very carefully maneuvered around a trap. “Bring it here and we can leave together, before they land. But we have to go. Now.”

For a brief second, you didn’t think he’d follow. His eyes flicked up to the sky, where the Brotherhood would be any minute, and then back down to you.

Then, he took a step.

A cry rang out in alarm, torn from your throat as you jumped forward, trying to push him out of the path of a well-placed arrow. It didn’t matter, though. You were too late, pinning his body to the ground after he’d already been wounded.

Guilt gnawed at your stomach as you gazed down at him, wide eyes staring right back up at you. He’d been struck in the neck, a fatal wound by all accounts.

“Are we having sex?”

You tilted your head to the side, confusion bubbling around you. He definitely wasn’t dying, if the appendage pressing insistently into your thigh was any indication.

“You’re not dead?”

It was a question, one echoed by Maximus somewhere behind you.

“He’s gonna be,” Cooper growled, his voice hardly registering in your confusion.

“Just, sit still.” You ordered, reaching a hand towards his neck.

The arrow went clean through one side, remaining embedded into the throat. How he was alive was a mystery for another day, your current concern revolving around removing his new necklace.

You grabbed one end of it, tingles splintering up your arm, that ancient warning rearing it’s ugly head.

Do not kill.

Do not harm.

You grit your teeth, tugging as his hands came to rest on your hips. You’d wanted to comment on it, to tell him to take his hands off you, but Cooper beat you to it.

“Keep those hands there and you’re losin’ them.”

It was a vicious threat, spoken from his chest with anger, the hammer of his gun clicking for emphasis.

A pounding started in your head, a chant repeating itself.

Do not kill.

Do not harm.

You wanted to shout in frustration, the tremors working their way through your entire body. They came to a crashing halt the second the arrow was through, the wound healing on its own only seconds later.

You slumped forward, catching yourself with your hands on either side of Thaddeus. The man beneath you noticed, the sound of a bullet echoing through the air when he reached a hand up, almost grazing the side of your face.

“Watch those hands.”

It was a final warning, the patience of the ghoul gone.

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

His voice was dazed, staring at you with awe. It made you fidget uncomfortably before you rolled off him, leaving the space Cooper needed to stand above him.

Rage burned in his eyes as he pointed his pistol at the young man.

“Coop,” you warned, stepping in front of him.

Your warning meant very little to him at the moment. Murder was in his eyes, the kind that promised to see it through to the end.

The sky grew louder, the Brotherhood closing in on your position faster than you’d like.

“We don’t have the time for this.”

Reason seemed to win out for the moment, the need to survive beating back the need to prove a point. He holstered his gun, a withering glare pointed at Thaddeus.

You paid it no mind, jumping into action before any more ground was lost. You tossed the head to Lucy, shuddering at the lifeless object. It was gory, unnecessarily so, and holding it felt unnatural.

“Get out of here,” you yelled to the others, finding your footing relatively quickly.

Cooper was close by, following your every footstep. Thaddeus, however, decided to take his own route. It was probably for the best, lest Cooper ever see him ogling you again. Maze, initially unsure of where to go, obeyed your queue, running alongside Coop.

You’d only made it a hundred feet or so before you realized Lucy and Max were not with you. Your abrupt stop was interrupted, the ghoul tugging the back of your jumpsuit before you could even try to turn around.

You caught a quick glimpse. A passionate kiss was exchanged, and a sorrowful goodbye. The moment wasn’t for you to witness.

Before long, Lucy caught up to your little group again.

She didn’t bother to greet you, her hand gripping the head for dear life. It was the only thing she’d managed to salvage from the radio tower.

It was clear Max’s departure bothered her deeply, but you knew some wounds couldn’t heal with anything but time.

Maybe one day they would find one another again.

Until then, you’d look out for her, make sure she was able to grow on her own terms.

God only knew she’d need it in the upcoming future.

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #cooper howard insert #fallout x reader #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout reader insert #the ghoul imagine #cooper howard imagine #i love this #fallout

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celabi · 1 year

Note

ok i know you usually write scara with a dick, but hear me out: trans scara!

trans scara who, at first, is fucking pissed. at one point, he was rather grateful to have a pussy; after all, you can't really tell when he's turned on, can you? you'd just be sitting next to him, so close that the sides of your thighs would be pressed against each other, and you'd have no clue how much he was pulsating down there, how his clit throbbed for any stimulation. a blessing in disguise, one could say. he could sit there and fantasize about you, and you'd never know. but then one thing leads to another, and suddenly he has this thought: surely his pussy can't satisfy you, right? surely, you'd want a real dick that can actually go inside you and stuff, right? not to mention that h can't exactly "claim" you the way he thinks he should. suddenly, an even worse thought hits him: what if you don't like... y'know... pussy? he resolves pretty quickly that he will simply never tell you, even if his sexual frustration kills him (which it pretty much does). maybe cut to some time later, y'all are making out and your hand reaches down to touch him down there when he suddenly pulls away. you immediately apologize, thinking you overstepped a boundary, but he's a pathetic little man, so he probably bursts into tears when he admits that he doesn't have a dick. this is the last thing he wanted to tell you, and now you're going to-- you outright tell him that you'd still have sex with him if he had a pussy and he's like. Huh. Wish I Knew That. honestly, more reason to be obsessed with you--a goddess who cares not for genitalia? you're literally perfect! (also, it relieves him because it makes him feel less bad about stealing your vibrator and using it on himself that one time. oh, and that you still see him as a man. more so the former, though.)

of course, he still feels shitty about it, though; he's more than willing to eat you out and finger you, but surely you'd want something more substantial than that, right? despite your reassurances, it's something that weighs on him because it interferes with his idea of being perfect for you. so naturally, you take matters into your own hands:

you trib the everlasting hell out of him. he has no idea how long you've both been at this, him laying on his back, one of his legs hooked over your shoulder as you grind your swollen clits together, the bed creaking from how fast you're going. you're completely and utterly ravishing him, and he can barely handle it anymore--he swears he's cum like 3 or 4 times by now, and tears have long since started falling from his eyes, the overstimulation breaking his moans, fingers clenching the soaked bedsheets for dear life. yet he can't force himself to stop you when your grip his thigh so tightly, practically burrowing your face into it at some points (which is so cute to him, but it's not as if he can really think rationally right now) as you chase your own high; he'll take it, he thinks desperately, he'll be good, he'll take it all for you, take as much as you want from me please--he can't suppress the wail that leaves him when you cum again, and he shudders at the sensation of your juices coating his pussy and thighs, mixing with his own and dripping onto the bedsheets (a concoction he'll secretly collect later--what's better than the evidence of both you and him?). distantly, he revels at the notion of your pussy being covered in his essence and his pussy being covered in your essence--and suddenly the thought that he did this, that his clit made you feel so good like this... well, the thought brings him to cum again.

when you're finally satisfied, it's no surprise that he's an utter mess; drool and tears still wet his face, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, and the mess that coated his thighs practically gleamed in the light. sure, you were messy down there too, but he'd taken most of it. and the puddle below him... not to mention that he's still a little bit dumbed out from how hard you fucked him. with the way he still pants and capacity to only form small, broken sentences, it's more than clear that for once, he needs the aftercare tonight.

(sorry for the long ask! i had a brain worm. your scummy!scara is a pathetic wet paper bag of a man /pos and it makes me want nothing more than to trib the shit out of him. also, can i be 🪐 anon?)

Hooo boy, I had to put my phone down for a sec and take a walk. This is??? So??? Beautiful??? He’s so?? Cute?? I love him good lord, you wrote this so well.

I’m just,, trans!scara is so!:&:!:$$:!

I think you’ve already summed it all up, but just,, the thought of scissoring scummy scara on his bed while he whimpers out his pathetic moans, gripping onto the sheets and trying to muster up all his energy to hump you back 😭 😭😭🫣😭😭😭

Omfg 🪐 welcome, sorry this is so short,, it’s just that I’m a loss for words, you’ve etched this into my brain and I can’t think properly. Thank you do sending this, maybe I’ll write something about trans!scara in the future 👀🫶

#🪐 anon #scummy scara :(

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nellyofthevalley · 6 months

Text

bloodlust

astarion x fem!durge

rating: explicit content: dubcon, blood, knifeplay kinda sorta, spanking, fingering, piv, cunnilingus, porn without plot, some feelings, graphic violence in the form of threats summary: ‘You’ll let me know the next time you need to be tied up, won’t you?’ he said the last time she tried to murder him in his sleep, and she intends to see it through.

Astarion holds his arm over her head and she opens her mouth in anticipation. He’s watching her as intensely as she watched him, with his eyebrows furrowed and mouth parted. Blood drips slowly down his arm, beading at his elbow before dripping into her waiting mouth, around her lips, over her face.

read it on ao3 or below the cut:

She comes to Astarion’s room one night in a panic, ready with rope. The urges have become easier to sense coming on. Most could be sated by a brutal kill of those who deserved it, but she knows a punishment is coming. Kills are never enough for Father, it’s not about the kills. It’s the savagery, the unnecessary cutting, twisting and maiming.

It’s an art form.

She’d gone back for Isobel to sate her urges when they were most dire, a ritualistic offering to Bhaal, pleading for any relief. It sufficed, for a time. It was an honor to lead dozens to their deaths in the aftermath and an absolute delight to watch them be consumed by shadows, their souls ripped from this earth. For weeks, she remembered how they looked as the black possessed their bodies, and how their darkened blood stained the battlefield as far as eyes could see, torn between remorse and a sick fantasy.

‘You’ll let me know the next time you need to be tied up, won’t you?’ he said the last time she tried to murder him in his sleep, and she intends to see it through.

She enters his room in a hurry and lets the door shut behind her, finding Astarion in his typical spot; in the chair, reading.

“What’s troubling you, love?” Astarion asks as he looks up. A silly question, he realizes it as soon as he sees the rope in her hand—they’ve been through this once before already. “Ah, you’re here to kill me again, I presume? And here I thought we’d moved past that.”

“It’s punishment,” she says, standing before him and shoving the rope in his hands. “I’ve not served him adequately. Tie me.”

“Eager for this, aren’t you?” he teases, casting the rope aside. She huffs in response, annoyed by his light hearted demeanor. “I’m surprised. I imagined this must be a very unpleasant experience for you, to be restrained and rabid.”

“Don’t be stupid! Tie me, quickly, before I hurt you,” she begs, terrified of herself. She glances down at her hands, as if they may act on their own. She can picture it already, how they’d leap forward and claw into his lovely face, vigilant to spare his piercing red eyes. It’d be a shame to waste those, they’d make for a fine trophy.

“Do you think me so careless? I have all I need to survive you,” he says, pulling her on top of him and leaning back. “Unless you have a hidden blade to slit my throat with.”

No, but the bloodlust inside wishes she did. From the start, she thought he’d be the perfect pretty corpse—what a joy it would be to see the vampire’s essence spill and pool beneath her. A stake is a tired trope, and even a slit of the throat would be too clean for her tastes. She’d adorn him with cuts all over and make him watch her drink the life from him like he drank from her.

She pushes her lips to his and he readily accepts her greedy tongue. Her impatient hands seek cover beneath his shirt, crawling all over his smooth porcelain skin, daydreaming of splitting it. He’s foolish and reckless around her. She could bite, rend, and gorge on his screams, if the urge willed it.

Maybe he enjoys the dance with death, she thinks as she guides the shirt over his head, picturing how his chest would look with slashes all over it.

With a sharp motion, he pulls her back by the hair with one hand. With the other, he restrains her comparatively small hands by the wrists as if to prove he holds more control.

“Take me, when I’m no longer me. Show him what I think of this pathetic display of power,” she says with a fire in her eyes and Astarion feels another flourishing between her thighs. “He won’t own me.”

“You’ll never be his. You’re mine.”

The kindling in her ignites and she rocks her hips against him, smirking when a groan escapes him. Astarion keeps his grip on her hair tight but pulls her forward, nestling his face in the crook of her neck. His fangs brush against her skin and she shakes in anticipation, waiting for that familiar, satisfying pierce when he breaks her skin with his teeth; instead, he gives her small, cautious bites that make her heart pound with a fury.

Astarion releases her hair and trails his hands along her thighs, up her sides and lifts her nightshirt up to her shoulders. The chill of his touch clashes with the fire that spreads through her whole body—her cheeks aflame as his fingertips roll over her perked nipples.

“Astarion,” she says. He’s dismantled her resolve so easily, leaving her too weak to argue with him further on the importance of his own safety.

She finishes what he started and lifts her shirt, tossing it to the floor. Cold hands slide down over her ribs and then behind to support her back as he leans forward, pressing little kisses from her shoulder to her collarbone. Her fingers tangle in his white curls, lightly stroking while he continues his work downward, pushing her back further and further until he’s supporting almost all her weight and his lips place a kiss between her breasts.

Astarion rises from the chair, and her legs wrap around his waist as he carries her to the bed, sitting her on the edge and standing between her legs.

“Hands,” he orders; she offers them and he ties them behind her back with rope.

If Astarion cared to be safe, he’d tie her feet and gag her mouth. She’s a dangerous one, but he never feels truly scared of her and he carries enough confidence to toy with his food first. Though she may try to separate herself from the urge, they both know her violent tendencies aren’t solely Bhaal’s ‘punishment’. It’s still her inside—he saw how she fought it before, and she will fight it tonight, too.

