#my eyebrows are so fucking dark and bushy so it so noticeable
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i need to stop pulling my eyebrows when im anxious cause now i have bald patches in my fucking eyebrows wtf
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Blurred Lines❤️🩹
Miguel O'Hara x Fem reader
Synopsis: you and Miguel have a casual arrangement of just sex. You reluctantly agree in hopes that you can get him to fall for you. Unfortunately, it's not that simple. Word count 5.3k
Part 2
TW: MINORS DNI, SMUT(it's a little on the more mild side imo but P IN V, ORAL (F AND M RECEIVING), FINGERING), ANGST, CASUAL RELATIONSHIP, JEALOUSY, INSECURITY, COLDER MEAN MIGUEL, SAD, LIGHT DV(HE PUNCHES A WALL AFTER YOU SLAP AND SHOVE HIM) IF ANYTHING LIKE THAT IS QUITE DIFFICULT FOR YOU, I'D RECOMMENDED NOT READING ❤️
SPANISH SPEAKERS, feel free to correct me. I'm SO sorry if I fucked it up. I hope y'all enjoy some more angsty Miguel. 🖤 This one is a longer one, sorry!
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You're a new lab tech at Spider Society's HQ in Nueva York and it's your first day. Bright eyed and bushy-tailed you, fresh out of college and not aware of what's about to hit you.
Until he walks by the pillar you're leaning against during your debriefing by Jessica Drew.
"Who's he?" you kind of softly squeak out as you watch the gorgeous man walk by. He's exceptionally tall and handsome, his chiseled features in a stoic expression, crimson eyes scanning his surroundings as he passes. He takes notice of you for a brief moment, then continues on. You shamelessly hold him in your gaze as he disappears down a dark corridor.
Jess follows where your eyes are looking and smirks. "That's Miguel O'Hara. He's my boss, actually. You won't have to worry about him except when you do blood samples. He mainly deals with the Spiders. If he gives you trouble, don't take it personally, it's just how he is." Jess leans in a little closer, speaking woman to woman now.
"Just between you and me, girl. You're gonna wanna stay away from him. Everyone here wants him. But he's emotionally unavailable. You seem like a nice girl. Don't waste your time. Trust me, I've seen it."
You nod slowly, somewhat discouraged by that. But, against your better judgement, you start coming to work in your cutest, sluttiest outfits that you can put together without breaking the lab safety rules. Thigh high boots, tight little skirts that hit you mid thigh, off the shoulder knit tops that halt just below the round tops of your cleavage, and skin tight dresses that hug you in all the right places.
Every week when you deliver the lab reports to Miguel, you have a different outfit on for him, hair and makeup done, flashing the most stunning smiles you can muster at him, staring directly into his eyes when he speaks, enthusiastically bobbing your head.
Week after week, Miguel seems to keep the same stoic disposition with you, not cracking under the flirtatious pressure you're applying to him with your overzealous attention and special outfits. Just how many layers to this guy is there? You wonder.
One day, about a month later since you started, Miguel is in the middle of a rant about the lab department and their tardiness on sample readings as of late, expecting you take his feedback to your supervisor when, you slowly bring your pen to your mouth, biting the cap ever so lightly while staring at Miguel's lips, not even hiding the fact that you've stopped paying attention and are focusing on more... intriguing matters.
Miguel's flow of speech stalls for a minute as you bring the pen to your mouth. He snaps out of it and continues on, then pauses again. He looks away from you and his jaw tenses. "Mierda(shit)..." he mutters.
Your face gets a little warm, but you smile, keeping the pen in your teeth. It would seem that your efforts this time were paying off.
"I forgot where I was going with that..." Miguel says, still turned away from you. "Never mind, you can leave now," he says cooly.
Your eyebrows raise a little bit, surprised he's just dismissing you like that, but you don't argue. You turn on your heel and walk away, heels clunking on the floor. Meanwhile, Miguel grabs the edge of his desk, knuckles turning white.
---
Next week, you head for Miguel's office again, carrying the stack of weekly reports. You're wearing a new long sleeved black dress under your lab coat, channeling your inner Morticia Addams. You're feeling a little more excited this time, wondering if he'll act as flustered as he did last week when you teased him with your pen in your mouth.
You approach Miguel, his back turned to you as he stares at several yellow-orange surveillance holograms at his desk. He recognizes the sound of your heels on the floor but doesn't turn around.
"Happy Friday, got your reports right here!" You announce in a whimsical tone.
Miguel sighs and turns his head, looking down. He then turns to you, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he takes the stack of papers in his hand, scanning the top page. After a moment of silence, he moves his head, motioning to a hallway that leads to the archive room.
"Come with me," he says nonchalantly, already walking towards the hallway. You raise an eyebrow but follow after him, stuffing your hands in your lab pockets.
Once you're down the hall, you enter a room which is a maze of filing cabinets, most of them even towering over Miguel, who's 6'9. Miguel takes a few sharp turns, leading you deeper into the maze then finally stops at the one he's looking for. He throws the stack of papers in the cabinet with a slam and an echo off the empty walls and looks at you, crossing his arms and leaning back against the cabinet.
"You look beautiful today," he says in a soft voice.
You freeze, alarmed by his casual demeanor he seemed to pull out of nowhere.
"Um, thank you..." you feel your cheeks get hot and your stomach squirm with excitement and fluster. You only daydreamed of this happening, your gorgeous work crush finally noticing AND complimenting you in the same day.
"Is that a new dress?" His crimson eyes are roaming you up and down as he approaches you, caging you in against a tall cabinet behind you.
Your stomach leaps up to your throat, your breasts heaving.
"Yeah..."
Miguel's eyelids flutter a little bit at your breasts moving against the fabric of your dress as you became more flustered.
"I like it," he whispers.
Then, he's pinned you against the filing cabinet, attacking your mouth with his lips, his hands flying to both sides of your throat, his thumbs smoothing into your cheeks, his hips pressed against you.
"Ugnhh..." your hands fly to his hair on their own accord, your fingers getting lost in his chocolate strands. You kiss him with everything you can, sucking and biting his lip. He's a damn good kisser. Each stroke of his lips is sending you into orbit as you feel growing warmth in your core.
"Keep walking in my office dressed so slutty every week, hmm? Thinking I wouldn't notice?" He groans into your mouth. He grabs your chin in his fingers, forcing your head back. He leans in and begins kissing your neck, relishing the way you begin to shiver, making soft pretty moans for him. He makes his way up your neck, pausing at your ear, dragging your bottom lip down with his thumb.
"Wrap your legs around me," he whispers.
You jump into his arms, winding your thighs tightly around his waist, seizing him as tight as you can, even adding a little roll of your hips, hungry for friction.
Miguel grunts at your eagerness and uses the cabinet behind you to pin you up against, still keeping you wrapped around him. He uses one hand to guide your dress back up and over your thighs, groaning when he realizes you went commando today. He gives you his fingers, causing sharp, high pitched moans to escape you.
"Monta mis dedos, hermosa."
(Ride my fingers, beautiful)
-----
Now, when you eventually did your walk of shame back to the lab, your first time having sex with Miguel seemed like a blur, but in those heated moments during that encounter, they seemed endless and mind-numbing. The pleasure was damn near overwhelming.
No man's fingers sent you into orgasm as many times as his did. No man's tongue ever explored and lapped you up as intimately and expertly as his did.
And no man's cock was as fucking addictive and dangerous as his was.
You were now his little slut and you loved it.
Even though you didn't really confide in any of your co-workers, people around HQ seemed to put two and two together that you were the one to be envied, the new woman occupying Miguel's bed and attention.
After the second time you guys hooked up, you laid in his bed at HQ, the Queen sized bed seeming almost not big enough to hold his enormous size as he pounded you relentlessly into it. Hours passed until you both were covered in sweat, fully coated in each other's slick, the comforter and top sheet cast to the side, since the heat you generated during the rounds you two shared was more than enough to keep you warm.
You panted, staring at his ceiling, absolutely hammered with satisfaction.
He sat up after a few moments, rubbing the back of his neck. He got up and went into his bathroom. You heard the sounds of him relieving himself and then a squeak from a faucet as his shower turned on.
You come out of your daze after a moment, confused. You feel a slight tug of worry as you see him turn on the shower immediately, occupying himself right after you fucked and can't help but feel a rush of insecurity in what you thought was a pleasurable experience for the both of you.
He just seemed to need to rinse off as the water shuts off only after a couple minutes. He walks out with a towel around his waist, water dripping from his body, creating little pools on his tile floor, digging in his dresser drawers for some underwear and clean clothes.
"I have a meeting in about a half hour. You're welcome to rest for a bit longer, though. I trust you to lock my door on your way out?"
You blink rapidly, taken aback by his shortness with you. But, you realize you don't really have a good reason to be upset right now. You two certainly aren't dating. You haven't even had a long, meaningful conversation or got to know the guy yet. Just one, now two, steamy hookups at work and that's it.
You nod with a tight lipped smile, trying to hide your disappointment. Miguel nods back in acknowledgement and goes back to drying himself off, resting a leg on an armchair in the corner, still butt naked.
You just watch him, captivated by his beauty. You realize that you're not going to get clarity on what this is between you two unless you speak now.
"Miguel....?"
His name sounds innocent in the way it leaves your lips, despite the filth they were committing on his genitals just an hour earlier.
He looks at you, not pausing his task.
"Yes?"
You hesitate, scared of his reaction to your next question.
"Um, what are we, exactly? Or, rather, I guess, what is this we're doing?" You gesture between yourself and him.
He finally stops and looks at you, his brow furrows.
Your heart drops, realizing you might have spoke too soon.
But his brow softens, just a little bit. It was only a natural question to ask, after all. What kind of ass would he be for being upset at you for asking? But unfortunately, at this time, what he has to offer is probably not what you're hoping for.
"Well...," he says quietly, thinking deeply. "I think we definitely have strong physical chemistry together. I'd like to have more of these experiences with you, if you're up for it."
You nod, slightly encouraged by the news but wanting more.
"And so...are we exclusively seeing each other?"
Miguel doesn't answer right away, but then he says firmly after a beat, "I don't date."
You feel a knot in your stomach. Not what you wanted to hear, for sure.
"But, I do think us limiting or having no other sexual partners while we're seeing one another is a sensible thing to do," he says. "Out of respect for you and I, either one of us should let the other know if we begin seeing someone else, or if we wish to terminate the relationship."
You sit, slowly processing his words, pulling the top sheet over your legs as the heat from your encounter has now worn off.
"So, you'd like to have just a physical relationship with me? Like friends with benefits?"
Miguel nods slowly. "Yeah, you could call it that, I suppose."
Your mind races, you already know this is a horrible idea but here you are contemplating it anyway.
"Just sex, but we're only fucking each other, and either one of us can end the relationship at any time? No feelings involved?"
Miguel gives you a little grin. "Sounds good to me. But, I do want to heavily emphasize the last part. No feelings involved, please. If you don't think you'll be able to do this, there's no shame in letting me know."
You swallow. "Any, um...reason why you're so against dating or having any sort of emotional commitment?"
Miguel blinks. "I'd rather not get deep into that, but, I suppose to make myself more understood: I avoid emotional affairs, mainly due to my work and because of the lifestyle I lead. I have tremendous responsibilities and I can't devote time to nurture a relationship like a normal person would. Does that answer your question?"
You fiddle with a strand of your hair. "Yeah...that makes more sense."
You look off, still deep in thought. You're at the ledge, almost about to jump, despite the obvious pain that would inevitably become yours when you hit the water, the sharp rocks of disappointment and heartache would become your bed.
"I would like to be friends with benefits with you, on one condition," you say.
"What's that?" a small smirk appears on Miguel's face, a little excited now at your willingness to give him your body on a regular basis.
"We spend at least 30 minutes after the deed holding each other, just as part of normal aftercare."
Miguel raises his eyebrows, a quizzical look on his face. He's been out of the dating game for so long. He had to relearn how to be soft and let that side of him through again, and it didn't come naturally. But it sure doesn't mean that he's changing his mind on wanting to be something more than fuck buddies, he still wanted to stay away from the unpredictable tides of human emotions at all costs.
"Very well, fair. I don't mind a little cuddle afterwards, for your sake. If that's all you need?" He asks.
You nod silently, hoping your modest request isn't turning him off.
He walks over to you, getting back on the bed, putting an arm behind his head while you scoot closer to him, laying your head on his shoulder, sighing in content. He wraps his free hand around your shoulder, closing his eyes, allowing the time to pass in silence.
The silence is a little uncomfortable, but at least he's holding you. After some time, Miguel gives your shoulder a squeeze and sits up. "Perdóname(forgive me), I really do need to get going now. Take your time, though you know. And lock the door behind you on your way out please."
"When would you like to do this again?" You ask.
"Tomorrow, at 11 am," he answers. He looks at you with a small side smile. "I'll clear your schedule with your supervisor. Don't worry about it."
You shoot a smile his way, excited about playing hooky tomorrow to fuck Miguel instead. And the best part was he was in on it too. Even if you couldn't be his girlfriend, this was the next best thing, or so you told yourself.
-----
The next day at 11 am, your third physical encounter is well underway as you're on your knees under Miguel's desk, sucking him off during one of his virtual meetings. Peter B is rattling off, throwing in some painful dad jokes which makes Miguel roll his eyes. You stuff more of him in the back of your throat, forcing his attention back you.
"Carajo (fuck)....keep doing that," he mutters to you. You moan in response, your mouth full of him, throwing everything you can into each flick of your tongue.
Miguel groans and grabs a fistful of your hair. "So fuckin pretty," he coos quietly to you.
"What's that, Miguel?" Peter asks through the meeting speakers.
"Shut the FUCK up Peter," Miguel hisses back, moving your head with his hand.
"Okay, so anyway, like I was saying...." Peter continues.
Miguel shuts off the meeting with a short grunt.
-----
The 4th time, you find yourself fogging the windows in his car as you straddle him, moving your hips in toe-curling circles, edging him closer to combustion in his backseat.
The 5th time, your legs are on his shoulders in his office again. The 6th time, he's between your legs at your apartment, gently coaxing the soul out of your body with his torturous tongue. You glance down at him and he's looking up at you, intoxicated with the taste of everything you're excreting onto his perfect face.
You melt at the sight and realize when you're shaking afterwards that your worst fear is becoming a reality. Your fucking is turning into lovemaking, expressions of lust giving way to affection, the passion molding into adoration.
You clinged to the breadcrumbs he offered you, your delusion fueling the belief that over time, they could sustain you. Any praise he offered you when he was rutting into you, you collected in the empty pockets lining your heart, not knowing you were building your own Roman Empire. The naive architect over your own demise. His crimson eyes your downfall.
The part of your brain you thought you could shut off while you let your body do the talking was in fact alive. Somewhere along the line, one of the hundred deadly thrusts of his hips was responsible for flicking the switch.
Letting him in was like your own version of a Trojan Horse. His troubled soul and enchanting voice pulled and tugged at your trustful and altruistic nature until he lowered your guard. Soon, he was laying siege and attacking the city of your heart, carelessly laying waste to the very walls that welcomed him...not caring that you were drowning in your own blood you shed at his expense, his own confession of love for you the only antidote for your suffering, which you only hoped to God existed, possibly harboured somewhere in the far down recesses of his mind that he didn't dare open.
The 7th time, you're having sex in your bed again. He's on top of you this time. And you're not sure if it's the delicious way he's groaning when you say his name, the tender way he's cupping your face and not letting you look anywhere else but him as he rocks his full length into you, but it causes you to blurt out,
"I love you, Miguel."
He pants, and stops moving, hanging his head with his eyes shut. He holds the position for a moment then climbs off of you, rubbing his face and temples as he sits on the edge of the bed. You sit up too, wishing you could reel your words back into your head as quickly as you said them.
"I'm sorry...," you bite your lip. "Please don't stop..."
After a beat, he stands up and begins to look for his clothes. "It's fine." He says simply.
You look at him in disbelief. "Are you serious right now?"
"I made it very clear from the beginning. I don't do feelings. I don't do relationships. This is why I steer clear of this bullshit all together, because it always ends up being my fault!" He snarled, stuffing his clothes into his hands and hastily throwing on his shirt.
Your jaw falls open, it was though he did a 180. In place of who you thought could be a caring and attentive man who made you feel beautiful and spent hours learning your body and pleasuring you in ways you never thought possible, it was Mr. Hyde to his Dr. Jekyll, callous, cruel, and indifferent to your feelings. The version of him who only cared about getting off, not minding that he willingly went down this road with you, and only after causing you to fall did he take a turn, leaving you stranded.
He sighs deeply. "Look, I think we should take a break. It's not over, we can maybe resume at a later time. But it's clear you need space, and I need space too." He puts his pants back on. "I just need you to understand that no matter what, I'm not going to allow you, or myself make this into anything more than what we agreed upon in the beginning: just sex, that's it."
Tears begin to fall down your face, your heart beginning to ache in your chest from the sword he just planted in it.
"Why don't you let anyone in? Is it that crazy that maybe a girl like me actually gives a shit about you for once and isn't out for your money or your looks or to break your heart?!" you spit your words at him, coated in anguish.
He's facing away from you, fully dressed now, and deep down it kills him to see you like this, but he's too prideful and too much of a fucking coward to let you see that it does.
"I'm leaving..." he says quietly. "I came here to fuck and enjoy my time with you, not have my head examined. I'll see you around." He leaves your room, walking to your front door.
Rage is seething out of your eardrums. You scream after him,"DON'T BOTHER! LOSE MY FUCKING NUMBER!!! Fucking asshole..."
You hear a click as your front door closes and you collapse into a fray of heartbreak on your bed, your tears driving you to sleep.
--------
The next few weeks are torture as you do everything you can to forget him. Pretend as though nothing happened. Pretend as though he never ravaged your body like he did. Pretend like he never broke you apart with his tongue. Pretend like he didn't snatch your heart from your chest. Pretend like he didn't cause you to fall in love with him only for him to leave you bleeding on the ground.
You start forcing one of the other lab techs to take the weekly reports to him as you don't even want to see his face. You're successful at avoiding him for the most part, until you catch him out of the corner of your eye talking to a Spider-Woman, craning her neck to look up at him as she batted her doe eyes and pouted her lip, green claws of jealousy sinking into you once more.
It was the night of the annual Spider Gala where the achievements of the Spider Society would be the highlights of the evening and various awards would be presented, with all employees expected to attend. You broke down and told Jess about your heartbreak from Miguel, and she managed to convince you to attend anyways.
"Show his dumb ass what he's missing out on."
And show him, (and all the male spiders), you did. Necks turned as you made your way across the room to the bar, donning a strapless black evening gown with a sweetheart neckline that kissed your breasts and held them up just right, and a mouthwatering slit in the right thigh. However, once you got your hands on the alcohol, you found it hard to stop throwing down one drink, after another, after another down the hatch. You took a shot each time you saw Miguel glowering at you from across the room, or each time a pretty new Spider tried to talk to him. Rational thoughts checking out for the evening and inebriation settling in.
You found yourself weeping in the bathroom, mascara running down your face when the voice over the speaker announces, "This year's Spider-Man of the year goes to...Miguel O'Hara."
An outbreak of applause interrupts your sobs and you hear Miguel's quiet acceptance speech, the inflections in his rich voice barely moving. The liquid in your veins suddenly inspires you to march back in to the dining hall.
Miguel is sitting back down and when he turns his face back to the stage, it freezes at the person and the silent death stare coming from their tear stained face: you, the woman he scorned, and he knew what the books said about hell hath no fury. Now, all of spider society had a front row seat.
You spoke in a cool tone, fire lining your pupils,
"And I'd like to take a second to congratulate Mr. O'Hara. Well deserved....You know what's so great about him? Just how hard he works. I mean, you couldn't find a boss like him anywhere with how dedicated he is to his work. Nevermind how many people he hurts to achieve his goal and toss aside like trash..."
A pin drops.
"But hey, whatever it takes to protect the multiverse, right?" your voice started to drip with forced sweetness.
The air in the room has become uncomfortably thick, but nobody dares interrupt your rampage. In the audience, Peter B. Parker looks at you sympathetically.
Ahhh typical Miggy, always breaking hearts. Not the first girl he's drove insane like this because he won't commit or let anyone get close to him...
You continue with your speech, "Because feelings are something to be ashamed of, right? Can't let people think you have a weakness or a soft side to you, because then they'll just use it against you. So, you gotta ruin every single good thing that happens to you, because when you lost it the first time, it nearly destroyed you, so you'd rather not have it at all."
The people sitting at Miguel's table give little shrieks of terror as he bolts up, knocking the table askew with his powerful thighs and swiftly walks out, his hands clenched in fists. You follow after him, feeling yourself becoming more and more unhinged.
