#my jaw was clenched so hard the entire time I was drawing him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hungharrington · 1 year

Note

I can see Steve saying "When I tell you to sit on my face, I want you to sit, is that clear?" to read

wet as a dream

anon babe, i'm sure this prompt is supposed to be dom energy and yet all i could read was assuring boyfriend stevie <3 so have sum softness with ur face-sitting hehe 2k words, minors do not interact, and yanno, this is exactly what the prompt suggests + a lot of lovey dovey feelings ! enjoy <3

Look, you were no stranger to sex, to say the least. It might still make you flush, an eager yet still slightly embarrassed warmth whenever you and Steve go from sweet kisses, to a hot make-out, to more…

But even then, you’re not entirely sure anything could’ve prepared for this— for Steve to murmur against your lip between his heated kisses, “I want you to sit on my face.”

You pull back from the make-out, chest huffing and your voice sounds only a tiny bit strangled when you say, “What?”

Steve takes advantage of his new view, eyes skirting up and down your face hungry with love. His eyes are warm, grin easy, like it’s no big deal when he says, “I said I want—“

“No, no,” You cut in, feeling your ears tinge warmly. “I, uh, heard you the first time.”

The image his words conjure pours into your mind, sitting on his tongue as his hands curl right around your thighs and keep you as close as he wants— while you mewl atop him, at his mercy. You shiver just a bit, desire streaking through you, and it quickly reminds you of the lap you’re sitting it, the evidence of Steve’s desire hard beneath you.

His hands haven’t moved, still resting on your sides. His thumbs swatch up and down lightly, trying to read your expression. “You don’t have to,” Steve says earnestly, brows drawing together. “But, I promise it’ll feel so good.”

That you have no doubt about. You’ve found it especially hard to stay quiet when Steve gets his mouth on you— something in the way he eats you out, with such an enthused fervor, moaning enough that you know he enjoys it too.

“That’s not what I’m worried bout.” You admit, shifting in his lap again. Your hands that have been resting on his chest fall, landing on your thighs. You avert your eyes for a moment, some old insecurities bubbling to the service — you’ve never done this before but Steve has, he’s probably done it with girls skinnier than you, with smaller thighs and—

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t, okay?” Steve interrupts your stream of prickly thoughts, moving a hand up to cradle your jaw sweetly. You meet his eyes, knowing your worry displays on your expression. His fondness soothes you.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to.” Steve promises.

“You’re sure?” You check one more, anxiety getting the best of you.

Steve chuckles lightheartedly, leaning in to kiss you deeply. He pulls back an inch, scanning your face once more, looking for more hesitancy to soothe. “If you are,” he assures with another smile.

With a deep breath, you nod, aiming for sure. You think back to the steamy image your mind had provided, think back to every time Steve’s gotten between your thighs and drawn out noises out of you that you didn’t even know you could make — you want to do this.

Steve grins. He reclines himself to lie back on the bed, his hands fluttering down to ghost touches along your thighs. Another nerve trips you up.

“Can I— can I keep my skirt on?” You ask nervously, your fingers gripping the edge of your skirt.

Steve softens, grin melting into a reassuring smile. “Of course, honey. And if you want to stop, just- if you’re uncomfortable or find you don’t want to—“

“I do.” You interrupt him. “I do want to do this.”

To prove your point, you begin to work your panties down your thighs — You can feel the slick that’s pooled in them, from when you had gotten worked up from the hot kisses from Steve earlier. You feel yourself clench in anticipation of what’s coming.

It takes a moment to work them off, getting caught on your ankles awkwardly - but that awkward giggle dies in your throat at Steve’s heavy stare. You failed to notice his growing boner until you situate yourself back on his lap, in nothing but your skirt and bra, and the feel of it feeds into your lust. He wants this. He really fucking wants this.

“Okay,” you say, biting your lower lip for a moment, trying to think if there’s a sexier way to shuffle up the bed to his face. Steve let’s you get all of halfway before he pauses you, hands on your thighs again— he wants to say this when he can still see your whole face properly.

"When I tell you to sit on my face,” He starts, enjoying how your expression peaks in embarrassment once again. He grins. “I want you to sit.”

He raises his brows at you. “Is that clear?" He asks, making sure you’re both on the right page. Steve Harrington certainly did not half-ass some face-sitting.

You nod, a little relieved at his insistence and clear excitement— something delightful burns in your tummy that he wants to do this, enough to assure you to not dare hold back.

You shuffle a little higher, nerves creeping in as you hover over Steve’s face, unsure how to start. Do you just—?

The question is ripped from your mind as Steve’s arms curl up around your thighs, hands holding you firm, and he pulls you down onto his mouth. His tongue licks a bold stroke through your folds, warm and wet.

Heat plumes in your tummy, a soft sigh of pleasure escaping your lips as your head tips back — you can’t quite handle the sight of him between your thighs just yet. You know it’ll send your head spinning. Your hands hold the edge of your skirt up, just an inch or so to keep it out of his face and you try to focus on the sensations instead.

His pink lips mouth softly along your cunt, tongue soothing along as he works up to your clit — then swirls his tongue over it firmly, enough to pull a soft moan from you. You legs spread a little wider, sinking into him and you can feel the hum of approval from Steve.

“There we go,” He praises, pressing another sloppy kiss to clit. “That’s it.”

His encouragement melts into you, fiery hot, and you whine a bit, hips rocking down on his face instinctively. Pleasure twists the coil in your stomach tighter. Steve’s fingers flex against the skin of your thighs, his tongue loose and warm as he licks and suckles at your core.

Time melts and muddles as you lose yourself to pleasure, Steve dutifully giving and giving, his plush lips dragging deliciously against your clit so good that all you do is moan above him. You’re not sure how long you’ve been going, only the mounting pull in your tummy to give an indication, when Steve’s mouth begins to kiss lower and lower — until he’s aligned with your slicked entrance.

Where you might of once given a moment to embarrassment, you only feel your eagerness grow— especially as Steve releases a filthy moan against you.

“You’re so wet,” he rasps, the words doused in lust and approval. You shiver at his husky voice, a weak moan scraping out your throat when he skirts his tongue around your hole, avoiding it purposefully. You clench, and whine in complaint. Tease.

“My girl,” He hums, a few more kisses. You have no doubt you’ve soaked the bottom half of his face with your arousal— but the thought just adds to your lust. “You love this, hmm? Y’glad I ask’d?”

You’re nodding fervently, desperate for him to keep going, and a pitiful “yes” trips out your mouth. Steve chuckles, the vibrations making you keen, and your impatience gets the best of you; you rock down on him again.

Steve’s expecting it, if his tightening grip on your thighs and experienced tongue are any indication. He presses up, tongue fucking into the entrance of your cunt hotly and you can’t help how one of your hands shift down rapidly to fist in his hair.

It’s the first time you’ve properly looked down at him, between your thighs, and the sight of him so clearly enjoying himself turns your whine into a loud moan. His hair is messy, eyes slipping closed as he dedicates himself to making you fall apart on his tongue. He looks so fucking hot.

“Steve,” you whimper, tugging his hair lightly — and you receive a moan in response. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t pause for a moment as your hips move to chase your orgasm which has begun to peak over, just let’s you ride his face. Your chest heaves, every exhale painted in a moan. Every word out your mouth is a curse or his name.

“Steve,” you whine in warning and Steve’s eyes open. It’s more intimate than you’re expecting, staring down at him with his mouth on your cunt, moments from tipping over the edge- you’re beginning to sound pathetic, whines getting higher and higher. Steve shifts, tilts his head the right way and then— then his fucking nose is rubbing your clit just the right way and you’re gone.

You cry out softly, breathes shuddering as everything peaks — thighs trembling, your hand tightening it’s grip in Steve’s hair, eyes screwed close and your mouth hung open in a moan. The room feels unbearably warm as your orgasm washes over you. Steve thinks he might actually cum in his pants at the sight, especially from his vantage point between your thighs. Fuck. His cock gives a twitch in his pants.

They’ve been growing tighter and tighter, fueled by your every moan since he’s managed to convince you onto his face — and now his cock is so hard it nearly hurts. Not once had Steve considered slipping a hand down to relieve some pressure; this isn’t about him. It’s about you — and fuck, if you don’t you look beautiful cumming on his face. Twitching and moaning and falling apart on his tongue.

Steve works you through it, turning back to sloppy open mouth kisses up until you’re finally releasing his hair and shuffling back, so to slump down back in his lap. If you hadn’t just seen stars, you might notice the flicker of excitement in your tummy at Steve’s hardness beneath you. For the moment, however, you’re spent.

Steve hasn’t moved. You try to catch your breath and peer down at him. A laugh catches in your throat at the blissed out smile toying on his face — someone clearly enjoyed themselves.

“Fucking hell,” you huff approvingly. Steve’s eyes flick over to meet yours and he grins. Your slick is still on his lips, pinker than ever in the sheen of your arousal. He licks them clean. Your tummy twists up at the sight. Why is that so hot?

“Didn’t I say you’d enjoy it?” Steve hums cockily, his hands searching across the sheets to find your hips. He caresses the skin there gently.

“Mmhm,” you hum your agreement. “Don’t think I was the only one who enjoyed that though.” You tease, moving your hips down against his bulge purposefully and Steve lets out a deep groan. His hips move up beneath you.

You regrettably stop his movements with a hand on his chest. Steve watches you closely, eyes inquiring. “I’ll return the favor but, um, give me a couple minutes.”

You smile sheepishly. It dawns quickly on Steve the reason for your pause, needing a cool-off period, and his grin turns down right cheeky. His hands shift up to your wrists and he tugs your forward, capturing you in his arms and holding you against his chest. It’s warm and safe and you can’t help but melt into it, still sapped from your orgasm.

“That just means I did my job right,” Steve murmurs gleefully, pressing a kiss into your hair. He chuckles at your small uh huh and holds you tighter.

And with all his whispers of how hot you looked above him, how hard it got him, it doesn’t take very long to find the energy to return the favor.

#ok i kinda FUCK with this one #turns out the thing that turns jay on is; enthusiastic consent #i want a bitch that is SO excited to have sex with me <333 #jay writes #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve x reader #steve smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader smut #stranger things smut

3K notes · View notes

feyascorner · 3 months

Text

6 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You remember how the sunlight glistened against his skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press the sharp end against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.4k words,,,tav is better than me i would've thrown hands like twelve years ago,,,I HAVE NO IDEA HOW I WROTE THIS IN LIKE TWO DAYS???? also thank you for all your comments they really motivate me to write!! so have this monster of a chapter early as thanks!!

"You'll kill them, Astarion," you mumble. "They might not have had the power to help you, but they're still your siblings. I don't want them to die hating you."

"They're not my siblings--not really. I don't care what they think of me. Hells, they could haunt me even in the afterlife, as annoying as that would be, but they're no innocents either. They've brought in as many souls as I have," he responds, his jaw visibly clenching at the thought. "I don't care if all seven thousand of them die hating me as long as you're here."

And while you feel flattered, you can't disregard the worry driving a hole through your conscience. Ever perceptive, he lifts a hand to brush stray strands of hair out of your face, his fingertips tracing your jaw. His voice is but a hushed whisper.

"You understand, don't you, my love? It would set me free--after two hundred years of forcing myself through hell--I can finally free myself from Cazador," his tone sours at just the mention of his master's name, and he intertwines his fingers with yours, drawing your attention back to him.

"It is what you want for me, no? For me to be happy?"

It is what you want. Just not like this.

Music was your way of releasing the mountain of feelings you kept locked away in your chest, waiting for the right person to recognize them for what they are. You’d hoped someone would understand the meaning behind your lyrics without you telling them outright, and they’d know what it truly meant to you. And for a while, you’d believed Astarion would be the key to this safe.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“While I usually entertain your certainly out-of-the-box plans, this is bordering on just foolish, I’m afraid,” Gale sighs, eyes tracing you as you pace around the house, stuffing every possible weapon and healing potion into a brown sack. Despite his insistence, you ignore him, testing the blade of a knife against the edge of the table. It’s not entirely dull, nor is it sharper than the dagger in your drawer, but it’ll have to do. “Simply charging into the tavern won’t do much good if you’ll be overwhelmed in number anyway.”

“I know what I’m doing, Gale,” you hiss, snatching an Alchemist’s Fire and shoving it a tad too hard into your bag. He tenses. “If they want to talk to me so badly, then I’m not waiting around for them to attack another one of my friends—I’ll go to them.”

“Yes, your determination is certainly praise-worthy, but can we please just sit down and think this through before running into a battlefield with a few knives? This is basically a suicide mission.”

“The wizard is right, even if it’s hard to believe,” Lae’zel announces from the corner of the room, wiping a cloth on her sword. “When I arrived, they’d already fled. They could be anywhere by now, and they’ve had more than enough time to plan another ambush if we were to charge now. We must be smart about this. I am a warrior, but I am no fool.”

“I’ll go by myself,” you say, a sense of finality in your voice. “They already showed what they’d do if someone they didn’t want to talk to approached them. I’ll just talk to them.”

Gale stares with lidded eyes. “So why are you packing so many explosives, exactly?”

“...Precaution?”

Silence befalls the room, and you take it as a sign to finish your preparations. All you can hear is the crackling of the fireplace and the rain falling against the windows of the home. The lot of you had somehow managed to stabilize Shadowheart by the time Lae’zel returned, and while she’d been conscious earlier, you insisted she rest before she consumed herself with the investigation again. You didn’t miss the way she limped back to her room with little to protest against you.

“Take the spawn with you.”

Two jaws drop at the words, the only one remaining fixed belonging to Lae’zel.

“The kainyank is living here to help. Not cause more problems for us. And so far, he’s only done one of the two things, and I’m dangerously close to turning to my blade if he doesn’t choose otherwise,” she says. “The spawn are searching for him, too. If blood breaks out, you must use him to flee safely.”

Gale blinks. “As in…use him as a body shield?”

“What else is he good for?”

While the wizard seems positively appalled, you can see the contemplation flicker in his eyes before he shakes his head. He's always been more considerate than the rest of you. “No, Tav would never agree to such a-”

“Okay.”

They both whip their heads toward you, and you avoid their piercing gazes, staring down at the dull blade in your hand. “It might help, too, if we find out why they want him. There are nearly 3000 spawns in the city—we can’t kill all of them, at least not immediately. It’d be best if we convinced them to leave, and the best way of doing that is to understand what they want in the first place.”