Astarion falls to his knees and grabs her hips, pulling her to the edge of the bed. He’s hasty to remove her bottoms, pulling them down over her legs and feet before settling his head between her legs; he drapes her thighs over his shoulders and holds them in place with a tight grip.

“Astarion, I—”

“Quiet, love,” he says, pressing his lips to her inner thigh now—intense, needy kisses that make her jolt, and tomorrow, will bruise her skin blue. “Relax for me.”

She feels sharp tips brush against her, a forewarning; she flinches, but quickly settles down, waiting patiently for his bite.

She groans when he pierces her flesh, loud—her cry and her delectable, hot blood gushing into his mouth elicit a moan of his own and rouse him; her blood traveling straight to his cock. She squirms under him and involuntarily squeezes his head with her thighs, and it’s fucking delicious.

He pulls away, mindful to not drink too much; she’s sure to spill more blood this evening, by both their hands. Arousal glistens on her cunt and leaks onto the bed—her body’s calling him, and it takes all of his self-discipline to not fuck her so hard the urge possesses her right then.

“Astarion, please,” she whines again, pleading with him to touch her. The only thoughts her hazed mind can produce at this point are all pure, unadulterated filth.

“You’re making this so difficult,” he says, drowning her in more soft kisses, everywhere except where she’s craving his mouth most. “Have patience, my dear. I’m savoring my meal.”

Finally, he’s dragging his tongue up along her folds, convincing her he’ll grant her the relief she craves. He’s quick to start, lapping up every last drop of her sweet arousal, but it’s not long before he slows to an absolutely punishing pace that rewards him with a frustrated moan from her mouth and increasing pressure on his ears.

His tongue flicks across her clit, delicate and controlled, expertly drawing out more of her wetness. Her body sings for him with its writhing and whimpering, while her mind starts to wander away from her.

Every part of her hungers for him—her hands rebel against their ties, trying to break free and pull at his hair, push him deeper into her cunt and fuck his face; her drifting mind fantasizes of how she’d suffocate him, if she could. She could crush his head between her thighs, she thinks, picturing his pale face turning ghost white under her, the screams she’d delight in, the crack of his skull; only then would she come for him, desecrating his face and plucking out his eyes.

Blissfully unaware of her rising desire to kill him while she fucks him, Astarion thinks of how he could stay here forever, ruining her and relishing it, but he forces himself to part from her, not allowing her to get too close.

Astarion stands and admires his work: her face flushed red, the dark puddle where he had her. He climbs on top of the bed, grabbing her waist to push her further back and covers her body with his.

“You look positively depraved,” he says before pressing his mouth to hers, ravenous and fierce, the taste of her arousal left on his lips and shared with her. She nips at his bottom lip, then parts hers to welcome his tongue—an invitation, a demand; he holds her face as he obliges, devouring her, like he wants to taste her throat.

She’s left gasping for air by the time he lets her free. He wipes the mess of her mixed fluids from his face with the back of his hand and licks it off as she stares. It’s filthy, it’s primal, and it’s the last she can take before fully losing her mind to her violent whims. Out of breath and lightheaded, she passes out.

When she wakes, bare with her hands and legs tied, she’s furious—she thrashes, tries to kick, screeches obscenities at the pale elf standing before her. She’s not herself. Her vision is clouded and washed with red; her brain repeats grotesque thoughts of brutal murder and horrific fantasies of dining on her victims’ innards.

Not fantasies, she realizes—they’re memories of a better, brighter time, when she was free to kill and maim, and was rewarded for it.

“Darling, you’re awake,” he greets her in a sickeningly pleasant voice. “It’s not been long, but I missed you all the same.”

She imagines reaching her claws deep down his throat and shredding his vocal cords, sure that many would thank her.

She spots a dagger on the table beside the bed. Determined to take it for herself and stab her captor with it over and over until he’s a bloody pile of unrecognizable viscera, she lunges for it. It’s useless with her restraints. Her actions are brainless, reminiscent of a creature driven by pure bloodlust. To anyone else, it would be terrifying; to him, it’s almost humorous.

“Can’t you be nice?” Astarion asks her in a petulant tone, like a parent scolding their child.

He catches her from behind in the midst of her tantrum and presses his body to hers, pushing her forward and trapping her tight between himself and the headboard. He wraps one hand around her throat; a loose but disciplined grip that’s just enough to crane her head towards him.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, his lips and the warmth of his exhale brushing against her ear. Whether she wants to not in her current state, all the way from her ears to her feet and her face reddens.

He kisses along her ear and down her neck and it only infuriates her that much more; she tries to flail and escape him, but he’s prepared for her fight and the hand around her neck wins. His free hand reaches around her front, exploring every piece of her body he can get his hands on as he continues with his kisses on her shoulders and back.

“Ah, you’re feisty,” he says, laughing when she tries to lunge and bite him. “Good effort, but as you can see, I hold all the power here.”

He moves his hand lower, along her hips and thighs, fingertips lightly trailing further in. Even in this state, arousal pools in her cunt as he touches her and the heat practically radiates off her body, sharing warmth with her lover.

“Even like this, you crave me,” he taunts, fingers running over her folds, wet and sensitive for him already.

He slips a finger in her wet cunt, curling it forward, gently caressing her soft spot; she gasps and moans while he finger fucks her, and Astarion can feel the vibrations of her noises on his hand constricting her neck.

“You’ll look—ah—so much prettier… after I’ve turned you inside out,” she hisses, hitching on her words, struggling between the moans his hand forces from her and the pressure on her throat. “I’ll—I’ll crush your dead heart and… feast on it.”

“I wish you could behave yourself,” he says, giving her throat a quick squeeze, to remind which one of them is in control.“We could have so much more fun that way.”

Astarion pushes another finger inside her, finding pleasure in her increasingly incoherent snarls and ragged breathing. Every time he thrusts into her up to his knuckles, her body twists and quivers; her mouth’s desperate to hurl another threat, but he’s fucking her faster and lazily rubbing his thumb against her clit, reducing her to nothing—she can’t find the words anymore.

“You want me to fuck you so badly,” he purrs, curving the fingers inside her in a deliberate, slow motion. She throws her head back against his shoulder and tries to grind against his hand, feral and frantic, proving his claims.

A loud cry escapes her as Astarion withdraws, robbing her of release; a sound that goes directly to the erection straining against the fabric of his pants.

“I could end you right here, you know,” he goads, tightening his grip on her throat. “Crush your pretty neck like it’s nothing. Make you bleed out on this bed. How would you want it, if you had the choice?”

“I’ll gouge out your ruby eyes,” she chokes out. “Wear them as earrings.”

“Romantic. Not what I asked, though,” he says, shaking his head. “A shame.”

Astarion kisses her neck, along her jaw, her face—anything he can reach, loving her, even if she won’t love him back. He frees her from his grasp before he sheds the rest of his clothes, his cock painfully hard and tip dripping with pent-up anticipation.

“Ah,” he exhales as he presses against her, sliding along her sticky wet slit, covering himself in her wetness. “Gods, what have you gotten me into?”

His nails dig into her sides and threaten to draw blood as he enters her with an animalistic and uncontrollable groan. He’s rough with her, snapping her hips toward him with every thrust like he’s performing an exorcism by fucking the violence out of her. The combination of her wet, tight cunt embracing him with the pathetic, needy sounds falling from her mouth render him dizzy.

“I’ll—I’ll—” She tries and fails to speak, overwhelmed by how his cock feels like it could burst through her chest.

How he so quickly reduces her murderous urge to a pitiful, sweaty mess is a pleasure of its own, but fuck—he wants to kiss her, taste her, talk to her.

“You’ll what, my love?”

“I’ll paint the city red with your innards!” she cries, dangerously loud. Astarion covers her mouth with his hand—he would prefer their companions not get the wrong idea and interrupt. “They’ll all see your true beauty and bathe in it.”

“Your blood will paint my mouth red, and I will bathe in your beauty,” he says, a low tone against her ear.

He settles his face in the space between shoulder and neck and gives her harsh, bruising kisses that make her legs tremble and her breath catch before breaking her skin with his fangs and forcing a whimper from her lips. The movement of his hips pauses as he drinks her in, intoxicated by her essence. It sucks every last bit of his senses until all he can hear is her blood flowing onto his tongue; until he tastes, smells, sees, and feelssolely her life’s dark red.

Astarion pulls away from her, wiping away the thick red streaks smeared all over his face, and doesn’t waste a single second before burying himself to the hilt in her again, drunk in the coppery scent that lingers in the air. Her, too—it’s tantalizing, it makes her want to force out all the blood in her body and fucking drown him in it.

“I’ll hold your head by your eye sockets and fuck you until you bleed out,” she growls, and he can’t help but laugh; how comical, for her to lash out at him with her face shoved against the wall, scraping her cheeks with every thrust.

He fucks her until she can’t speak again—until her body is shaking, her voice whittled down to heavy breaths, and he’s close to finishing. She cries such a sad sounding moan when he pulls out, it’s almost sufficiently convincing to make him think she’s come around to the idea and misses him inside her.

“I’ll open your skin and wear you like a coat,” she seethes.

“Sure you will, darling. You’re so very scary with your hands and feet bound,” he says, brushing her off with a hand motion. “Be still, you’re being ridiculous.”

As soon as he backs off, her body falls onto the bed and throws itself around again trying to break free. It’s obvious it’s involuntary—every convulse hurls her against the wall and makes the rope rub her skin raw.

“CHOKE! DIE! YOU’LL BEG ME FOR MERCY!”

“I hoped to avoid this,” he says as he picks up another piece of rope, destined for her mouth. "But you won’t keep your damned mouth shut. And frankly, I’m getting tired of your little outbursts. It’s unbecoming.”

Astarion ties the last bit of rope around her mouth, gagging her. She does her best to spew more obscenities at him, but they come out as miserable, muffled noises that satisfy him in his work.

He pushes her over onto her back and lifts her tied legs up to his face to place soft pecks along her ankle and calf. Her body fights it, kicking her feet as if it tickles so much it’s worth killing over. He spreads her legs to fit his head between them and rest her thighs over his shoulders. The heels of her feet beating at his back are weak and sad, not fazing him at all. It’s cute, really.

“My sweet, sweet love with the dark heart,” he muses, stroking her hair. “What else would it take to get you to behave for me?”

She strikes when he pulls his hand back from her hair—her tied hands claw at him and she manages to swipe his arm just right with a pointy nail, splitting the skin. A decent injury; a cut between his elbow and wrist deep enough to bleed. And she cackles hysterically, even with her voice buried under rope.

“Gods damn it.” Astarion looks it over before lifting his arm and showing it off to her, like it’s a prize she’s won. “Look what you did.”

She loves it. She watches the red run down his arm attentively, hypnotized by it.

He holds her hands firm against her stomach and frees her of the gag. It’s a surprise that she’s too preoccupied by the sight to speak, and her body’s violent spasms have calmed. Perhaps he should wrap his arm, but the cut isn’t that bad, so why not have a bit of fun with it first?

She sloshes it on her tongue and truly tastes it before swallowing; she opens her mouth wider and pushes her head forward, trying to collect as much of it as she can.

Is this how he looked when Cazador made him beg for dead vermin?

“You’re sick,” he says, delightfully scandalized, but he can’t take his eyes off her and he doesn’t stop feeding it to her. “Vile. A true degenerate.”

His insults make no difference to her, she’s lost to the literal bloodlust.

She’s nauseatingly hot like this. The messy streaks of red around her mouth and dripping down the sides of her face, the way she drinks his blood how she tastes his cock, the fact that he can feel her getting wetter and wetter—it’s so fucking good. He can hardly hold back from tasting hers again, his body tense and mind tempted by the view and the aroma wafting in the air.

If only he hadn’t already drank from her twice.

“You’ve had more than enough fun, dear.” Astarion pulls aways as the bleeding slows to a trickle and fits the rope back into her mouth, knowing she’ll refuse to keep her quiet as soon as he’s done indulging her. “I can’t let you go unpunished. I’m sure you understand.”

He moves and turns her until she’s on her knees, face down, his palm pushing on her upper back to hold her there. She looks lovely, he thinks; her head shoved into the pillow, angry eyes staring back at him, sweat running down her face and unable to speak.

With his other hand, Astarion trails his fingertips down the dip in her back and over the curve of her ass. He extends his palm, and with a swift movement, strikes her. She jumps, but tolerates it well—and he can’t have that. Again he hits her, harder and less disciplined, and still she endures in silence, though her hateful glare talks on her behalf: she’s livid. He’s gotten under her skin.

“You’re resilient,” he notes, “but even you can be broken.”

He strikes her more—harsh and with purpose, drawing out dulled wails from her at last, determined to beat the fiend that possesses his love.

Astarion knows very well how it feels to lose your body. To be owned by another. It’s a memory that haunts him and resurfaces old anger—how dare this thing tread upon his lover’s will, rob her of her body and him of her affection?

His next strike lands harder, with an audible slap against supple flesh.

Her skin turns pink and tender as he continues, then red; she’s chewing at the rope in her mouth and her bound hands clench into fists, nails scratching at her own skin–desperate, but her efforts are all in vain. Astarion pauses for a short moment before landing one final, unrestrained smack on her ass that draws out a far louder, far more satisfying cry from her mouth.

A single tear runs from her eye to her nose and into the pillow.