"Get the fuck away from me," he scowls at you, his pace not slowing down as you pursue him down the empty halls of HQ.
"Just keep running huh, like you always do?" You spew at him as tears run down your face, your eye makeup dark like a raccoon. "How do I taste huh? How do you like me now? You like what you've done to me? You like torturing me like this?!"
You shove and slap him and he whips around, temper snapped, and lands a fist in the wall, the impact reverberating off the stone walls as the surface under his fist cracks slightly.
He pants, his shoulders tense, each back muscle defined underneath his black tux.
"You're done...," he says in a shaky voice. "I need you to stay away from me."
"Good, I'm fucking HAPPY to!!!" you respond sarcastically, throwing your arms in the air. "That's the nicest thing you could do for me at this point!
His back is still turned to you and he leaves without a word.
-------
That same night
You're perched on a lab table, sobbing in the empty lab when a tall figure approaches you, holding a glass of ice water. Your face shoots up to see who it is, only to be let down when it's not Miguel.
"Peter?"
Peter B. Parker walks in, his bowtie hanging undone from his dress shirt collar.
"I just wanted to make sure you're okay." He offers the glass to you and you take it, nursing a few sips.
"I'm...I'm fine...," you sniffle.
"Hey, come here..."
He takes his handkerchief from his tux pocket and dabs at your tears, taking care to not press too firmly into your face and ruin your makeup, despite the fact your tears already have.
"So beautiful..."
He studies your face, and you look back into his, his brown eyes filled with concern, the five o'clock shadow of his face contrasting with the dim light from the only desk lamp in the room, making him look oddly inviting.
He brings a hand to your cheek, running it gently along your chin and starts pulling you closer to him.
"Pete, what..."
He crashed his lips against yours aggressively, the stubble from his face tickling your skin.
"Peter!! Pete... stop...," you gasp in surprise, but then you go numb when he begins kissing your neck.
The way he's kissing your neck is dangerous. He doesn't try to be clean about it, either. His lips are soft and messy, leaving a trail of wetness along your collar and making his way to your chest.
You start to buck your hips, your body responding eagerly to the special attention he's paying to it.
"Pete...no...you're married...."
"We're separated," he mumbles, throwing your dress over his head.
"But I....ohhh....God...," you groan, pushing your back against the wall closest to you, your fists flying to his hair to keep him locked in place as he laps at you from under your dress.
Peter smiles devilishly.
"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist me," he says softly.
You shudder.
"Oh, you like that baby?"
You nod eagerly, his tongue on your body plus the liquor in your system catapulting your mind into a state of intense pleasure.
"That feels good. Fffuck Peter.....," you moan breathlessly.
"Mmmm you're sexy when you say my name like that. Miguel doesn't know what a fool he is, passing up a pretty little thing like you...," Peter groans, adding two of his digits this time, his slick covered handsome face coming up to stare at you come undone in his hand..
"Peter...Peter, oh God...."
That's all he needs to hear from you to convince him you're ready to be fucked. You two mess with his belt buckle and soon he's snapping into you deliciously and deep, your nails in his back.
"That's it baby, let me fuck you....urgh, tell me, baby, did he fuck you like this? You're gonna forget about him when I'm done with you. Gonna make you crave this cock instead."
Your eyes rolled back in your head as you let him have his way with you for the rest of the night.
-----
Peter was a good fuck...and boy he did make you feel good for a few hours. But when you awoke the next morning in Peter's bed, Miguel still stayed in the back of your mind. If there was anything else you could have done to get Miguel to be totally turned off from you, this would be it. Winding up in bed with one of his closest allies.
At work the next few weeks, you felt like you might as well have been wearing a scarlet letter A on your chest. Whispers and eyes followed you, conversations shifted in every room you entered. It was beginning to be too much. The occasional time you were unsuccessful at avoiding Miguel's presence, you wanted nothing more than to just cease to exist in that moment.
Your performance slipped and your supervisor took notice. One day, you went into his office and explained you were putting in your two weeks except you wanted to take your leave immediately. He couldn't help but nod and agree. He took pity on you after Jess explained the situation to him and arranged it so you would receive severance pay for a few months after you left. An unexpected fortune admist the sea of misfortunes you were being dealt as of late.
You packed up your desk that afternoon, a twinge of sadness sank from your chest to your belly as you prepared to leap into the unknown as you took one last look at the place that swallowed you up and spat you back out.
There was nothing left for you here. Miguel's face flashed across your mind one more time as you stepped across the threshold. The door closing on your past, the promise of healing hanging in the rays of sunshine that hit your cheeks.
----
#Spotify#miguel o'hara#miguel x reader#miguel atsv#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara#across the spiderverse#fanfic#miguel o'hara smut#peter b parker#peter b parker smut#miguel o'hara angst
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evergreen
pc!stan marsh / reader / pc!kyle broflovski
cw | age gap, nsfw, painplay, mentioned sugar baby/daddies
getting with a married couple was not on your 2061 bingo. getting with a married gay couple definitely wasn’t on it. nevertheless, you’d gone and done it, originally for the money, and now for the feelings you harbored for them.
stan marsh and kyle broflovski, your boyfriends for all intents and purposes, were almost twice your age. it was kind of a turn on, if you were being honest. both of them were successful in their own ways, and fucking loaded. you were showered in constant gifts and affection, the couple even going as far as to build an extra room onto their home for you. the only thing they asked of you was loyalty. as long as you didn’t enter another relationship, their money was yours.
“i think i actually like you guys,” you confessed, sighing into the quiet air of your shared home. stan glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, merely grunting in response. kyle hummed, adjusting his wire framed glasses on his hooked nose.
“i figured you did,” the ginger uttered, attention glued to the documents displayed in front of him. you scoffed, your upper half hanging off the sofa while your bottom half secured itself atop the cushions.
“there’s no way you could’ve known that,” you bit back, a slight scowl on your face. “i’m so good at hiding my feelings. there’s no way you could’ve known.”
kyle sighed through his nose, shooting you an unimpressed look as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. stan huffed with a roll of his eyes and finally tore his eyes away from his work.
“you can’t be serious,” the raven haired man deadpanned, a single bushy eyebrow lifted, accenting the worry lines in his forehead.
“i’ll humor you,” kyle stated, crossing one leg over the other. “how wouldn’t we know?”
“well, for starters, i keep my cool around you guys. i have never slipped up, ever. i don’t show any affection at all. uh… yeah, that’s all i got,” you listed, trailing off with a frustrated frown on your face. kyle stood, crossing the room slowly, his eyes trained carefully on your face.
“sure, you definitely keep your cool. that’s why you blush every time i look at you, right?” he spoke, voice quiet and careful. he took his seat beside you, legs manspread as he tilted his head and let a hand drop atop your stomach. “you don’t show affection because you’re more of an acts of service type. don’t think i haven’t noticed the laundry being done by the time i get home, or the house being cleaned, or dinner being cooked. you show your affection in other ways.”
you bit your lip, hand slowly reaching to wrap your fingers around his pant leg. he trailed his hand painfully slow down your midsection, toying with the hem of your cuffed jeans. your breath caught in your throat, a combination of your body hanging upside down and kyle’s touch leaving you feeling dizzy and breathless. you were aching for his calloused hand to touch your dampened cunt, your thighs squeezing together.
stan crossed the room in a number of strides, his strong arms tugging your top half onto the couch. your head rested in his lap, his erection apparent through his dark jeans. you were desperate to feel his cock on your tongue, desperate for him to choke you with it.
“what’s the matter, pretty thing?” he mocked. “cat got your tongue?” you gulped, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your fitted crop top, thighs pressed firmly together.
“no,” you practically whined, a deep flush overtaking your chest and cheeks. “just thinking about how badly i want you to fuck my face.” stan’s eyebrows shot up, a crooked grin on his lips, as his thumb traced your cheekbone, running over your bottom lip.
“how about you strip for us then, baby?” kyle cooed, thin fingers tugging at your jeans. you sat up, avoiding eye contact as you slowly pried your clothes from your body. you shivered, goosebumps forming on your skin in the cold air of the den.
stan’s thick arms embraced you from behind, chubby fingers tweaking a hardened nipple. kyle’s deft fingers traced your thighs, prying them open, his lips pressing hot, wet kisses to every piece of skin his fingers touched. you were already reduced to a whimpering mess, aching for more, your cunt fluttering with the overwhelming emptiness you were craving to be filled.
“i want you to sit on my face, pretty baby,” kyle hummed, carefully rearranging himself to lay back on the couch. you gulped, but followed orders, positioning yourself with your knees on either side of his head, both his hands clutching at your thighs. you lowered yourself until the stubble of his trimmed facial hair prickled against your heat, a high whine leaving your lips. he made quick work of eating you out, his tongue embracing every crevice of your dripping cunt, drawing moan after moan from your wet lips.
the sound of a belt unbuckling caught your attention, your eyes finding stan, his hand wrapped around his cock as he circled the couch to stand on the other side of the arm. he grabbed you by a handful of hair, tugging you forward until your elbows met the arm of the couch, guiding your gaping mouth to his erection. you took it in eagerly, bobbing your head and swirling your tongue around the tip. he gripped your hair a little tighter, keeping your head firmly in place. you moaned around his cock, drawing a hiss from his lips.
kyle was eating you out somehow more eagerly, green eyes trained on your mouth around stan’s cock. you could feel the ginger moaning into your cunt, the vibration sending shivers up your spine. you rutted desperately against his face as stan thrusted slowly into your mouth, cock hitting the back of your throat with every movement of his hips.
“you’re so pretty for us,” stan groaned, pulling his cock out of your mouth. you whined at the loss, shut up by stan’s hand gripping your chin. he angled your head up, admiring your squished cheeks and puffy lips. then his hand withdrew, coming down harshly on your cheek. you gasped, a long moan escaping your lips at the stinging pain.
“take it like a good slut, yeah?” stan panted, pushing his dick back into your open mouth. you were doing your best to keep up, jaw slack and tongue flattened against the bottom of it, but the pleasure was overwhelming. being used this way, treated so roughly by your boyfriends, was the biggest turn on you had. you were so close, teetering on the edge of release, and kyle’s fingers prodding at your asshole was nearly enough to push you over.
you were a mess, coated in a thin sheen of sweat, grinding against kyle’s tongue and the finger he’d pushed into your back entrance, gagging around stan. you were cumming without warning, wetting kyle’s facial hair as you let go. your entire body shook, screams of pleasure muffled by stan’s cock steadily thrusting into you.
the overstimulation hit you like a bus, your body trying desperately to run away from the pleasure, kyle’s free hand holding you firmly in place. stan pulled his erection from your mouth, hand in your hair holding your head up, a crude smile on his lusted face.
“you’re gonna take it like a good girl, aren’t you?” he hummed.
“yes sir, yes sir, yes sir,” you chanted, eyes rolling back as your legs jolted around kyle’s head. his tongue flickered against your clit, finger pumping in and out of you at a steady rate. you were screaming, back arched and nails digging into the sofa. your entire body tensed as your second orgasm washed over you, a broken howl of pleasure leaving your lips.
all stimulation stopped, your only source of pleasure being kyle’s panting breaths fanning against your leaking cunt. you whined, eyes pleading as you gazed at your dark haired boyfriend.
“you did good for us, sweetheart,” kyle hummed from below you, thumb rubbing circles into your shaking thighs. you whimpered, pussy throbbing for more, desperately clenching around nothing.
“please fuck me,” you begged, eyes locked with stan’s. he ran his thumb over your quivering bottom lip, smearing drool across your chin.
“i want you on top of kyle, pretty thing,” he hummed. you were eager to comply, settling yourself on top of kyle.
your back was flush against his chest, legs spread on either side of his. he’d discarded his slacks and underwear, leaving him naked from the waist down. his cock teased at your ass, a groan leaving his lips. you felt his cock enter your sopping cunt, thrusting slowly, gathering your wetness as best he could. then he pulled out, leaving you whining for more, and slid into your ass, thrusting even slower as he inched his way inside. your back arched against him, hands burying themselves in his cropped curls.
stan’s face inched close to yours, lips taking yours in a heated kiss as he pushed his thick cock into your aching cunt. he wasted no time in fucking you silly, hips smacking against yours loudly, drawing pleasured screams from your lips. kyle followed suit shortly after, alternating thrusts with stan, his hand snaking around your front to rub your overstimulated clit.
“please,” you sobbed, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. the pleasure was too much. you were already so close and you’d barely begun, the triple stimulation too much for your sensitive body. your body tightened, pleasure heightening as a third orgasm washed over you. your men continued fucking you through it, screams and sobs leaving your lips as they worked you through another climax.
“fuck.” stan’s hips stilled first, his cock twitching inside of you, shooting his seed into your pulsating cunt. kyle came in your ass with a strangled groan, biting down on your shoulder.
every breath came in a whine, your chest heaving against stan’s as you came down from your high. kyle’s hand was gentle as it massaged your stomach, stan’s caressing your cheek. you looked up at your dark haired boyfriend through droopy eyelids, already nodding off from your strenuous activities.
“i genuinely don’t know how you manage to do that every time,” you slurred. kyle chuckled beneath you, pressing a kiss to the bite mark on your shoulder.
“what can we say? we actually like you.”
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the way u draw xisumas eyes is the most Correct way ive ever seen. congratulations! you've won at xisuma!
Ahhh thank you so much! Over the past week, as I've been obsessively drawing him, I've received a lot of nice comments about my Xisuma design. I am very happy with the design I settled on, and I'm glad other people feel the same! It feels good to know that I've created something which other people can resonate with in the same way that I do.
I'm happy that you think I got the eyes right! When drawing a character like him, covered head to toe in armor, fabric, and equipment, it can be difficult to make their emotions readable to an audience. Fortunately for me, the one part that he doesn't have completely obscured is perhaps the best tool for that job - the eyes and eyebrows!
*slaps roof of eyeball* this bad boy can fit so much fucking emotions in it /ref
I like to tweak my designs with each new drawing I do, never really settling, so the way I draw Xisuma's eyes, as well as the rest of him, has been changing from drawing to drawing. Though, I do have a few traits which I have noticed myself gravitating towards: I tend to have his eyes wide open with small irises, a visible eyelid crease, and some marks below the eyes, indicating tiredness, or dark circles. I am biased towards bushy eyebrows on characters, but for him, I have been doing more thin, defined eyebrows, since I feel they can convey his expressions more clearly. My hope is that those characteristics give the impression of someone who may be tired, but is alert, and probably caffeinated. Or anxious. Or both! I also hope to make him appear kind and approachable, despite the big intimidating helmet and body armor.
I saw a Hermitober drawing of Xisuma on Twitter, by MyraTheFarmer, which was a close-up shot of his visor, showing off his eyes and scars. I really liked it! It stuck with me, and I think I'd like to draw something similar, especially now that I can do digital art again. I tend towards thicker lines, which leave little room for detail in the face, but it'd be a good exercise to break out of that comfort zone, and try a more detailed portrait of him. Maybe painted, even?
Sorry, I know this is probably more of a response than you bargained for :) Turns out I have a lot of thoughts about Xisuma. Who could've guessed, LOL. Thanks again for your message! It made me smile.
#hermitcraft#hermitblr#xisumavoid#xisuma#character design#askeliyips#is it gay to write several paragraphs about another man's eyes
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Footsteps in the Snow - Chapter Fifteen (sfw)
*don't get excited - it's not a new chapter (yet)* I can't find this on my Tumblr, so I'm posting it here from my AO3. 16 is nearly done though :)
Snowfall, and a change in the weather. Blissful domesticity is interrupted, and Argis begins to ask Lein a bit more about being the Dragonborn.
___
Lein and Argis’ exquisite bliss lasted uninterrupted for just over a week, at which point it was broken by the arrival of a curious and rather disorientated young giant on one otherwise unremarkable and snowy afternoon.
Lein managed to scare the scruffy loner off with a few well-placed shock runes and fire bolts, and once they’d rounded up all the scattered livestock, and coaxed a snorting, plunging Sol back into his stall with the promise of a hot bran mash, Argis turned to Lein and chuckled. The sound of it was free and happy, and it set a chorus of whirling torchbugs loose in Lein’s chest.
“What?” he asked, ducking to scoop the last chicken out of the back of Sol’s stall and tuck her easily under his arm.
“This,” Argis said, gesturing broadly around at the ring of sturdy pines that protected Windstad from the worst of the weather. “It’s just… kind of ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” Lein set the chunky, brown hen down with the rest of her friends and tramped back through the scuffed-up snow to join Argis, still standing in front of the stable, arms folded casually as he watched the warhorse munch greedily on the bran. “What’s ridiculous?”
Argis was still chortling, shaking his head in disbelief.
A whispering breeze lifted the foremost strands of his dark, flax-gold hair from his mismatching eyes, and Lein’s gut twisted knowing that Argis was his to touch now, whenever he liked.
“Just a few months ago,” Argis rumbled as Lein joined him, “I was some illiterate grunt serving the Jarl in Markarth, and the worst I really had to worry about was some Forsworn nutter getting too close to him. But now? Now I’m learning to read, and I’m lying in bed with my lover late into day, cooking him meals, and watching fucking giants caper off through the trees with their loincloths still smoking!”
At that, Lein barked a loud laugh that rang through the pine needles and sent a couple of crows spiralling up into the silver-clouded sky.
“It’s just…” Argis faltered, setting his massive hands to Lein’s narrow hips as if to ground himself. “If you’d told me then where I’d be now, I never would have believed you.”
Lein grinned and reached up to tug Argis down into a searing kiss that made his bushy eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise. “But are you happy?” Lein asked in a hoarse voice when he drew back.
In answer, Argis grabbed Lein by the hips and hoisted him up so that Lein had little choice but to hook his legs around Argis’ waist while Argis shifted his hands to hold him securely under his thighs. “Yeah,” he croaked, gripping hard. “Are you?”
Lein nodded and kissed him again, more leisurely this time, with his arms snaked around Argis’ solid neck. “I never would have believed it either, you know?” he said between leaving tender kisses against Argis’ surprisingly full and soft lips. He couldn’t help lingering on the noticeable scars on one side, kissing him there over and over until Argis moaned and let his eyes flutter closed again. “I wish we could just hide away up here forever,” he added when he drew back with a sigh, eyes turning sad and distant.
Argis frowned, perceptive as ever. “What do you mean?”
Lein huffed a laugh and kissed the tip of Argis’ chilly, wind-reddened nose. He squeezed his thighs together like a rider trying not to slither off a careering horse and said with fragile nonchalance, “Dragonborn, remember? The one ‘destined to stop Alduin’ and all that?”
This close up, he could see again the way Argis’ gaze didn’t match. His left eye tracked slightly inwards, milky and sightless, but his right eye was fixed on Lein with a serious, compassionate, and unwavering stare. Lein wondered fleetingly if Argis had any vision left at all in his blind eye, and again if the injury had happened in the hagraven attack. He didn’t ask though. Argis looked suddenly too serious to add more weight to his already heavy brow.
While Argis continued to hold Lein firmly, he made his way over towards some snow-dusted logs that lay stacked up on one side of the clearing; all that remained from building the main manor. He rested his hips and lower back against them and let Lein continue to cling to him as though he weighed nothing at all. Beneath the lea of the wafting pines, he finally asked, “How far along with that plan are you? You don't really talk a whole lot about being the Dragonborn…”
“No,” Lein breathed. “I don’t, do I?” He sighed and laid his cheek against Argis’ shoulder, luxuriating in the unusual sensation of simply being held. Being short and willowy had its advantages in his line of work more often than not, and this was definitely one to add to the list.
“Do you have anyone helping you?” Argis asked in a quiet rumble. “Or are you taking everything on on your own as usual?”
Lein chuckled. “I’m not that riekling-headed, you know?” he laughed, and then shivered as the advancing winter snuck its icy fingers down his thin collar. “Alduin is the flipping World Eater after all. Even I’m not dumb enough to try and tackle him on my own.”
“Let’s go back inside,” Argis suggested, letting his hold on Lein’s lean thighs loosen, hands steadying him affectionately as he slithered back down into the snow. Once he was down, Argis kissed the side of his head before turning for home, and Lein grabbed a playful handful of Argis’ beautiful, solid arse, just to hear him grunt in surprise, and just because he could.
The warmth of the fire blazing in the stone hearth washed through Lein as the main doors closed behind him. He hummed softly and looked around for Argis when the other did not immediately join him at the chairs in front of the fire.
Argis had instead ducked into the small pantry-kitchen and he emerged a moment later with two tankards of warm spiced mead. “Here,” he said, offering one to Lein.
“Mmm. I knew I was keeping you around for a reason.”
“This morning didn’t count for anything?”
