#to not only your loved ones but to your self
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is it that sweet? (joel miller x f!reader) 18+
masterlist | a/n i've had no motivation to write lately but this randomly popped into my head the other day and suddenly my brain was like okay let's roll!! let's do this!! let's jump in!! so idk what that says about the current state of my subconscious. anyway this is filth! pls read the warnings! love u.
summary: you probably shouldn't let some random middle aged man on the beach take nude photos of you, right? right?
rating: 18+ explicit
warnings: pervy!joel, age gap, voyeurism, coercion, objectification, sneaky picture taking, nude photos, paying for sexual favors, dirty talk, praise kink, pussy pronouns up the fuckin wazoo, oral (f receiving), nipple sucking, unprotected p in v sex, standing sex, creampie
word count: 8.4k
ao3
dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍
He's been watching you for about an hour. You'd sussed him out almost immediately after settling onto your beach towel and digging into your bag for your sunscreen, mildly aware of the shape of him in your peripheral vision. He's old, definitely in his late fifties, but certainly not the most unattractive man who could be eyeing you. You're used to it by now anyway, almost feed into the way men seem to gawk at you sometimes now that you've finally thrown caution to the wind and stopped giving a fuck about your beach body. You used to be self conscious about your curves, your tummy, your thighs - you decided this summer that it had to stop.
And you're glad you did. Because now he's staring at you, this unnamed, completely anonymous middle aged man only a few feet away. And it feels fucking good.
Should it feel good? Probably not. Should you tell him to buzz off and leave you alone? Take a picture, it'll last longer, something like that? Probably. But will you? No.
You like feeling his eyes on you.
Older men like you, you've noticed. They stare. They stare more than men your own age - boys, really. Twenty somethings who try to play it cool and more often than not come across as disinterested in their interest. They're cowardly, obnoxious. And you suppose some older ones are too, especially the ones with wives - they want you to be impressed by them, ooh and awe over their high paying jobs and big mansions, their fancy cars that they think make up for their tiny dicks.
But every now and then you'll come across one like this. You can read him like a book, peering at him from over your sunglasses every so often as he lounges behind a vibrant blue umbrella. His eyes caress your bare shoulders and chest, your exposed stomach, your soft thighs. They linger on the places they shouldn't and it makes you tingle. He's appreciating what he sees, basking in it, taking his time.
You could be content just lying here and letting him look. He is handsome after all, greying curls and soft scruff flecked with white, golden skin that almost glows underneath the sun. His legs stretch out over his own towel, long and lean and strong. He's got a soft looking belly, hanging out a little bit over his trunks, and now your eyes linger for a little longer than they should.
But you won't say anything. If he wants to talk to you, he has every opportunity to. You're not going anywhere for at least another hour, not until the sun starts setting and it's time to head back to your friend's vacation home. You've only been in California for a short period of time, but it's like it's somehow molded you into a different person - a more confident, sexier version of yourself that's been dying to get out for years. A version of you who lets this old man stare and get his fill as you smirk and turn over on your towel, arching your ass up into the air.
Oh, he likes that. You can tell because of the way his jaw clenches, neck tightening as his eyes fall to the globes of your cheeks. With a barely there smirk, you arch a little more, stretching and flexing and letting him take in the way your bikini bottoms barely contain them. Your breasts hang low onto your towel, practically overflowing from their own containment, and you have to admit - you're getting a little wet posing for him like this.
He licks his lips, eyes flickering downward again to something closer to him, something in his hand. You crane your neck a little bit to peer around the blue umbrella, and your breath hitches.
He's taking pictures of you.
It's obvious now, should have been obvious this whole time, really. Only one of his hands has really been visible, the other settled low against his side behind the umbrella. Now you can see that he's got his phone angled toward you, the camera peeking slyly out from behind the blue nylon as he repeatedly taps his screen with his thumb. To test him a little further, make sure you're really seeing what you think you're seeing, you push down into the sand with your hands and rise up a little bit on the towel, almost into a lazy downward facing dog. Your tits jiggle below you, threatening to escape, and out of the corner of your eye you watch as the man adjusts the camera to get a better angle. His thumb and forefinger glide across the screen, undeniably - and unashamedly - zooming in.
You're definitely wet now. You know you shouldn't be. You know this has probably gone too far and you should get up and leave, potentially tell someone about the creep on the beach taking photos of women in bikinis.
Instead, you make eye contact with him, settling back down onto your towel with your ass still perched a little in the air. He seems to freeze, eyebrows going up in the realization that he's been caught. In response, you blink slowly at him, pout a little bit as if to say, Really? You arch your back a little more and shimmy your hips, tilting your head as you continue to gaze over at him, eyes going a little hooded.
Come fuck me, you're almost saying, even though you know there's no way in hell you're gonna let him. It's just funny to watch him squirm, phone gripped tight in his hand as his adam's apple bobs in his throat. You arch a little more and then grind your hips into your towel, flattening yourself against it, holding his gaze. You rest your head and smile at him teasingly.
He's getting up and shuffling toward you in no time at all.
"Hi, darlin'," are the first words out of his mouth when he reaches you, and you certainly did not expect a Southern accent to fall from those plush lips. He's gorgeous really, now that you can see him up close - wide shoulders and big arms that strain against his white shirt, strong chest covered in little freckles, chocolate brown eyes that shimmer in the sunlight.
"Hi," you say with a smile, blinking up at him.
"I'm sure you saw what I was doin'," he seems a little embarrassed, voice apologetic as he scratches the back of his neck, "I know I shoulda asked, but you seemed so relaxed, I didn't wanna disturb you."
Bullshit, you only came over because I smiled at you. Any other reaction and you'd have run for the hills.
"I'm Joel," he reaches his hand down for you to take. For some reason, you shake it without hesitation. "I'm actually a photographer, believe it or not."
Huh. You raise an eyebrow at the words, doubt immediately swimming in your mind as you assess him.
"If you're a photographer, where's your camera?"
He chuckles, "Back at my hotel. I just came out here to relax, wasn't plannin' on takin' any photos. But then I saw you, and, well..." he smiles at you sheepishly, "You're just so pretty, darlin'. Never seen somebody like you before."
The words are not special. They're nothing you haven't already heard, nothing he hasn't probably already used on countless other women. And yet... you smile back at him, cheeks warming a little at the way the compliment sounds coming out of his mouth in particular, all Southern and sweet. "Thank you."
His eyes suddenly leave yours to flicker back toward your body again, scanning the length of you. As if on instinct, almost to show off, you tighten the muscles in your ass cheeks and then release, letting them jiggle a little bit under your swimsuit. He swallows tightly.
"Would you be interested in posin' for me, sweetheart? There's a little spot down the beach, outta sight. Still public though, of course. I wouldn't ask you to go anywhere unsafe," his eyes linger on your ass for a few more seconds before he's meeting your gaze again, soft and sincere, "I'd love to get some pictures of you in that bikini, and some with it off too, if you're comfortable with that."
Oh, he's fucking brave. You can feel disgust brewing in the pit of your stomach, a scowl beginning to dawn on your face. This is where you should draw the line. This is where you should get up and leave, tell him to go to hell, tell him he's a pervert and-
"I'll pay whatever you think is fair," he continues, "How's three hundred as a starting point?"
On second thought...
"Beautiful, baby," he's telling you softly, "You're so pretty like that."
You hum in contentment, laying in the sand with a little smile tugging at your lips as Joel maneuvers around you with his phone, snapping pic after pic as you peer up at him through rays of sun. You're a little ways down the beach now, in a sparser area behind some rocks. He was right about it still being public - if something happened, you know you could raise your voice the tiniest bit and be heard immediately by people on the other side. Somehow though, despite his forwardness and slightly perverted habits, you trust that he isn't going to force anything on you.
You've already got three hundred dollars in your purse. He'd given it to you before you'd even gotten up from your initial spot on the beach, placed it in your hand with a grin as your eyes widened. You suppose you could've taken the money and run, but part of you wanted to play it out, test the limits, see what else he'd pay you for.
Which leads you here, laying sensually in the sand with the strings of your bikini dangling a little looser off your shoulders and hips, a little careless, a little more teasing. The poses so far have been pretty basic, and you've tried your best to emulate what you think a supermodel on the cover of Sports Illustrated would do. Based on Joel's responses - excited nods and gentle praises - you think you're doing a good job.
"Turn over now," he tells you with a playful grin, "Put that cute little ass in the air again for me."
It should be demeaning, the way he's talking to you. There's a lot about this situation that should be wrong, and yet you can't help but feel pride swell in your chest at his directions, his compliments. You do what he says, flipping over to dig your hands into the sand and arch your back, turning your head to eye the camera directly with a sultry little smile on your face.
"Perfect," he's murmuring, thumb tapping the screen like his life depends on it, "That's so perfect, honey." You listen to the fake little shutter sounds the phone makes, still wondering if he's even really a photographer. Would it even matter? Wouldn't you have still let him do this anyway?
With this new angle you can feel the loose strands of your bikini top starting to slip, unraveling at the back and trickling gently against your sides. You watch with what should be a worrying lack of urgency as it cascades down onto the sand below, leaving you topless.
He whistles low under his breath, "Well, would you look at that. The girls are out."
"That's an extra fifty," you say with a coy eyebrow raise, "Or else I cover them back up."
"Extra fifty, no problem" Joel echoes, "Can you shake your ass for me again, darlin'?"
You nod, tilting your head and peering back at him as you tighten and release your muscles with a giggle, basking in the way he stares at it, like it's a five course meal he's about to devour. You do it a few more times, arching your back a little more and spreading your thighs slightly to allow for more recoil, more jiggle. He makes an odd sound in the back of his throat and you grin.
"How much to take these off too?" he lowers the phone and peers at you with pleading eyes, brown and soft, "Huh? How much extra to show me this lil' peach, honey?"
You grimace, looking down at the sand and trying to calculate an appropriate cost in your brain. You bite your lip, "You know that's not the only thing that'll show."
"I know," he murmurs, eyes trailing downward again to eye your ass, still perched high and plump, "Your peach and your pussy then, how much?"
Fuck.
"I won't touch you," he promises softly, "You can just tug it down and show her to me, lemme see her up close, yeah?"
Her?
Her.
"Christ," you mumble under your breath. He's filthier than you thought, and not in a bad way - in a fucking hot way. "Another fifty," you decide, voice firm, "And... and I wanna see you put the money in my purse first. And no touching my... her."
"I can do that, sweetheart," he's already digging into his wallet and yanking out the money, opening your bag slightly to place it inside. It could be counterfeit for all you know; this whole thing really might be a completely worthless venture, and yet -
He watches as you reach backward to untie the strings of your bikini bottoms, doing it in one fell swoop and then spreading your thighs again, knees digging into the sand. You arch and press your face against your towel, feeling goosebumps rise all over your skin at the knowledge that he's staring at where you're now completely bare.
You hear him groan, a rough little sound that goes straight to your core, and a few little shutter sounds go off, "Now, that's a pretty little pussy you got there, baby."
Heat rises throughout your body, up through your chest and to your cheeks. You turn a little to look at him shyly, lashes fluttering when you see where his gaze has settled.
"Yeah?"
"Oh, honey, she's so pretty," he breathes, "She's all wet. Leakin' for me, you see that?"
You can't see it of course, but you can feel it; feel the way you're dripping, knowing that he can see it, has a 1:1 view of the way you throb and drool for him. This random old man who about twenty minutes ago you'd never spoken to in your life.
"And your little clit is sayin' hi to me too, babygirl, can see her pokin' out." Fuck. You squirm a little in place as his camera continues to go off, legs spreading a little more unconsciously as you tilt your head downwards and close your eyes. Your clit twitches under his stare.
"Swollen little thing," he breathes, barely loud enough to hear, "Perfect pussy."
Jesus Christ.
"Roll over for me again, sweetheart," you hear him say quietly, "Show me all those pretty parts."
You don't know why, but you whine a little at his words. It's subconscious, a burning desire you can't describe as you slowly flip over and lazily lay back on your towel to show him your entire naked body. He stands over you with his brow furrowed in a gentle kind of way, eyes appraising you up and down like you're some kind of goddess. And fuck, he's kind of making you feel like one.
"Legs open a little bit, baby, that's it." You obey, spreading your legs and looking up at him with lidded eyes, lips parting a little. You bring your arms up to rest behind your head and he takes note of the way your tits bounce for him, shivering back and forth beneath his gaze. "You're perfect," he murmurs, "You're absolutely perfect."
"Stop," you say, unable to stop a grin from spreading across your face, "M'not perfect."
"But you are, darlin'," he shakes his head, eyes full of wonder as he kneels down to get some closer pictures. You watch as he brings his phone down directly in front of your pussy, snaps a few close-ups of your puffy lips and swollen clit. "I'd love to kiss her, honey, if you'd let me."
"N-no," you say quickly, though your voice cracks, "No touching."
"I'll pay you extra," his eyes return to yours, locking your gazes, "You name it, baby. I'll pay anything to taste how sweet you are down here."
You look at him calculatingly, tilting your head. Anything?
"Two hundred," you practically whisper, "In the bag."
You're half expecting him to tell you that he's run out of money, that he couldn't possibly give you any more than the four hundred he's already blown on this. But he surprises you, reaching back into his pocket to grab his wallet and tug out the bills. It's like he has an endless supply, and you're beginning to wonder if maybe this is a hobby of his, something he prepares for, carries money around to be ready to spend on women like you. Maybe he's rich rich, has unlimited money to throw away, and this is just his weird perverted thing he does on the side of something else.
Maybe you should have asked for more.
But he's already kneeling back down into the sand and you're already opening your legs wider for him, allowing him to settle between them and lean his head forward to place his lips gently against your pussy. You watch with heavy lids as he kisses you so softly there, his mouth tender and inviting and deliciously scratchy from his scruff. Without really thinking about it, you reach down and run a hand through his curls, smiling a little fondly as he kisses you again, and again, and again.
"That feels nice," you breathe, watching as he continues to press incredibly slow and gentle kisses to your cunt in an almost respectful way, a reverent way.
"Good," he murmurs, lips vibrating against your core, "Want it to feel nice for you, baby."
You let out a soft moan the second his tongue breaches your folds, wet and warm. You watch as he closes his eyes and seems to get lost in it, tasting your pussy like it - or she, as he'd said - is some rare delicacy he's never indulged in before. He trails the tip of his tongue through the mess you've made, maneuvering your puffy lips and flicking it against your clit. Your hips buck and another moan slips out, quiet and pitiful.
"That's it," he murmurs against you with a little half smile, "So sweet for me, honey." He dives back in immediately and slowly plunges his tongue inside your entrance, fucking into you a few times before carefully pulling back and opening his eyes to peer up at you again. God, those brown eyes are fucking sinful. He gives you one more smile and then reaches down to grab his phone.
"Gonna get some more pics of this messy girl, okay?" he breathes, and you're a little startled when his left hand is suddenly coming down to touch you there, two fingers carefully scissoring you open. You don't say anything, too horny to protest, too intrigued to see what he's going to do. "Gotta open her up a little," he tells you softly, answering your unspoken question, "Wanna take a little peek at what she's hidin' inside her, baby."
A little whimper falls from your throat again as his fingers scissor you wider, holding you open and baring your hole to his camera. You can feel your walls twitching and pulsing, contracting and leaking; you can only imagine what it looks like. Your eyes roll a little when his middle finger taps your clit, another gush of arousal flooding past your opening.