She’s not unfamiliar with pain, far from it; she’d been taken apart and put back together many times. She has no memory of it, but they learned she tried to strangle Kressa with her own intestines, and showed no pain or weakness doing it. Why shed a tear now? Was it wept by his little love inside, gnawing at her brain for escape?

“Don’t cry, my love,” he says, almost mocking her. “I hate to see your pretty face weep.”

Astarion takes the dagger he’d left bedside and waves it in front of her. It may as well be a treat dangling from a stick for his rabid pet with the way her eyes light up and follow it.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster as he penetrates her, pushing in until there’s no room left, struggling to hold his composure.

He holds the blade to her neck, making shallow, trivial cuts as he thrusts into her and she thrashes against him, her will too strong to let a little blood stand in her way. She’d bled rivers over the years, and finds her own just as sweet as her enemies’.

“Watch yourself, love,” he warns. “You can’t soothe your need to kill if I’ve killed you first.”

He wields the blade well, careful to not let it cut too deep, but when her convulsions are too wild for him to keep up with, he’s forced to withdraw the dagger. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he permanently scarred her, even if she is trying to send him to his final death. But he wonders—how animalistic is the urge when it consumes her this way? How far would he have to go to bring her under control?

Would she allow herself to bleed out before she’d beckon to his will?

Astarion brushes his fingers across her neck, collecting the paltry amount of blood weeping from where she’d been cut and licks them clean. It’s delicious and sweet like her, but it’s not enough; it only leaves his taste buds dreaming of more and missing his kinder-hearted lover.

The frustration and anger spreads through his body like a parasite, crawling through his veins and bones until it’s all that’s left. He grips her hips for leverage, pulling her towards him with all he has for every thrust and burying himself in her so deeply, she whines under him. He doesn’t let up; he moves his hands further along her back and up to her shoulders, leaning over her and pulling her in.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Astarion’s angry, or furious, rather; he’s fuming that she’s not here with him.

And then—something changes. Her cries become quieter, her eyes stare back at him differently. It’s unsettling. All but exhausted from using her body like that, he wipes sweat collecting on his forehead and stops, watching her intently.

He pulls the gag from her mouth.

“Astarion,” she says, hardly a whisper as she finds her voice again. “Shit.”

He’s practically starstruck, frozen, like he can’t believe this. He didn’t expect it. He pulls out, silent, and she looks right at him. He sees her. He recognizes that face.

“Gods.” He turns her and picks her up, arms around her waist, and brings her into his lap. “I missed you.”

Astarion pushes his lips to hers, holding her face in his hands; he slips his tongue in her parted mouth, finding hers and tasting every piece of her he can until she’s forced to pull away and breathe. He runs one hand through her hair and lingers there, massaging circles into her scalp while she returns to her body, their foreheads pressed together and their eyes half-open.

“I missed you,” he says again, all he can think of, though these three little words pale in comparison to the relief he feels.

She smiles and holds her hands up for him. “Can you untie me?”

He nods and laughs as he cuts through the rope—so distracted by her returning to him, he didn’t think to free her. If she hadn’t already rubbed her skin raw on the restraints, he might’ve told her no.

With her limbs free, she supports herself on his shoulders and spreads her legs to straddle him properly, his cock nudging against her wet cunt.

“More, give me more,” he demands, drawing her closer for him to kiss along her collarbones and down between her breasts, teasing her nipples with the tip of his tongue. “I want all of you, until I can’t see straight.”

She adjusts and lowers herself onto his length, forcing a low groan out of him. He doesn’t avert his gaze from her for even a moment, eyes feasting on the faces she makes when she starts to ride him. Her body aches, sore from the bloodthirsty beast’s unforgiving temper, but every noise she coerces from his mouth encourages her; she fucks herself on him until her legs shake and she loses her stamina, showering him in apologetic kisses.

“Good girl,” Astarion praises her, kissing along her jawline, her neck, anywhere he can reach. “Beautiful, my love.”

He grips her waist by the sides and arches his hips up into her, moving her body for her. She can’t keep quiet, moans escaping her mouth every time he thrusts back up into her, her warm exhalations pooling against his skin. Astarion’s sure the sound travels past their walls now, but at least no one would dare interrupt.

“Astarion—”

“You’re going to come for me, pet?” he asks, daring her to. “Close your eyes.”

She obeys, giving up sight and focusing all her senses on him. He pauses and she’s tempted to look again, but before she can, she’s being lifted and pushed into the bed, onto her back. She feels Astarion position himself between her legs before entering her wet heat once more, his thrusts impatient and just as relentless as he was before.

Astarion presses two fingers to her mouth and she welcomes them, coating them in her spit; he lingers on her tongue for a moment, admiring how perfect she looks with her mouth open, her disheveled hair, her body splayed and swallowing his cock so eagerly. He rubs her clit with his wetted fingers, his motions frantic and messy as he gets closer and closer to climax.

He leans forward and kisses her, drinking in her every moan and cry as hungrily as he does her blood—like he’s parched, fucking dying of thirst and her ecstasy is the only thing that can quench it. And when she tears into his skin with her nails, her cunt contracting around him and his name leaves her mouth as she comes, it’s divine, sweeter than any heavenly nectar.

She wraps her legs around his back and tugs him towards her until it feels like they’re melted together and there’s no space left. Astarion shuts his eyes and succumbs to the pleasure drowning him, riding the high and spilling inside her; she holds his face as he shudders and curses, praising him with the thoughtful gestures of her hands and her nose grazing his.

He collapses on top of her after her body’s extracted all he can give, spent; exhausted after spending all night fucking the cruelty from her body.

She embraces him, fingertips gently tracing up and down his back, writing signs of her devotion. Her lips kiss his cheek and whisper words of adoration in his ear, so sweet it almost makes him sick. The darling little love he missed so much.

It’s like night and day.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 spoilers #astarion fanfic #astarion #astarion x tav #durge #the dark urge #astarion x dark urge #dub con #my fanfic #bg3 smut

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didoldacc · 1 year

Note

(english is not my first language, sorry)

soo, thinking about the demo of tinnitus, imagine them saying the lyrics right in your ear while having sex, the demo is all about sex, I-

I really love your post, love u😿

MDNI!

hehe dw it is not my native language either i just learned it from the internet too. and i am glad that you like my posts it means a lot and also sorry for the late reply the inspo didn't come so i waited 🕴 also studied for midterms(everyone is having their finals and we just started midterms wtf) so i hope it is worth the wait. and i choose taehyun to write the fic since tinnitus is just his song in the album imo. (you did not member specify so picked tyun and he just owns the song) AND THE DEMO HAD ME CHOKING IN SHOCK LIKE I- I MEAN I PREFER THE THE MISERY LYRICS BUT IMAGINE THEY SANG A SONG LIKE THAT- anyways here's the drabble love you too so much

warnings: basically lyrics of tinnitus demo version, dirty talk, slightly dom!taehyun, taehyun is wicked but soft, petnames(baby, pretty), reader having a tiny bit insecurity(not body related don't worry), no one is virgin but it's their first time, manhandling, cunnilingus, no essence of good writing (let me know if there is any that i've missed)

taehyun smiled to your pleas. you had no idea what you were asking for. you kept insisting that he let you listen the demo version of your favorite song. you knew it wasn't going to be innocent since you heard him saying that all the members were shirtless while recording. and the song had that vibe about it even with the sad lyrics they came up with.

taehyun knew better than letting his pretty girl down so he agreed. while he was opening his laptop, you patiently waited. you were so going to make fun of it for the rest of your life, you thought.

after bringing his laptop to the table, he gave you his headset. you gently took it from his hands and positioned the headset to your ears. he gave you a look that implied if he could start playing after you nodded, he started to play the song. it took you while to give a reaction to it and he couldn't wait to witness it. but you were trying your best to keep it cool. it was supposed to be a song about sex, you expected that. yet the whole song straight up felt like dirty talk rather than a song. you just gulped when the song finished. you avoided looking his face and gave a little laughter.

"so this is the demo, huh?" he nodded with disappointment. he was expecting more. his wishes of you being turned into red from embarrassment did not come true. but little did he know that you were struggling to keep your poker face.

you decided to end your stubbornness and blurted out the fact that you wished he had a recording of him singing the demo version and right there you had fallen into his trap. "well, maybe you can hear it in other ways, not necessarily singing." he said while grinning.

---------------------------------------------------

the next thing you know, your naked form was laying in his bed. him not letting go his risus just made you want to hide under the duvet. just when you were going to cover your face with your hands, he stopped you and instead kept your hands above your head.

he leaned towards your ear "baby can't you give it to me right now?" you low-key cringed but couldn't help but get aroused with the action. "pretty, i got no time to waste, give me answer." the minute you whined a yes, you felt his lips devouring yours.

"do what i say, if you want to learn more. is that okay?" you just nod and let him take control. "i wasted enough time with preparing you but you don't look ready for me yet. what a shame. but lucky for you you can sit on my face." your eyes went wider with his demand. you weren't sure about that since it was your first time with taehyun. it was not like neither of you lacked experience but you did not want your first time with him to be an experience where you chased your own pleasure. what if it would make him not want to do it again with you?

your concerns were nonsense in his eyes and he did not hesitate to let you know. he clawed a hold of your hips and positioned you where he wated. "i want you to keep repeating 'want it', is that clear?" you wasted no time to answer.

when he heard your yes, he started to give small kisses to your clit. every time you felt the sensation little whimpers left your mouth. "want it. i want it" you repeated which made taehyun pleased. his tongue knew exactly what to do to make you cry from pleasure. you were about to cum from slight stimulation yet he was going to let you. "just hang in there a little baby, we are not done." he said. but there was no way you could hold it any longer.

you shut your eyes from the pleasure and couldn't open it and put your hands to nearest surface to keep yourself stable. his making out with your pussy got rougher. and all you could do was to curse. "fuck, tae. please baby i can't anymore" you managed to say before your orgasm hit you. his grip on your tights got more stern. and when you came undone he lifted you up. he gave you a warm smile before getting up to kiss you.

"can you return the favor?"

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britcision · 1 year

Text

I have not slept more than 5 hours together this whole fucking week and not more than 7 hours a day

It is therefore appropriate today to give you TIM! And TUCKER! All aboard the Lore Drop!

Chapter 14’s nearly fucking done I swear I was waylaid but I think I have solved the problem. Now the new second secret much bigger problem is my intense desire to commit Dragon Age crimes

Soooo chapters will probably stay a lil slower here for a bit, but hopefully not this slow again until June, when I will be Busy As Shit

————-

A Good Excuse To Be A Bad Influence V

It was a weird feeling to have his body shaken while his consciousness was so far from it.

Feeling his face pull into a frown not quite mirroring what he felt it should be. Tucker could never have explained precisely what part of him entered his devices; just that it was him.

Quintessential, pure essence of Too Fine. Everything he was without the meat he was born in.

But then he did have to slot back into that meat, and trying to do that without matching positions always left him feeling weirdly off kilter the next day. Like he’d put on a shirt but the shoulders were skewed too short.

So despite not being conscious of a face on his extended form, Tucker tried to form it into a frown anyway, sliding back under his own skin like a teen sneaking back through a window after curfew.

Hadn’t those been heady days?

Eyes slowly opening, it took Tucker a moment to remember how to focus them. That they weren’t cameras. But then Tim Drake-Wayne came into focus, and the frown changed to a grin even before he fully “woke up”.

“Morning,” he mumbled, rolling and stretching, getting used to the feeling of a body again. It was a little weirder each time, which he might have worried about if he didn’t see himself as an extension of his PDA anyway.

“You were singing in your sleep,” Tim told him without preamble, returning the smile.

Tucker hesitated for a moment, suddenly embarrassed. If… well. If he’d been singing along, that…

Look he’d picked songs that’d embarrass Danny, he wasn’t gonna give a fuck about it. The only actual question was, did he tell Tim?

Who else would ever understand better just what it meant to interact with tech the way he could? Could get excited with him about how cool it was?

He wasn’t fucking gushing to Technus. No way. Tuck was easily the one winning that ongoing hackathon, but it was the principle of the thing.

To the zone with it. Tim knew about Amity Park, he knew about the ghosts and the liminal tech. And while they hadn’t exactly discussed liminal people, it’d come up.

Tim could have a sneak preview. As a treat.

Decision made, Tucker gave the younger man another broad smile because yeah, bragging about your super powers to a very cool and impressive person? That felt good.

Tim might be a vigilante too, but Tucker was pretty sure Jason was the only souped up Robin. Most of the bats were famously power free.

“Oh, yeah. I was bullying Danny,” he explained with a light chuckle, glancing up to find his beloved PDA, Ida. She was half under a blanket now, so he tugged her back out.

Tim chuckled softly, leaning back and stretching himself.

“Good dream?” He asked and Tucker snickered, stroking gently across the screen.

“Danny wishes it was a dream.” Tucker paused, frowning a little at the confusion on Tim’s face. “So you remember we kinda talked about the whole liminal thing?”

That seemed to jog Tim’s memory, confusion fading into an analytical frown that Tucker was already becoming familiar with. That good ol’ geek face.

“The humans with budding ghost powers,” he agreed, and Tucker had to wonder if maybe he just hadn’t put the right pieces together yet.

He hadn’t exactly said that most of Amity Park were liminal, but it was a little hard to remember he had to. Like, they lived on a portal to Hell.

Maybe he shoulda.

Well, at least it was a cool way to introduce it to him.

Tucker pulled Ida into his lap, flipped her over, and tapped the plain plastic backing to demonstrate.