Lae’zel narrows her eyes. “Then you must swear it. Swear that if Astarion were to face risks, you will leave him behind. If he were to turn on you, you slice through his throat without a second of hesitation. He is there to aid you–nothing else.”

“I will,” the words feel hot on your tongue.

And so, you soon find yourself standing in front of his door, hand reaching for the door handle. There’s a slight pause right as you touch the cool metal, but you bite your tongue and shove it open, praying he’s still not as ravenous as he was a few hours ago. And much to your surprise, he appears wholly composed.

He lowers his book to his lap, eyes training themselves on you as they dart from your bag and then back to your face. The window’s wide open, bathing him in the moonlight, with dark curtains tied to the wall to keep them from obscuring his view of the city. He raises a brow. “What could you possibly want from me at two in the morning? Come here for a cuddle?”

You’re scowling again.

“I need you-”

“I’m flattered, but I fear you may stab a butter knife into my eye, so I’ll have to decline.”

“Not like that.” Your frown creases deeper at his smug grin. “We’re going to the Blushing Mermaid to find the spawn.”

“Just us?”

“They want to see us.”

“And if I refuse?”

The answer is almost immediate, cutting through the atmosphere like a knife on bread. “I hear the bloody bedrolls in the Duke’s dungeon are very comfortable.”

He drops his smile at this, and a tiny spark of pride puffs your chest. He seems to weigh his choices before snapping his book shut and standing from the bed, snatching a comb from his bedside table before pacing up to you, pocketing it behind him.

"A comb?"

He shrugs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, I doubt you’ll be giving me a weapon of any sort, so I must make do.”

You don’t correct him.

As the two of you make your way downstairs, you hear your other companions speaking.

“I didn’t expect you of all people to defend Astarion,” Gale says in disbelief, still comprehensive as Lae’zel poorly cuts up slices of an apple.

“I am doing no such thing, istik,” she mutters. “I am giving him a choice. Either to pick up his dead weight and prove his life is worth more than the dirt on my shoes or die at my hand.”

The walk to the Blushing Mermaid is painfully awkward. To you, anyway, because he seems positively unbothered the entire time. Seeing him leisurely follow behind you is irritating—and it bothers you more than you’d like to admit.

By the time you survey the area around the tavern, you’ve discerned they must be inside, considering there are no ambushes awaiting your arrival. While it’s a relief, it also increases the anxiety of what lies inside the tavern itself, and you confirm your knives are at your disposal if it were ever to come to that. You sincerely hope it doesn’t. Astarion sighs dramatically for the umpteenth time as you approach the front doors, and you finally snap to look at him with a glare.

“Will you stop breathing so damn loud?”

The change in your attitude toward him is apparent, but he doesn't seem to care. If anything, he seems more pleased with you than he was before every time you shoot him an annoyed glance or something along those lines. He responds with lazy answers, but it's better than the bitter ones he gave you before.

You're not terribly surprised, though. He's always loved pissing people off for his own entertainment, and it would be an understatement to say that he's been somewhat successful with you.

“I’m not breathing, my dear. I don’t need to, remember?”

“Then what is your problem?” you hiss between your teeth. “Are you trying to wake up the entire city with your insistent groaning?”

“Must we do this tonight, of all days? Couldn’t this wait till tomorrow?”

“No!” you say in exasperation. “That gives them too much time to heal and recover from Shadowheart and Gale. It has to be tonight, just in case they do decide to fight—then we’ll have an easier time because, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s just us two!”

He sighs again, and you swear you might pluck a strand of his hair for good measure. And just as you shove past him and reach for the door, he clears his throat again. Loudly.

“For God’s sake, what?” you nearly yell.

He smiles at you, pointing at the front door. “Well, if we’re looking to avoid an ambush, perhaps we should find another way in than the main entrance. Unless my prior knowledge as a rogue proceeds me.”

You blink. You recognize the validity of his statement and feel your face flare, and you immediately march past him again—the other way this time—and search for the nearest wall you can climb up to the roof. You hear him snicker, but you do your best to ignore it.

Somehow, you manage to climb in through the window, admittedly a lot louder than him, but you don’t think it’s fair to compare yourself to him when he has footsteps lighter than a child’s. Hidden behind one of the tables, you peer into the rest of the tavern, which is completely empty save for the bottles of alcohol scattered everywhere. You turn to signal to him that the coast is clear, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Immediately, your face drains of color.

“Right here, darling.”

He drops down from seemingly thin air, and you gasp, nearly letting out a shriek if it weren’t for your hand covering your mouth. He grins at that.

Bastard.

“There’s nobody in the entire building–at least, not visible to the eye,” he confirms, glancing around the room.

“How do you know that?”

He points at the ceiling, and your eyes follow it. “Someone decided to build such useful beams on the roof. You can see the entire place from up there. Care to take a look?”

While you would have thanked him if he had been any other person, you only march straight by him. “Don’t do anything without telling me first.”

“No ‘thanks, Astarion’?” He quirks a brow but huffs when you ignore him. “Very well then, my liege. No need to acknowledge a humble servant such as I. But I shall let you know when I’m about to take any questionable decision.”

You’re starting to wonder if his presence is worth the headache it gives you.

Pacing around the tavern, it seems all too normal. No blood splatters against the wall, no broken chairs—hells, even the booze cups look clean, which is a rarity for the Blushing Mermaid. You check each room, inspecting down to the last cups in case there are traces of blood in them, but to no avail.

It’s like there was never anyone here.

“You look like you’re having trouble, my dear,” Astarion clicks his tongue mockingly, leaning back in one of the more luxurious chairs he’s decided is his own.

“Considering the only company I decided to bring along is lounging around like a bum, I’m not surprised,” you say back, now searching the smallest cracks in the walls for some sort of secret passage. It’s strange. Even though your companions had spoken of the bodies they encountered when facing the spawn, there’s not a single speck of blood in sight. Neither is there anything outside but the whistle of the wind.

“This particular wall must be quite fascinating.”

You fight the need to groan and whip around to snap at him, but he’s suddenly just a foot away from you, staring at the spot you’d been squinting at. Gods, you hate how quiet he is when he walks.

“As wonderful as it is getting a fresh breath of air,” he feigns disappointment with a half-hearted sigh, turning to walk toward the entrance. “I believe we’ve done what we can. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d love to return to my book–”

The wooden floor underneath him creaks. It sounds hollow.

As if there’s something underneath.

“The basement,” you blink, eyes wide. “The hag’s lair.”

He stares at you as if you’ve taken too many mushrooms. “It was sealed up after we rid of that dreadful woman. Good riddance, too, I mean, I’m not particularly fond of children, but eating them, even I wouldn’t be able–”

You rush toward the very corner of the tavern, sensing that he’s following you regardless of his obvious distaste toward your decision. There, you push against a table perched on top of the basement latch and test its locks.

It’s open.

“Heavens, it reeks here. How didn’t I smell it before?”

“Of what?” You sniff the air. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Blood, my dear. Fairly recent, too, if my judgment hasn’t gotten rusty in the time I’ve spent cooped up in that room,” he pauses. “And I haven’t gotten rusty, to be clear.”

“Right,” you retort, reaching down to pull the latch open. You don’t see him do the same, and you glance at him quizzically.

“Gods no,” he says, when he realizes why you’re staring. “I’m doing no such thing that ruins these nails.”

You sigh. Loudly.

The latch opens relatively easily, but you make an effort not to simply swing it open in fear the occupants inside might be warned of your arrival. You prop the trap door open against a chair and begin your descent down the stairs, remaining as silent as possible.

The first thing you can notice is that he’d been right.

The stench of blood burns in your nose, and you immediately cover it with your sleeve to avoid inhaling anymore. You’ve smelt enough of your companion’s blood today, and you’d rather not continue the streak with the blood of complete strangers. Astarion, however, frowns.

“Such a waste,” he mumbles.

When you turn to where he’s looking, there’s a pile of bodies—poor victims, no doubt—lying over a puddle of their collective blood mixing with one another. It almost feels inhumane to leave them that way, just hours after their death, as if they’re cattle to be used.

Though, in this case, they are cattle.

“Are you sure it’s them?”

“I’m telling you it is!”

“Where’s their lyre, then?”

“How would I know that?”

You locate the source of the whispers instantly, reaching for one of your daggers as your eyes bore into the corners of the lair that are obscured from your view. Astarion steps forward before you can figure out a plan to approach them, arrogance exuding from his very body as he holds nothing but the comb tucked in his back pocket. “We can hear you, you fools. Come out before I lose my patience.”

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

“They’re only a few spawns, my dear. Nothing like Cazador—no need to be so cautious.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a woman emerges from the shadows, her eyes trained on your own as she marvels at your mere presence. You realize she’s not alone as multiple vampires begin to emerge from different corners of the room, all a safe distance away but not enough to ease the nerves jittering in your stomach. She steps toward you. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

Another spawn steps beside her, and you immediately notice how ravenous he seems, eyes almost glistening with hunger as they bore straight into you. The woman puts a hand on his neck, seemingly soothing him, before he slumps his shoulders again, but the pure violence swirling in his head doesn’t seem to vanish. She then looks to Astarion, and the expression on her face morphs into something more akin to dread. “And you, brother.”

“Dalyria.” Astarion only stares with lidded eyes, visibly unfazed.

You instinctively scan the entire lair, searching for any differences you can spot since the last time you were here. The only glaring thing besides the bodies piled in the corner is the study desk on the other side of the room, scattered with different potions and concoctions. Behind the desk is an entire wall plastered with diagrams—most of which study the anatomy and functionality of what you can only determine to be a vampire judging from the fangs. There are also beds everywhere—though they look like they could collapse any second—and the room almost looks like a hospital.

The atmosphere between the siblings is so uncomfortable you’d think they’ll start attacking one another any second.

“Is Leon here?” you finally cut through, lowering your hand away from your blade. “I need to speak with him—technically, all of you.”

“How curious. We were hoping to speak with you as well,” she says, motioning all the other spawn to stand down. It does little to ease you. “By all means, feel free to go first.”

You take the opportunity, too exhausted, to demonstrate polite etiquette. “The spawn are causing too much trouble in the city, Dalyria. They’re killing too many people, and it’s getting noticed by more than enough people. At this rate, you’ll lose some of your own if the Fist figure out how you guys are hiding throughout the city.”

“...Yes, I’m aware.”

The resignation in her voice makes your throat bob, but you continue anyway. “I’m saying we need to get you guys somewhere more stable. Whether it be the Underdark or elsewhere, we can’t have you staying here.”

“I see,” she says slowly. “I appreciate you trying to talk this out with us, but I’m afraid I cannot grant your request.”

Your shoulders tense, and you can see Astarion shift beside you. “You don’t understand, sister. There’s going to be an outright war at this rate-”

“Baldur’s Gate is our home as well, Astarion. You, of all people, should know this,” she demands. “We have a right to remain here, and if the Fist insists on forcing us out, we have no choice but to retaliate.”

“But you’re killing the city off!” you gawk in disbelief, unable to believe what you’re hearing.

“We’re surviving,” she corrects, the corners of her lips turning downward. “Surely you can’t hate us for that.”

“Then…” you blink at her, positively appalled at her words. “Why the hells did you need to speak with me? What was worth putting my companion through hell?”

“...There is a way—for both parties to benefit.” She looks down at her hands, then back up at you. “I didn’t expect the both of you to come together. Our informants were correct when they claimed to see Astarion in your possession. In all honesty, we technically only needed one of you, but this makes things a lot quicker.”

Confused but desperately wanting an answer, you urge her to continue. Only you can see the way Astarion’s hand slips toward his pocket, where his comb lies.

“We were going to ask you to bring him to us, you see. But it appears you’ve already done the hard part.”

The dreaded intuition in the back of your mind tells you something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

“Me? What do you need me for?” he scowls.

She disregards him and continues speaking to you, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “If you turn him over to us, you’ll never have to see him again. That is what you want, yes?”

Both you and the pale elf freeze.

“I watched as my brother nearly killed you the day of the ritual,” she continues. “I understand how you feel being betrayed by someone you thought shared your pain. And I believe this is a way to relieve you of that pain—and finally move onto a new stage of your life.”

She acts as if Astarion is the only thing holding you from moving on from the past few months of your life. And if she’d said so a week ago, you would have nothing to defend yourself with. But you’ve cut the few strings left that tie yourself to him. You remind yourself that you no longer care for him, regardless of the slight squeeze in your chest. You’ve already sworn to force yourself to disregard him, and you want to say all these things to her, but nothing comes out. So, instead, you keep your mouth sealed.

Astarion scoffs from beside you.

“For God’s sake, please tell me you’re not actually considering this. Let’s just force the madwoman out and go,” his voice attempts to stay firm, but it’s high-pitched at the end. He’s panicking.

You don’t respond to him, and he stiffens. “...My main concern is the city. If you think you can use my personal matters to convince me to just let you keep killing all these people–”

“That matter will resolve itself in its own time. We’ll return to the Underdark—or wherever it is you wish, and you won’t have to spend your nights hunting us down anymore.”

With a dry throat, you fixate your gaze on her face, desperately trying to discern any hint of a crack in her mask. Instead, you find nothing. “Why would you do that? For one spawn?”

“I’m afraid that’s for me and my siblings to know. But I can promise you that no harm will come to you if you take this deal.”

For what seems like the millionth time this month, you have no idea what to do. Lae’zel’s words flood you like a wave crashing onto shore as you remind yourself that Astarion is here not as your ally but as a shield. If things are as Dalyria says, simply turning over the man standing next to you would end this entire ordeal. You could return to your everyday life of repairing the city, learning to heal and grow from the terrors of the illithid invasion. You could learn to let people in again.

You could learn to play music again in hopes of finding the person you dreamed would understand.

Such an enticing, perfect deal. It’s almost too perfect. But you’ve learned not to trust perfection, especially when handed to you by a vampire spawn.

Astarion, who had been observing your expression this whole time, almost seems to read your mind. Or perhaps he’s just feeling selfish, ready to defend himself. “You’ve created a lot of problems for me, dear sister. I’ve gotten accused of your own murders, thanks to your pets.”

The delirious spawn, who’d looked sluggish after Dalyria’s soothing, now bares his teeth at Astarion. Dalyria attempts to calm him again, but it’s no use. The bloodthirst cannot be satiated unless there’s blood spilled on his very hands.

