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tteokdoroki · 2 years

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OCTOBER 1ST. VENOM

"eyes. lungs. pancreas. so many snacks, so little time."

♱ — katsuki bakugou + monsterfucking.

♱ — synopsis; katsuki’s been a bad fiancé recently, he tries to tell himself that it’s all in his head ( literally ) and when his neglectful behaviour nearly ruins your engagement dinner — he has no choice but to make it up to you, with the help of a little symbiotic friend.

♱ — length; 5K

♱ — warnings; please read for your own safety! mdni, smut 18+, heavy smut, characters aged up to 20s, mentions of eating people, monsterfucking, dry humping, tentacles, overstimulation, pussy jobs, public sex, clothed sex, oral sex ( f!receiving ), pegging ( m!receiving ), fem!reader, venom!bakugou. not beta read !

♱ — notes; waaa!! hello everyone, welcome back to kinktober!! im so happy to be participating again, i hope you all enjoy whats in store for this year. starting with this baddie !! - m.list ₊ kinktober m.list ₊ taglist 𓆩♡𓆪

“just eat her…katsuki…”

“no, you can fuck right off.”

“why not? she is unpleasant…katsuki…its not like we like her anyways…”

for the first time that night, katsuki indulges the mangled voice in his head— listening to the symbiotic alien that sludges through his voice and his body. venom is right. he hates his mother in law, soon to be mother in law, but the practicalities of it all aren’t what matter. red eyes drift to the devil’s incarnation of a woman, traditional yet rude and deserving of a beat down— katsuki thinks. if he could just take a bite, crunch down on the woman’s skull and swallow her whole, all of his problems would be solved.

“goodness, bakugou,” the woman leers with a nasty curl of her sweaty upper lip. “i’m paying for the wedding not for you to be dressed like a complete slob— you look awful, and at my only daughter’s engagement party!” she drones on and if venom were to murder this woman right now, she really would deserve it.

“see? you are a loser, bakugou.”

he wasn’t dressed that bad, sure, it wasn’t the burgundy blazer and pressed white shirt you’d told him to pick up from the dry cleaners on the way home from work but— it was smart casual, a nice pair of jeans and a smart jacket. you liked that. that’s all that mattered.

bowing his head slightly, bakugou wordlessly apologises before fishing himself out another glass of mercilessly alcohol free fruit punch. “‘m sorry ma’am—“

he cuts himself off when your name flitters from between your mother’s lips— the syllables that usually sound so pretty when strung together now ugly tainted by the evil woman. “she deserves so much better than you,” she doesn’t ease up on reminding bakugou of how lucky he is to have bagged you. to love you. “better than a wannabe journalist on a motor cycle.”

“die… pewny crazy woman—“

bakugou feels the familiar crawl of the venom symbiote across his skin— sharp-edges, dangerous claws reaching out for the wicked woman to snag her head off when he controls himself, controls his little friend and forces his stare back to the catered pile of desserts.

“venom,” katsuki is barely hanging onto his sanity, voice tainted with exhaustion. it’s like having a child constantly on your back, begging for things that aren’t acceptable for adults. he wonders how he’s been able to put up with this, how you’re able to put up with him. since becoming one with the alien life form— katsuki bakugou has been nothing but neglectful of you…turning his back on you during nights full of romance because he’s scared venom will hurt you, he’s missed cake and wine and menu tasting for the wedding because venom craved a little something meatier and sometimes even more human than whatever you’d been excited to try for your big day. katsuki forgets calls, doesn’t reply to texts— cycles into the night to take care of his little problem when he should be looking after you.

katsuki’s been insufferable; meaner than usual, flakier than he should be and he knows that he’s hurting you— not loving you properly like he should. blaming venom alone would be the easy way out. yet you stayed, you kept that ring on your finger and put on your best smile, because for some reason you still found it in your too big of a heart to love katsuki even when he didn’t deserve it.

still away with his thoughts, blonde is absent to notice venom popping out— a creepy, sticky black head, to greet a curious child after some of the sweets at this swanky engagement party. “want to play hide and seek? the mouth is a good place to start.” venom’s attempt at a coo is far from comforting, rows of razor sharp teeth covered in alien slobber only frightening the little one more.

“fuck off venom, cut yer crap out or i’ll—“ bakugou waves a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose only to be pulled from his revere by a whimpering child ( now identified as your five year old nephew who still hates his guts ). “oh shit—“

“would you mind not cursing in front of my kid?” your brother hastily appears from absolutely fucking nowhere. shindou is far from impressed, hates bakugou’s guts as does the rest of your family and if he had his way, the blonde wouldn’t have a leg to stand on at the alter with you. “yanno, you might wanna behave yourself tonight? it’s important to my ma, to my sister so if you could—“

there’s a burning rage that flickers through bakugou’s veins only heightened by the alien that makes a host out of his body, and it only makes it harder to fight off the urge for manslaughter. “we should eat him too…katsuki…he is getting on my nerves. i am sure he will taste like chicken.” the alien growls from the deep corners of his mind.

“they do not taste like chicken you stupid fuckin’ lug.” bakugou grunts back.

and to the outside world, the shitty excuse for a man is talking to himself— getting shindou’s back right up. “what did you just call me?”

“stay outta this, man. s’between me and the dumb fuckin’ alien voice in my head.”

insane. katsuki bakugou’s little alien friend makes him look absolutely insane.

and before he can get his ass beat by your brother— you swoop in, slightly flushed from flickering between guests of friends and family all night, there’s smile lines in your makeup, you’re tired in the eyes and you’re still the most beautiful person in the room to bakugou. his heart races when you’re close enough for him to smell your perfume, putting a safe distance between your fiancé and your brother.

you’re angry with him, bakugou can tell by the heat in your gaze when you get shindou far enough from the dessert table— he can feel it in the way it burns against his skin in broad waves, see it in how you twist on your heel so fast your dress, pretty and off-white like a bride on her wedding day, rides up enough to catch a glimpse of your thighs. it’s shameful to admit, but seeing you so full of rage turns him ( and venom ) on.

“what the hell is going on with you, katsuki?” you bark at him, hands on his chest enough to make the blood rush to his cock, swelling in the pants he’d just managed to throw on for tonight’s event.

“n-nothin’ sweetheart, ‘m just—“ fuck her katsuki. she’s angry, venom goads. she is pretty when she’s angry. we should fuck her. the blonde shakes his head, trying to rid himself of vulgar thoughts— clearing his mind, focusing on you and how your chest heaves, with annoyance, tucked away in that tight fitting dress that hugs you in all the right places, as you look up at your fiancé expectantly. fuck. “the only one that’ll be fuckin’er is me, you dumb fuck alien.”

it’s embarrassing, whatever’s gotten into your fiancé— because tonight was supposed to be special, the one night before your wedding that you could trust him to behave and not make that familiar prickling warmth coil in your core at his vulgar words. your eyes widen in shock and you push again at katsuki’s chest with furrowed brows.

“kats, please—“

shindou squeezes down on your nephew’s ears, hoping it’ll block out whatever filth spills from your lover’s mouth. “that’s my sister! you dipshit, get a grip—“

“fuck him too, katsuki…”

“yo—“ you turn around again, spitting venom ( no pun intended ) at your brother too as you grasp at bakugou’s wrist to pull him from the banquet room you’d booked for tonight’s celebrations. “go check on ma, please? i’ll deal with him.”

and you exactly that, nagging the man’s ear off as you tug him to the bathroom— tears glittering as pretty as your engagement ring in your eyes under the artificial light. you’re nearly broken at this point, months of being treated so differently, akin to trash possibly, by the man you love most being unleashed on him and the symbiote that sits comfortably in his frame unbeknownst to you.

“i’m sick of this kats,” you might as well be screaming at this point, your whiny and emotional voice is loud and noisy to the alien. it echoes through the cubical you’ve locked yourselves in and it cranks up the annoyance within venom— and you barely notice katsuki trying to keep him down. “i’ve been good to you all these years, haven’t i? i’ve loved you well enough for you to know that i deserve better than you but i just can’t—!”

the final straw is when you bang your fist against the cubical wall, the noise rattling the symbiote inside your lover, forcing ink black tendrils to take over his host body and a scream to tear in the base of your throat as katsuki transforms into something you don’t even recognise.

the man towering over you now is built in a suit of sticky, obsidian black— white, and cloudy slits peer into yours in a way that sends shivers down your spine and has your thumping heart leaping into your throat. this isn’t your man, this isn’t your katsuki. horror seeps through your body, takes residence in your veins as the monster grasps at you with claws and tentacles instead of your fiancé’s slightly calloused hands. it dwarfs you more in comparison to bakugou, it makes you scared looking at what it’s made of him as thick slime slides up and down your pretty, blemished skin in ripples.

“don’t scream.” the rasp you’d come so accustomed to, the one that makes your breath hitch every time he speaks, the one that fills you with butterflies despite the roots of fear wrapping around your heart. it’s him, your katsuki. the tendrils of black have peels back from his pretty face, his ruby gem

eyes send a flicker of comfort through your soul.

but then he’s gone again and the dark mask takes over— screaming at you at a pitch close to making your ears bleed, and you’re scared again, close to screaming too. it, pools like an oil slick over your mouth, suffocating you like a bird on the surface of oil laden water…but you like it, even as if claws ironically gently at the insides of your mouth.

“but we like it when she is screaming. katsuki. we are dirty minded.” the creature addresses you, some kind of twisted affection reflecting in the white of its eye.

“venom, i swear to fuck—“

it’s… katsuki’s… venom’s tongue, long and pink darts out to smooth over your face though you quiver, body toppling over with liquid dread. it’s warm, wet and shouldn’t send a spark of lust down your spine making you let out a muffled whimper of confused arousal.

“mouth…breasts…cunt…so many snacks…so little time.” venom pins you against the wall, pouring over you and invading every inch of your shaky frame— smothering you as it slips under your dainty little dress while you squirm about in it’s hold.

eventually, the ink black peels away from your mouth, only when your muted screams die down. “t-this? katsuki? this is what’s gotten into you?” he’s relieved to see that you’re still filled with anger as you gulp in fresh air between ripping him a new one, he’s completely aware of your growing arousal too. “a parasite! you’ve let a fucking parasite take over your body and ruin our engagement night and now—“

venom, is offended, however. “—i am not a parasite!” he growls. “i am venom, and you are mine.”

“ours…fuck, i mean mine.” katsuki comments, but he doubts you can hear him through the layers of teeth venom wears while arguing with the symbiote itself. it’s a back and forth, but even during that your fiancé can practically smell how your cunt drools into your barely-there panties— from fear or desire, he can’t care to tell. you’re so wet, and between dealing with venom and not seeing you during wedding prep, the blonde can’t remember the last time he fucked you good and proper.

it’s been ages, and you look too fucking good tonight.

“we should just take her…katsuki. flood her insides with seed. she is asking for it, like a hunk of meat waiting to be devoured….”

you squirm against venom’s web like hold, “don’t talk about me like i’m not here you piece of shit! give me back katsuki—!”

“her pulse has quickened. she is hungry for us.” the voice of venom roars from inside his head, equally as desperate for you as katsuki is. katsuki, in combination with the symbiote, surges forward to kiss you with greedy lips and to press his saliva covered and syrupy tongue into the heat of your mouth so he can silence you. it’s big, hefty as it fills you up until there’s drool pooling out and sitting on the corner of your pretty lips. “i like her. more.”

and then you moan, it sounds like a symphony as your mouth swells with the thickness of the slimy tongue exploring your throat and rolling over your tongue. “we’ve been neglecting’ you, hah, sweetheart?” bakugou, your fiancé, groans against your spit slicked lips— smiling at the way you choke from his tongue retreating from choking you down your oesophagus. “wanna take care of ya, been letting you work yer ass off f’this weddin’,” venom’s strawberry tongue slithers out again like a snake seeking out its pray, leaving a sloppy trace over your neck as if to taste the salt that shimmers like crystals on your skin.

“i’m getting hungry as well, katsuki.”

they’re both starving for you, depraved of a meal that is your cunt with your panties tucked between swollen folds. “i-if you think…that you can make it up to me.” your speak hoarsely, throat still raw as you pant and catch your breath, “k-katsuki if you think i can forgive you…”

“let us fuck you, baby. i just— we just wanna feel you. c’mon sweetheart, you trust me yeah? y’missed me so much i know,” all three of you feel it, the way your pussy throbs against venom’s beefy and wet thigh from where he’d shoved it snug between the pair of your own.

“d-did… i did. m-miss you, oh fuck!” you stutter out as thick digits belonging to your fiancé— thickened even more by venom, brush against your hip, dip beneath your skirt and panties to glide up and down your pussy. bakugou teases your entrance, scissoring two fingers inside of your warmth while you ooze into the seat of his palm and grind against him with wanton. “fuck me. both of you, p-please kats,” you beg, riding his fingers until they’re pulled out of you, coated in juices.

your body admits it before your brain does— that you’ve missed him, he can tell from how your chest naturally arches into the eager hunting path of katsuki’s mouth. your flavour reads sweetness, like salted caramel due to the sweat on your skin— his, venom’s tongue runs a course down your body, the sweetheart neckline of your dress rough on his taste buds before he drools between the swell of your pretty tits. he leaves trails of saliva every inch of you possible.

a patch is licked down the front of your dress— katsuki barely fighting off sharp teeth desperate to tear through the front of it so he can kiss the softness of your tummy. instead, hands large enough to crush a skull stick to the dips and fat at your waist, the doughy-ness of your darling thighs he’s missed so much.

the black veil of venom peels back as katsuki’s head dips under your flimsy skirt— and he practically moans, huskily at that, upon seeing the crotch of your underwear darker by your ever growing wetness. “must’a really missed me, sweetheart,” a wildfire of lust sweeps over katsuki’s ruby red eyes and he coos deviently, nose nudging against your pulsing clit before venom’s tongue happily comes into play this game of sinful chess. he moves just a touch, mouth pulling wide to split at the sides much like a snake unhinging it’s jaw, and latches onto the entire length of your silken slit. his tongue greedily pokes at your hole from over the soaked material— sucking until your juices stream against his taste buds. you’re like a drug, ecstasy— sending waves of dopamine over katsuki’s brain.

burning desire trickles into bakugou’s bloodstream at an alarming rate, bursting through his veins and shaking about in his lungs at every little whimper that bubbles wetly on your messy lips— these soon turn to gasps, straining for air as if you’re drowning when your fiancé peels back your wet layer of clothing, nearly tearing completely through it with a life threatening talon belonging to venom, so he can expose your hot cunt to the cool air of the bathroom. he laughs, breathless and giddy against your mound before dragging his tongue along it— kitten licking your addictive little core just to see you twitch and writhe against the wall venom has you pinned to.

you’re heaven on earth for a greedy, predatory creature like venom.

but you’re the universe to a regular man like katsuki bakugou.

your cute little clit is his next stop, pointed teeth only just latching onto the pleasure bud before your fiancé rolls it between the two sets until your nose scrunches adorably and your eyes shoot back into your skull. “i think the little human likes this.” venom’s deep voice inches down your spine, hits deep in your core just with its vibrations— and even he is amused with how wet, you’ve become. gushing like a fruitful stream, pouring liquid gold straight into katsuki’s awaiting mouth, down his chin and painting his cheeks until they shine like treasure.

there’s an uneven rise and fall to your chest as you’re fucked by two entities— you can barely breathe between them both, the shapes on your clit and the stickiness of venom catching your juices before they have a chance to run down your thighs. bakugou is lovesick, and so are you— big bambi eyes staring down into his own so earnestly, imploringly. the blonde pushes his tongue past the entrance to your fluttering hole, watching as your stare trembles before flickering to between your legs where you stretch over the fat pink appendage. it’s so big, that it might as well be a fucking cock.

“h-ho’fuck…h’my god…ka’suki…s’too much. too fucking much!” the words feel like cotton in your mouth, slurred over venom’s tentacles and while the world spins on it’s axis around you, you cream around the base of the scorching, spit dripping limb in venom’s mouth as it wriggles inside you— tip writing sinful praises against your gooey walls, languidly stroking your insides and pressing up against pleasure spots that are new to both you and katsuki. big hands grasp at the meat of your ass— the tips of piercing nails marring your skin and spreading you nice and wide, pulling you onto your lover’s face so that you’re practically suffocating him with have no escape for you either, making your hips canter down to meet the thrust of his tongue in and out of you, barely parting from your honeyed sex.

a scream rumbles in the base of your throat as venom’s lengthy, girthy tongue twists against your lush inner-walls, churning up your guts. the symbiote using your partner as a host is quick to think— shoving his slime deep into your mouth again to tame your sacchariferous griping and grousing, the inestimable melody laying flat against the saliva pooling on your own tongue. “quiet sweetheart, can’t make you cum if yer too loud,” bakugou breathes, his voice laden with lust and amusement from watching you ride his tongue like it’s a plump, pretty and veiny dick. “y’gunna cum baby, fuck yes…gush f’me just like that, oh yeah…”

“for us, katsuki.” the beast inside his head reminds your fiancé, his mask coating bakugou’s face once more— easing you into fright once again, one that makes you quiver just right on him, nearly pushing yourself over the edge.

it’s disgustingly delightful how the pink appendage has a mind of its own, acting like your own personal dildo, fucking you good like one and it’s not long before your body succumbs to the mounting pleasure— the taste of an orgasm like honey oozing across your tongue while happy chemicals dance across your brain, accompanied by white noise as you finally get to cum. you’re spiralling, the tip of venom’s…katsuki’s… fuck it. you don’t even care anymore, the tongue brushes against your g-spot hard causing you to clamp down, suffocating your fiancé, and your jaw to goes slack.

you gush as much as water falls, humping pathetically at your fiancé’s face until your entire body is limp and strands of the symbiote have to keep you up and away from katsuki’s eager mouth ( he’s still hungry, happy to clean you up ) where your legs can’t.

venom slowly retreats from your throat too, but your brain doesn’t have time to catch up when he does, for bakugou’s lips replace the heat that your own mouth has lost— pulling you into a frenzied, spit swapping kiss. “‘m not done with ya yet sweetheart,” he laments, lips grazing yours, licking into your open mouth so you get a taste of yourself too. your body bows into katsuki’s, you feel it before you see it, hear it too— the clink of a metal belt, the sticky tap against your stimulated mound from underneath your panties…fiancé’s iron hot cockhead twitching forward and poised to push through your awaiting salacious folds. “venom wants ya so badly, wants me t’make it up to ya…paint yer pretty cunt with my cum.”

the alien matter has crawled back from surrounding your lover’s hips, sitting just beneath his weighty balls, heavy with seed all for you. it’s obvious how painfully hard he is, standing at full mast and the sight makes your mouth water, pupils dilate and a hunger settle in your chest for katsuki, one you haven’t felt for a while. he’d been neglectful, dealing with this venom shit alone when you could’ve been beside him—guiding him through, though you supposed that didn’t matter anymore…seeing as they were both willing to make it up to you now. “our cum. we are going to ruin her…katsuki.” the symbiote growls, making his presence known to you both in the heated, sex scented bathroom stall. “i am going to ruin you.”

underneath his hair, matted to his forehead by perspiration, katsuki’s brows furrow in confusion. “what the fuck are you on about—?” his question falls away into an airy exhale, twisted with a sharp clap against his ass, like skin on skin. “f-fuck…oh fuck….d-damn parasite’s f-fuckin’ m-my ass…” your fiancé’s head drops to the junction between your neck and shoulder, pointed teeth latching onto your saltine skin as venom twists his ink black tendrils into a shape made to ruin katsuki from behind— thrusting sharp into his puckered hole.