“Mine’s a low level technopathy at the moment,” he explained as the PDA hummed and then began playing… well, still Montero, so he flicked it again and changed it immediately to Country Roads.

Tim was watching him with a kind of hungry fascination, and Tucker turned the music off with a thought, then passed her to Tim so he could check for secret touchpads.

“It’s not something I can do with anything,” he explained with a modest shrug, grinning with pride as Tim immediately got to scanning the casing.

All simple plastic, not even biometrics; what would be the point? Even touching the PDA was pretty much a formality at this point. She was a part of him.

“Technopathy? So you can control it with your mind? Why not with anything?” Tim asked eagerly, hands stroking over the plastic, eyes darting between it and Tucker.

Like he wasn’t sure which was more interesting, Tuck or tech, and Tucker absolutely took that as a compliment.

“It has to be a device I’ve really gotten into. Like, down to the source code, or something I’ve cracked before a couple times, and then I can just feel how all of it works.”

Tucker wiggled his fingers demonstratively and the PDA beeped to life under Tim’s hands, making the other man gasp. And yeah, totally envy in those cute blue eyes he turned all balefully on Tucker.

“How many of the functions can you use? Anything the PDA can do, or…” Tim trailed off, clearly thinking of everything he’d already seen the PDA do.

The real question would have been what couldn’t Ida do. And honestly? Yeah, Tucker remembered the trial phase.

He gave another shrug.

“Technically? Yeah, anything it can do, but I still prefer hacking the old fashioned way. Most of the network stuff too, cuz I’m only really “in” the PDA. Or Danny or Sam’s phones.”

Tucker hesitated, wondering how best to really explain the difference. Danny had never been any good at it, Tucker’d had no idea what he was talking about from the video game thing right up until he’d been sucked in himself.

Which… was probably gonna be a next-hangout adventure for Tim and the bats. And Oracle, if he could swing it.

For now he gave up, giving Tim a hopeless grin.

“Honestly it’s something you’ve really gotta feel for yourself. Danny’s great at the transition from real world to code, but he always just punches things, y’know? Turns out knowing how code is actually supposed to work doesn’t translate well to being part of it,” he added with a sigh.

Because frankly? It was bullshit unfair. Tucker could code an entire other galaxy around Danny with his eyes closed, but put them in the same metaphysical layer as a firewall and Danny could just.

Punch it.

Which, theme for the week, was also not how firewalls fucking worked. At some point Tuck figured he’d either gain a new level of understanding through liminality, or give up and ask Technus a couple questions.

Technus was currently Tucker’s subject instead of Danny’s anyway. They’d made a bet.

Which meant Technus shoulda told him about their shenanigans in time, which was probably what Tucker would hold over his head for the whole firewall thing.

It was so nice when things just worked themselves out.

Tim looked a little disappointed, but mostly still intrigued. Tucker could see his fingers just itching for his own tablet to take notes.

“Do you think that’ll change?” He asked, blurting it out like he couldn’t hold back now that Tucker stopped talking, “I mean, if you become more liminal? Or just practice your abilities more?”

And see, this was what Tucker loved about Tim Drake-Wayne. They were on the same wavelength. He grinned back.

“Probably. But I mean, it’s kinda cheating too. For now I kinda like that I have to do things the way I always used to first, before any ghostly powers kick in. It’s more me, y’know?” And like hell he’d let anyone think his code skills were just some meta ability.

He’d worked damn hard for those skills, and he was damn good. One of the best, and he was also good enough to know he still wasn’t actually top of the charts.

That was the Oracle, although knowing they still hadn’t cracked his servers felt really good.

Tim was all but vibrating, clearly full of questions, but they were both interrupted by a loud growl from Tucker’s stomach. Immediately echoed by Tim’s, so at least he wasn’t alone.

The two shared sheepish grins, and then Tucker stretched.

“So, breakfast and then Twenty Questions?” He offered cheerfully, and Tim nodded at once, thrusting the PDA back and rolling off the frankly massive bed.

——————

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai

#danny fenton dead and loving it #dpxdc #dp x dc #dead on main ship #danny x jason #jason x danny #chapter 14 #a good excuse to be a bad influence #TIMKER RISE YOU HAVE NOTHING TO LOSE BUT MORE SLEEP #tim drake x tucker foley #timker #yall imma sleep for a year #i’m so damn tired #wip wednesday

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robotnik-mun · 11 months

Text

One of the smaller, yet significant mysteries in Deltarune is whether or not Monsters are magical beings as they are in Undertale, and if Magic is even a thing outside of the Dark World.

And I can conclusively say... we need way more chapters before we can even begin to have a definite answer for this one.

The evidence we do have doesn’t paint a complete a picture and given how the writing in Deltarune and Undertale is in general, very few things can be absolutely taken at face value.

Take for example the stove top at the Dreemurr house.

Now as we all know, in Undertale Toriel’s stove is pristine, with it being suggested she uses fire magic to cleanse it. Yet here, its dirty, or at least dirtier than it was in Undertale. So surely that would be good evidence that Toriel can’t use magic here, right?

Well, not exactly. While it is a pretty good argument for the idea that there is no magic at all for monsters in Deltarune, from another perspective it might be evidence that Toriel simply doesn’t use magic to clean the stove here. Why might that be? Well, I would theorize that she might refrain from doing so because of Kris’ presence. Whether out of fear for their safety or in an attempt to give them as much of a ‘human’ upbringing as she can.

Which may or may not be something that fuels Kris’ apparent feelings of alienation from their family and community... but we’ll see, won’t we?

Another good example of how weirdly open-ended this can be can be seen in the second hospital visit with Noelle and Rudy-

Again- at a glance this would seem to confirm that magic might not be a thing, save for in the Dark World. But then there’s that ambiguous, interpretive syntax rising up again. Does this mean that magic isn’t real and Noelle wishes it was? Does it mean that magic is real and Noelle wishes she knew it? Does magic exist, but healing magic is a thing of fantasy?

If ‘Healing Magic’ is indeed a thing here, then you’d think Rudy wouldn’t be having his troubles. You might argue it COULD exist and whatever Rudy’s going through is beyond it, but then that’d make Noelle’s certainty that she could cure Rudy a very, very odd statement in-universe.

The Healing Magic thing gets another wrinkle in the form of this guy-

One of the frustrating things about UT/DT’s writing is that it DOES operate on a certain level of Toon Logic. Rule of funny and all that... but at the same time it has a certain tendency towards meta-humor and deconstruction, so there’s always a good chance of something that WOULD operate under Cartoon Logic being taken literally.

So where does the Warrior fit in? When we first meet him he’s clearly been badly injured and is babbling about ‘White Mages’, the traditional healer class of RPG video games. Now he’s clearly meant to be unhinged, but the very next day we see him all healed up and no worse for wear.

And thus the question comes up again- is he all healed up because It Is Funny, or are we to take it he really DID just heal overnight despite having both his hands in casts? Could it be the doctors really DO have the capacity to heal? Again, no idea! Rule of Comedy and Rule of Drama blurs considerably in this game.

And then of course there are the monsters themselves- how similar are they to their UT counterparts?

Signs would seem to point to... pretty similar! Maybe!

For example, there is Hometown’s very own cemetery.

In Undertale it is established that the funerary practices of the monsters arose from the fact that when they die, they disintegrate into dust. The funeral ritual, as such, is to spread that dust onto an object that was of great significance to the deceased so that their essence may live on in their possessions.

This would seem to be the same case in Deltarune’s world, where the graves in the cemetery are themed around various objects, as we can see here. So, that would seem to be pretty solid evidence for the DR monsters being the same, right? Well... it’s definitely more ‘for’, but its not exactly a slam dunk. While it would strongly suggest the same thing is going on here, one might also interpret that a similar tradition of focusing on Objects of Significance arose within the culture of Monsters, even without the prerequisite of them turning to dust when they die. For all we know that when they die here, they decompose just as we do, and they are remembered by they similar reached a similar cultural point for unrelated reasons.

The biggest hint we get into the nature of monsters here comes from a few comments from a somewhat nosy rabbit child. The child in question blithely asks Kris if it hurts to be made out of blood.

And later expresses confusion about how humans can have skeletons while there are skeleton monsters walking around. So, this would seem to strongly indicate that, like in Undertale, Monsters are made of magic rather than flesh and blood as humans are. So naturally, a young monster would be rather confused about how that exactly works out for us.

Likewise, there is the bathroom-

At face value this, again, would seem to indicate that monsters have... a bit more in common with us, compared to Undertale. In Undertale, monsters don’t have toilets. They don’t need ‘em (and boy they are lucky for that!). They are magical and as such do not expel waste as animal life does. So, slam dunk for Monsters Are Mundane here, right?

Wrong!

See, the thing is? This is the ONLY toilet we see. In the Dreemurr House. Where Kris, the only human in hometown, lives. We have yet to see any evidence that there are any other toilets in Hometown- and to be fair I can’t imagine many scenarios that could seamlessly bring us to one in a game- so maybe, rather than being more like humans, this is just evidence that the Dreemurrs had one installed for Kris’ use?

So far it would all seem to indicate that monsters are indeed like Undertale monsters... except for JUST one thing.

Susie.

This statement is perhaps the single biggest indicator of Things Being Different here we got, and its one of the biggest sticking points in the debate about Monster Nature in Deltarune. But the thing that REALLY adds to it? An unused sprite intended for Chapter 2. One that depicts Susie herself bleeding.

Yep, you can see clear as day! Red blood, just as humans. This might have been cut from the chapter, but it’d be shortsighted to dismiss it wholesale given that it gives an insight into the direction Toby Fox was intending to go with the monsters. So, if this is anything to go by? Maybe monsters DO bleed!

Maybe!

Or... maybe it says something about Susie. See, as we look over the chapters we already got, it becomes clear that Susie... doesn’t exactly add up with what we typically see of monsters. She seems fairly confident that all things bleed, but then coming from a monster that’s a bit of an odd statement since monsters, if magical, explicitly DON’T bleed. She seems weirdly shy when it comes to her tail, and when you take her to the Dreemurr house she seems a bit weirded out by the presence of Gingerbread Monster cutters in Toriel’s kitchen.

They’re small things, but small components lead to a bigger picture, and its entirely possible that this is all foreshadowing to something being up with Susie in particular. What that is, I can’t really say. I’ve seen theories ranging from her growing up in a human community in an inversion to Kris to her being half-human herself. Nobody can say for sure though, much like everything else at this point. What we CAN say is that SUSIE can bleed, or was intended to have that ability. Whether that reflects on other monsters though...

Well, anyway. At the end of it? It’s all just kinda up in the air. The middle ground would be that while monsters ARE magical here, they are ‘less’ magical than Undertale monsters and as such can’t use magic even though they’re made of the stuff. We don’t see any magic being used by monsters, and it’d be an odd thing for the game if monsters could use magic with out problem in the Light World, and from a storytelling perspective it’d render some of the wonder of the Dark World less than wondrous. Magic might be real, but it can’t do any of the fantastic stuff we see in fantasy- as such healing magic and the like is a bit like science fiction, fantastical while having a loose basis in real world stuffs.

But then that leads us to the monsters themselves- more specifically it leads us to the odder monsters like Napstablook, the Hand Monster at city hall, the diamond headed guy and of course our favorite skeleton Sans. IF Monsters aren’t magical here, then those guys make virtually no sense- monsters based off animals are one thing, but skeletons? Ghosts? Giant Hands attached to a humanoid torso? Bit of a tougher sell even with the caveat of Cartoon Logic.

You might say that Kris’ search history revealing they look into books on how to do magic being another definite indicator of things, because of course that would make sense for them. They want to be like their family, so of course they would want to learn how to do magic as well... which they can’t since, well, human. But then maybe it has nothing to do with wanting to be a monster. Maybe Kris just has a legitimate interest in stage magic and legerdemain.

That’s the troublesome thing about all this. For now, at the end of it, nothing is truly conclusive, and so much of what we see is open to interpretation. Until definitive answers come, anybody can be correct about the subject.

... yeah, whole lot of words to say “I have no idea!”, but hey, at least I’ve hopefully illustrated why that is. God those chapters can’t get here fast enough.

#Deltarune #Kris Dreemurr #Susie #Noelle Holiday #Rudy Holiday #You know this game has a hold over me when I'm analyzing THIS minor-ass crap

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luminousbeings-crudematter · 1 year

Text

where Simon is both injured & blown

PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

WARNINGS: injury description. established situationship. angst. blow job. 18+ only

LENGTH: 3.5k

This is the most beautiful you’ve ever seen him look.

Next Part >

_____

If you had to describe what home smelled like to you, you would say it was London in the rain.

Maybe a few months ago your answer would have been different, but now? Now the rain reminds you of him, as much it makes you nostalgic for a simpler time–before you knew him, when your chest didn’t ache with his absence. When your life didn’t revolve around this enigma of a man, a Rorschach that changed with the day, taking simultaneously both infinite forms and none.

Simon is beautiful in the rain. He wears a hoodie and black jeans, hood pulled up, an ever-present cover on his face (today, it takes the form of a dark scarf). But when he drops the hood, his blond hair looks dark with how drenched it is. He smells like fresh rain, and a spicy masculine flavour, one that you can’t describe, one that is quintessentially Simon. He brushes past you when you open the door to him, no hello, no how have you been, no it’s been 3 months and I’ve missed you.