Astarion doesn’t seem to take a hint—or maybe he does but chooses to simply ignore it. “I’ve always known you were strange, Dalyria, but really? Experimenting with your ‘useless procedures’ on fresh spawns? He looks positively possessed, sister. He might just resort to eating you instead.”

“They are not useless, Astarion,” she snaps. “I am a doctor. I’m only curing what needs to be cured.”

“Then tell me why you haven’t managed to cure yourself of our curse? You may be intelligent in medical aspects, but gods above, you are more foolish than Cazador himself if you really think you can cure vampirism.”

“I had nobody to test my ideas on for two centuries, Astarion! Now that I do, surely I can-”

“You’re starving them, Dalyria,” he snaps, tone drastically different from the banter you shared just minutes ago. “And they’ll give into the thirst sooner or later.”

His words are the final straw.

The spawn who’d been standing beside her launches himself toward you. Before you can even register what’s happening, his fangs are at your throat, your neck tilted so it shoots pain up your side. Just as you feel your skin split at the tips of his canines, Astarion rips him away from you so harshly that the spawn flies helplessly into the wall, which crumbles under his weight. Dust flies into your eyes, and you cough, wiping at them until it clears just enough to see Dalyria staring in horror.

“I told you, Dalyria. You are no doctor, not anymore,” Astarion scoffs, eyes narrowed into slits. “And I’m afraid I can’t let you kill my liege here, as I’d much hate to be trapped in a cell somewhere underground.”

You reach the specks of blood drops forming on your neck, horrified by the close encounter you had with death just seconds ago. The culprit of your injury lies unconscious beside the cracked wall, and you wonder just how hard he had to be thrown to be rendered in such a state. You can see the other spawns’ eyes practically glow at the sight of your blood—fresh, unlike the pile of corpses on the other side of the room.

She turns to you, desperation pouring from the wavering of her voice. “Please, don’t make me do this. Don’t make us enemies. All you need to do is give us Astarion. My brother, for heaven's sake!”

You think better of it. Something that obviously pleases Astarion if the way his face relaxes tells you anything.

“May I?” he glances at you.

Surely, there are ways–more civilized ways–-than drawing your blade, but the ferocious growling from the rest of the spawn tells you otherwise. You need to find out why she needs Astarion so badly, and clearly, she’s not willing to tell you unless it’s through pure force. You despise the idea as much as you despise the predicament you’re in, but you refuse to be attacked and deliver nothing back. Just as you nod to his question, another spawn lunges, unable to resist the red staining your neck.

But it’s smart this time, choosing to eliminate any threats before turning to the full course. In this case, the only thing between you and the vampires is another vampire.

“Brother!” Dalyria shouts, horrified.

You don't bother calling his name, only barely manage to tackle Astarion out of the way before the spawn’s claw sinks into the very ground he was standing on just seconds ago.

As embarrassing as it is to practically crash on top of him, both of you wince because it’s more painful than anything. You force yourself up with your arms, and it’s then that you see even more spawn crawling from whatever shadows they hid in, and you realize you are terribly and most definitely outnumbered. By a lot.

“Dalyria, if you’re truly a doctor, do something! Stop them, godsdammit!” you shriek in her direction.

“They’re not—they were doing so well!...” she gasps before she reaches for a tattered journal and desperately files through its pages in a frenzy. “They were nearly docile before. I don’t know why–”

You feel Astarion’s hands slip out of the sack you carry on your back, realizing you hadn’t even noticed him opening it. He’s still lying flat on the ground, and you look down at him, puzzled before he laughs bitterly.

“I’ll be borrowing this for a few minutes, darling.”

You barely dodge another spawn that comes flying at you, rolling off of him and practically slamming into the wall. And before you can crawl away, your knife—in Astarion’s hand—stabs through the spawn’s left eye through the back of their head, specks of their blood splattering against your cheek.

You want to throw up.

“No, don’t harm them! Please, just let us go!” Dalyria pleads, but you’re finished being patient with her. She clearly has no way of calming the spawn, and you’re tired of being thrown around like a ragdoll in the mess that is the lair.

You yank out the Alchemist’s Fire and chuck it at the nearest cluster of spawn—around 2 or 3—and flinch as the vial collides and explodes into flames right before your eyes, blowing your hair out of your face in a gust of smoke and wind. You swear you hear Astarion cackle in utter glee at the destruction, but you choose not to dwell on it, too busy figuring out how else you could get out of here alive.

“You’re ruining the patients!” Dalyria screams, and you almost regret not throwing the vial at her instead.

“Your spawn are the ones attacking us!”

Suddenly, her face goes impossibly pale, and you hear a hiss of pain from a few feet away. Astarion winces as one of the spawn claws at his chest leaves behind a reasonably deep wound following the path of their sharp nails. Your knife is kicked away from him, and you hear Dalyria again just as he reaches for the comb instead. “Brother, be careful!”

You’re not sure if she wants you and Astarion dead or not, but it’s seriously giving you backlash at this point.

He stabs the comb into the spawn’s neck and kicks him away, and you take the opportunity to send the knife he dropped through the air.

By some miracle, it pierces straight through the spawn’s arm. Astarion lets out a breathy laugh from the floor, attention glued to your handiwork. “Ha! And to think that could have been me!”

And while you want to admire your aim yourself, there’s no time. Dalyria’s footsteps rush up the stairs, out of the basement, and you realize you need to follow moments after Astarion, who’s already fleeing up the steps, cursing under his breath. “That demented wench!”

You stand to follow after him, but the remaining spawns are already blocking your way. There are only two more, but you brace yourself for the worst, reaching for whatever remaining weapons you have left in your sack. The smoke and debris feel suffocating in your lungs, but you have no choice but to push through, praying to whatever God you can remember at the moment that this be the last time you have to fight this many vampire spawn. Or any, for that matter.

You wish you had left your fighting days behind you when you defeated the elder brain, but you suppose even that was too much to ask for.

You arrive just in time to see the sunrise.

Lying against a wall is Astarion, who you find just before the sunlight hits the part of the ground he’s on. He’s clutching his shoulder, which drips with his own blood, and showing no signs of the quick vampire regeneration. You stare down at him, face stoic as you wait for him to say something.

Judging from his condition, you assume Dalyria got away.

“Leaving me to die here would be unwise,” he scoffs. “Though it’d be rather easy to let me burn to death in the sun, I must remind you that I much rather prefer decapitation if it’s all the same to you.”

“I’ll consider it,” you reply curtly. "Can't promise anything, though."

He leans his head back, amused. The sunlight is just a few feet away now, and you wonder how long it's been since he's been outside to watch the sunrise. “You’ve always had a cruel streak in you. I just had to lure it out, sometimes, but when it did come out—Gods, you should have seen it yourself.”

“You’re delirious,” you remind him, observing just how much blood he’s losing. You remind yourself of your resentment when worry probes a small part of your heart. One that you hope dies soon. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“I haven’t been exactly feeding well, unfortunately. And days old boar’s blood can only sustain me so long, darling,” he lulls his head forehead, sneering to himself. “Now that I think about it, dying by sunlight sounds rather poetic, don’t you think? Perhaps you can make a song about my glorious death.”

He’s definitely unhinged from blood loss.

You sigh, tossing his arm over your shoulder as you deem the sunlight a bit too close now. It’s a slow process with your own body’s soreness, but you manage to drag him to a more shaded area, propping him against the wall there so that you can rummage through your sack for a healing potion. You stop when his hand latches onto your arm.

“What?” you frown.

“It won’t help. I need blood, my dear.”

“There’s none for you here.”

“The bodies in the basement,” he bites back a groan, more blood gushing out of his shoulder. “I can make use of them--give their deaths a sense of purpose."

The displeasure on your face must be apparent because he laughs.

You pause, lowering the sack onto the ground. While you’re illuminated by the sunlight now, he remains in the shadow of the building, only able to see the sun with how it reflects off of your skin. And you find that he’s no longer looking at you but looking past you into the glowing orb you call the sun. You remember how its light glistened against his own skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press its tip against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

His eyes widen, and the temptation is more than evident with how his mouth falls open as if he tastes your blood from a few inches away. But as fast as it had come, he tears his eyes away. “I’m not taking your blood.”

“Stop with your prideful act, Astarion. You’re going to bleed out.”

“I wouldn’t die, exactly. I would just remain unconscious until I can properly heal myself.”

You spare him a long, hard stare. He refuses to look at you, biting the inside of his cheek to ignore the scent of your blood. And it's painfully clear he's failing.

You have no idea why he's so insistent on avoiding your blood, but you refuse to spend your own time pondering it.

“Fine then.”

He watches in utter loss as you lick the blood off of your finger, shrugging. “Bleed out for all I care.”

You turn to stand, but his hand latches on your arm once more. You’re not sure if you’re imagining how warm he feels, but you think you must be. He's always been terribly cold.

“Do you hate me now?” he asks again, this time staring up at you through his lashes. “Have I finally run through your patience?”

The question remains the same as he asked you a week ago, but it feels different now. This time, you know your answer, and it feels so, so relieving. You just wish you could understand his own feelings, but his expression is so superficial you don’t even attempt it.

“Yes,” you reply blankly. “I hate you.”

He takes a moment to process your words. You have to admit it’s satisfying to say it to his face, even if your hatred for him is new. But perhaps because it’s new is why you feel it so strongly, and you silently thank it for how confident you sound saying the words. Even if they taste bitter. You think he might have some quip to respond with, but he only smiles, and as usual, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You never want to see it again.

Without another word, he pulls you down to him, and you nearly topple over before stabilizing yourself with either of your knees on either side of his legs. He breathes against your neck, and you think he might drink from you until you feel his fingers brush against your nape. Immediately, your body freezes like a deer in headlights, flinching at his touch as your mind involuntarily forces the last memories you have of his hands on your neck.

And ever so perceptive, he notices how you recoil from his touch.

You hate your body for reacting the way it does out of fear. Not the disgust or the anger, but something much more pathetic, and you want to go back on your own actions to stop yourself from appearing so weak to him. You think he might tease you--taunt you, even, but he stops, slowly pulling away and lowering his head from the crook between your shoulder and head.

You’re unable to see his face, but his movements seem more sluggish.

Instead of going for your neck, he lifts your wrist, brushing his lips against it before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh.

Despite the initial sting, it’s a feeling you’ve grown accustomed to over time. With him, it had always felt so intimate. It’s why you can’t help but feel heat bloom across your cheeks before you remind yourself you no longer care for him. Only when you think he’s drinking a bit too long do you try to pull away, but his arm loops around your waist, bringing you even closer as the amount of blood he’s taking increases with how deep his fangs are.

You feel so cold, yet heat burns through your very blood. It makes your head dizzy, and you take it as a sign that he’s had enough.

You only manage to speak a few seconds later, breathless. “Astarion.”

He pulls away, seemingly out of breath himself as he releases his hold on the rest of your body. He runs his tongue over the access, staining the side of his mouth. He uses his finger to make sure the rest is off his face. “I know.”

He rarely feeds so messily, so you discern he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been drinking well. Knowing he wasn’t deceiving you brings little relief, but it’s still a welcome feeling. Rubbing at your wrist and the two puncture wounds now residing there, you stand up and slug your sack over your shoulder. He watches you the entire time, and you hate that you can never seem to read his expressions—only one, and that’s whenever he claims to despise your very existence.

His shoulder has already stopped bleeding.

“Why didn’t you drink from those people at Sharess’ Caress?” you finally say.

“Their blood…” he pauses, trailing off, and suddenly he seems to change his mind. “...I've grown tired of it.”

“Blood is just blood, isn’t it?”

He stares at you for a moment, then laughs.

“I wish it was, darling.”

Tags:@ayselluna@littleenglishfangirl@bg3obsessedsideblog@iwillpissyourpants@cyberpr1m3@ukeia-uchiha@snowlotr@road-riot@spacekidnova@madislayyy@lordfishflakes@nicalysm@djarinsway@tinystarfishgalaxy@brainz00@hopeful-n-sad@ohdeerieme@madisban@chrismarium@chonkercatto@fanfic-share@sleepyred1703@miskouly@ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @aelieknox @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @bitterbeanren Please let me know if I didn't add you to the list or if you'd like to be added!

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #fluff #bg3 #angst

520 notes · View notes

fxrmuladaydreams · 4 months

Text

choices and livestreams (sv5) (dr3)

pornstar!seb x pornstar/camgirl!reader , pornstar!daniel x pornstar/camgirl!reader

summary: seb wants you back in his life, but have you already put him in the past?

notes: i know i said no more posts until after the holidays but i got this done early so here it is, also i felt bad leaving you with the carlos angst then saying peace out

warnings: !! CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI !! masturbation (m & f), sex toys (dildos)

prev part next part

Sebastian sat at his computer and watched as Daniel played with you. He brought you over the edge again and again and again, and Sebastian couldn’t even get hard. He tried to tease himself, to slowly stroke his cock up and down, when that didn’t work he tried just wrapping his hand around himself and just jerking himself off, but still nothing.

The only parts where he would feel himself twitch with interest was when you had the vibrator taped to your leg. His cock would stiffen as he watched you come undone, then immediately soften when Daniel walked back into the shot.

He groans as he rests his head on his desk. He glances back up at the screen when you scream out during your last orgasm. He feels himself stiffen as the camera moves to show all of your release leaking out of you. He could get off if he just replays this four second clip over and over.

His jaw clenches when he hears Daniel’s voice.

“You were so good for me, my good little bunny.”

His words make Sebastian want to throw his computer against a wall.

He rolls his eyes as he sees all of the likes the video has, but feels a sense of pride wash over him at some of the comments.

where is sebastian?

daniel fucks her fine, but sebastian really knew how to wreck her

this will be fine to jerk off to until we get more videos with bunny and sebastian

Sebastian glances at his phone next to him. For what must be about the twentieth time today, he thinks about texting you. You’ve gone radio silent since leaving his house last week, and he’s started to really miss having you around.

He types out a quick text, just something saying hello, and that he enjoyed your video with Daniel. He stares at it for a moment, then huffs and deletes the message. He very much did not enjoy your video with Daniel. And what kind of masochist would he be if he told you he enjoyed watching someone else fuck you?

His phone buzzing pulls his thoughts away from you. There’s a notification from the girl he had recently filmed with. It’s got a link to their mew video, and a few flirty emoji’s.