"Look at this lil' hole, huh?" he's murmuring, but your eyes are closing and your head is falling back onto the towel as he plays with you, "Oh, she's alllll messy for me down here, baby. And it's no wonder your clit came out to see me, she loves gettin' played with, don't she?"
Christ, he knows how to talk. His words send another helpless little sound past your lips, thighs trembling as he slowly caresses your clit with his finger, pressing down on it with just the right amount of pressure.
"Aw, you're all sticky here again, baby," he whispers and you whine, feeling your juices dribble down toward your ass, "Shh, I'll take care of it," and then he's leaning back in to lap at your folds, a little faster this time, more desperate, "Tastes so good, pretty girl. So sweet."
He suckles your clit into his mouth and you let out a breathless moan, brow furrowing as he suctions the swollen nub and lets one of his fingers fall to slip inside your entrance. You're so close you can feel it, coiled inside and ready to snap at any moment, his thick index plugging you deliciously as his tongue swirls. You tighten around it, thighs squeezing a little around his head, and then-
He's pulling away, removing his mouth and finger. Your eyes flutter open and you watch as he stands up with a little groan, older age apparent in the way he clutches at his back and exhales once he's upright. You want to tell him to get back down here, finish what he started, but part of you feels like it'd almost be letting him win, somehow. This perverted creep on a public beach that's somehow managed to lure you away and get you naked, take photos of your body and eat your pussy. He doesn't deserve to have you beg for him - even if you want to.
"Can you stand up for me now, honey?" he tilts his head, squinting against the sun and smiling like he didn't just ruin your orgasm.
On shaky legs, you manage to pull yourself up from the sand and stand before him in all your naked glory, legs crossing a little as you squeeze your thighs together. He smirks but doesn't say anything about it, instead angling his phone toward you again and snapping some full length photos. You immediately do your best to go back into Sports Illustrated mode, posing a little and trying to ignore the ache between your legs, the relentless throb of where his mouth just was.
"Squeeze your tits together for me," he tells you, voice a bit deeper, rougher, full of arousal, "Cup 'em a little, show me those cute lil' nipples."
You do as he says, biting your lip and showing the camera exactly what he wants to see. Your nipples are peaked and hard, begging to be teased and tugged, but you refuse to do it yourself - you're not giving him the satisfaction, not after what he just pulled. He takes a few up-close pictures, camera so close to them that you shiver with sensitivity, the smallest bit of air from his movements causing them to tighten even more.
"Those are so beautiful, baby," he murmurs softly, gaze trailing upwards to meet yours, "Can I give 'em a kiss too?" God, his eyes are so fucking soft and sincere, like fucking boba pearls. You wonder if anyone's ever been able to say no to him.
You swallow, keeping eye contact, "For another fifty, sure."
He chuckles at that, "You drive a hard bargain, darlin'."
"I know what I'm worth."
He smiles, nodding slowly, "That, you do." He pulls out his wallet and slips another bill into your bag, then shuffles toward you again. You try to keep your breathing calm when one of his hands comes up to cradle your bare back, pulls you in a little bit as he lowers his mouth to your right nipple. With hazy eyes, you watch as he presses the softest little kiss to it, then does the same to the left.
Part of you wants to pull back and say that's it, that's all you get, just to see what he does, give him a taste of his own medicine. But then he's wrapping his lips around the pebbled bud and suckling, your eyes going glassy, jaw dropping a little as your hands come up to hold his shoulders. Your pussy throbs at the sensation, thighs rubbing together again as he suctions just the right amount and swirls his tongue all over the hard peak. It's impossible not to let a quiet moan fall past your lips, something he returns with a little mmhmm around your nipple, a wordless I know.
It feels so good that you feel your guard going down even more than it already has, feel your head falling forward to rest against his. His greying hair is so soft, so warm from the sun. You blink slowly and inhale, cheek smooshing into his temple as he sucks and sucks and sucks, then turns his attention to the other one. Little whimpers are tumbling past your lips, your hands squeezing and caressing his shoulders as you feel yourself starting to drip down your inner thighs.
It's so fucking intimate, much more intimate than you anticipated. And when he finally pulls away and comes back up to peer into your eyes again, leaving your nipples puffy and a little sore, you betray yourself by leaning forward to kiss him softly, tugging his bottom lip into your mouth and returning the favor with a little suckle. You feel him smile against you, the hand on your back tightening as he brings his other one up to tangle in your hair. His lips are plush and wet - a little chapped from what he's just done to your nipples - and he tastes like pussy.
It's fucking heavenly.
"I wanna show you somethin', babygirl," he murmurs against you after a moment, and you nod a little too quickly, a little pathetically. You're starting to realize that you're losing the battle here, if there ever even was one.
He pulls back a little, eyes still soft. You watch as he reaches down to his swim trunks and unties them, heart suddenly in your throat as he slips his hand inside and comes out with an absolutely beautiful dick. It's long and thick, rounded and full at the tip with an extremely suckable looking mushroom head, as well as a prominent vein trailing up his shaft that makes your mouth water. You both stare at it for a few seconds without speaking, your lips parting but no words coming to mind.
"You wanna take some pictures with my cock, honey?" he asks you quietly, and you think he's probably looking at your face now, watching your expression, but you're still just staring at his dick.
"W-what?"
"Just a few, like...well..." he shuffles forward a bit and very gently presses the warmth of his cock against your bare stomach, letting the tip sit just above your belly button, "Like this."
Your brain is blank.
"That okay?"
His cock is so heavy.
"Darlin'?"
And warm.
He pushes some of your hair behind your ear, cradles your face in his big hand, "I know, honey," he murmurs, "You just gotta say okay."
Okay?
"O-okay," you finally whisper.
"Yeah?"
Yeah. You think it but don't say it, can't say it. You feel beyond overwhelmed, eyes still glued to where his throbbing tip is smooshed into your belly. You can't stop looking at it, ogling it, awed by its impressiveness and girth, the way it leaks a little onto your skin. You've never seen a dick this pretty before. You almost forget that you're standing there without any clothes on, barely aware of the shutter sound as he snaps multiple pictures on his phone.
"Good girl," he murmurs softly, "That's a good girl, just look at it."
Every few seconds he repositions a little, pulling you in closer to capture the way his cock stands at attention between your bodies. Precum gurgles from the tip and makes a sticky mess in his happy trail, dribbling down onto your skin. Without thinking about it at all, completely unaware of even doing it, your arms are suddenly around his waist, holding him close with your gaze still locked onto his cock.
"Yeah, that's for you, baby," he tells you softly, grinding his hips a little bit against yours and essentially fucking his cock against your stomach, "You did that to me."
It's only when he suddenly takes a small step back, holds the base and angles it downward to gently prod the sticky head against your pussy lips, that you finally come to your senses.
"Wait," you gasp out, yanking yourself back from him and shaking your head, "W-wait a second."
"M'sorry," he says quickly, brow furrowing as he puts his hands up. His cock hangs from his trunks almost comically, bobbing up and down as he takes a step back, "Shoulda asked first."
"Y-yeah, you should've," your voice cracks, heat flooding your face, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me just then, that was too far." Why the fuck are you apologizing to him?
"S'not too far," his words are gentle, alluring, "We're just havin' fun, aren't we honey? You were havin' fun, got lost in it. It's okay."
You take a breath, staring at him as you try to get your bearings. Were you having fun? Is this fun? What the fuck are you even doing right now? Your thoughts are cloudy, hazed with arousal and attraction to this complete stranger in front of you. Are you really gonna let this continue? Is it really worth it? Your gaze falls back to his cock and the question is almost answered for you.
"What am I doing?" you ask aloud, a breathless little laugh escaping your lips.
"You're just havin' fun with a new friend, s'all it is."
You raise an eyebrow at him, trying to ignore the way your hands tremble, "Is that what you are? My friend?"
"I'll be anything you want me to be, darlin'," his mouth turns up at the corners, eyes sparkling, "I sure would like to be your friend."
He peers at you for a moment, waiting for you to speak. Your mouth opens a few times but no words come out, your thoughts scrambled as you try to make heads or tails of this situation. You're suddenly painfully aware of the fact that you're still completely naked, and you quickly peek your head over the rock formation to make sure there's nobody nearby - there isn't.
Why are you checking?
"C'mere," Joel finally says, and you turn back to look at him with your lip between your teeth. He's standing there with his arms open a bit, cock still heavy between his legs. By all accounts, a fucking perv. And yet...
And yet.
Fuck it.
You're back in his embrace in no time, hooking your head over his shoulder and allowing his cock to press warmly into your skin again. You close your eyes and sigh as he brings one of his hands downward to squeeze your ass.
You know what he's going to ask before he even says it.
"Can I put it inside you, darlin'?" he murmurs softly, pleadingly, "Just to get a pic of your pussy all full?"
You don't say anything.
"Won't take more than a minute," he urges, "I promise, baby. Just wanna see it stretched around my cock. Don't you wanna see that, pretty girl? I'll pay extra, whatever you want."
More silence.
"I know you wanna see it," he's relentless, his other hand coming down to squeeze your other cheek and pull you impossibly closer, "You wanna feel that, don't you, baby? Big cock fillin' you up before you go?" His middle finger slides between your cheeks and settles at your pussy, slowly teasing your entrance, "Don't gotta do anything at all, just gotta stand here, we'll do it standin' honey."
"Standing?" you ask softly, pulling back to look at him with intrigue, and your response suddenly has him grinning from ear to ear as he slowly inserts his finger. You shiver, eyes fluttering closed as he fills you with it.
"Standin'," he repeats, "Just like this, baby, don't gotta do anything 'cept open your legs a little for me. You can do that, can't you?" The hand on your ass comes up to hold your chin; he pinches it gently between his finger and thumb and gives you another soft look as he starts to fuck you in earnest, "I know you can, 'cause you're a good girl, yeah?"
"Y-yeah," you breathe, arms tightening around his body.
"Yeah," he adds a second finger, smile faltering into a sympathetic pout when you let out another soft moan, "And you want that cock, don't you? I can see it all over your face, honey. Don't gotta pretend."
"I do," you whisper with a nod, swallowing thickly and trembling in his arms, "I want it, I do."
"So..." he's waiting for you to say the words, to tell him to go ahead and put it in, do what he wants, let him take control. His fingers are relentless inside of you now, plunging in and out at a speed you know he's purposely using to distract you, cloud your decision making.
Which is why his eyebrows go up in surprise when you're suddenly reaching down to grab tightly to his wrist, yanking his fingers out of your pussy in one swift pull.
"Three hundred," you state, "Take it or leave it."
To your surprise, his face alights with a gigantic smile, a deep laugh tumbling past his lips as he nods and digs his hand into his pocket, seeking his wallet one more time, "Yes, m'aam," he grins, "I'll take it."
You've never had sex standing up before. Not like this, face to face and completely upright with your feet planted on the ground. It's a little awkward at first, Joel having to crouch a little to align his hips with yours, one hand gripping your waist while the other grips his phone. God, this fucking phone. You're pretty sure you'll never wanna see a phone case with this ugly shade of cerulean blue again, let alone hear those obnoxious shutter sounds.
Your annoyance is quickly overpowered by the sensation of the warm head of Joel's cock pressing gently to your pussy. You look down to watch, lip between your teeth again as Joel snaps image after image of the way his tip crowds your outer lips, pushes them apart. You have to admit, it's certainly a sight to behold.
"Yeah, look at her open for me, baby," he's murmuring, thumbing the base as he slowly rubs his cockhead back and forth through your folds, "Bloomin' like a little flower."
The top of your head rests against his shoulder, face angled down to watch what he's doing. A tiny whimper falls from your lips when he very slowly eases the head of his cock inside of you, the stretch barely noticeable with how wet you are. He releases your hip to reach down and open your pussy lips with his thumb and forefinger, exposing where you're joined.
"Tell her to smile for the camera, babygirl," he whispers, and while part of you wants to roll your eyes, another part can't help but feel a gush of arousal at his words, soaking his cock even more, "Good, that's good."
He feeds his cock to you slowly, making sure to take as many pictures as he can. Little whines and squeaks erupt from your throat and your hands claw at his back, fingers tangling in the white crocheted material as he fills you up. It's only when he's fully sheathed inside of you that he suddenly tugs his trunks down a little more to expose his balls, heavy and round and full. You stare at them with a longing in your eyes you can't describe, lower lip trembling as you watch them bounce and settle against where you're joined.
"There you go," he murmurs, snapping one last picture before tossing his phone into the sand and bringing his hands up to cradle your back, pulling you close, "All done, baby, that's it."
Your toes curl in the sand as you embrace the feeling of being so full of him, his tip pulsing delicately inside the deepest parts of you. A distant thought in your brain wonders why he just threw his phone on the ground, but it doesn't seem to matter when you feel like this, so full and wet and warm, lost in a hazy glow. You bury your face in his shoulder, letting out quiet little whimpers as he pulls you in tighter. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, seemingly reveling in the moment too as you stand there listening to the ocean waves, impaled on a stranger's cock.
"How's that feel, honey?" he asks you softly, thumbs tracing shapes along your bare back, "Hm? Feel good?" You don't answer, just nuzzle your face against his skin and let out another soft whine, hands clamoring underneath his shirt to grip his back. He chuckles, "Yeah, I know, baby."
You both stand there for what feels like forever, until you finally have enough sense to pull away from his shoulder and get a look at his face. He's watching you fondly, brow furrowed, eyes still incredibly soft and inviting. He really is gorgeous. Pervy, but gorgeous.
"You dropped your phone," you mumble, words faint and slightly slurred.
"Don't need it anymore," he murmurs, "Got my pictures."
"Then why are you still inside me?" you ask softly, eyelashes fluttering, "If you're done?"
He shrugs, smiling, "'Cause it feels good, don't it?"
You stare at him for a few seconds but end up nodding regardless, turning your face a little to peer over at the ocean, "It does," you admit, "Feels really good."
"Mmhmm," he kisses the top of your head again, then your temple, stroking his fingers through your hair. The way he touches you is reverent, delicate, like you're something fragile he needs to keep safe. It's not what you'd expected, that's for sure. But something you're not as sure about is what happens now, where you both go from here.
It doesn't take long for him to decide.
You feel his thumb on your clit, drawing your attention away from the ocean and back to his presence. You peer at him through bleary eyes, a dazed little smile curving your lips as he carefully rotates the swollen nub. His belly caresses yours, warm and soft, and you smile even wider.
"Feel good?" he asks you again - tender, kind.
"Yeah," you whisper.
The hand on your back comes up to cradle your hair, pulling you in close again and allowing you to rest your head against his smooth chest. You moan as his thumb picks up speed, the sound muffled by his tan skin.
"You want me to make you come, honey?" he murmurs, fingers brushing carefully through your hair, "You wanna come all over that big cock inside you?"
"Yeah," you repeat, a little broken this time, "W-wanna come."
"You've been so fuckin' good for me, you know that?" he breathes, barely a whisper, brow furrowed as he continues to rub your clit, "Posin' all pretty, showin' me that soft little pussy, lettin' me taste her," he gives a low whistle, shaking his head, "And now she's all full, huh? She full?"
You nod, eyes rolling a little, "Y-yeah." Apparently yeah is currently one of the only words in your vocabulary.
"She all messy for me?"
Again, you nod, expression blissful as you let out a moan, "Yes, Joel," you whimper, and you're pretty sure it's the first time you've said his name this whole time. It's like you've been trying to be disconnected from it, from him, and now suddenly he's everywhere; inside you, in front of you, above you - there's no escaping him. And you don't want to escape - what you want is him. Badly. Desperately.
He seems to realize this at the exact same time you do, the moment he hears his name fall from your lips. Which is why you're not surprised in the slightest by his next words.