But of course there isn’t, because this is your projection of his feelings, just some wishful thinking on your part. What you wish he’d say.

You close your front door and lock up behind him . It’s late. Almost 2 in the morning. You’re glad you’ve freshly showered, but it feels like the smell of working where you work lingers on you anyway.

It’s only when he sits down heavily on your couch does the hand that sits protectively over his side catch your eye.

“Alright, Simon?”

“Fine. Got a beer?”

You clear your throat and nod slowly, but don’t immediately make a move to grab it. He looks at you expectantly but his eyes hold an edge. It’s a question and a warning, all in one. I’m fine, his eyes seem to say. Don’t ask questions.

You wonder why, then, he sets the answer in front of you, as though on a platter.

“You’re hurt,” you whisper, walking to him. “Do you…y-you need something?”

“Beer’s fine, pet.”

“Simon. You’re bleeding all over my couch.”

“Shit,” he immediately mutters, looking down at his side, seeing his hand covered in red. You walk up to him, and gently push him back down, back leaning against your settee. He looks up at you, the dark green of his eyes almost glassy and glazed, and it makes your heart pound hard in your chest. He’s injured, most likely in pain, and still, all you want him to do is tear open his skin so you can settle inside him.

You stand up quickly. “Stay here. Be right back.”

You almost sprint into your kitchen, grab beers for the both of you, and your emergency kit. Before making the short walk into the kitchen, you pause and your hand finds the kitchen counter for support.

Simon’s presence around you tonight is dark, thick and heady, like smoke from a wildfire. You feel almost dizzy, like your chest is about to cave in on itself from the pressure of having to hold everything you feel and everything you want to say inside you. It’s equally painful and constricting all at once.

When you walk back into the front room, he’s taken his hoodie off, but the T-shirt he’s wearing underneath looks saturated where it hugs his wound. The sight of his blood almost jolts you. The blood that stains his skin looks just like the blood inside your body. Just blood. Dark and potent, filling the air with the faint smell of rusted metal.

But…Simon is more. He can’t be made of the same thing you’re made of. He’s more than you, in every sense of the word, his veins must carry ichor through his body, rich and sweet. He’s so different and distanced from you, a Pluto to your Mercury, he shouldn’t even be here, doesn’t belong on your couch, in your small flat, with you and yet–

Yet, there’s nowhere else you’d rather watch his essence escape him than on your couch, in your small flat.

Your hands tremble slightly as you set everything on your coffee table. You try to help him take his shirt off, but his body subtly straightens at your touch and you suddenly realise…you’ve never seen his naked torso before.

Shit.

This isn’t ideal, of course.

The whole time you’ve known him, you’ve never seen his bare body. You’ve fucked so much, he’s been inside you for fucking hours, but you’ve never seen his body beyond his cock and glimpses of his pelvis. Simon knows so very many ways of making you come, on his tongue, his fingers, his cock, a combination of them all, and you’ve never seen his body.

Never before have you been in a position where he’d have to make himself so vulnerable.

You’re about to open your mouth, but ending up gaping like a fish. What can you even say? This is what you’d called a fucked circumstance. Cumulatively, the man’s gone down on you for hours, but you don’t even know if he has hair on his chest.

Fucked. Circumstance.

But, as it turns out, you needn’t worry, because he slowly starts to take his shirt off. You assist him quietly. His eyes dip, and you try not to make this worse for him, this vulnerability he seems to feel while he allows himself to be seen to.

His bare chest glistens at you, marred by scar tissue in places, peppered in cuts and bruises, some healed, some not, and blood. But you only feel warmth in your chest.

The sight of his naked chest–a part of him he denies the rest of the world–makes you feel special. Greedy.

________

“Why ‘Ghost?’”

“Can’t kill a ghost.”

You stick your tongue in your cheek and reach a tentative finger out to poke his lacerated side. He catches your finger before you can make contact and brings it up to his lips. “But you can make a ghost bleed.”

“Apparently so.”

You shake your head and it’s back to cleaning his wound. It looks…grim. There’s no other way of putting it.

It’s not fresh, but it hasn’t healed either, not even close. You couldn’t believe he’d driven to you like this, stood outside your door as though everything was okay, as though the shabby work he’d done wrapping his wound hadn’t caused him to almost bleed out on your doorstep.

“You’re lucky I’ve got this stuff at hand, you know. Lucky I know my way around injuries.”

“Bullets graze you in the kitchen, pet?”

“You don’t know what some guests are like.”

A swig of the beer. “Hostile work environment, then, eh?”

“Hilarious, really.” You drop the antiseptic you were dabbing on his skin and grab the gauze. “What is it you really do, Simon?”

“Pet.” It’s the one-word warning you’ve heard before. You bite your tongue, not wanting to argue with him while he’s in this state. But it's all so strange.

You’ve stripped him of his shirt (his shirt which was sticking to his torn skin because of his injury, ick), cleaned his wound, you’re dressing it right now, and the whole time he hasn’t flinched once. Shown no sign that he’s in pain, no sign of any distress, actually. He could be eating a fucking chip butty, for how relaxed he’s been.

Except right now. Right this moment, when you ask him about his job, and that’s what makes him uncomfortable.

Strange guy.

“Alright,” you say, raising your arms up in mock surrender. “Don’t tell me. It’s not like we need to know about each other for you to fuck me.”

The words taste bitter on your tongue, acrid and cruel. Logically, you know why he does this. He keeps you in the dark about what he does for your own safety.

And it’s not like you don’t know anything. You’d guessed he was…some type of special forces. He hadn’t confirmed it, but his eyes had softened when you’d drunkenly tried to guess. His call-sign was Ghost. And the way you’d found that out…you’d passed out to him going down on you that night. Woken up to him still eating you out. It’s a wonder you remember anything from that night at all.

But…that was it. That was all you knew, both pieces of information you’d gleaned from early on in your…association.

It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t nothing. But sometimes the privacy felt like it was really for his benefit.

It would keep him safe if you didn’t know much about him. It would protect him if you were kept as far away from his line of work as possible. He would be more comfortable having you around in his life as his…whatever this was, but nothing more. Like you were the skeleton he preferred to store deep in his closet.

And you were just left with a clawing type of curiosity about the man you’d been sleeping with for the past few months.

Some days were easier than others when you were someone’s secret.

You put down the scissors you’d trimmed the gauze with and sit back on your haunches, by his feet. He runs a grateful hand over your hair, and you lean into his touch, setting your head down on his knee.

What now, you think to yourself. Past precedent dictated that by this time, under normal circumstances, you would be fooling around with him, ready for him to be close to him in the only way he would allow. But that wasn’t going to happen tonight, not with his injury.

“Thanks for cleaning me up, sweet girl.” The hand that was playing with your hair stills. Stays on your head.

Your sigh is audible against his knee and you close your eyes, feeling particularly spoilt. Content, but the calm you drape over yourself only barely hides how feral you feel. It’s him you want, and it's him you’re denied, over and over.

You lift your head up to look at him, and startle to see his eyes on you already. You remember when you’d mistakenly thought of them as just dark. As though Simon could be just anything. Your surprise, and how your stomach dropped when you saw the dark green that stared intently back. Somehow predatory but knowing, intuitive, as though he sees what you feel, sees your melancholy, but chooses to say nothing, do nothing.

His eyes look at you now, as they looked at you back then. You wonder what they see.

“Can I–can I take care of you?” you ask softly. Outside the rain falls harder. Your eyes follow the hand that traces the strong muscles of his thigh.

“Don’t need nothin’ more tonight.” His voice is gruff, tired, but he’s definitely caught on to your meaning. His eyes quickly dart to your hand (which is now very close to his crotch) and away, like he doesn’t want to be caught looking.

“Please Simon. Just for tonight, just while you hurt. Let me–” You stop yourself from saying more. What you need to do is just show him. Your hand continues to slowly rub his thigh.

“Please,” you whisper once more, though he hasn’t denied you. You finally bring your eyes up to him, and his eyes are wide and alert. Red-rimmed.

“What d’you want, darling?” His voice is a whisper now.

“I just want you. I just want to make you feel good.”

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs, his fingers gently brushing across your jaw, over your lips. “Ain’t much but you that makes me feel good, pet.”

But he leans back against the settee anyway, and it’s all the go ahead you need. You get on your knees and move slightly so you’re kneeling in between his, rather than by them. His eyes dart to your face and one big, warm palm comes to caress your face.

He consumes you, spirit and mind. But not your body, not tonight. Tonight it’s your chance to play kindling to his spark, to cause him to come apart through your manipulation of his body.

Your hand continues its slow journey up his thigh, all the way to his zipper. His dark jeans are still damp from the rain, he must be cold, but a quick glance up to him has never shown warmer eyes. You can almost imagine his need pouring out of him in the only way it can, the only outlet he gives it. One of the only parts of himself he seemingly can’t control. You wonder if you’ll ever know what he’s thinking, if he’ll ever give you the privilege of telling you what goes on behind those beautiful eyes.

You’ve done this twice before, both under very different circumstances. The first time in your car, when he’d fingered you as he drove, his eyes on the road the whole time. You’d ached to please him and he’d given in. The second time was…no, but that was different.

You don’t let your mind go there.

He lifts his hips, almost instinctively, when you brush him over his zipper. There’s a small furrow between his brows, as though he’s trying to work something out in his mind.

You manage to get the zipper down, and he lifts his hips again, this time in response to you wriggling his jeans. He sits back down, relaxes.

It’s your show, now, you realise. This is as vulnerable as Simon is willing to be. He’s not going to take his jeans off. His shirt’s off, but only because of his injury.

But he’s warm and he’s here, safe with you and no one in the world could peel you away from this man now, from making him feel good.

He’s already half hard when you put your hand on him, his body ready for what’s going to happen. You take your time, just watching his eyes as your hand gently moves up and down his cock. You’re about to bring your hand up to your mouth to wet your hand, but his hand clamps down on it fast.

“Don’t,” he whispers. You know he likes when your hand touches him dry, likes how it hurts. Pleasure and pain all mixed up in his mind, all paths, you hope, leading him to you. You nod and go back to touching him gently, teasing him, your finger lightly touching his leaking slit.

Finally, you let your hot breath ghost over him, give him tiny licks up and down his length, your only mission to tease now, to torment. For long, long minutes, that’s all you give him. Small licks and just the feeling of your hot breath on him, letting your tongue do the work.

The hand not currently on his cock slowly makes its way up his arm. He quickly flips his arm and grabs your hand, twining his fingers with yours. He gives a small squeeze–grateful? nervous? or just encouraging?–and you squeeze back.

Simon is the picture of perfection to you, right now, eyebrows furrowed in a look of desperation. You can tell by the way his other hand flexes over your head then falls down to his side, by the way that his hips flex into your mouth, that it’s taking everything in him not to grab you and fuck your mouth, make you take him in deeper. You resist the urge to pull off and tell him that he can.

No, this is your territory. You control this.

Your show.

You decide to put him out of his torment, but only on your terms. You finally suck his cockhead, gentle but firm. It pulls a huff of breath from him, and his hand in yours twitches. Keeping your attention only on the head of his cock is one way of frustrating Simon, you’re sure, but he says nothing. Controlled, silent.

You have a decision to make - you could continue to torment, continue to tease. Or you could try to break him, get him to give in.

You shift on your knees slightly, settle your ankles firmly against the ground, and swallow his cock all the way until you feel his head hit the back of your throat. It makes you gag and your eyes water and you still don’t stop.

You keep your eyes closed–just the feel of him in your mouth–and he leaves you to your own devices, saying nothing at all. You’re so engrossed, so captivated by this part of him that you begin to forget the person attached to the throbbing cock that’s keeping your mouth occupied. You moan softly around it, feeling it warm and thick and heavy on your tongue. You’ve drenched yourself now, but your arousal is only incidental to his, only a reaction to his pleasure.

You don’t pull away from him, just let him rest in the hot cave of your mouth, letting him feel the kind of warmth around his cock that you want him to feel around his body. You’re surrounded by him, your worldview painted only Simon, when he shallowly thrusts up into your mouth.

Bingo!

“Shit!” he groans, but you’re unrelenting in your attention. You place his cock right on your tongue, grazing his frenulum lightly with your teeth, then using your tongue to salve over it like a balm. You keep licking and sucking and kissing, tasting the precum, making sure your mouth is the only feeling he feels while your hand slowly grabs the part of him you can’t fit into your mouth.

He’s trembling slightly now, you can feel how close he already is. The roof of your mouth moulds to his shape, your mouth stretched wide so as to accommodate him. You can’t even imagine the sight the two of you are right now. You, on your knees, demure and submissive, with his cock in your mouth. Simon, losing his mind to the warmth of your mouth, one hand entwined with yours. His other hand moves up to your hair and stays there, gentle but firm. Finally.

You’re bobbing up and down the length of his cock now–it’s sloppy and your hand feels slippery gliding over his cock, but this is what you want. You want to make him feel good, and your body is the only thing he allows you to use. You alternate the bobbing motion of your mouth with drawing circles on his tip with your tongue.

“Fuck, Jesus,” he gasps, and you look up briefly to see that the gauze on his dressing has started to run red. You move back, intending to move off his cock, but his hand on your hair tightens slightly, holding you there.

Almost, almost there.

You’re sloppy in earnest now, your tongue working him continuously and hand moving over him, strong and firm. You feel the muscles of his thigh tightening now…he’s close.