He feels his stomach churn, remembering their filming day. It didn’t come as easy as filming with you did. She was trying way too hard to please him, and he seemed out of it almost the entire time, but with some skillful editing it made a half decent video.

He swipes the notification away, and opens your messages again.

Hey, I haven’t heard from you in a bit, how is everything?

He presses send before he can overthink it, deciding that even a sliver of attention from you is enough to make up for any consequences that could come from trying to get closer to you again.

You’re with Daniel when you see the text from Seb. He’s leaning back on his couch, with you sitting between his legs, your back resting against his chest. He’s got an arm thrown over your shoulder, while his other hand draws patterns along your arm. He put on a movie for the two of you to watch, something that you really hadn’t been paying much attention to.

Daniel doesn’t want to seem nosy, but the scowl on your face is worrying, especially because you’ve been staring at your phone for the past few minutes.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, shifting slightly.

You shake your head and sigh. “Nothing.” You toss your phone to the other end of the couch and bury yourself further into Daniel’s chest.

“C’mon sweetheart, I can tell something’s bothering you.” He says.

“It’s nothing. Seb just texted me.” You tell him quietly, your eyes locked onto his tv.

“And it was a bad text?” He strokes your cheek softly.

You turn so that you’re now laying on him, chest to chest.

“He said he hasn’t heard from me in a while and wants to know how everything is.”

Daniel hums. “And how is everything? If one were to want to know.” He feins disinterest in your answer, but holds his breath waiting for a response.

You slowly start to smile. “Everything is going well, I think.”

He lets out a breath and flashes you his own grin. “Good, I’m glad.”

You spend the evening with Daniel, cuddled up on his couch. You try to focus on him, but you just keep thinking about Seb. He’s made himself within reach again, but it could end up the same way it did last time. Is risking your blossoming relationship with Daniel really worth taking that chance?

A part of you feels guilty when he asks if you want to stay the night and you turn him down. You can see the disappointment flash across his face, but he quickly hides it.

You bid him goodnight with a quick kiss on the cheek, leaving him alone as you drive back to your own home. You throw your things down on your couch and pull your phone out of your pocket as you make your way to your room.

You type out a reply to Sebastian, then set your phone face down on your desk.

I’m good, how are you? I can’t really talk right now, I’m about to film a livestream.

It’s meant to be a harmless text, but a part of you knows that you want his attention.

You change into a pretty baby pink lacy lingerie set. You set up your camera and laptop and check to make sure you’re camera ready. You start your stream and watch as your usual viewers start to join. You make a few flirty comments, telling them how much you missed them.

Sebastian doesn’t seem to join, or maybe just hasn’t read your text, so you start with your stream without him. You tease yourself through your underwear, letting out breathy moans when your fingers brush against your clit.

You pull your panties to the side and push a finger inside of yourself. It does almost nothing for you, so you push a second in as well. It’s not at all comparable to Seb or Daniel, but your viewers seem to be enjoying it from the tips they send you.

After a few minutes you pull your hand away from your cunt and reach next to you for a dildo. You’re drawn to your purple one, the length reminding you of how deep Sebastian was able to push inside you. But you spot your blue one too, the girth would stretch you out and really give your viewers a show.

You hold the blue toy in front of your camera, showing it to your audience.

i can’t wait to watch her fall apart on that dick

there’s no way she’ll be able to take that

You set the dildo up on your floor and raise yourself above it. Your eye catches a comment before you lower yourself down.

be a good bunny schatz - sebv

You flush at the comment. A new wave of arousal rushes through you as you lower yourself onto the silicone toy. It’s a struggle to take it, the head stretching you out more than you have before. The pain quickly turns into pleasure as you ease yourself lower and lower on the toy, until it’s fully sheathed inside you.

You pause as you look back up at your camera. You look wrecked already, your eyes half lidded as your mouth hangs open.

“‘S so big.” You moan.

You read another comment from your computer that makes you clench around the toy.

such a good bunny, taking that dick all the way inside you. now bounce on it sweetheart - dannyric

You bounce up and down on the dildo, moaning out as it stabs at your soft spongey spot over and over again. Tears fall from your eyes, the pleasure is too much.

“Please, please, may I cum? I want to cum so bad!” You beg.

You don’t know who you’re asking, you mind far too cloudy to be thinking straight, but your eyes search for the two usernames that send you over the edge.

cum for me bunny - sebv

you’re so pretty when you beg, you can cum now bunny - dannyric

You cry out as you reach your peak, your body losing control, and all sense of pace as you ride the toy through your orgasm.

You clench around it as tips come flooding in. You slowly lift yourself off it, whimpering at the empty feeling between your legs. The dildo is coated in your milky white release. You lift it up and lick a long stripe up the side, moaning at the taste of yourself.

You flirt a little more with your viewers, then say goodbye and end your stream.

The clean up process is lonely, you try to keep your balance as you lean against your bathroom counter, wiping up the mess between your legs. You change out of your lingerie and throw it in your laundry pile. You reach for a sweater in your closet, but pause when you see what’s before you.

Folded on one of the shelves is Seb’s sweatshirt, the one he let you use the first time you filmed with him. The grey fabric is soft between your fingers, begging to wrap you up and keep you warm.

Hanging up on the rack is Daniel’s hoodie. He insisted that you hold onto it for a while after your night at the diner. It still smells like his cologne, well his cologne and a slight smell of the diner food you shared with him.

Your heart aches as you look back and forth between the pieces of clothing. You reach out and grab a sweater of your own, refusing to make any decisions tonight.

You grab your phone from your desk to see two text notifications.

From Seb

That was a fun livestream schatz, you really know how to put on a show

From Daniel

You could’ve done your livestream at my house sweetheart, I would’ve enjoyed a live show

You leave both boys on read, and climb into your bed. You hope that tomorrow you’ll have a clearer mindset about what to do next.

#sebastian vettel x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #sv5 x reader #dr3 x reader #formula one x reader

741 notes · View notes

springhrtrap · 6 months

Text

lillard!william x reader (1/?)

WARNINGS (pet names, murder, implied kidnapping, noncon, blood, knifeplay, restraints, william being creepy. the good stuff)

edit: chapter 2 is up at my ao3! (link is pinned on my profile)

You inhaled sharply as the cool steel of the blade made contact with your skin, your eyes closed tightly as you jerked your head to the side, bracing for what would come next. A cut, a slash, anything he could do to harm you. You were shaking, holding your breath to remain as still as possible. William tutted, slowly dragging the blade to your chin. He was applying slight pressure, not enough to draw blood, but enough for you to take it as a threat. A whimper escaped your lips. You silently cursed yourself.

"Don't be afraid, darling." William said softly, stepping closer to you. With his knife, he guided your head to face him, taking in the beautiful sight of you. Your cheeks and lips were flushed a deep red, the tears pricking the corners of your eyes glistened in the dim light as your face twitched in fear. You refused to open your eyes, clenching them shut so hard to the point of a headache. Taking in a deep, albeit shaky breath through your nose, you could find your voice for only a moment.

"Please, don't." You pleaded, barely audible. Your throat cracked from the dryness and you winced in pain, swallowing hard. You weren't even sure if he heard you, until you felt the blade press harder against your skin. Another whimper escaped, this time with a sob that made you shake.

"What makes you think you have any power right now? Any right to tell me what I can and can't do?" William hissed through gritted teeth, grabbing a fistful of your hair, promptly yanking your head to the side, facing away from him. He closed the gap between the two of you, tightening the grip on your hair. The knife dug dangerously into your skin, only a moment before drawing blood. After a moment, he let out a huff of air, steadying himself, trying to regain his composure. William removed the knife as he inhaled deeply, then exhaled a stream of cool air through pursed lips. You regained the strength to open your eyes, if not only for a brief moment.

You could do nothing but watch in horror as William's eyes glanced up and down your body. He hummed softly before his eyes met yours. With a sharp exhale through his nose, similar to a laugh, he smiled. Almost instantly, you closed your eyes as tight as possible and grimaced, squirming beneath his grip with a shudder. The pit in your stomach grew larger, your heart pounding even faster. Your entire body felt hot with shame, anxiety pooling in your chest, making it even more difficult to breathe. Your hands behind your back wriggled against the restraints desperately, and, to no avail, didn't budge. To that, he let out a real huff of laughter.

"My, my." William let out a sigh before moving even closer to you, hunching over to get up close to your ear. "What am I going to do with you, bunny?" He whispered as he angled his head, his scratched voice dropping dangerously low. He let out a shuddering breath, almost animalistic. William inched closer to your head, his hand now caressing your hair, loosening the previous firm grip he had. The pain in your scalp began to dull, although you could swear you could still feel the imprint of his fingernails digging into your skin. His hot breath bounced off your skin, warming you for only a moment. It wasn't long before his calloused fingers slowly made their way toward your neck, gently caressing your soft skin. "You look so beautiful for me."

'For me', you thought. A sob escaped you, hot tears streaming down your cheeks. The thought of him owning you, you being his new little play-thing made you sick. His hand moved to cup your jaw, gently placing his thumb on your cheek, delicately wiping away a tear. "So beautiful." He hummed to himself.

William remained there for a moment, lost in thought. It truly was a beautiful sight to him. He reveled in the thought of your powerlessness, of the desperation you must feel, of how you'd do anything to stay alive. His life was in your hands, and that was the beauty of it all. He could take away everything in an instant. Oh, how he would love to kill you, though. Push his knife into your chest, look down at you with a sickening grin. He would force it deeper inside you, inch by inch, watching in delight as fresh blood would pool on the ground, as you would gasp and thrash violently underneath him, fighting desperately to stay alive. You would scream for help, throat bleeding from the harsh yelps. He would twist the knife, pushing it all the way to the hilt before removing it completely. Blood would seep from the fatal wound, soaking your clothes. The last thing you’d see would be William Afton, bloodied knife in hand with a wicked grin. Life would leave your eyes. The corners of his mouth twisted into a smile at the thought, arousal pooling in his stomach. But what fun would that be now? No, he liked to play with his food. Let them think they have a chance. Push them to the edge, see how desperate they can get. Now that was fun.

William shook his head slightly, forcing himself to the present. He looked down at the knife in his hand, and with a grin, pressed the knife against the skin above your collarbone. "You'll be a good girl, won't you?" It wasn't a question as much as it was a command. You inhaled sharply again, not daring to move an inch. You didn't know what to do, what to say. You simply nodded with a whimper, hoping that it would make him ease up on you, somehow. He was grinning at the state of you. Scared, desperate, begging. He wondered if you'd given up, yet.

Without warning, he slid the knife against your collarbone, the blade gliding effortlessly, breaking the surface layer of skin, almost instantly drenching the steel with a layer of blood. "Oh my god-" Your voice shook, eyes widening as you watched your own blood seep from the cut. Barely being able to process what had happened, you began to jerk around, desperately trying to break free from your restraints. "Fucking- HELP!" You yelled, whimpering between shuddering breaths, fighting desperately against your restraints. Your breathing was erratic, with every huff of air your voice broke with whimpers and sobs, your heart racing, head pounding You couldn't help but watch, struck in place with fear as your own blood dripped slowly down your chest, soaking your clothes. It hurt, your skin stinging and pulsing from the wound. You’ve never seen yourself bleed this much before.

sorry for the abrupt ending, if you guys would like to see more let me know!! im very shy when it comes to uploading my writing 😭 this is something i just wrote on a whim... he is in my head i cant get him out 💔

#william afton #william afton x reader #matthew lillard x reader #fnaf fic #fnaf fanfic #fnaf #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #matthew lillard #fanfic #fic #x reader

403 notes · View notes

sweet-honey-fruit · 1 year

Text

BDSMber Day 4 — Aphrodisiacs

Day 4 — Aphrodisiacs with: Venti and Zhongli

BDSMber Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ themes, minors DNI

Everything described is consensual between both parties!

— Venti —

The aphrodisiac drink was working better than you thought it would. Your body was burning, so hot to the touch that it radiated off your skin. A layer of sweat glinted on your face from the moonlight peaking through the curtains. Your aching core was excruciating, and your whimpers mirrored the desire your soaking pussy was craving. It ached to be touched. Needed to be filled until the knot coiled inside you snapped. Yet no matter your desire, Venti only placed light, teasing kisses along your collarbone. He effectively left behind pools of saliva covering the marks that coated your skin. Each time he would place another kiss, slicker would drip down your thighs. You needed him, needed him to grab you and fuck you till you’re twitching and breathless. But Venti was such a tease. His hand slid down, rubbing his pointer finger over your entrance, coating it in a thick layer of your juices. Your back arched up, and he took the opportunity to pull one nipple into his mouth.

Your pussy throbbed with every brush of his finger. Your hand tangled itself tightly in the sheets, tugging at them as if they would help keep your sanity.

“Please, please, Venti, I can’t take it-” You said breathlessly in between moans and whimpers. You gasped when he slid the tip of his finger inside your dripping entrance, only to slide it back out and tease your hole once again.

“Patience. I just love it when you get like this,” He kissed along your chest, leaving bite marks as he goes.

You could feel yourself getting needier by the second by his never ending teasing. He was making sure he built you up, tortured you. He made sure to draw out every little sound you could possibly make before he filled you with his essence over and over again. Yet the scent of your arousal was making it almost impossible for him ti restrain himself . The way his cock twitched beneath his clothing with every sound was causing him to let out soft moans.

Venti’s fingers stroked over your sensitive clit, stroking it at an agaonizly slow pace. You clenched your eyes shut, hoping to find relief soon. When his fingers finally slipped inside your gushing walls, you felt a burst of pleasure shoot through your body, making you jerk up and scream his name. He pulled you against his chest, peppering feather light kisses along the side of your neck and shoulder.

“So beautiful.. So beautiful, my little muse…”

— Zhongli —

It was hard to keep track of how many orgasms you have had within the past hour. It’s difficult when your mind has gone completely numb to thoughts. Other than the thought of having more cum shot into you. You could still taste the aphrodisiac tea, lingering as if it’s reminding you why you’re so fucked dumb right now. His forehead rested against yours, sharp amber eyes silently demanding you to maintain eye contact. The feeling of his cock dragging against your walls made your legs convulse, overwhelmed by the amount of euphoric pleasure coursing through your body. His hands gripped your hips tightly, promising to leave bruises. Somehow, he managed to pull your hips up in a way that got him impossibly deeper, his tip brushing against your cervix and making you see white. He placed an eager kiss onto your lips, grinding into your core, slowly pushing a steady rhythm out of his cock. One that was slow, but still caused your body to jerk up when he went balls deep.