"What if I wanted a pic of my cum leakin' outta this little pussy?" he whispers, mouth suddenly directly next to your ear, sending insane amounts of pleasurable tingles throughout your whole body, "Huh? How much would that cost? Tell me."
"You can't," you mumble, lightheaded, but you're lying to yourself, completely lost in the pleasure he's giving you, the movement of his thumb and the girth of his cock.
"Only take a few seconds, honey, m'already close," as he speaks, you feel his hips slowly begin to buck, cock pulling from you for only a moment before easing back in, making you shudder, "You don't gotta do nothin', 'cept show me how she drools when she's full. You can do that, can't you baby?"
"Joel," you whine again, eyes shut tight as you dig your toes into the sand, holding tight to his back as he slowly starts to fuck up into you. He's so big, so thick, plugging you full and then leaving you again, slow and warm. You can only imagine how it would feel to have him burst inside of you, to fill you to the brim.
"I wanna see her drool, honey," he murmurs, voice desperate again, full of arousal, "Wanna see her push it out."
"Fuck," you moan, high and whiney as you suddenly grip both sides of his face in your hands to peer directly into his eyes, "A thousand," you whimper, your hands clawing at his scruff as his hips pick up speed, as his hands fall to your waist and hold tightly as he starts to pound up into you, "A thousand and you can come in my pussy."
He presses his forehead against yours, lets out a guttural sound and then hisses, "Deal."
And for some reason, you believe him.
Getting pounded while standing upright is a fucking trip. His nails dig into the pebbled flesh of your hips, knees bending and unbending as his cock fucks up into you relentlessly without stopping or slowing. Your hands are still holding his face, eyes locked with his as your mouth pops open in a silent scream, thumbs digging into the apples of his cheeks. Holy fucking shit.
"I know, I know, I know," he's groaning, voice wild and unhinged, groans vibrating in his chest, "Fuckin' take it, s'what you were made for, honey. Knew it the second I saw you, knew you were gonna go wild on that dick."
"Please," you moan out, tears pricking in your eyes, the sensations almost too much to bear, "Please, please." You don't even know what you're begging for, thoughts muddled as you release his face and wind your arms around his neck, "Keep fucking me, keep fucking me, don't stop, please."
"I got you, honey, I got you," you feel his thumb return to your clit as he speaks, the sounds of your skin slapping together almost rivalling the sound of the ocean waves, "You gonna come, pretty girl? Huh? You gonna cream on my cock?"
"Yes," you practically squeal, and before you can really process what you're doing you're suddenly jumping up from the sand to wrap your legs around Joel's waist, ankles tangling together behind his back. He has no issue shifting positions, his arm cradling you and holding you in the air while his thumb continues to ravage your clit. You feel it building in your stomach, tightening more and more with the insistent pressure of his thumb and the continuous thrusts of his dick hitting your cervix over and over.
"Ohh, I feel her, baby," he groans in your ear, "Sloppy little cunt wants to make another mess, doesn't she?" And that's all it takes for your orgasm to hit you, your legs squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter around Joel's body as you moan and whine and cry, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and shaking in his arms. It's like having the wind knocked out of you, arguably one of the best orgasms you've ever had in your life, your eyes rolling back into your head as you sob into his neck.
"Joel," you whimper, pussy pulsing repeatedly around his dick through the aftershocks, "Joel, come inside her, please."
"Oh, fuck."
You feel it then, the twitch of his cock and the warm ropes of his release pumping into you. You sigh almost dreamily, burying your face in his shoulder and listening as he groans, feeling the way his fingertips dig into the soft plush of your ass. It's steady - there's so much more than you thought there'd be, and the sensation is enough to make you whimper again, murmuring his name one more time as he empties himself.
You stay like that for a moment, the ocean loud in your ears, all other sounds seemingly drowned out by the hiss of sea against rock and sand. Eventually, he carries you a few steps to your towel, your ears ringing and his body trembling a little as he carefully lowers you down. You let go of him a bit reluctantly, a pout on your lips as he lays you out and then slowly pulls himself from you with a wet squelch.
"Good girl," he's murmuring - you realize he's been saying it the whole time - "Good girl, that's it, open your legs."
There's no hesitance at all anymore, not after that. You open your legs wide with abandon and sit up on your hands, watching with heavy lids as he grabs his phone from where he'd discarded it, bringing it down to your leaking pussy.
"Look at that," he breathes, awestruck, and your eyes trail downward to see what he sees. You feel heat return to your cheeks when you see the way his creamy white release is slowly beginning to dribble out of you and onto the towel.
"Wow, that's a lot," you whisper with a faint little giggle, eyes coming back up to look at his face as he watches it drip. You're not sure he hears you, intensely focused on where you're swollen and leaking, but you don't mind. You push back lazily on your hands and smile fondly at him as he takes his precious photos. In the afterglow, you find that the shutter sounds aren't that annoying, not really.
"Open her up for me, baby," he tells you softly, "Spread her wide and push it out."
You sit up a little, feeling drowsy and dreamy as you reach down and pull yourself open with your hands. You apply a little pressure, closing your eyes in a daze and hearing the wet little sounds as you push his cum out of you and onto the towel. You hear him groan, hear the shutter sounds again, and you can't help but grin.
"Are they good?" you ask him, genuinely wondering, "Is she pretty?" As you speak you pull yourself a little wider, allow him to take one more picture as close inside as possible before he pulls it away.
He looks up from his handiwork with that familiar soft smile on his face again, brown eyes shimmering in the sun that's already beginning to set, "You're perfect," he tells you, "And don't argue with me, I just gave you almost two thousand dollars."
You snort, releasing yourself and falling backwards onto the towel to stare up at the sky. Your limbs feel heavy, eyelids drooping as you watch Joel in your periphery slipping his soft cock back into his trunks, as well as his phone.
"It's real money, right?" you ask, a little unsure.
"I promise it's real money," he says with a chuckle, walking over to stand over you, "D'you wanna come back to my hotel with me and get cleaned up? Maybe have some more fun?"
You bite your lip, "Would you pay me?"
"I'd pay you."
Admittedly, as reality begins to wash over you, the idea doesn't sound anywhere near as appealing as it might have an hour ago. With a little effort, you sit up again and reach for your bikini, half buried in the sand near your feet.
"Nah, I think I'm good."
Joel reaches his arm down and you take it, letting him help you to your feet. As you put your bikini back on, you watch with a little smile as he digs the rest of your money out of his wallet, slipping it into your purse like it's just second nature at this point - which, it basically is. He stands there then, a little awkwardly, like he's not sure what to say.
"Well, uh, thank you, darlin'," he finally says, taking a step back and nodding toward you with a kind expression, "Not many girls would have, um... not many would've done this. I'd offer you my number, but I get the feeling that's not what this is."
You wince, shaking your head, "Yeah, this, uh- this isn't gonna go anywhere, sorry. But it was fun."
He nods, "It was. And, I mean, those pictures aren't just gonna collect dust, I can tell you that much."
You laugh, walking forward a little to pick up your bag. You stop in front of him and, after hesitating for only a moment, lean forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. Just a peck - a goodbye.
"Have a good rest of your summer," you tell him as you pull away, heat rising in your cheeks again as he looks at you with those beautiful eyes, "And uh- maybe try to be a little more covert with that camera."
This time it's his turn to blush, his cheeks tinging a dark shade of pink as he laughs and tosses you a wave, turning to begin walking away from you. He only makes it a few steps, and then-
"Hey, Joel?"
He turns on the spot, a hopeful look in his expression that makes you wonder, if only for a moment, that maybe you're making the wrong choice.
"You're not really a photographer, are you?"
His blush deepens, a look of embarrassment crossing his features, "No, I'm not. But after today, I just might try my hand at it."
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Apparently there was some lil drama in Good Omens fandom again about people being deeply nervous and scared of the end of Season 3, and I wrote this in the replies of one of the asks that Neil Gaiman answered, but I feel like it is deserving of being crossposted into its own post (in a slightly expanded form) so folks actually see it.
cmere, good omens fandom, we're having an intervention. a Come To Jesus talk, if you will.
First of all, I'm literally begging the fandom to:
learn what personal boundaries are, especially around parasocial relationships with strangers. (Suggestion: When sending asks to authors you like, use "polite work email" etiquette, not "joking with a friend" etiquette. The latter comes off REAL weird sometimes, and sometimes outright mean/rude/bullying).
take a couple deep fucking breaths
embrace the philosophy of The Author's Intent Only HAS To Matter To The Author, It Does Not Have To Matter To YOU. If you do not like the author's intent, you can say "hmmmm no thanks" and write some fanfic. That's what it's for.
Friends, Romans, countrymen..... Stop trying to make Neil Gaiman responsible for your happiness. For one thing, that is an absolutely unfair and cruel burden to put on a stranger who doesn't know you. Neil is only responsible for Neil's happiness. You're responsible for your own happiness. In fact, do not rely on ANY external source to guarantee your happiness, not even very nice people like Neil, not even your significant other, not even your family members. Yes, those people might be able to help you with your happiness, but they cannot guarantee it. Expecting a third party to guarantee your happiness is how corporations exploit you, and it is the source of all media trauma. Take agency over your own joy! Don't give away your power! Plan to DIY your personal ideal ending!
Neil is not telepathic, Neil cannot know all your hopes and dreams and wishes, nor SHOULD he be expected to know them, nor does he have space to know them. He is busy with things like his own and Terry's hopes and dreams and wishes. Their hopes/dreams/wishes are just as valid and important as yours, aren't they? Yes, they are. So calm down. caaaaaaaallllllm dowwwwwn.
Yes, I love the show very much too, but at the end of the day it is just a story. And the great thing about stories is that you are empowered to retell them in a different way. It is not real, so if you end up unsatisfied by S3, then blithely impose your own reality and build your own joy. It's not like it's the End Of The World or anything (lil fandom joke there for you)
And look, if you read this and you're feeling Mad and Upset or Frustrated about it, that is a symptom that you are maybe feeling a little stung in your Media Trauma parts. I am sorry that other stories have let you down in the past, and I really sympathize that you are feeling scared about the fate of this story that really matters to you. You've invested a lot of love into it! I really understand the fear! You don't want to be hurt again, and that's super understandable and normal.
But bestie, literally the only way for you to find a story that's exactly perfect for you and that won't hurt you at all is for you to write it yourself. I know that sucks to hear, but it is the truth. If you keep pinning a hope of perfection on other people's stories, you will keep getting traumatized by the media you consume. Love other people's stories for what they ARE, not for the stories that you WANTED them to be -- the same way that we love people, you know? You have to let a person be their own person; you can't force them to be someone else. That's fucked up, so if you notice that you keep trying to do that, maybe go to therapy so you can be that Someone-Else person for yourself (or, if you can't afford therapy, read some self-help books from the library or find some good channels on Youtube who make content that might help with that (I really like JulienHimself)).
If you need a story to be something big and important for you, if you are seeking catharsis and healing from a story that matters to you and you're really scared that you won't get it, then open a Word document and start typing. You can do it. You're a human being, and you evolved to tell stories. Literally it's a species specialization. You got this. It's gonna be okay, because you're going to seize the means of production and MAKE it okay. Yes? Yes.
Good Omens S3 will be what it will be. It will be what Neil wants it to be and what Terry would have wanted it to be. Period. That IS actually the highest achievement and the most noble and admirable accomplishment that we can hope for. And hey, maybe what they want overlaps with what you want, and that will be wonderful! But that will be merely a happy coincidence. The only person who can TRULY center your wants is YOU. So stop trying to trap Neil into doing it, please, because he's busy and it's not his job, AND because your wants do matter and you deserve to have someone who can give your wants their 100% full attention (aka you. that's you. only you can do that. Not even your best friends in the world can do it. Not even your mom can do it, at least not if you're old enough to know how to read.)
It's gonna be okay. Really. Really, it is. No, stop typing the snarky melodramatic reply. This is not the time for jokes; I'm being serious. It's going to be okay. Neil Gaiman can only break your heart exactly as much as you allow him to do so. That's how art works. You have to consent in order to be affected by it, and you can withdraw your consent at any time. You're going to be okay. I promise. As long as you choose to claim your own agency and your own empowerment as an individual, then all will be well and all manner of things will be well.
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The Exception (Max Verstappen x y/n)
Summary- 4 times Max let y/n get away with whatever she wanted and 1 time he didn't.
I just have so much love for maxie and I wanna show it so it came out as this. Hope you like it!! I hope maxie is only loved tbh
Max was very young when he had moved to a Netherland. If someone asked him when it was, he'd probably never be able to tell. But he could tell you about the annoying neighbours he had growing up. Yes, he did spend most of his time karting and didn't have the time at home or in school like normal kids his age would but the fleeting moments spent at that house in Netherland left behind fond memories that he can look back and only because of a certain little girl with chubby cheeks and two identical braids on either side of her head who had made quite a place in his life. Jos wasn't very happy with Max wasting his time entertaining those kids but he couldn't do much when the children's father was a tall bulky man who could take Jos out in one punch, insisted on letting the kids play together. The tall man had 3 kids Max noticed when he had dinner at their place for the first time; the oldest being the girl who we mentioned before followed by 2 younger brothers who seemed to love karting. They asked Max so many questions about it that they got scolded by their mother for ruining dinner for everyone but Max thought was cute because the youngest couldn't even pronounce karting but had a lot to say. Every time he would spend time with his neighbours, it would always be with the 2 young boys who wanted to learn how to kart better and become like Max like the younger one put it. Even now it makes Max laugh reminiscing about those days. They never really made it professionally though.
2008
Max and the 2 boys were playing around when their older sister asked if they would like to join her for a session of afternoon tea with Mr Whale and Miss Teapot. The brothers made a face of disgust and ran away from her, dejected she turned around when Max agreed. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. She quickly dragged him into her room and had him sit next to Mr Longneck, the giraffe. An hour later Max was found in Y/N's room with two pigtails if you could call them that on the top of his head, a tiara and the prettiest necklace Y/N owned. Looking at himself in the mirror he couldn't help but laugh. Y/N on the contrary looked pleased with her handy work. She thanked him for being a good and compliant customer and to come back again if he ever wanted to look pretty. It wasn't easy to get Max to do what you wanted except he couldn't say no to her puppy eyes. She even gave him a drawing of him in his kart saying that it would bring him good luck since she couldn't be there and placed her favourite bracelet on his hand.
If Y/N was to ask him about the bracelet, Max would say he lost it as soon as she gave it to him, but deep down in the watch drawer of Max's Monaco apartment sat a brightly neon pink bracelet with Y/N’s initials.
2014
Y/N had started highschool and remained the annoying self Max had come to love. Her over the top demeanor and affection to screaming at the top of her lungs whenever she spotted Max never failed to make him smile. Having joined Formula one this year, meant Max was way to busy to be home but Y/N seemed to never forget to text him regularly. She would ask him to get autographs of other drivers or souvenirs from different countries. It was a regular race weekend when Y/N texted Max asking him to explain how the engine in a go kart worked. In a split second Max was on call with her asking "why she needed that?" to which she replied "I'm doing a project on that. I even made a small scale replica of your cart Look here!!!" She exclaimed. "I just need to shrink you and place you inside it" Y/N laughed. Max told her not to worry and that he would text her the details in a hour or so. Actually it took a couple hours and Y/N was starting to get agitated and called him back. Max replied with a almost done and smiled at her. He had literally written her entire report for her and sent it to review. Y/N almost screamed when she saw the assignment. She thanked Maxie for doing this for her and that she owed him her life. Max was just happy to be of help, he told himself more than he told her because who stays up till 5 in the morning on a race weekend doing someone else’s project.