“i am not a parasite!” the symbiote snarls, pulling back to pump into your lover again, this time with no mercy on bakugou’s ill prepped and fluttering hole—pressing right up against the blonde’s prostate. the force only has his own hips cantering forward, his cock, wrapped in pretty blue veins bullying it’s way through your swollen pussy lips— dragging back and forth against your overstimulated clit.

the whole ordeal is slimy, hot and steamy— katsuki pressed against you with no room for anything else aside from lust and the doubled down sound of skin clapping against each other. him grinding his shaft into your sweet cunt while venom pounds away at his warm, tight ass. when the symbiote pulls back, bakugou peels his seedy dick from between your selfish folds— clinging onto him by viscid ropes of evidence from your last orgasm while his cockhead smears fat globs of white against your mound.

“my fuckin’ god,” you can feel every twitch of his length between your messy thighs, every throb as venom pushes deeper into katsuki— subsequently pushing his tip against abused and sensitive entrance. “m’baby’s got the prettiest pussy… can’t believe ‘m marryin this fuckin’ pussy… oh god.” he whines, drooling over your shoulder because he can’t keep quiet without pacifying himself on you, bakugou’s venom covered hand descends between your bodies to tap his mushroomed milky tip against your pleasure button a few times, smirking as your body jolts and the oil slick arms of venom spread your pussy lips further apart to watch more of the action ( your throbbing cunt and the pearls of arousal that leak from it ). “can’t believe she’s all fuckin’ ours, hah parasite?”

“no one can have her. only you and i.” he says in response, and your tummy flutters when bakugou repeats it back to you— the possession both he and the alien have over you doing nothing to stop the ticking time bomb of your orgasm building up in your lower tummy again.

to see your future husband with flushed cheeks and vacant eyes as he’s being fucked raw ( by an alien or not ) only serves to turn you on further, pussy drooling and juices slinging between both of your thighs with the back and forth of your humping, sticky noises accompanying your in tune breathless moans that follow one another’s with ‘O’ shaped mouths and end in sloppy kisses.

with your gasped pleas and katsuki’s gruff mewls echoing throughout the bathroom— venom picks up the pace— rocking his dick shaped appendage harder and faster into your fiancé’s ribbed insides, forcing your bodies against each other in a passionate miry dance of nasty, filthy sex. the walls of the bathroom stall creak on their hinges from the force behind venom’s thrusts, jamming hard against katsuki’s prostate which in turn has your rubbing down on his fat dick, faster and faster until all you can hear is the pap, pap, pap of your sexes working with one another.

“want it inside, need you inside! f-fuck yes!” you garble, almost pornogroahically, katsuki’s convulsing creamy cock driving you up the wall insane. “please.”

bakugou presses his forehead to your own , body bouncing forward against yours from the power behind venom’s aggressive pace inside of him while your pebbled nipples brush against each other. “can’t,” he whines with nearly teary ruby eyes, the crystalline droplets already gathered in his lash line like yours. “been gone from the party too long, g’nna cum soon anyways. s-shit!” though you whimper with faux disappointment, you’re not far from release either— the feverishness to either of your movements dragging you by the ankles to another high after all the abuse to your sensitive sex. you find yourself throwing hips down to meet katsuki’s rapid thrusts. his hands fumble for one of your meaty thighs to hook it over his slender, slime covered waist while you grasp at his taut ass to spread him wider, allowing venom to reach deeper spots inside of him.

katsuki shifts, changing the angle of his venom controlled thrusts so that his glistening cockhead breaches your entrance only just— making your eyes roll back for the millionth time that night, your nails sinking into his peachy ass. “‘m right there kats, oh—! right there…” you warn him through gritted teeth.

he tilts head up, tongue licking over the sweat on your Cupid’s bow. “yer cummin’… g’nna cum f’us baby?” you nod rapidly in response, barely standing on the crumbling edge of your orgasm. between that and the alien parasite tearing his ass in two, jammed up on his prostate— dancing in the back of his mind and commanding him to cum… katsuki can’t seem to hold of either. “let go f’me baby, lemme feel it. give it all fuckin’ to me. to us.”

“cum katsuki.”

your body follow’s bakugou’s lead, and he, venoms. “ohh fuck, uhhh shit! ‘m fucking cumming— yeah, yeah. oh yeah…” your fiancé beefs needy and loud, his first spirts of thick white seed barely hitting your cunt before you let out a large wave and gush so hard your release makes a crude slap when ir hits the ground. your panties are soaked through and blood rushes through your ears— all your senses numb to the world except for katsuki using your shaking body to ride out the rest of his high, pouring his release into your soiled panties and against your slit.

you see new colours, new galaxies and universes— everything hitting you so hard you barley have time to comprehend that you’ve just fucked an alien that’s using your fiancé as a host. it still doesn’t register within you as katsuki puts venom away, pulling out from underneath your skirt before he fixes your panties warm with cum snug against you again.

“‘m gonna take ya back to the party sweetheart, we’ll have to talk about this later.” bakugou coos, though you’re both wobbly on your feet as you come down.

it’s so cute that all you can do is nod, seemingly appeased with your fiancé compared to how furious you had been before venom helped fuck you good.

if katsuki had known using the alien as a sex toy would get him out of trouble with you and back into your good books— he would have done it much earlier.

“i will not eat any of the humans here tonight… as long as we are able to ravage your tiny human again…katsuki.” the symbiote promises when bakugou hangs back a few seconds as you slip back into the party— hoping that your sins go unnoticed.

and even if you squint while watching you join your family and friends for the rest of the night, you would notice all of them— the way you stagger on your legs and the shiny marks from venom’s slime decorating them too, leaving a sweet smile on bakugou’s face.

“oh buddy, as long as yer a fuckin’ parasite in my body, we can ravage her like that any day, for the rest of my life.” katsuki boasts proudly.

“for the last time. i am not a parasite!”

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mentalpolaroids · 6 months

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Wolf's Home

(Part I)

Geralt of Rivia x female!Reader

Summary: Geralt takes Ciri to Kaer Morhen and reunites not only with his family of witchers, but also with the person that makes him feel at home the most

a/n: this is sort of rewrite of S02E02. Sorry for the use of (y/n) but couldn't really think of a name for the reader. Also, this is my first try at writing for The Witcher so be nice to me please!!

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She woke up that morning expecting to face another routine-repeating day, possibly with an occasional healing of one of the witchers coming back to Kaer Morhen from a hunt, or coming up with a new excuse as to why she didn’t want to eat whatever crap Lambert cooked for them. His turn on food duty was always a dreadful one.

Her days were never too adventurous, not since Vasemir had insisted on a more permanent stay at the keep two years ago, when she was dragged through the Blue Mountains by a silver haired witcher, both injured, after fighting and killing a monster together. An encounter she still couldn’t really understand to this day, how they happened to be in the same place, at the same time, looking for the same creature, but she knew better than to question Destiny.

Even with her own wounds to take care of, she still healed Geralt of Rivia first, who fell under her natural charm like a trap. He wondered if it was a spell, the way he so easily was put at ease in her presence. She was a mage after all. But as the days passed, he concluded that there was no spell besides the one used to close the gash on his abdomen. That woman was simply a caretaker by heart, one that somehow remained open and pure even knowing of the existence of nasty beings out there in the Continent. Everyone else in the Fortress seemed to be as mesmerized, and so, she was welcomed with open arms to stay, and heal, and fight with the witchers.

The ropes were starting to burn the palm of her hands from all the knots she had conquered in the last hour, but she definitely didn’t mind because it was at least keeping her hands warm as she stood outside, light snow falling over the already white ground.

One of the few advantages of the icy weather was that they could hear when someone was approaching, the crunch of the footsteps over the snow being hard to disguise. She heard those in the distance, but it was of a horse. (y/n) dropped the rope and grabbed her sword, preparing herself for the sight of the intruder before making her own known. But, the sight wasn’t at all what she expected. She didn’t know what to expect at all, but it sure wasn’t a familiar brown horse carrying Geralt of Rivia accompanied by a blonde girl, who (y/n) quickly convinced herself must’ve been a princess, if not for her looks, for her posture. She looked like she didn’t belong there, nor next to someone with the nickname The Butcher of Blaviken.

The girl got down from Roach and looked around curiously. Her dress blended with the snow, from afar, (y/n) wondered if she was even real. Her gaze didn’t last long on the girl when Geralt got down from his horse too, the mere sight of his face barely visible under his dark cloak sent a shiver of excitement to her stomach. He had always had that effect on her, but it seemed the longer she went without seeing him, the stronger the sensation got after meeting again.

The witcher and the princess shared words (y/n) couldn’t really hear from where she was still in the hiding, and as they started to walk towards the main entrance of the Fortress, the mage put down her sword and walked towards them.

“You sure we’re safe here?” the princess asked Geralt, who walked in front of her. (y/n) was not close enough to hear the question, not yet to be noticed.

“Safer than out there.”

Her voice seemed to echo in the silence of their footsteps coming to a stop, both turning their heads to their right, finally acknowledging her. Geralt’s lips curved into a brief smile, his yellow eyes softening when they locked with hers. (y/n) smiled back, the shiver in her stomach was now climbing to her chest and for a moment she forgot he could probably feel her heart beating faster. Good thing she didn’t mind him knowing how she felt around him.

Three steps away from coming face to face with the witcher, she slowed her pace, planning to walk past them.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my dearest friend in all the Continent.”

“It’s great to see you.”

“Oh I’m afraid I was speaking to my best girl here.” (y/n) approached Roach, caressing the horse over her nose and planting a light kiss on her short fur, “But it’s great to see you too, Wolf.” she walked towards him again, for a second forgetting it wasn’t just the two of them there. The way Geralt followed every step of hers, his gaze warm even in the middle of a Winter day. (y/n) opened her arms to him, “Welcome home.”

The man embraced her tightly against him and it felt like getting drowned in memories of his days with her. He had forgotten how much he cherished her affection, and holding her reminded him how nice it was to let his guard down for a brief moment. It all felt like he had never left.

“I missed you.” he murmured, unrecognizably self-conscious. He surely didn’t enjoy showing this vulnerable side of him, especially in front of someone else.

“I’m sure you did.” (y/n) let go of him, casting him a warm, welcoming smile, before looking to the girl standing behind him, now more curious about the pair’s dynamic than the Fortress, “And who’s this poor thing having to deal with your company?”

“This is Ciri.”

“Ciri.” (y/n) tried the name on her lips. She walked towards her with the same welcoming smile, but a different fondness in her eyes, “It’s nice to meet you, Ciri.” she said as she extended her hand to the girl, “I’m (y/n).”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” she spoke softly, clearly wary of meeting a new face, but the shadow of a smiling curve on her lips showed potential trust as she accepted the handshake. After all, the woman was obviously someone dear to Geralt, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Is that so?” (y/n) smirked, hoping the cold outside cooled the warmth spreading across her face. She turned to Geralt, who watched the two girls interact, but the words were directed to Ciri, “I’m sure I have a lot to hear about you, too.” It was a warning to the witcher: an endless night of chatting was to come, questions needed to be answered, stories to be told and his whereabouts to be known.

As if reading Ciri’s mind, (y/n) squeezed her shoulder and tilted her head towards the entrance, “Don’t worry, you are safe here.”

“Keep up.” Geralt told the girl, and both followed (y/n).

They both pushed the heavy wooden doors and walked into the main room of the Fortress that was occupied with chatty men and the smell of burning wood and ale. (y/n)’s words echoing through the wide space caught their attention.

“Look what the snow dragged in, boys.”

All eyes turned to the mage and the murmur came to a stop when everybody noticed the figure standing behind her. Her attention turned to Geralt as well, in time to see him remove the hood of his cloak and finally getting a decent view of the face she missed so much. She also checked on Ciri, who looked uneasier than before, standing in the middle of a room full of men. (y/n) winked at her, hoping to reassure her everything was alright. Geralt noticed, and he too turned to the girl and nodded at her before moving to stand beside (y/n) as Lambert stood from his seat and walked towards them.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“We thought you got lost.” Coën followed Lambert, “Or killed.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes. Geralt smiled tenderly.

“Not yet. Sorry.”

The mage elbowed his side. She had always hated when he implied the possibility of his death at any moment, considering what he was and he did, in reality it wasn’t a massive impossibility. Still, even a simple joke triggered a non-existent grief that resided in her chest everytime she had to see the witcher leave and go long periods of time without hearing a single word from or about him. In his presence, (y/n) pretended he would stay forever, and if he didn’t stay, he would come back. Everytime.

Geralt caressed her back and brought her in for the embrace Lambert had already initiated. He then went on greeting and hugging the other witchers and, more than ever, Kaer Morhen felt like a real home. The family was back together.

“I guess I’m back to being second favorite now that you’re back.” Lambert complained to Geralt, referring to (y/n).

“Who said you were even a favorite in the first place?”

Geralt laughed.

“I hope you’ve all been treating her right.”

“We do, but she’s a mean one. Lucky for her, we don’t dislike her cooking.”

The banter was interrupted by Vasemir, who entered the room already smiling at the sight of the silver haired witcher.

“Wolf. You’re home.” the elder joined the commotion, “Finally.”

Ciri, still feeling out of place, placed herself visibly between Geralt and (y/n).

“Yeah. I had to make a few stops.” the witcher replied, referring to the princess next to him.

“He’s home!”

Once again, the commotion grew around Geralt as they kept celebrating his return. Ciri smiled shyly watching the content interactions.

“Come on,” (y/n) extended her hand for the princess to take, “I’m going to introduce you to everybody.”

When everybody settled enough for the mage to be able to order everyone to be nice to Ciri, the men were somewhat curious about the unexpected guest. The girl seemed less vigilant as she was offered a seat and cup and conversation started flowing as if both her and Geralt had always been there.

(y/n) stood next to him, a sigh leaving her nostrils as she crossed her arms and discreetly nudged the man’s broad figure.

“Yeah, I know. I have a lot to tell.”

“Yeah. You do.”

Geralt looked down at her to meet her eyes and, with a soft motion of his hand, uncrossed her arms. He smiled, in a way she knew he was promising to stay for a while. She couldn’t tell what he thought her eyes were saying, but whatever it was, he felt the need to hold her hand, hidden behind his cloak, caressing the cold skin of her knuckles with his thumb.

“I’m home.” his hoarse voice, along with the softness of his touch and stare, nearly warmed her up on the spot.

In the back of her mind, there was a voice telling her he would eventually leave again, but for once, she shut it down.

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

Part II soon!

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia fic #the witcher netflix

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joequiinn · 24 days

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The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 2

[all chapters here]

summary: You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

notes & tropes: fem reader, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

a/n: Oooh I'm excited for this chapter! Would love to hear what everyone thinks about Eddie's characterization! And, after editing this chapter about half a dozen times, I feel like I'm still just not quite conveying the motivations of the character well, so let me know if her thoughts/feelings could be more clear!

taglist: @daisyridleyss @munsonssweets @marrowfrog00 @lotrefcp @rach5ive

wc: 4.0k

Chapter Two

Getting away on Sunday afternoon to meet Eddie was easy. You’d celebrated your birthday on Saturday, with your friends dragging you along on plans that they put together weeks in advance before you returned home for a far too formal dinner with your parents. You probably could have - and should have - been more excited considering that you were toasting your legal adulthood, but if anything, it just stirred even more desire for change and rebellion in you. What good was being a legal adult if you were still trapped in high school, if you were still just following the status quo?

You told your parents as you were leaving the house that afternoon that you were going to the ice rink - your dad grunted in acknowledgement, too caught up in his reading to really hear you, and your mom commended you for how dedicated you were to skating. To both responses, you rolled your eyes, leaving without saying goodbye.

You knew exactly which picnic table Eddie referred to in his note, as you weren’t the first person to meet him there for a drug deal, nor would you be the last. It was a well-known spot for students to meet with the metalhead - although it seemed like no one actually talked about it, probably because they themselves didn’t want to admit to any interaction with him, somehow everyone knew exactly where Eddie made his deals.

There were trails running through a lot of the forest that made it easy to find your destination; you left your car on a neighborhood street not far from the school, and trekked your way into the woods. It was still pretty in late September - leaves weren’t falling to the ground quite yet, and the sounds of wildlife could still be heard up in the trees and low on the ground. Not that you were one to appreciate nature much at all. But it was hard not to at least notice it as you walked quietly along the trail, going over exactly how you might propose this crazy idea of yours while trying your best not to trip over rocks or step in mud puddles.

When you arrived at the picnic area, Eddie was nowhere to be found, which was actually a relief to you. It gave you more time to think, to calm down and find the best means of conveying this idea to him. You felt stupid, having this strange and foreign anxiety in your chest, but it couldn’t be helped. Best you could do was relax and put on a cool face whenever the delinquent did finally show up.

You were about to sit at the picnic table, but quickly decided against it once you took a closer look at the rotting wood - it was disgusting and dirty, and you weren’t going to risk ruining one of your favorite skirts or catching some nasty disease. So, instead, you paced, keeping your mind busy as you waited, taking in your surroundings with an air of boredom as the hour hit 4 and you were still here alone. Eddie better show, or you weren’t going to be happy.

Eventually, the sound of footsteps crunching on twigs and brush caused you to look around, not quite sure which direction the sound was coming from at first. But it didn’t take long for you to spot Eddie hiking his way to you, surprised amusement on his face as he approached. He cocked his head, lips tugged back in a grin, as your heart skipped nervously; god, you felt so stupid being edgy like this, it was so unwarranted.

“Well, well…” He drawled, crossing his arms as he walked closer to you, “I’ve seen a lot, but the ice princess wants something from me? Now I really have seen everything.”

The way he said “ice princess” was jarring, almost as if it was both an insult and an inarguable fact. Yes, you’d heard people call you that before, but never with the gusto that Eddie Munson added to it - you briefly wondered if the nickname was more common than you originally thought, and then you wondered who it was that first came up with it. Was it Eddie? No, if anything it was probably someone in your own circle that started that stupid nickname, maybe even Duncan - you didn’t think Eddie cared enough to come up with a nickname for some popular kid who he’d never even spoken to before.

It’s as if his use of the derogatory nickname immediately reminded you that there was no reason to be nervous, because you could feel your usually cool demeanor coming back to you.

“Don’t cream your pants, Munson.” You replied bluntly, crossing your arms as if to mimic Eddie’s posture. His brows went up in surprise - it briefly crossed your mind that he might not have known what your voice sounded like, let alone how you talked. Well, now he knew.

Eddie tilted his head down slightly as if speaking to you conspiratorially, “I wasn’t expecting a chick like you to be so vulgar.”

You rolled your eyes. Okay, maybe this discussion would be more challenging than you had anticipated. Having never actually interacted with Eddie before today, you couldn’t have predicted what your dynamic together would be. From what you could tell after only this one minute of interacting, your personalities were bound to clash, making your impossible plan all the more impossible.

“I guess I’m full of surprises.” You replied plainly, your tone disinterested. Without thinking, you leaned your rear on the picnic table, but quickly jumped away when you remembered how dirty it was, an affronted sound escaping your lips. As you tried to wipe dirt from your ass, Eddie chuckled. To that, you shot him a cold glare.

“Alright, what are you looking for, princess?” Eddie asked while sitting on the filthy bench - that felt intentional, as if he was mocking your disgust at the grime and muck on the table, “Ask and you shall receive.”

You raised a critical brow at his theatrical tone, at the way he said ‘princess,’ at his entire demeanor. Yup, this was going to be impossible. You were certain that your judgmental expression was clear as day, because you could see the cogs turning behind Eddie’s eyes, how he was analyzing you just as much as you were him.

You stared at him with your arms crossed, your hip jutting out to the side as you briefly considered him, considered what you wanted to ask of him. You made a bit of a harsh face as you responded, “That’s a bold claim, considering that you don’t know what I’m going to ask.”

You met Eddie’s dark eyes as if to make a point, his brow furrowing in curious response. His gaze was mocking as he held your stare, “You think anything you ask for will shock me? Snobby rich kids always want the same stuff.”

“‘Snobby?’” You nearly snapped, glaring smally in offense. To that, Eddie pointed his hand at the empty bench across from him, a defiant look on his face.