Lein flashed him a dirty grin, the ache inside him resurfacing at the reminder, and raised his tankard in salute. “Do it to me again later, and I’ll consider it.”
Argis just rolled his eyes and snorted, clinking his own mead against Lein’s before drawing deeply on it and then sinking into the chair beside Lein’s. “What does it really mean then… to be the Dragonborn?”
Lein remained on his feet. He hugged one arm around his middle and cradled his tankard in the other hand, staring off unseeing into the fire for a moment. “Technically, it means I have the ability to consume a slain dragon's soul and absorb its knowledge and power — which you witnessed yourself up at Eldersblood Peak. I can also use the magic of their language through the power of the Voice, or Thu’um. It’s what the Greybeard's teach, among other things. You don’t have to be the Dragonborn to do that last bit though.”
“Like Ulfric Stormcloak you mean?”
He nodded, then levered his mucky, snow-damp boots off and tossed them onto the hearthstones to dry off. That done, he tucked one leg up beneath him, folding himself into the chair behind him in a position that anyone else would have found unbearable after only a few seconds. Argis’ mouth twitched a smile, but he didn’t interrupt.
“Aside from that… it also apparently means I’m probably the only one who can kill the big lizardy fucker for good before he, you know… eats the world.”
“And just how does one kill the World Eater, who can’t be killed by anyone but you?”
Lein sucked in a breath through his teeth and then drained nearly half his mead in one go. The heady, sweet spices rushed to his brain and his belly, and he savoured the sensations for a long moment. Looking down at the hearthstones, he shrugged. Fragmented memories flared and pounded through his mind in a series of blinding flashes - the searing after-images of reading an Elder Scroll - and he screwed his mismatching eyes shut against the unexpected onslaught.
“Lein?” Argis murmured, a sharp note of concern in his voice, and Lein caught the soft creak of the wooden chair as Argis shifted, right before the firm, warm weight of his hand landed on Lein’s thigh.
Fighting down the spinning nausea, he opened his eyes and smiled briefly over at Argis before taking another breath and carrying on. “Sorry. I… uh… I read an Elder Scroll up on the Throat of the World, under the guidance of the leader of the Greybeards… I’ve actually fought Alduin once already…” He shot Argis a sidelong glance and saw that his eyebrows had risen, shock written clear on his face.
“You… what?” he whispered, strong fingers twitching in surprise where they still rested on Lein’s leg.
“Yeah. The Scroll let me see through a tear in time, back to when Alduin was first defeated, and I learned the Shout they used to bring him down. It’s… fuck, it’s a terrible shout, Argis,” he exhaled, shaking his white hair into his eyes with a shudder. “It translates roughly to ‘Dragonrend’. It robs them of their magic and brings them down from the sky so that you can fight them on the ground. But… it’s not a Shout that the Dovah themselves ever dreamt up; it’s man-made, and as such, it’s just… wrong.”
He shivered again, recalling the cold void it had left inside him after using it, and the look of abject horror in Alduin’s glowing eyes when he’d tasted again the power of a Shout that he’d obviously presumed lost to time. Lein had even pitied the foul lizard for a moment then, right before the beast had rallied and called down great hunks of rock to rain down from the sky above. He’d forgotten his pity pretty quickly after that.
“Anyway,” Lein forged on in a hollow rasp, “He finally realised that we actually had a real shot at beating him that time, so while I was still recovering from using the Shout, he recovered enough to take off. By all accounts, he’s vanished from Tamriel.”
“But… if he’s gone,” Argis asked, “… why do you have to fight him again?”
Lein shook his head and drank some more mead, more steadily this time. The spices warmed him and he tried to relax into the embrace of the chair.
Argis released him but stayed sitting forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees, knuckly, scarred fingers laced; thoughtful and tense.
“He’s vanished,” Lein said, “But he’s not dead. I’ve still got to face him again. But… I’ll need a dragon of my own this time.”
At that, Argis jerked his chin up and looked like he’d been slapped. “Huh?”
Lein waggled his eyebrows and nearly laughed as he casually dealt Argis yet another staggering mental blow. A lingering hysteria bubbled away beneath his words as he said, “Paarthurnax, the leader of the Greybeards, told me I’d need to bring one of Alduin’s greatest generals to the only place in Skyrim that could actually hold a dragon - Dragonsreach in Whiterun. If I can talk some sense into the dragon, Odahviing, then maybe - just maybe - I stand a chance of finding out where Alduin went, and how to kill him for good.”
Argis was silent for a long time, jaw grinding, but eventually he sat back heavily in his seat and breathed out a soft curse.
“Yeah,” Lein said, finishing off his mead and setting the tankard down on the hearthstone with a soft clunk. “Exactly.”
“When do we leave?” Argis asked after a long minute with only the crackle of the fire to fill the huge hall.
“What?”
“You heard me,” he growled. “If you’re facing down the most dangerous dragon of all time, I’m sure as fuck not going to let you do it alone, Lein.”
Lein couldn't help but smile at that.
He pushed himself out of his chair and crossed to Argis to straddle him and sink down into his lap. With his hands braced on Argis’ massive shoulders, his lips found their mark. “I love you,” he whispered, rocking gently against him. “You know that, right? You don’t have to say anything back, but… I need you to know it.”
Argis’ face shifted into the sweetest and most awkwardly pleased smile Lein could ever have imagined, and he let his hands wander down to Lein’s hips. “Yeah,” he croaked.
Without urgency, Lein kissed him over and over, rolling his hips against Argis’, losing himself in the blissful sensation of simply kissing him, until a loud knocking on the manor door brought a frown to his face and a grunt of startled displeasure from the pair of them.
“Who in the name of the Nine…?” Lein sighed, clambering off Argis’ lap and heading towards the door, adjusting himself a little on the way.
“I’ll go,” Argis murmured from behind him, having risen with the swift efficiency of a life-long soldier. As he passed it, he grabbed his longsword from where it rested unsheathed and ready against the pale plasterwork of the entrance hall. In the space of those six short strides, his whole demeanour changed. If Lein hadn’t been mildly concerned about who was outside, he might have found it deeply attractive. As it was, he summoned his magic to readiness and stalked behind Argis to the main doors of the manor house.
The previously-relaxed set of Argis’ huge shoulders shifted to hold a tension that had Lein’s whole body thrumming. He was fairly certain that whoever lurked outside wouldn’t present a threat beyond anything they could handle between them, but nevertheless, he cast an armour spell on the pair of them. The teal light flickered in the entrance hall as it soaked into their clothes and skin, and Argis put his rough hand to the door.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“It’s me!” came a familiar female voice from the other side, giggling. “And Val. We didn’t just want to barge in, and Val’s got his hands full anyway!”
The tension fled them in a heartbeat, along with Lein’s gathered magicka, and Argis yanked the door open to reveal Valdimar at the bottom of the wooden steps, holding Iona in his arms and preparing to carry his new bride across the threshold.
Lein laughed in relief and stepped aside, and when Val noted the tingling remnants of magicka in the air and the crackle of enchantment around them, he grimaced a fraction. “Sorry, Lein,” he said. “I should have yelled sooner, but in my defence, I did have a face full of my wife’s hair in the way…”
Iona’s long, golden hair fell loose and wafted about in the sea wind, and where Val was wearing his usual scale armour, she had on a heavy, woollen, forget-me-not blue dress that bore some intricate embroidery around the neck, cuffs, and hem, and a noblewoman’s fox-fur shawl. Her only concession to practicality appeared to be her sturdy, fur-lined boots and, like almost every Nord woman, she carried a long knife at her belt. They looked radiant together, and Lein’s heart soared with joy to see them so happy.
“You’re both forgiven,” he beamed. “Come on, get in out of the cold. Are your packs still on the horses?” he asked, noting the fancy-looking beasts tethered beside a very unimpressed Sol in the stable across the yard. The stallion snorted and whinnied his disapproval of the strange horses, and Lein chuckled as he left the newly-weds and stepped out into the slushy snow again.
“Now, now, none of that. Where are your manners, lad?” Lein said to the stallion as he approached the sheltered loose-boxes.
Behind him he heard the low rumble of Argis’ voice and the answering chatter of Val and Iona. In the space of a few minutes, the manor house had filled with bustle and life again after a week of relative stillness and seclusion. Ahead, the two black mares watched him with ears pricked forwards and nostrils flared. He held his palm out to the larger mare and she snuffed at him curiously before deciding he wasn’t nearly as interesting as the full haynet that was lying on a bale of straw nearby.
“These fine ladies hail from Jarl Elisif’s own stables by the looks of the insignia on their tack,” he murmured to Sol. “We’ve got to be polite.”
Sol clearly had no intention of being anything other than unrelentingly hostile towards the two unfamiliar mares, and Lein apologised quietly to them as he untacked them and slung their large saddlebags over the stable’s central partition. Behind him, he heard Sol gnashing his teeth and stamping a huge hoof through the straw of his stall, huffing and shuffling conspicuously.
“We’re not really equipped for more than two horses at a time, so you ladies will have to share a stall until I can take you back to Solitude,” he said, taking a brush to the dark coat of the nearest. As he groomed over her withers and down her shoulder, the sharp nip of Sol’s pincer-like teeth on his shoulder made him yelp and flail, dropping the brush with a clatter as he spun around. The sudden movement spooked the mares, but they didn’t break their tethers.
“Ow!” Lein cried, elbowing the stallion in the cheek over the wooden wall between the two stalls. “Don’t be like that! And that’s going to bruise, you terror! What are you? Part dragon? By the Nine, that hurt!”
Sol glared unblinkingly at him and snorted while Lein nursed the pinched flesh on his shoulder with reaching fingers. Even through the fabric of his shirt, the horse’s teeth had given him a nasty nip. It would leave a vibrant bruise on Lein’s paper-white skin for sure if he didn’t fix it, so he let a trickle of golden healing magic flow between his fingertips, all the while scowling straight back at the unrepentant horse.
For a strange moment, Lein actually thought the snickering had come from Sol himself, but when he broke away from their staring contest to turn and look back to the house, he saw Argis trudging over to him through the slush, longsword now nowhere to be seen. He looked soft and relaxed and frankly delicious, with only his loose, linen shirt and dark, scruffy cotton trousers on, tucked into leather boots. He shook his head fondly as he took in the scene. “You getting bested by a horse, love?” he asked, and Lein’s stomach flipped over at the casually-offered endearment.
“By my own stallion!” he yowled like a wet Khajiit, tying off the flow of magic and rolling his shoulder ostentatiously. “The betrayal!”
“Maybe he’s the one who feels betrayed, what with your attention on these two mares,” Argis purred, stepping up close behind him and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. Lein shivered and rocked back against the bigger man’s warmth and muscular bulk.
“You sure it’s Sol who’s jealous?” Lein shot and was rewarded with a low, earthy chuckle from Argis right in his ear. Adopting a lighter tone, in the hopes of coercing his awakening cock back into passivity, Lein turned to face him, laughed, and patted him patronisingly in the centre of his solid chest. “I promise to rub you down properly later, sweetheart…”
Argis snorted a laugh and turned away. “I’ll take these inside,” he said, and lifted the groaning saddlebags off the dividing wall with enviable ease.
As he watched Argis’ retreating back, Lein sighed. Bone-deep contentment seeped into him and left him feeling simultaneously grounded and giddy.
The mare he’d been brushing before Sol’s interruption had quietened again, and now that the stallion had made his point and was quietly sulking in the loose-box next door, a stillness fell around them. It was going to snow any minute, he realised, and ducked his head back out from under the shelter of the rustic stable. The clouds seemed innocently fluffy, but a new bite descended on the air and he shivered.
By the time he’d finished the first mare, Argis had reappeared and had already started on the second. For a time, the two worked in easy silence, breath frosting around them and mingling with that of the horses as the temperature dropped.
“Did you get a horse in the guard?” Lein asked as he picked out the mare’s hooves, levering out a chunk of stone wedged between the soft pad of the triangular frog and the shoe.
“No,” Argis replied. The regular rhythm of his hands passing over the mare’s black coat - palm smoothing out the hair after the bristles of the brush had cleared the mud and sweat away - was almost mesmeric as Lein straightened with a grunt to listen. “Too many of us, and no point really. My parents had a horse on the farm though. Ancient old thing. Tough as a bear though. We couldn’t really afford a horse, but I think they were too fond of her to put her down. No one would have bought her. My sister and I used to ride her out to the potato field and back in the summer.”
Lein’s breath caught in his throat. Argis had only once mentioned his sister, and that had been at the shrine of Arkay in Solitude, with tears tracking down his cheeks. “Nessa…” Lein breathed.
The steady motion of brush against now-gleaming black coat stuttered and he watched Argis’ throat work thickly as he swallowed. “Yeah,” he croaked.
“What happened to her, Argis?” he dared.
But Argis shook his head, teeth gritted, jaw set.
From the house, Iona called something through the flurrying snowfall to the pair of them but neither reacted. Lein crossed to his lover, placing his palm on the small of his back. “I’m sorry I asked, Argis. Your grief is your own. You don’t have to tell me.”
“I want to,” he said without looking at him, voice rough. “I just… I don’t know that I have the strength even now to… bring it all to words, you know?”
“I know.” Lein pressed a kiss to the curve of Argis’ bicep. “I’ll head back up to the house.”
He gave Argis the space to reorder his thoughts, and by the time the huge man stumped up the steps and shook the snowflakes from his hair, he seemed back to his normal quiet and stoic self. Lein glanced up as he entered the main hall from the entryway, momentarily tuning out Iona’s talk of the Blue Palace and the party the Jarl had thrown in her honour. Argis met his gaze across the table and a tiny smile graced his scarred lips. He blinked, nodded once, and then headed upstairs.
When Lein looked back at Iona, he found that she’d paused and was looking at him intensely. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I was listening. Val nearly started a duel when Bolgeir asked you to dance…”
A slow, soft smile dawned on her beautiful face, and she leaned over to where Lein now sat in the chair that Argis had inhabited earlier, and squeezed his forearm fondly. “I’m glad the two of you finally worked it all out.”
A lump formed in Lein’s throat. Gods, but he loved this little family of his fiercely. He prayed that this manor house of theirs would be enough for Iona and Val in the coming weeks and months of marriage. His vision blurred and tears welled as he thought tentatively of the possibility of welcoming a tiny child into the fold some day soon.
“Lein?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m just… I’m a very lucky man.”
She rose and came to stand beside his chair, drawing his head to rest against her stomach and stroking his soft, white hair with her fingers. “We all love you to bits, Lein. I don’t know why it’s taken you so long to realise that.”
“It hasn’t,” he said, letting his eyes close and feeling the warmth of the flames in the hearth flicker against his skin for a moment. “… I know.”
She chuckled and stepped back, turning at the arrival of Val in the hall from the armoury. Lein leaned back in his chair to look over his shoulder and found the man with a lopsided smirk on his face and a brand new throwing axe in his hands. Lein’s brows rose — he could feel the enchantments on it even from that distance. “Wedding gift?” he asked, twisting in his seat. “Come on, Val, ’fess up. Who’s trying to out-do me?”
“Iona’s father had it commissioned,” Val said. “Here.”
Lein cleared his throat and stood, grateful for the distraction, and he took the weapon reverently from his housecarl. “Whoa,” he murmured, hefting the weight of it a couple of times. “That is some damned fine spellwork too. Who did this? Don’t tell me Sybille Stentor has stooped to enchanting weapons for you now?”
Val snorted and shook his head. “You think I’d let a vampire like her put enchantments on a weapon? And it’s not mine; it’s Iona’s.”
Lein raised an eyebrow and shot Iona a look. “He’s teaching you to throw axes now, is he?”
She giggled. “I think my father was hoping I’d use it on him, not with him…”
They all snorted, well aware of her parents’ snotty views on Val and, by extension, Lein. “Well, if you end up as good with one of these as you are with your knives and a bow, I can dismiss Val and Argis altogether. It can be you and me against the world. Watch out though, axes like this have a nasty tendency to bounce if they hit the ground on a throw…”
“Val and I are a package deal now,” Iona laughed. “No getting rid of either of us.”
“Thank the gods for that,” Lein muttered through a grin.
He turned the axe’s sinuously-shaped haft over in his hands and let his magic connect with the enchantments woven into the gently-curved wood and the pattern-welded steel. He sucked in a breath. Poison and stamina damage could be a lethal combination.
“This is a beautiful weapon,” he said to Iona. “You’re going to enjoy learning to throw it.” He turned to Val and added, “Feel free to stick a target up between the pines. I think we could have a little competition by the end of Evening Star.”
Val’s bushy brows rose at that and he took the proffered axe from Lein. “You’re staying that long?”
Lein shrugged. “Depends. I need to send a courier to Jarl Bulgruf in Whiterun, but the snow is going to start piling up soon. I’m not sure I really fancy going haring off into the wilderness this time.” He flashed a winning grin and added, “Getting old now.”
“You’ve got to be the most Argonian half-Nord I’ve ever met,” Val snickered, letting the axe dangle idly from his fingertips. “First sign of a snowflake and you go scuttling for a fire.”
Lein hitched a wonky smile and jutted his chin towards the armoury. “Feel free to put Iona’s axe on any of the displays. A weapon like that shouldn’t be tucked away in a chest to rust…”
Val nodded and headed back the way he had come.
Dinner that evening was a mellow affair, and Lein retired early. He didn’t linger in the tub that night either, heading up to his room with his hair still damp and smelling of lavender while Val and Iona talked at the fireside with Argis. He lit a candle or two with a tiny flame at the tip of his finger and curled up in bed with a book. He was four chapters in when the door creaked open and Argis slid sheepishly in.
“Hello,” Lein smiled, setting the volume on the table and looking up at him, hands lying soft against his thighs.
“Sorry,” Argis mumbled, shuffling about as he undressed.
“What on earth for? Looking so gorgeous? Stealing my heart? Winning over my little hodgepodge family here so easily?”
Argis flushed and laughed before meeting his gaze. “I thought you were waiting up for me.”
Lein shook his head, his white hair loose and falling around his face. “Just reading.”
The big man seemed quieter than usual, and Lein frowned. He shuffled over to the right hand side, which had quickly become ‘his’ side, and waited for Argis to climb in beside him. When he was settled, almost naked, Lein wriggled himself into a comfortable place at Argis’ shoulder and draped his arm across Argis’ huge chest. The steady drumbeat of his heart beneath Lein’s ear seemed a little quicker than usual, and he squeezed him tightly. “What’s on your mind?” he asked.
For a long time, Argis didn’t respond. He just breathed and stared at the rafters above, but eventually he whispered, “Something you said earlier…”
“Oh?” he asked as a shiver of fear shot through him. “Did I say something that upset you?” His thoughts instantly turned to asking Argis about his sister, but he knew Argis was still getting used to being in a relationship with another man. Perhaps he had been too free with his affection, even around only Val and Iona?
“No,” Argis rumbled, tugging Lein close to him as he went slack with relief. “No,” he said again, more gently this time, and kissed the crown of Lein’s head. “You said you wished you could hide away up here forever.”
“With you,” he added.
“Mmm.”
Again, Argis stayed quiet for so long that Lein nearly began to drift off to sleep in the warmth of his arms. His mind was just skimming the misty edges of unconsciousness when Argis spoke up again, voice little more than a rough whisper.
“You’ve lived the most extraordinary life already, and you’re barely thirty. It doesn’t seem fair that you have to fight him after everything you’ve been through. I… I wish… I just…” He heaved a massive sigh and whispered into Lein’s white hair that partially covered his neck and lower jaw from where Lein was lying, “I just wish you could rest, Lein.”
Lein’s chest tightened. Argis didn’t even know the half of what he’d been through yet, what with the necromancers who’d robbed his hair of colour and nearly robbed him of his soul, and the vampires of Volkihar Castle with their insane plan to blot out the sun that had seen him walk the Soul Cairn and face off against an ancient and powerful vampire lord, not to mention all the Dark Brotherhood contracts he’d taken on… He sighed, wishing he could express even a part of all that, but exhaustion washed through him and he slumped.
He hooked his left thigh over Argis’ leg, pressing the whole length of his body against the larger man’s and exhaling softly as sleep claimed him before he could respond at all.
__
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There's some things about yourself that only you can see that others can't. Sometimes this can be mistakes, failures, or imperfections. But this doesn't always apply. I've been noticing things about myself lately that I doubt other people see, but that's okay. Because I see them, and I'm happy.
I've been looking back on old photos of myself, back before I knew I was trans and I've been comparing them to my recent photos. I've noticed not only an obvious change in the way I dress compared to when I was 12 or 14, but a change in the way I carry myself. It's subtle, but I've been noticing how masculine my body language in photos have become, noticing how gestures and stances in photos I've tried so hard to put into practice have become only second nature to me.