He kept the small scale replica of his Kart on the mantle above the fireplace if anyone wanted to know what happened to the kart.
2018
Y/N was freshly 18, so getting drunk was the only thing on her agenda. On a night out, she was so drunk that no one could get her to move because she wanted her Maxie and would only leave with Maxie, she enunciated. Her friend was able to open up Y/N phone and thankfully find a Maxie in her favourite contacts. She called the number to be met with a groggy but worried voice. "Hi! This is Y/N's friend Kate speaking. Am I speaking with a....maxie?" she said tentatively. Max let out a sign while rubbing his eyes, "Yes, this is Max speaking." "Can you come pick Y/N up?" She asked hesitantly followed by, "She won't leave with anyone but you apparently." Max was already out of bed and near the door when he said "I'll be there in 10, where are you guys at?" She sent him the location and waited for 'maxie'. Nothing could've prepared them for this. They had thought Maxie was a friend, a boyfriend maybe even a neighbour; they did not think Maxie was Max Verstappen, F1 driver for Redbull racing. He apologised for the inconvenience and crouched down to Y/N level who seemed to have realised that he was here. She cupped his cheeks and giggled while turning his head to the crowd of people standing, "Look, this is my Maxie." Hearing Y/N say my maxie made his heart beat faster then it should've, he admits but that girl had a tight hold on his heart and he couldn't really do much about it. She stood up and wrapped her arms around Max asking him to carry her since her legs felt like mush. Max gladly carried her back to his car, as he fastened her seat belt she asked him to take her back to his place since her parents would probably disown her if she come in drunk for the 6th time this week. Max looked shocked and asked her to stop drinking so much since it wasn't good for her. All Y/N could mumble was that the alcohol made the pain in her heart bearable. This broke Max's heart. Who would dare hurt his precious little angle, if he met that guy he was so dead, Max thought. Little did he know that guy was the one driving her back home.
Y/N was a nuisance when drunk, she reminded him of the little girl he had befriended when he moved here. She wouldn't listen to anything he asked her to do that night until he agreed to let her do make up on him which he would gladly agree to, real or not.
2022
Y/N had recently graduated and was looking for a place to stay. It was one of those nights after a fruitless apartment hunt Y/N facetimed Max. He looked very comfortable in his sim racing chair in his luxurious apartment in Monaco having moved recently. "Maxie" the younger girl sighed. "Meisje, what's the problem?" came a concerned voice. "I can't seem to find a decent apartment, I've been at it for months now." she said. Max offered to help her find the right place and Y/N started listing out all the things she wanted in her apartment which was sounding a lot like Max current apartment which was true, that was Y/N's dream apartment currently; after seeing it a couple months ago when she had visited him as a housewarming surprise and even held a party for him. "You can move to Monaco, the house you're looking for is here" Max said. After a long pause Y/N replied with a chuckle, "I don't make formula 1 money. I'm too broke to afford a house here. In Monaco, I'd have to sell my organs to afford a place there." As if it was the most obvious thing, Max offered her to stay at his place and look for a job here.
The allure of Monaco was too much and Y/N was able to thankfully find a job there so that she wouldn't be completely dependent on Max which he wouldn't have minded. Max never let her pay rent, he'd always tell her to cook good food and that was rent sorted.
2023
It was the night of the Abu Dhabi grand prix. Max had just won his third WDC so him and his friends decided to go out to celebrate, Y/N included. The night carried on as usual, Max not touching much of the alcohol since Y/N decided to down drinks like a thirsty person. She was now in the middle of the dance floor making herself familiar with Lando's crotch, much to Max's dismay. He made his way to her and led her away from Lando while she shouted at him to let her go. They were now stood in the quieter part of the club but you could still hear the music blasting. Y/N looked visibly annoyed at being taken away from the dance floor. "You are drunk, you'll regret it tomorrow." Max said. "That's for sober me to deal with. Drunk me just wants to forget about everything and having an eventful night with a guy would do just the trick." she said. Max winced at the words and held her arms so that she could steady herself. "I don't wanna feel like this," was this the alcohol giving her the confidence, "the guy I've been in love with for ages can't seem to see me as a woman. I've been trying for years now. If I walked out naked, I'm sure he wouldn't even be phased." she sounded dejected. "Any guy would want you, Meisje." Max whispered. "But not the one I do" she stepped closer, enough that their breaths mingled. The woman in front of him was driving Max mad, had she not been drunk he would've shown her how much any man would want her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked into his eyes before saying, "He's so dumb, can't even see the woman in front of him." The statement felt oddly targeted. "You know, he's a 3 time world drivers champion and he doesn't even get that I love him so much." she said while looking into his eyes. "You're in love with me?" Max exclaimed. "I have been since the day you let me make pigtails on your hair but thanks for realising now." she replied sarcastically. "You're drunk, you don't know what your saying" Max replied. "Well, sober me would never tell you this but I love you Max Verstappen. So much that you make my heart beat faster and my chest swell when you look at me. I think about marrying you and having a family with you, but you think I'm joking." she declared. Max couldn't help but smiled, "Tell me all of this in the morning when you're sober so that I can tell you that I love you too schat and then I can finally kiss you." "You can kiss me now" Y/N made a kissy face and eagerly leaned in. Max shook his head and carried her back to the hotel room.
Y/N indeed remembered everything and the first thing she did even though she wreaked of alcohol was finally kiss those soft pink lips.
this is just brain rot at this point. hope you liked it
#max verstappen#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen fluff#f1 x you#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#lando norris
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Theft Of A Bro
Uffh. Yeah, that’s good. Just like I thought…tight. We’ll see how long that lasts. No need to talk bro, I know what you want to say. You’re sorry for reacting that way, that me being gay shouldn’t have changed anything. That you shouldn’t have used that slur, or called me a bitch.
Hindsight is 20/20 though, especially when you’re getting fucked by a bro who’s stealing your muscles. Dude, don’t look away. Look me in the eyes, I want you to watch your legs dangle hopelessly above you as I take your masculinity. Take the body you worked so hard for. And I want to see your expression when you begin to love it.
I can already see your arms deflating down there, becoming dainty twigs. You won’t be able to lift a thing with those. That’s okay bro, you can give that bulk to me. I’ll put it to good use. Fuck. See them balloon, so fucking good man. Rrrrww! My biceps feel so much stronger, check out these guns. Check out YOUR guns on my body. Haha. What? Come on bro, you can forgive me for a bit of flexing. Okay maybe a lot of flexing, but I can’t help it. You were always such a egocentric showoff - puffing out your chest like a territorial beast. A textbook, self obsessed fuckboy, now I understand why.
And just look at my expanding pecs. So fucking thick and juicy. Bouncing in time with my th—thrusts! Those used to be yours. You always hated how guys used to eye them up, but now you’ll be the one salivating at them. No need to try and deny it my dude, soon enough your body will have new…needs. Wow bro, you’re already looking real flat down there. Those endless hours spent at the gym to boost your fragile ego, only for me to steal it within seconds. All that definition just fading into your tiny, slimming stomach. Those grab-able hips. Fuck, me on the other hand, I’ve never felt stronger. You could break rocks on here! I’ll take good care of these abs, they look better on me anyway.
Aww, your square jaw is rounding out to a cute little pouty face. Squirm all you want. You look so adorable when trying to seem angry bro. Hard to take you seriously when you’re blushing so intensely. You did always tease my boyish features and now my head is like chiselled marble. And you? That button nose and those freckles, guys are just gonna love you. Say goodbye to being a manly jock. Hello twinky boitoi! I think your waist is now thinner than your girlfriend… or is that ex girlfriend now? That’s a body designed to be fucked brah. So just let me fuck it. Take it like a BITCH! Like the BITCH you thought I was.
Uff. I can feel my cock expanding inside you. The veins pulsing, flowing with blood. Can you feel it too bitch? Yeah, by your expression I know you can. Stretching your hole wide, filling you to the limit. Feels good, doesn’t it. Don’t look now but your dick is shrinking. I’m stealing all that length, all that girth; pushing mine deeper and deeper inside you. Pounding that prostate. There you go. A tiny nub. My churning balls are dropping lower and swelling as yours shrivel up. Mmmff. Fuck that’s sick bro.
Yeah, it’s okay to moan. Your breathy voice getting higher and higher, as mine gets deeper. Don’t be embarrassed. It’s normal for slutty bitches in heat like you. It’s in your nature. Especially when in the presence of an alpha god like me. Whew, my pits are sweating like mad, just smell that intense musk. Smells just like you used to, bet that fact makes you real hard. Smelling your scent dripping from another man as it’s stolen from you.. Sniff and moan. Sniff, moan and give everything to me.
Holy shit, even your skinny legs are hairless now bro. Just like the rest of your smooth, svelte physique. How does it feel? How does it feel to be the ideal gay bottom slut, the very thing you abhorred.
Why so quiet broski? Oh that’s right, we’re trading that pigheaded ego for an eagerness to please. You had enough confidence to share, so I’m taking it. Taking all of it. Fuck. Yes. Your outspoken nature is draining into me, leaving a timid little mouse in it’s place. A stark difference from that rude, puffed-up dick you prided yourself on being. Even now I bet part of you wants to talk back, be a brat. Hm, but that shy smile betrays what you really are. A well behaved boy who knows his manners. Isn’t that fucking right? Heh, good boy.
Look at me and see what you used to be. Marvel at me, marvel at what you’ve lost. Starstruck at your own well deserved comeuppance. Feel your nub twitch at the sight of the perfect man fucking your jock-hood into nothingness. That strength being sapped away. It makes you feel so small and weak. But you can’t tear your eyes away.
Your head? Sorry bro, I got bored of being the dumb one, so yeah, I’m taking your smarts too. Even if you did waste it and let your cock make most of the decisions. Maybe if you hadn’t held it over me, looked down at me. Well…who’s looking down now? Don’t worry, being air-headed has it’s benefits. That empty look in your eyes, the open drooling mouth. Blissful ignorance. The cute way you’ll get confused at the simplest of things. The ‘ummms’ and ‘huhs’ as you bite your lip and push out your rear. Talking like the complete basic bitch gay you once hated. The constant state of mind melting hornyiness. Dumb as a rock. A complete ditz. You’ll get by doing ‘favours’.
I’m not a jackass though. Not like you were. It’s only fair you get something of mine bro, you can have what’s left of my body fat. Unf. Straight to your rear. Let it plump up your butt to a perfect round bubble. A wobbly shelf. A big bouncy booty. Woof. Yeah just like that. The perfect entrance to your endlessly usable fuck hole. Damn, it’s tight. Let’s conquer it.
Bruh, your masculinity is truly delicious, surrender the rest up to me. To my new hulking, godlike form. Purge every trace of manliness from your puny effeminate body with abject glee. Lisp, smile and giggle like a silly little girl. Like the Femboy you were destined to become.
Like a BITCH.
Say again? Bthweed? Oh, you want me to BREED you. Way ahead of you bro. When I cum with my monster cock, your pretty little head will become stuffed with thick, cummy cotton candy. And bro, it’s never gonna clear up again. I have a new adorable outfit already picked out for you. Thigh high socks, booty shorts, a tiny thong and a nice thick collar with your name on the tag. BITCH.
I’m gonna enjoy parading you out in front of all our fraternity bros. You’ll pretend to be all timid and ashamed but I’ll know you’re actually loving the sense of humiliation. Loving your new place as my emasculated gay fucktoy. If you beg enough I might even let the rest of the frat borrow you. I’ll be sure to let ‘your’ girl know that you were a good hole after being passed around. Maybe she’ll even give you tips, you’ll be besties in no time.
Hm? That’s ‘thank you sir’ to you. That’s better. Let’s be clear, we’re not ‘bros’ anymore. I’m a fuckmachine and you’re a glorified fleshlight. We need to make sure you don’t forget your role. A simple tag will suffice. I’ll even let you choose where your ‘BITCH’ tattoo goes. Forehead or rear, it’s up to you. Yeah boi, I think it’ll look good there too.
Now open wide BITCH and be ready to swallow. I’m about to fucking blow.
———-
Whew! That was a good fuck. Clean up boy, the other bros will be here soon and I…woah. Damn, I feel lightheaded. It’s like my brain is overstuffed. With…stuff. And my cock, uughhh. It won’t soften. Maybe I took a bit too much from you, but fuck, I couldn’t help myself. You deserved it after all. But bruh, I need to lift! Huhuh! Oh shit. I don’t want to be exactly like you were! But dude. Like bruh! My head! Gotta lift! Gotta flex! Gotta get to the gym and be the blockheaded fuckboy muscle jock this body deserves!
Pass me your old jockstrap, yerhh, my huge cock gonna do the thinking for the both of us brooo!
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SAY YOU'RE MINE—GOJO SATORU.
✎.You shouldn’t elicit his attention more than any other Omega at the party—he doesn’t remember inviting that many—but he’s wondering how he let you slip by. | wc. 1.4k+
tags. fem!reader, age-gap, very shy reader, exhibitionism, reader wears glasses, a/b/o, 18+ only
masterlist
The big, awful truth nobody tells you about hosting your fortieth birthday is how the shine of the day wears off once you see your friends and acquaintances laughing with their loved ones, talking about their kids, showing off pictures of newborns swaddled in soft linens, and making plans for upcoming holidays.
Gojo sips his drink, pretending to understand. He’s never given much thought to settling down, to take an omega as a mate and fill his big empty house with the sounds of pealing laughter and little feet racing down the many halls.
Forty years old, and he’s ready to admit that living the life of a bachelor doesn’t hold the same appeal as it once did. That returning from a two-week-long business trip might be better if there were somebody to go home to.
Forty years old.
Instead of cozying up in the living room with a family he longs to have, he’s going to spend the rest of his night picking up plates and champagne flutes after everyone leaves because he forgot to hire a cleaning company—all alone in his big empty house, wondering if his secretary remembered to pick up his dry-cleaning for the week.
An unmated Alpha—the reminder chafes as much as the fact he’s getting older.
He finally understands why his late aunt divorced and got married again twice in the same year, why people buy nice vacation homes on white sandy beaches that make the crow’s feet around their eyes worse, and spend too much money on sports cars even though they stay parked for three-fourths of the year. He gets it now.
It’s more or less an epiphany of a sad, pathetic truth that he swallows down with something cold and bitter.
In the middle of his backyard, standing between his neighbor and his pregnant wife, Gojo wishes he were anywhere else. Inviting everyone he knows within driving distance no longer seems like the well-thought idea he’d presumed it’d been.
He makes a few more rounds around the garden before sneaking inside, escaping another conversation about engagements and wedding dates to hide away in his study.
That’s until he sees you out of the corner of his eye, looking through the bookcases in his living room.
A pretty slip of a girl in your modest cocktail dress and wide-framed glasses slipping down the slope of your nose. An Omega, alone, just like him; your clean, sweet, floral scent sticking to the back of his throat like syrup until it settles in his stomach. Enough to make him dizzy.
You shouldn’t elicit his attention more than any other Omega at the party—he doesn’t remember inviting that many—but he’s wondering how he let you slip by. Not that it really matters because his back straightens, no longer wallowing in self-pity, and he studies you with interest.
After a few moments, you finally glance his way, only for you to hastily return your attention to the book you pulled down from the shelf. Cute.
Gojo adjusts the tie around his neck and feels his lips twitch.