“Take a seat then.” He challenged, the corner of his mouth curling up. You make another grossed out face, to which he gives a half-hearted shrug, giving him all the confirmation that he needed, “That’s what I thought.”

You scoffed, turning your back while grumbling, “God, I knew this was a stupid idea…”

You started to walk off in annoyance, trying your best not to trip over rocks or sticks in your haste, but only made it a few steps before Eddie called after you, “Wait, wait, come back…”

You spun back around, but remained planted where you stood, raising an eyebrow and crossing your arms as if prompting him to continue, to grovel and earn your trust.

“I’m just joking,” Eddie raised his hands in a lazy surender, his face growing surprisingly sincere after a moment, although that sincerity was also laced with a hint of judgment, “What are you gonna ask for, then?”

He’s patient, watching you as you deliberate what to do. Was it worth it? Did you really need Eddie to make this plan work? Should you call this off while you still had the chance?

No. This plan was stupid as all hell, but you were going to do it. With a determined little stomp of your foot - Eddie smirking in amusement at the mildly childish action - you approached the picnic table, bracing your hands against it as you tried to ignore the feeling of dirt getting under your nails.

“If you laugh at me, I’ll ruin you.” You threatened while meeting his eyes. Again, Eddie grinned, but he otherwise kept his mouth shut, which seemed to be his way of agreeing to your terms, “I don’t need drugs, I need a favor. It’s gonna sound… honestly ridiculous.”

“Okay…” Eddie leaned forward so that your faces were only a foot apart; his expression was one of neutral attentiveness, however, you could see the sparkle of intrigue in his eyes. You don’t pull back from the close proximity he created, studying one another’s faces; it felt strange to be observed by him so closely, as Eddie had a way of scrutinizing you that felt different from those you knew, different from the way people normally looked at you. You tried to find the best way of proposing your dumb idea, but nothing would make your request sound less crazy than it already is.

Finally, you gave up with a sigh and just blurted it out, “I need you to date me.”

Despite your earlier threat, an unexpected bark of a laugh jumped out of Eddie’s mouth. He raised his fist in front of his lips and pretended to cough, as if that would do anything to hide his very clear amusement. Your eyes widened in intense warning. To his credit, Eddie composed himself quickly, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, although you could still see a little twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Can you repeat that for me?” He prompts, fighting off his laughter and confusion.

Again, you roll your eyes - god, you were going to be doing that a lot with this guy, weren’t you? You were already getting tired of it.

“I don’t want to actually date you,” You said as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world, “Just pretend. You know, like one of your dumb games.”

Eddie’s eyes darkened a little at the insult, but instead of retaliating he simply pulled back, putting a bit of distance between you. He looks you up and down in consideration, his mind racing to understand your unexpected request.

“Care to elaborate?” He questioned, his tone mildly critical.

You purse your lips in annoyance as you consider where to start, eyeing Eddie closely - how the hell did you explain to someone that you wanted them to be your fake boyfriend? You sighed, pulling back from the table, starting to walk in a slow circle around it. The motion was vaguely like skating around a rink, so in an odd way it helped you think.

“I hate literally everything about my life,” You paused, half expecting Eddie to mock your pathetic woes, but he remained silent, “It’s my senior year and I’m only now realizing that nothing in my life is up to me, that I don’t have any control over anything - everything is decided by someone else. And I’m fucking tired of it.”

You could see mild surprise on Eddie’s face, and you wondered if it was because of your foul language - it always seemed to surprise people to hear the way you could talk considering how nice and well-behaved you appeared, although you’d always been anything but.

You continued, “I want to do something stupid, something that’ll piss off my parents, that’ll get everyone to stop treating me like some untouchable, perfect princess.” You chose the word deliberately, looking Eddie dead in the eye, “And what stupider than to date Eddie freaking Munson?”

Now, it was Eddie’s turn to look somewhat offended, “Gee, thanks.”

Maybe it wasn’t the most effective tactic to keep insulting the man you were trying to bribe, but you just couldn’t seem to help yourself. You didn’t exactly know how to be nice to anyone. Eddie’s eyes considered you for a moment before something of a mean look flickered across his face.

“This has something to do with that boyfriend of yours, doesn’t it? What, you break up or something?” And then an almost mirthful realization flashed across his eyes, obviously seeing some change in your demeanor that you didn’t intend for him to notice, “Ooh, I get it. He broke up with you, didn’t he? You trying to win him back?”

You brace yourself against the table again as you glare at him, but otherwise you maintain your composure, your tone condescending and mean as you reply, “I do not want him back. He could drive off a bridge for all I care. I want to get under his skin. I want to get under everyone’s skin.”

You could tell that Eddie didn’t get it - he still didn’t understand why you needed his help in this ridiculous plan of yours, and he didn’t understand why you were feeling the way you did. With a sigh, you try to calm down and unclench your tight jaw.

“Look, Munson,” You caved in and stiffly took a seat on the opposite bench as if to bolster your argument, to make him take you a little more seriously, “I know it sounds crazy, but I just know nothing else will work.”

“And how do you know that?” He urged - you couldn’t tell if he thought you were an idiot or if he was actually interested in hearing you out.

You stared at Eddie for a long moment, trying to find the easiest way to make him understand. He stared back, again showing far more patience than you would have expected from him, especially with the likes of you. As you study his face in thought, you finally sigh, shaking your head as you look away with a vague annoyance set on your features.

“I don’t actually know, okay?” You start, eyeing him out of the corner of your eye for a few moments, “What I want is complete and utter… social suicide. To just stop worrying about my reputation or what people think. I’m sick and tired of expectations and status quos and doing what I’m told or what people expect. I want to piss everyone off. I want to piss Duncan off. I just… it feels like I need to change, you know?”

“Nope, I have no idea what you mean.” Eddie says plainly, and as you glare at him, you realize he’s joking once he finally cracks a smile. His eyes are surprisingly kind as he leans forward on his elbows, parroting your words, “When have I ever subscribed to expectations and status quos and doing what I’m told?”

At that rhetorical response, your face relaxed for the first time this entire conversation. Hell, you even felt a mild excitement wash over you as you consider what his words were implying, “So… you’ll do it?”

Eddie makes a face as if he’s still mulling over the idea, still trying to figure out what exactly your motivations were, “I mean, you’re bratty and rude and this plan is kind of stupid, but I might do it.”

“Might?” You ask, trying not to sound too pushy or annoyed by his casual insults. If this was going to happen, you both had to learn to stop prodding at each other like this, learn to stop picking on each other just because you could. That might prove to be the most challenging part of all of this, though.

Eddie smirks, rising back to his feet as he contemplates, “What do I get out of this? And don’t say money - that’ll make me feel like a prostitute.”

As you pulled a face, Eddie grinned at his own comment, obviously finding that idea amusing in some way. And like a teenage mimicry of a business person, you sat up straighter, looking at him plainly as you presented your offer, “No, but I do have one idea. But if you think of something better…?”

Eddie nods in confirmation, urging you to continue.

“Well, my uncle’s a cop--”

At that, Eddie chuckles abruptly while cutting you off, “Oh, trust me, I know exactly who your uncle is.”

Aside from shooting him a small look, you continue as if he hadn’t said anything, focused on getting this plan hatched, “I think I can help you. You can’t get in trouble with them anymore if I’m the one taking the fall.”

Eddie’s brows rose in surprise at your words, his arms crossing as he studied you, “What, you think your pretty little ass can handle a night in lock up?”

“No, genius,” You roll your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time, “If it falls on me, there will be no jail, no arrest, nothing. The minute I tell someone who my uncle is, they won’t even think about putting a hand on me, that would be stupid. I’m effectively untouchable.”

Eddie nods, rubbing his chin, “But doesn’t that go out the window if you commit… What did you call it? ‘Social suicide?’”

You shrug, “Maybe. Maybe not. But I can probably keep them off your ass for the rest of the school year so long as you don’t do something too stupid.”

“You want to date me until graduation?” Eddie makes a dramatic show of placing his hand to his chest as if he’s flattered.

“Jesus…” You mutter to yourself with a sigh, “We’ll see where it goes.”

Eddie, again, nodded while humming in consideration. You sat quietly, waiting for him to add something to the conversation. You could tell that he was drawing it out, though, milking the moment just for the hell of it, to put you on edge. Suddenly, he slaps his hand down firmly on the table, causing you to jump in your seat.

“We have a deal.” His eyes glint as he smirks at you, “We play happy little couple, we destroy your reputation, piss off all your friends, and you keep me out of trouble. What could possibly go wrong?”

It suddenly felt like he jinxed everything by saying that, ruined it before you could even begin, but you ignored that feeling as you gave him a slight smile, actually pleased with how the conversation had gone. Of course, there was still that strange sense of disbelief at the entire situation - it was the most ridiculous thing you’d ever thought of or done, but that also made it kind of exhilarating in its odd way.

Eddie walked around the table, leisurely sliding onto the bench beside you, intentionally leaning over to bump your shoulder playfully. It was unexpected, causing you to make a slight face at him, but that only seemed to amuse him more.

“Look, princess, you gotta start being nicer to me if you want to convince anyone that we’re a couple.” Although his tone was teasing, you knew what Eddie said was true. Even you, known for your bitchiness, couldn’t be too mean to the man that you were supposedly dating, especially if you wanted to get under Duncan’s skin - the nicer you were to Eddie, the more it would annoy Duncan that you were never that nice to him.

“Fine.” You say plainly, looking him in the eye, “If that’s the case, no more ‘princess.’”

Eddie made a teasing face, “Then what do I call you? It would look strange if your boyfriend didn’t have any pet names for you, right?”

You sighed, but he did make a good point - it made you realize that you needed to lay out some ground rules for this whole fake dating thing, something that you hadn’t accounted for during your planning stage.

“When we’re around other people, just call me something nice. I don’t care what it is.”

Eddie’s playful expression was still in place, “Oh, you’ll regret that…”

You rolled your eyes, and yet this time the corner of your mouth pulled up into an amused grin despite yourself, “Just be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you. Can’t be too hard, right? And don’t touch me unless it’s in front of people.”

You looked him up and down critically with that comment. It's not that you were worried about him being gross or anything like that, you just hated people touching you unnecessarily.

“Any other commands, my liege?”

“What, you want me to write this down for you or something?”

Eddie pretended to consider the idea, “If only I knew how to read, princess.”

You made a face, knowing that Eddie kept calling you that dumb nickname quite intentionally, that he kept testing you with deliberate aim. Trying to resist rising to the tempting bait, you continued explaining the dos and don’ts of fake dating.

“Okay,” You started, raising your pointer finger. Eddie made a show of paying close attention, surely just to mock you, as you raised another finger with each new rule you stated, “One: we have to try to be nice to each other. Two: no unnecessary touching if no one’s around. Three: we have to spend a lot of time together, like, not just at school - we have to go out sometimes, especially to places where people will see us. Four: we have to be extra obnoxious when Duncan’s around. Five: … I’m in charge.”

At the last instruction, Eddie laughed right in your face, “You’re in charge? I thought this was a relationship, not a dictatorship.”

You had a response ready to leave your lips, but you let it go - practice for the inevitable niceties to come, you supposed. Eddie studied you for a moment while half smiling, seemingly aware that you were doing your best to bite your tongue.

“Alright, alright, you’re in charge…” He rose to his feet, which seemed to signal that the conversation was coming to an end, “So, what, starting tomorrow I’m your boyfriend?”

“I mean… Should we build up to it first?” The question sounded ridiculous, you knew it sounded juvenile and naive in its way, but it had to be asked. And yet again, Eddie chuckled.

“Sure, we’ll ‘build up to it.’” His tone was teasing, but not quite so mean as before. Eddie studied the look on your face, trying to learn how to read you considering the amount of time you were surely about to start spending together, “Don’t worry, princess, I’ve got this in the bag. Relinquish some of that control a little, okay?”

He slowly began to walk backwards towards the trail, waiting for you to join him, so you stood to walk alongside him. You almost neurotically began dusting yourself, trying in vain to get the dirt and the mud and the dead leaves off of your skirt, out from under your nails.

You caught up to Eddie easily enough, continuing to pick at your well manicured nails, “I’m serious, Munson, please don’t fuck this up.”

Eddie threw his arm around your shoulder, once again disregarding one of your rules without a single care. He looked down at you with a teasing look on his face, confirming that he did that on purpose, confirming that he was sure to keep doing it on purpose, “Relax. I’ll flirt with you tomorrow, I’ll flirt some more throughout the week, I’ll start hanging around your locker or talking to you at lunch, and then by the end of the week I’ll ask you on a date. Deal?”

You stared into Eddie’s eyes a moment before lifting his arm off your shoulders, stepping just out of reach with a mild sneer on your lips, “Okay, deal.”

His smile is wide as he walks alongside you back to your cars. This was going to be one hell of a time, and he, frankly, was all too curious to see how it would turn out.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #em #dos and donts

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flowersandbigteeth · 1 year

Text

Meeting your alien husband

General Plot: You've been sold to aliens so you are taking the bus to meet your new husband, only you are attacked and a kind alien steps in to help.

A/N: this is a longish multi part one that I'm editing and posting as I edit it. I've been wanting to do some yandere vs. yandere so that's kinda what this is, lol

Kherae alien x female reader with glasses

💕 SFW MASTERPOST 💕

Word Count: 4K

W: kidnapping, forced marriage, sfw alien fluff, yandere vs. yandere

Prince Levell grasped Elaine’s thin wrist, drawing her towards him.

“You are the jewel of this court, my love, I’ll never let you go,” his tenor whispered in her ear.

Your heart fluttered. You were almost finished with The Prince and the Dawn and it was even better than the prequel, The Thief and the Dusk.

The villain, the first prince from the previous novel, having lost the object of his desire to the dashing hero, finally gets his happy ending with a blind hermit who softens his cold heart. Your eyes prickled with tears.

Their love story…the way she changed the prince from a cold tyrant to a sensitive, benevolent ruler and brings happiness to the kingdom was incredibly romantic. You sighed, sniffling a little. If only such romances were real. Instead, you were trapped in a tragedy.

The bus you were riding came to a stop and you hopped up to get off. You took a deep breath and put one foot in front of the other. You were on your way to greet your fate.

You had been sold to the Kherae, the aliens that had descended on Earth and saved humans from the horrible Golt. There had been a long and brutal war, but finally it seemed as if The Golt had retreated and the galaxy was safe-er. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. When the Kherae discovered human females could breed with them, they promised humanity they only wanted voluntary relationships...mates, they said. They would not take.

Maybe that was true for 98% of the handsome aliens, but there was a rotten apple in every bunch and you were about to meet one of them. Your father owed some nasty people a lot of money and they’d facilitated your sale to the corrupt Kherae archduke to clear the debt.

You could have run away, disappeared and started a new life somewhere else. You didn’t owe your father anything, but you had a soft heart and you loved him. He’d built his business as a single dad with his blood, sweat, and tears. When organized crime moved into the neighborhood he wasn’t immune to their influence. Your father wasn’t a bad man and you wouldn’t let him lose everything he built or his life over mistakes he couldn’t have avoided. That’s why despite his protests, you were turning yourself in to your future husband.

You steadied your breath as with each step your future came closer.

A shriek escaped your lips as large hands latched onto your arms. You looked around to find you were surrounded by three or four human men.

“This the one?” one of them said.

“Yeah, (Y/C) hair, glasses, this is her,” another said.

You struggled and tried to break free but they were thugs and there were more of them than you. You tried to scream for help, but a large hand clamped over your mouth and your glasses flew off of your face.You heard the glass crunch under someone’s foot. Your world had gone blurry. You were basically blind without them.

Disoriented and terrified you kicked and scratched, but it was no use, the group was dragging you towards an alleyway.

Suddenly there was a THUNK and the hands holding you released. Around you blurry figures moved and you could hear bone breaking, but you couldn’t process what was happening and just stood there clutching the hem of your skirt. Before long it was quiet and a large purple blur approached you.

You held out your hands, trying to orient yourself and met firm forearms.

“Are you okay, miss?” a deep voice asked in Kherae. The translator you all had installed since the Kherae came to integrate worked out his words for you. His large fingers twined with yours to steady you.

“I’m fine. I just can’t see without my glasses,” you said, clinging to his strong fingers, “do you see them anywhere?”

You heard the tinkle of glass.

“I don’t think you will be able to use these,” he said and you knew your precious lifeline was destroyed.

“Where are you going? I can help you get there,” he offered.

You gave him a wan smile.

“That’s really kind, but I couldn’t trouble you,” you said.

He chuckled.

“You aren’t going to make it very far on your own, let me help. Where are you going?”

“The Zovith building,” you explained. You were headed to the building owned by your future husband, a brand new glass and steel monstrosity in the middle of downtown.

He halted.

“Why are you going there?” he asked.

The words tumbled out of your mouth before you thought better of it.

“I’m going to meet my future husband,” you explained.

“You look frightened,” he commented.

“I committed to this and I want to make a good impression but I can’t go back home to get new glasses. I’m already late and if I don’t show up there are consequences.”

He paused for a moment.

“Then let’s get you there quickly,” he said and swept you up in his arms.

You shouted in surprise, but he took off at a jog down the street. When you arrived he gently set you in a chair in the waiting room.

“I’ll let someone know you’ve arrived. Just wait here,” he said.

Your heart pounded in your chest. Almost being kidnapped had started the beat and now you panted as you waited for your fate. It was even worse because you couldn’t see anything. You wouldn’t even know what your husband looked like.

–

“I don’t want to marry a filthy human,” Idreod’s brother sneered for the thirtieth time.

Idreod ordered him to marry so that their family name would continue on. He had no interest in a wife, but if Dessin wanted to keep his monthly stipend he’d demanded that he would seed his family an heir. A wife seemed like a lot of trouble to him that could easily be delegated to a lesser, Dessin. He wouldn’t have their name be associated with a slew of bastard children, either. He would have a proper wife and represent the Zovith family well.

Unfortunately for him, Dessin had a thing for Elians and had no interest in children. He planned on falling in love with a pleasure worker and pulling her out of destitution to earn her love. Elians weren’t biologically compatible with Kherae, so they would never bear children, but he didn’t care. It was a foolish plan, but at least he had romantic dreams.

Up until that day Idreod’s plan for him was to buy him a wife, force them to marry, and take their child as his heir to hand down the Zovith duchy. He wasn’t a kind or benevolent Kherae. He made demands and his lessers followed them.

Dessin did nothing but throw money away at pleasure houses, he could take on the small responsibility of fucking a human to pay for his good fortune to be born his brother. He’d never have to worry over the child. Idreod would continue to pay his stipend and raise it in his image. He and his wife could spend his money and take as many lovers as they liked as long as they were discreet. That was the cost of doing business.

When the Kherae females had been extinguished all hope had been lost for a future for his family, but now that he’d learned that humans were universal breeders, the legacy he’d built could live on. The Zovith would become a dynasty. That was his vision. Human females could have two handfuls of children. He would herald in a prosperous generation.

“Fine,” Idreod said, “you don’t have to marry her.”

“What?” Dessin asked, looking at him, “what game are you playing at? I’m not donating my sperm if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

He walked across his office to a drink tray one of the maids had provided and took a sip of some nutty alcohol. He poured some for his brother and handed him a glass, winking at him.

“No game. I’m releasing you from your duty,” he said, smiling.

He was in a good mood. That day had been productive. He’d almost made an egregious mistake marrying the beautiful woman he’d met on the street off to his idiot brother. He could already see his kits running around with his black horns and your (Y/EC) eyes.

Dessin took a step towards him.

“So you’re cutting me off then,” he said in a low voice.

Idreod chuckled to himself. Of course he would be worried about that. Dessin couldn’t do anything for himself. If he were on his own, he’d already be living on the street. He relied on Idreod for everything. Fortunately, as the only other surviving member of the Zovith family, his brother indulged him. Someone should enjoy the wealth he accumulated and he had enough to last lifetimes.