Your heart pounded in your chest, pulse racing from every inch of his cock drilling into you. Your body was burning up, your entire body shaking with each stroke. He was relentless in pushing himself inside your tight walls.

His past releases were spilling out of your hole, coating your thighs and his dick. The sight before you didn’t escape your gaze either; his eyes glazed over slightly, and his jaw clenched as he tried not to lose control. His muscles flexed with each drawback, glistening with sweat. You were sure your own eyes were glazing over. Your back was arched upwards, nails digging into his back, mouth parted and gasps escaping between gritted teeth. Incoherentable begs and pleas fill the squelching noise echoing in the room. A deep, rumbly chuckle ghosts over your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Begging for more when I’ve already fucked you senseless,” His teeth nip at your ear, and you could feel the smirk against your neck, “Perhaps, you need something more.”

You feel the nails digging into your hips getting sharper, causing a whimper of pain and pleasure to slip, only muffled by his lips once again on yours. Your breath hitched when you felt his twitching dick swelling inside you, and an inhumane growl muffled by your mouth.

#genshin men x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin men #venti x reader smut #venti x reader #zhongli x reader smut #zhongli x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin men x reader smut #genshin men smut

1K notes · View notes

beamtori · 2 months

Text

the sink™ imagine

fwb!ji changmin x afab!reader

0.9k words, no plot, fwb!au but obvi he's fond of u, swearing, skirt things, unprotected sex (wrap it before u fckn tap it), piv sex, bathroom sex, he grabs your neck once, creampie, multiple orgasms, one clit slap, pet names, he's kinda possessive?, he's wearing glasses? *bites lip*, lmk if i forgot anything yo

a/n: okay,, you guys can have my precious 💔 i went delusional for three days because of the thought of getting railed against a sink tbh (i also just really wanted to post something on this acct after so long lol)

You desperately grabbed onto the sink in front of you as he drove his cock into you, hips slamming against your ass with enough force to send you careening forward. His fingers dug into your sides as he pulled himself out and shoved forward again.

“Think you can just get away with walking this pretty ass around in a skirt—” His teeth sank into his bottom lip as he watched his cock sink into you. “—after what I told you last night? Hm?”

You met his eyes in the mirror, trying to keep your head on straight before your eyes rolled all the way back from the pleasure. “Fuck—I’m—” you stammered as he rearranged your fucking organs with his cock, “—please, just wanted your attention—”

He lifted one hand off your body to nudge his glasses up when they began slipping down his nose. His lips pulled into a smirk, and that alone nearly sent you over the edge. He hissed, hands pinning you against the counter so he could properly fuck you. “Well, pretty girl, you got it. Shit—squeezing me so good, baby. You like this, don't you?”

“Feels so good,” you moaned, your hardened nipples rubbing against the cold stone beneath you.

“I should spank this ass.” He palmed the flesh there as it jiggled with every snap of his hips. “You'd like that, wouldn't you? So you're reminded of who fucks you this good every time you sit down.”

You whimpered at his words, walls clenching down on him.

He laughed sharply. “Oh god, you're so naughty—ugh, fuck, taking my cock so well, baby. Look at you.”

You were scrambling to get a grip on something in a desperate attempt at grounding yourself. The only reason you hadn't yet crumpled to the ground was because he had your hips pinned between his and the countertop. “Please, I'm so close,” you cried.

He grunted, reaching around to drill his fingers into your clit. You nearly screamed at the added stimulation, your teeth driving down into your lip hard enough to draw blood.

“How many times d'you think I can make you cum, hm?” He teased with a wild glint in his eyes. He leaned over to press a kiss to your spine. “You think if you walked outta here like a baby deer, they'd know who this pussy belongs to?”

He slapped your clit and it wrenched a choked out moan from your throat.

Your head made pitiful nodding motions. “Changmin, please,” you whimpered, pushing your hips back against him. It was addicting—the wanton sounds of wet squelching echoing in the bathroom, the sharp slaps of his balls hitting your ass.

“What about my cum dripping down your thighs? These gorgeous thighs—” He could feel himself drooling like your pussy. There was a milky ring around the base of his cock driving him insane. He could be here all fucking day.

You tightened around him as your orgasm hit you like a bus. Your entire body shuddered as you bit down onto your arm to muffle your screaming. All the while, he didn't even slow his pace down for a second. His strokes kept steady as he fucked you through it.

Goddamn, you wouldn't mind if the shape of his cock was outlined on the inside of you at this point.

You squirmed at the overstimulation as he continued drilling into you, his breathing heavy, muscle in his jaw feathering. “Oh my god, Changmin,” you babbled. Your brain was going foggy.

“Shit baby, you fucked out? But I'm not done yet,” he pouted in fake sympathy. He leaned forward again and grabbed the front of your throat with his hand, tilting your head back slightly. “Need you to cum for me again.”

He was still chasing his own climax, his strokes getting faster and messier. You could feel your next orgasm coming fast and your knees buckled. His fingers returned to your clit; you saw fucking white.

You braced your palms up against the mirror as you came crashing down. Changmin's hips slowed and his forehead hit your shoulder as he painted your insides with his cum. The sensation had you mewling again, your cunt clenching down on him.

“Fuck, there's no way I can go to class after this,” he murmured against you, pressing a tender kiss to the side of your head. “How you feeling, pretty? You did so well for me.”

You laughed as you held your face in your hands. “Oh god… I'm fine. I just need a second.”

His warm chuckle sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Take as long as you need.” The back of his knuckles danced down your back fondly from over your shirt. “Crap, my cum's drippin’ outta you.”

Changmin straightened slightly and carefully pulled out of you. A mixture of yours and his cum began seeping out of your cunt, and your lower lips fluttered at the sudden emptiness. He started looking around the bathroom for spare paper towels to help clean you up with.

When you were all wiped down, he held your panties for you to step into, and your knees wobbled an embarrassing amount of times. There was a smugness to his expression as you grappled onto his shoulders while he pulled your panties up to snap against your ass.

“What?” He grinned, nudging his glasses up.

You scowled lightly at him. “If I fall down in front of someone today, it's gonna be your fault.”

He patted your butt affectionately. “I'll take the blame,” he mused. Then he leaned over next to your ear to murmur, “And I'd do it all again.”

Your pussy clenched around nothing. “No more impromptu fucking sessions unless you're gonna buy me food after,” you said, wrinkling your nose at him.

Changmin beamed boyishly and flicked your nose. “Sure thing, pretty.”

tbz m.list

#the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #ji changmin x reader #ji changmin smut #ji changmin drabbles #the boyz drabbles #the boyz imagines #ji changmin oneshot #ji changmin imagines #the boyz oneshot #the boyz scenarios #ji changmin scenarios

91 notes · View notes

chvoswxtch · 1 year

Note

perv!billy russo watching, peeping as you and your boyfriend frank has sex. he just loves to watch frank work, that’s just canon.

nonnie, you are absolutely goddamn right.

thank you for putting this sinful image in my head. I got a little carried away (what's new) and made billy a little bit more...involved if you will. ;)

warning: swearing, explicit sexual content (minors pls dni) word count: 2k

love to watch you work.

Billy didn’t want to touch himself. Not yet. He liked to draw out the excitement, let the anticipation build up in his chest slowly, like a roller coaster languidly rising up the track to its highest peak. He liked to let his cock swell on its own with need from the external stimulation, seeing just how long he could hold out, granting himself tiny slivers of relief before diving fully into the lust that pooled in his eyes. He liked to make it last.

But it was getting increasingly harder when you were making noises like that.

Your wrists were bound to the headboard with his silk black tie to keep you from being able to move, Billy’s idea that Frank had happily obliged to, and had made your thighs clench together as soon as the words left his mouth.

Told you she’d like it, Frankie.

The way you had stared up at him with those big doe eyes as he bound your wrist with his own tie had nearly made him come on the spot.

He watched in awe as you writhed on the bed, your hips having to be held down by Frank’s strong arm, because you couldn’t stay still while he worked you over with his tongue. One of the things he loved about Frank was that he liked to take his time too. He wasn’t impatient when it came to pleasure, didn’t rush or go in without a plan. He was methodical, tactical even, and everything had a purpose. Every single touch, the way he undressed you, the placement of his kisses; every action was precalculated to get you as worked up as possible to ensure you reached a level of gratification you knew only he could give.

Frank knew how to make people beg, and Billy loved it.

Billy gripped onto the arm of the chair he was sitting in so tightly, his knuckles turned completely white. Frank had been eating you out for half an hour now, sending you rushing towards the edge only to slowly drag you away like a merciless tide flirting with the moon. Frank had told him that you never put up a fight, and that it never took much to get you to beg for him, but Billy had requested that he edge you to see just how far they could push you. A low groan sounded in the back of Billy’s throat when he noticed Frank had began to rut his hips against the mattress, searching for his own relief as he fucked you with his tongue.

Frank had rendered you a whimpering, pathetic mess so easily, it made Billy rock hard within a matter of minutes. He watched almost in a trance as you weakly tugged at the restraints, whining as you tried so hard to rock your hips against Frank’s face, begging relentlessly for mercy. Billy liked that you were greedy. But more than anything, he liked how submissive you were, so willing to surrender as long as you got what you wanted. He clenched his jaw as he moved his hand over the bulge in his jeans, palming himself lightly to get just enough relief to placate himself, a soft sigh leaving his parted lips.

“Fuck, you weren’t kiddin’ about her.”

“Told ya, Bill. She gives in easy.”

“Oh, and you don’t? You ever tell her no?”

Frank paused as he pulled his head away from your pussy and turned his head to the side to flash Billy a cocky grin. His entire mouth, nose, and chin were completely covered and shining with your slick.

“Would you?”

Billy tore his eyes away from Frank when a frustrated whine left your mouth due to the lack of attention where you wanted it most. He glided his tongue slowly along his bottom lip when he caught your bashful gaze, inhaling slowly through his nose before letting out a deep exhale from his chest as he stared you down with a wicked smirk.

“No. I’d give her whatever the fuck she wanted.”

“Frank…please…”

You sounded like you were on the verge of tears, and to his exhilaration, Billy swore he could see a few building in the corners of your eyes. Frank turned his attention back to you, gently rubbing his large hand over your spread thigh as he licked his lips and flashed you a charming smile.

“What is it, sweetheart? You wanna come?”

A loud whine of desperation tore through your chest as you nodded frantically, tugging harder at Billy’s tie as you let pleas fall from your lips like raindrops in a storm.

“Well don’t ask me, baby. You gotta ask Bill. Bet he’d say yes if you asked real nice, yeah?”

Billy nearly combusted when you turned your head to look at him. Your eyes were heavy with exhaustion from the edging, but wild with a hunger that could only be satisfied with his permission. Your full lips were parted as you panted heavily and he watched as your perfect tits bounced ever so slightly with the heavy rise and fall of your chest. That look in your eye had him ready to unload in his jeans, and he understood perfectly why Frank could never say no to you.

“Please Billy…please…please let me come.”

He knew he wasn’t going to deny you, but he feigned contemplation so that he could hear the way you moaned his name again. It was drenched in need, and had him palming harder at his aching cock. Billy could’ve come just from hearing how good you sounded when you begged. He loved to hear people beg. It caused a power to surge through his veins, being the only one to be able to offer what was needed so badly; being the one that was needed so badly. But getting to hear you beg? It was his new favorite sound.

“Russo ain’t as nice as me, sweetheart. He’s gonna make you work for it, ain’tcha Bill? I reckon he likes how pretty you sound though. Don’t be shy, angel. Let ‘em know how bad you need it.”

Frank rested his cheek against your thigh as he smiled up at you, glancing over at Billy with a knowing look as he chuckled lowly. Billy narrowed his eyes at Frank, knowing exactly what game he was playing, and let out another deep exhale as a whimper of his name from your lips caught his attention.

“Please…Billy…please let me come. Please, I need it-”

“You think you’ve earned it?”

“Yes…yes I’ve been good, Billy-”

“Yes you have, babygirl. You’ve been very good. You’ve been so generous, letting Frank share you like this with me. You wanna paint his pretty face? Bet he’d look even better covered in you. Still wouldn’t be as pretty as you, though.”

“How’s it feel not bein’ the prettiest one in the room, Russo?”

Frank’s lips were stretched in a wide smirk as he rubbed slow circles on your inner thigh, lifting his brows in playful inquisition as he stared at Billy. Shaking his head slowly, Billy undid a few more buttons on his shirt, tugging at the leather of his belt as a smirk curled at the corner of his own mouth.

“She’s been so kind as to share with me, I don’t mind my competition being her. Now put that fuckin’ smart mouth of yours to work, Castle. Give her what she’s earned.”

Frank broke out into a toothy grin as he chuckled, saluting Billy with two of his fingers and a wink before grasping your thighs in his large hands and throwing your legs over his broad shoulders. The sounds that he made while eating your pussy were obscene, and Billy groaned lowly at how loud you got the closer you got to the edge. After unzipping his jeans, he slipped his hand into them to grasp his cock through his briefs, hissing quietly at the contact before giving it a gentle squeeze. Billy was having a hard time settling on what to focus on more; the way Frank’s head moved between your thighs or the looks of absolute fucked out euphoria on your pretty face.

“Be a good girl and come all over his face, darlin’. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes Billy…”

“Good, that’s a very good girl.”

Billy sank his teeth into his bottom lip as he watched your face, subtly moving his hips up against his palm as he groaned lowly. He still wasn’t ready to come yet, even though he really wanted to. He wanted to watch Frank stretch you out with his cock, see just how much you let him get away with when he fucked you stupid, and then he’d get to have his own fun.

The second your orgasm crashed into you like a wave colliding into a cliff, your back arched off the bed, and your loud moans filled the bedroom entirely, luring Billy further into his own greed like a siren’s song. He grunted loudly as he practically forced himself to pull his hand out of his jeans, gripping onto the armrests tightly as he panted, slowly rolling his hips upwards into nothing as Frank stubbornly cleaned the mess between your thighs despite your breathy protests.

Frank didn’t give you more than a minute to calm down before he was kissing his way up your stomach, pausing at your chest to give each of your nipples a gentle bite, before untying your hands from the headboard. He looped the extra fabric around your wrists tightly to keep them bound, wrapping his arm around your waist to manipulate you onto your stomach, grasping at your hips to pull your ass up into the air. Frank’s large hand came down against your ass in a rough smack, and Billy’s eyes lit up as you surged forward and let out a soft whine. Frank had positioned you directly in Billy’s sight, giving him the perfect view of your face and tits.