It may be just my subconscious, and my brain changing my perception to fit how I want, but I've also noticed how my features have sort of shifted and changed from femininity to something more masculine, and something that I don't really hate when i see myself in the mirror. I have dark hair, so peach fuzz have always been noticable on my face, and my eyebrows have always been thick and bushy. This has been an insecurity of mine back before I realized this part of myself, but when I look at myself now and see the small dark hairs on my upper lip and the sideburns trying to grow in, I'm filled with a gender euphoria i can't even begin to describe. Feeling of my chin and my lower cheeks only fuels it more because I can feel the peach fuzz on my face, it all almost feeling like stubble to me.
I've still got a long ways to go with my transition, from surgeries to hrt, but as I try to notice these small things about myself, my gender dysphoria seems a little more bearable than it would normally be if i constantly point out things about myself that makes me feel dysphoric. I'm pre-transition, but I'm still masculine as fuck, and I'm gonna keep trying to find things to be proud of.
#meph trans talk#meph trying to learn how to love himself hours#tw gender dysphoria#idk this has been heavily on my mind recently#i felt like I needed to toss this into the void and share my journey#ftm#transgender#trans guy
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Fingers
Sparks fly and a flame flickers on, waving violently, threatening to extinguish soon if it’s not sheltered from the wind. Burly, callous hands prevent this outcome, as another brings the lighter closer to an unlit and roughed up cigarette. The quiet crackling of the tobacco burning as its owner takes a long drag is suddenly interrupted by the louder clicking of the Zippo being closed.
A faint, orange glow illuminates some features of the man’s face; flat nose but a thick bridge, slightly crooked and scarred over from multiple fights, dry thick lips, threatened to be covered by a mostly graying beard, green eyes that had lost their shine years ago, bushy eyebrows, uneven since his left eyebrow was missing the external end, which had a faded but still noticeable scar.
He stared at the blank space between trees, at first because he wanted to rest his eyes from staring at bark all day, but he ended up doing so because it somehow felt more dangerous to take his eyes off of it.
Another uninterrupted, deep drag provoked the orange glow to reignite and crawl towards his fingers. The warm feeling became burning and without processing it, he let go of the cigarette, which landed between the interlocking, exposed roots of the vegetation around him.
“Fuck.” He said to himself.
He quickly looked around to try and find it, as if it could ignite the whole forest and burn all of the possible evidence, and with it any chance of finding that kid that had gone missing a few days ago. Pulling the lighter out of his coat pocket, he shed light over the forest’s floor and knelt down to try and fish it out of any of the crevices and holes. A sudden gust of wind took out the weak flame, sinking everything around him back into darkness. His eyes struggled to get accustomed to the changing lighting as he struck the flint with increasing desperation.
With each strike, the whitened system of roots increasingly resembled pale, lifeless fingers interlocking with each other, not in the way that mortuaries place the deceased’s hands to make them look like they’re resting, but rather as if each hand was pulling down on the other in an attempt to escape from the cold and moist ground, where the insects tunneled and ate everything that had nutrients in it. His breathing became labored and louder than the wind blowing around him.
He sprung back up and closed his eyes tightly, trying not to let 40 years of grisly experience turn into a weapon against him.
“Not here.” He thought. “Think about something else.”
The image of a roughed-up adult kneeling down to find the still-lit butt as if he was a tobacco-dependent teenager who could only manage to hide a single Pall Mall from his strict parents made him laugh to himself, helping him overcome the unnerving sensation that had just washed over him.
A beam of light washed over him, seeing that reddish glow through his eyelids and hearing the steps of one of the search volunteers.
“Markus, we’re heading back to town, I’m buying beers for our party. You coming?” Said a young woman, her voice slightly shaking as she went over the rougher parts of terrain.
He slowly shielded his eyes from the light with his right hand, “Stop shining that flashlight directly on my corneas and I’ll think about it.”
“Right, so sorry.” She said quietly, lowering her flashlight.
He nodded and walked towards her.
Moonlight took over what was hers and a faint, bluish glow illuminated the forest once again, slowly giving permission for the rest of the creatures in it to continue with their cycles. Under the roots that provoked Markus to struggle to maintain composure laid a single hiking boot, in the insole tag read the initials LS, almost faded to the elements. What seemed to be fingers held onto the laces, slowly dragging it into the mud.
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[Image description: Four drawings of Enki and Evelyn, both being from Fear and Hunger but the latter half being an original character based off of Enki's twin sister mentioned in the game. All of the drawings have corresponding text with them. Additionally, there is no color in the image.
First two are drawings of Enki and Evelyn as adults. Enki has curly but unruly/unhealthy hair, sunkedn in eyes and a very frail frame. Evelyn is more noticably healthier, with curly locks cascading down her shoulders, a hooked nose and bushy eyebrows. The next near enki reads "this was supposed to be them as kids or something but i accidentally made enki look like the 30/40s something waffle they are." followed by "[did manage to draw them as kids as seen over near the right tho so eden w]"
Second two are drawings of the two as children, both noticably more younger and less unhealthy looking. Evelyn looks more apathetic/tired, whilst enki looks calm. The text near Evelyn reads "evelyn and enki as kids as you can see. evelyn seems like the girl to inherit more traits from her father than her mother and enki seems like the inverse of that. like whatever their parents look like enki more resembles his mother aka a dead corpse in the ground" followed by text that is slightly transparent that reads "[please laugh at my jokes i'm trying to be funny.]" The text near Enki reads "i think as a kid enki was a bit nicer than they are now [as nice as a kid their age who grew up in the 1800s could be. those kids were narsty lemme tell you] but after the dark priest trials… yeah. yeah."
then there is some text seemingly not connected to the drawings, and are there to give context to the rest of the next. it reads as follows: "evelyn seems similar to enki, but i feel like she's much more physically stronger than they are. she'd likely be rude like they are but still tries to see a little bit of good in people. i think again prior to both of them going through the dark priest trials they were really close, however due to the traumatic and violent nature of the trials they grew to hate and distain each other, with enki getting the brute of it due to being disabled" and "if evelyn survives at all, then she'd probably have a really complicated relationship with enki, due to her winning resulting in them being thrown down the well to die, with her assuming that they're dead. she'd likely be similar to enki and encase herself in studying as a coping mechanism, however unlike enki hers would likely involve her learning more physical attacks than the blood+bug magic enki learned." /End description]
first of all i'd say im sorry for the long ass image description but if you guys can post about your ableist+gross takes on all of the different FAH characters with no backlash whatsoever, i can make the post i'm making accsesible towards people who use screen readers. go fuck yourselves. second of all i kinda got obsessed with enki's sister and ended up making an oc based off of that. her name is evelyn [she/her as of now] and i think in adulthood she'd be a gro-goroth worshipper [again subject to change]. i'll probably post a bit more about her later but yeah
[reblogs > likes/don't like without reblogging!! | use they/them for enki when referring to them, please!!]
#amalgam arts#i'd say 'sorry for the caption being mean' but frankly. it really needs to be said you guys are insane and not in a good way!!#fear and hunger#fah enki#enki fah#fear and hunger oc#fear & hunger#fah oc#implied child abuse#BTW yes i do know about the sketches showing. i just like how they look with them on hehe
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not the greatest feeling ever | 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝.
the less i know the better masterlist
main masterlist
summary: fuck it, i’m not doing a summary, i’m so bad at it. oh! there’s smut btw.
warnings: smut, cursing, mentions of blood, underrage drinking
last thought: i’m proud of this one, took me a lot of time to write, but i think it was worth it! enjoy your reading! love, milz.
─── ° • ❀ ───
The gentle breeze twirls her golden locks in all directions. She hums the lyrics of You never can tell, having watched Pulp Fiction for the hundredth time last night. Her irises are fixed to the slightly damp roadside covered with fresh fallen leaves from this morning rainstorm. The last rays of sunlight caress her baby-like skin as they disappear into the horizon, painting the sky in a mixture of orange and rose.
“C’mon grandpa, you’re slow as hell!” she teases Marcus, turning her head back to stick her tongue out at him. Standing on his skateboard, he sends her the finger, scraping the pavement with his over-used black vans to gain speed and eventually catch up with her.
“That’s how the turtle won the race, dumbass,” he gently nudges her shoulder with his hand as he rides his board besides her. She gives a sharp turn of the handlebars to move her tires out of the sand and back on the pavement, giving him a death glare.
“I almost fell in the ditch, shithead!” he simply laughs, his head falling backward. His dark colored hairs, normally slicked back, are ruffled by the warm September wind, giving him a laid back look that fits him perfectly. She adores hearing his laugh; it's one of the purest and most delightful sounds. It was only recently that she heard him laugh again, having not heard it for months after the day they lost the third musketeer of their trio. It was one of the hardest moments of their lives, but sharing this kind of experience brought them closer than ever. Charlie was there for him when he hit rock bottom, stroking his back while he cried on the shower floor, freezing water running down their damped bodies. She was also by his side the first time he went to therapy, soothingly squeezing his hand before he entered the office.
“If someone had to fall in a ditch, it would be me.”
“You know that Max and I made bet on how long it would take you to fall in a ditch?” she replies, checking his reaction at the corner of her cerulean eyes. He grins.
“How much did you bet?” he curiously asks, one eyebrow arched.
“Fifty bucks,” his eyes almost snap out of their sockets. He stops, stepping off his board.
“Fifty bucks?! That’s insulting, thought I was worth more than that,” he shouts as she makes a u-turn, retracing her steps, stopping in front of him.
“I’ll give you half of it if you wait ‘till June,” Charlie sarcastically says to him, elbows leaning on the handlebars of her bicycle. He caught a glimpse of light in her gaze; a twinkle of amusement he always finds in the corners of her softly crinkled eyes when she smiles truthfully.
“Deal,” he winks at her, drawing a small laugh from her slightly parted lips. He picks up Charlie's polaroid from the basket at the front of her bike, signaling for her to ride so he can immortalize the moment for her. Marcus knows she keeps those famous polaroids in an old converse box as a source of happiness; they're memories of moments she doesn't want to forget.
He takes the little camera to his eyes, snapping a picture when Charlie turns her head to the side to look at him, smiling like there is no tomorrow. As the picture is slowly developing, he hears a squeal of tires and a squeal of surprise from the distance.
“Fuck Charlie!” he shouts, running towards her as she sits, holding firmly her right forearm. His heart tightens at the sight of her painful face, her traits are torn by pain and he can see tears gathering at the corner of her squinted blue eyes. Marcus hates to see her in pain; he knows she's not the type to complain about anything so when he sees her azure eyes filling with water, he knows it's serious.
“You got a few scratches,” he whispers, running his eyes over her legs and arms. “We’ll go to your house and clean you up, okay?” she nods, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Marcus tucks his skateboard under his arm, grabbing the handlebars and seat of Charlie's bike simultaneously.
─── ° • ❀ ───
“Hold still,” his hazel eyes are focused on the mid-depth cut on her forearm. His bushy eyebrows furrowed, giving him a severe, almost cold sober look. She takes a big gulp of the rich whiskey she borrowed from her father's secret stash.
“Oh fucking hell!” she swears between her clenched teeth when the rubbing alcohol makes contact with the exposed flesh of her forearm. “That’s not the greatest feeling ever,” she whimpers, her forehead resting on his shoulder covered by his green olive shirt.
“I know, angel, I know,” he runs his hand through her blonde hair, gently stroking her scalp in a soothing way. She keeps her head resting against his shoulder, holding back the tears that threaten to run down her flushed cheeks.
“I’m usually the one taking care of you,” he knows it refers as much to all the times he fell off his skateboard as it does to when he hit rock bottom when their friend passed away. Charlie isn't used to being taken care of; she has always been able to look after herself without anyone's help.
Crying is for the weak.
She swallows her tears, putting her mask back on with a slight smile.
“Your new neighbor saw me fall,” she changes the subject, pausing to take another gulp directly from the whisky bottle. “Great way to make a first impression,” a light laugh escapes from her lips, but she halts when she notices his gaze turning away almost discreetly. “What’s wrong?”
Over the years, she has learned to read him like the palm of her hand; she knows he looks away to the left when he is hiding something from her and that he scrapes the back of his neck when he is embarrassed.
“I-I had sex with her,” he blurts out, avoiding her gaze while he still applies pressure on the bandage covering the wound on her forearm.
“Holy shit,” her eyes widened, not expecting this kind of disclosure. “Wait, what about Padma?”
“You know she is not my girlfriend, Charlz,” he sighs, finally sustaining her non-judgmental azure irises. It' s one of the things he likes about her; she never judges him and even if she did, he wouldn't know since she hides it so well.
“Was it good?” she does not insist about Padma, knowing perfectly well that she is the first one to know. He doesn't answer, looking thoughtful as if a million thoughts are running through his head. He steals the bottle of alcohol from her, gulping down a few ounces of the throat-burning liquid.
“What aren’t you telling me, Marcus?”
He shuts his eyes, exhaling loudly.
“I don’t know if I was good… God, I don’t even know if she came!” her heart tightens; he looks distraught and she knows that this is a big deal to him, after all, he just lost his virginity. He breathes heavily, his jaw as tightly clenched as his fists.
“Show me.”
“What?!” he opens one eye, eyebrows furrowed as if he was questioning if she was being serious.
“Show me what you did, I’ll tell you if it’s good,”
“You’re drunk, Charlz…I don-” he stops as soon as her silver rings coated hands grip the hem of his olive shirt, grazing the soft skin of his lower abdomen with her fingertips. Sitting on her knees, she brings her head up to his neck, pressing her lips against the skin. The feeling of her wet lips on his burning skin sends a shiver running through his spine.
“I’m sober enough to remember everything and give you my consent,” she whispers to his ear and he almost moans when she slightly nibbles his lobe. Her hands slips to the back of his neck, forcing him to hover over her as she lies on her back.
Both his hands are lingering on the buckle of her belt, struggling to undo it. She clutches his chin with one hand, plunging her reassuring gaze into his. He looks nervous, his hands trembling slightly when he takes off her jeans. She presses her lips to his Adam's apple, feeling him tense up at first, but relax as she sensuously slides her tongue up to his sculpted jaw.
“A-are you good with two figers?” he nervously asks, his right hand resting on the edge of her panties.
“Yes,” he hesitantly slips his hand into her panties, parting her legs with his other hand before sliding his index and middle fingers up and down her folds. She can see him blush when an almost quiet moan escapes her lips at the feeling of his fingers inside her core. He pumps them in and out slowly, as if he was afraid to hurt her.
“Try to curl them in a ‘come here’ movement,” she demonstrates with her own fingers. He nods and mimics her actions, making her whimper under him.
“That feels good,” she encourages him. “What did you do next?” she softly asks, rubbing her thumb against his cheek to sooth him.
“Hum, well, we-um, you know, did it,” he says, blushing like a little child who just got his first kiss with the popular girl.
“You didn’t go down on her?” she asks, looking quite shocked. He seemed clueless. “I mean, you didn’t use your mouth?”
“Uh no, should I have?”
“You boys really know nothing about female pleasure,” she sights. “Try watching lesbian porn next time, you will learn A LOT more,” He almost chokes, not expecting to hear this come out of his best friend's lips while his fingers are still inside her. They've always been comfortable with each other, but not to the point of talking about the kind of porn they listen to. The idea of her best friend watching porn and getting herself off almost made him cum in his pants.
“You do know what a cunniligus is, right?”
“God, Charlz, I’m not five years old! Yes, I know what it is!” he exclaims, his ego lightly bruised by her question.
“Well, show me then, playboy,” she challenges him, a cocky smile slipping on her lips. the alcohol going slightly to her head.
He pulls her to the edge of the mattress, kneeling at the foot of the bed between her legs. His lips kiss the skin on the inside of her thighs, sucking it until he sees a dark red mark appear. He gets rid of her underwear in the blink of an eye before placing her legs over his shoulders. He darts his tongue out of his mouth, licking a long strip between her folds without giving her the chance to acknowledge what was going on. He stops once his tongue rests on the bundle of nerves, licking around it in a circular motion.
“Fuck,” she moans. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“You really think I've never watched lesbian porn?” he teases her, biting the inside of her thigh, making her body jolt. He dives back his head to her core, sucking her clit into his mouth.
At leats he know where the clit is.
"Oh my god Marcus," she moans, squirming against his grip. He places his arm over her lower abdomen, pinning her body against the mattress. She can feel his two fingers sliding back into her core, the sudden feeling causing her hips to buck up against his face.
“Are you gonna be a good girl and cum for me, hun?” he praises her, fingers curling inside her just like she taught him. She could barely feel herself, letting out a series of high-pitched moans as Marcus tongue was working on her bundle of nerves.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she whimpers, her head pressed down against the matress. Her fingers tangle in his dark hair, tucking at the roots as she let out a cry, the euphoric feeling taking over her body for a moment. Marcus looks up to see her eyes shut tightly, her legs shaking on his shoulders. He can feel her core pulsating around his fingers as she comes down from her high.
He took a mental picture of her, engraving this moment in his memory forever.
─── ° • ❀ ───
taglist; @cognacdelights @ellegotohell @janedartist
#the less i know the better#marcus baker#charlie henson#marcus baker x charlie henson#ginny and georgia#marcus x oc#marcus x charlie#marcus x reader#marcus baker x reader#marcus baker smut#bestfriends to lovers#marcus baker fic#marcus baker imagine#marcus baker imagines#marcus x ginny#marcus baker one shot#ginny and georgia imagine#ginny and georgia smut#felix mallard imagines#felix mallard
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ATEEZ Hongjoong: Tame (Part 1)
Genre: Fluff, angst, smut, mafia au.
Pairing: Mafia!Hongjoong x OC (written in 2nd person)
Word Count: 17k in total, 5k in this part. (Part 2, Part 3, Final Part)
Warnings for all parts combined: Mafia themes such as torture, abuse, violence, human auctions, murder, drugs, guns. Mentions of rape, human trafficking, sex slavery, organ trafficking. Unprotected sex (pulling out), facesitting.
Other than Ateez, all other names are fictional.
"Where have you brought me?" you questioned, looking up at your uncle in pure detestation when he pushed you into a dark room and took off your blindfold.
"Change into that dress quickly," he replied, ignoring your question, pointing to a red dress lying on a chair. "It's time for me to make some good money." He smirked, giving you a look before leaving you alone in the dimly lit room.
You don't know why your uncle had brought you here. Your father recently went missing and now you were certain your uncle was behind it.
You rarely saw your father since you lived with your uncle and his family. Your mother passed away when you were a newborn and you have no siblings.
You glanced at the red dress your uncle told you to wear. It was quite short and had a deep V-neck. You sighed as you quickly wore the dress, looking into the dirty and damaged full-length mirror to see how it looked on you.
A woman dressed in a similar dress came inside the room. "I'm getting sold too," she said softly, making your eyebrows furrow in confusion.
"Sold? What do you mean?"
Before she could reply, two built men came into the room and grabbed you by the arms, forcefully dragging you out.
"Where are you taking me?!" you yelled, struggling to get your arms out of their strong grasp.
"Shut the fuck up if you don't want a bullet in your head," one the men said nonchalantly.
You could hear the familiar voice of your uncle and you assumed he was talking through a mic. You were thrown onto a stage, bright lights shining on you that blinded your vision.
Once your eyes adjusted to the light, you could see about a hundred people in the room, staring at you from head to toe.
"So who would like to buy this beauty?" your uncle yelled. All the men and even some of the women started yelling while raising their hands. You shivered, realizing that you were in some sort of human trafficking auction. Your eyes immediately teared up. How cruel could your uncle be? How cruel could all these people here be, selling humans like that?
You looked around, checking to see if there was any way to escape, but there were way too many guards, so you decided to go with the flow for now.
"We're starting from 50 million won," your uncle stated after the crowd calmed down.
You saw someone in the crowd raise a sign with their name and a number on it. "50 million!"
"70 million!"
"140 million!"
"250 million!"
"400 million!" a man yelled, causing everyone to keep quiet.
"400 million... going once, going—"
"500 million!" another man yelled. You could hear whispers all around you. You couldn't even believe how rich these people were, all their money obviously obtained through illegal means.
"500 million... Going once... going twice... sold!" your uncle said cheerfully and started clapping. "Congratulations, Mr. Byun! She's all yours!"
-
Two of Mr. Byun's men took you away and made you sit in a black car while their boss made his payment. They were really handsome and dressed in suits. You were actually terrified, but you tried to act normal.
You saw a man with long hair and thick bushy eyebrows approach the car. He was wearing spectacles and had a thick moustache. He got into the car, looking at you as he sat beside you. You noticed that he had a gun in his pocket, making you wonder what exactly he does for a living, albeit you had a fair idea already.