“Don’t panic. I’m not cutting you off. I’ve just had a change of heart. I’ve decided to take a wife after all,” he explained.

He snorted.

“You? Goddess, poor woman,” he chortled.

“Well you can express your sympathy yourself when you meet her,” he hit a button on the tablet on his desk, “Airies, bring up Miss (Y/LN).”

Dessin grinned.

“This I’ve got to see,” he laughed, taking a seat in one of the plush chairs in his brother’s office, “what hideous shrew were you trying to stick me with?”

A few minutes later Idreod’s secretary, Airies led the woman who would be his wife, you, in by the hand.

You still couldn’t see and you were a bit unsteady on your feet, like a doe taking its first steps. You’d dressed for the occasion, wearing a chaste navy dress. You wore sensible, low navy heels. Idreod appreciated that you were demure. You’d make a perfect wife to an archduke. In front of you, you could only make out the brown of the office walls and a tall purple blob in front of you.

“Um, hello,” you said, waving vaguely in the blob’s direction, “I was told to come here to meet my husband.”

There was a thunk as a glass hit the table. A blob, who happened to be Dessin, rose from his chair and you looked at him startled, narrowing your eyes as you tried to focus.

“You have to forgive me,” you said, “my glasses were broken in an attack on the way here. I can’t really see anything. I’m legally blind without them.”

“That’s all right, beautiful,” Dessin said, taking your hand. Idreod glared at him, unsure what game he was playing. Was he trying to goad him?

He led you to the chair he’d just risen from.

“Take a seat, I wouldn’t want my precious fiance to hurt herself stumbling around,” he went on, “you had a difficult time, please rest.”

“You’re my husband?” you asked quietly, shaking a little.

“No, he is not.” Idreod snapped, crossing the room and yanking Dessin away from you.

“My brother is playing a little joke on you,” he said, “I am your fiance.”

“Now wait a minute,” Dessin said, putting his hand on your shoulder, “I think I pushed my future wife away too easily. Now that I see her-”

“No.” he bit out, “she is mine.”

“But you promised her to me! Now I’m agreeing to it and you’re changing your mind. I’ll do it, okay? It’s fine!”

“Absolutely not, if you are going to keep playing this game, get out,” he boomed.

“I want her!” Dessin shouted like a petulant child.

“That’s a shame, because. She. Is. Mine.” Idreod replied, slowly so he would understand. Dessin didn’t dare defy his brother. His whole life hung on his whims.

You trembled openly in front of them and you couldn’t see it but Dessin glared, before storming out and slamming the door behind him.

Your husband didn’t seem quite as nice as the male he had driven off. Of course, you would have that sort of luck. If only he could be more like that Kherae on the street who saved me. I didn’t even get a chance to thank him.

“We’ll get you new glasses tomorrow,” he said curtly.

“I didn’t bring anything with me, I wasn’t sure if I would be allowed to go home for my things,” you said, “they just told me to show up here.”

“We will buy you new things,” he assured you.

So no, then.

He walked across the room, back to his desk and pressed a button on the tablet pad.

“Airies, bring tea for Miss (Y/LN),” he said in a clipped tone.

A minute later the shorter Kherae came in with a tray of tea, which he set down in front of you. You fumbled around the tray with your hands for the cup.

You heard a chair scrape the floor and the blob was in front of you.

“Here,” he said, his large fingers gingerly guiding you to the cup. They were a bit familiar, but you were too nervous to worry about it.

You drew the tea to your lips and took a shaky sip. The warm water and jasmine scent was a blessing. You felt like you were walking a tightrope. You could feel the heat of his body near you and just barely caught the scent of familiar cologne. Maybe you had smelled it in a shop before. What will he do with me? The teacup hit the saucer with a rattle. He rose and retreated across the room, back to his desk.

“Our wedding will be in a month,” he said, getting right to the point.

No, “let’s get to know each other.” Just, “We’re getting married.”

“It will be a large event because of my status as archduke, so I will need to prepare you. It’s likely the king will attend and you cannot offend him,” he stated crisply.

He’s quite arrogant.

“Sure,” you said, looking at your shoes, “I’ll do my best.”

“You will be perfect because I will prepare you,” he said.

Great.

You tried not to groan in front of him. He didn’t seem like a male who tolerated attitude.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, still looking at your feet.

“You can ask me anything,” he said, which surprised you.

“Will you be gentle with me? You know…when it’s the first time…?”

There was a pause.

“We’ll speak more about bedroom matters when we are better acquainted. I have no interest in taking a stranger between my sheets,” he said and you felt silly for saying anything.

Your new husband surprised you again. You assumed he would be cold when it came to passion, but he seemed a bit sentimental.

“What should I call you?” you asked, trying to change the subject quickly.

“Idreod, you will be my wife so you may call me by my first name,” he said.

“I’m (Y/N),” you offered.

He paused.

“I know.”

“Oh.”

There was a bit of an awkward pause.

“Um…so what do you do for fun?” you asked the first thing that popped into your mind.

“Fun?” he asked in a chilly tenor.

“Right, you probably don’t-” you trailed off and blushed.

“I’ve never done anything in my life for fun,” he said blandly.

“Of course not,” you agreed.

“I do like training…” he offered, sounding suspiciously shy.

“Do you think I could train with you?” you asked.

There was silence.

“Why would you want to do that?” he asked, “you’ll hold me back. You are nowhere near my skill level.”

You blushed.

“You’re right. That was stupid of me…I just thought…”

You paused.

“You thought…? Don’t leave sentences unfinished. It’s a sign of poor will.”

You gulped.

“I just wanted to get to know you better since you’re going to be my husband and all,” you said the words all in one rushed breath.

“Ah, that’s wise. You’re quite clever. You should know what pleases me. I will compose a document of my likes and dislikes and have Airies pass it to you when it’s complete. You can study it,” he said.

You blinked.

“Um…okay, then,” you mumbled. That wasn’t exactly what you’d meant.

“Do you have any aptitude for mathematics?” he asked.

“I’m sorry?” you asked, unsure where this was going.

“You are a Zovith now. Starting today I will need to train you to be my replacement as head of the family in the case of my untimely death. As you saw, my brother is an idiot. If you are remotely competent, I’ll need to show the basics of running the estate.

“You came here, unsure of what to expect on your own two feet, so I know you have enough spine for it. Of course, your main role here is mother to my heirs, but it is always a good idea to prepare contingencies and I am very thorough.”

Your mouth hung open. You weren't sure if you were being complimented or insulted. Were you a broodmare or future head of the family?

“I worked in finance,” you said, “I can handle a bit of business arithmetic.”

“Hmph,” he said to himself, “she can’t be worse than Dessin.”

“Allright,” he went on, “tomorrow I will bring your father to the estate and you will begin working with me on it.”

“My father?” you gasped. You were sure you’d never see him again. A bit of the ice in your heart melted in relief.

His tone got stern.

“Yes, (Y/N), I am an archduke. I can’t be associated with street level criminals. Your father will be brought here and given some frivolous role to disconnect him from organized crime. It can’t get out that he sold you to me, so it must appear that we are in some way associated. He can be vice president of a vineyard or something. I’m told we have some in our portfolio.”

You stood up, annoyed.

“But my father built his business from the ground up!” you snapped, “you can’t just yank him away from it. That was the whole point of all this!”

“Being father of the archduchess of Akhet is a far more important role than some silly laundry shop!” he barked back.

“You don’t know anything about what’s important,” you griped.

“I will educate you on that,” he said firmly.

You huffed, but you couldn’t even see him to give him a proper stink eye.

“I think we’ve all had enough excitement for today,” he said, sounding a bit tired, “I’ll have Airies take you to your room.”

You took a deep breath, trying to gather control over my emotions.

The shorter blob that was Airies came a moment later and escorted you out, by the hand.

“Please excuse the archduke, my lady. I can see he’s upset you,” Aries said as your heels clicked on the marble floor, “he’s never been in the company of a female for more than a paid hour. We’ve all gotten used to his prickly attitude, but it must be shocking to someone new.”

You snickered a little and pressed your lips together to try and hide it, but you could hear the smile in Airies’ voice.

He led you to a room and helped you find the bed.

“I’ll have the optometrist come see you in the morning and we will have your prescription prepared,” he said, handing you a soft, folded negligee. He guided your hands over to a small tablet screen. His fingers were much more soft and narrow than the archduke’s.

“Press one of these buttons if you would like a maid to come help you,” he said.

He paused at the door.

“If you don’t mind me saying this, my lady, it’s been a long time since we Kherae have had someone fair and soft to care for, please take full advantage of that. If you want anything at all, you only need to ask.”

You nodded and thanked him and he left you to change into your nightgown. You wished you could have seen it properly, because it was very soft and cozy. You were just tucking yourself into the covers when there was a knock at the door.

“Hello?” you asked, “come in…”

The door wasn’t locked. You wondered if it was a maid. Instead a purple figure filled the doorway. It wasn’t Airies, because he was shorter, but it wasn’t quite as tall as the duke.

“It’s me Dessin,” the archduke’s brother said, “we didn’t have a chance to be properly introduced.”

You blushed.

“It’s a little strange for you to come so late,” you said, a little frightened.

He chuckled.

“I have no ill intentions. I just wanted to say something to you privately without my brother around,” he said, “since you will be my sister soon, there are things you should know about him.”

“Oh?” you asked, “well then say it quickly. I was just going to sleep.”

“It’s just that…I want you to know I’m on your side (Y/N). My brother is a monster. He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t know anything about love or passion, he just wants another pawn to play with. If you need help or a confidant…just know you can rely on me,” he said.

You chewed your lip. You weren’t sure what to make of that, but there is one thing you needed help with.

“Well there is one thing. You probably know everyone in the building, right?”

“Yes, of course,” he said.

“When I was attacked today, I was saved by a kind Kherae. I didn’t have my glasses on so I couldn’t see him and I was frightened so I hardly remember anything about him. Do you think you could ask around? I’d like to thank him personally.”

There was a pause.

“Oh…(Y/N). You don’t recognize me?” he asked.

You blinked, confused.

“You?”

You could have sworn your protector had been taller, but you’d been frightened, you may have inflated his assets.

“Yes, I was the one who found you today,” he said, “and I brought you back here.”

That didn’t sound quite right, but who would lie about something like that? You must have just remembered him incorrectly.

“Oh, silly me. I must have really been frightened,” you said and wobbled across the room to him. You leaned up on your tiptoes and kissed him on his cheek. He didn’t smell quite right either, but you brushed it off. Perhaps he’d had a shower.

“Really, Thank you,” you said, “I think I’ll head to bed now, if you don’t mind.”

Dessin was silent for a moment before he cleared his throat.

“Right,” he said, “well…goodnight (Y/N). Remember what I said. If you need me, I’m here.”When you were under the covers, you sighed. What luck did you have that the brother of your soon to be husband was the nice one? What would your life be like if he had been the one to win the fight over you earlier? This was a tragedy of course, not a romance, you reminded yourself as you fell asleep.

#alien fluff #sfw alien fluff #monster fluff #sfw monster fluff #exophelia #x reader #monster x reader #alien oc #alien x reader #yandere male #yandere fluff #yandere x reader

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the-californicationist · 5 months

Text

The Orchard

A gift for my sweet, darling @vampirekilmer...

Price has had enough of your bratty behavior, so he chases you through the woods to teach you a lesson.

Link to AO3

MDNI/18+

TW: Primal play, breeding kink, dubious consent

You scrolled back through all of your text messages with a nasty sort of pride. You’d gone above and beyond with just how sexually explicit and arousing your poses were, splurging on outfits and toys, really putting on a show. John had been on a job for the past two months, deep undercover, and he could receive your messages but he was not able to reply. So, you started off slow; a nip-slip here, a bare butt in a mirror there…but, you’d become almost feral as his leave drew nearer, and your slutty selfies reflected that. You knew you were in trouble, and honestly, you couldn’t wait.

You got his first message in the middle of your bath, and when you checked your phone, your blood ran cold.

I am going to ruin you.

Then, the picture loaded. Price was still in his uniform, driving, holding up a fist full of paracord. He wore a wide, bone-chilling smile, and you knew deep down that he was ready to use his tools against you.

You scrambled out of your bath and threw on your clothes. You opted for leggings and a tee shirt, grabbing your running shoes and a thick pair of socks. If he was on his way, you needed to get a head start.

This wasn’t the first time you’d made him hunt for you. He had bought the giant 100 acre ranch for a reason. Price loved space, and he loved chasing you through it even more.

You sprinted through the house, out of the back door, and into the wide clearing, heading straight for the treeline. The grass crunched beneath your feet. You found some sort of pace other than frantic, and you chose some of the trails less-traveled, hoping to give him a challenge. He found you every time, but you were getting better and better at finding little hiding places.

This time, though, you were heading for the orange grove. Months ago, you and John had discovered a naturally occurring orchard on the property that you hadn’t seen on the map. The smell from the fallen, rotting fruit was heady and citrusy in the best way, and the ripe globes were full of sticky juice. It was an Eden.

Now, though, it was the end of spring, and the blossoms on the trees were heavy and wilting. Thousands of petals had fallen to the ground, but thousands more still remained in the branches, white and pink, looking like perpetual snow. The petals made your footfalls soft and inaudible. You found a large tree to hide behind and waited.

You didn’t have to wait long.

You heard his boots on the path. He was running, full out, coming for you without hesitation. When the grove came into view, he stopped. You could hear his panting breaths. Even though you couldn’t see him from your hidden spot, you could tell he was still in his fatigues. The swish of the canvas gave him away.

He didn’t care. John wanted you to hear him. He called to you from the edge of the orchard,

“I know you’re in here, sweet girl. I hope you’re ready.”

There had been times when he didn’t let you hear him coming. Once, you’d hidden in a small cave in the north quadrant of the ranch, thinking you’d finally outsmarted him, and just as you ventured out to check your surroundings, he had snatched you from above the cave like some sort of cryptid, silent and threatening. He dragged you up the rocky hill and ripped your clothes off at the seams. Your screams echoed through the woods, falling on deaf ears. He’d fucked you til you passed out, and he made you walk back with him, naked, his come dripping down your legs shamelessly. He didn’t let you sleep that night.

This time, though, he was toying with you on purpose. You heard him whistling skillfully. It was one of his favorite folk songs to whistle, sometimes while he was cleaning his guns, or just puttering around the kitchen in the mornings. But now, in the dusky woods, it felt deeply ominous and threatening. His tone was so pure and low, and he held each note out, sending it toward you like a lance, hoping to land his strikes.

“Come out, come out…” he called again, “Don’t make me wait, darling.”

There was a long, eerily silent pause, and then, not twenty feet behind you, you heard him growl through gritted teeth,

“I’m not a patient man.”

You turned your head to see him standing there in the trees, menacingly smiling at you. His grin was full of genuine joy. The lips were pulled wide, showing sharp white teeth, stretching his full beard, grown out from his time away, and the creases of his lids folded together, pulling tight around his bright blue eyes. His body was enormous. He always seemed bigger when he came home from his tours, as if the muscles had been overused, overworked, swollen from their stimulus.

You could see how his huge shoulders made the fabric of his shirt ripple and tug across that wide, furry chest hidden beneath the soft cloth. His waist was thick and strong, built like the trunk of some great tree, and his legs looked like they were taken from some Greek statue, referenced in all of the prototypes of strength and speed.

His gloves were gone, as was his hat; he was dressed for speed. You noticed, in these milliseconds you took to witness him, that he was clutching his paracord in his left hand.

At that sight, you bolted. Much like a rabbit running from its wolf, you sprinted through the grove, weaving through the thin trunks. You heard him right behind you, his boots ruining the soil, ripping up roots and gaining on you.

Finally, you felt him lunge for you, and you were caught around your waist, slamming to the ground, chest down. You reached for the roots of one of the trees, putting up a fight with your legs. You knew he liked to feel your fury, and you gave it to him. But, you were already tired, and he was so strong. His stamina allowed him to breathe normally after only a few seconds of having you pinned. You heard the sharp whine of the paracord being let out, length by length, just for you.

He reached for your hand, panting into your ear,

“C’mere, girl.”

John grabbed your wrist so hard it hurt, and he wrapped the paracord around it cruelly. When he grabbed your other wrist, you fought him, bucking him off of your back, trying to find your footing.

“You bloody little brat. Why are you pouring fucking kerosene on my fire, hmm? Don’t you know how much trouble you’re in?”

He put his hand over your mouth and pulled your head to his chest, forcing you to arch your back. He whispered to you now, dark and threatening,

“Sending me those fucking pictures, tempting me. Making me mad, had me wanting to fuck my hand until I was raw. I’m starving , and you’re the only thing I want to eat.”

With both hands bound behind your back, he let you collapse to the floor of the orchard, your chest and face thudding into the ground, knocking the breath out of you. He raked your shirt and bra up over your breasts roughly, letting your skin feel the cold grass and soil.

“John, please,” you started to beg, “I promise I’ll be good. I didn’t -“

“Good? You’re gonna be so good for me. Fuck, you’re gonna feel so goddamn good,” he was almost talking more to himself than to you. He was reckless and frantic, pulling your pants down to your boots, letting them bind your ankles on their own.

He’d left your panties in place, and he began to tug on them, gently at first and then not, letting the back of the thong dig into your flesh. Then, he pulled from the front, lifting your ass up towards him to do so, making the fabric tighten between your wet folds, framing your clit. John let go, but he didn’t bother to return the cloth to its normal position. He left it askew, knowing it would rub against you awkwardly.

He grabbed the back of your head and pulled you over to him on the grass. The petals and dirt sticking to your skin. John was kneeling, and he let you fall back prone while he undid his belt. You listened to his metal buckles and zippers as he freed his fat, flaccid cock from his pants.

Your furious lover grabbed your head again and held it up to his hairy base, his rod thicker than the tree roots around his feet. He smiled,

“Suck me hard, love. Won’t take much. Be a good girl, yeah?”

You nodded, but he wasn’t interested in your response. He was already lifting you up, one hand tangled in your sweaty hair and one beneath your chin, angling you to put his cock in your mouth.

Without hands, you could only use your lips and tongue. You rubbed your cheek against him, trying to find the fleshy tip, trying to show him you could be so good. Eventually, you managed to line him up, and as you did, he pushed forward, filling your mouth with his wide girth.

He left it there, letting you swallow around it. You couldn’t move your head; you had no leverage. So, once he knew you were good and settled, he moved it for you. He grabbed you by the hair at the base of your skull and pulled you on and off of his soft cock until it began to swell with his warm blood. When it was hard, you started to gag. It was filling up your throat, cutting off your air, puffing out your cheeks with its largeness.

John began to fuck your throat in earnest. He pressed himself in and out of your mouth, growing harder and thicker with each thrust. He grunted as he fucked himself into you, vulgar and animalistic. Finally, he removed you from his shaft and looked at your fuck-drunk face. He laughed, pushing you back down again,

“You like that cock in your mouth, huh, sweet girl?”

You moaned around him, unable to speak. He continued to praise you,

“Such a perfect fucking throat. Swallow it down, love. Just like that, fuck…”

He moved his hand from your chin to hold your neck in his warm palm, feeling his cock expanding your skin. With his thumb, he massaged long, soothing circles into your throat, almost like he was jacking himself off through your body. You felt tears run in hot rivulets down your cheeks, fighting your gag reflex to the point of pain, and your chin was coated with your drool. You were fully at his mercy.

Just to reinforce your helplessness, he shoved your nose into the root of his cock, burying your face in his dense fur, and the soft hairs tickled your nose and lip. You started to panic, realizing you couldn’t inhale nor exhale. Your body turned and writhed, and you could hear the snapping of the leaves as you fought against his unbreakable grasp. He pet your cheek with the back of his hand, coaching you through it,

“Shh, sweet thing. You know better than that. Count to ten for me. I know you can do it. I won’t let anything happen to you. Relax - ungh! - yes, that’s it. Fuckin’ perfect, such a good girl…”

His praise made you melt, and he was right. You weren’t going to suffocate. You were just panicking and needy. You took a moment to calm down, and you began to count.