“Her eyes open?”

“Nah. Think she’s still comin’ down.”

Frank reached forward to grab a fistful of your hair, pulling your head backwards gently to get you to lift your head up, grunting softly as you pressed your ass further into his hard cock.

“There ya go, sweetheart. Look at Bill.”

“Open those pretty eyes, doll. Let me see ‘em.”

Billy’s lips stretched into a wide grin when your eyes fluttered open, sinking back further into the chair to get comfortable.

“There she is.”

“Told Russo we’d give him a show, yeah? You’re gonna keep those eyes open. Want you to watch him while he watches you. You close your eyes, even for a second, he’s gonna tell me, and then I stop. You understand?”

You nodded your head as best as you could, whining softly as Billy shook his head and clicked his tongue against his cheek.

“Don’t tell me he’s fucked you dumb already. You’re a smart girl. Use your words. Do you understand what he said?”

“Yes…understand.”

“Good.”

Billy gave Frank a nod of his head, licking his lips as he finally pushed his jeans and briefs down his thighs to finally let his cock spring free. A soft moan flew past your lips as you watched, and Billy smirked as he collected some of the precum that had leaked onto his stomach to lubricate his palm.

“Like what you see, darlin’?”

“Yes…oh-”

As Frank slowly pushed himself into you from behind, your eyes fluttered closed for a second as you adjusted, only snapping them back open when you heard Billy clear his throat. He arched one of his dark brows in warning, and you gripped onto the sheets as you pleaded with your eyes. He gave you a quick ‘i’ll let that one slide’ wink, wrapping his palm around the base of his needy cock that was begging for attention. He let out a deep, satisfied moan when Frank started to fuck you from behind, moving his hand in sync with Frank’s rhythm.

“Goddamn Frankie, I love to watch you work.”

tags: @day-dreaming-goddess @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

674 notes · View notes

abiiors · 6 months

Text

hot chocolate ☕ // matty healy x reader

promptober '23 - day 19

a/n: for all my girlies with the big sad, the cold months approach :/ cw: discussions of mental health, mentions of depression wc: 1.1k

matty has a pit of worry in his stomach. he’s had it for about two days now, for as long as the house has been unusually quiet. he’s alone in their dimly lit kitchen, barely any sunlight streaming in. whatever manages to sneak in through the parting of the clouds, gets diluted by the sheets of rain falling from the sky.

it’s dull and grey. exactly the kind of weather she hates.

matty gives the brewing pot of coffee another look and decides on abandoning it.

he knows what he will see when he walks into the bedroom—she will be in bed, in the same three day old pyjamas, messy and unbrushed hair, “taking a nap”. not that he cares about how she looks. it’s just the niggling pit that doesn’t let him sit still.

“darling?” he calls from the door, watching for any signs of movement under the duvet. “you awake yet?”

she should be, he thinks to himself. it’s nearly noon. he wants to make them some lunch but she doesn’t move, doesn’t reply to his question. matty gnaws on his bottom lip and walks in.

“i’m making something for lunch…” he says again, sitting by her side of the bed and resting a hand on her back. matty knows she’s not asleep. her breaths are nowhere near deep and even.

“i know you’re awake,” he says softly, moving his hand to her forehead, checking for any signs of an illness just in case. but deep down he knows the illness is not physical.

when matty threads his fingers through her hair, it’s not the usual soft and smooth strands he’s met with. his fingers get caught up in the greasy knots, accidently pulling on some hair. she winces.

“go away, matty, ‘m not hungry,” she mumbles into the pillow, voice feeble and barely audible. “‘m sleepy.”

he tuts. it’s a lie—if he’s right, and he suspects he is, she hasn’t properly slept in days, tossing and turning at night. and yet she has left the bed only a handful of times in the last few days.

he’s tried giving her space, to let her sort things out on her own because that’s usually what she prefers. but he draws the line at skipping meals.

“sleep after lunch,” he counters, and goes to draw the duvet off her.

it’s not even a moment later that matty fliches, appalled when she slaps away his hand.

“i said i’m not hungry!” she snaps, turning away from him, cocooning herself further, shut off from him, from the world.

he stills and for a moment the only sound in the room is that of the rain hammering against the window. it’s haphazard, nowhere near a soothing beat. this rain sounds more like an anxious heartbeat—loud, odd and out of sync.

then he hears the sniffle and his heart breaks.

“baby…” he approaches again, trying to at least slide the duvet off her face. “hey, look at me please.”

he doesn’t care that she snapped at him or slapped his hand away. right now, he cares that something is deeply wrong, and he’s ready to beg if that means she’d tell him.

“g-go away, matty,” she tries again, tries so hard not to let her voice waver or crack and yet he hears it.

matty decides enough is enough, and pulls the duvet off her entirely.

her pyjama top is wrinkled and bunched up around her waist, and if he’s being honest, she smells a little bit but he can take care of that later. showers and perfumes and oils can wait. everything else in the world can wait.

“i won't,” he declares firmly. “now you can either keep fighting me or you can tell me what’s wrong. either way, i’m staying right here.”

she looks at him through dull eyes that widen slightly with every word, jaw clenched to keep her chin from wobbling even as her eyes turn pink first, then watery until the tears fall one by one. matty doesn’t shush her, he just quietly pulls her into his chest, letting her cry it out.

“i’m so cold…” she says after a few minutes. her voice is already hoarse, a whispery shadow of what it’s like on the good days. today it’s barely more than a squeak. “so cold. all the time. i just…i’m just so tired, i can’t. i don’t know what to do. and whatever i do, i can’t g-get, can’t get warm.”

she breaks into another round of tears by the time she’s done—loud, gut-wrenching sobs that break his heart but he lets her be. his only job is to be there and hold her. he just needs to be the sun.

“i know what will help,” matty mumbles into her hair, pressing a small kiss to her head. “give me two minutes?”

and he does return two minutes later as promised. matty practically makes a mad dash to and from the kitchen, balancing the mugs in his hands and his socks sliding on the wooden floors around the corner. but the liquid in them stays unscathed.

“there we go,” he announces as soon as he’s back in the bedroom. a tiny pang goes through his chest when he sees her sitting up in bed, arms hugging her middle. she looks small, smaller than he’s ever seen her. but there’s a miniscule spark of curiosity in her eyes.

he’ll take that spark. he’ll nurture and rekindle it.

“chef matty’s hot chocolate,” he presents it with a flourish smiling at her raised eyebrow.

“i know you said you weren’t hungry and you were cold. so i thought this would be a good compromise?”

for a moment she doesn’t say anything, only takes the mug from him and cradles it close, lets the steam waft over her face. hot chocolate won’t do anything for a cold that goes bone-deep. but it’s a start. he can do the rest of the work.

“take a sip?” he nudges, sitting back in the same spot as before. he brings his own mug up to his mouth, nudging her to mimic him. together they drink their first sip.

instant sweetness floods his mouth, comforting warmth creeping down his throat and settling into his stomach. he can only hope it does the same for her.

and he will be there for the rest of it. for all the cold days that come after this.

lemme know what you think <33

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855@beachesgetpeaches, @you-muppet, @mcabister, @alexmarie29, @at-her-very-foreign, @hfkait, @squishysoupy@sierraeslaprincesa@harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet@thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername@celestcies@sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @thewaywewereinsaigon @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @fck-off @indiaamars

add yourself to the taglist

#tw: mental health #promptober75 #the 1975 #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #matty x you #matty x reader #matty healy hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #tw: depression #ross macdonald #george daniel #adam hann #the 1975 hurt/comfort #the 1975 fic

114 notes · View notes

thatsthewrongwallcraig · 9 months

Note

so, i read a smut of yours and i was sure you were the right person for what i wanted, in my mind it happens with kappa but as long as it's a rory character i don't mind if you change it. i wanted a rebel sub reader, who fights back, resists and hurts him like he hurts her and spits in his face, which makes him fuck her even harder and more brutally, at the end you can add a aftercare, it would be really sweet to see she melting in his arms after so much resistance

Filthy Animals

Summary: There's nothing to see here, just two doms fighting for the upper hand, please walk on…

Pairing: Kappa x fem!Reader

Word Count: ~1k

Content Warnings: Unhinged Smut 18+!, We Take A Full Dive Into It Right After The Cut, A LOT Of Swearing, Kappa And Reader Being Two Crackheads In The Sheets, Scratching, Biting, Spitting, Slapping, You Name It, Unprotected P In V, Slight Daddy Kink, A Rather One-Sided Orgasm But That's Okay, Implied Aftercare, Implied Consensual Cutting

A/N: I have been evil cackling at this request since I saw it in my inbox, tbh 👀

Tagging the horny horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @alalalaaallaaalaaa @icarus-star @milsthouqhts @roryculkinsbf @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @b4sementgrl

Want you tied up in my bed

With my name carved deep into your chest

Harmless games went to my head

Now I want you breathing down my neck

- Animal By Jim Yosef, RIELL

"Why do you have to be such a fucking bitch about it right now?" Kappa's low voice groaned against the shell of your ear in a menacing tone as he pulled both of your knees over his shoulders right before shoving the full length of his cock into your oozing wet cunt.

"Oh, fuck you, asshole!" You pressed between clenched jaws, feeling how he drilled himself into you rather unceremoniously, "Who was that stupid twat talking to you in the hall, huh?!"

"I told you already, fucking hell! Absolutely no one.", Kappa hissed, his hot breath hitting against your cheek, "She's new to the group and asked for my help, that's that."

"Uh-huh, yeah, sure. That's why that blond-haired barbie whore was all flirty hair twirling with you, right?" With a certain degree of malicious intent you dug your nails into the skin of his back, dragging them down inch by inch until you were certain to either leave bright red marks on your property or draw blood.

"It was nothing!", He huffed from between grinding teeth, "How many times do I have to tell you?!"

Kappa lifted his right hand from the mattress to carefully straighten it out before his broad palm hit your cheek in a hefty slap. On impact, your head lolled to the side, the sharp pang of pain rapidly spreading over the entire side of your face.

"Maybe until I believe you, shithead!" You spat right back, not even remotely allowing him to gain the high ground right now.

In a sense of relentless fervor, you raised your head up until you were able to sink your teeth right into the toned muscles of his chest.

"Oh, get a grip!" He groaned as you bit down, the hand that smacked your face grabbing a fistful of your hair simply to yank you away from him immediately.

You felt how your teeth scraped over his skin, clenching it between your canines until it inevitably slipped away.

"Fucking feral cunt!" Kappa grunted whilst hammering his cock inside you in such a hard way that it nearly made you flinch.

"But your cunt!", You spewed, "You better not forget that!"

"I'd never!", His fingers let go of your hair, tracing over your jaw down to your chin, "C'mon, open up, would you? Daddy's got a special treat just for you."

At his words you felt your whole attitude shifting whether you wanted it to or not. With widening eyes, you stared at him, reluctantly opening your mouth.

"That's my good girl right there, no?" You simply nodded in response.

Your drowsy, somewhat fucked out gaze met with his arctic blue eyes as you heard him gathering the spit in his mouth.

"Tongue out, whore!" Kappa demanded, tilting his head with a lopsided grin.

Not breaking eye contact whatsoever, you let your tongue dart out between an open mouth.

"There, there…" His tone somewhere in between taunt and praise before spitting a sticky amalgamation of saliva right onto your tongue.

"Swallow for Daddy!" He scoffed, pushing your mouth shut again.

And that you did.

"Good girl!" Kappa praised you right after, picking up on his pace.

"Don't you ever doubt that you are my one and only!" He whispered, his lips softly brushing over yours, not quite kissing you just yet.

"There'll never ever be another woman by my side, I promise." You felt the tip of his nose nudging yours while his pace started to falter.

"I'll do whatever is necessary to protect you." Kappa's body turned rigid above yours.

"Fuck, it's really just you…" He drilled his cock into you for one final, deep thrust, before you felt him coming undone inside of you. White-hot ropes of his cum painting your insides and filling you up.

"It's just you!" Kappa whimpered, lost in his orgasmic bliss as he freed your tights from his grip and practically collapsed onto you.

Your muscles certainly felt sore as you stretched your legs out over the mattress but you barely paid attention to it, really.

"Come here…" Kappa rolled himself off of you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"I know today was a lot, but I'm still all about you, Sugar.", You allowed yourself to curl right up to him, practically melting into his gentle embrace, "Nothing will ever change anything about that, okay?"

"Are you sure about that?" As safe and warm you felt in his hug, the voices inside of your head were louder.

"I'm so sure about it that I'd cut your name into my skin if you asked me to." Kappa reciprocated right away.

"Well, then, I'm asking you to, Kappa."

119 notes · View notes

chaosandbubbles · 11 months

Text

And In Dreams, We'll Meet Again

Leon Kennedy X Reader

A/N: I have never played resident evil or watched anything other than random Leon Kennedy compilation videos but now I'm in love with him. I'm writing this for @house-of-kolchek who requested something angsty. I am not fully up on the lore of this game, so bear with me. I fell so much in love with this man that I am now going to watch playthroughs to bring you better content! In the meantime, I am very educated on Jason Kolchek and write for him a lot if you want to check me out! Also, I never write grief. I am usualy the fluff queen so this is new for me!

WARNINGS AND TAGS: Major character death, grief, angst, drug use, alcohol use, depression

Word Count: 2.6k

Main Masterlist

“AND how does that make you feel?”

How does that make me feel?

How does it make me FEEL?

How the fuck do you THINK it makes me feel?!

That’s what you would want to say, but you didn’t. You shut your mouth tight, jaw clenched as tears threatened to spring from the corners of your eyes. You pulled up your hoodie—his hoodie—around you, drawing warmth from it as your therapist stared at you with soft, unjudging eyes. You weren’t going to answer her question because it was a stupid-ass question, and she knew it was a stupid-ass question.

“Y/n?” She prompted again, and you turned your icy glare on her, tears spilling down your cheeks as her blue eyes met yours. Blue eyes. Just like—like—

“It makes me feel fucking horrible!” You snapped at her, drawing away from her gaze, from her hand that looked like it yearned to place on you a comforting touch. You stared out the window, at the rain falling down the glass, at the horribly ugly gray sky that swirled just like your tumultuous emotions. “It’s been a month— a month—since I lost my fiancè! How the fuck am I supposed to fucking feel?!”