The hand he’s using to hold yours turns into a death grip. His cock throbs in your mouth and he throws his head back with a gasp, his eyes shut tight and brows furrowed in a desperate frown, as he comes down your throat. His jaw works hard and the muscles that run up his neck and disappear behind his ear twitch with the movement.

It’s the most beautiful you’ve ever seen him look.

You don’t spill a drop of what he gives you, your throat swallowing around him, trying to extend his pleasure for as long as you can. His groans are tinged with pain, but you continue to keep him in your mouth. He finally relaxes, his grip both on your hair and on your hand loosening, but you’re not quite ready to let him go. You lick him clean, and even when that’s done, you don’t pull away, just keep him in your mouth, giving him gentle licks and kisses.

Your gentle attention must push his nerves into oversensitivity because he shudders and grabs you by the arms, pulling you up to him. He kisses you slowly, his tongue languid, tasting every corner of your mouth, licking into you and you all but melt into him.

When you finally part, you settle with your head on his chest, he tucks himself back in his clothes, while you give his cock one last wistful look. If you could touch him like this, make him feel good like this, you’d stay on your knees for him forever.

All he’d had to do was ask.

He doesn’t kiss you again, but he does something better. He gathers you to him, your longing for his affection making you warm and pliant, and moves you just so that you’re lying on top of him—your legs across his lap, your torso against the length of his and your head against his chest.

It’s more than you expected, more than he’s ever given you.

His heart beats, strong and fast under your ear.

You’re not in love with him, not yet. But you’re teetering on the edges, you can grasp it, hold it, if you stretch your hands out. If he looked at you now, you know he’d see it, clear as day on your face, and then everything would end.

You hide your face in his neck and sigh.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x reader smut #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #ghost #situationship simon #lumi writes

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lavenderbexlatte · 8 months

Text

day 15: lingerie

twice 1.4k words gender neutral reader insert Reader x Hirai Momo suggestive/SFW

🖤 warnings: lots of staring, a secret lingerie kink, or maybe just a big crush on momo who even knows~🖤

kinktober masterlist

connect with me! / masterlist

You've never felt less professional in your life.

It's the very essence of your job to look at pretty people. Being an assistant DP means your life is full of spotless sets, glittering lights, and beautiful, beautiful people. And usually, it's all mundane.

People can get used to anything, after long enough. And you'd thought you were used to pretty people.

This shoot isn't even anything special.

You've done dozens of lingerie shoots. Even a few kink shoots for adult websites, with even less clothes than the models are wearing today. And usually, any twinge of interest in the people wearing those clothes is absolutely killed by the alternately boring and stressful demands of your job. It's hard to be horny when you need to hold reflectors for eight hours straight.

But this client is unbelievable.

She's independently famous, something outside of modeling, but you're pretty sure you've never seen her before today.

You wish you had, though, because she's stunning.

The line being advertised is some very expensive lingerie brand that you've also never heard of, delicate luxury fabrics that the wardrobe girls have already complained about. Apparently they're only allowed to use certain kinds of thread to tailor them up, something about weight and fabric pulling. The intricacies of fashion are above you, but that's fine. The models look great.

Especially this girl.

You're sure your face is extremely unprofessional, as she takes off the big teddy bear coat covering her outfit and steps onto the set.

Her abs catch your eye first. You don't see many models with visible abs that seem like they're the result of effort, rather than simply body composition.

Wouldn't matter to you, either way, because her face is equally as stunning, and you can't fake that. Intelligent eyes and a sneaky smile, glossy black hair with stair bangs.

Ridiculously pretty.

"Are you ready?" asks the director.

This girl nods. "Ready."

"Anything uncomfy?"

"No."

"Then let's get going."

It's a businesslike exchange, polite and short, and usually you'd be right there with everyone else. Your boss, the DP, who's calling lights and judging the placement of fake plants. The director nudging and complimenting the model into different spots on the tight set.

Usually, you'd be just as busy. But you're just kind of...watching.

Watching, as this girl in her thick garters and black bustier bends and smolders and tosses her hair for the camera.

Someone finally says her name, and it's the makeup artist, darting to the edge of the set between shots.

"Momo, can I fix your lipstick?"

You think her lipstick is perfect, personally, but whatever. The makeup artist smooths a little brush over the model's full bottom lip, taking away some imperceptible imperfections, and you just watch, like an idiot.

Really, you never thought you had a thing for lingerie.

It's part of your job to see it in detail, like this. It's part of life to see it at all. You're person in society. Clothes never really did it for you, even intimate clothes.

Must be the girl, then.

It must be.

"Let's do the warm light, next," the director decides. "Can I get the reflector in here?"

Shit. That means you.

The unwieldy gold fabric circle is admittedly pretty neat, a tool that reflects the studio lights back with a warm gold-colored tint. And this one is handheld, which means that someone has to stand next to the model and angle it just so, to get the perfect lighting.

That someone is you.

And in you go, hauling the reflector.

"Up close on the left, please. Her right," the director tells you. "Thanks."

You can't see any flaws in her lipstick up close, either. Momo gives you a very interesting, oddly knowing kind of smile, as you hover beside her with your reflector. It's a few moments of taking direction - a little right, a little up, closer...not that close you're in frame - and then just holding the pose until the director decides to let up.

Usually you'd be counting the seconds, as your muscles stiffen up from staying in the same awkward spot, praying for the shoot to end.

But right now, you're focused on not being super weird.

You need to watch her, to make sure that the light doesn't change. You need to be aware of the glare off the silvery hardware of her garters, to move the screen around if she changes poses. That, of course, means you kind of need to stare at her.

And Momo seems to like that you're staring at her.

Maybe you're reading into it, just wishful thinking. But every time she adjusts, and you adjust with her, trying to look at her just enough but not too much, Momo...looks at you.

It's a smirk, it's definitely a smirk. Not a smile. Sneakier than that. She's smirking at you.

That probably means that you're being obvious, and she can tell that you're interested in her. Or at least intrigued by her. She's so pretty, pretty enough that you probably wouldn't be brave enough to approach her at a party. Pretty enough that she's probably used to people reacting to her like this.

It doesn't help that she's only wearing lingerie.

"Anything else you wanna try?" the director asks.

This director is a nice lady, accommodating even when she has to rush through bookings like this to meet deadlines, so this is one of the usual questions. Letting the models suggest poses and concepts helps them take some control over their gigs, a rarity in the fashion world that moves so fast and objectifies so quickly. You usually appreciate it a lot.

But today, Momo hums her consideration, and looks at you.

"What do you think?" she asks.

You startle. "What?"

"Is there any position you think would look good?"

Momo is grinning at you, an innocent smile, but her eyes are glinting. She absolutely knows what she's doing, and she's doing it on purpose.

The director doesn't even blink. "Any ideas?"

"I mean, I-" you stammer. "No, everything has been good, yeah-"

"Then we're finished," the director decides.

Embarrassing, but you're safe now.

Or, you're safe for the next ten minutes.

Sets move fast, and it's only a matter of seconds before Momo has retreated to the greenroom with her manager, and the next girl is brought out. This girl is also very pretty, but you don't have the same brain-melting reaction to her. Which is a fucking relief, because it means that you didn't suddenly get weird.

As the next shoot starts, the DP calls you over.

"Can you go get the colored screens? We're gonna need red for this girl."

"Sure," you agree.

So you take the gold reflector, and the regular silver one, and walk to the supply racks to find the primary-colored ones. You'll grab red, and blue for good measure...

"You got a second?"

Oh, no.

You turn around, and there's Momo, wrapped in her teddy bear coat again, leaning against the doorway to her closet-sized greenroom.

"I guess," you say, nervous.

"I just wanted to know if you liked this outfit."

While you still have the presence of mind, you put the reflectors in their spot on the wheeled rack in the hallway.

That's a good call, too, because as soon as your eyes are on Momo again, she drops the coat.

And there's that lingerie set, again.

"It seemed like you liked it," she adds.

She's still standing like she's on set, posed against the doorframe, her fluffy coat piled at her feet. It's ridiculous that someone can be this hot. You're mesmerized by the dip of her skin around the tight band of the garters, the smooth lines of her cleavage over the top of the bustier, her abs...

"I liked it. I like it," you say.

You probably sound way too eager, but it's too late to try and fix yourself.

Momo tilts her head, looking purposefully, artfully curious. "Would you wanna touch it?"

You wheeze.

"The outfit, I mean," she says mildly. "Of course. It's really nice. You could touch it."

You're not entirely sure what's happening, or why, but there is some higher power smiling down on you right now, and you're not about to waste it.

Fingers of one hand tugging at the thigh strap of her garter, the other hand smoothing a path up the expensive silk and lace of her bustier. She's all but laughing at you and your eagerness, and she lets you crowd her backwards into her greenroom. You at least have the presence of mind to not want to get caught.

"This a normal thing for you?" Momo asks.

You relish the chance to answer. "No!"

"Huh." Her face is far too satisfied. "Must just be me, then."

The feeling of the delicate material of her lingerie under your hands does feel fantastic, but you think she's probably right.

#kinktober 2023 #kpop kinktober #twice fanfic #twice momo fanfic #hirai momo fanfic #twice smut #twice momo smut #hirai momo smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction

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operation-steal-chans-laptop · 1 year

Note

Forgive my brain for this one bubby, had to get it out of my head,

Han jisung + your glasses

Now you don't really have a prescription for glasses but given that your screen time is as much as it is, you do usually wear a pair to avoid headaches from high bright light exposure (lets presume so because well I do in this case yes I'm being self indulgent and no I shall not shame myself about it)

Sungie coming back from a grocery run on your common day off which was interrupted by some last minute tweaking your client asked you to get done so you were currently just hyperfixated at your laptop.

"Ah the glasses are out today, looks like it'll take you some time hm?"

You reassure him and say it won't take long but it did end up taking a bunch of hours. Jisung could have done anything in that while but why would he when he could daydream about you. When you keep your hair up with that big claw pin and a few baby strands just frame your face so perfectly it's artistic to him. And your glasses,

Especially, your glasses

The way they sit on your nose and accentuate your pretty eyes so much and gosh you almost become a different person when you wear those and goddamn it do they make you look professional,

And hot, authoritative and very hot

He wishes if he had a desk job, maybe the ones with the CEO's and their big offices, and fall in love with you, the newbie secretary with the pretty faces and who looks so hot when she's focused.

Maybe he could call you in, because behind closed doors you are really his loving girlfriend, the one who he sleeps next to each night even if you can't go home by the same car. And maybe he can just ask you to lock the door behind you and kneel next to him on a particularly stressful day,

And maybe with a little bit of whining and begging he can definetly ask you to blow him off, help him calm down a bit yeah? Ofcourse you'll agree, right?

And right when you're about to take your glasses off he can pout at you and ask you to pleaseeee keep those on for him you look so hot he can barely breathe around you properly.

But here's the catch,

You could make him blow his load in under 2 minutes if you wanted to but you decide to take your time with it, letting him enjoy it as much as he can but Jisung had a mission because he wanted to cum, he really did, not down your throat though, he loves it but not today,

You both feel him getting closer and right when you were about to suck him harder to let it go all down your throat, jisung pushes your head away from him.

He hold your head with his right hand with his left still pumping his dick, a strained plea of "stay there please?" And you obey because gid knows what goes on in his head but its usually hot as fuck.

And it was

When he aimed his spurt right at your glasses. He paints your lenses with his essence and gets some on your cheek too but oh fuck he could cum again just by looking at you. (Spoiler: he almost did overstim himself too much at how you looked)

You were caught offguard to say the least, oh man and what if,

What if roles were switched and you wanted to-

The bedroom gate opens, you're still in a big t shirt and some shorts, hair up, and glasses.

Jisung's shorts don't really feel as comfortable rn.

"Gosh that client was a complete pain in the ass, ruining my day off too, any ideas of dinner?"