One… two… three…

His cock slipped further down your throat now that you had managed to relax your muscles, filling you up in a sinfully delicious way.

Four… five… six…

He began to let out a low-toned whine, reeling from the pleasure of feeling you swallow him over and over and over, clenching your throat in a predictable rhythm, slithering your tongue along his aching shaft.

Seven… eight… nine…

The captain was breathing through his teeth now, struggling to hang on. You decided to push his limits and nuzzled into the thick hair, trying to lick it, matting it down, wet and sticky. He moaned and shuddered when you did, much to your acute satisfaction.

“Goddamn, you got me close,” he moaned, but then he pulled himself from you, letting you breathe again, “But, I have other plans. Been thinking about tonight for a long, long time.”

John left you there on the wet ground, and you caught your breath amongst the fallen petals. When you coughed, you could smell and taste the rotten orange blossoms, sickly sweet in your nose and mouth, tinged with just the slightest hint of botanical decay.

He was behind you now, spreading your legs as far as they’d go with your ankles still bound, and you felt the cool night air rush across your wet center. His fingers traced the outline of your pussy, touching all of its swollen parts except the middle where you needed him most. His big, strong fingers lingered there for too long, petting you softly like a child pets a bunny, the backs of his two fingers feeling your softness and playing around your edges.

Then, he stopped, and you felt yourself clench around nothing, aching for release.

“John?”

A loud slap rang out through the trees and you cried out from the pain, crawling away from him, your bare ass cheek burning like it was on fire. He hit you again, and left his hand there to dull the pain. Tears burned in your eyes as you wrenched them shut, feeling almost nauseous from the ache he had caused.

“That’s for teasing me, you little brat, and this,” he slapped your other ass cheek just as hard, “is for making me chase you through the bloody woods.”

You sobbed out an apology, hoping it would be enough,

“Please, John, I won’t do it again…please…”

You bit your lip to keep from crying, feeling his fingertips graze over the stinging flesh, making it spark and glitter like electricity.

“Naughty,” he rubbed his dripping cock over his handiwork, “You knew what you were doing. Beggin’ won’t help you now, hm?”

He positioned himself at your entrance and pressed his head to your hole, letting your body know he had arrived. Your pussy grabbed for him, clenching as he popped his flesh inside of yours, sinking into you with a long sigh of satisfaction. It had been so long since you had felt full, and with every agonizing inch of progress, he chased away the emptiness within you, making you whole again.

It felt good. Too good…

Suddenly, you realized he was fucking you unprotected. You usually used condoms, and he was always so careful. You craned your head to look back at him.

“John, do you have a condom?” You asked, your voice sounding meek and small, strained from your overwhelming pleasure. He knew you had a safeword, but you weren’t ready to use it.

“No, love,” he chuckled darkly, “I’m gonna breed you, right here in these bloody fucking woods, tied up like the naughty little brat that you are. Gonna fill you full of my come… all… fuckin’... night. Right here,” he shoved himself up against your womb, reaching it easily and pressing on it until it ached like a bruise, “Right here, deep, fuck…”

His hands were gripping your ass cheeks fiercely, pulling them apart so he could watch himself disappear into you. You felt your body working up an orgasm for him - not for you - he was coaxing it from you like a snake charmer, forcing it to build and build until it grew within you, hot and ready to burst.

You whimpered under his heavy form, feeling the cold grass licking at your sensitive nipples, tickling your belly and mons, feeling how your walls were gaping open to accommodate John’s huge girth.

“That’s it. Be a good girl and come for me. Want you nice and ready,” he grunted, feeling your contractions as your pleasure mounted to a head, tightening in your core and making your legs shake against his thighs, “Mm, fuck, that’s it! Fuck!”

“John, don’t come in me,” you whined, your voice slurred from your uncontrollable bliss, “I’ve been off the pill. You’ll get me pregnant if you…ungh…oh, my God…if you - shit!”

Another one, an aftershock, rocked your core. You heard it, wet and sticky, dripping down around his shaft. It made lurid, slick noises that made your cheeks flush with shame. The idea that he would willingly breed you out here in your forest made you unbelievably horny. It was so primal, so brutally feral, and with as much restraint as John usually used with you, his ruthless pounding was making you high on his affection.

“Yeah, sweet thing. I fuckin’ know,” he bent himself over you to suck on your neck, “I’m gonna bloody well make sure you are,” his voice became a little sinister as he whispered in your ear, “I took a pill before I chased you out here. Won’t be soft for a good while. I’ll just come and come and come until it’s fuckin’ pourin’ out of you. Want you to be drownin’ in it, yeah? Gonna… make… damn… sure.”

Each thrust was an ordeal with how sensitive you were. You could feel his heat pooling inside of you from the incredible friction. You couldn’t help but bear down on him, and he cried out, unable to hold himself back for much longer.

“John, please…” You weren’t sure what you were even begging for anymore.

“Say it, love. Use the safeword. Say it, before it’s too late. C’mon…”

You turned your head and met his eyes. The blue of them pierced you like a knife, and the turmoil they displayed made you even hornier for his spilled seed. You managed a tired smile and shut your mouth, turning away from him, knowing you’d won.

“Oh, fuck me,” he lamented, unable to keep himself contained.

You felt his hot, heavy ropes coat your insides for the first time, and it was everything you thought it would be. The gooey, warm sensation made your whole body tremble, and your pussy fluttered around him as if trying to stroke it all out of his shaft, hungry for more and more of his sweet, spun sugar.

He buried himself to the hilt and took a few deep breaths. Then, John turned your body over and kept rutting into you, hoisting your ankles over one of his shoulders and grabbing your thighs for support. He was completely fuck-drunk, his pupils blown wide like he was high, and he laughed softly as he looked down at you,

“Look at you, dirty girl. The flowers… so fuckin’ pretty.”

Your hands were tied behind you, digging into your back, forcing you to arch up into him, and the position pushed your breasts up into the air, your nipples filthy with mud and soil, covered in white and pink petals from the orchard’s fallen blooms. He freed one of his hands to smear the vegetation all over your skin, pawing at your breasts and gathering up more petals from the ground to paint your body.

He rested his hand over your lower belly, right where he could feel himself spearing into you, his palm right over your womb. John pressed down with a closed fist right at the end of your hole, where your flesh stopped him, and he pushed his knuckles down, tightening your walls from above. It was a singular sensation, and your body decided it was a good one, sending all sorts of confusing, panicked signals to your brain. You screamed from it, and he chuckled,

“Mm, yes… squirm for me, sweet thing. I love it when you try to get away. Can’t, can you?”

“Fuck! John! Please! God!” You were trying anything and everything to keep from coming again. You wanted to fight, and you weren’t ready for him to have the satisfaction.

But, you were helpless to him. He pounded into you hard and slow, vibrating your whole body every time he hit your wet, sticky end, and you fell into another wave of orgasms. They were difficult to pick apart. You weren’t sure where one ended and the next began. John did not seem concerned about over stimulating you, pinching and holding your clit between his finger and his thumb once he removed his fist from your womb.

“Good girl… Gonna look so beautiful when you’re all swollen, hmm?” He pet your womb again, unable to stay away from pressing on it rhythmically, “Those breasts full and heavy. Needin’ me. Needin’ me like I fuckin’ need you.”

He thrust harder, pushing your legs down over your arched belly, slamming his length into your stickiness, chasing another orgasm. He found it in you, and you could feel his cockhead nuzzling your womb as it throbbed as if begging for entrance, painting your walls again.

Then, swiftly, he pulled out of you, lifting your ass into the air, making you take your weight on your shoulders. He put his face between your legs and started to shove his tongue into your pussy, lapping at his own come as it mixed with yours. It was feral and grotesque, and you loved every soft lap of his tongue. He was shoving it inside of you, spitting himself into your swollen slit, using his clean hand to push his come deeper inside, curling his knuckles to rub you to another painful orgasm, watching you come undone. Then, he went back to licking you, gathering any lost spend from your folds and fucking it back inside you with his pink mouth.

Satisfied with his efforts, he kept you vertical and began to eat your asshole, licking and licking and licking like a hound. He managed to squeeze his tongue inside it, writhing around, sticky and warm. His fingers joined in, pistoning in and out of you together in tandem, convincing your body to clench around him, desperate for more relief.

He held you tight, digging around in his pocket for a moment before showing you his gift. It was a t-bar plug. You thought he’d slip it into your ass, but he managed to wedge it into your pussy, keeping his come inside of you, safe and sound.

“Tha’s it. Sweet girl. Doin’ so good, hm? C’mon. Let’s get you inside. Got a long night ahead of us.”

He picked you up around your legs and hoisted you over his back like a sack of flour, marching you out of the orchard and towards home.

#captain john price #captain price #john price #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty fanfic #captain price x reader #captain price x you #cod #cod fanfic #captain johnathan price #feral

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twola · 1 year

Note

I always hate like “requesting” something because it feels like a forceful “write this for me now!” kind of thing, but a I’ve always had this smutty idea in my head where Arthur is getting a little weaker from the TB, but is also pinning after some cute girl in camp. Some wooing occurs and things start getting steamy~ but it’s her first time or she’s not super experienced. I feel like HH!Arthur would try to be the gentleman to show her a sweet, gentle time, but wouldn’t have the stamina for missionary, so his partner would pick up where he leaves off by riding him like the work horse he is. I just thin the scenario would be perfect for like sexy words of encouragement (def NOT thinking of his mare voice lines *wink wink wink*) plus Arthur getting taken care of too instead of just doing the caring. I have like 0 writing skills tho lol so if you ever found yourself in need of smutty I soo I would feel HONORED for you to bring my nasty Arthur thoughts to life

Ooh, TB whumpy smut… I’m sensing a pattern here. My poor boah, how I love to torture him…

This was a good one! Still working on a few more. I love and thrive on feedback so drop me a line if you liked it.

Regret Me Not

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Regrets seem to take up much of his headspace these days... But for one regret of his, Arthur takes action with a little bit of urging on your part.

Arthur wheezes, covering his mouth with the back of his palm, the wet, hacking noise that scrapes out of his throat as he sits on the boulder south of Beaver Hollow, out of earshot of the camp.

Not that he needed people’s stares. He looks terrible enough that he gets looks of pity from the women, avoided by the men - and Dutch? Well, he is living in another reality.

Another cough rips through him, as he feels as if he were drowning within his own body. A small hand lands on his back. He looks up, rubbing his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

You stand over his shoulder, rubbing gently, concern alight in your eyes. You look down and dig into the pockets of your skirts.

“Here.” You say with a small smile, handing him a bottle of tonic.

He coughs again, butchering his thanks, as he takes the bottle from your hands, uncorking it quickly and downing the foul-tasting liquid quickly.

“How are you feeling?” You ask quietly, hand still resting on his shoulder, slowly, gently rubbing circles into his upper back.

Arthur wants to lean wholly into your touch. He wants to wrap himself into you and let you card your fingers through his hair. He wants to rest. He wants to sleep.

He wants, he wants - but alas. None of that was possible.

“Like hell.” He grits out hoarsely, tossing the empty bottle to the dirt at his feet.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” You say softly. Your other hand moves to his back as well, rubbing at his other shoulder.

“ ‘S alright.” He murmurs, not wanting to let on how good your hands feel on him.

A silence settles in, and you rub at his shoulders for a few moments more before drawing your hands away from him.

“Well… I just wanted to check on you. See how you’re doin’. I’ll see you later, Arthur.” You say, and he can hear the crunch of gravel under your boot as you turn on your heel. You begin to walk up the path back toward camp, as he turns and follows you with his gaze over his shoulder.

Arthur wants. In the embracing of his mortality, the facade of propriety and the painstakingly built walls around his heart crumble in the face of his own death.

He has watched you for months. Yearned for months, wanted and needed your attention, always too self-conscious to reach out and touch.

Sister Calderon’s words echo in his ears with each step you take away from him.

“Take a chance that love exists.”

“D-do you wanna get outta here?”

His voice is hoarse, almost weak sounding. Nothing of the man that he used to be.

You stop, turning around, a small smile creeping across your face. “God, get outta this hell hole? Absolutely. Anywhere is better than these hills.”

His heart hopes.

“I gotta go grab some mail from Van Horn. Ain't much better though…”

“It ain’t here, Mister Morgan. Let’s go.”

—

Van Horn is just as decrepit as the last time he was here. Falling apart and full of the dregs of society, left behind by the churning wheel of progress. He mirthfully counts himself as one of them, he supposes.

He tucks the letters he retrieved into his satchel, moseying slowly toward the back of the dock, where you stand with your elbows on the railing, gazing at the river’s lazy waters. Northward, toward the mountains and the river’s origins.

“Y’ready there, ma’am?”

You look back at him but don’t move. “Already? Ugh. Camp’s just so…”

Arthur sidles up next to you, placing his own elbows on the railing, grunting in agreement. You didn’t need to go any further, he knew where you were going with your comment.

The camp was… well, a gloom has settled upon it. Dutch acting irrational, angry. The loss of Hosea and Lenny. Running from Pinkertons.

And his own impending demise, of course.

“What’re you gonna do after?” Arthur asks quietly and notices the stuttering breath you take as your shoulders drop a little.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t have much else than this.”

Arthur hangs his head, taking in a deep breath. A breath that seems to barely fill his ailing lungs, and he coughs slightly under the rim of his hat.

“Y’got a good head on you. You’ll do fine.” He grits out, voice hoarse.

You remain silent, your eyes set on the water of the slow-flowing river. A boat chugs southbound, heading toward Saint Denis.

“I don’t know how I’ll fare being alone.” You softly murmur.

He sighs. “I’m sure you can stay with Abigail or Missus Adler. Or Charles. You got people to watch out for you.”

“But not you.”

A pang, a sharp pain shoots through his chest, above and beyond the near-constant constriction of his lungs.

“No. Not me.”

You look up at him, a sheen of wetness over your eyes. It pains him as he looks back.

A tear rolls down your face and it’s everything he is not to lean over and cup your face in his hands and wipe your tears away.

“Sweetheart, you deserve-”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me what I deserve, Arthur Morgan.” You spit out, tears openly running down your cheeks.

Arthur sighs, looking back down at the water. It is murky, muddy, dirty right under the dock. Just like this damn town.

You push yourself into his surprised embrace, clutching at his shirt, and it takes him a moment to realize that this wasn’t a dream, and he winds his arms around you, pulling you against him.

“I wish you would stop hiding from me.” You whisper as he holds you to his chest, your cheek pressed against his breastbone, probably hearing the crackling failure of his lungs with each breath he takes.

He doesn’t know how to answer that. For years now, it’s been easier for him to keep that urn with the remains of his heart buried from all.

“I’m here… I’m here now.” He murmurs, resting his chin atop your head.

“I’ve been waitin’ for you, Arthur. Waitin’ and wishing for you to ask me to be yours.” You bury yourself in his embrace.

Fuck.

Arthur’s resolve cracks like a piece of porcelain.

“I’m just a fool. A fool for making you wait.”

You shudder against him, digging your fingers into his shirt, and your breath stutters as you try to stifle a sob. Pulling away, you look up at him, his bloodshot, sunken eyes, still the blue-green pools you would drown in.

You lean up on your toes, arms winding around his neck, but he turns his face away as you draw closer.

“No. I ain’t gettin’ you sick too.”

You frown, glassy-eyed, about to draw your arms from him before he leans down and presses his lips to your cheek, again and again, moving up toward your ear.

“But…. I’ll give you whatever else it is you want.” He rumbles, arms wound tight around you, his body arcing over yours.

You shiver in his embrace, pulling your head back ever so slightly to look him in the eye.

“I want whatever you’re willing to give me.” You whisper, hands moving up and clutching at his collar.

He leans his forehead against yours. “If you want a dying, washed-up gunsling-”

You interrupt, pressing up on your toes and kissing his cheek, “I want you, Arthur Morgan. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

So long.

Goddamnit. He’s been looking at you, yearning for you, for months. Before Blackwater and ferries and being chased by Pinkertons. Before Dutch became erratic, before all of these complications. When he was chasing tumbleweeds across the wild and open west.

He gives a shuddering sigh, and draws you closer, pulling you to him and placing his lips on the long line of your neck. You whimper as he pulls a bit of your pale skin between his teeth, suckling on it, hoping to leave a mark.

You throw your arms completely around his shoulders and begin to pant in his ear. Whimpers turn to whines as one of his large hands moves down from your waist to clench roughly at your rear, drawing you against his pelvis and his rapidly hardening cock.

“A-Arthur - please -” You moan, rubbing yourself against him, and he regretfully draws his mouth away from your skin, pink-tinged and wet from his attentions.

As much as he’d love to turn you around, throw up your skirts, and press himself into you for the sake of time, he knows you deserve more than that.

“Lemme get a room.” He pants, letting go of you, moving to adjust himself in his trousers. “Go on upstairs.”

You pull at the collar of your blouse to hide the evidence of your indiscretion and quietly nod, moving past him and slowly climbing the rickety stairs to the second story of the decrepit building.

He quickly pays for a room, and grabs the key from the clerk with a dismissive grunt, hurrying his way up the stairs to find you leaning against the second-story railing, waiting for him.

Arthur jams the key into the door’s lock, pushing it open, and lumbering into the room, where he immediately sheds the repeater strapped to his back and places it on the worn table next to the door. His gunbelt follows as you step inside, closing and locking the door behind you.

He places his hat atop the pile of guns on the table, looking back at you.

“Still want to do-”

You cut him off by closing the distance between you and throwing your arms around his waist.

He pulls you toward the bed, and places his hands on your waist, holding you still, as he sits on the bed, the worn frame creaking under his weight. He doesn’t spare it a second thought, eyes trained on you, and he gently pulls you to sit in his lap.

You cup his cheek gently, thumb tracing along his beard that he��s kept longer to hide the gauntness of his cheeks. His large hand lands on your thigh, squeezing it as he presses his face into the hollow of your neck.

You gasp as you feel his tongue on your skin, clutching at his shirt as you tilt your head back.

You shiver again as his hand creeps up under your skirt, finger gently rubbing against the seam of your bloomers, which dampens quickly under his ministrations.

“It's been a while,” He grunts out, unable to stop his hips from bucking up against your legs with you seated in his lap, the long line of him chasing your warmth.

“M-me too. Ain’t since-” you mewl into his ear as his fingers push your bloomers to the side and brush against the damp skin of your core, “some stable boy when I was sixteen- ahh - we - we didn’t know what we was doin’.” You gasp out as his pointer finger, thick and strong, dips inside your entrance, sheathing to the knuckle within your cunt.

He slides another finger inside you, groaning against your hair when he realizes how tight you are, clutching desperately at his digits, imagining how good you would feel surrounding his cock.

“I’ll be good to you,” He grits out, crooking his fingers within you.

“Oh-” You gasp, “I know, I know you will, Arthur.”

Arthur pulls you from his lap and lays you on the bed next to him, and immediately starts to shed his clothing, tossing it into piles on the floor as you join him, skirts and shirts thrown from the bed, a union suit and chemise - your bloomers land on the floor and he quickly climbs atop you, spreading your legs and fitting his hips in the cradle of yours.

In this old, dirty bed in this old, dirty room, he swears he has never seen something so beautiful as you sprawled out beneath him, the rise and fall of your breathing, the blush crawling down your cheeks to your neck, spreading out across your chest, to your pink nipples, pebbling as they are exposed to the cool air.

He leans down, balancing himself on his forearms, finding that spot on your neck again and nibbling at it, while one of his hands works its way to the space between you, grasping his hard cock and stroking it as he presses the swollen head against your core.

You mewl as he presses in, the head of his cock entering you, his hand moving from its base to frame your head again.

“God, you’re perfect.” He groans as he starts to press himself inside, inch by inch disappearing into your wet warmth, your panting high and fast in his ear as he suckles on your neck once again.