Your therapist was quiet, looking you over, before her eyes landed on the Raccoon City hoodie that you still adorned. The one that had never been washed. The one that you never took off.

“Do you ever feel like maybe—just maybe—you’re not allowing yourself to move on?”

Your entire body burned at the question with anger. Or, maybe agony. Probably both.

“Fuck you!” You screeched as you got up from the couch, pulling your drawstring bag onto your shoulders and flipping her the bird as you made your way to the door. “It’s only been a fucking month since my fiancè fucking died! And you have the fucking nerve to say that I should be moving on?!” You scoffed at her, but you knew that she could see the tears that were streaming down your face, just as thick and heavy as the rain had suddenly turned outside.

“I don’t fucking need this,” you decided, your mind likely running as you thought of all of the other ways that you could get over this grief. “I don’t even want to fucking be here!”

“This therapy is mandated by your job!” Your therapist yelled as you ran out the door, making sure to slam it shut behind you.

“Yeah?!” You called back, glaring heavily at the terrified receptionist. “Ask me how much I fucking care!”

You would probably never set foot in that office again.

⛈️

THE next time you went to therapy, you walked in sullenly, looking ashamed and a bit embarrassed about your actions two months prior. You couldn’t even really say what you’d been doing the past two months, living life in a fog, grief overwhelming. You’d know you needed to go back to therapy when you started having lapses in your memory, and, here you were, unable to specifically recall a single thing that you’d done since…since…

“Why don’t we talk about what happened? That night?”

Your eyes shifted slowly to your therapist and you shook your head.

“No,” you responded sullenly, pulling at the strings of his hoodie. What used to be his hoodie… “No. I don’t want to do that.”

“Tell me what happened, Y/n.”

“I–it—!” You didn’t know why it was so hard to recall, or why it was so hard to put into words. “He fucking died, okay?! My fiancè died. What more is there to even say?”

“Do you want to talk about how your fiancè died?”

“No.”

Your therapist leaned forward then, arms in her lap, bland, semi-blonde hair hanging over a shoulder. She looked almost like the girl you both once knew, the girl you helped save— “You know, if you never talk about it, you’ll never get to the root of the real problem. You’ll never be able to feel better.”

You choked back a sob, hands clutching the ends of his hoodie when you said:

“Maybe I don’t want to feel better.”

⛈️

This session your therapist decided to try something different. Instead of bringing up that day, you’d spent the entirety of the session talking about everything else about…him. How you met, when you started dating, when he’d asked you to marry him.

“That day was happy,” you recalled, a gleam and a tear in your eye as you remembered how beautiful you looked in your bright yellow dress, how Leon had been so happy. Happier than he’d ever remembered feeling before. “He was so, so excited. I remember that. Him feeling so excited. I remember everything about that day.”

“Were you both excited?”

“Yes, I—I think we were both excited. And happy. So fucking happy.”

Your therapist smiled back at you and leaned back in her chair, seemingly satisfied with your answers. She was writing something in her notebook, her hair shorter than it had been before, you thought. And blonder.

“And thinking about that day, it makes you happy?”

Your veins turned ice cold as suddenly, all you could think about was the fact that the love of your life was dead.

“No,” you admitted, feeling the sobs begin to wrack your body. “No it makes me feel—I feel—”

“How do you feel?”

“I feel numb,” you interjected, and suddenly, your hands began shaking in what you thought was about to be a panic attack. Your breaths were coming in fast, shallow pants and you felt the overwhelming urge to scream. “I feel like—like I don’t exist. Like I’m nothing.”

The therapist tapped her pen against her notepad as she stared at you.

“Interesting.”

⛈️

“Let’s talk about the day that your fiancè died.”

“I already told you, I don’t want to do that,” you pushed back, leaning your back as far into the couch as you could without actually feeling it behind you. You stared at your therapist for a minute—having to look away from his eyes, so blue—and absentmindedly played with the ends of your hoodie. “I can’t remember much about it, anyways.”

“Still?”

“Yep,” you confirmed, watching as your therapist pursed his lips and shook his head. “Still.”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember that my fiancè died,” you bit back, uncomfortable feelings of grief and sadness instead of your comfortable numbness swirling around inside of you. “I remember that Leon is so far away from me, in a place I can never reach him. Is that what you want to hear?”

“I don’t want to hear anything,” your therapist insisted, and for some reason, you thought his voice sounded just a little bit deeper. Something was weird today. Something felt off. “And besides, I’m not the one who needs to know anything. You are.”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” You questioned harshly, taken aback by how flippant and assertive he sounded at the same time.

“What do you think it means?” Your therapist responded cheekily and you scoffed, sick of these stupid games. Sick of these pointless therapy sessions that you probably wouldn’t even remember. You didn’t remember anything since—

“Whatever,” you hissed, staring out the window. It was foggy today. Just like your mind. You winced as something prickled at the back of it, something trying to convey some sort of message, or—or a warning, maybe. “Something’s…weird today.”

“Well, what did you do this morning?” Your therapist responded. You opened your mouth to respond, to tell him all about your morning, but the words got caught in your throat and you found yourself unable to respond. You tried as hard as you could to remember something, anything that you could have possibly done that day, but—nothing. Your mind was as cloudy as the weather outside.

“I—I can’t remember,” you admitted and your therapist hummed in agreement. Like he knew something that you didn’t. Something struck you as odd again, something felt…awful. You leaned in closer to him, eyes squinted as you examined his hair. Blonde, as usual. Eyes—scarily blue. Blue enough to remind you of—of—

“Something’s wrong,” you said again, clutching your chest. “Something feels really, really wrong.” Your therapist looked at you and scoffed.

“Well, your fiancè is dead, so, that doesn’t really surprise me.”

“No,” you argued, insistent that something had changed between your appointments. “Something is wrong with you. You’re…different than before.” And yes, that was it. Your therapist seemed…different. Something changed with him.

But what was it?! Had he cut his hair? Or lost weight? Or—no, something else. It was more drastically different than anything like that. What was it?

“Different?” Your therapist asked. “Different how?”

“You’re…you seem different than before,” was all you could manage to say, because your brain, for the life of you, could not figure out what had changed. All that was thought was that something fundamental was shifting here, and you didn’t seem to put your finger on it yet. “You seem like a different person.”

“Hmm,” your therapist responded, shaking his head, as if he were analyzing something. “Interesting, indeed.”

⛈️

“Tell me again.”

“I already told you,” you groaned, picking yourself up off of the couch and pacing around the room. “A thousand times. We met in the spring. At a festival. He was there as some bonafide security. He thought I was cute. He asked for my number. I gave it to him.”

“Great,” your therapist responded, a smile on his face. “Now tell me about the day your fiancè died.”

“I don’t remember!” You screamed back, sick and tired of this stupid, stupid game that your therapist seemed to be playing with you. You could somehow recall every single instance you’d had with Leon from…before…but you couldn’t remember—you couldn’t quite recall—

“Where were you that day?”

“On a mission!” You screeched back, fingernails digging so hard into your palms that it looked like they could draw blood. “I followed him there, I told him it was because I didn’t want him to go alone. I knew how to shoot, I could fight—”

“Tell me about the day your fiancè died.”

“I DON’T REMEMBER!”

“And why do you think you don’t remember?!” Your therapist was equally as aggressive now, standing up and matching your anxious, agonizing energy. “Why do you think that you can recall every specific detail about your lives together except for that day? The day that your fiancè died!”

“I don’t know!” You were sobbing now, sinking to your knees and clutching the fabric of your blood-stained jeans. Your—what? “I don’t know, I don’t know, I DON’T KNOW!”

“Yes, you do,” your therapist responded, and suddenly, his voice sounded familiar. Too familiar. “You do know.”

Appalled, you lifted your head and rose to your feet and when you saw the man who stood before you, you gasped.

No. What? How?!

“Leon?” Your voice was timid, afraid, and you were shaking as you looked back at your therapist, your therapist who wasn’t that at all but Leon Kennedy. Your fiancè. Your fiancè who— “But you—you’re not—you’re dead, you died—you?”

“No,” Leon responded sadly, looking down at your form. Blood, seeping through your shirt. Dripping onto your pants. Blood, blood everywhere— “No, I’m not.”

It all came rushing back quickly, hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“No,” you gasped, clutching at your chest. “Oh, oh no—”

“Tell me what happened,” Leon pushed and you were shaking your head, you were visibly upset, he could tell. You didn’t want to tell him. He didn’t want you to tell him.

“Oh, no—” A sudden rush of intense grief, of horribly immense pain all over his body. No, no he didn’t want to remember—

“We were infected,” you recalled, suddenly calm, and your hands wouldn’t leave your chest. Your beautiful, beautiful hands. “We—we made Ashley get cured first, and then you insisted that I go, and—”

“No,” Leon suddenly insisted, and the therapy room was gone. You were back—back in that place, back in that chair—and you thought that there might be tears in his eyes.

“And you passed out. And when you woke up, Leon, I was—”

“No!” Leon was shaking, hyperventilating, as he clutched the table in front of him, looking very much like he was going to throw up at any minute. You looked back at him with sad, empathetic eyes—those bright, amazingly beautiful eyes that he loves so fucking much. Oh, fuck, those eyes—

“Leon, I have to,” you pressed, your voice broken with tears. “When you came to Leon, I was—it didn’t work on me,” you reminded him, and now he was clutching his head, trying not to hear, trying not to see it anymore. “I was too far gone, there was nothing that you could do—”

“NO!” And suddenly, he could see it all again. Ashley, sobbing over your dead body. Apologizing, telling him it didn’t work, your heart couldn’t take it—it stopped. He tried CPR. He tried everything but you—the love of his life, you—

You were dead.

“Leon, it’s time to wake up,” you told him, and your bright eyes were gone. Glassy, grey, dead—

“Wake up, Leon. Wake up, wake up, wake up—”

⛈️

“Leon? Leon, wake up—”

The man shot up with a gasp, sweat beading down his forehead and sticking his hair to his face. He turned to the side of his bed—it smelled like shit in his room, understandably so, he hadn’t left it in days—and he spotted Chris sitting there, eyes slightly worried.

“Fuck, man,” Chris gulped, watching him warily. “You were doing it again. The dreams.”

“And you had to fucking wake me up?!” Leon hollered at him, chucking an empty glass across the room, unflinching as it shattered across his carpet. “That’s the only time! That’s the only time!”

“That’s the only time—what?”

“That’s the only time I can fucking see her!”

Leon’s body wanted to wrack with sobs but he shoved it down, clutching his hair in his hands as he rocked back and forth, trying to calm his body enough to go back to sleep. Just go back to sleep. When he was awake, it was hell—all he could see was your dead eyes, staring up at the ceiling, your clothes stained with blood, and all he could feel was the horrible, terrible fucking pain that accompanied the knowledge that you were fucking dead.

“It’s not real, Leon,” Chris said softly and Leon let out a tiny sob, his heart clenching. He knew it wasn’t fucking real. Of course it wasn’t fucking real. “Imagining her as the one that’s alive, using drugs to hallucinate her living without you, instead—it isn't healthy—”

“Ask me if I fucking care.”

“And do you honestly think that these…scenarios, these daydreams that you make up in your head—Leon, do you think that those are going to fucking bring her back?”

Leon was quiet. He knew it wasn’t going to bring you back. Nothing could bring you back now. Nothing at all.

He heard Chris shifting beside him.

“We went through her apartment today,” he informed Leon and the man tried not to hear, tried not to care. “We found this. We thought you’d want it.”

His eyes moved without his consent and his heart broke when he saw it. Your favorite article of clothing. His hoodie. His stupid, old, Racoon City Police Department hoodie.

“Burn it,” Leon insisted, “or throw it away. I don’t fucking care.”

“Leon,” Chris pushed. “This was yours—”

“No!” Leon yelled, and it was coming back, the pain, the awful pain. “No. It’s not mine. It only used to be mine. It’s all only used to be’s, now. Throw. It. Away.”

And then he swallowed another pain pill and closed his miserable, blue eyes. You were waiting for him there, after all.

forever taglist: @house-of-kolchek @lorebite @yeslieutenant @kassiekolchek22 @buttermykolchek @kawaiiwitch224 @ageofbajabule

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil x you #leon kennedy x you #resident evil x reader

111 notes · View notes

blueicequeen19 · 2 years

Text

Overflowing

I hope you guys like this one! I can’t be the only one that’s ever pretended to be mad to get their way 😈

“Can I get in with you?” I opened one eye at my sweet husbands voice from my spot in the soaker tub I’d insisted he install. I nod, my head still resting on a rolled up towel while the rest of my body was perfectly submerged. I close my eyes, fighting a smile as I listen to him eagerly strip out of his clothes for the day.

I lean forward so he can get in behind me, the warmth of his body against mine feeling ten times better than this hot water every could. I immediately slump against him, his semi hard cock already digging into my back. I rest my arms on his bent knees as his hands starts to massage my back and shoulder then up my neck.

“Why are you sucking up?” I tease, my breathing becoming rapid. I loved this man’s hands on my body no matter what it was he was doing. His lips grazed over the spot below my ear and heat rose to my cheeks.

“I missed you.” He murmurs, his voice deeper than normal and filled with need.

“Mmhmm. Did you buy another fishing pole?” I turn slightly so I can see his face. He never could lie to me. His eyes narrow just a bit but I can tell he’s trying to fight a smile the way his lips twitch.

“It’s a good investment.” He blurts and I roll my eyes as his big arms circle me to hold me against his chest. I click my tongue in fake annoyance. I was clever in getting my way with this man and I sure loved when he’d suck up. His hand slides down into the water and between my legs, two fingers slipping between my folds.

“Don’t be mad at me.” He says softly, kissing along my neck but I turn my head to keep up the game. I wanted him to try harder. His fingers press on my clit then he starts to circle them. I clench my jaw, fighting the sounds that he’s trying to draw out of me. I shudder when his tongue flicks up my neck and goosebumps erupt all over my skin.

“Look at me.” JJ tries to capture my chin in his free hand but I turn and he growls angrily. His two fingers plunge inside me abruptly and I cry out, arching my back off his chest and digging my nails into arms. He finger-fucks me fast and hard, just how I like. When I feel myself getting close, he stops.