"Start driving, Mingi," he said in a mellifluous voice to the red-haired man who was sitting in the driver's seat. Mingi nodded and started driving immediately while you kept quiet and looked outside the window, pondering about how you could escape.
"Take that shit off, hyung. It looks hideous on you," the other guy with blue hair said, grabbing your attention.
Mr. Byun took off his spectacles, fake moustache and eyebrows, and the wig. You didn't even realize that he was wearing a disguise before.
Your eyes widened when you saw him. His features were sharp and absolutely perfect. He looked like he was going to shoot for some fashion magazine. He seemed to be around your age; so did the other two guys.
You didn't realize that you were gawking at him until Mingi chuckled. "Someone is shocked."
You blushed in embarrassment, instantly looking away. You cleared your throat. "I was just wondering why Mr. Byun was wearing a disguise."
"Oh Byun is just a fake name he used," Mingi said. "His name is actually Hongjoong."
And that's when it hit you.
"Hongjoong? As in, Kim Hongjoong of Ateez?" you blurted out, making all the three men's eyes widen.
Hongjoong quickly reached under the car seat, pulling out handcuffs before swiftly handcuffing you. He took his tie off and used it as a blindfold for you.
-
Your hands were handcuffed to the armrest of a chair. You really hoped these guys weren't Ateez. But after seeing the other five men once they removed your blindfold, you knew it was really them: the eight most feared men in the crime world in the country.
You were so fucked; especially since you were in an interrogation room with an unconscious bleeding man in the corner.
"How do you know me? How do know Ateez?" Hongjoong asked coldly, a small hint of panic in his eyes. You regretted opening your mouth before.
You averted your gaze from the bleeding man. "I... overheard my uncle talk about you," you answered honestly.
"Hongjoong, let San take care of this," one of the taller guys with black curly hair said.
"No, Seonghwa, I've got this," Hongjoong said, his eyes not leaving you.
Seonghwa only rolled his eyes. "San."
Another guy with pink hair nodded before approaching you. Hongjoong sighed in frustration before moving to the side, letting San replace him. You could easily tell that Hongjoong had a short temper.
"I'm going to ask you a few questions so please cooperate," San said with a sweet smile, letting his dimples show. You would've melted for that smile if you didn't know that he was extremely dangerous. "So tell me, what is your name?"
"Kiah... Moon Kiah," you replied.
"How old are you?"
"I'm 21."
"Who is your uncle who told you about us?"
You took a deep breath, already exhausting from the questioning. "Moon Younghyun." All the eight men look surprised.
"Your uncle sold you, his own niece, at a human auction?" Seonghwa asked with a frown and you nodded in response.
"That bastard," Mingi growled, surprising you. Why was he pissed about that?
"What did your uncle tell you about us, Kiah?" San questioned.
You bit your lip nervously. "I can't tell you."
"Why not?" San asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Cause you'll shoot me or rape me to death due to how offensive it is," you mumbled. "And honestly, I'd rather not die that way." The boys were shocked at your sudden boldness, not expecting you to say that at all. Half of them looked offended.
"Excuse me, woman, we're not rapists," the guy with purple hair said, clearly offended.
You raised an eyebrow. "That's not what I heard." You were wondering where your sudden confidence came from when these men could literally kill you in a fraction of a second.
"Well, then what did you hear?" San asked. "Tell us and we'll honestly tell you what's true and what's not." You contemplated that; you had nothing to lose anyway if they choose to kill you.
"I heard that Ateez is a mafia gang engaged in mostly human trafficking, drug deals, raping and murdering innocent people."
The guy with light brown hair, who looked like a Greek God, cleared his throat. "Out of everything you said, only the drug deals were true."
You snorted. "And why would I believe you?"
"Well, why would you believe your uncle who just sold you?" he retorted.
"But you guys fucking bought me at a human auction!"
"Would you rather be bought by someone else who would actually treat you like a fucking sex slave?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. You kept quiet at that. "Believe me, Kiah, that's what the people there were for. They were all looking for sex slaves."
"Yeosang's right," San stated. "You should be grateful that we saved your life."
"What were you guys doing there then?" you questioned. "If you claim that you don't do all that, then why were you there in the first place?"
"Your uncle is our enemy. We had to see what he was up to," Yunho answered.
"Then why did you buy me?"
"You ask way too many questions," Hongjoong snapped in an annoyed tone, trying not to lose his temper completely.
"Joong, chill," Seonghwa said, making Hongjoong roll his eyes.
Mingi moved to stand in front of you. "I was the one who begged Hongjoong to adopt you," he said with a smile.
"Terrible decision," Hongjoong muttered under his breath.
You snorted. "Adopt?"
Mingi shrugged. "I don't like the word 'bought' so we're just going to say that."
You smiled a little at his words. "All right, Mingi, care to explain why you... adopted me?"
Mingi grinned. "Well, I've seen you a couple of times near your university’s hospital," he stated, making the guys look at him in surprise; they didn't know Mingi knew your face before. "And besides, you're beautiful. It would be such a waste if you were sold as a sex slave when you're so talented." Hongjoong gives Mingi a look that didn't go unnoticed by you.
You chuckled. "What makes you think I'm talented?"
"I've done my research," he said. "You're the only nursing student intern who is allowed to watch surgeries and help in minor ones."
"No wonder you wanted to adopt her," Yunho remarked.
You heard a groan behind you, coming from the bleeding man who just gained consciousness. You felt really bad for him.
"Don't worry about him," Yeosang said, noticing the concern in your eyes. "He deserved it."
"Why?" you murmured. "What did he do?"
"You wouldn't want to know," Seonghwa laughed before turning to one of the guys. "Remove the handcuffs, Jongho."
Jongho nodded and unlocked the handcuffs around your wrists with a key. You stretched your arms out in front of you, feeling a little free now.
"All right, I can go home..." you trailed off, realizing that you didn't have a home anymore. Your uncle would definitely sell you again if you went back there. Looks like you would have to crash at a friend's place.
"I'm afraid we can't let you go," Hongjoong stated.
Your eyes widened. "You're keeping me hostage?!"
"You know too much about us," San said with a small smile. "We're sorry."
You scoffed, getting up from the chair. "I refuse to be a fucking prisoner here in your dungeon!"
"Holy fuck, you're so tiny!" Yunho said in awe, stepping forward to tower over you. "I think I'm a foot taller than you! How cute!" he squealed. Was this guy really in the Mafia?
Before you could respond, Yunho lifted you up like a baby. "I'm gonna show you the house."
He carried you out of the interrogation room and up a flight of stairs until you reached a living room that could easily fit more than three hundred people. Your eyes widened at the sight of it; surely this was a joke, right?
You were in a luxurious mansion.
You glanced around in awe, noticing how one side of the living room had floor to ceiling windows, complemented with maroon and gold curtains. There was a large open-kitchen right next to the living room, and a wooden staircase on the other side where pictures adorned the wall. You wondered how many rooms were in this mansion and what the exterior looked like.
Yunho set you down on your feet. "You're free to move around the house, Kiah. We aren't going to lock you up," he said, chuckling at your stunned reaction.
"How many rooms does this place have?" you questioned while walking around the living room.
Wooyoung plopped himself on one of the sofas. "There's nine bedrooms, ten bathrooms, and six other rooms for different purposes."
"The guest room is still under renovation, so you will be sleeping in Hongjoong's room for the time being," Mingi informed.
"What?!" You and Hongjoong yelled in unison.
"Not the bad temper guy of all people!" you whined, making all the guys except Hongjoong laugh. "Can't I sleep in your room instead?"
"You could," Mingi laughed. "But then my girlfriend would have my head."
"There's a woman in this house? Thank fucking goodness!" you sighed in relief.
Jongho chuckled. "There's three, actually. Well, now four."
"Where are they?" you questioned.
"Seonghwa's girl is on a mission so you'll see her next week," San replied. "I don't know where Mingi's girl is, and my girl is—"
"Hi!" you heard someone yell before running and pulling you into a tight hug. She pulled away and gave you a bright smile; you liked her already. "I'm Jiwoo!"
San chuckled at his girlfriend's actions before moving to wrap his arms around her waist. He kissed her forehead, making her smile. They were so cute! "This is my girlfriend, Jiwoo. Babe, this is Kiah."
"San and Jiwoo are the hyper couple here," Yunho stated. "They're both just so full of energy."
"We're going to be great friends, I'm sure of it!" Jiwoo said, making you smile.
Maybe living here wasn't going to be so bad after all.
-
Hongjoong's bedroom was huge. The walls were a penny brown and most of the decor was white and beige. There was a large TV right in front of the king sized bed. There was also a small flight of stairs leading down to a Jacuzzi that could fit six people in it.
You realized that you didn't have any clothes except for the red dress you were wearing right now. You didn't even have a phone anymore.
You heard footsteps behind you, making you turn to the source. A shirtless Hongjoong walked past you to the wardrobe, stripping until he was left only in his Calvin Klein hip briefs. You couldn't help but stare as he picked out some clothes to sleep in. You absentmindedly bit your lip when he wore his grey sweatpants and a black tank top. You quietly left the bathroom after washing your face, hoping he didn't notice you staring.
After several seconds, Hongjoong came into the bedroom, stretching his hands above his head. "You're gonna sleep in that?" he asked.
You rolled your eyes. "I don't have anything else to sleep in."
Hongjoong sighed before heading back to the wardrobe, coming back with a plain white t-shirt. He tossed it to you and you went to the bathroom to change. His t-shirt smelled so pleasant, you couldn't stop inhaling the scent.
When you went back to the bedroom, Hongjoong was in deep thought. "You know," he started, looking at you from head to toe, secretly loving the way his t-shirt looked on your small form. "I just realized that you didn't really protest to live here."
You sat on his springy bed. "Well, I don't have anywhere else to go."
He scoffed. "Or maybe you just want to live here."
"I used to live with my uncle. If I had my own place, I wouldn't even spend a second here," you deadpanned.
"So you've never worked?" he asked. "Not even a part time job?"
"Do you think medical students have time for that?" you retorted.
"Whatever," he mumbled. "Looks like you'll get along with Yeosang and Seonghwa."
"What makes you think that?"
"They're Ateez's doctors," he stated. "Well, Yeosang mainly works as our hacker, but he's almost as skilled as Seonghwa.
There was some silence for a while until you spoke, "Are we even in Seoul right now?"
"We're at the outskirts," Hongjoong answered. "Gwanak-san, to be precise."
"Ah, near my university!" you said happily. "Actually, you know what?"
"What?"
"I can stay with a friend," you said. "He has an apartment right beside my university."
Hongjoong chuckled, but he clearly wasn't amused at all. "I'm afraid that's not possible, love." Your heart skipped a beat at the way he said 'love' but you ignored it.
You frowned. "Why not?"
"Well, you already know too much about us," he stated. "Besides, you've already entered the Mafia world. There's no going back."
Your blood boiled. "I don't give a fuck, Hongjoong. I didn't ask you to buy me and pull me into your stupid Mafia world!" your voice was rising.
Hongjoong got annoyed at the way you raised your voice at him. "For your information, you got pulled into this world the second your uncle got involved in it! You lived with someone who's in the fucking Mafia!"
"At least my life was normal!" you retorted.
"You know what? Fine!" Hongjoong raised his voice, scaring you a little. "I'll personally drop you at your fucking uncle's house tomorrow, okay?!"
"You don't get to decide that and I'm not going back to that monster!"
"Then shut the fuck up and appreciate the shelter you've been given here goddammit!" Hongjoong runs a hand through his hair in frustration. You just keep quiet, looking away while your eyes filled with tears.
"Why the fuck did I even agree to buy a brat like you?" he murmured, but you heard him.
"Fuck yourself," you whispered.
In a flash, you were on your back, Hongjoong hovering above you.
"Don't you dare talk to me like that! You make me want to punish you so fucking bad," Hongjoong growled. Your heart was racing at how close he was.
"Get the fuck off me," you said, avoiding eye contact.
He grabbed your chin, making you look at him. "You piss me off so much, Moon Kiah."
You controlled the urge to roll your eyes. "Well, then tame your damn temper, Kim Hongjoong."
"Tame your attitude first, love," he chuckled bitterly before getting off of you. He lied on his back, looking up at the ceiling of his room. He clapped twice and the lights turn off, making the room pitch-black.
You bit your lip, wondering what to do. You couldn't stay here; you didn't even want to. You weren't meant for the Mafia world— you decided to get into the medical field so that you could save lives, not take them away.
You wanted to run away right now, even though it was half past midnight. But you needed a plan since you don't exactly know where you are were.
"I just realized," Hongjoong starts, smirking in the dark. "You haven't protested to sleeping on the same bed as me."
You snorted. "Why would I?"
"That's what girls usually do, don't they? And the guy will offer to take the couch instead of her."
"Well, I'm not like other girls," you stated. "I'd rather sleep on a bed than a couch outside, and I'm sure you'd prefer that as well. Besides, this is a king-sized bed. There's plenty of room for both of us. In fact, there's extra space cause you're tiny."
Hongjoong snorted. "Excuse me, I'm not tiny."
"You are."
"I'm more than half a foot taller than you, Kiah."
You shrugged. "Doesn't matter, tiny boy. You're still tinier than the other seven boys."
"But I lead them," Hongjoong said proudly with a smirk that you obviously couldn't see.
"What do you mean?" you questioned without thinking.
"Think, love," he answered.
You gave it a thought before your eyes widened in realization. "You're a... Mafia King."
He chuckled. "We actually use the term 'boss' but I like that," he said, pulling the blanket over your bodies.
"So the other seven boys follow your orders," it wasn't a question. You actually thought Seonghwa was the boss.
"Yup."
"I pity them," you murmured, but he heard you.
He scoffed. "You will be following my orders too," he said. "That's if we decide to make you one of us."
"Yeah... no, that's never gonna happen," you remarked. "I want to save lives, not take them away."
"Actually, you would want to take these lives away if you knew what these people do," he said, lying on his side to face you. "Ateez doesn't kill innocent people." You felt a little relieved at that; at least you knew you wouldn't die by a gunshot or something.
"And what do those people do that makes you want to kill them?" you questioned, turning onto your side as well so that you were facing him.
He snorted. "Do you really want to know?"
"I wouldn't ask if I didn't."
"We usually kill rapists and human traffickers. These people mostly target women and children. They kidnap children, rape them, and then sell their organs within the country or internationally. The women are usually sold as sex slaves or kept in prostitution centers. Some mafia gangs own strip clubs where their strippers get assaulted or raped by customers and they do nothing about it."
"Your uncle used to run a fake orphanage," Hongjoong continues. "I came across that place when I was fifteen years old and found out that they were keeping those kids there to sell their organs. I told my parents about it and we bombed that place after rescuing those children, and put them in an actual proper orphanage. Two boys who were just a year younger than me had escaped from the orphanage. They ran after my parents just to thank them for saving their lives. My parents saw a lot of potential in the two boys and decided to take them in. That's how Yeosang and Wooyoung became a part of my family."
The story really broke your heart; you couldn't even imagine what those two had to go through when they were just in their early teens. You were curious about the other six boys' stories too. You wanted to ask Hongjoong about it, but now didn't seem like the right time.
-
You don't really know how and when you fell asleep after hearing all those disturbing things, but somehow you did.
And when you woke up, you were in Hongjoong's arms.
You tried to escape from him, but his hold around you was too strong. You gave up on trying and chose to admire his beautiful face instead.
You had to admit, Hongjoong was extremely handsome. You've never seen anyone look this good while they're asleep. He looked so soft and angelic, you found it hard to believe that he was in the mafia, let alone a mafia boss.
You heard a knock on the bedroom door before the door opened, revealing San and Jiwoo.
"Hi!" Jiwoo greeted. "Good morning!" You wondered how she had so much energy in the morning.
"I see you've slept well," San commented with a smirk while gesturing at Hongjoong's arms around you.
You blushed. "Help me." San easily lifted Hongjoong's arm off of you.
"He sleeps like he's in coma," San said, making you chuckle while you stretched your arms.
"We're going shopping today," Jiwoo said to you. "You need clothes."
"I don't have any money, Jiwoo," you said.
She snorted. "You don't have to worry about that, we're paying for you."
You opened your mouth to protest, but San interrupted you. "We don't have any plans of letting you go, Kiah. Think of it as a gift for joining us." You just nodded in response even though you wanted to disagree. You weren't going to join a mafia gang; that was the last thing you wanted to do.
You had to escape.
-
You had just come back from shopping with Jiwoo, exhausted from walking around the mall; you were pretty sure that she made you spend more than ten million won.
"So Kiah," Yeosang starts, sitting on the sofa beside Mingi and Seonghwa. "You're a medical student, right?"
"Yup, majoring in nursing," you nodded. "Hongjoong told me that you and Seonghwa are the doctors of the gang."
"What were you planning to do after graduation?" Seonghwa asked. You didn't miss how he used 'were' instead of 'are.'
You gently cleared your throat. "Well, I want to become a surgical nurse for the cardiac department."
"Ah, that's great!" he said with a smile. "I wanted to get into Neuro."
"Why didn't you?" you asked while absentmindedly playing with a strand of your hair.
"Once you join the mafia, you have to sacrifice having a normal job," Yeosang replied nonchalantly. You couldn't tell if he was sad about it.
"I wanted to ask you all something," you murmured, but the three of them heard you clearly.
"You can ask us anything you want, Kiah," Mingi encouraged. "We'll answer everything."
"Well, if you're gonna keep me here..." you hesitated for a second. "Um, does that mean that I can't work?" Yeosang and Seonghwa exchanged a glance that didn't go unnoticed by you.
"You'll have to ask Hongjoong about that, but mostly yes. You won't be able to work," Seonghwa said. "It's too dangerous. You can only work for us." You only nodded, unhappy with the words you heard.
"Can I at least attend my own graduation?" you were mentally begging they would agree.
"When is it?" Yeosang asked.
"It's on the day after tomorrow."
"Of course you can," Hongjoong said, entering the living room and plopping down on one of the sofas.
"Really?!" you squealed in excitement.
"I was being sarcastic," he stated, making your smile immediately falter.
"I didn't study my ass off for nothing, Hongjoong," you said, crossing your arms over your chest.
He scoffed. "Do you think I care?"
"Well, I do." You were starting to get angry. Yunho entered the living room, not saying anything due to the tense atmosphere.
"You'll put us and people you know at risk," Hongjoong shrugged.
"That's your problem," you remarked, pissing him off. "I didn't ask you to buy me, Hongjoong."
"Adopt," Mingi mumbled, but you ignored him.
You and Hongjoong were locked in a glaring contest. Yunho cleared his throat after a while, catching Hongjoong's and your attention. "Hyung, you disguised yourself. No one knows that it was you who bought her."
"Adopted," Mingi murmured, getting ignored again.
Hongjoong gave it a thought. "Fine," he agreed. "But we all will attend it too, whether you like it or not."
“Deal.”
You were seated in your respective seat, desperately waiting for the graduation ceremony to get over even though one of Seoul's top doctors was invited to talk. All eight boys and Jiwoo were attending your graduation. You wished your father was here to watch you graduate.
Once the ceremony was finally over and all the students collected their diplomas, you all gathered around to throw your dark blue caps in the air.
"I can't believe we successfully survived four entire years," Dongyoon remarked.
"Time to try to survive med school now," Yonghwa said and Chanhee nodded in agreement; they were on the road to becoming doctors. "But for now, let's get fucking wasted!"
-
You were at one of Seoul's best nightclubs in Gangnam; you didn't tell anyone in Ateez that you'd leave with your university friends. This was your way of running away. You were going to stay with Chanhee until you found a place.
Being a Tuesday night, the club wasn't crowded. Most of the people here were definitely high school or university students. After all, it was graduation week in Korea.
You drank and danced with your friends until you were drunk as fuck and your feet hurt. You felt so relaxed, just paying attention to the blasting music while the alcohol in your system gave you some energy.
"Oh? Who do we have here?" you heard a familiar voice say behind you while you took another shot. You had no idea where your friends were.
You turned around and squinted to look at the man. "Moon Bojoon...?"
"Hello, sister," your cousin chuckled, putting his arms around your drunk form. You hated him with every fiber of your being— he tried to sexually assault you a couple of times. Living under the same roof as him was hell.
"Get your hands off me," you yelled over the loud music, weakly trying to push him away; he didn't even move an inch.
His grip around you tightened. "I wonder who father sold you to. How lenient are they to let their sex slave go out to party...? Or did you run away?"
You tried to push him away again. "Fuck off!"
He grabbed you by your arm and pulled you along until he reached the parking lot of the club. He pushed you harshly against his car, making you groan in pain when your head hit the window.
Bojoon moved his face closer to yours. "I'm gonna sell you this time," he whispered in your ear. "But I'll have my fun with you first, of course."