“Sorry,” you say softly, long lashes fluttering against the top of your cheeks. “I didn’t mean—I was only—My friend invited me, and she—”
You are too busy working yourself up over an explanation that you don’t notice when he sidles up next to you and reads over your shoulder. "I have more in my office if you want to take a look.”
“E-excuse me?” You make this breathy, choked sound and peer up at him from under your lashes. This visibly timid type of girl who bashfully looks away at the sight of his smile. For some reason, that makes his mouth go dry—makes his teeth ache.
It’s rare to be so driven by instinct and rarer to actually listen to that instinct.
“Books,” he says. “Do you want to see them?”
His words take a second to sink in, and he smiles when he sees liquid clarity in your eyes. You blink owlishly, scent spiking, pleased. He stands there patiently, finding how you start rambling endearing, a slight, private grin splitting across his face—silently amused.
He thinks you'd bolt if it weren’t for the fact that he’s probably standing much too close, trapping a mouse by the tail.
“I–I g-guess,” you finally stutter.
It’s too easy: You letting him usher you up the stairs toward his office.
If Gojo were a better person, a less lonely Alpha—a better man—he might feel bad for how well it works.
It’s no small thing to work the tiny zipper at your back and watch your dress pool around your feet. He barely gets the top three buttons of his shirt undone before you are—delightfully, inexplicably—up on the tips of your toes, timidly pushing your hands through his hair, mewling into the hollow of his throat, close to where his gland sits.
By the time he has you pressed against his office window, you’re this flustered little mess with crooked glasses, fingers streaking the once pristine glass to keep your balance, and breasts sticky and wet with spit.
“Good girl,” he mutters, pulling back to look down at where he’s splitting you open. “Such a good little Omega for me, aren’t you?”
You don’t answer, and he crowds you closer to the window, grasping your chin and tugging your head up until you’re looking at him upside down. He squeezes your cheeks together, your pouty, supple lips pushed out, and kisses your mouth, tasting you—unimaginably sweet.
“Tell me—tell me what a good girl you are,” even though he knows you can’t with his fingers pressing into your cheeks, but you try anyway.
“U-uh but—people c-can see.”
The base of his cock tingles as he catches a line of drool spilling from the corner of your lips. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, soothing, and you steadily melt against him when he slips that same finger underneath the elastic of your underwear, lightly nudging your clit with the tip of his finger until you’re shivering beautifully again.
“That’s it. Don’t worry about them,” he coaxes lightly, but it comes out muffled because he says it with his mouth wrapped around the gland at the base of your neck, teasing himself with something he’s never allowed himself to have. Not yet. “Just you and me, okay?”
Gojo doesn’t let up until your back arches and shoulders tighten, his knot caught inside your cunt until all he can do is grind the tip of his cock against that spot that makes you squirm and whine.
He smiles to himself when you hide behind your hands after realizing you ruined his pants, and he carefully falls back into his office chair, pulling you with him so you’re both looking out across the garden, where his guests walk around wholly unaware of the breathtaking little Omega who made his birthday worthwhile.
“You’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you?” he muses, taking great pleasure in the way you start stuttering again.
On his forty-first birthday, he doesn’t throw his own party but still hides in his office, his pretty wife in his lap, flustered because he never turned the lights off this time. If anyone happened to walk by on this side of the house, they’d be able to see everything—his omega, soft and swollen from a piece of him taking root inside you.
Families are about making traditions, he thinks, and he’d like to start a few traditions of his own; leaving his party to fuck his wife in the quiet of his office being one of them.
#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo x you#gojo satoru smut#gojo imagine#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#jjk drabbles#jjk x you#jjk fic#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#.things i write
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✦ How they dream of you at night
Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Tartaglia
(tw: just slightly sad)
✧ “In the hidden corners where the gods' gaze does not fall, there are those who dream of dreaming” - and one said person, Pierro, can be found within the grand Palace of Snezhnaya. He solemnly sits by the window, his icy blue eyes gazing off into the dark winter night of this snowy land.
He often does that, when the night becomes silent and the world is still. Pierro wishes he could dream, yet 500 years of cursed immortality can corrode one’s mind into feeble numbness. Thus, the Fatui Director substitutes his dreamless nights with daydreams of you. Silent fantasies of your voice, images of cupping your jawline, a tender caress to your form. The jester’s daydreams are the only thing keeping him sane, preserving the memory of your skin and love alive in his mind.
And even if his nights are bleak and dreamless, he would rather settle for maladaptive daydreams. When the Jester gazes at the fake stars of Teyvat, hanging by the firmament as a lifeline, so does he yearn to daydream of you - living in the day just for the memory of your embrace. Alas, only the harsh nights of Snezhnaya are witness to his wistful gazes.
✧ For Il Capitano, the world is full of battles and wars; conflicts initiated by the ignorant ones, those who care naught for the innocent. Therefore, the only moment of solace that the Captain can afford is in his dreams. Dreams in which his vision is not haunted by the bloodshed of battlefields, but instead by simple dreams of you.
In those dreams, the world is plain and quiet. He often sees you in it, occupying his thoughts. Sometimes you’d talk and ramble nonchalantly, occasionally he’d see you collecting small chamomile flowers by the grass. Those dreams are uneventful, yet for the Captain, such peacefulness is a luxury he cannot afford. An image of you and him by a quiet valley, a gentle breeze idling by, and having all the time to relish each other’s endless conversations. No thoughts of warfare, only the unwinding sound of your voice.
The Captain is not ashamed to admit he dreamt of you. In fact, he’d candidly say it during the most random of times - “I saw you in my dreams again.”
You’d glance at him and muse - “Oooh, really? Maybe you just miss my company!”
The Harbinger's mask remains pitch black, devout of any expression that might tell whether he reciprocates your little teasing. But besides the occasional clank of chains from his helmet, a low chuckle will escape him. Therefore, The Captain would lean to sit closer to you, his body less tense whenever he is in your presence. Even your silence is a remedy to his soul.
“Perhaps I do. Perhaps I really do.”
✧ Il Dottore hates dreaming. Sleep, in its entirety, is a redundant form of rest that the human body requires. An utter waste of time. Thus, as a scientist who modified his own body to perfection, it’s unsurprising that he can go on for days without sleep. The Doctor can be efficient with his time, although that’s not why he semi-biologically modified his body. It’s because he hates dreaming of you.
You are always there in his dreams, along with his younger self. The nostalgic warm sunlight of Sumeru basks onto you, and in those dreams, he sees you in the familiar hallways of the Akademiya. Dottore does not consider those dreams pleasant, since they make him uneasy of the grave past. He doesn’t like seeing himself so simple and young, in his Akademiya uniform. He doesn’t enjoy seeing your tender smile as you clutch your books closer to your chest and lock your gaze with him. He doesn’t like how his dream self always yearns to come closer and embrace you tight. As if young Zandik could’ve held you one more time, and all his troubles would dissipate by the warm sun.
Yet no matter the place or outcome of the peaceful dream, every time that young Zandik tries to reach for your face or seek your lips, you’re always an arm-length away. The hallways of the Akademiya loom threateningly, pulling you further away from him, your warmth becoming unreachable. How naive. He should be better than this. Now he sits up in bed, awake and hands clenched around his hair with trepidation. He hates how his body wants to cry for the memory of you in his dreams. He really hates dreaming.
✧ The fact that Scaramouche even possesses the faculties to dream is what made him the individual he is today. Whether he curses his ability to do so or not, it doesn’t matter. He is no longer the naive Kabukimono he once was, in fact, he doesn’t even require to mimic sleep as humans do. But only you know the truth. During still nights, when the two of you doze off under the warm futons, the Balladeer’s hand would unconsciously grip yours, then followed by silent sobs.
In his dreams, he sees many events unfold. Sometimes, he sees himself left to live in the squalor like a common critter, discarded and abandoned. Sometimes, he sees the familiar Tataratsuna huts. But more often, he sees you there in his dreams. Back in the warm plains of Yashiori Island, you let him rest his head on your lap. You are dressed in a snug kimono that the fabric's comfort etches onto Scaramouche’s memories eternally. In his dreams, he rests idly in your embrace, by your lap, while you caress his hair.
Those dreams are delightful at first as if his memories as Kabukimono reinvoke themselves and immortalize the softness of your body and the soothing motion of your hands in his subconscious. But quickly, those dreams shift into agonies. Sometimes, in those dreams, you turn and desert him, while he is left on his dirtied knees to plead for your return. Sometimes, those nightmares show him that it is your heart that can ebb the Tatarigami within Mikage Furnace. And just before he's forced to rip your beating core and relive another memory, he awakes.
“Scara?! Scara…?” - you whispered in the dimness of the night, shaking him awake. “You were crying in your sleep. Another nightmare?”
The Puppeteer said nothing. He lay awake, startled as tears involuntarily streamed down his cheeks. With twitching eyes, he quickly clings around your waist, burying his face against you to conceal his tears. No words needed to be exchanged as his body shook, while you hushed and hugged him. This was the reason why Scaramouche avoided dozing off into sleep ever again.
Regardless of the content of his nightmares, he’d never admit you caressed his hair and soothed him the same way you did in his dreams.
✧ Pantalone is in bed, restless. Turning from side to side, or readjusting his pillows becomes a futile endeavor to find solace when his bed is lacking you. You are out there, on an expedition, busy exploring Teyvat. Your trip might take another few days, yet Pantalone is alone in a bed that often nestled you close together. Where do your feet take you, the Harbinger ponders to himself. Hence, while you are away, the Regrator is forced to make amends with the bedroom that feels considerably empty, considerably cold, considerably foreign - all because it's missing you.
In the late, voiceless hours of the night, his dreams blend with his yearning for you. He misses pressing your entire form against his lean body, as it often allows him to fall asleep easily. With you in his arms, chest pressed to another, he knows - you are safe. You are with him. Unfortunately, you are away, and the night feels unwelcoming. For now, Pantalone has to clutch a pillow in his sleep to substitute his feeling of holding you. Even as he sleeps with worry, he hopes somewhere out there, in a foreign land, you are dreaming of him the same way he’s dreaming of you.
✧ When Tartaglia drifts off into dreamland, his mind is still half-busy with thoughts of you. So much so that his plans blend into his dreams. Thoughts about what he should buy you while he’s away on a mission. Ideas on where to purchase your favorite local specialties. Or perhaps how he should surprise you when he comes back home.
His brain is so enthusiastically occupied with plans to bring you souvenirs, that his dreams come up with countless scenarios of how you’d greet him upon arrival. He’d envision your joyous surprise, endearing pouts, or teasing smiles. And sometimes, if his dreams are more daring, Childe might accidentally dream of some sweet rewards that will leave him waking up in a cold sweat, panting, and body craving.
Either way, he is rushing back to you the moment his mission is over. His dreams of you might leave him hot and bothered, but your love in real life is much more tantalizing than anything his desperate dreams could conjure up.
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#pierro x reader#capitano x reader#dottore x reader#il dottore x reader#il dottore x you#zandik x reader#scaramouche x you#scaramouche x reader#scaramouche x y/n#kabukimono x reader#wanderer x reader#wanderer x you#pantalone x reader#pantalone x you#pantalone x y/n#childe x reader#tartaglia x reader#childe tartaglia ajax#genshin pierro#il capitano#il dottore#dottore#genshin scaramouche#pantalone#genshin childe#genshin headcanons#genshin fanfic#genshin x reader
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Would you write for AK Jason? I like him mean. Like him and you are arguing and he gets all pissed off and makes you cry but it ends in angry sex.
say it back (18+, ak jason todd x fem reader) wc 5.5k
⭓ this post contains sexually explicit content and dark themes. it is not suitable for minors. please consider the tags and consume at your own discretion. not an example of a healthy relationship. jason might be kinda ooc here, but hey. it's fanfiction.
"You need to drop your fucking attitude." Jason hisses at you.
"Me? My attitude? I'm just trying to have a conversation, Jason, you're the one acting like-"
"Like what? Hm?" He stalks closer to you, and you take a step back reflexively.
"You're angry." You state simply, staring up at him with sadness in your eyes. "You're angry with me. Still. Aren't you?"
Jason's eyes pierce into your own, searching them for something as he takes a deep breath to calm himself. It takes several tense moments before he finally mutters, "Maybe I am."
"What more do you want from me, Jason? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that I didn't come looking for you. I didn't know. Bruce told me you were-" Jason growls, and corners you against the wall until your back is pressed up against it.
"Don't fucking talk about him! Don't say his name, I'm sick of thinking about him!"
"Then what do you want me to do? I mourned you, Jason, I grieved for you. I didn't just forget about you. I could never." Tears begin to well up in your eyes. The guilt you feel for what your boyfriend went through is crushing. It haunts you every day. Every time you look at him and see that 'J' carved into his cheek, your self-hatred grows even deeper.
"There's nothing you can do now. What's done is done." His warm breath fans over your face. His eyes are narrowed, staring you down like you're the one who locked him up and tortured him.
"Why am I here, huh? Why do you keep me around if you refuse to forgive me?" You ask him, your voice quivering from grief and exasperation.
"Would you shut the fuck up?" He groans and slams his fist against the brick wall, just inches from your head. Your eyes widen when he does, a jolt of fear running through you, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Jason's never hit you, but ever since he came back, you don't know what to expect from his behavior. He's erratic. Hurting. But at the same time, even more focused and calculating than ever. Its a terrifying combination, honestly.
He looks so much different now. Even though you're both still young, his features are harsher, his face hardened and scarred. You still see traces of the boy you fell in love with. It isn't always obvious, but you catch brief glimpses of the old him here and there. Its enough to keep you around, to remind yourself of how much you love him. Seeing him hurt like this and isolating himself is devastating.
"I don't know if I'm capable of forgiving you." He says between labored breaths. His eyes are dark, filled with a pain he refuses to share. "You left me in there to rot. The things he did to me, the things he made me do-"
"Jay." Your voice breaks, warm tears trailing down your cheeks. "Please, baby, I'm sorry. I failed you. I know I did." You reach out tentatively to caress his cheek, avoiding the scar. "I want to be here for you. I want to help you. But I feel like me being here is making things worse.”
Maybe you’re imagining it, but you catch a flicker of something in his expression. A crack in the hard mask he’s been wearing. “What are you saying?”
“If you hate me so much, maybe I should leave.” You struggle to get the words out. You hate yourself for even suggesting it. But the past few weeks with Jason have been tumultuous at best, and you’re not sure that your presence is actually helping him. If anything, you feel like you trigger him just by existing.
“Leave?” He asks, his face contorting in pain and anger. “You’re going to leave me? Really?”
“Only if that’s- I mean, I don’t know, Jason! I don’t know!” Unable to hold it in anymore, a heavy sob shakes your body, and you look away in shame. He’s still got you pinned against the wall, his arms caging you in and keeping you from turning away. “I just want you to be happy. I don’t think I’m capable of giving you happiness anymore. You won’t talk to me. All you do is yell. I want to be here for you, more than anything. But you won’t let me in. Maybe you’ll be better off without me.” Your voice is hushed and thick with emotion. You don’t want to leave him, now that he’s finally back. You were over the moon when you realized who was behind the Arkham knights mask.
Your best friend. Your lover, back from the dead.
But he hasn’t been the same. And you can’t blame him. He doesn’t go into detail about what happened, but you can see the evidence of his torture on his body. Not that he’s let you get too close.