He thrusts, gently, and his hips press against yours as he’s buried himself to the hilt in your cunt. You mewl out a high whine, nails digging into his shoulder.

Arthur presses himself up slightly, looking down upon you. His fingers begin playing with the curling hairs at your temple, waiting for you to open your eyes, a sign that you’re used to his length and girth within you.

And when you do, he’s stricken. Your eyes flutter open and you inhale a breath with a sweet sigh. God, for once in his damn life, he’s doing something right.

Your arms wind around his neck as you press your lips to his cheek, he knows that you want to taste him, to mold your lips together and moan into each other’s mouths - he wants that too, but it’s a step too far. He’s already half afraid of spreading his sickness to you.

Arthur thrusts, gently still, but faster and harder than he had been, you squeal in delight, which spurs him into finding a rhythm, his body moving over yours.

He grunts, panting as he moves his hips, fucking into you and pressing you down into this old, uncomfortable mattress. He swears he’ll bring you to some nice hotel in Saint Denis and make love to you on a plush expensive mattress-

A constriction in his chest stops him mid-thrust.

He pants, wheezing, his hips slowing as he struggles to catch his breath. Christ, what a sorry excuse for a man he is - can’t even please a woman in the state he’s in.

You gently push on his shoulder, and he has the stamina, at least, to raise himself up and look upon you, cheeks blazing in shame.

“Here, maybe I should get on top?” You ask, your hand cupping his cheek while the other gently lays upon his chest.

He groans at the thought, his traitorous cock twitching as he’s buried in your cunt, causing you to gasp out.

“Alrigh’,” Arthur grunts, and steadies his knees while he pulls his hands to you: one beneath your lower back, one below your shoulder blades. In a jumble of limbs and skin, he rolls over, somehow keeping himself sheathed in you until you’re splayed atop him, your small hips spread out over his.

He has to admit, this was a good idea you had, even before you think to move, what a sight he’s given. His cock fully enveloped in your hips, the dark thatch of hair between your thighs mixing with the curls at his base. Up, up the curves of your waist, he trails his hands, gently skimming your sweat-slicked skin. Your breasts, small yet perky, he’s enraptured by the way your nipples pebble as he rubs his thumbs over them, the sweet sigh that leaves your lips as your head falls back.

God almighty, you’re the sweetest thing alive.

Your hands find purchase on his chest, fingers pulsing, as you roll your hips once over him. His breath stutters, eyes widening as inches of him leave you, only to gently return moments later.

“G-good?” You ask, a self-conscious fear in your eyes.

His hands clamp on your waist and help to guide your movement.

“So good, you’re so good.” He rasps, the end of his lips curling up into a smile.

You smile back, rolling your hips again, taking him and out, following the pathway to your own pleasure and dragging him along for the ride.

Your murmuring devolves into gasping moans as you continue to gyrate above him, squeezing your eyes shut, your fingers spread wide over his pectorals.

“That’s it. You’re alright, girl.” He urges, one hand moving from your hip to where you’re joined, his thumb parting your folds just above where he’s speared into you.

You moan aloud, giving no qualm to volume as he circles and presses against that little nub of pleasure.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’re almost there.” He whispers as his hips jut upward into yours, he can see the far-off look in your eyes, the way your lips hang open, the shortness of your breath, and the slightly painful way your fingers are clenching into his chest. He can tell, your pulsing, squeezing, sweet little cunt is so close.

You ride him fast, like a horse at a gallop, and that blooming lava in his gut churns in a way that he knows he’s not far behind.

“A-Ar…” You stutter as your eyes close tightly.

“That’s it, that’s it, Darlin’.” He urges, his other hand tight on your hips, aiding your movement.

“Agh, oh god - Arthur.” You moan out, bottoming out completely as you throw your head back. He groans aloud as he feels your muscles constrict around his shaft, the sweet clutch of your cunt.

He thrusts his hips upward again and is rewarded with the sweetest mewl from your mouth, he cannot help but to whimper as he feels warm, wet slick start to seep from where you’re joined, his swollen and heavy balls covered in them.

You recover, gasping as your hands move to his chest, your hips grinding down on him slowly.

“I wanna-” you pant, catching your breath, “I wanna make you come.”

Arthur groans in response, hips bucking upward as his hands fly to your hips again, clenching them hard.

“Ain’t gonna- augh- ain’t gonna be hard to give you that.” He stutters out, knowing that the pull in his gut is getting stronger with each sweet movement you make.

“You’re so good -” You mewl, rolling your hips over him as he grunts, hands sure on your waist, fingers pulsing as his eyes flutter closed, his mouth hanging open as he approaches that precipice.

“You feel just like I’ve always dreamed.” You sigh, and all he can respond with is a thrust upward of his hips, to give you more, to give you himself, all that’s left of him.

He’s there, he’s there. His eyes shoot wide and he grunts, hands hard over your hips. “Get- you gotta, move.”

But you lean forward, not stopping the gentle roll of your body over his, and kiss his forehead.

“Come inside me.” You breathe, hands steady over his beating heart, “Give me all of you.”

Of all the stupid, childish things… but the resolve of a dying man, it is far less strong than before - weakening much like his ailing lungs.

“Please.”

He does, he does.

He grunts needily as he pumps his release into you. Staying sheathed in your warmth, not jerking himself into cold air.

Arthur sits up immediately, burying his head into the side of your neck, and suckles gently at the skin there as your fingers start to play with the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck.

He regrets, it’s all he has left, that again, he wasted his time, glancing shyly at you across the fire for all those months. All he can do is offer you a few fleeting moments of pleasure. He regrets, it’s all he has left, that he cannot taste your lips and the sweetness he knows lies beyond them.

“Darlin’-” he trails off into your skin, trying to compose himself.

I’m sorry- I’m sorry this is all that’s left of me - sorry I can’t give you nothin’ but -

You place your lips on his forehead gently before pulling back. You cup his cheeks in your hands and nod your head.

“Let’s not waste any more time.”

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #red dead fanfic #red dead fandom #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #twolafic #red dead smut #rdr2 smut #tumblr prompt

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demetris-cocksleeve · 7 months

Text

(A/n: Told you it'd be up soon😅😘)

Word Count: 2,007

Summary- How do you expect Lucio to deny a treat such as yourself?

Warnings: Con Noncon, Mentions of "deflowering" (social construct but🤷‍♀️), anal, a singular slap at the beginning, fingering, unprotected sex- no creampie, let me know if i missed any

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Count Lucio x Male! Reader: Corruption + Anal; Kinktober 2023

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

The palace library is filled with the steady shuffling of paper as you flip through various spell books.

Asra has been trying to teach you how to enter the Arcana Realm on your own but you just can't seem to grasp it. So here you are: sorting through book after book to try to figure it out. Sure, Asra would be more than happy to give you extra help, but you can't bring yourself to ask. Not after everything they have done for you already.

Just as you let out a sigh, about to give up for the day, the library doors slam open. You don't even have to look to know who it is. But you do, because he's the count and something about respect, yada yada yada.

You politely nod in acknowledgement even though you're trying to keep your eye from twitching in annoyance. You're already stressed between Asra's new task and the general mayhem that comes from being the count's personal magician.

Namely, the count's particular fascination with making you do measly magic tricks as though you're a court jester - it makes you regret ever accepting the Countess's offer.

"Ah! Y/n! What a wonderful surprise!" Count Lucio exclaims as he strides over to you.

As if he came to the library for any reason other than wanting to bother you.

"Count Lucio," you deadpan, continuing to flip through the pages in front of you.

He perches on the table, not bothering to move the priceless tomes and scrolls. You cringe as the papers crinkle and crunch under his weight.

"I'll never understand why you choose to bury yourself in such a dark, dusty room," he absently flips a book closed as he glances at the papers with a screwed up face. "If I didn't know any better I would think you like these books more than me~"

'Guess you don't know better, then…' you think bitterly.

"Do you require my assistance with something, your Excellency?"

His lips twist into a nasty smirk, sending a chill down your spine.

"I do, actually~"

Rubbing your temples you bookmark the tome you're looking through and set it aside. "And that would be with..?"

Over the course of your time at the palace, you've come to learn that the count has little to no regard for personal space when it comes to the people he favors, -unfortunately, you're one of the most favored of his staff- so you don't think much of it as he grabs your wrist and brings your hand toward him.

That is, until he places your hand on his lap. Specifically, his notably hard crotch.

His grip tightens when you move to yank your hand back.

"Sir-"

"Ah, ah ah~ You know what happens to people who upset me~" The Count chides.

The threat behind his words makes you freeze as images flash through your mind.

Various staff members who have been executed in various ways. From public hangings to being chased down by Mercedes and Melchior.

"There's a smart boy~" Count Lucio sing-songs. "You will do as I say, when I say it. Understand?"

Your jaw is set as you numbly nod.

"Good boy… Now, strip." He commands as releases your wrist to shrug off his jacket, leaving his torso bare.

You'd be lying if you said the count wasnt insanely attractive. Or that you hadn't thought about almost this exact situation before. But reality is different from fantasies.

A slap to the face snaps you out of your thoughts. You keep your head snapped to the side as he speaks.

"I said: strip."

With no other choice, you stand, slowly peeling layer after layer off until you're standing bare before him. Keeping your eyes to the ground, you wait for his next order as embarrassed tears prick at your eyes.

"Fuck… Look at you- better than I imagined." He breathes.

The tears slip down your cheeks as the praise causes your cock to start to twitch to life.

Horror dawns on you as you realize he said 'Imagined'... That means he's thought this… That he planned it. Oh, gods…

"C'mere."

His voice brings you back. Numbly, you move your legs until you're in front of him. He yanks you to stand between his legs.

"Open your mouth." Dropping your jaw open, your hands clench into fists at your side. Why you? Why couldn't this be happening to another staff member?

You know it's an awful thought, but you can't help it.

His fingers are heavy on your tongue as he slides them in to the knuckle. "Now suck."

The count's intense gaze never leaves you as you suck and swirl your tongue around his digits. You close your eyes in shame as your cock stands at attention between you. You know it's just a primal response, but the disgrace still fills you.

Even more so when you acknowledge the small part of you that's enjoying the attention. The part of you that whispers about all the times you imagined being bent over by him and fucked until you couldn't walk; reminds you of all the times you've feverishly tugged at yourself to the thougbt of him until you were spilling into your bath water.

After his fingers are thoroughly slicked, Count Lucio pulls his hand back and slips it behind you. You jump as you feel his wet fingers slip between your ass cheeks and trace around your hole.

"Wait!" You yelp, taking a step back. Which, with the way the pressure makes his finger breach you, does anything but help the heat in your face. "What are you doing?"

The count's head tilts to the side as he leans back against his metal arm. You try not to let the way his abs tense with the movement get to you. Try.

Raising an eyebrow he says, "Well, I was going to prepare you to take my cock, but, if you'd prefer no preparation, I'm happy either way…"

His dismissive attitude has you sputtering.

"So?" He asks, "Prepped or not prepped?"

"Well- I- Um- Wh-" You can feel the heat in your chest with how embarrassed you are. You're standing in front of Vesuvia's ruler, as naked as the day you were born, being asked how you like to be fucked. Please let a hole open up beneath you and swallow you whole…

Count Lucio rolls his eyes and huffs a sigh, "Prepped it is. Now- forearms on the table." He stands from his perch.

Hesitating, you just glance between him and the table. This is actually happening…

"Now."

His tone carries the authority of the fearless commander he's known to be and it has you shuddering as you lean over a couple scrolls.

"Good boy~"

You suck in a breath at the appraisal. Your hips jerk as he starts to push his fingers into you once more.

He pushes the first finger in until what you guess is the second joint before pulling it out and joining it with another finger. The count slowly starts to scissor you open.

"This is wrong…" you whimper out and the dirty feeling washing over you. "This is so, very wrong…" Fresh tears flow from your eyes as the count ruins you.

"Oh, baby, the only thing wrong right now, is you." You can feel his warmth as he leans over you to whisper in your ear. His fingers continue to force small whines from your lips as they pump in and out of you. "This isn't right, the body isn't meant for this…"

"Wait a minute-" Count Lucio pauses with a grin. "You don't mean the situation, do you?" Your bottom lip trembles as you shake your head.

"Please, don't do this to me," you whisper as your forehead falls to the table in defeat.

"Oh~" you can hear the growing smirk in his voice.

"Oh, I'm going to ruin you, my little magician~" he growls out.

His fingers start up with a renewed vigor and he speaks.

"Gonna ruin this tight little hole. Gonna ruin you for anyone else; you're never gonna be able to even think about anyone else after I'm done with you."

All of a sudden his fingers are gone and something much bigger is pushing at your rim. When did he undo his pants?

"Please… Lucio-"

Before you can get the rest of your plea out, you're interrupted.

"Godsdamn it-" He groans. "Drop the "Count" from now on. My name sounds so good coming from your lips, baby…"

You cry out as the count starts to push in. Not out of pain, but because you're never going to be intact again. Facing the ultimate shame has you once again cursing at the Arcana for not choosing someone else to be deflowered in this way.

You're sobbing into the tabletop by the time Lucio bottoms out. You can feel his metal fingers contrasting his flesh on your opposite hip; the sharp, gold digits digging into your skin as he starts to pull out.

You're babbling various pleas and protests as he thrusts back in. Your words fall on deaf ears as he starts to pick up the pace. Your cries mix with his pleasured curses fill the otherwise empty library.

One particularly hard thrust has you screaming out in pleasure and pain as he slams into your prostate- over and over the bundle of nerves takes the hits. Over and over you clench your eyes as you jaw goes slack. The most obscene noises leave you, noises you didn't know you could make.

"Fucking hell-" Lucio hisses as he snaps his hips against yours, "Feel so fucking good; look at you sucking me in so eagerly. And to think- hah- you were so against this."

You can't bring yourself to answer. Your cheek is smushed against the wooden table as you get shoved up and down it with every thrust. The shiny surface fogs with each pant and moan that escapes you.

You can feel yourself climbing closer and closer to the edge, your balls start to tighten as the pain of neglect becomes almost too much for your leaking cock.

"Please…" You don't know what you're begging for at this point. You've already been ruined. Why not capitalize on it?

"Please, Lucio… I- I can't-'' You're still sobbing, but it's more from frustration than anything by now. The pleasure coursing through you with each stroke too much yet not enough. Not enough to make you cum.

In your desperation, you sneak your hand beneath you, damning any shame that action makes you feel, and grip the base of your cock, stroking your hand in time with Lucio's thrusts.

"Hah- Aughhh~" Your eyes roll back at the added pleasure, your hazy mind forgetting how wrong this is.

"C'mon," Lucio growls behind you. "C'mon, baby- cum for me." His grip is searing as his movements get somehow wilder. More erratic, more rough. It makes you insane.

With a final hit to your prostate, you cum with a cry. Your vision dances with black as you feel a sudden emptiness followed by something warm hitting the back of your thighs.

"Fuck…"

You don't know who says it… It could have been both of you for all you know.

"You okay, baby?" Lucio asks, taking his jacket and pulling you up, into a hug. "I wasn't too rough?"

A small smile plays at your face as you think back to the scene that just played out.

"It was perfect…" you nuzzle into his bare chest. "Thank you for indulging me, I know it's a bit weird to get turned on by that kind of stuff…"

Lucio rests his chin on your head as he speaks, "It's not weird baby boy- out of the ordinary, maybe, but it's not weird. And if I can help you indulge in even a fraction of your fantasies, then I've done my job right."

He lifts your chin up to place a kiss on your forehead, then the tip of your nose, finally landing on your lips.

Reblogs are appreciated!🛐

#count lucio x reader #count lucio x mc #count lucio smut #kinktober 2023 #the arcana smut #the arcana count lucio #the arcana #the arcana x mc #the arcana x reader

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writingjourney · 8 months

Note

Hey there! I’m not sure if you take requests, but I saw that others do and you are my favorite so far. 😅 I have some pretty nasty skinned up knees because I fell yesterday, totally embarrassing myself in front of a bunch of clients! I was wondering if you could write a short Copia/reader fic that would give me a way better story for my skinned knees. (Papa or Cardinal!) 😂

on your knees | papa emeritus iv x gn!reader

I can most certainly give you a more thrilling story for those skinned knees 👀 I chose Papa because who wouldn't like to fall to their knees for the antipope?

content: 1.3k words, gn!reader, alcohol mention, biting, semi-public blowjob, spit kink, choking mention, taint tickling, he gets whimpery, blood/minor injury, papas tight-ass pants

Masterlist – Ao3 link

You are both a little tipsy, the warm, giggly kind that has you clinging to each other as you stumble across the street. Copia’s arm is slung around your shoulder, gloved fingers spread over your upper arm in an attempt to keep you steady. You still feel all warm inside after your dinner date in town, the walk home taking you twice as long as you stop for needy kisses every few steps. By the time you reach the abbey’s courtyard, you’re both out of breath.

“Mhm, I want you so much, amore,” Copia whispers into your ear as he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. His free hand slowly crawls from your hip to your ass where he squeezes the soft flesh appreciatively. Your fingers search for his but before you can link them together he grabs your hand and brings it to his crotch with a moan. “I’m so hard for you.”

You shudder at the feeling of his cock in your palm, only separated by the strained fabric of his pants that allows his heat to radiate into your skin. His lips trail from your cheekbone down to your jaw where he gently nibbles before pressing another wet kiss to your mouth.

“Be careful or I bite back,” you whisper as you break away, squeezing his cock until it jumps in your hand.

“Oh, do you, my little vampire?” His teeth graze your skin from your lips down to your chin where he bites down gently. “Care to show your Papa?”

“Mhm.”

You reach for his hand and pull him further along until you find a dark spot at the edge of the courtyard, the abbey’s high stone walls casting deep shadows over your bodies. Your shared giggles echo in the hollow between buildings as you both stumble over your uncoordinated limbs. Copia’s back crashes into the wall and takes you with it so fast that your knees give out. The momentum gives your drop more speed than anticipated and you connect with the cobblestone in a painful crunch.

“Ow, amore, your knees,” Copia exclaims, trying to pull you up again.

“‘m fine,” you say, shaking off his hand as well as the pain. “I’m just where I need to be.”

“Are you s– Ahhhh.”

His question is interrupted by you pressing your mouth to his cock, growling playfully as you bring it between your teeth. You close them just the tiniest bit, a kitten bite really, and Copia chuckles under his breath. One of his gloved hands strokes your hair, the other lovingly caressing your jaw. You nuzzle the tent in his pants for a moment, take in the smell of his arousal as you feel him twitching against your face. With practiced fingers you open his belt and zipper, a little more clumsily than usual in your tipsy excitement. After he forwent his underwear to fit into the tightest pants he owns, his semi-hard cock springs out immediately. Your mouth is watering at the sight, a needy throb vibrating through your lower body when you press your cheek to his length. The burning pain in your knees is pushed to the back of your mind as you look at your Papa through heavy eyelids, allowing him to admire you.

“Che bellezza,” he whispers, cradling your other cheek in his gloved hand. “Seeing you on your knees for your Papa, amore. Hold out your hand, sì?”

You do as he says, stretching your hand skyward. Copia’s tongue works inside of his painted cheeks, the black lines shifting back and forth before he spits into your palm.

“Go on,” he says. “Don’t tease.”

You look up at him, watching his expression darken as you spit into your hand as well. The tight lines on his face melt in pleasure as you wrap your fist around his cock, spreading your combined spit over his length and stroking him to full hardness. You press a gentle kiss to his tip, lapping up the pearls of precum that drip from his slit and onto your lips. At the contact he sighs, pushing his hand in your hair for a better hold on your head.

“Amore–” he warns. “I said no– ohhh.”