"Get away from me!" you yelled while your vision got blurry. Before you could comprehend what was even happening, you passed out.
#ateez#ateez imagines#ateez scenarios#ateez mafia au#mafia ateez#Hongjoong#ateez kim hongjoong#kim hongjoong#ateez fluff#ateez angst#ateez smut#ateez mafia imagines#ateez reactions#san#seonghwa#yeosang#choi san#mingi#wooyoung#jongho#yunho#jeong yunho#kang yeosang#song mingi#jung wooyoung#kim hongjoong imagines#hongjoong imagine#hongjoong x reader#ateez hongjoong#ateez hyung line
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peculiar prompt: soulmate au where your dick is the same exact length as your soulmate’s (i guess everyone has a dick in this universe idk 😂) anyways drarry discovering they are soulmates in whatever convoluted way you would like!
Nine and Three Quarters
Summer weddings were an unlikely tradition for a family that ran high to freckles and sunburns, but Harry didn't mind. Usually.
This wedding, though, he'd have just as soon not attended. It wasn't that he harbored any romantic intentions toward Charlie, but seeing him so bloody happy made Harry keenly aware of his own solitude.
Charlie and Constantin fed each other forkfuls of cake and grinned. They were perfectly-matched. Identical white short sleeve dress shirts and gold waistcoats, sparkling blue eyes and mirrored grins as they threatened each other with blobs of icing, much to Molly's horror.
Their matching gold rings felt like an extension of the tattoos on the underside of their left forearms. Charlie's was a dragon, of course. Constantin's was a crouched hippogriff. They were exactly the same size, but different designs and colors.
Forearm tattoos abounded among gay wizards, but it had taken seeing Charlie and Constantin together for him to notice the pattern. A plate of cake floated to his table and set itself down in front of him. He picked it apart with his fork, separating the layers of frosting out from the the cake, then mashed the fluffy cake down into a pellet.
A breathless Charlie flopped into an empty chair next to him and surveyed the wreckage on his plate.
"Got a grudge against that cake?"
"Huh? Oh. No. Sorry."
Charlie slid Harry's cake away, probably for its own good. Constantin and Fleur fox-trotted past, and one of them reached out to ruffle Charlie's hair.
"No date?"
"Nah." Harry licked his fork clean, rolled the bits of cake around in his mouth, and wished he'd have eaten the slice.
"Still doing the playboy thing, eh?"
Harry shrugged. "I guess."
Charlie huffed a laugh. "You guess? What else would you be doing at clubs?"
Harry shrugged again.
"Well, if you get tired of it and want the name of a really good soulmate tattoo artist, let me know." Charlie wiped up a dab of frosting off Harry's plate and popped his finger in his mouth. "Until then, enjoy hunting in the dark."
Charlie rose to leave, but Harry reached out and grabbed him by the buckle on the back of his waistcoat.
"Soulmate tattoos?"
--
--
"But I thought the tattoo went on my arm."
Harry kept his hands in his jeans pockets, just in case the man decided to help him disrobe.
"It does..."
Bushy grey eyebrows rose in speculation, and the man's brown eyes squinted at Harry, unsure of whether Harry was playing a prank, playing dumb, or playing at nothing.
"So why would I take my trousers off?"
"Riiiggght," he said slowly, gently spinning back and forth on his stool. "Why don't you tell me what you do know about soulmate tattoos."
Harry hooked his thumbs in his pockets and looked around the tattoo parlour for clues, but there was nothing but drawings on the walls. Pictures of forearms, too, all with differing sizes of beasts and creatures on them.
"Uhm," Harry started, "they go on forearms." The man nodded and motioned for him to continue. "And... they're... magic?"
The man shook his head and sighed. "The death of gay wizard culture, I swear. I blame that app."
"Wait, there's an app for-"
"Soulmate tattoos are the size of the wearer's dick."
Every tattoo Harry had ever seen ran through his head at once, and he stood slack-jawed for what felt like hours.
The man continued. "And so part of getting one is getting your dick measured. Professionally."
"I... Uh..."
"Men lie on the app. That's why all these boys are running around thinking they don't have soulmates, but older men know better. Back in the day, we'd just walk up to a bloke, line our arms up, and pair off."
Harry looked at the ceiling and tried to imagine a scenario in which that didn't sound both terrifying and oddly comforting.
"Why would you line them up?"
The man stared at him for a long. fucking. time.
"Soulmate dicks match, kid." He grumbled something about the Internet. "Now do you want the tattoo or not?"
"I... Uhm... Maybe later?"
"Suit yourself."
--
There had to be a better way to do this.
Harry balanced on tip-toe, focused on his dick with one eye, and dipped his quill. His tongue peeked out a corner of his lips as he concentrated on tracing around his shaft.
Was the quill angled accurately? Was the nib too far from his skin to be accurate? Was width even relevant?
He let out a held breath and dropped down to his heels. The paper on his desk was an embarrassment.
"Looks like a fucking caterpillar," he grumbled to himself.
Maybe they made enchanted quills for this.
--
The nook of art supplies at Flourish and Blotts was overwhelming, but it smelled good. Needle-sharp enchanted nibs sounded like a terrible idea. Image-grabbing paper sounded equally dangerous. What if he got his dick stabbed or absorbed into a piece of paper?
Someone cleared their throat behind him.
"Can I help you?"
Draco Malfoy met his eyes with a hesitant smile. He looked strangely at home surrounded by paper and ink. He wore a rumpled black t-shirt that advertised in bold white letters "Truth Quills: The Reign of Error Ends Here".
"Uhm... maybe?"
"What kind of project are you working on?"
"I'm... just... tracing something?"
Draco nodded and reached up to grab a pack of nibs just above Harry's head. The Dark Mark on his forearm caught Harry's eye. It wasn't a Dark Mark anymore. The skull wore a crown of red roses, and the snake had been filled in with vibrant yellow and blue markings. Harry decided it looked a bit like a Grateful Dead album cover. But prettier.
"These are good for most projects if you're just starting out."
Draco handed him a plastic box with more thingamajigs than he had any idea what to do with.
"Uhm, okay. Thanks."
"No problem." Draco's eyes wandered down to Harry's forearm and his smile faltered. "Anything else?"
"No, I think I'm good."
--
He wasn't good. He was nowhere near good, and he had black ink all over his dick. Also on his hands, and the table, and the floor, but those were less important.
"Looks like a goddamn Holstein dong."
--
"Alright," Draco said, and his smile was bordering on a smirk. "But what's the reference? What are you trying to trace?"
A dozen dick-shaped things came to mind, and Harry blurted, "A banana."
Draco did not laugh. Not with his mouth. Just with his eyes. His t-shirt today said "Blink Ink: Drier than your ex" in jagged black script.
"Mm hm," Draco squeaked through his nose. "Is accuracy important?"
Harry let out a relieved sigh. "Yes."
Draco cleared his throat and schooled his face. "Here."
He handed Harry a Truth Quill. "That ought to give you an accurate outline of your... banana."
--
"Hot damn!"
Harry held the outline of his cock up to the light. Damned if it wasn't perfect. He laid it face-down on his forearm and frowned. How was he supposed to get it onto his skin?
--
Draco faked a cough and covered his mouth and nose with his hand. "Pardon?"
"I need to transfer it."
"But a backlight won't work because..."
"Uhm... it can't... light can't go through the... other... thing."
Draco's t-shirt today had a frilly, looping font that said, "Nearotica: Almost There."
"Dare I ask what material you're transferring this banana onto?"
Harry focused on Draco's forearm, and the curve of the roses, and the sinewy body of the snake.
"Uhm... leather?"
Draco shot him a challenging look Harry didn't understand. "I suppose you'd want a cautery tool for that."
"Uhm... okay."
--
He wasn't okay. He had two burned dots on his forearm, and a hole in his paper at the base and tip of the outline.
Over a hundred galleons spent, and all he had to show for it were what looked like two mosquito bites that were exactly one penis-length apart.
The hell with all of it.
--
Harry dropped bags of barely-used art supplies on the store counter, and Draco's chin snapped up. He cocked his head and looked at the bags while Harry read his t-shirt: "Thrill Your Darlings: Tropes and Nopes."
"Didn't work out?" Draco asked.
Harry bent down, rested his elbows on the counter, and shook his head. "Can I return it?"
Draco shrugged. "Store credit, since it's all been opened."
Harry buried his face in his hands. "I'll take it in coloring books."
"I'll throw in some markers."
Draco shot him a pitying smile and stood to collect the bags. His eyes caught on the two burn marks on Harry's forearm. He set his elbow next to Harry's and pressed their wrists together.
"Huh," Draco exhaled. He rolled his tattoo against Harry's forearm. The peak of the rose crown touched the mark nearest Harry's wrist, and the snake's tail met the other.
Harry stared at their arms, wide-eyed and panicked in the best way.
"Is it-" Harry started. "Do they, uhm..."
"I... do believe so. If your banana outline was accurate."
Harry gulped. "It was."
"Huh," Draco repeated. "Well, in that case, there's a giant mandala coloring poster I've had my eye on, but it's a bit much for one person."
Harry let a grin spread across his face. "Consider it sold."
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Ha! I remembered my tumblr login on my phone!
From discord... I am now just imagining geralt/eskel/aiden/whoever else all lining up with multiple disguises to get kisses from Lambert in a kissing booth
Or like, some variation on number 20 with everyone being shocked at how soft Lambert's lips look!
0. Kissing Booth
It had taken Ciri two weeks of solid badgering to convince Lambert to do this. In the end, she had promised him a six pack of his favourite craft beer, a new pack of Gwent cards and a free road trip across Temeria to Kerack. He hadn’t seen Aiden in nearly six months because the Blue Stripes had confiscated his driving license. Something about running a visiting dignitary off the road. Well, if they will take up the entire fucking highway.
Now, Lambert sat in the small tent, glaring daggers at the small patch of grass near his foot beneath the table. It was for charity, she’d said. Orphans of Skellige. Well, she clearly didn’t want to make any fucking money for said charity, or she would have asked her damned father. Or Eskel. Or her mum. Or—
A shadow passed over the entrance to the tent and Lambert looked up in time to see a stranger enter. No. Not a stranger. It was Geralt. He was wearing dark sunglasses and a fake moustache. “Hello, handsome,” Geralt said, wiggling his—oh, for fuck’s sake, he had taped on bushy eyebrows as well. “I’ve paid for a kiss.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Lambert growled, fists clenching on the table. So, they were going to take the piss all afternoon. Brilliant.
“He’s paid up, Bert,” Ciri called from outside. “Pucker up.”
“I’ll give you pucker up, you little cow,” Lambert shot back, and then Geralt was leaning on the table, his fingers splayed and his head tilted to the side. “You want me to kiss you.”
“Yep.”
“On the mouth.”
“You betcha.”
“How do I know Jaskier or Yen haven’t given you herpes?” Lambert raised both eyebrows.
“Who’s Yen? Jaskier, don’t know him,” Geralt said airily, pausing to examine his nails. “Stop being a bitch and kiss me.”
“Fine,” Lambert said, slamming his palms on the table before him. He kissed Geralt dead on the lips, even gave him some tongue, hoping that it would gross him out enough to recoil. But, oh no, pretty boy went Full Toussaintoise and delved in deep. Once he’d snogged his fill, Geralt straightened up with a satisfied huff, swivelled on his heel and stomped out.
The next ‘customer’ arrived moments later. “Oh, for fuck’s sake—” it was Eskel. He had donned a black, bushy beard, strapped behind the ears, and a red baseball cap as his ‘disguise’. The fact that it said the Kaer Morhen Cubs—his favoured Rugby team—on the front had clearly slipped his notice. “I thought you’d be above this.”
“But we’ve never met,” Eskel said, one hand planted on his chest. “I heard a handsome man was offerin’ free kisses, so I—”
“Hurry up, let’s get this done.”
If Geralt had gone full Toussaintoise, then Eskel was competing for the Nilfgaardian title. His kiss left Lambert a little legless, one hand clasped on the edge of the table as Eskel cupped his jaw and went to town. When the big guy left, Lambert flopped backwards into his chair and blinked. He shouldn’t have bothered. Coen walked in seconds later. “I’m disappointed in you.”
Coen grinned sheepishly, scratching at his scalp through the ginger wig on his head. He got a kiss. It was gentle, chaste and respectful, just like him, and then he skipped out.
The rest of the afternoon followed much the same pattern. Various acquaintances and strangers popped by for a smooch, some kind enough to kiss his cheek, nose or forehead. Kiera stopped by for a chat and Triss brought him a beer for refreshment. Geralt and Eskel paid a couple more times, Geralt once donning Eskel’s beard—“it’s not even the same colour as your hair, you idiot”—and went in for the full Bridal Dip.
The day drew on and Lambert started counting down the minutes. Ten minutes before he was due to end his ‘shift’, Ciri popped her head around the tent flap. “Uncle Bert, someone’s paid to take you out for the night. Dinner and everything. I said yes.”
“You, what, fuckin’—Ciri, I did not agree for you to pimp my ass, for fuck’s sake, tell him to shove it—” Lambert rose to his feet, fists clenched.
“Oh, that’s a shame,” said a familiar voice, “‘cause I had to call in a few favours for the reservation.” A tall, broadly built half-Aen Seidhe ducked into the shade of the tent, his smile lopsided and roguish, russet-brown hair tucked behind his slender ears.
“Aiden,” Lambert said breathlessly, vaulting the table in his rush to get to the waiting set of arms open for him. The embrace was warm and tight, and Lambert smiled into Aiden’s chest as the elf took a deep breath in his hair; scenting him, holding him. They stood together for some time and Lambert’s eyes slid closed, Aiden’s thumb circling on the back of his neck. When he pulled away, he sniffed. “Why didn’t you text, or—?”
“Wanted it to be a surprise,” Aiden said, tracking a thumb over the scars on Lambert’s forehead. “So, who was the best kisser?”
“Why?”
“Well,” Aiden’s hand slid down Lambert’s back to his ass, “I thought they could come to dinner with us, and—”
“Eskel,” Lambert said abruptly. “Eskel’s coming to dinner.”
“Good choice.” Aiden beamed as he tilted Lambert’s head back, dipping down to reclaim the lips that belonged to him with a tender kiss.
#rawrkinwrites#Lambert#Eskel#Geralt#Witcher Eskel#Geralt of Rivia#Witcher Lambert#Modern AU#Ciri#Aiden#kissing prompts
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Fiendish Part 2
Harry x Reader
You internally scream as all of your atoms and molecules come together once again in an instant. Your body is pressed awkwardly against the wet ground. You hear startled gasps and movement. You hesitantly open your eyes. The canopy of the trees above is all that you see.
You slowly sit up to see a brunett man and a ginger man. Both of them look terrified. The brunett presses the sword he's holding against the hollow of your throat.
"Who are you and why did you just come from the Dark Lord's Horcrux?"
You stare at him.
"Who the fuck are you?" Is your reply.
"He asked you first," the ginger says as if you didn't already know that.
"I'm the person that's gonna cut your dick off and glue it to your forehead so you look like a Limp-dick Unicorn if you don't remove the sword from my throat."
He slowly lowers the blade. You shudder as you look at the offensive piece of metal that reminds you of what your lover had done to you.
"My name is Y/N L/N."
Both men gasp. You raise an eyebrow.
"Have you heard of me?"
"Everyone has heard the story of how Y/N L/N just disappeared without a trace. It's a Hogwart's legend."
"Really? What do they say happened to me?"
"Most think you committed suicide in the Forbidden Forest. Some say you went skinny dipping in the Black Lake that ended with the Squid having a midnight snack. Others say you were brutally murdered."
You stare at them blankly.
"The last would be correct."
The boys blink as they process what you had just confirmed.
"Who murdered you?"
"Tom Riddle."
The boys look at each other meaningfully.
"Did.... uh... did you know of his uhm extracurricular activities?"
"Did I know that he was a murderous, back-stabbing bastard?"
They nod.
"Considering he was my lover, I would say that I knew that."
They flinch.
"Oh, calm down. I plan to make that bastard pay, not crawl back to him."
They visibly sag in relief. You look down at the ground and notice you're naked. The boys notice your slight nudity problem.
"Uhm.... here."
The ginger takes off his hoodie and hands it you. You stand and slip it over your head and it falls to your mid-thigh. You shrug. It'll do for now. Your foot brushes cold metal. You look down to see a locket. You laugh as you pick it up.
"Was this the Horcrux I was trapped in?"
They nod.
"That bitch."
They look at you questioningly.
"He gave me this locket for my birthday. It's a locket that works as a peinsive. We put all of our couple memories in here. Our happy memories. But he had also put a Dark magic curse on it so anyone that wasn't the either of us would see their nightmares. I loved it."
The ginger coughs awkwardly into his elbow. You ignore him.
"I think him using this as the Horcrux is a worse betrayal than the literal back-stabbing I received," you muse aloud.
You lock eyes with the brunett.
"I want him dead. Please tell me that you will be a part of this."
You don't know why you asked the brunett specifically. Maybe it's because you can feel the power radiating off of him. And he feels safe.
He smiles softly. He turns to the ginger.
"I think they should meet Hermione. And you need to for that matter. Get on with it."
They start walking and you follow closely and warily. They walk into a tent to a bushy haired girl. Her eyes lock onto the ginger and they light up with joy. Her eyes then lock on you. Or more specifically, onto the ginger's hoodie. You feel the anger rise from across the tent.
"Ronald Bilius Weasley, you leave without a word then just return as if nothing has happened? Not only that, but you bring a skank with you?! Harry, give me my wand!"
You clench your jaw as the brunett holds his hands up in surrender. In one of his hands is the desired wand. You snatch the wand and point it at the girl. She freezes as you step closer to her. You press the wand to her jugular.
"I am not nor will I ever be a skank. How dare you pass judgement without hearing a word of the story. I would like nothing more than to Crucio you right now, but I have an agenda to attend to. And the brunett is helping me kill the Dark Lord. I don't think he'd like me to torture his little friend."
She blinks and slowly steps away from you. You hand the wand back to the brunett and return to the previous position behind him. She looks at the brunett.
"Explain," she demands softly.
**************
After a couple hours of everyone telling their life story, you say, "Can I go to bed?"
The three look at each other.
"Uhhhh... anyone know a spell to transfigure something into a bed?"
The boys shake their head.
"It looks like you have to bunk with one of us. Who do you want to bunk with?"
"Harry," you answer casually as your eye catches a small hand-held mirror.
Said man's cheeks turn faintly pink and he nods. Ron rolls his eyes at his best mate. You pick up the mirror and glance into it. You blink at your young teenage face. It seems that when you came back, you came back as the age that Voldemort killed you at. Harry leads you to his bed and gestures for you to enter it first. You do so and he immediately follows.
"Sorry if the bed's a little small," he says with an awkward chuckle.
"Eh."
You scoot closer to him. You lay your head on his chest because you don't have a pillow. Or that's the excuse you're using anyways. He hesitatingly wraps his arm around your shoulder.
You snuggle into his chest further and whisper, "Good night Harry."
"Good night Y/N."
***********
The next day the four of you are going over battle plans.
"Does he have any weaknesses?" Hermione asks you.
You think for a moment.
"Right now, I think I'm his only weakness."
"Not only his," Ron mutters.
You ignore Harry's red face and Ron's remark.
"He thinks me dead. And he used to care for me. In his own twisted way, but it was still affection. That's why I was chosen to made a Horcrux of. I was dear to him."
"Yeah, we could definitely use them. We now have a surprise factor," Hermione states.
You pretend not to notice Harry's worried face.
**************
You stay with the Trio for weeks. During that time, you fall for Harry as you prepare to help kill your ex-lover.
Harry brings out your best qualities. He gives you a reason to go on. He gives you a reason to want to be good. He gives you a reason to hate Voldemort even more.
You want to tell Harry of these feelings, but you're afraid you won't survive the War. You bottle up your feelings and decide to tell him if you survive.
Right now, you're just going to enjoy him.
**************
The battle is taking place all around you. You slink around the Forbidden Forest waiting for the moment to present yourself. As you wait, you silently take down unguarded Death Eaters. You wince when you realize that you would've become one of them if you hadn't been killed.
You see Harry start trudging through the trees. You silently follow from a distance. He stops at a small clearing. You see a man in black robes in the center of the clearing. Voldemort.
He looks drastically different, but there isn't a doubt in your mind that this is the man you used to love. As Harry steps into the view of Voldemort, it begins. Voldemort starts to taunt him. And listen and await your time.
"You've taken everything from me!" Harry yells brokenly.
Voldemort laughs at Harry's pain. You can't restrain yourself. You want this man to pay. You step into the clearing.
"Oh Harry, he took everything from himself first. The man is nothing."