" I don't have an idea for dinner necessarily, but I do have an idea angel...."

~~~

Yours lovingly

- 💌

Ahzbcjxbxjcidncjfjfncjtj BUBBY?!?!!?! YOUR BRAIN??????

As much as the glasses make you look professional and sexy, in a way they also make you look more innocent? The big framing seemingly making your features softer

he’d think it’s so cute and hot when you have your glasses on with your hair up messily and an oversized shirt on?!?!?!?! Han would not be able to stop thinking about all the dirty things he’d do to you, and how pretty you’d look falling apart on his cock, the glasses slipping down the bridge of your nose

I CANT THINK PROPERLY

#💌-Sarah’s Inbox #💌 anon #han jisung #han jisung scenarios #han jisung smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids han smut #han jisung imagines #han jisung hard hours #han jisung hard thoughts

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stardust-kenobi · 2 years

Text

Reminiscence

Part Six

Part five

Obi Wan Kenobi x F!Reader

Summary: You and Obi Wan’s new friends bring you to safety on Jabiim, but are faced with a challenge that leaves them stranded with you, causing tensions to run high

Warnings: Jealous Obi Wan, smut, angst?

Word count: 5.6k

A/N: So sorry for how long this took me to write! Thank you all for being patient <3. I have forgotten many details of Fallen Order so if anything is a little off, please forgive me, it’s been over a year since I played it.

Side note: if you are unfamiliar with Cal Kestis, the only details you need to know is that he was 12 at the time of order 66 (now 22) and was Jaro Tapal’s padawan. Cere and Greez are essentially his found family.

Gif cred: @mcgregor

Absolute peace and focus overcame you. The wind swept your hair from your shoulder, sending a chill across your neck. The force was guiding you through your meditation, and you took in every essence of self reflection that it allowed.

The distant roar of speeders and transports barely reached you now in your subconscious. Your balcony in the temple was quiet enough, even with the commotion of a city planet. It was a small balcony, but it was all yours. Alone.

Or so you thought.

A disruption sucked your focus away from your inner thoughts and demanded your attention behind you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you”

“Master Kenobi” You affirmed as your heart skipped a beat. It had been weeks since you’d had time with him outside of your training. You weren’t expecting him to visit you in your personal quarters.

“What a terrible mentor I am to be interrupting your meditation”

“No it’s okay, really. I was nearly done anyways”

“May I sit?” He gestured toward the ground

You nodded. He sat next to you. Not too close. Not too far away.

“I’m sorry for my distance lately. I’m sure you still understand why” Obi Wan muttered, addressing the elephant in the room.

“I do” You looked away.

“It’s for the best” He said, using a tone that implied he was trying to convince himself of that as well.

“I know” You said, turning your attention back to him. The sun lit his face perfectly on this balcony. Stars, you could stare at him for ages. He stared back, allowing his eyes to dart back and forth between your pupils and your lips. Subtly was usually not something he struggled with, but maybe he wasn’t trying to be subtle.

“Although I…” He broke the silence.

“What?”

“I don’t know if it’s doing much good” He admitted.

“What do you mean?”

You knew exactly what he meant. The lack of contact outside of your training did nothing but further fuel your imaginative thoughts about him. You assumed he was struggling in the same way.

He shook his head, wishing he hadn’t even said that.

“Never mind” He smiled.

“It’s not helping me much either” You confessed, refusing to look away from him or get shy now.

He raised his eyebrows, “I see”.

“Has this ever happened before?” You pondered. Surely there’s been some instance of this happening in all the history of the Jedi.

“Well, I certainly don’t have distracting thoughts about Anakin” Obi Wan

“I meant to anyone else, silly”

“I know, I’m only teasing” He laughed, “Yes, it has. I was only 15, right after I began training with Qui Gon. I wasn’t able to be told any details but I heard whispers of a Jedi Master and his Padawan running off together”

“Wow”

“Master Windu, um, he caught them together”

“Caught them doing what?”

“Exactly what you think they were doing”

Your eyes grew wide, “Oh”

Obi Wan cleared his throat, “Yes. Which is why he was careful to warn me when he noticed our attachment”

“Makes sense” You chuckled.

“Many speculated it was only lust between those two, but I could tell…it was love” He thought back to the couple who chose their attachment over the ways of being a Jedi. You pondered that for a moment, wondering how deep a connection must be to overrule everything you've ever known.

He stared off for a while, the memory of them replaying in his head. You wondered if he weighed the consequence of running off with you, and if his feelings were deeper than lust as well. You shook that idea away immediately.

“I don’t want to be the reason you struggle to succeed” He muttered. This seemed to come out of nowhere, but perhaps there was a connection.

“You are the reason I will succeed” You contested firmly.

“I hope that will remain true” He smiled at you.

The gentle breeze continued to brush the wild strands of hair off your cheeks.

"I am worried about Anakin" Obi Wan muttered.

"How so?"

"He's..." Obi Wan began, "He is losing his way"

The tone in his voice was broken. There was struggle within him, you could sense it and see it in his eyes.

"He is distracted. Ahsoka has noticed, too" You agreed.

"Anakin is far more than distracted" Obi Wan murmured.

"I think Padme is proof of that" You mumbled.

"You believe it, too?"

"She’s carrying his child. It may not be obvious to everyone but...a woman can tell when another woman is in love" You sighed.

"This is my fault" He shook his head.

"No, it's not, Master Kenobi" You quickly shot back,"No one, not even the galaxy's strongest Jedi, can stand in the way of love" You declared. He stared at you, thinking carefully about his next words.

"I suppose you're right" Obi Wan concurred, stroking his beard.

"You cannot blame yourself for any of Anakin's decisions. He is lucky to have your guidance. I am lucky to have your guidance"

Only a smile was offered in response, but you were glad to know you said that with confidence.

“I’ve received word that General Grevious is on Utapau. I’ll be leaving soon” He changed the subject, but you anticipated that this was likely what he came to tell you in the first place.

“I’ll come with you” You insisted.

“No, my dear, I can’t have you with me. Not against him” He said, placing a hand atop yours, sending electricity through your veins at the sudden contact.

“You can’t prepare me to be a Jedi knight if you don’t even let me in on the action” You teased.

“I can’t prepare you to do anything if you get yourself killed” He shot back.

“That’s fair” You conceded.

“I will see you soon, my young Padawan” Obi Wan spoke softly, looking at you with adoration.

You turned to listen only to his receding footsteps, longing for more time with him, more conversation, and more exchanged glances.

“And just in case I haven’t told you in a while” He spoke softly, turning to you again. You turned around to meet his gaze.

“I’m proud of you, Y/N”

Your heart melted at his praise. It was no surprise that he was proud of you, but, to hear him say it meant everything to you.

As you watched him walk away from you, a sinking feeling of dread settled into your chest. You couldn’t explain why, and you thought maybe you just didn’t want him to go.

Little did you know, it was the last time you’d see your Master before everything fell apart.

“So where are we taking this hunk of metal?” Greez called from the pilot seat.

“Tatooine?” You ignorantly suggested.

“We can’t go to Tatooine. That’s the first place they’ll look for us” Obi Wan whispered in frustration.

“Coruscant?” Greez, the pilot, haphazardly suggested.

“Greez” Cal scolded him. The elephant in the room stated that was a terrible idea.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding” Greez threw his hands up.

“What about Jabiim?” Cal spoke up.

“Will they take kindly to us bringing the Empire's most wanted Jedi?” Cere pondered.

“I don't want to put innocent people at risk” You muttered, your nerves on edge.

“You’re not. These people on Jabiim help Jedi” Cere comforted you.

“Usually not the ones that Darth Vader himself is personally looking for, but who knows” Cal remarked.

“We will take you to a safe space but that’s as far as we’ll go. You two are being hunted, and I can’t risk that putting us in danger on this ship” Cere remarked. You understood, no matter how it may have sounded.

“We are grateful for any help” Obi Wan flashed a quick smile.

Cere nodded, still amazed to be in Obi Wan’s presence. She never really knew him before, but everyone knew of Obi Wan in some way. He was one of the greatest Jedi of our time.

The trip was long, several days would pass before you reached your destination, but it provided you the time to recollect yourselves after what had just taken place. Jabiim was located in the outer rim, and considering the dire need to travel in stealth, it took even longer than normal. To fill the empty void of nothing but time, you and Obi Wan visited with Cal and Cere, getting to know them better and looking back on a time you could all relate to. It was painful but necessary to discuss. Greez joined the conversation here and there when he wasn’t attending to piloting the ship.

You wanted to be alone with Obi Wan to ask him about Anakin. The shock of this revelation was continuing to sink in achingly slow, and you imagined it was tearing him apart, too. Everything happened so fast on Batuu, he hadn’t had the chance to talk about it, let alone process it. There was a lingering pain in his expression that no smile or laugh could’ve concealed.

“And Master Tapal, he’s—” Obi Wan inquired, unable to finish his own sentence because he assumed the answer. He knew Master Tapal, not well, but they were acquainted.

“Gone...died in my arms” Cal said coldly, “I barely made it out alive” He hung his head, making it clear that ten years couldn’t heal the wound that losing his master had inflicted.

“I am so sorry” Obi Wan whispered sorrowfully.

“I’m glad you two were able to find each other again. You’re lucky” Cal smiled, studying your every movement. It was noticeable, though, that he looked at you more often than Obi Wan, seemingly almost watching you at times.

There were shared glances at each other between you and Obi Wan, trying to hide the tension and hopefully discreet affection for one another. You were sure that neither Cere or Cal noticed this, and you weren’t going to address it.

“It was lucky. I didn’t believe my eyes when I saw him” You noted.

“Nor did I” Obi Wan smiled, placing a hand on your knee, and immediately regretting it. Subtly and slowly, he pulled away, hoping that Cere and Cal were none the wiser to this physical contact.

Cere told you both the heartbreaking story of losing her Padawan to the dark side, just to watch her perish at the hands of Darth Vader. You couldn’t imagine her anguish, but you could sense the pain that afflicted Obi Wan as she spoke of Vader’s actions. Your new discovery of Anakin’s identity would not be shared with anyone anytime soon for this very reason. Taking risks played a huge role in your life now, but potentially enraging those who are providing you refuge would be unwise.

Obi Wan had stepped away with Cere to the cockpit, leaving you and Cal alone on the seating area.

"Is this your droid?" You smiled, watching the BD unit cozy up onto his shoulder like a Loth cat.

"Yep. This is BD-1"

The droid voiced a series of beeps you didn't quite understand but you nodded anyways.

"You know it's nice finding another Jedi my age"

"Yeah?" You smiled in agreement.

"Yeah, its...refreshing"

"I could say the same"

The conversation was pleasant. You talked about how you’d both survived through the years, and the struggle of living with such crippling survivors guilt. You couldn’t fathom the pain he felt watching his Master die and making the decision to escape and keep pushing forward.

Cal was kind and empathetic. Before the purge, you would’ve viewed him as much younger than you. He was a child and you weren’t. But here you both were, full grown adults living in a galaxy where your life is at risk everyday. There was an automatic bond there, and you deeply enjoyed your conversation with him.

It did not go unnoticed that his eyes carried a deeper feeling than just listening. You sensed something from him. An unfamiliar feeling. Maybe he felt a connection to you that was out of his control. Perhaps it was attraction. You brushed it off, considering you wouldn’t be around him much longer.

The force was an odd and complicated thing…you were slowly accepting it’s influence again, and to differentiate your feelings and senses with that of a normal human and one that is force sensitive was proving to be a challenge once more.

You put away that confusion for now. You didn’t know where Cal’s feelings were. You were unsure if he felt anything for you beyond a quickly developed friendship.

Over the next day and a half, you got to know him a little more and learned about his countless adventures in the past. He had never ending stories to tell, and you were on the edge of your seat for every single tale.

Truly, it was nice to make these new friends. You never allowed yourself to get attached before you found Obi Wan, but you found that easier to do now.

Jabiim was a planet you’d not even heard of before. Cere explained to you both that it was part of something called The Path, operated by people that helped hide Jedi and other force sensitive individuals. On Jabiim, these at risk people could be assigned new identities and receive the shelter they sought. This was off the radar, far into the outer rim. The empire didn’t know about it at all, at least...not yet.

Cere said they’d helped stow away Jedi before, but with you and Obi Wan being Darth Vader’s prime target, this was a lot to ask from them. The crew, of course, didn’t know why he was Vader’s target, and thankfully they didn’t ask.

The Mantis made its descent, revealing a giant rock structure as you pushed down through the clouds. An opening atop the rocks twisted open, allowing you to land safely.

A sea of friendly, yet curious faces approached the ship as the ramp opened. You and Obi Wan found yourself to be timid in the direct attention of all these new people.

Standing back from Cere and Cal, who were obviously accustomed to the company of this community, your ears picked up every piece of their conversation.

"Cere" The soft spoken man said. He was probably your age, human, tan skin and very short black hair, similar to that of Cere's appearance.

"Hello, Roken"

"Is that who I think it is?" Roken gestured to where we stood. He seemed cautious and possibly weary.

"It is. Listen I know this could compromise everything but I-"

"Who is the girl?" He interrupted her.

"His Padawan. Was...his Padawan" Cere said, emphasizing the past tense.

Your mind was stuck on how she said that. There was a possibility she knew, but you couldn’t worry about that right now.

“Are they being tracked?” Roken inquired.

“Roken. I wouldn’t bring them here if they were. You know that”

He shook his head, “Can never be too careful"

“Can you take them?”

Roken looked at our stressed faces, feeling sympathy and compassion that outweighed his fear of being compromised.

"We can take you, but only for a little while" Roken blurted.

"Thank you" You spoke up before Obi Wan could.

"You'll need separate rooms, right?"

"Oh, yes, please" Obi Wan answered, quick to pick up on the urgency to remain discreet for now.

"Cere!" Greez called from the top of the ramp.

"What?"

"We got a problem"

Turns out there was a malfunction in the main panel of the Mantis, making it impossible to launch it until the board had been fixed. It was technical talk, something you never understood, as you never learned to be a pilot. But what you gathered was simple: the Mantis crew couldn't leave tonight.

"We're short on staterooms. Two of you will have to share" Roken seemed apologetic.

The Mantis crew shot each other displeased looks, hinting that they did not, under any circumstances, want to share a room.

"We will. Its fine" You spoke up, feeling Obi Wan's eyes glued to you immediately, along with Cal's from across the room.