He referred to you as ‘his girl’ in front of his militia. And now, after Gotham has recovered from the events surrounding his return, his hired men know that you’re to be protected at all costs. But other than a brief kiss upon your initial reunion, Jason hasn’t touched you. Yet he’s kept you close, physically, insisting you stay with him in his hideout. You quit your job, moved out of your apartment, left behind your old life as a law-abiding citizen to devote yourself to him and his cause. But your loyalty has been rewarded with him being emotionally closed-off and bitter towards you. It has you questioning where the two of you stand, and if he even wants you here.
“You’re wrong.” His voice is still harsh as he lowers his head to try and meet your eyes. He's close enough that you're able to smell his scent, a mix between his body wash and his natural musk. It draws you in, but you don't dare lean into him, in fear of fueling his annoyance towards you.
"Then why are you so mean to me?" You hate how weak you sound. You wish you were stronger, but being Jason's emotional punching bag has taken it's toll on you.
"I..." Some of his anger seems to fade, but his eyes are still swimming with turmoil. "I can be nicer."
"That isn't an answer."
Jason swallows hard, and removes his forearms from the wall so he's no longer caging you in. His jaw is clenched as he keeps staring at you and thinking about how to respond.
"I don't know." He finally says. "All I know is that I don't want you to go."
You slip to the side so you're no longer sandwiched between him and the wall, and take a step backwards to distance yourself. "I can't handle much more of this, Jason. It's too much. I can't stand fighting like this. It hurts me."
The look on your face has Jason's pulse quickening. "I'll be nicer." He says again.
"Jas-"
"I mean it." He reaches for your hand, and you need to consciously keep yourself from flinching away. "Just please, don't go."
Your heart aches at his plea. You don't want to leave, of course you'd rather be here. But you're not quite naïve enough to believe him when he say's he'll be nicer. You look down at where your hands are entwined, eyeing the thin silvery scars that litter his hand and wrist. Your mind briefly wanders, wondering what nightmare gave him those. Too thin to be from rope burn. Maybe zip ties. A few more tears pool in your eyes and blur your vision at the mental image of him being restrained in such an inhuman way.
"If you really want me, I'll stay." You whisper,
His eyes light up, but the relief doesn't touch the frown that's seemingly permanently etched onto his strong features. "Come here."
You don't fight the gentle tug on your hand. You let Jason hug you close to him, his heart still beating fast in his chest. You feel the steady rhythm against your cheek when he pulls you close and holds you against him. He's still angry, you can sense it radiating off of him in waves. But he's making a pointed effort to stay calm, which is an improvement.
"I don’t hate you. I love you. You know that, right?" He asks. You get a odd, fluttery feeling in your stomach. Not the same as the feeling you got the first time he told you he loved you. It’s a weird, perverted ghost of the feeling, one that makes the ache in your chest even worse.
You don't want to answer him. What would you even say? That you love him too? He already knows that, surely. And he laughed at you last time you told him. In front of several of his men. It was humiliating, and you've avoided saying it ever since.
"Hm? You know that, right?" He tightens his hold on you, his strong arms encouraging you to answer.
"Yeah. I know." You mumble back.
Jason looks down at you, and pulls away far enough to look you in the eyes again. What you would give to know what's going on in his head. It’s like a whirlwind of emotions are playing across his face.
You don't expect him to lean in and capture your lips in a sudden kiss. You freeze for a beat before you kiss him back, not quite relaxing against him, but letting yourself move with him. Still, it feels off. Almost like you're kissing a stranger. He isn't familiar anymore, which only encourages the tears to keep falling hot and slow down your cheeks.
As your tongues dance together, Jason begins to explore your body, warm hands running up and down your back. You wouldn't describe his touch as gentle, but he moves slowly and deliberately, finally resting on your ass and kneading your fat with his strong hands.
Is this his idea of 'being nicer'? You wonder to yourself. But you don't stop him. He's the only man you've ever loved, and when you thought he was dead, you missed his touch more than anything. Craved it. And you still do, even though you're more wary of him now. If you were thinking clearly, you'd probably stop his hand from sneaking down the front of your pants, and tell him that you should both take a breather and calm down. But he's left you so desperate for any speck of affection that you can't bring yourself to turn him away.
His hands are warm against your skin, but goosebumps still prickle your skin from the contact. He slips his hand in your underwear, not bothering to take his time. The sudden feeling of his rough fingers against your labia has you whimpering into his mouth. Jason rubs firm circles over your neglected clit as he breaks the kiss. "Yeah, you know?" He says back in a mocking tone. "Your body knows. She missed me, didn't she?"
The way he calls your cunt 'she' leaves a weird taste in your mouth. You pretend not to notice. "Of course I missed you." You say back to him. You grip his forearm gently and caress his skin with your thumb, feeling his muscles move and flex as he pleasures you, while your other arm grips his shoulder to steady your body. It's hard to relax with all the pent up tension you have inside. But you focus on his fingers, and how good it feels to be touched by your boyfriend again after so long.
"How quick did you move on. Hm?" His deep voice almost sounds like it's rumbling as asks. "How many people have you fucked since I disappeared?"
His question feels like a daggar to your heart. Maybe he really doesn't know, doesn't understand how hard his 'death' hit you. You haven't spoken about it much to him, since he obviously suffered much worse than you did while you were apart. It would feel insensitive to open up about the deep depression you fell into, one that your friends and even Dick tried and failed to help you out of. It was all you could do to even finish high school and get a job. You didn't see anyone else. You barely hung out with anyone. All you did was work and sleep. It was like the joy was sucked from your life the day you lost him.
But Jason doesn't know this. He mistakes your silence for shame, and he uses his other hand to cup your chin and force you to look at him as his fingers slowly warm you up. "What's wrong? Lost count?" The bitterness and mistrust are second nature to him now, after enduring Jokers sick mind games.
"No one... I promise." You lip trembles as the pleasurable sensations build between your legs. You grow wetter under his touch, even though your heart is heavy with grief.
"S'that right?" Jason lets out a dark chuckle and removes his hands from you abruptly. "Take your clothes off."
You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. You hesitate, looking from him to his bed along the opposite wall. Jason brings his fingers to his mouth, and to your horror, he sucks them clean, tasting your arousal without breaking eye contact.
"Do you want this?" He asks, growing annoyed at how you're freezing up.
"Do I want, what?" You say back a little too quickly.
Jason's nostrils flare as he lets out an irritated sigh. "Me. Do you want me to fuck you?"
Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you stammer out a hurried "Yes."
“You sure about that? Doll?” He cocks his head at you and studies your face carefully. The old nickname brings back memories, memories you’re sure are far too sweet in comparison to what’s about to happen.
But it doesn’t stop you from nodding at him all the same. You want him, there’s no denying that. Even if he isn’t the same boy you fell in love with, he’s still Jason. Your Jason.
Breathing heavily, Jason leans down to you so you're face to face once again. "Then take. Your fucking. Clothes. Off. Before I rip them off of you."
You glare at him through teary eyes, not appreciating the threat. But you’re not going to pass up the opportunity for intimacy. Hardening your gaze to match his, you hurridly remove your clothing piece by piece, folding the garments and setting them down neatly on the table beside you.
Jason surprisingly keeps his eyes on yours. Even as you reveal more of your body to him, his focus is on your face, not faltering.
When you step out of your underwear and set them on top of the pile, you finally say “You next.”
A dark chuckle departs Jason’s scarred lips before he replies, “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
Confused, you give him a quizzical look as he stomps over to his bed and kicks off his boots. They land beside him with a thud, making you jump a little.
“Get the fuck over here.”
Jason’s voice echoes across the studio apartment ominously. It’s pissing you off, how he’s still being so brash after just promising to be nicer to you. You shiver and run your hand up and down your arm while you walk over to join him, the cool air against your bare skin making you feel even more vulnerable. It’s clear to you that he’s enjoying this. Sitting on the edge of his bed, still almost fully clothed, finally letting himself drink in the sight of your naked body as you approach him.
“You’ve changed.” He comments after a few moments of tense silence. And he isn’t wrong. You’ve matured in the time he was gone, you’re a bit taller, your hair is longer, looking less like a teenager and more like a woman. But the changes in your body are subtle compared to his. Jason is at least 6 inches taller than what you remember. He’s put on a lot of muscle, and his features are sharper. Harsher, even. His face is different. Even ignoring the scars, there’s a new depth to him that’s hard to pinpoint.
You wonder how much of his transformation is due to just growing up, like you, and how much of it is from the trauma he experienced. Surely, being malnourished and tortured as a teenager would stunt a persons growth. But the man in front of you is anything but stunted. He’s massive. Again, your mind wonders about the details of his absence, about how long he took to recover from his torture before returning as the Arkham Knight.
“You just gunna stand there and gawk at me, or are you going to help me out?”
“Sorry.” You mutter hastily, embarrassed to be caught zoning out. You focus on him again, and realize he has his pants unzipped and his cock in his hand, stroking it with lust-clouded eyes. It takes a good deal of effort to hide the shock on your face from the sight as heat rushes between your legs. Your cheeks turn red, and you place your hand on his knee to steady yourself before you kneel in front of him. “You’ve changed too.”
Jasons pupils dilate when you place your hand over his own, taking over for him and stroking him lightly. He is already hard as a rock, his veins bulging under your touch.
“Way to state the obvious.” He leans back casually and uses his hands to prop himself up against the bed. Using both of your hands now, you jerk him off carefully, hoping he doesn’t notice the trembling in your fingers. “That’s it… shiiit, spit on it, baby, can you do that for me?”
With nervous excitement you obey his request, gathering some saliva with your tongue and letting it drip from your mouth down onto his shaft. His cock is feverish to the touch. The groan that rumbles in his chest as you spread your spit over him triggers emotions you haven't felt in a long time.
“Fuck yes, nice and sloppy for me, shit.”
You want to tug his pants down his legs to give yourself better access, but your instincts are telling you it’s a bad idea. Even as you became more aroused from his reactions, you still maintain a strong sense of unease, like he could snap at you without a moments notice.
When you peer up at his face, his eyes are closed, and some of the anger and tension he was holding onto is less apparent now. It gives you a spark of excitement, pride, even, that you’re finally able to provide him some peace.
His expression gives you enough confidence to lean your head down and take him in your mouth. You start with a soft kiss against his tip, then you swirl your tongue around it slowly, trying to gauge his reaction.
“M’not in the mood for teasing, doll.” Jason groans. “Better take a deep breath.”
That is all the warning he gives you before his hand grips the back of your head and pushes your mouth down onto him. You gag a little at the sudden intrusion before you remember to relax your throat to allow him fully in.
Another deep moan fills your ears when Jason feels you gag around him. Your eyes water as your nose brushes against the dark hair at the base of his cock. He’s definitely bigger than the last time you two did this. Or perhaps you’re just out of practice. Whatever the reason, you struggle to suck him off properly. After a few seconds of deep-throating him, pull your mouth away to cough and catch your breath.
“I didn’t tell you to stop.” He growls. "That felt good."
“You’re being a jerk.” You sputter out between coughs. “You said you’d be nicer to me.”
“This is me being nice.” He argues, bringing his hand to his cock to stroke himself again now that you've abandoned your effort. “You don’t want to suck me off? Fine. Get on the bed.”
“It’s not that I-“
“Get on the fucking bed.”
He stands up, and you’re momentarily scared he’s going to drag you. But his grip on your arm isn’t harsh, just a firm guide as he helps you onto the cheap mattress. You lay on your back and settle against the bedding, but Jason promptly flips you over, helping you onto your hands and knees.
You the mattress creek as he positions himself behind you. A quick look over your shoulder results in him gripping your hair and pushing your face into his pillows. "Stay just like that." He warns.
"Seriously? What, y-you're not going to let me look at you? Or kiss you?"
"Do you want me to fuck you or not?" The irritation returning to his gravely voice.
You close your eyes and try to stop your tears. You exhale a deep, steadying breath before you reply, "Yes, Jay, of course I do."
"Then quit complaining." The mattress shifts again as Jason moves behind you, his still clothed legs pressed against your rear. His left hand rests firmly on your waist, and a second later you feel him rub the tip of his cock against your clit. He drags himself up to the entrance of your cunt slowly, them back down again. He languidly repeats this back and fourth several times while he mutters under his breath "Shit... look at you, doll, touched your pussy for 5 seconds and you're already soaked for me." Jason smacks his shaft against your cunt a few times, your body visibly tensing when you feel the tip press against your asshole. "Relax," Jason scoffs, "I know you don't like that shit. You couldn't handle me in there before, there's no way you could take me there now."
Jason's weight shifts forward, pressing his hips into you. It only takes a moment for him to find the give and sheath the tip of his engorged length inside of your cunt. Green eyes stare in awe as he watches himself slowly disappear inside of you, pausing halfway, savoring how warm and wet you feel. He curses when your inner muscles clench and relax in little spasms as you try and accommodate him. "So fucking tight, goddammit, doll, shit, shiiit... feels so good when you do that."
Your eyes roll back at how badly you've missed the feeling him inside of you. This part, this feels familiar. This doesn't feel like a stranger. Your heart fills with relief, a sense of comfort washing over you and helping you to relax.
Jason pushes even further inside when your inner walls lax around his girth. A soft hiss escapes your teeth when his crown kisses your cervix. It's too bad that you miss the grin on his face as he takes in your reaction.
"You really haven't been with anyone else, have you? Tssk." Jason slaps your ass and watches the slight recoil in awe. "I can tell. You held out. You know what that tells me?" His large hands plant themselves on either side of you against the bed. Jason leans down, shifting his weight onto you and forcing you down into the mattress, prone-bone, fully bottoming out inside your tight cunt.
A whimper falls from your throat at the sting of how he stretches you. It creates an ache deep inside of you, deep enough that only he could reach.
"Tells me you knew I was still around. You're a liar."
"W-what?" That sense of ease and comfort is gone just as quick as it came.
Jason says your name in disapproval, "We both know you're loyal to a fault. That's why you're here. That's why you put up with my shit." His clothed chest presses against the soft skin of your back as his hips begin a slow rolling motion, thrusting into you while he brings his lips to your ear, brushing against your earring. "Me dying is the only way you could ever move on from me. But I did die. And you didn't move on. Which means you knew. You knew I was alive. Which is why you didn't betray me, even when Dick was practically throwing himself at you."
His pace increases as he speaks. His words are tainted with an bitter smugness, which makes your stomach churn.
"Jason, Jay, baby, that doesn't make any sense. I really t-thought you were gone-hmmpht!" Jason gives a sharper thrust which interrupts your explanation.
"Then why didn't you move on?" He's asks in a tense whisper.
"I couldn't!" You cry out in exasperation.
"Exactly".
His hips are rolling faster against you now, only pulling out an inch or so before thrusting back in, too greedy to pull out any further. He stays deep and buries himself as far as possible inside your neglected cunt. The friction feels divine, even if the rough cotton of his t-shirt is rubbing against your back instead of his bare chest. You long for skin to skin. The closeness is something you crave, but Jason, for whatever reason, decides to deprive you of it, even though he's balls deep in your guts.
"Fuck off!" You spit out between your shallow pants and moans. "You're being a jerk!"
"Yeah?" His voice strains as his pace picks up even more. The mattress is squeaking softly and bumping up against the wall with each rut of his hips. "I'm a jerk? You think I'm a jerk?"
You moan in frustration and pound your fist against the mattress. It's difficult for you to find the right words to say when his cock is hitting all the right spots inside you. You've dreamt of this, being forced to live with the longing inside of you for a partner you thought you'd never see again. It's everything you've been craving, to be one with him again. But he's souring the intimacy with his smartass mouth.
"I don't wanna fight, Jay." You mutter in response to him. Jason's hand cradles the back of your head and pushes it further into the pillows. You're almost ashamed at how it turns you on, being crushed and handled roughly by him like this.