Voldemort staggers back gaping at you.
"Remember dear old me Thomas? I surely do remember you."
He looks like he can't breathe.
"H-how?"
"You mean, how am I alive after you killed me in cold blood so you could rise in power?" You ask frigidly.
He nods.
"Magic," you say with a bitter chuckle.
"It's too bad you killed me Voldyshorts. We would've been a great team. And I would've followed you willingly. But don't worry. I've found a better man than you'll ever be."
You walk over to Harry and interlock your fingers with his. You smile in triumph when you see the despair in his cold, snake-like eyes.
Light streams through the canopy up above, lighting the small clearing. A ray of light catches a piece of metal. Voldemort catches sight of the piece of metal and visibly blanches. Lying in the hollow of your throat is the locket he used to make a Horcrux of you.
"Y/N, my dear Y/N.... I've regretted killing you everyday," he says softly.
"And I've regretted not killing you sooner."
He clenches his jaw and a cold mask of indifference is once again on his face.
"Very well. It looks as if I'll just have to kill you again. But this time, I'll be killing two nuisances."
Harry lets go of your hand and steps forward. Voldemort raises his wand at Harry quickly. Harry is too slow but you aren't. You deflect the green light.
"Still quick with a wand Y/N," Voldemort says with a curt nod.
"I had a good teacher. Now he's an evil dickwad."
"You used to be into that."
"That was before my blood covered your hands."
Voldemort then raises his wand at you. You shield yourself just as you did for Harry.
"Is that all you have Thomas?"
"Not even close!"
"Uh huh. You're just like your father. Worthless."
That did it.
He clenches his jaw and starts to shoot spell after spell. You do the best you can to shield yourself and Harry, but you have a sinking feeling that you're not going to be able to deflect all of them. Harry starts to shoot spells back but Voldemort somehow manages to be defensive and offensive at the same time.
Your sinking feeling turns out to be right.
Voldemort points his wand at you to hit you with an Avada Kedavra. You shield yourself accordingly. But last second, he shifts the target of his wand aim to Harry. It hits him and he collapses.
"No! Harry!" You screech.
You collapse to the ground where you stand. Your eyes don't leave his fallen body. Voldemort laughs and walks over to you. He lays his hand on your shoulder. You shudder at the frigid temperature of the hand.
"See, this is what happens when you choose the wrong side of war. You went with this pathetic boy and now he's dead. You should've chosen me Y/N. You know that it'll always be me."
You ignore him and push yourself to Harry's body. You lay your head on his chest and listen desperately for a heart beat. You lay there for several seconds because you can't hear past your own pounding pulse.
Voldemort laughs at your antics.
"Do you actually care for the boy? Wow Y/N. You're just giving yourself to anyone nowadays. Why would you choose a boy over me? I know you like a little monster in your men."
You turn your tear streaked face to him.
"I used to. I used to love you Tom. But that was never enough for you. You always had to have more than what you already had even if you had enough. And I did enjoy the monster side of you. Until that monster killed me. The thing I learned is that you can never tame a monster. But one day, someone will kill you. I just pray to Merlin that I have a front row seat."
Harry's body under you shudders. You almost yelp but you stop yourself. Voldemort doesn't notice.
"Shhhhhhh," Harry whispers into your hair.
"Enough of your nonsense Y/N. I'm done with this. I want the half-giant to carry my prize into the clearing."
He points behind you. You turn to see a broken Hagrid with tears streaming down his face. He trudges over to Harry's body and picks him up gently. Harry does a good job of staying limp.
Voldemort presses his wand to your throat.
"Walk," he orders.
You walk with Hagrid and Voldemort through the trees until you get to the front of the school. Everyone gasps and starts sobbing as they catch sight of Harry's "dead" body.
Voldemort starts a speech about how the Wizarding World is going to be different from now on. Blah blah blah.
You don't pay attention. You watch Harry with bated breath. You watch as he slinks out of Hagrid's arms when Voldemort turns his back. Several people point behind him making him turn around. Right as he turns, Harry clocks him in the jaw.
"That's for killing Y/N."
"Thanks Harry."
He grins at you.
"No problem."
"Things are going to be different huh? It looks like the only difference will be is that you'll be where you belong. Six feet under," you say to Voldemort.
He growls as he tries to hit Harry with a surprise Avada Kedavra. You deflect it easily. Voldemort stands and gets into a dueling pose. Harry glares at him.
Right as Voldemort lets green light stem from his wand, red light streams from Harry's wand. The colors collide in the middle. After a few seconds, you watch as the red pushes the green further and further to Voldemort.
Everyone watches with bated breath as it's pushed all the way back to hit Voldemort. His body crumbles to the ground. You walk over to his body and check for a pulse.
"Dead!" You call out.
Everyone starts to cheer. You transfigure a stone lying on the ground into a dagger. You insert the blade into the soft skin of his back.
"An eye for an eye," you mutter.
You turn to see Harry staring at you. You slowly walk over to him. He stares into your eyes for a brief moment before lifting a hand and gently cupping your jaw.
"We survived," he says softly.
"Yeah," you mumble back.
Before you think about it too much, you grab his jaw and kiss him. He grips your waist tightly and brings you closer. He deepens the kiss, both of you ignoring the corpse of the most evil wizard of all time lying five feet away from you.
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Make Up Your Mind
Summary: You're ready, but Chris is making it seem like he isn't.
Words: 1.4k
Warnings: angst, SMUT, swearing, implied smut, insults.
Your body finally acknowledged the soreness between your legs when you get up to move to Chris' bathroom. You reach for a wash cloth on the rack and clean yourself up. Chris follows behind you with a shit eating grin on his face, clearly reminiscing the previous events.
Chris and you have been friends for about 2 years after working with him in Knives Out. You guys' childish personalities clicked right away and were literally each other's best friends. Only about 7 months back, you boldly told him that you wanted to fuck him. He was nothing less than down and you guys have been friends with benefits ever since.
Well up until recently. You both started acting like real couple. Going out to nice restaurants, touching in public, spending nights at each other houses and visiting each other's families. You both were enjoying the feeling of being together all the time, even without an official label.
Being around him so much grew out even more feelings. Not friendly feelings. But more intimate and longing feelings. To be with him. As his girl. More than just a friend to talk to. More than a nice body to play with.
There had been too many internet speculations asking why you guys don't just date already. Hell, you were asking the same damn question. But unfortunately, you know why. And you hate it.
"That little freaky number you did in there was something else, Y/N. 'Thou art truest freak' in the words of Shakespeare." He laughs, watching for your reaction. You just look at him smiling and shaking your head. The things that come out this man's mouth. You know damn well Shakespeare never said that shit.
"I told you from the start, boo. I know how to put it down." He eagerly agrees, hanging his wash cloth up and checking his fingers.
You observe him through the mirror. His bushy auburn eyebrows furrowed together while he picks at his nails. His sharp narrow nose that you feel against your right cheek everytime you guys make out. His beautiful red lips you've felt in many places on your body, preferably in places your eyes can't see. And his eyes. The ones that hold so much purity and happiness. Those perfect eyes.
This man is everything you want, but he just wasn't ready. That's the catch. That's the thing you absolutely hated. He had major commitment issues and people around you had more of a chance in anything than him ever settling down. It literally caused you physical pain. Because you couldn't change his feelings, no matter how many conversations you guys had or how good you fucked him.
Walking back into the room, you grab your bodycon dress you came over in and put it back on your body. You gather all your other articles of clothes throwing them into your handbag and take it out into his living room. He follows behind you in his grey sweatpants and dark green t-shirt. He always looks so perfect.
You flop on the couch and turn on the T.V.
"You wanna watch The Little Mermaid again, boo?" You turn around looking at him, seeing him raid the cabinets for snacks.
"Do you even have to ask me that?" He yells back when he finds his chips. You chuckle and start the movie.
"NO DON'T START IT YET I'M NOT READYYYY!"
"THEN GET YOUR SLOW ASS OVER HERE!" you yell back at him. His level of immaturity isn't even visible because of how high it is. It's unmatched.
After a few moments, he finds his way on the couch next to you with your double stuffed Oreos and apple juice, passing it to you. He had his veggie sticks cause he's so damn picky.
You both get comfortable and turn your attention to the movie.
After some time, it's the scene were Sebastian is encouraging Eric to kiss Ariel. You wish the real Sebastian would come over and convince Chris to be with you. Maybe he'd listen. Just the thought irritates you.
You huff lowly in annoyance. Chris notices but doesn't say anything. You always got frustrated at this part cause he took FOREVER to finally kiss her. So he brushes it off. Nothing he hadn't seen before.
While the movie was playing, you were getting even more frustrated in that moment. Chris had his arm behind your back and hand resting on your hip, laughing at Flounder. It was like he was playing a game with you that he didn't know he was even apart of. You shifted away from him a little. You hated feeling this way.
Little to your knowledge, Chris was watching you in the corner of his eye. He watched you as your mind raced and move constantly. Your eyes move around a lot when you think hard. He knew something was up.
"Jellybean, what's up?" You turn and look at him, pushing away the feeling the nickname presented you inside. He gave it to you after you bought him a Starburst jellybean gift basket to celebrate the end of you guys' filming.
"What do you mean? I'm fine" you lie right in his face. Like a complete idiot because he can see right through you. You turn back to watch the movie, but he grabs the remote and pauses it.
You roll your eyes, knowing very well he isn't letting this go. Why do you find yourself in these situations? You always end up fishing for trouble and you're not even using bait. It just comes to you. You scratch your head trying to come up with a way to dissolve the situation.
"When are you going to stop trying to lie to me, princess?" Another name he gave you. You prefer it over 'jellybean'. It made your body flutter even more. But at this point, you were tired of faking. Tired of covering up your feelings. Tired of being less than what you wanted to be to him.
Wasting no time, you take a deep breathe and spill.
"You know what Chris? I like you. There. I said it." You slap your hands down on your lap as you spoke.
"And I don't mean as a friend or as a fuck buddy. I've felt this way for a very long time. Even before we started having sex. I thought us doing this would make us closer, possibly forming a relationship."
You glance at him and continue when he doesn't say anything. He just looks at you.
"But it hasn't gone anywhere. I'm tired of faking my feelings towards you. I'm tired of coming over here acting like I just want sex when I want more. Way more."
By the time you finish, your head is down and your fingers are playing with the end of your dress. You cannot bring yourself to look up at him. You couldn't bear the rejection. All you hear are his quiet breaths. You fucked up.
Chris is a real talker. He could talk his ass off for hours into the next day. The fact that he isn't saying anything right now has you absolutely terrified, but ultimately embarrassed. You did this all for nothing.
"Y/N, I- I don't...uh" he stumbles over his words. That's all you needed to hear. You didn't need to bathe in it any longer.
You jump up off the couch, not forgetting to grab the cookies and juice, stick them in your bag and head over to your shoes. Chris is right on your tail calling you, trying to get you to stop.
"Hey princess wait" he calls behind you.
"Chris it's fine. I'm just gonna head home. I'm a little tired." Your soreness was the last of your worries, barely even feeling it anymore. You made an absolute fool of yourself and now you couldn't go back. It was a done deal.
"Come on, baby. I didn't mean to-"
"Chris!" You raise your voice at him. He shuts his mouth right away. Your shoes are on and keys in hand. "Its okay. I just don't feel good. I'll call you later. Tomorrow maybe."
You block out anything else he was saying and step out the door heading to your car. He didn't even try to stop you. He fucked up and it didn't need to get messier than it already was. He watched in guilt as you pull out his driveway and down the street.
You drive in complete silence. Normally, you'd be blasting Partition on the way after getting dicked down, but that was not the case. And it wouldn't be for a while.
Part 2 coming really soon 🤩!
#cevans#andy barber smut#chris evans#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans x reader#steve rogers smut#avengers#chris evans smut#chris evans fluff#captain america
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Baby Don’t Like It
Pairing: Xiaojun x Female!Reader
Word Count: 3.2K
Genre: Smut, Fluff (if you squint)
Warnings: Cheating reader, Oral (giving/receiving), Gagging, Deep throat, Bondage, Dirty talking, Edging, Unprotected sex, Mention of impregnating
Summary: Inspired by “Baby Don’t Like It” of NCT 127, you will re-encounter with the love of your life, Xiaojun. You two will revive your undying love, even if that means meeting behind your husband’s back.
For @neosmutcollective ‘s 3rd Event: Risqué
“We’re leaving tomorrow to China,” your husband announced instead of suggesting it.
“We?” You asked in confusion.
“Yes, I have a business trip,” he explained bluntly, with no intention of explaining further, immersed in his phone.
“Alright...?”
That’s how you got to China. Usually your husband didn’t take you to his business trips, but this time he really dragged you with him. The reasons were still unknown to you, maybe it was because he needed to be there for a long time or because he didn’t want to leave you alone. Nevertheless, you were there already with just a few things in your suitcase, living in a small apartment.
You thought maybe he finally was going to give you the attention you needed, after all, you had 5 years of marriage. But after your 2nd anniversary, he wasn’t the same anymore. He barely had time for you, too preoccupied with his work... or maybe there was someone else... but you tried no to think about it.
You were the perfect wife: always giving him attention, cooking for him, cleaning the house, working hard. He really had no reason to look for someone else.....
Anyways, the fact is that you were there, stuck in China, far from your family, far from your friends, and surrounded by strangers.
One day, you saw the announcement of a festival near you and you decided to go to explore. Maybe that way you would get to know the place and make new friends.
That’s how you re-encountered with the love of you life, Xiao Dejun.
You were looking at some cute things at a stand when you heard that familiar voice, the distinctive breathy, mellow voice. You thought it was your imagination, but when you peaked with the corner of your eye to your right, you saw him there looking so beautiful with his dark hair parted on the middle. Gosh! How much you had missed him! It had been so long...
You decided to talk to him, “Xiaojun?”
He turned to you alarmed, but when he saw you, his face lit up completely. “Y/N?! Oh my God! What are you doing here?!” He came for a hug and you didn’t waste the opportunity, closing your eyes when his usual scent invaded your nostrils. He smelled so nice, like green tea.
“Hi! It has been so long!” You exclaimed as you two let go of each other.
“Yeah! I never thought I’d find you here!” He was excited to see you.
“Yeah, I’m around here with my husband, he came because of his job,” you explained.
The news that you were married were like a punch on the stomach to Xiaojun, but he tried to conceal it, “You got married? Congrats!”
But you knew him too well, and he knew you to see that you weren’t happy. “Yeah... thanks!”
“For how long are you staying here?” He asked with the hopes to see you again.
“I really don’t know... but I guess it’s gonna be a long time. My husband doesn’t really bring me with him on business trips,” you shrugged.
“Oh. Well, I’d like to keep in contact with you. Maybe bring you around to know the place. I live near here. It’s not good to be alone and not know anything, so I’ll show you around,” he nodded.
“Sure! I’d love that! I’m already bored in the apartment,” you confessed. He handed you his phone so you could note down your phone number.
After you exchanged numbers, it was time to say goodbye. “It was nice to see you again, let’s keep in touch,” he smiled.
“Yeah, let’s meet up soon!”
You don’t even know how it happened, how your feelings came back; after all, Xiaojun was your first and the love of your life.
He kept showing you around, taking you to cafés, to see beautiful places, talking and texting every day.
You noticed your feelings were back when every little thing Xiaojun did affected you big-time, like for example, a brush of his hand, when he stared for too long, when he called you late at night to keep you company.
But you shouldn’t be feeling that way... you are married! You were feeling guilty... but your husband, even though he forced you to come with him, didn’t give you attention.
One night, Xiaojun invited you to a cocktail party and you were getting ready when your husband arrived home. He caught you finishing your makeup. “Where are you going? Do we have an activity and I don’t remember?”
“No. A friend invited me to a party and I’m going, I’m already bored in here,” you said sharply.
“Since when you have friends in here?” He chuckled as if making fun of your loneliness.
“Since you don’t give me enough attention,” you said matter-of-factly.
“I have too much work,” he explained.
“Yeah, I know.” You applied red lipstick, grabbed your clutch and kept on walking.
Xiaojun was waiting outside, and when he saw you in that red dress, he felt like fainting. You, on the other hand, saw him with his red shirt and his dark hair brushed back, making his strong and bushy eyebrows stand out, you wanted to just jump on him.
You didn’t noticed, but your husband watched you from the window and the jealousy started to bubble inside of him when he saw Xiaojun lay his hand on the small of your back. How dare that stranger touch his wife like that?! You were definitely hearing from him when you arrived.
At the party, you shared some glasses of wine. You danced and talked some more, reliving some memories. You felt like teenagers in love. But you were grown ups, fully aware of what was happening.
Walking at the garden, Xiaojun took your hand in his, waiting for your reaction, waiting for you to shove your hand away... but you didn’t.
“Y/N,” he said softly.
“Yeah?” You felt like you knew what was about to happen.
“We are adults now, I think we should talk about what’s happening between us,” he trembled.
“I think we should,” you agreed.
“You’re married.... yet here we are. I’m catching feelings again. I can’t deny how attracted I am to you, but I can’t stop feeling this is wrong. I don’t know how you feel about this,” he was being shy, so cute.
“Xiaojun... My feelings for you never left. But you didn’t come back. And now that you’re here, I feel like my heart is going to explode with feelings. I also feel guilty, but you know what? I know my husband doesn’t care about me, and I know he’s seeing someone else. We have the peace that at least we haven’t done anything up until now,” you confessed.
“But I don’t know how much longer I can stop myself,” he whispered. He pulled you closer, his hands resting on your back. “I really, really want to kiss you again, and feel your lips, and hold you in my arms,” his voice was breathier than ever, you swear you wanted to listen it forever.
“Xiaojun, I need you.” That’s all it took to go back to square one. Xiaojun kissed you and you kissed him back fervently.
That night, Xiaojun took you to his place and after a long time, you made love like your first time, like when he made you his and showed you how to feel loved. That was the start of your dangerous affair.
Your husband was noticing something strange, but you always denied everything with the excuse that Xiaojun was a childhood friend. You weren’t technically lying, you just weren’t saying the whole truth. He would complain how you were spending too much time with Xiaojun and even mentioned the night of the cocktail. He was angry and even said you weren’t allowed to go out with Xiaojun again, not that it mattered, because even saying all that, he wouldn’t spend time with you. Of course, you kept seeing Xiaojun in secret, trying to be more careful this time.
Xiaojun and you would meet up in his house or in hotel rooms, and you fucked like hormonal teenagers, like bunnies in heat. He was so addictive and so were you for him. You couldn’t get enough of his scent, of his hands running through your body, his lips kissing your neck and his voice whispering right in your ear how good you felt.
Laying on your bed at night with your husband sleeping soundlessly, you would think about the obscene things you were doing with Xiaojun. He was capable to turn you into a completely different person.
Tonight, your husband said he was going out of town and he would come back the next day, so you seized the opportunity to bring Xiaojun home.
“Are you sure he’s gone?” He asked between passionate kisses.
“Yes,” you said shortly, eager to kiss him some more.
“You’re so naughty! This is so dangerous,” he really was worried.
“Relax, he’s not coming back any time soon,” you said as you pushed him to the bed.
Xiaojun smirked, “we are really fucking on the same bed you sleep with your husband. That’s hot.”
“I like the adrenaline,” you giggled and then took off your shirt. You straddled him, his hands automatically holding your waist.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he said in a smoky voice that made you bite your lip and proceeded to kiss your neck, nibbling and licking in the process. “You’re so beautiful.”
He rolled on the bed, pinning you underneath his body, and you smiled so maliciously, it gave him goosebumps. His pants were already feeling tight. He held your hand while he kissed his way down your body, from your neck, up your chest, your torso, and back up.
“Xiaojun please,” you whined. Your hands reached for his shirt to take it off and then your fingers desperately looked for the buttons of his pants.
“You’re so eager, huh?” He said mockingly.
“Always,” you smiled.
“I want to take my time with you today,” Xiaojun said as he unbuttoned your jeans.
You both were just in your underwear, but Xiaojun kept teasing you, kissing every inch of your body, running his hands over your skin. He got you so worked up, you couldn’t handle it anymore.
“Please Xiaojun, touch me.... I’m so, so wet,” you pleaded.
He hissed, “I know baby, I’m so hard for you.”
“God... I want you so bad,” you keened, feeling the mess in your panties.
“I’m gonna show you again how love feels. I can’t control myself around you,” he confessed.
“Please hurry,” you said desperately and he helped you sit on the bed to unclasp your bra. At the sight of your free breasts, he growled and quickly ran his fingers over them, pinching your hardened nipples.
The air was thicker and the sexual tension was unbearable.
Xiaojun finally took your underwear off, enjoying the way it was stained. He was amazed by your dripping core. “Oh my God,” he groaned. “I did that. Only I can do this, right baby?”