You fully wrap your lips around him, letting him slide in so deep that he chokes on his words when you hollow out your cheeks. His grip on your hair tightens until his tugs are almost painful and you blink up at him, watching his eyes roll back in his head. The corners of your mouth twitch at the sight. He’s already whimpering and moaning, always so needy, so eager for any warm hole he can get. You can feel his cock flexing as you gently cup his balls and give them more room over the tightness of his pants. When you slowly move your head back and forth, keeping your tongue pressed to the veiny underside of his cock, he shallowly rocks his hips to meet your rhythm.

It doesn’t take a lot to turn him into a mess. You slide your fingers over his taint with gentle but persistent pressure and take him in as deep as you can. He keens when you swallow around him, pushing your head into his groin until you choke. Spit runs down the corners of your mouth and drips from his cock to your chin.

“So good,” he whispers. “So good, amore. K-keep going. ‘m so close, s-so close.”

He’s anything but quiet, not that you mind, as he continues to ramble in between moans. You only take a few seconds of respite to breathe before you suck at his tip, using your hand to pump the rest of him between spit-slick fingers. His hips buck involuntarily, fingers so tight in your hair that the lingering pain in your knees fades in contrast. All it takes is for you to moan around him and the vibrations push him over the edge. His cock is twitching helplessly as thick ropes of cum shoot into your mouth and trickle down your throat.

Copia groans into the quiet vacuum of the night around you, his eyes glazed over in bliss as he gazes down at you. When he finds you staring at his slack-jawed face, he loosens his grip on your head. As soon as you know he’s watching, you swallow all that he had to give and lick him clean until he whimpers in overstimulation.

“Amore, cuore mio,” he whispers, wiping some of the spit and cum from the corners of your mouth before his thumb pushes between your lips. “You always make your Papa feel so good. So generous, my baby.”

You smile and lick his thumb clean, nibbling at it for a moment until he chuckles. You press a kiss to each of his knuckles, then, the leather soft and warm against your lips before you use his hand to slowly pull yourself up. Copia helps you and gently cradles you against his solid chest until you can properly stand on your own again. He leans in for a soft kiss to your mouth, his ragged exhales brushing over your face until your lips meet. In the meantime, you carefully tuck his softening dick back into his pants and zip them up.

“Now, let me see your knees,” he says and you step back on wobbly legs.

It still hurts like a bitch and you can feel the wetness of blood seeping into the ripped fabric at your joints, some leftover gravel stuck in the softer skin around it that you have to clean out. From the outside it looks half as bad, but you know that once your pants come off, the sight won’t be pleasant.

“We have to get you inside now and clean this, amore,” Copia says with with a pained expression on his face before he presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead. “And then I will make sure this was worth it, eh?”

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3

#the band ghost fanfiction #copia x reader #copia smut #copia fanfiction #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa emeritus iv fanfiction #papa emeritus iv smut #ghost fanfiction #my writing #reader insert #mdni

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throneofsapphics · 8 months

Note

could i pls request feysand x reader, where they meet tamlin at some meeting/party and he finds out y/n exist and gets mad at the whole relationship. Imagine reader punches him for all he did to feyre and feysand are so proud🥹🥹

that’s our girl

Feysand x Reader

Summary: Reader loses her temper.

Warnings: light violence

A/N: thank you for the request!

Relations between the Spring and Night court had … settled over the years, to tolerable levels.

It was some sort of summit for the various courts, each bringing a small delegation. Business during the day, gatherings at night. Designed to hopefully ease some tensions, and create a more unified Prythian.

You stayed out of the meetings - thankfully, you found the dreadfully boring. No amount of convincing or ‘encouragement,’ could get you into a council room.

The first night, you stuck close to Rhys and Feyre, carefully watching the room. Even if you weren’t in close proximity to them, their scents were entwined with yours, and yours with theirs.

Inevitably, the three of you crossed paths with the High Lord of the Spring Court. Your eyes clocked his every movement. His nostrils flared, looking between the three of you as the pieces clicked together.

“One wasn’t enough for you, Rhysand?” He drawled, ignoring both you and Feyre. Your temper flared. Feyre wrapped an arm around your shoulders, gently tugging you into her side. The action didn’t go unnoticed. It was necessarily to protect you, but to keep you from doing something rash. “Or for you,” he sneered at Feyre.

It wasn’t the words that set you off, but the tone and nasty look in his eyes. Everything he’d done to Feyre, all she and Rhys had told you.

You moved so quickly nobody had time to react as your fist connection with his face. The satisfying crunch of his nose breaking overrode any pain in your hand. A shield of Rhys’s separated the two of you before Tamlin could react. The shock on his features brought a grin to your face. A taunting one, daring him to hit back. He took a step closer, towards the shield, but Rhys sent him a look that promised a slow, long death and he paused before turning on his heel and heading for the other side of the room, as far away as possible.

“You promised you’d behave yourself,” Rhys murmured.

“I behaved adequately.” You countered, narrowing your eyes.

Feyre had already taken your hand, her magic healing the small bruises left behind. She tried to look disappointed in you, but failed miserably. Rhys did a slightly better job, but you could sense the pride rolling from him in waves.

“That’s my girl,” he said it so quietly you almost missed it.

“That’s our girl,” Feyre corrected.

#feysand x reader #poly!feysand x reader #feysand x y/n #poly!feysand x y/n #feyre archeron x y/n #feyre archeron x reader #rhysand x reader #rhysand x y/n #acotar fic #acotar x reader

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bellewintersroe · 3 months

Text

Joe Liebgott x Reader.

two times Joe doesn’t want to come to you, and the one time he does… tw - swearing, talks of war and wounds, ptsd, 1940s terms, some descriptions of war and death but nothing too intense. I keep deleting and rewriting parts but I’m just not so happy with the ending, idk :/

The Crossroads, October 1944. “Joe… go see Nurse Y/l/n once you’ve done this.” Winters told him. “Yes, sir.” Yeah right. The last person who he’d be taking a visit to was Y/n, especially like this- all wound up and wounded. He’d report to nurse Smith instead, the other nurse for 2nd battalion to who he didn’t have such an… attachment towards. You see, it wasn’t that Joe disliked her. It wasn’t that at all. In fact it was more the complete opposite- his bond with Y/n was something he’d never experienced before. To get to the point, he was in love with her. But Joe refusing to be seen as anything other than the alpha male meant he sacrificed one vital human emotion when he was around her. Vulnerability. So instead of doing at Winters ordered, he simply stood a couple meters away from the aid station (it was a brick house they’d taken over) and just stared in contemplation. Joe had seen all the nasty side effects wound infections could cause, plus, he didn’t want to be taken off the line- but dammit he was fine. Just as he made the decision to turn back around, a voice called out. Joe stood, his shoulders tense as he stared up at the ‘aid station’. It was just a stolen brick, house which people once lived in. Now, the wounded took over, bleeding to death inside the walls. He felt himself shudder once at the thought and dammit- he was fine he didn’t need to bother you whilst you were hard at work with some scratch. Joe began to turn around, ready to head back in the other direction when he heard your voice calling out. Perfect timing.

“Joe!” She’d spotted him from a mile off, first from out the window, and secondly when she came to the door to retrieve the lost looking boy. “Joe, what’re you doing?” Her voice was gentle, yet somewhat laced with worry. He internally sighed at his inside melting into goo at the sight of her. He watched the way her brows knotted as she reached up, running her fingers over the bandage and grazing the warmth of his skin.

“What happened?” God she was angelic, Liebgott could’ve easily fallen into her arms if it wasn’t for- “oh my god, what did you do?!” Her concern peaked, pulling on his arm to take a better look.

“M’ fine, it’s nothin’. Winters sent me to Nurse Smith.” He muttered, it was a lie, one he felt horrible about as well. As soon as her brows perked and he watched the breath get caught in her throat, he knew he’d been caught out. “Oh. Nurse Smi- Alice left like an hour ago. Winters orders- so I don’t think… I don’t think he’d send you to her.” For the first time she felt jealousy towards her friend. A lingering pang of pain and sadness, one that she didn’t conceal very well and Liebgott could immediately sense he’d hurt her feelings.

“Um… but I’ll go get one of the guys for you, Spina was free last I checked.” Great. In all his stubbornness, he’d somehow wound up and turned this into backfiring on her. “Y/n/n-”

“No. It’s fine, Liebgott. I’m busy anyway…”

December 1944, Bastogne.

Blowing on her hands, Y/n cupped them together, eyes scanning around the town as she pulled her shoulders up, body rigid with the baltic temperatures of Bastogne. Her boots crunched under the snow with each step, and she was careful to walk around the piles of bodies that lingered the side of the streets. She was a mix between on the lines with second battalion and back in the town, taking care of the hundreds of wounded or mentally disturbed soldiers, haunted by the traumas of the battle. Even leaving the make-do infirmary couldn’t get her away from the horrors of war. Somehow, Y/n preferred being on the lines, at least then she was with familiar faces, ones she trusted and knew. She slowed to a halt when a familiar face stood not too far ahead of her. Her breath became caught before she let out a slight laugh, relieved for the first time in days to see somebody she cared so deeply for.

“Joe.” The relief on her voice was evident, his name was light and airy and lingered in the cold air that surrounded them. Joe’s head turned, heart stolen by the voice. The finger that had been batting against his thigh momentarily stopped, the last person he wanted to see here was her- surrounded by death, bombings. He didn’t even register the warmth he felt at the sight of her. The colour of her eyes were a stark contrast to the white of the snow below, yet they were rimmed with dark circles, red and puffy. You see, Liebgott recognised straight away how far she’d wandered, completely alone, standing no taller than an adolescent. If a Kraut caught her out here- well… Liebgott didn’t even want to think of what potentially may happen.

“What’re you doing out here?” He squinted, shaking his head in utter confusion. He felt angry, pissed off that such a fragile thing could be caught in the crossfire out here. He was already riled up, being moved to CP runner which had still yet to ease his stress. Her smile faded, and she momentarily just watched back up to him, feeling as though her relief wasn’t mutual. Liebgott looked tired, pale, just a shell of his previous self. “Well I’m stationed in the town today.” Y/n’s voice quietened noticing the strange way Joe looked at her. Usually she’d be met with smiles, hugs, relieved greetings on his behalf. He’d grin and call her sweetheart or doll- something she selfishly wanted to hear in that moment. “In the town, so what the hell are ya’ doin’ out here?” Usually Joe wouldn’t be this… harsh. Not with anybody, especially not to Y/n. “I just came for a walk.” She recognised how stupid that sounded as soon as she spoke. You don’t just go for a walk in the middle of war. But she wasn’t being silly, she didn’t even realise how far she’d trekked out.

“Well, why’re you out here?” She quickly chimed, preventing Liebgott from inevitably telling her off. He’d been extremely on edge recently, more so than the other men out here.

“Go back to town, Y/n.” Joe sighed, blowing out smoke from his cigarette. She winced at the harshness of his words, looking at the red band on his arm. CP runner. “Winters sent you back here?” She tried again. He finally looked at her, chewing on the inside of his lips.

“Yeah.” He finally responded, glancing around for any danger. “I gotta get this back to battalion.” He half-arsed lifted up a letter. Her eyes followed it, before falling back down to the snow below her. She gasped slightly, feeling something beneath her shoe, quickly recognising it to just be nothing more than a rock. Liebgott watched in concern, hearing a snapping sound from the right of him. It was instantaneous, he grabbed hold of her coat, keeping her behind him with gun held up in the other.

“Relax.” Out walked a guy from D-company. He’d obviously just been taking a shit or something in the woods- but he’d almost wound up shot.

“Dammit.” Liebgott dropped his gun, teeth clenched as the man disappeared back around the corner, towards the time. He could handle the idea of himself being hurt, but not her. It was too risky out here- he was angry at her for even being out here in the first place.

“Go back to the town would ya?” He snapped, voice raised as she stared back to him wide eyes. “Joe-” “No! Just get outta here! What’re you stupid for walking here in the first place?” Her mouth fell agape, breaking all eye contact and feeling her head begin to shake in complete disbelief. “No? Yes? Just leave!” Joe was completely unrecognisable, deep down she knew he was somewhat telling the truth- but he was so mean, the tears pricked way too fast in her eyes.

“We lost 10 guys in the last hour.” As soon as her voice wobbled she gulped the sensation away. “So forgive me for being happy to see you.” His blood ran cold, the minute she turned around Joe held his head in his hands, groaning. What a weird way to tell a girl you love her? Right…

May 1945, Austria.

Joe minded his business as he strolled through the streets of Austria. He’d just finished a gruelling course in preparation to be shipped out to the pacific. Despite the calmness that was here, most men were still on edge about the continuation of the war. Like most things, Joe just grumbled about it a couple times and got on with it. If they wanted him to fight the Japanese, he’d be just as brutal as them, there’s no way Easy would go through all that shit in Europe just to be sent out to the shitty- “Woah!” Joe dramatically spoke, stumbling over something as he completely didn’t watch where he was going. He heard somebody gasp from below him, a light voice, one belonging to a woman.

“Ow.” No other than Y/n sat there, perched on a rock as she looked out to the serene views ahead of her. She grasped at her ankle, wincing at the pain of where the soldier had practically stood on here. When Joe spun around, he felt his breath get caught in his throat seeing who it was.

“Y/n!” He panted out, recognising the tear stains down your cheeks. Oh fuck, he was just a klutz! Now he’d made you cry- potentially not for the first time either. “Shit, I’m sorry sweetheart, did I hurt you bad? Fuck, I’m sorry.” Crouching down, he placed a hand on her shoulder, constantly glancing between her face and ankle. What Joe didn’t realise at first was that her tear stains were old. Her eyes were slightly puffy from crying and he’d interrupted something. “No. It’s okay, you just scared me.” She pulled her leg back with a wince. “No, don’t be silly, here let me see.” Joe let out a sad kinda laugh, she smiled only a little, allowing him to outstretch her leg again. It had been months since the two were close, they’d grown apart in the war, Joe’s lack of ability to show vulnerability had pushed her further and further away until they were no more than old acquaintances. “I’ll be fine, Joe.” She let out a chuckle, amused by her own ability to get caught up in something unlucky. She figured she’d be alone out here, now here Liebgott was trying to massage her ankle.

“Are you sure? You- you don’t look it…” his voice lowered, watching through his eyelashes. She forced another half smile before her head dropped, “it’s okay, Joe.” He sensed she was doing the exact same thing he did to her all those months ago. “Hey, no. C’mere.” Moving around, he perched besides her on the rock, unable to help himself from wrapping an arm around her in comfort.

“You good? Did I hurt your ankle that bad, kid, or have I just interrupted somethin’?” She let out a sad laugh again at his words, wiping under her eyes. “I’m just… I’m just scared for the pacific.” Her chest felt lighter when she spoke those words. With the twig she had in her hand, she continued poking at the mud below, averting Liebgott’s gaze which cascaded over her face. For a moment he was stumped, his heart was beating at a furious speed and oh god- he was fuckin’ nervous. Not the time to be nervous when she was crying in his arms. He opened his mouth to speak, but swallowed them away before letting out a sigh, looking across the beautiful lake ahead of them.

“I don’t wanna do it anymore, y’know. And they’re… brutal over there.” She spoke up once more, fingers writhing together as she finally glanced up to him. When he did look back he felt his heart shatter to meet her glassy eyes.

“I know.” Was all he could manage at first, watching over her face as she waited for his response. “If anything’s good practice it’s being on the front lines though, right?” He attempted as she felt a breath of laughter leave her throat at his comment. Joe’s face turned slightly, visibly cringing at his response.

“Ah, shit Y/n/n, but seriously, we’re all gonna be there together, y’know. You’ve gotta whole company willingly to die before they let anything happen to ya’.” He squeezed her reassuringly to which she sadly laughed again, assuming he was being lighthearted.

“No, I’m serious. Look, kid, I know if it’s between me and you- I’m jumpin’ in front of ya.” He admitted without even thinking, this time it was her gaze on him. “I’d do the same for you.” Joe froze, not expecting the mutual terms of their speech. Something had softened inside of him, that fluttering in his stomach had returned in full force- it never really left, just dulled from the years of war and pushing her away. She felt her breath become heavy, blinking over his handsome face.

“Well, that’s if you’d actually want me around you.” She pathetically attempted to joke, wiping under her eyes to prevent her mascara from running any further. “What?” Joe’s head snapped up, meeting her gaze. “Hey, I always want ya’ around me, don’t be silly.” He spoke again, hand cautiously landing on her knee. “No but… I thought you didn’t like me.” The words caused something inside Joe’s chest to pang and twinge sharply. “Course I like ya.” The words fell more serious than be intended. “I wanna be around you all the time.” Y/n swooned at his words, still painfully head over heels for him all these years later. Her hand slipped into his, feeling his larger fingers squeeze a little around hers. “You didn’t seem like that before…”

“Ah, I was just being a dick.” He shrugged. “Sorry.” He glanced down to his lap momentarily. “I don’t hold it against you. I just- I just thought you never felt the same.” Her jaw tensed, head feeling hot at her sudden admission of feelings. Joe felt the corners of his lips tug teasingly.

“You wanna hang out with me later? Like just us two.” Finally, he saw a smile reach up to her eyes. It was a genuine kind, one that he didn’t think he’d actually seen in a real long time.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Turning down, she wiped under her eyes once more, past worries seemingly forgotten about. She let out a giggle as he watched her with nothing short than pure delight. “I can’t believe I cried.” “I’ve seen a whole lot worse doll, don’t worry about it…. Haven’t you got enough points to leave anyway?”

“No. It doesn’t work like that for us nurses.”

“Ah crap… suppose you’re stuck with me for another three years then.” “Lucky me.” She teased, sarcastically digging her arm into his side as he nudged her back with a knowing smile. “Lucky me more like.”

“Yeah after finally making a move 3 years later.”

“Maybe I oughta’ have run straight past you, now you’re just getting bold.” He joked. “Or maybe you could’ve done that anyway, without breaking my ankle.”

#joe liebgott x reader #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers x reader #joe liebgott imagines #Liebgott x reader

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sophie-hatter-jenkins · 5 months

Text

Hoody

Written for @hinnymicrofic December 2023 - Prompt 27

So - this got quite a lot smuttier than I expected! It isn't the first smut I've written but the first that I have posted here, and warnings do apply.

It is definitely NSFW, there is some fairly graphic sex and a bit of bad language. When it goes in AO3, It’ll be at least M rated. Consider yourself warned!

It also isn’t terribly Micro - though this seems to be a theme with my microfics!

Harry sits in the field hospital tent, stripped to the waist. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, and he’s suddenly tired to his bones.

The mediwitch attending to him pokes and prods him with her wand. There’s a nasty slash, right through his robes and down his bicep. It’s deep. Diffindo, he thinks. It takes the witch a while to repair the muscle and close it up. Then there are a few more cuts and grazes, across his knuckles, along his cheekbone. When she’s done with all that, she checks the bruising that wraps around on his abdomen. It stretches over his stomach and obliques on his left hand side, and it’s already darkening rapidly. That one, he’s sure, was Bombarda. He winces as she palpates the soft, tender tissue.

“No internal damage,” she tells him, eventually. “Not much I can do for it I’m afraid.”

She hands him some pain potion, then confirms there’s no broken bones either, so that’s something. Merlin, he hates Skelegro.

“Am I good to go?” he asks. She nods. He puts the shredded, bloodied remains of his shirt and robes back on, thanks his ministering angel, and leaves the tent.

Three weeks, it’s taken. Three weeks to track, infiltrate and dismantle the potions gang. Three weeks of surveillance, disillusionment charms and setting up dummy buys. Three weeks since he’s been home. He misses Ginny and the boys - so much. But it won’t be long now. All he can think about is getting home, getting back to them.

But he isn’t quite done yet, because Robards is lurking outside the tent. Harry isn’t surprised. It’s standard operating procedure - do the debrief ASAP, while everything’s still fresh. He can’t even be pissed off about it, since he’s the one that wrote the standard operating procedures in the first place. At least there’s a mug of coffee for this bit. It’s shit coffee, but it’s hot, and it’s better than nothing.