"Ha, don't believe that for a second." A warm hand snakes down the side of your body and slips around your hips so he has access to your clit. He's still pistoning deep into you, now nipping and biting at your neck as his fingers work your sensitive nub, sandwiched between your body and the mattress. The added stimulation makes you squeeze your thighs together. "C'mon, too late to be shy, doll. Open up f’me." His voice is a gruff rumble in you ear. It sends a chill down you spine and makes your toes curl, clenching around him to alleviate the pool of tension building in your core.
You should have better self control. You should rise above, be better than his antics. But your mind is reeling and trying to reconcile how good he’s making you feel with how irritated you are. So without much thought, you quip back, “Says the man who won't even take his shirt off when he fucks."
“The fuck did you just say?” Jason pinches your clit between his fingers, earning a sharp yelp from you that’s muffled against his pillows. His pace doesn’t falter, but his body tenses as the anger finds him again.
The sting lingers, and you push your thighs together even more, effectively squeezing him out of you somewhat unintentionally.
“No, none of that now, you’re going to let me in.”
A deep inhale blesses your lungs when Jason pushes himself up off of you, leaning back and grabbing your hips to force you on your hands and knees once more. You grip the sheets and steady yourself, unprepared for the harsh smack that stings your ass cheek.
“Ouch!” You whimper, taking a chance to look back at him again. Your lips part to voice your protest, but Jason chooses this moment to impale your body back onto him and fill up your dripping cunt in a single jolt. You swallow the cry that threatens to leave your lips. You feel so full, your eyes flutter when he starts his pace up again, the sound of wet skin smacking against wet skin filling the apartment. He’s going faster now, his fingers almost painful on your hips as the uses your body for release.
“Look at how wet you are, doll, shit.” Jason’s eyes are heavy with desire as the line between lust and anger starts to dissolve. “You know what I think?” He asks through gritted teeth.
You’re hardly in a state to answer him. The friction of his arousal pounding in and out of you, the weight of his heavy balls slapping against your clit, the sound of him straining and losing control, its making it difficult to focus on much else. As your arousal builds, your brain slows down, unable to comprehend anything other than your boyfriends cock filling you to the brim.
“I think you like when I’m mean. Look at how soaked you are right now, dripping onto my bed like a greedy slut.”
A low, depraved moan vibrates in your throat, only further proving his point.
“Ha, that’s right. Fucking… fucking knew it, god- fuck, taking me so good, so fucking good.” Jason moans your name, repeating it as he senses his release getting closer. His fingers dig deeper into the flesh of your hips, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll have bruises tomorrow.
“Fucking love this, I… I… dammit, I love you, doll. I love you so much.” Jason's filter is gone. He’s lost in the feeling of your soft pussy squeezing him, the wet sounds of your sex bringing him to the brink.
Each hard thrust of his hips has your body recoiling. Your chest falls down to the bed, hands gripping the pillow for dear life as the vigilante relentlessly pounds into you.
“I said... I love you, bitch.” His voice actually wavers slightly at the repeated admission, his emotions peaking and threatening to spill out.
You try to respond to him, you really do. But Jason fucks the air right out of your lungs, moving at a bruising pace, ramming himself so deep in your body that your vision is blurry and nothing even close to a real word has a chance at leaving your lips. You're breathless and cock drunk as he abuses that soft spot inside of you, building up your pleasure to an unbearable level. You're close. And so is he. You tremble and pant as your orgasm hits you hard, a warm fuzzy sensation radiating between your legs where your bodies meet, more of your slick splattering Jason's thighs in droplets from how hard he's fucking you. The sensation of your pussy convulsing around his hard length is the final push he needs.
You attempt to muffle the fragmented scream that falls from your mouth at his last few brutal thrusts. Jason curses, his breath catching as his balls tighten and release his load into you, mixing with your own fluids to create a sticky mess that oozes out around his cock. His hips finally slow, giving a few more gentle pumps as he rides his high. His labored breathing is accompanied by more curses and soft groans. You stay still, reeling from your own release, your mind still fuzzy and not thinking clearly.
Jason leans forward, putting his weight one hand while the other reaches for your flushed face, reaching around to grip your chin firmly. Following his lead, you let him turn your head to finally look back at him. The anger is still there. You're not sure if it will ever go away. But there is a vulnerability in his eyes that wasn't there before. He's still inside of you, hunched over your body, flushed face only inches from yours.
"Say it back."
Your eyes widen at how broken he sounds. It takes a few seconds before you can get your mouth to move, but as soon as you've gathered yourself you respond, you say "I love you, Jason" with as much tenderness as you can muster.
He nods, eyes narrowing, before finally sitting up and removing himself from you. "Good." He mumbles, moving until he's sitting on the edge of the bed and sighing. "Remember that next time you threaten to leave."
"It... it wasn't a threat." You explain, but you're so breathless and fucked-out that you're not sure if he hears you. Relaxing onto the bed, you lay on your side to look at him with worry. The emotions inside of you are tumultuous, confusing you even further as you try and decide if this was progress or not.
"I keep you around because you belong here. With me." Jason stands up, avoiding your anxious gaze and keeping his back to you. "Don't fucking forget it." His feat thud against the floor as he walks over to the bathroom, disappearing and closing the door behind him with a slam.
⭓ masterlist ⭓
please don’t steal my work. don't upload it to another site, use it to train ai, or claim it as your own.
#purple-obsidian#18+ content#ooc jason todd#tw: toxic relationships#tw: angst#tw: referenced torture#angry sex#past trauma#probably new trauma too#traumatized jason todd#ak jason todd x reader#arkham knight x reader#ak jason todd smut#arkham knight smut#ak jason todd x you#arkham knight x you#dc smut#jason todd smut#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#angst#angst angst angst#sid answers#i may have went overboard#thanks for the ask!#batman: arkham knight
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Meaningful Kiss 2
SUMMARY: Would they make Public Displays of Affection? If not, are they protective instead? And how do they show you how much they truly love you through their kisses? 💋
CHARACTERS: Freshmen (Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, Sebek)
TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Romantic Relationship; Kissing; Flirting
WARNING: Spoilers from Ace Suitor Suit Card Vignettes
WORD COUNT: An average of 330 words per character.
COMMENTS: The first Meaningful Kiss with the Overblot Students went so well and so many people liked it that I thought about doing another one with the next most popular group, the Freshmen. And according to a poll more than 80% of the votes were for "OMG! YES PLEASE!" So here it is.
I hope you all enjoy 😘
CONTEXT: For some of them I needed to think first about what the beginning of the relationship would be like. But this would already be how they would act in an established relationship.
Ace is kinda into PDA, but more to tease you and mess with you. He is very comfortable with you. He has no problem putting his arm around your shoulders or waist with a playful smile. Often to try to convince you not to be the voice of reason and join him in trouble.
In public he may hug you a lot, but the only kisses he gives you are on the forehead or cheek. Because on the lips, those are the special ones! And those are reserved for your private moments.
You two are usually alone in Ramshackle Dorm, mainly in the Lounge. You would have many movie sessions where you would make popcorn and snacks together. And it is in these moments, where there is a high chance of you messing with each other, like throwing flour at each other or smearing each other's noses with chocolate, that his most meaningful kisses can happen. In a fun atmosphere.
His most meaningful kisses are playful and grateful. He hugs you like he never wants to lose you. His kisses are passionate, not in a sense of desire, but in a sense of gratitude. You know those moments when something happens that makes a person remember why they love someone else? These are those moments and those kisses. These kisses mean "thank you for being in my life".
However, there are also certain other times when kisses like this can happen. Imagine him getting into trouble and you ending up in trouble too. But of course, instead of handing Ace over, you protect him, help him hide or even hide with him. It is in these moments that you can also receive a passionate kiss from him. “Thank you for being my partner in crime” kisses.
Deuce is very new to these things, so he's not a fan of PDA. But even when he's gotten used to your relationship, he doesn't see PDA as something necessary. You love each other and you only need to prove that to each other.
BUT if you really like it when he hugs you or gives you a kiss on the cheek, he might do it for you. On the lips, those are the special ones and he is very embarrassed to give them to you in public because he needs to be comfortable to kiss you properly.
At first, he will still get flustered easily and probably blush a lot. It's all very new to him. So, even holding your hand will take a little while for him to get used to it. But once enough time has passed, he won't have any problems even linking his arm with you. And also given enough time, he will start to be that boyfriend who gives you a kiss on the cheek every time he greets you and every time he says goodbye.
For his most meaningful kisses there will be special places. Places where he will take you on his Blastcycle (Magical Wheel). If he takes you on a date. These kisses can also happen in sporadic moments where he feels so happy to have you that he forgets everything else.
His kisses are passionate, urgent, like it's something he needs to give you. You know when he gets so angry that his ex-delinquent self shows up? Now think about that intensity and lack of control, but with love and affection. He is more sentimental than rational, so I believe he is the type of person who is not ashamed to tell the people closest to him how important they are. And he won't think twice to decide whether to show you how much he loves you or not in a romantic moment.
Jack tries not to do PDA, or at least he tried more in the beginning. It's all still very new to him and he knows that you are his partner for life, so there is plenty of time to get used to the relationship.
Wolf beastmen only have one special someone, ever. They choose a single partner to care for. He chose you, the same way you chose him and now he is committed to you for life. And both he and you expect this to be a long time, so there's no need to rush anything.
He's not much into PDA, but eventually he'll feel more comfortable holding hands with you or letting you link your arm through his. At first, any kiss was still awkward in public, but after a while he ended up having no problem giving you a quick kiss on the cheek if you asked, or if he was very happy. And only some time after this phase, he will feel more comfortable giving you a quick kiss on the lips, usually to say goodbye.
Why are all his kisses in public quick? Because the slow ones are the private ones. Despite his tough wolf exterior, with you, especially in private, he can be a puppy. Rare are the times when he isn’t wagging his tail when he's with you. Or smiling, even if it's just a little. He likes to cuddle! The best moments alone with you are when you can rest in each other's arms. You can pet him. Please do.
He gives you sweet, light and lingering kisses on your cheeks and lips, but the most meaningful ones are a mix of gentleness and excitement. Do you know when dogs are so happy that they get excited? Think of that excitement, but gentler, more caring, more careful. He wants to show you how much he loves you, but he is also aware of his strength and that you are a human, less strong than a beastman/woman.
Being faithful to the character and his complexes, I don't believe Epel would have a relationship with someone more masculine than himself. So I believe his significant other would be more feminine than him or a girl.
If you're not a girl, it might take longer for him to get to this stage. But if you are, at first he may see you as a bit of a trophy, just a little. You will find him more cocky than usual and he won't have any problems with PDA, quite the opposite, he wants to show everyone your relationship. He'll put his arm around you a lot, whether it's around your shoulders or your waist. He'll try to get over the fact that you're taller than him if you are, but if you're shorter, he might feel like the protective boyfriend he so wants to be.
It will be a rocky start. And you will have to have a talk with him about the sudden change in attitude towards you. He will apologize a lot and reveal that yes, he is proud of himself for being in a relationship with you, because he is proud to be someone you can trust and fall in love with. The last thing he wants is to be disrespectful to you. This is still new for him, so can you help him be better?
After this beginning of learning, you will discover that yes, he genuinely likes PDA. He is a prideful person. Proud of himself for the person he is becoming with you and proud of you for... everything. And he wants to show everyone how much you deserve his affection.
He can hold your hand, hug you, and give you kisses on the cheek, but kisses on the lips are special, and less confident, at least at first. He has no experience and he doesn't want to ruin the moment. But once he gets used to it, you'll find that his kisses are just as sweet, cute and delicate as the appearance he's learning to embrace.
Good Luck! Sebek is... intense, but slow. Especially because he follows Lilia's “advices” too much. According to Lilia, once he falls in love with someone, he must pen them a letter. With a fountain pen since that and stationery are the true weapons in matters of love. He shall pen his feelings, slip a photo of his smiling visage into every third missive, and repeat this until the twenty-fifth full moon.
Of course you won't be able to bear this for long and you'll have to have a talk with him and Lilia. He’ll ask Lilia what to do from now on, and seeing that things are real now, he'll probably just reply: "Whatever you feel you should do. Trust your heart, but never overlapping yours with (Y/N)’s. That's it! Good luck."
Just like he does with Malleus, Sebek's way of showing that he likes someone is by admiring and protecting them. So, at first it will be just that, he will be close to you and you will receive many words of affirmation.
However, even after he becomes more comfortable with you, you will find that he is indifferent to PDA. At least PDA initiated by him. But if you say you want to hold hands, a hug, a kiss, whatever it is, your wishes are orders! Literally!
In that case, he will never have any problem doing any of the things you ask. Do you want to walk hand in hand? He will extend his hand like a gentleman asking his date to dance. Do you want a hug? He'll open his arms and let you in, maybe even give you a kiss on the forehead if you're feeling down.
Do you want a kiss? What kind of kiss? On the forehead? Granted! On the cheek? For sure! On the lips? Then you have to be careful. Remember that he never hides how much he likes and admires someone. He doesn't exactly have one kiss more special than the other. he will give you any kind of kiss you wish. Like I said, your wishes are orders and you will feel it in his kisses. His most meaningful kisses are all, because they are all to make you happy.
If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX
#Twisted Wonderland#twst#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#twst imagines#twst fluff#Twisted Wonderland Fluff#Ace Trappola#Ace Trappola x Reader#Ace x Reader#Deuce Spade#Deuce Spade x Reader#Deuce x Reader#Jack Howl#Jack Howl x Reader#Jack x Reader#Epel Felmier#Epel Felmier x Reader#Epel x Reader#Sebek Zigvolt#Sebek Zigvolt x Reader#Sebek x Reader
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yandere! death metal singer x fem reader
Andrew completely fits the stereotype of having an extremely intimidating exterior whilst possessing the sweetest of personalities. His skin is entirely enveloped within incredibly lengthy and vibrant tattoos, but not only has his skin been a canvas for many tattoo artists, it's been pierced into as well. His ears have been stretched by two inches and his nose has been decorated by a nose ring that shines beneath the moonlight.
Andrew never lets the fact that he's a man in his 20's stop him from behaving like a child with a sweet tooth in a candy store when he's around you. His ivory, tattooed hands always seem to find their home on your body no matter where the two of you are. He'll use every chance he gets to constantly remind you of the love he harvests for you through his touch, it's to the point where you feel his presence even when the two of you are apart.
He looks at you as if he's the moon catching a first glance at the ever-burning sun during an eclipse, it's always like he's seeing you for the first time again.
Can't seem to get enough of you with the way he's constantly leaning towards your touch, similar to an awaiting bud looking to drown itself under the rays of the sun. His ringed fingers come up to softly cup the side of your face before leaning forward to place his mouth over your plump, glossed lips. Forever will he be addicted to being able to place his claim over your soft, perfumed flesh.
Andrew is no stranger to smoking joints or rolling up alongside his friends, and he's also a self proclaimed social drinker. However, if you simply have no interest in getting high or drunk he'll keep that part of himself away from you. He'll actually cut down on his drinking & smoking even if you tell him it's completely fine with you. He won't completely quit but he limits himself so he'll be able to keep a careful eye on you when the two of you are out and about.
Keeps Polaroids of you in his black rhinestone studded wallet and holds onto them whenever he's missing you.
He is constantly babying you and treating you as if you're a princess that he's slaughtered an entire kingdom in order to have. Andrew quite literally calls you: "my pretty baby", "my princess", "sweetheart", "baby", etc.