“Yes...” you hissed, “only you can make a mess out of me”.
“I’m just getting started,” he smiled mischievously while going down your body. Laying on his stomach, his head was right between your legs. He kissed and bit your thighs, you were panting already.
He was looking at you directly in the eyes through his long lashes when he gave the first lick to your slit, tearing a moan from your lips. His fingers held you open, while he devoured your pussy like a full course meal. His chin was covered in your juices, the whole picture so salacious. He enclosed your clit between his lips and sucked hard, making you scream “Fuck! Mmm!”
“Mmmm... so sweet, you taste so sweet,” he mumbled.
Xiaojun kept going until you couldn’t stand it anymore. But when you were about to explode he stopped, making you whine in frustration. “Please.... I wanna cum so bad!”
“You’ll cum on my dick, just wait a little longer. Let me enjoy your body some more.” His eyes were full of lust, you loved it.
You sat on the bed abruptly, scaring him a little, and then pushed him back. Without warning, you pulled down his briefs, freeing his length. He was shocked but he was so excited. “Two can play this game,” you said in a sultry voice and he groaned in response.
Next thing, you we’re bobbing your head up and down his shaft, sucking, licking, your face full of spit. Xiaojun couldn’t hold his moans in, letting them out in a chant, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, ohhhh my god baby.” It was music to your ears.
You deep throated him, gagging on his dick. “Ah! God! You’re so damn good with that mouth,” he pulled your hair, trying to make you stop. He could cum with the mere sight of your eyes looking at him while having his cock down your throat, so he made you stop before it happened.
You crawled on top of him while Xiaojun looked at you with beckoning eyes, his mouth open ajar. You leaned down to kiss him again, you couldn’t get enough of his mouth, and he ran a hand up your back and then squeezed one of your boobs.
“How about we try something different tonight?” You suggested suddenly.
“What is it?” He asked intrigued.
“Tie me up,” you said while passing a thick black ribbon to him.
“You want me to tie your hands?” He asked in confusion while looking at the ribbon.
“I know you won’t hurt me, would you like that?” You were talking with an innocent voice, like if you weren’t just asking to be tied and fucked on your mattress.
He chuckled and caressed your cheek, “If that’s what you want.” He aimed to please you after all.
You gave him your hands, joined by the wrists, and he just laughed while wrapping the ribbon around them, securing it with a cute bow.
You laid back on the bed, looking so inviting for Xiaojun. Seeing you there, all sprawled for him, at his mercy, looking so vulnerable, made him shake. You were a danger for him but he loved the risk. He didn’t even know what to do, how to start.
“Xiaojun,” you called him softly. And when he looked at you without saying a word, you just whispered, “fuck me.”
Your tied hands were grasping the bed head bars. Xiaojun positioned himself between your legs, passing his delicate fingers through your slit as if to check if you still were ready for him. And you were, you totally were, because the mere sight of him made you wet. He made everything sexier because you knew every gesture was full of love, love that you craved.
The first thrust was always magical, for both of you; it was the moment you felt closer.
“God,” he grunted and you hissed in response. Xiaojun was not huge, but he was able to make you feel so full.
The room was full of gasps, lewd sounds of your bodies, and a strong smell of sex. The creaking of the bed could tell anyone what was happening in there.
“Xiaojun, fuck me harder, please,” you begged in a languid moan.
“You want me to fuck you harder, huh? You want me to break this bed and let your loser of a husband know that his wife is being railed by another man? Hmm?” He said through his teeth while increasing the pace. Xiaojun didn’t know from where he got that confidence, but you seemed to like it because you were a moaning mess.
“Fuck yeah! You’re the only one I like,” you panted.
“I love it, I love it, I love being inside you,” he then groaned.
Xiaojun was holding your waist tightly, using it as a leverage for going harder and you were holding to the bars for your dear life, a strand of curses leaving your mouth. Your breasts were jumping all over the place and he loved it. He felt his orgasm arriving, but he didn’t want to finish yet, he wanted more time with you, so he slowed down.
“Ride me, baby,” he demanded, letting you have the control now. You nodded and waited for him to untie you. As soon as you were free, he laid back on your bed, pecking your lips in the process. You straddled him, grabbing his length to line it with your entrance. He hissed at the warmth of your hand and then moaned when you sinked down his erection, his hands quickly flying to grab your waist.
For him, you were a goddess he wanted to worship his whole life. In his eyes, you were the most gorgeous woman he had ever met and he wanted to keep you forever.
This position allowed him to reach deeper into you, touching your sweet spot constantly. Driven by his feelings and lust, he started meeting your hips midway, looking at you directly in the eyes while thrusting you. His eyebrows were furrowed, he was concentrated on the feeling of you.
“I’m gonna cum,” he informed you with a moan. “Where do you want it?”
“Inside,” you panted, not thinking straight on your answer. He groaned in response, “You want my babies? What if you get pregnant?”
“I like the danger of it,” you smirked.
“So naughty.”
You clung to him as he did to you, sweaty bodies sticking to each other. He kissed you passionately as you hugged each other and he orgasmed into you. The warm sensation made you shiver and it triggered your own high, sending you on a bliss. You held Xiaojun tighter, trying to ground yourself. He kept whispering sweet praises in your ear.
For the first time, you slept into each other’s arms, making your feelings for each other grow stronger. You wanted to risk everything for him, leave your husband and stay with Xiaojun for the rest of your life. Xiaojun was the place where you belonged.
On the morning, you made breakfast together, looking like a just-married couple, him grabbing your butt cheek every time he walked behind you, you kissing him any time he got near.
The urge of being together all the time was unbearable. But being married, you didn’t know how to to escape the claws of your boring husband. Xiaojun, on the other hand, was offering you the world. A life together with the love of your life was very appealing. Many times you two planned to escape and leave everything behind, but that seemed unfair, because after all, your husband haven’t been bad with you, he has been uninterested and distant.
You decided to wait for your husband to confess he had someone else, even though you were sure he knew you were screwing around with Xiaojun. The proof was everywhere, even in the bed you shared. And if he had noticed, he chose to ignored it.
But if something was true was that you had fallen deeply in love with Xiaojun and Xiaojun with you...
#neosmutcollective#neosmutsongs#kwritersworldnet#ksmutclub#nct smut#nct imagines#fanfic#nct scenarios#xiaojun#xiao dejun#wayv#xiaojun wayv#wayv scenarios#wayv smut
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Hero of the Swamp (Shrek x Jaskier)
Edit by me
Pairing: Shrek x Netflix!Jaskier (Julian Alfred Pankratz/Dandelion)
Rating: Explicit
Words: 2893
POV: Third
Summary: After being left on the mountain, Jaskier finds himself lost in the swamp and in need of warmth and comfort.
Note: Y’all can thank @spielzeugkaiser and their amazing art for this. Sorry for the sloppy edit, but I really was not going to put even more time into this sinful work.
Tags: I’ve been a bad boy daddy forgive me father fore I have sinned, pre-movies Shrek, post-mountain Jaskier, angst, fluff, Shrek’s huge dong, size kink, cum shower, monster cock, blowjobs, rimming, cum eating and Shrek has emotions ok
The growls of monsters lurking in the forest rolled over the muddy forest grounds and reached Jaskier’s icy ears. He shivered in both terror and response to the temperature. He told himself he could get off that mountain on his own, but who was he kidding? His frigid ears caught something in the dark. The bard bolted off the path, then later found himself in the middle of nowhere, chilled to the bone, disoriented, and, to be honest, frightened.
He was looking for a path, but even that seemed to not be present anywhere in the vicinity. Jaskier rubbed his trembling hands together and walked on. Jaskier thought he should at last find some shelter from the wind. Just as he was about to settle for a random tree, he noticed light in the distance, warm like fire, inviting him and promising warmth and shelter.
The fatigued bard all but ran towards it, the signs around the perimeter unnoticed in the dark. His boots sunk into the mud of the swamp, but he had his eyes set on the house-like structure in the middle of the swamp. He could not believe anyone wanted to live in this stinky place, but right now this someone was about to be his saviour. Once at what he assumed to be the door, he knocked on it. When there was no answer he knocked again. There were some angry, heavy footsteps, before the door opened.
Before him stood a massive humanoid, skin green like peas, frame built like Geralt who preferred cake over his nasty potions. “Eh, good evening, sir,” Jaskier tried. If it was living in a house, it must be intelligent to some extent… right? “Could you please spare some place for a weary traveller?” The green creature did not look nice, even without its facial expressions. Some tension left its body after the question. Jaskier recognised it as a hint of confusion. “I’m afraid I’ll freeze to death if I don’t warm myself by a fire.”
“No, get out of my swamp,” the creature spoke. It sounded like it was from Skellige. It was about to retreat into its home, but Jaskier put his foot between the door.
“Please, I’ll die out here,” he spoke dramatically, hoping for pity so he’d have a roof over his head tonight. He was not sure if he should try his luck with this creature, but at least it could speak. Wraiths had said less words, before trying to slice him.
“Not my problem. Get out of my swamp. The only way you get close to my fire is when I roast you over it.”
“Oh please, you don’t mean that.”
Jaskier had barely finished speaking, when the green man grabbed him by his doublet and pulled him close. His breath stank of swamp water and fish. His mouth was wide and Jaskier was pretty sure he would fit inside there. The bard felt like he should be terrified, but underneath a thin layer of leather and cloth, there was warmth radiating off pear skin. He wanted to lean into it, thaw. What inhibited his survival skills further, where those eyes glaring into his. Under bushy eyebrows rested two brown pools of warm broth. He heard the green man roar into his face that he needed to leave, because he was an ogre and he was going to eat him, but it was hard to believe him.
Within those eyes that were so close to his, the ogre told the story of a creature that wanted to be alone, because alone was safe, alone was comfortable, alone was all he was used to. Jaskier never knew that, but after today, he understood why one would think that.
“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”
It stung, more than anything had caused him to ache in ages. Jaskier could feel the urge to never make friends again, never love again, never lust after one he could not have. However, he refused. It was pain that made life worth living. Without pain, bliss did not feel as good as it did. The rain made sunlight so much more appreciated. The cold made fire so much more precious. The monsters made the witcher so much more valuable.
The human knew this, but the ogre holding him up by his doublet did not. Jaskier had wished for pity, but he pitied the other now. He clumsily threw his arms around the ogre and hugged him tightly. The ogre stopped yelling at him. Jaskier could feel the muscles against his body tensing up. The hand holding him loosened and he threw his legs around the ogre too, holding on and hugging him tightly. “You don’t have to be alone. I don’t fear you,” Jaskier spoke gently.
“I am an ogre.”
“And if you were really malicious I would not still be breathing. Please, just for one night. There are all sorts of dangers out in these swamps, especially at night. I just want to stay alive.”
Jaskier could hear the ogre letting out a long sigh. “Fine,” he spoke, “but you have to be gone tomorrow.” Jaskier let him go, but not after planting a delighted kiss on the rough skin of the ogre’s cheek.
“Thank you so much,” the bard exclaimed. He slipped inside, before the ogre could change his mind. The inside of the hollowed out tree looked cozy. It stank like hell, but he was in the middle of the swamp; what did he expect? “Do you like music? I have little to give you, but I am a bard.” Jaskier held up his lute as he grabbed the chair that had no food in front of it. One look at the giant slug on a plate and he was pretty sure he did not want to have any food. Jaskier pulled the chair a little closer to the fire and sat down with his lute in his lap. It seemed rather strange that there were two hand-crafted chairs, while the ogre seemed to be so keen on being alone. “Oh and you can call me Jaskier, by the by. What may I call you, my hero from the swamp?”
The ogre looked at him a little annoyed as he closed the door and sat back down to finish his dinner. “Uh… Shrek. You can play, but don’t sing.” Jaskier let the name roll off his tongue, before playing a calming tune. He didn’t speak, just let his fingers do their thing as he processed all that happened during the day, well it was actually more just those few minutes that haunted his mind. Each one of Geralt’s words cutting into his soul. “Eh… Jaskier?” Jaskier was pulled from his thoughts when Shrek spoke his name. He shook his head, before looking at Shrek. “You don't seem to be… you… you seem sad, well, what I mean is… I never heard such a depressing tune.”
Jaskier faked a smile. “My apologies, good sir. I’ll play you a happier tune, if you wish.” He diverted his eyes to the fingerboard, blinking away the tears he suddenly noticed pooling in his eyes.
“No, you don’t have to. I prefer silence, anyway.” Jaskier looked up and noticed Shrek had finished eating. He stood up and started cleaning up. “You can sleep on my good chair.” Jaskier followed the ogre’s gaze to the fauteuil in the corner. He nodded. It looked comfortable enough. He had slept on forest floors with Geralt. This was more luxury than a regular day with the witcher.
Shrek had some board and card games, which he seemed to enjoy to play. Jaskier wondered if Shrek usually played these games on his own or if he hosted guests more often. Neither seemed likely, since the games seemed to have gone untouched for at least a decade, if not longer. They shared a few laughs. Shrek turned out to be more fun company than Jaskier would ever have expected from an ogre. His jokes were terrible and sometimes a little insensitive, but he so clearly meant well. It was clear Shrek was not used to talking or any social interactions. He spoke like a young man still trying to figure out what was socially acceptable to say and what was not. Still, he was trying and Jaskier welcomes the vivid chatting.
When they got tired, Jaskier curled up on the comfortable fauteuil by the fire. Shrek had draped a shirt of his over the human. It stank and was dirty, but it was warm and Jaskier was still low key afraid of getting kicked out to sleep in the mud, so he didn’t voice a single word of complaint. In the silence of the night with no one to talk to, words that were already spoken returned to his mind. Jaskier tried to block them out, but they bit at his brain, keeping him awake and drawing tears from his eyes. He curled further in on himself, trying to stay quiet as he sobbed into his hands. It just hurt so much to be discarded like he was nothing but a nuisance. Was that all he was? He was sure his songs brought joy in taverns, but right now the unlikely and unrealistic idea that everyone just pretended to have a good time was so overwhelming.
The bard flinched when he felt a huge hand on his shoulder and arm. He looked up to find Shrek hanging over him in nothing but his smalls. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the ogre clearly wasn’t good with words. “I’m fine, Shrek,” Jaskier lied as he wiped the tears off his face, “I’ll just find the nearest town tomorrow and fuck the pain away.” The words had already left him, when he realised how that might sound. “And I’ll do that tomorrow, not because I think you’re hideous, quite the contrary, you might be the most handsome ogre to ever exist, but I just assumed you would not be interested in having sex with a human… male. Human male, doesn’t seem your taste, but it could be, I wouldn’t judge you. How could I? You’ve been a most generous host! I…”
Jaskier almost suffocated as Shrek’s palm covered the entirety of his face. He got the hint and just shut up. Shrek slowly let go of his face, allowing him to breathe again. Jaskier looked away, cheeks red. He was blabbering nonsense to an ogre who preferred peace and quiet. He guessed it was time to sleep in the mud outside, however, Shrek wasn’t yelling at him… yet.
“So you just have sex and that helps you feel better?” Jaskier nodded slowly. “I wouldn’t mind helping you feel better. It is not like I have had lassies lining up in the swamp… or lads.” He laughed a little awkwardly, making Jaskier laugh too. He took hold of one of Shrek’s huge fingers with two of his, by comparison, tiny hands.
“Oh Shrek, you are such a wonderful host. You really do not have to do this though. I will still want to visit you again, even when you don’t want to fuck my brains out, just so I don’t have to think about some brutish asshole.” Shrek gave him a long look, before enclosing his hand around Jaskier’s waist and lifting him off the fauteuil.
“It’s not just for you. It’s for me too.” And Jaskier wanted to read into those words, figure out the ogre with complicated feelings, but he had no willpower to. Shrek’s bed was firm, almost hard like a plank. It smelled like him, like onions and mud and firewood. Shrek tried to undress him, but his huge fingers couldn’t get a grip on Jaskier’s complex clothing. Jaskier smiled kindly at him, helping him without even needing to look at any button. “Can I kiss you?” Jaskier didn’t even reply. Instead he pulled Shrek’s head down. It was an awkward kiss. Shrek’s mouth was way too big and neither of them were very coordinated in the moment.
When his clothes were mostly off and Jaskier was left in his smalls, Shrek kissed down his body, his huge tongue lapping at his skin and Jaskier could hear him enjoy the taste. He hummed to signal his pleasure, letting the ogre go about his business. Shrek pulled off his smalls and to Jaskier’s complete surprise, the ogre took his cock in his mouth. Jaskier whimpered, hands grabbing the sheets. Everything about Shrek was big, including his mouth. Even when the ogre sucked him to full hardness, Jaskier still didn’t feel the back of the ogre’s throat. Shrek sucked in his balls at well and Jaskier almost cried from the pleasure of having his cock and balls inside a warm mouth.
When Shrek let Jaskier go, his length was hard, red and leaking. Jaskier barely had time to recover, before he felt that glorious tongue on him again, this time licking over his hole. Whispered pleas left his lips as he imagined that tongue inside of him. Then a thought crossed his mind. If everything about Shrek was big, what about his dick? Jaskier had seen the ogre’s hands and one finger was already bigger than the average cock. While he normally was down to go big, the imaginable size of Shrek’s dong low key terrified him.
His mind had no opportunity to freak him out completely, because Shrek’s tongue entered him and the feeling was so, so good. Jaskier moaned as big green hands spread his cheeks and thick wetness penetrated him. “Ah… ah Shrek I hate to be a uh… fuck!” The bard trashed his arms around when his new found friend started to stroke his cock at the same time. “I’m gonna cum! Way too soon, I know! Sto..aahh...” His whole body tensed as he spilled all over himself. Shrek was unrelenting. As the bard’s cock was spent, he still had his tongue inside him, pressing at the right places and wiggling around so talentedly. “Stop, stop, stop, it’s too much, really, too much.”
Jaskier was out of breath, head fuzzy with post-orgasmic bliss. His whole brain short-circuited as Shrek’s tongue licked over his torso, cleaning him off all the cum he had spilled over himself. “Are you all right?” The green-skinned sex machine inquired with innocent eyes that did not match the absolute tent in his smalls.
“Say, Shrek, will I die if I swallow ogre cum?” Jaskier almost laughed at Shrek’s expression. It was a ‘yes, no, maybe’. “Ok fine, but I will suck you off still.” The human pushed at the ogre, cornering the larger frame against the opposite wall, before getting on his knees.
“With all due respect, Jask, I don’t think you can fit me anywhere.” Jaskier didn’t listen, pulling down Sherk’s white smalls in spite of knowing the ogre was probably right. As soon as 12 inch of green cock basically slapped him in the face, Jaskier knew he was in way over his head. Still, he was confident that if he tried, he could still fit the head inside his mouth. With Shrek still assuring him he did not have to do this, Jaskier started licking all over Shrek’s length. The taste was not as bad as he feared. In fact, the more he licked, the more he started to like it. Jaskier made out with the head of Shrek’s cock, fucking the slit with his tongue. Shrek was holding his shoulder, occasionally squeezing a little as he moaned. And oh were those delicious moans, primal, guttural, deep and vibrating through Jaskier’s entire body.
The human tried many times, but he couldn’t slip the monster cock inside his mouth. He was resilient though and kept trying, while stroking the rest of the green length. He was so caught up in his quest that he didn’t hear Shrek telling him how close he was. He made a disappointed sound as he was forcibly removed from the cock in his mouth. Jaskier crawled back up the bed and stretched out his body. “Cum on me,” he wantonly moaned and Shrek did not disappoint. Jaskier had to close his eyes and mouth as he got showered in thick, beige cum. He never had felt this dirty, but it was a good kind. He wished he could have taken Shrek in his ass. He could’ve been so full.
Once Shrek had stopped groaning, Jaskier dared to open his eyes. He could see guilt already spreading over Shrek’s face. He must have been a sight, so much smaller than Shrek and absolutely drenched in his cum. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve always fantasised about being showered in cum. Just never thought that all that cum would come from a single person.”
Shrek let out a relieved sigh and helped him wipe some cum off his face so it wouldn’t get into his mouth or eyes. “I’ll prepare you a bath,” he spoke gently, surprising Jaskier with the thoughtfulness. His eyes followed the ogre as he put his breeches on and moved out to probably get some fresh water. A laugh escaped Jaskier as he stared at the sticky substance covering his skin. Who would’ve thought that the swamp could’ve been so pleasant?
#shrekier#i've been a bad boy daddy#forgive me father for i have sinned#shrek x jaskier#shrek#julian alfred pankratz#dandelion#netflix jaskier#the witcher#lemon#the witcher fic#shrek fic#monsterfucking#ogre#ogres#ogres are like onions
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