"Follow me, please"

The journey through the extensive corridors was riddled with surprised glances and wonder. Obi Wan was recognizable. A fact that kept him in danger constantly. Many of these people working the base were familiar with him, and were shocked to see him here. Many considered Obi Wan to have died, others accurately speculated he was alive and hiding.

The room was adequate. A stark contrast to the resort you’d stayed in the last couple of nights, but you were endlessly grateful for any help at all. There was a small bed, one that you two will probably have to get very close to one another to be able to fit, but that wasn’t a problem at all.

The door shut quietly behind you, leaving you both alone for the first time since you faced almost certain death. A small lamp barely lit the room, illuminating the bed and one small table.

Obi Wan battled with a flood of emotions, and to pinpoint what he was thinking of in that moment would’ve been impossible.

He rested his head in his palm, sighing loudly, trying to collect himself again.

You hesitated to ask, because in light of recent events, you knew what was wrong. Instead, you rubbed your hand on his back before laying your head against him.

It was a conversation to be had another time. He needed to process the revelation that Anakin still lived. Gods...you needed to process that, too.

“I don't…” Obi Wan trailed off, suddenly deciding to speak.

You turned your face up to him, “What?”

“I don't like the way Cal looks at you” He said it quickly, spitting it out so he could get it over with. He looked down at you now.

That’s what he was thinking about?

“Obi Wan, please” You sighed. You felt defensive but you’d done nothing to provoke Cal, this wasn’t your fault but you still felt like you may be to blame for his attention.

“It’s obvious…and I can sense his curiosity about us” Obi Wan noted, "but the way he looks at you...the way he talks to you"

Walking toward him, you gently wrapped your arms onto his shoulders, “You’ve got nothing to worry about. All I want is you”

“I know, darling, I’m sorry. I never thought myself to be the jealous type”

“Oh, right, like you don’t remember peeling me off of Rex that night at 79s? You acted like you only were protecting me but I saw the way you looked at Rex. You could’ve killed him for the way he touched me” You giggled.

“Stars, I’d forgotten about that” He was taken aback, simultaneously holding a look of grief at the mention of Rex.

“I never have forgotten. It was hot…the way you didn’t want any other man to have me”

“Really?”

“Really.” You purred.

Obi Wan swallowed hard, his need for you suddenly overwhelming him, “I want to do very bad things to you right now, my love” He breathed.

“What’s stopping you?”

“Well, for one, the crew on the other side of this door who were kind enough to provide us shelter”

“That’s a good point. You know there’s no way I can be quiet” You conceded.

“You can’t be loud if my hand is over your mouth, now can you?” Obi Wan whispered, pulling your hair behind your ear.

You shook your head and swallowed in anxious anticipation.

His hand slipped between the supple surface of your lower belly and the band that held your pants up, and ventured down to the heat he was seeking.

You sucked in a sharp breath, a moan threatening to strangle you, but Obi Wan’s hand slapped firmly against your mouth, muffling any precious sound that may escape you. It was torture for him. He loved the delicate noises you made. Noises he pulled from you. But he had to deny himself of that now.

“You’ll not make one noise, no matter how good my fingers make you feel” Obi Wan commanded, his voice now rough with desire.

You nodded.

His fingers trailed through your wetness and he groaned softly as he felt you, his lips pressed flush against your cheek. The tips of his fingers pressed against your clit, sending a jolt through your bones.

“Let’s lay you down, yeah?” He whispered, ripping away his touch suddenly.

Obi Wan laid your back flat against the small bed and positioned himself above you. Swiftly he pulled your pants down and off your body before returning his palm to your mouth and his still wet fingers back to your pulsing ache.

Gods, he looked so dominant above you like this. You couldn’t help but feel your skin light on fire with arousal.

His gaze followed his hand, observing the way the dim light revealed the dampness seeping onto your inner thighs. Snapping his attention back to you, he plunged his middle finger inside. You arched your back up into him from this sensation of having him, any part of him, against your walls.

At a steady and consistent pace, Obi Wan began pumping his finger in and out, following the patterns of your breathing, reacting to every way your body received this pleasure. He added another finger, providing a wonderfully full feeling into your lower belly.

Your whimpering was no match for the pressure applied to your lips. The muffled sounds were only loud enough for Obi Wan to hear. Only for him. And the thought of that, just the thought…drove him wild.

His digits fucked you faster now, the sound of your slickness loudly filling the compressed space with every thrust. With his face hovering very close to yours, he watched how your brows pressed together, almost as if you were in pain, but he knew better. You were close. And as your muscles contracted around him, he felt your release creeping closer.

“I hope he senses what I’m doing to you” Obi Wan whispered, his fingers slowing their pace. He used his fingers now without speed but with a perfect curl. He brushed against your sweetest spot with every stroke. He was expressing his jealousy with dominance, but you didn’t mind one bit.

“I could always sense when you ached for me, he can feel it too”

You knew this to be true. If a force sensitive individual felt a lust toward another, it was an unspoken concept that you could sense when they were aroused. Meaning that, more than likely, Cere wouldn’t notice, but Cal would.

You’d thought you felt it from Obi Wan all those years ago, a flutter or a tingle from the force when you were near him, but you convinced yourself you were mistaken. Knowing what you know now, it really was his lust that you felt.

Cal wasn’t your type, but you wouldn’t deny how attractive he was. This trip was long, and his lingering glances did not go unnoticed.

“That way, it is in no way unclear…that you are mine” His voice sent shivers down your spine and guided you closer to your release.

Stars circled your vision as you spilled over the edge and floated in euphoria. You gripped his wrist that covered your mouth and squeezed hard, directing your expressions of pleasure somewhere besides your mouth. Every extra

“There you go, darling, doing so good for me” He encouraged you, ravishing in the sight of your writhing body.

You floated softly back down from your orgasm, eyelids falling heavy as you looked up at him.

His face looked frantic as he quickly gripped your hand, bringing it below his belt and into his pants. The stiffness met your hand firmly, and you began to stroke him, picking up the hint that he was close to his orgasm just from fingering you.

“Please” He begged, needing the sensation of your hand so desperately, and you wouldn’t dare delay.

It was only four rhythmic strokes before he fell weak, his cock twitched within your grasp, and his release coated your hand and wrist. He suppressed his moans as best as he could, but he trembled against your touch while he rode his high, dropping his head to yours, hovering his lips above yours.

“I’m sorry, darling” He panted shamefully.

Brows furrowing in confusion, you were hurt that he was ashamed of how quickly he got off.

“Why?”

“I didn’t think that would happen so fast” He sighed, leaning back to sit next to you on the small bed.

“I really like that…that I made you cum and I hardly touched you” You noted, sitting up to meet his eyes.

“You were just…just feeling that you were so wet, darling, and so breathtaking” He swallowed, sweat beaming upon his skin.

Your cunt throbbed, begging for more of him…but you’d have to wait. He was so aroused by pleasuring you that it took nothing more than a few strokes to send him over the edge. It was so intoxicating to feel you like that, he truly couldn’t help himself.

And just the thought of that, fuck, it was so hot.

You understood why he was ashamed, but you couldn’t even express how it made your heart flutter with desire for him even more than before…if that was even possible.

“I love you” You said warmly.

“I love you, Y/N”

—

Making sure to redress yourself without evidence of ever being undressed, you exited your room to find water and hoped that you wouldn’t bump into anyone considering how late it is and how rosy your cheeks were. The silence was loud, but comforting, almost like a roar of nothingness.

As you turned the corner, the soft light of the common area reflected atop Cal’s red hair, his back turned to you as he sat at a small table. The calmed thumping in your chest grew faster suddenly. Both startled and nervous, you kept your composure. As arousing as Obi Wan’s jealousy was, you felt guilty looking Cal in the face at this moment.

“Can’t sleep?” You breathed out. Walking past him to where the drinks and refreshments were stored.

“No, not really” He said, his tone flat.

“Me either” you lied.

Bringing the cup of water to your lips, you sat across from him, clearing your throat to cover the awkwardness of silence, “We are very grateful for your help, Cal”

He smiled warmly at you, but there was a shift of disappointment in his expression.

“You were his…Padawan, right?” He changed the topic, turning his gaze to the cup he held in his hand.

“Yeah, why?” You said curiously and hesitantly.

“No reason”

His room was right next to yours. He had to have at least heard something, or as Obi Wan had hoped, and deep down you did too, he sensed your arousal. And considering you were sharing a room with Obi Wan, there was not much else that could’ve explained it.

“I know that you heard or— sensed it” You blurted out. Now or never. Put it out in the open, you guessed.

He looked up at you, and it wasn’t hate, no, it was pain in his face “I…did”

“Sorry about that” You responded, feeling even more guilty now.

Gods, you thought, why are my feelings so conflicting right now?

Cal was quiet for a moment before a small chuckle left his lips, but he wasn’t laughing, “How can he take advantage of his Padawan like that?”

“Excuse me?” You nervously laughed.

Cal shook his head in frustration, “Never mind”.

“It wasn’t happening back then. When we found each other we just-”

“It’s still wrong. He’s meant to guide you and be your mentor. You admired him because of the role he played in your life and now he’s used that to get you in bed with him”

The way in which he spoke those words sounded as though he scripted this out himself for the next time he saw you. It just happened to be 10 minutes after Obi Wan pleasured you that he encountered you.

Anger took over your conflicting emotion, “Stop. You don’t know me, and you don’t know him”

“You’re right. The Obi Wan Kenobi I heard stories of would’ve never fucked his Padawan” Cal spat the harsh words at you, standing to his feet suddenly.

How could he say that? He was so out of line. It was not his business.

“And why do you care?” You scoffed.

He sarcastically laughed. “I don’t”

“Clearly you do”

"I don't think it would matter to you if I did care"

“Cal” Cere called sternly from the doorway

Cal glanced at you with disdain once more, clenching his jaw in annoyance before storming out of the room, shoving Cere out of the way in the process.

Tears pooled in your eyes as your head dropped to the floor.

“I am sorry about him”

“You must think the same thing” You muttered, swallowing your tears.

“I don’t” Cere began “I may not agree with it, but things are different now. Cal of all people should know that. I think it bothers him because-”

“Because?” You pondered, hoping her answer wouldn't be what you suspected.

“He’s jealous” She stated blankly.

“What?”

“I see the way he looks at you, Y/N. You two haven’t been with us very long but Cal tends to grow fond of people very quickly” Cere noted. This must've happened before, you thought, and you wondered where that girl was now.

You did not know what to say, “Oh”

“Just ignore him” She consoled, placing her hand on your shoulder, “I could tell there was something more between you two almost instantly”

You swallowed hard. Seriously? You tried so hard to hide it.

“That obvious, huh?”

“No, it’s really not. Its easy for me to pick up on those sort of things" She admitted.

"I see"

"Love who you love, Y/N. Don't let anyone's judgment stand in your way" She reassured you softly, "We are all just trying to survive, and how you choose to do that, is not my business"

“Thanks, Cere” You smiled warmly at her, “And thanks again, for you know, helping us”

“Of course. Get some rest” She said softly before turning the corner, leaving you alone to your rampant, racing thoughts.

That silent roaring suffocated you now, stripping away the comfort it brought you just moments ago. You liked Cal...as a friend. It hurt you that he was so angry about your relationship. You had spent most of the past day or so on the Mantis getting to know him, but this reaction was drastically out of character from what you knew of him.

A couple of days is not long enough to really know someone, no matter how quickly you felt that a bond had formed.

You allowed the silence to overwhelm you as you sat alone in the common area but finally mustered the courage to return to Obi Wan, feeling desperate for his comfort once more.

"You were right" You groaned, closing the door behind you.

"About what?"

"Cal" Your voice broke, betraying your attempt to keep your composure.

Obi Wan shot to his feet as he heard you grow sorrowful, rushing to wrap his arms around you, "Y/N, what did he say to you?"

"He was angry. Said that what we were doing was wrong and that you were taking advantage of me"

Obi Wan's grasp tensed around you, his anger becoming evident and his blood beginning to boil. He pulled away from you to walk out the door but you yanked his wrist away from his pursuit.

"Don't. Please"

The clenching of his jaw exhibited his restraint for your benefit.

"Lets just sleep. We are both so tired” You noted. After sleeping on the floor of the ship the past two nights, you were both exhausted.

Obi Wan did not say much more after that. He was trying to calm himself as best he knew how…within his own head.

As you laid together, snuggled close as you imagined you'd have to, you looked up to him, admiring his presence and trying to push away any negative thoughts for now. That was a spiral you would not welcome into your mind.

Just rest, you thought, you're safe now.

—

The watch you wore indicated that it was morning, although without it, you would've had no idea. This entire base was built into the rock structure, the only place that light was accessible was through the port you arrived at. You crawled out of the bed, your ears suddenly fixating on a foreign sound.

You rubbed your eyes, forcing yourself to awaken to full attention.

What was that sound?

It was a faint beeping, small and unurgent. You looked around the practically empty room, and finally traced the sound to your bag resting in the corner.

You stopped in your tracks as fear overcame you. There was nothing in that bag, to your knowledge, that needed to make any sort of sound like that.

Breathing deep to calm your fear, you reached for the bag and opened it slowly, before frantically digging through every compartment.

As your eyes fixed onto a flashing red device no bigger than a coin, you had to remind yourself to keep breathing. The room shrunk and your blood ran cold. It seemed inexplicable. Who put this here? How could the Empire have tracked you?

Before you were able to comprehend it any further, a sudden, eerie alarm began blasting through the base, jolting Obi Wan out of his sleep.

They found you.

The Empire found you.

And they’ve just arrived.

A/N: I noticed some canon-inconsistencies in my details about when Obi Wan started his training. I could’ve sworn he started his training as a teenager?? But apparently not so in my version of things let’s pretend he didn’t start his training until he was like 15. Anyways this chapter is a little unrealistic and self indulgent but I hope you all enjoyed <3

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Part Seven

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