“Look. At. Me.” JJ growls and I turn around in the tub, glaring at him as I straddle his waist and sink down on his cock, my need for release was too great to be teased any longer. I grip the tubs edge behind him as I start to ride him, his cock dragging along every nerve inside me. His mouth hangs open, eyes hooded as I take my pleasure from him. Using him. And he loves it.

“Fuck, baby.” JJ groans, his hands gripping the edges of the tub. He leans up to kiss me but I push him away with a hand to his chest. Anger sparks in his eyes and he immediately wraps his arms around me, rolling his hips to meet mine.

“Are you mad, baby? Gonna fuck me to teach me a lesson? Take your frustrations out on my cock?” One hand fists the hair at the nape of my neck and I cry out, the burning in my core only intensifying.

“Kiss me.”

“No.” I bite out, digging my nails into his shoulders so hard that he hisses in pain. I was so close. So so close. My entire body tightened and when he sucked my nipple into his mouth, I came with a cry that echoed through the tile bathroom.

“Fuck, there it is. Thats my girl.” JJ’s praise fueled me further as I continued to ride him. His cock was so deep it almost hurt. He must notice the pain on my face because he starts to rub my clit, his eyes not tearing from my face.

“Are you sore, baby? My big cock too much for you?”

God, his filthy mouth.

“Kiss me.” He demanded but I fought a smile, determined to defy him as I bit my bottom lip. I rode him harder, faster, making the water start to overflow from the tub.

“Oh, god.” I cried, lunging forward and smashing my lips to his as I came. He groaned into my mouth, our tongues clashing and fighting for dominance as he came inside me, his body shaking and pulsing against mine as we slowed to a stop. JJ brushed some hair from my face, cupping my cheek as his eyes searched mine.

“Please don’t be mad at me. I’ll take it back.” He pleads and I break out into a smile, kissing him again.

“I’m not mad. I just wanted you to fuck me like that.” I tease, quickly lifting from tub and wrapping myself in a towel as his mouth hangs open.

“You tricked me.” He says, pulling the stopper on the tub and grabbing his own towel. I shrug and give him a playful smirk as my eyes linger on his cock.

“You pretended to be mad so I’d kiss up.” He states, moving towards me as I back away into our bedroom.

“I saw an opportunity and I took it. Call it a good investment.” His eyes widen before he lunges for me. I squeal as he throws me onto the bed and comes down on top of me. I giggle as he kisses and bites every inch of my skin, sucking hickies into the flesh of my breasts.

“You little fucking brat. What am I going to do with you?” JJ growls, coming up to kiss me. I reach between us and grab his already hard again cock. I fit the head against my entrance and he watches me with a smirk.

“Punish me.” I taunt, lifting my hips as he starts to sink inside me.

“Oh I will.”

#smutwarning #jj maybank smut #jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagine #jj obx #jj maybank fluff #obx2 #jj maybank x you #rudy pankow #wattpad #outer banks smut #outer banks x reader #tw unprotected sex #outer banks fanfiction #jj maybank

718 notes · View notes

atlas-of-a-human-soul · 2 years

Text

Wildest dreams, pt. 8

Summary: Secrets are coming out

Warnings: angst, swearing

Wildest Dreams Masterlist

Looking over his shoulder, the man drops the bag of chips Y/N bought just yesterday. His lips spread in a shit-eating grin, flashing his pearly whites at her. He jumps from the countertop, turning to look at her properly. The corners of his eyes are crinkled thanks to his smile and Y/N can’t help the tears that rush forth as her heart skips at the sight.

“You still eat salty chips”, Jacob notes, placing his hands on his hips.

Her lips quiver, unable to speak. If she does, her voice is certain to break. She spent an agonizingly long time trying to forget about Jacob and the way he made her feel like she’s his favorite person in the world and his grin, the same boyish grin she absolutely adored, still makes her feel that way.

Jacob has betrayed her, he has abandoned her without explanation, but she still loves him so fucking much. He was her best friend, her brother, her platonic soulmate. She can’t not love him, despite trying to. And she tried so, so hard.

“What”, she looks to her left as a heavy sigh passes her lips. She can hardly breathe, hardly speak. He’s caused her entire body to shiver, to betray just how badly she missed him. The last thing she expected was to see Jacob in her kitchen roughly a decade after they spoke last.

Sniffling, she turns to look at him and the tears she collected in the corners of her eyes fall. While her tears fall, her heart sinks as her eyes harden and her jaw clenches.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!”

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Jacob’s grin falters. He licks his lips, his eyes trailing to her clenched jaw before chaining his gaze to her less than forgiving one.

“You called”, he finally says and her eyes narrow at him.

“I did”, she chuckles dryly with a bitter smirk remaining on her lips. “I called you day and night”, she nods to herself as she sinks her teeth in her bottom lip. “TEN FUCKING YEARS AGO!”

“More like twelve years”, Jacob corrects, earning himself a glare many would cower before.

Shaking her head, she takes a few steps closer, the kitchen island between them acting like a layer of protection. “Get your ass out of my house.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Jacob draws his inner lip, gnawing on it. “You called me”, he repeats. “I came as soon as I could. It sounded like you needed help.”

Running a hand over her face, she realizes what he means. He was the first call. He didn’t answer then, but he…

It doesn’t matter. He failed her before. She can’t trust him. She can’t just forget the fact he’s been gone, out of her life for so long and it doesn’t seem he had missed her. He seems perfectly fine without her. While she was falling apart, second guessing herself and everything she did or said, he didn’t spare her a second thought.

“I don’t”, she lifts her chin up proudly. “Not from you.”

Rounding the kitchen island, Jacob ignores her words. “I like what you did with your hair”, he raises his eyebrows when she snorts in disbelief. “I mean it. It’s much better than that time you cut it in a bob and dyed it aqua blue.”

Glancing at him, she takes a step away when she realizes how close he’s gotten. “How would you know? You weren’t there.”

“Your friend in med school tagged you in a photo”, he answers quickly. “It was the only photo of your face I’ve seen in all these years.” Leaning his left elbow on the counter, he smiles. “You kept posting photos of nature and I just kept thinking POST SOMETHING ABOUT YOU.”

Remaining quiet, with her eyebrows furrowed, Y/N stares at Jacob as he rubs his forehead.

“I just wanted to see your face, but you would post anything but.” Shrugging meekly, he swallows thickly. “I saw you were in med school and thought about how good you look in that white coat but you never posted a single photo.”

“Just because you followed my Insta I’m supposed to forgive you now?” She raises her eyebrows, pursing her lips. “It’s going to make everything magically fine?”

“Of course not!” Jacob steps closer, reaching for her hand over the counter but when his fingers brush hers, she pulls back as if his touch burned her. Biting his lower lip, he ignores the rejection but doesn’t advance. “I just”, he sighs. “I never stopped caring about you.”

“Fancy words”, she remarks. “They mean nothing when they aren’t followed by actions.”

Nodding, he lets out a heavy, shaky breath pass his lips. “No one told you”, Jacob’s sad smile lights up his face slightly. “I thought they’d do that by now, but they didn’t.”

Frowning, she’s the one taking a step closer now. She’s the one looking to close the distance. “Tell me what?”

“The reason why I was forced to leave you...the reason we all did.”

Her lips part as she inches closer. “Forced?” Her voice is quiet, laced with confusion and worry, softer.

Nodding, Jacob’s tight-lipped smile is overshadowed by the weariness in his dark eyes. “When you called me, I was on the first plane here, hoping I’d have my best friend back.”

“I am back”, she says sharply. “I never really left, you did and you’re still standing here leaving me in the dark.”

She remembers the wind as it blew the day they last spoke. She remembers the stray droplets of rain falling on her cheeks, hiding her tears. He approached her on a random Tuesday months after he stopped taking her calls, weeks of ignoring her and she has accumulated so much unbridled rage that she couldn’t help but hate him. She snapped at him and he just looked at her, truly looked into her eyes as if he was searching for her soul, for a way to connect on a deeper level she didn’t quite understand.

Then he walked away and she never saw him other than in passing.

“I needed you back then”, she whispers. “I needed you when the anniversary of our moms deaths came every year because you’re the only one I could talk to about how that loss feels”, a crack in her voice silences her.

She waited for him for so long. Every year, she’d sit at their graves with a daisy in her hand, praying Jacob would come as he used to, but he never did. She was alone, her tears growing the flowers they planted at the graves because they didn’t want them to seem empty and lifeless like the rest of them. Their mothers have been the epitome of life and beauty when they were alive so they made their graves reflect that.

The day that accident took their mothers away from them was the day she and Jacob promised each other an eternal friendship. He broke his promise.

And when she looks at him now, she can see he is at a loss of words and he can’t fathom the pain she has been suffering in his absence. He’s hindered her ability to trust, to love, to believe in a forever. He’s left her wounded, bleeding and took the cure with him.

“There’s not a day”, his voice breaks and he slams his hand on the island counter, cracking it much to Y/N’s shock. She flinches, taking a step back as Jacob continues. “There’s not a day where I don’t regret not breaking all the rules and telling you everything.” Biting his trembling bottom lip, Jacob shakes his head vehemently. “I loved you”, he says through gritted teeth. “In every way imaginable.”

Swallowing thickly, she places a hand over her chest.

“As a friend”, he covers his mouth. His hand drops and so does his resolution to keep quiet, for when he speaks, one of his greatest secrets is released into the world. “And for a while as a girl. As the reason I woke up in the morning.”

“Jake”, she interjects, but he isn’t stopping now and she can tell. Whatever it is that weighed on her all these years has wrecked him too.

“I was in love with you and I had to walk away and I’ve accepted that.” Brushing away his own tears, he chokes out his next words. “It faded”, he admits. “But never the love, never the undisputed fact you’re my soulmate. Not in a romantic sense, but you’ve always been at the core of my being and I never stopped looking after you.”

Jacob’s words cause a silence in her soul. Once again, she finds herself feeling like that teenager all those years ago when she felt like fall leaves under frost. She can feel the chill coursing in her blood, coldness bringing the synapses of her brain to a standstill. Part of her is in unimaginable pain, yet one she can endure, she’s learned how to survive in it. He has brought a permanent winter into her life so long ago and she has been waiting for spring ever since.

Truth be told, she always believed it would be Jacob to melt the snow and bring back spring in her soul, but as a knock on the front door sounds, she finds herself heading to it without even a word spared for her best friend who looked ill with his confessions.

Once the door opens, the sunlight enters and she realizes the snow is turning into a river that is washing away the sorrow. Arms wrap around her and the unexpected embrace brings a warmth, a tenderness, in which the flowers at the grave of who she used to be can flourish once more.

“I’m sorry”, the sunlight mumbles in her hair and she realizes she hasn’t said a word. She simply melted into the hug, barely even aware of who is holding her. Her body knows she’s safe on instinct, that she is with someone who’d protect her. Her eyes are closed, her heart is open.

“I’ll tell you everything.”

That’s when her eyes open and she looks up only to find her once enemy is the one she’s allowed to hold her so intimately and she didn’t understand it, but for the first time in a while she didn’t feel pain. She felt his heart beating against her splayed palm over his chest and she knows that no matter what he once was, Paul that is standing before her isn’t someone to let go, rather someone she’s meant to hold close.

All the time spent in vain hating him and yet she finds it’s him who has the power to mend her broken pieces.

“That’s good”, Jacob speaks and Paul’s entire body tenses as he pulls Y/N to a side hug. “I was going to do the same just before you came in.”

“You’re overstepping”, Paul reminds him.

Snorting, Jacob shakes his head. “She’s my best friend.”

“Not for a long time now.” Paul steps before Y/N and her hand wraps around his bicep, grounding him.

“Whatever it is that’s caused this rift between Jacob and me and has distanced you from me, I need to know”, Y/N’s hand trails from Paul’s bicep to his hand, bravely slipping her fingers between his.

For a moment she wondered if he’d move away with disgust or slap her hand away and laugh at her for being so naïve to think he’s possibly interested in her, but he doesn’t. His hand closes around hers and the heaviness in his chest is gone, replaced by butterflies she once wished death upon.

“Now”, she says sternly as her eyes flicker to Jacob. “You owe me that.”

Giving her hand a tight squeeze, Paul nods. Looking down, he meets her gaze. “You might want to let my hand go then.”

Frowning, she does so with a flicker of hurt in her eyes.

“It’s for your safety”, Jacob tells her, noticing the dejected look. Turning his gaze to Paul, Jacob comes closer. “I could do it, so you’re with her when it happens.”

“When what happens?!” Y/N asks with slight panic in her tone, confused by their exchange.

Shaking his head, Paul hooks his fingers in the hem of his shirt before pulling it off.

Blinking fast, Y/N steps back with eyebrows raised. “Is your cult a swinger’s commune or something?”

Chuckling, Paul tosses the shirt at her. “I wish.” Winking, he steps through the doorway. Turning back to her, he pulls down his shorts and she’s quick to cover her eyes.

“NUDISTIC SUPPORT GROUP THEN?”

“Look at me”, Paul says softly, but she shakes her head.

“Look at me”, Paul repeats and she lifts his shirt up.

“I’m going to blindfold myself instead until you’re ready to put your dick away.”

In a second, he’s before her again. Pulling her hand down, he tilts her head with his index finger on her chin. “Please”, his voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “Just look at me and you’ll understand.”

Swallowing thickly, she lets out a shuddered breath. It’s taking every last bit of willpower not to stare at his chest as he steps back slowly, more so not to look below his waist. From what a quick glance at his body gathered, Paul Lahote is chiseled by the gods themselves and cursed to live on this planet as a mortal being due to their own jealousy of his ethereal beauty.

No one could ever steal the very breath from her lungs the way Paul does. No one could ever cause her heart to flutter the way he does and she can’t admit it, not to him, not to Jacob and certainly not to herself but she likes him. She has a crush on Paul Lahote and it’s insanity.

However, in a matter of seconds, faster than a blink of an eye, his tan, sculpted body had disappeared and her wide eyes found fur in its place.

She was wrong, he is not mortal.

That was her last thought before the darkness overtook her.

Tags: @the-chaotic-cow @xxxjaexxx @captainrogers-19 @bexloxl @laehlaluvs @adaydreamaway08 @sunsetevergreen @volturiwolf @twihard08 @galacticstxrdust @sorrow-and-bliss @ireadthensuetheauthors @missxmarvelous

PART 9

#paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #twilight fandom #twilight #jacob black #twilight saga #Twilight series #twilight fanfiction #paul lahote series #paul lahote angst

823 notes · View notes