He walks Robards through the whole thing. They’d got the bastards in the end, but not without one hell of a fight. Intel on the layout of the lab and warehouse facility hadn’t been totally accurate (bloody Dawlish. Harry would be having words), hence the fighting. And the field hospital.

When he’s finished, Robards gives him an appraising look. “Have you given any more thought to what we discussed last month?”

Harry shrugs. He’s been putting off thinking about this, using the excuse of needing to focus on the case. But that isn’t going to wash any more. “When do you need an answer?”

“I can give you to the end of the week. Then I’ll need to offer it to someone else.”

“Noted.” Harry presses his lips together, feeling conflicted. He hopes Ginny will understand why.

They sip their coffee in silence for a moment, then Harry asks Robards whether he has any spare forms for the custody paperwork. Robards takes pity on him. “Ah, get home to your wee lassie. I’ll sort it out for you.”

It’s almost eleven o’clock when he gets home, crunching up the path to the cottage from the apparition point in the dark. Lights on, though - Ginny’s still awake. Warmth spreads through his chest at the thought of seeing her.

He pushes open the door. She’s curled up on the sofa, wearing his old Gryffindor hoody, though it’s miles too big for her. Her legs are bare, hair pulled up into a messy knot on top of her head. She’s conjured a ball of soft yellow light to read by, and it’s hovering just over her shoulder, warming her skin and highlighting the freckles that dust her cheeks. He doesn’t think she’s ever looked better.

As soon as she sees him, she bolts off the sofa and hurls herself at him. “You’re back! Thank Merlin.”

“Yeah.” He breathes in the scent of her, warm and comforting and so familiar. Feels himself relax, letting go of tension he didn’t realise he was carrying. “I missed you. So much.”

She hugs him tighter, and he winces a bit. She feels it, and lets go, looks at him a bit more closely and clocks the blood on his cheek, the damage to his robe. “Oh fuck, Harry! Are you hurt?”

He shrugs. “A bit. But you should see the other guy.” It’s a shit joke, but she laughs anyway. “Seriously, I’m fine. Nothing major,” he reassures her. Not this time, anyway, he adds silently, pretty sure she’s thinking the same.

“Hungry?” she asks. “I could make some toast or something?”

He shakes his head. “I just need a shower. And some sleep.”

She nods, takes his hand and leads him up the stairs. Hands him a towel. He pokes his head into the nursery while she turns the water on for him, watches two little chests slowly rise and fall. It makes his own chest hurt a little. But in a good way.

He takes his time in the shower, scrubbing away dried blood, wondering how much of it is his. He thinks she might join him, but she doesn’t. Instead, she uses the loo and brushes her teeth. When he heads back to their bedroom, hair damp, towel wrapped around his waist, he finds her sitting on the mattress at the foot of the bed, facing the door. Her eyes land on the bruising on his side.

“That looks nasty.”

“Just superficial.”

She’s still wearing his hoody. He wonders what she’s wearing underneath it.

“Well now, Potter. Why don’t you come here and find out?” she suggests, which is when he realises he wondered out loud.

The answer, he soon discovers, as he tugs it up over her head, is a pair of knickers, pink striped cotton, and nothing else. She’s been sleeping like this, she explains. She feels closer to him that way.

“But I’d have made more effort if I knew you were coming home,” she laughs. Just at that moment though, he’s struggling to think of anything sexier, as he takes her hands and pulls her up to meet him craving the contact of her skin against his.

He drops kisses along her collarbone and runs his hands greedily down her back, until his fingertips meet the hem of her knickers, slips them down over her hips, revelling in the way his hands fit so perfectly over the curve of her bum. She sighs with relief, then nudges his chin aside, reaching up to find his lips with hers. Her mouth is soft and open and tastes of mint toothpaste, her tongue dancing against his, their kiss deep and insistent.

Her hands skate down his chest, and his skin feels so much more alive for her touch. She presses herself firmly against him, fingers dropping lower to tug away his towel, and god he’s missed her, missed this, so so much. He’s hard as hell, and she rocks up against him, making him twitch and gasp at the pressure.

He pushes her backwards until her calves make contact with the bed. She falls, sprawling across the blankets, giving him a filthy, lazy smile, eyes dark, daring him to join her. And well, he never could resist a challenge, could he?

He kneels over her, kissing his way up her thighs, feeling her shiver below him. Thinks about taking her over the edge with his mouth, but tonight, he wants to watch her, properly, and lets his fingers settle between her legs. This, he knows how to do, with a practised and familiar ease, and she’s so very ready for him. She breathes in sharply, burying her face into his shoulder as his fingers dance over just the right spot, side to side, with a steady pressure and rhythm. She pushes her head back, eyes closed tight, squirming against him, but he takes his time, bringing her closer and closer. Then he twists his hand so that his thumb is circling her, slipping two fingers inside, finding her slick and hot, and suddenly she’s there, throat and chest flushed red. She bites down a groan in the back of her throat to stop herself crying out, the way she always does since they had the kids, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the fascination of watching her come apart like this.

“Please,” she whispers, and he can’t deny either of them any longer. He shifts his weight so that he’s above her and a moment later, sinks deeply into her, feeling her still pulsing all around him. She clings to him as he rocks back and forth inside her, muttering her name over and over into her ear, losing himself in the feel of her until he’s tumbling, uncontrolled into blissful oblivion. Suddenly, he feels the weight of three long weeks apart lifting. Now he feels whole again. Now he’s home.

Afterwards, they lie quietly together. He should be sleepy, but he isn’t. She’s nestled in against his shoulder, his arm curled around behind her, idly stroking the curve of her breast. They chat for a while about her work - the matches she’s covered, the frustrating office politics, an opinion piece on the new management at Puddlemere that he managed to read while he was on stakeout. She tells him that a glossy magazine wants to commission her for a series on the future of European Quidditch, and he tells her (again) how bloody proud he is of her.

“I wanted to tell you straight away.” She looks at him with a small, sad smile. “I hate it when you’re away.”

“Yeah.” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “What if I wasn’t?”

“Wasn’t what?” she asks, her fingers intertwined with his, playing absentmindedly with his wedding ring.

“Away. Again. In the future I mean.”

She rolls away and props herself up on one elbow so she can look at him. She’s frowning - not in anger, just confusion. “What does that mean?”

He takes a moment, because he knows once the words are out, he can’t take them back. It stops being his problem, and starts being theirs, and he still struggles with what feels like burdening her - anyone, really - with his shit. He looks up at the ceiling.

“Robards offered me a job. A new one. A promotion, actually.”

“Okay. What sort of job?”

And so he tells her - how he’s been badgering Robards for months about hiring more people. Came up with a plan for how to do it and everything. How Robards took it to Kingsley, and Kingsley took it to the Wizengamot. “It’s massive, Gin. Too many people to just train on the job like before. There’s going to be this whole new training academy. And… and Robards needs someone to run it.”

“And that would be you?”

“If I say yes.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Do you want to do it?”

“I… I don’t know.” He searches again for the right words. “I love what I do right now. I love making a difference. Sometimes I think I’d miss it too much - being out there, catching the bad guys. It’s all I’ve ever done.”

“And the other times?”

He doesn’t reply straight away. Thinks about the slash to his arm, the bruising on his torso, Diffindo and Bombarda and shield charms a split second too late. Thinks about the two small boys asleep down the hall, about Ginny, warm and yielding, lying next to him. “I wonder why the fuck I haven’t bitten Robards’s hand off for it yet.”

He feels her laughter on his shoulder, just a puff of air. “I get it,” she tells him.

And then he realises - actually, she really does. He turns to look at her properly. “You miss playing?”

“Every day,” she nods. “But what I don’t miss is the residential training camps, the overseas exhibition match tours, every bit of my body aching, the constant bludger injuries. I certainly wouldn’t swap being here for the boys to go back to it. And also - I love writing as well. If I had to give it up now, I’d miss that too.” She reaches over and runs her hand down his jaw, fingers in his beard. “Different doesn’t have to mean worse, you know.”

And she’s right, isn’t she? Of course she is. She asks him to tell her more about it, so he does - his plans for recruitment, what the trainees should study, his ideas on how to mix practical and theoretical training.

She laughs at him. “Okay, Hermione, time to lay off the polyjuice.” He pretends to pout, but actually, it’s a fair cop. “You actually sound excited about it, you know,” she observes.

“I… I kinda think I am.”

She smiles encouragingly. “Harry, I’m not going to tell you what to do. We’re a team, and I’ll support you whatever you decide. For what it’s worth though - you’re a great teacher. The new recruits would be lucky to have you. And you being here, every night, with me and the boys, all of us together? Isn’t that what we always wanted?”

He’s quiet again. Then he grins at her. “You wouldn’t mind having me around a bit more?”

She laughs at the absurdity of the question. “I’d love it! Of course I would! We all would.”

“Okay then,” he tells her. “I’ll tell Robards tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He laughs, a soft breathy sort of laugh. Draws her back into his arms, knowing it’s all going to be okay. That with them, it always is.

#hinny microfic #hinny #harry x ginny #harry potter #ginny weasley #fanfic

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listenheresweaty · 5 months

Text

Dead as Disco (Revivebur x Reader)

no proofreading, we die like men

people I’ve tagged: @poraphia, @witheredroseanon, @drop-of-void, @saccharinesunset

Synopsis: Some tough memories arise, so you help Wilbur out by sending Schlatt a final “fuck you” —-

You had a long, complicated relationship with winter. First of all— it wasn’t summer! So you could rest easy in the wonderful absence of mosquitos and nasty, sweaty heat that prevented you from enjoying any potential scenery. On the other hand, it replaced your favorite season (Fall) and brought tidings of stuffy noses and dry skin.

And your boyfriend never liked the winter, either. Not after his revival. Too cold, too dark— and too quiet, save for when the wind would blow through the open landscape, sounding far too much like the whistle of an oncoming train.

You both avoided going outside during the winter, choosing to stay curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace— your head on his chest as he muttered about whatever was on his mind, rubbing circles into your scalp.

But it was unavoidable that you’d end up outside eventually. A good chunk of Wilbur’s family lived in the tundra region and you were bound to end up walking back home late at night, having decided not to inconvenience Phil and Techno any further.

(In truth, you just wanted to get home before the snowstorm that threatened to keep snowed in for the rest of the week—- and although the Syndicate members were lovely hosts, your anniversary was coming up and you wanted to at least spend it alone together).

“Shit weather.” Wilbur mumbled as you traversed the Prime Path. “Hasn’t even snowed yet.”

Wilbur kicks at the frosted ground for emphasis, adjusting his grip on your hand and pressing as close as he could without unbalancing you. You felt sufficiently warm in your sweater and jacket, save for the stinging sensation of the wind biting at your knuckles and nose, but Wilbur was still shivering.

“The frost isn’t that bad. At least it’s crunchy.” You hum.

“Eugh, there’s so many more terrains that make better crunching sounds than this.” He grumbled.

“..Such as?”

“Gravel, for one. Sand— when it’s spread sparsely enough. But technically beaches make crunching sounds too, it’s just— muffled. I guess.” He turned to you. “Why don’t we ever go to the beach?”

“Because last time we went, I couldn’t kiss you for a week without getting sand in my mouth.”

“That’s why you wouldn’t kiss me??” Wilbur exclaimed, looking scandalized. “Because you’d get a little sand in your mouth!”

“It’s disgusting!”

“It’s not!”

“Yes it is— it doesn’t leave your mouth, and then your going about your day and suddenly feel it crunchbetween your molars—“

“That’s the best part, the fuck are you talking about?”

“What—-“ you splutter, at a loss for words. “I can’t with you. I just can’t.”

“Ouch.” He pouted in mock offense. “You know darling, with how you treat me sometimes, one would think you…”

He trails off. You continue walking, staring at the frozen grass as you wait for him to continue. When he doesn’t, you look back up.

“Wilbur?”

Wilbur tears his eyes away from whatever he was looking at and glances back at you. “—Oh. Yeah. Nothing, we’re… lost my train of thought.”

You peer down into the darkness and spot an array of cobblestone and flags in the distance.

Oh. You had forgotten that it was visible from this route.

The banners on Schlatt’s grave, scrawled with graffiti from over the years, flapped silently in the wind.

It’s no wonder he had gone silent— especially with that incident the last time Tommy visited the Tundra.

“You ought to be careful around Quackity, Wilbur.” Philza and warned, sitting by the fire as Tommy raided his pantry for more honey bottles.

“Nah, he’s no threat.” Wilbur said, stretching his limbs. “He’s all bark, no bite. Sure, he acts all tough, but he’s just like his country. All style, no substance.”

You heard Tommy snort. “No bite? Dude literally ate Schlatt’s heart at his funeral.”

Wilbur choked. “He what?”

“Yeah, and I still have his lungs somewhere. Good times.” Tommy closed the pantry and began stuffing Phil’s belongings into his pockets.

“I sure hope you didn’t do that at my funeral.” Wilbur snorts. “…How was it, by the way?”

Tommy’s movements freeze, and you avert your eyes. “How was what, again? Sorry, I wasn’t listening. Anyway, the, um, honey—-“

“My funeral.” Wilbur repeated, smile faltering. “Was it— like— how was it?”

“We, um…” Tommy couldn’t look his brother in the eye. “It was a— wiggly time back then. There was so much going on, and—-“

“Oh.” Wilbur’s smile had completely disappeared.

“With—with— with rebuilding, and threats of further destruction—“

“Yeah.”

“We didn’t— we couldn’t—“

“Yeah. Okay.” Wilbur cleared his throat. “Okay. Alright! I get it.” He stood up, clapping his hands with a strained grin. “So! Phil, you said Technoblade was outside?”

“..Yeah.” Phil said. “He’s outside.”

Phil had barely the time to finish the sentence before Wilbur was gone, leaving a slamming door and a puff of frigid air in his wake.

Wilbur Soot, the silvertongued General, Founder, Brother, Father, Son, lover—- had never gotten a funeral.

Schlatt, on the other hand…

To everyone’s credit, Schlatt’s funeral had been more of a celebration, an opportunity for everyone he had wronged to spit, laugh, and dance on his grave.

Well. Almost everyone.

You glanced sideways at Wilbur, wondering if you should give it a shot.

“Hey.” You say and his head snaps to you. “Cmere.” You take his hand and gently pull him off the path, heading to the gravesite.

“Uh—“ Wilbur hesitates, clearly reluctant to approach the very object of his inner turmoil. “What are we doing?”

“Wait.” You scale the hill and pass by the worn benches, heading straight to where the marble tomb lay.

“Uh, [Name]?” He repeats, laughing a little incredulously. “I don’t really understand why we’re—-“

“Shush!” You march right up to the coffin— and with two definitive stomp, stomps— climb right on top. Swiveling on the spot, you turn and hold a hand out to a dumbfounded Wilbur. “Cmere.”

He lets you pull him up, awkwardly finding his footing on the rectangular lid. “Uh, alright. Why— woah!”

You tug him closer, guiding his hands to your waist and wrapping yours around the back of his neck.

Wilbur stares, and you stare back.

Your confidence begins to falter— crap, this was a dumb idea. “Um. I just— thought we could dance? Yknow.. here?”

“Dance.” He echoed, a light beginning to dawn in his eyes. A smile spreads across his face— a lovestruck, wobbly smile— and he steps closer, pulling you to his chest as he buries his face in your neck, suppressing a laugh. “..Alright.” He murmurs against your skin, grinning like an idiot.

“I know there’s no music, but—“

“It’s okay.” He says quietly, holding you close as you both sway to an inaudible tune.

You let yourself melt into it, reaching a hand up to idly pet the back of his neck, playing with his hair.

It’s less of a dance and more of a prolonged embrace since there isn’t much room for foot movement, but neither of you mind.

You tilt your head to press a kiss to the stretch of jaw just below his ear, feeling his lips twitch into another smile against the crook of your neck.

“I don’t deserve you.” He murmurs, so quiet it barely disturbs the silence around you.

“You deserve the world.” You say.

Wilbur lets out a puff of laughter, shaking his head against your shoulder and wrapping his arms around you tighter. “Mkay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know. I’ll never understand, but I know.” He sighs, turning his head to rest his chin against your shoulder, staring out into the open fields behind you.

“You’re not a bad person.” You move a hand to scratch at his scalp and he hums contentedly. “You may not have been a good one. ..Although, admittedly, this server hasn’t been the most.. conducive to good morals. You’re a person though, a human being, and all this—-“ you squeeze him tighter, kissing his jaw, “—-you deserve.”

He’s silent for a while. You let him think, rubbing circles into his back and pretend you don’t hear the quiet sniffles he tries to choke down.

When Wilbur speaks again, his voice is steady, if not a little hoarse. “Do you, uh.. think I could be one?”

“A what? A good person, you mean?” You furrow your brow.

“Yeah. That.”

Wilbur has always had different views of humanity than you do. He presented the world like a stage, bustling with heroes and villains, characters predestined by fate. Life was a story, and they were in center stage, the protagonists of it all, following a script until met with triumph or tragedy. It’s with these grand, romanticized views of reality that Wilbur had managed to win over so many people. Everyone loves a good story, after all.

As a rigidly scientific mind, you never shared those sentiments. Humans were merely developed animals, that’s all. Each struggle would be lost and rendered meaningless to the sands of time, and so would the morals on which they stood.

“I think you could.” The night is getting colder and your feet are freezing, but neither of you are willing to leave this pocket of warmth you’ve created, heads tucked into necks and hands running through hair.

“But you don’t believe good and bad people, do you? You never did.” Wilbur said quietly.

“Maybe not. But I still think you could fit your definition of ‘good person’. You are kind. That’s a start.” You continue rubbing circles into his scalp, carefully twisting and combing the curls with your fingers.

Wilbur doesn’t respond. He only lifts his head, trailing his lips in a pathway from your shoulder to your jaw, up your cheek to rest against your forehead. He stays like that, eyes closed for one, two, three heartbeats before he pulls away to look you in the eye.

Wilbur’s ears, nose, and eyes are tinged red, the first two from the cold and the last from silently crying into your shoulder.

Both your hands and his cheek are frigid, but when you brush your thumb under his eye he leans into the touch anyway, not looking away from you for even a moment.

He only closes his eyes when you lean forward, pressing your lips to his.

It’s the collapsing of a star, pulled magnetically inwards, striving to be as close as physically possible. He’s cradling your face like it’s made of sugarglass and you treat him with equal gentleness, running a hand through his hair, mindlessly stepping backwards as he crowds your space, adjusting to get closer, closer because it’s still cold—-

You take one last step and suddenly there’s no more marble under your heel, and you pitch backwards, toppling off the tomb with a yelp. Wilbur follows suit, sprawling out on the grass next to you with grunt.

Within seconds, you’re both wheezing with laughter, pulling each other closer and leaning back to rest

After catching his breath, Wilbur speaks. “We should do this more often.”

You don’t miss the tinge of sadness in his voice, and suddenly become very aware about how distant this relationship has gotten. It’s not neglected, by any means, but you can’t remember the last time you did something like this.

(Actually, you can. The last time you danced like this was November 15th, 2020).

But you opt for a more lighthearted tone. “What? Dance on this grave more often?”

“No, no— I mean yes, I’d love to make this our designated date spot— yknow?” He looks over at you with a sly grin.

“Mm-hm. Maybe bring some music next time.” You smile back.

“And a few blankets. Maybe some wine.” Wilbur leans a bit closer.

“Picnic?” You whisper.

“Definitely.” He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours. “But.. also in general. We could… have more dates, in general. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah. It has.” You murmur, closing your eyes as well. “…So, next Friday?”

You feel him laugh softly. “Yeah! Yeah, next Friday sounds great.”

Unable to help yourself, you cup his cheek and pull him into a kiss. It’s a lot softer than the last kiss, lips lingering together as you both pull apart to breathe.

“…I hope Schlatt’s fuming in hell right now.” Wilbur says quietly, eyes still closed and lips still close.

“I bet he is.”

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