The undeniably intense nature of his band's music is incredibly fitting to the fire-filled love he harbors for you, he burns for you. Before, now, and forever more will he burn for you.
Has written several songs in dedication to you and even released one with your name as the title.
Looking towards the backstage area as he's on stage and seeing you smile at him gives him a certain high that no drug ever could. He couldn't feel luckier that he got to you before a no good motherfucker put their grimy paws on you, he goes to bed and wakes up with a smile on his face knowing you're his and he's yours.
He is constantly posting little photos of you on his feed as well as his story, practically taunting everyone with the fact that you're his baby. The fans of the band will always taunt him with comments under their posts saying: "This is cool n all but where is y/n...", "oh yay a new album...where is our mom at though." You will always find him in your comment section and he replies to your story with the cutest remarks + corniest emojis.
he knows it makes you giggle so he keeps doing it.
He has your name tattooed on his chest as well as a lipstick mark on the side of his neck since you're so obsessed with loving on his neck tattoos.
He owns two cats that he says you're the mother of and has immense amounts of photos where the cats and you are all cuddled up. He has to contain himself with the extreme surge of cuteness aggression that consumes him when he sees you doing absolutely anything.
Andrew has always had an interest in culinary and not only is he talented when it comes to cooking but he's practically a wizard when it comes to baking. He'll observe what dishes/desserts you take a liking to and will immediately take it upon himself to learn how to make it.
Spoiler alert: He already knew how to make it.
This results in him constantly spoiling you with the savoriest of dishes & sweetest of pastries, and don't even get me started on the delicious dinners he whips up every single night for the two of you.
He's memorized how you like your coffee and orders your usual every time he's in a coffee shop if he doesn't have the time to make it himself.
sprays your perfume on his clothing as well as his bedding.
Has a photo of you and him as his lock screen.
Andrew knows this isn't a good mindset to have but he frankly doesn't feel as bad as he probably should have to change his point of view. He views you as his helpless baby girl who he needs to protect against anything and everything, he's too paranoid to let you go out alone, or do anything alone for that matter. He views absolutely everyone as a threat to your well-being and that isn't just the case for unknown men but for women, as well. Andrew doesn't care if you're heading to a girl's night out, he'll come along, too! He'll be as quiet as a mouse for the entire night with a giant hand on the inside of your thigh, silently listening in on your 'girl talk'.
pays for your nails and loves when you get them done as he's able to feel you comfortably scratch at his head, lulling him to bed. On the topic of sleep, he absolutely loves being the big spoon when the two of you cuddle but his heart melts when you plead with him to finally be the little spoon for once because you "want to take care of him".
Andrew can barely contain himself when he feels your lips start to kiss at his neck, splashing cherry colored splotches on the surface of his tattoos.
He has the attitude equivalent to a Labrador but as he's human just like absolutely everyone he has his limit. His overly energetic demeanor doesn't mean he doesn't do absolutely everything in his power to prove to you that you'll only ever need him. he can protect you, he is the man for you, you can depend on HIM for everything.
#yandere oc x you#yandere headcanons#yandere x you#yandere oc#yandere oneshot#yandere oc x y/n#yandere oc x reader#yandere#obsessive yandere#obsessive love#yandere male#male yandere#oc x you#male oc x reader#oc x reader
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HIS SUNSHINE • S. REID X READER
implied fem reader (self-referential when talking about women but can be ignored); fluff; sunshine!reader x grumpy!spencer; spencer realizes he is in love with reader; implied years of friendship + building to this; kissing; promises; slight angst (crying, mild insecurity); reader has a fear of storms; ~1.5k
part of @reiderwriter's writing challenge using grumpy x sunshine; oh, oh; and libra (modified somewhat to fit the scene more)
Spencer could feel your pulse calm as he rubs his thumb over your wrist. It was an odd sensation, someone physically relaxing under you and your attention. It wasn’t unwelcome, though, and he felt himself match his breathing to your slow exhales as you steadied yourself and your emotions.
He brought his thumb up and wiped your tear stained cheeks, rubbing the skin gently. You lean into the touch, nuzzling into his palm. He felt like his heart might stop when you let out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering shut. He could smell your shampoo with you this close, a coconut smell and a hint of vanilla. It was… pleasant.
“Better?”
You nod wordlessly. Your breath tickles his skin but he can’t bring himself to move away. He jumps when both of your hands find his free one and you intertwine your fingers with his. You inhale deeply before lifting your head, and the redness to your eyes makes his heart ache.
“Thank you.” Your voice is scratchy and Spencer smiles sadly, tracing his fingers up to lightly ghost over your temples and brows, a barely there touch with just enough pressure that you relax again.
“You don’t need to thank me.”
“I woke you up at one a.m. because I walked to your apartment in a thunderstorm just so I wouldn’t be alone. I think I do.”
Spencer smiles. “You’re welcome any time.”
“Really?” Your voice is small. He realizes he’s never made clear that you’re not crossing boundaries when you visit when you ask “I’m not intruding?”
“You’re not Morgan,” he teases lightly, and your smile is like a ray of sun finally breaking through a gray overcast. Everything is warm again. “I don’t mind. Really.” His hand has finally stopped and dropped back to his side, but you keep your fingers tightly twined with his.
“Why is that, Dr. Reid?”
“That I don’t mind you being here?” He can hear the confusion in his voice clearly. Why would he mind? It’s a sign you feel safe, with him, and you’re good company. His favorite company.
“Why am I an exception?” Your voice is infinitely small, and he almost misses the question. It drips with vulnerability and his chest aches.
Spencer doesn’t answer for a moment. He knows it’s just a few seconds, but it feels like time stops as he looks at you. Your small smile still plays at your lips, gentle curls to the corner of your mouth; a sparkle is returning to your eyes; your face, puffy from tears and marked with tear streaks is as beautiful as ever.
He’s in love with you.
He doesn’t know how he didn’t realize before. But he can’t imagine not being in love with you either, head tilting and mouth parting as he hopelessly tries to find words that won’t overwhelm you the way the revelation is overwhelming him.
Spencer’s eyes flick to your lips again and he realizes he wants to kiss you.
It’s wrong, he knows that. You’re friends. Coworkers before that. You came to him in a moment of fear and anxiety, desperate for support and seeking solace in him. You wanted a safe space that he could and did provide. He would be taking advantage of your emotional state if he were to spring these feelings on you, especially since he only just realized them himself.
And yet he wants to.
“I—” Spencer clears his throat. “You… you’re comforting, to me. It’s never too much. It doesn’t feel imposing because you will and always have respected my boundaries.” You always treat me well. I want you. Nothing could bother me beyond superficially and momentarily because I am hopelessly attached to you. “I make exceptions for you because you make them for me.”
You laugh softly. “So our relationship is only transactional?” There’s humor in your voice. You’re messing with him, and he can’t bring himself to care.
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
Your brow furrows. He wonders if he’s ruined the moment.
“Do you want it to be transactional?”
“No!” He answers too quickly, too emphatically, barely able to process his own words. “God, no,”
“Wow,” you drawl, all anxiety and tension gone from you. “You’re calling on God.”
Spencer can feel his face burn. He pulls his hand from your hold. Words escape him.
“Spencer.” Your tone draws his gaze to your face immediately. “I need you to be honest with me.” He nods before he can think to reject you — not that he’d deny you any request. He never can. “What are you thinking about?”
He studies you carefully, breathes out “you” before he can psych himself out of speaking. “Why I make exceptions.”
“Care to share?”
You’re so close to him. He can feel the warmth of your chest inches from him. Can see flecks of color in your eyes, could even count your eyelashes. He has half a mind to do so.
“I don’t think it’s appropriate,” Spencer whispers softly, shoulders relaxing as you toy with the sleeve of his hoodie. “You were just crying.”
“So it’s inappropriate?” You wiggle your brows and look up at him, eyes innocent and bright. Beautiful.
“In a sense.”
You smile, innocence to your expression vanishing. “So you want to sleep with me.”
Spencer coughs. “I didn’t— __, I didn’t say that! Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“You don’t want to? I’m hurt.” You’re grinning. “Here I was, thinking I’m irresistible.”
“I didn’t say I don’t…” he trails off.
You’ve cornered him. You have a Cheshire Cat grin.
“Will you run away screaming if I tell you a secret?”
“Depends. Are you going to tell me you kill pretty women and I need to make a break for it?”
Spencer laughs. “No.” The humor fades quickly, and he can feel his pulse pounding. Hear his heartbeat racing in his ears. “I love you.” His voice hitches on the words. “I’m— I just realized I’m in love with you.”
“Well, it took you long enough.”
He can’t think of a smart reply. He can’t think much at all. All he smells is you and your shampoo and bodywash, and he tastes vanilla chapstick when your lips press gently to his. You don’t give him time to kiss back.
“Are you sure?” Your fingers trace his cheekbones and his head is swimming.
“Sure about what?”
“That you want me. I mean, I was crying on your couch for an hour because of a storm. Do you really want to deal with all of that?” All of you. You’re asking for reassurance you’re not a burden.
As much as he wants to kiss you, he doesn’t. “I want you as you are. If that’s what you want to know,” Spencer whispers. “You are enough for me.”
“And if I’m not enough?”
“For me or for yourself?”
“... both.”
“You are. You will be,” Spencer ducks his head to kiss a scar on your collarbone, a knife mark from one of the first cases you were on with the BAU. “You’ll find it. The balance between who you want and need to be. What you want others to see you as,” your fingers twirl the hairs at the nape of his neck and he’s hyper aware of your touch, buzzing with anticipation of more contact. “For now, you have to learn to be satisfied with who you are.”
You swallow. Nod. Blink back tears again.
“And you’ll have to be satisfied with how I am. With all my scars and flaws.”
You smile. “I think you’re perfect.”
Spencer rests his forehead on your shoulder. “I’m not. No one can be. As long as you promise to be how you’ve always been with me, then, yes, I’m sure.”
“So you don’t want anything to change?” The lightness is strained. You’re too emotional for it to land, but he doesn’t call you on it.
“I’d prefer if you kissed me.”
And you do. He basks in your warmth, your sunshine. You break his dark clouds and his barriers. It’s enveloping, a heat and comfort. Familiar. It’s like you were destined to slot against him, warm him from the inside out. He can taste your tears. A sun shower. He can’t pull back, soaking up your affections like a plant. You’re smiling despite the way your breath hitches from your emotions, and he knows you’re happy. Overwhelmed. It’s everything and not enough.
He traces your spine.
“I love you. I love you. I love you.” His heart matches his mumbled words, beating to your tempo. It was years coming, in the making, years of your smiles and sweetness breaking down his walls and becoming part of his world in every way.
And yet the rhythm is familiar, as natural as breathing.
Spencer is tired of being upset with the world. And whenever he’s with you, he isn’t. Can’t be. He just hopes he can provide the same light you do.
i am trying. idk.. it's a fic!!! that's all i got.
#my works#reidersshootingstars#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fic#spencer reid#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid fluff
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What changes do you need to make in order to grow as a person?
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊
How to choose a pile?
Close your eyes and take a deep breath and ask the angels to show you the right pile for you and open your eyes. The first pile that catches your attention is the right pile for you.
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THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR LOVE AND SUPPORT 🫶🏻💞
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊
Pile 1
Stop thinking and start doing. I see that you plan out things: you plan your workouts, your schedule, and how you will spend your day to be more productive, but you never actually put actions into your plans. You may be stuck in this cycle. I also see that some of you may procrastinate a lot, or some of you may have ADHD. You want to do things, but you don't have the energy to put actions into them. This is something you want to work on, but it seems beyond your control. You need to start slowly, doing one thing at a time. You don't need to do everything on your list; just start by doing one thing each day and increase the number of tasks every week or every day. It depends on you. You can change yourself by simply doing things you have already planned. You have the blueprint; now you just need to follow the instructions. You don't need to plan anything because you already have the plan. You just need to put actions into it. Sometimes you don't see the progress because there is little progress. You are not seeing progress because there is no progress at all, and you are not putting in enough effort to see it.
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊
Pile 2
Stop thinking that you already know everything. A person who thinks they know everything learns nothing. You are still young, and there are many things you need to learn to get through life. You may think you are mature enough to say anything based on your own judgments, but who are you fooling? There may have been moments when you were right about certain things, but that is not always the case. You need to learn, and only by learning can you grow as a person. Be aware of what is going on around you; do not be oblivious because you may have the tendency to ignore your surroundings to feel better, but that is not something you can always do. Sometimes you have to deal with things, and sometimes you will have to deal with some really nasty things. “Hope for the best, prepare for the worst”; this has to be a motto for life. I am not saying this because you will have a difficult life; I am saying this because I want you to be prepared for absolutely anything that is thrown at you. Honor the people around you; appreciate every person you meet, learn something from them, and see how drastically your life changes for the better.
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊
Pile 3
Stop self-sacrificing. Stop doing too much for others, especially for those who don't deserve it and who don't appreciate your actions and sacrifices. All your life, you have been a warrior. You have taken the lead and done things; you have been the logical one. But now it's time to choose yourself. I'm not saying that being a warrior is a bad thing; it is actually a great thing, but you need to balance that out. You are too logical, and you neglect your emotions. This may be why you are not able to deal with emotional people because you are not using that side of yourself. You have taken on the leadership role, but sometimes even a leader needs rest. Be more balanced and align your rational side with your emotional side. It's almost as if all your life you had the desire to fly in the sky, to be at the top, and you have done everything to achieve it, which is really amazing. But in all that, you have forgotten your roots. You have forgotten that even birds who are capable of flying for days and months require rest. (I don't know if that's right or wrong but that felt poetic lol) Well, some can hunt, eat, and sleep while flying, but that's another topic. You got the point, right?
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊
#tarot reading#pick a card#tarot cards#free readings#free tarot#tarot#pick a pile#tarotblr#pick a picture#pick a photo#paid readings#tarot deck#advice#self concept#self growth#spiritual community#tarot witch#witch community#tarotwithavi#tarotwisdom#tarot readings#tarotcommunity
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I always find it strange when people lament that Rayla and Callum don't have much in common (implying they're a bad ship) when, to me, they're one of the most realistic portrayal of friends and lovers I've seen across various genres.
They very clearly enjoy each other's company. They have a similar quirky style of gallows humour. They like teasing each other, and they bounce ideas off each other. They fiercely love and care for their friends and family.
I mean, Callum just randomly starts spouting poetry at her, and does Rayla make fun of him or make him feel weird or self-conscious? Nope. She not only knows what he's talking about, she engages with it.
I suppose on the surface they don't have much in common. Callum loves his books and research, and Rayla’s more action orientated, but once you dig deeper, the foundation of their relationship is built on mutual admiration and respect.
And that is what's important. That's what long-lasting relationships are built on.
Your partner may not have the same taste in books or activities as you, but do they still engage with you about your interests? Do they support you indulging in them or spending time doing them? Do they respect you and your differences?
That love and support is what stands the test of time.
#honestly people grow and change over the years#what you like now might be massively different to your interests in 10/20 years#if similar interests is the major basis for your relationship it could become an issue if those interests change#is there something else deeper there? coz otherwise you might end up in trouble you know?#i love their friendship#it is so realistic to me#the dragon prince#tdp#rayllum#rayla#callum#tdp rayla#tdp callum
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Double Delight
Pairing: Lizard monster x human reader
Summary: your mate returns from his hunt, eager to fill you with his twin cocks and satisfy your desires.
Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, monster smut, lizard smut, oral (fem+male), double 🍆🍆, double pen in pussy and ass, lots of come. Don’t like, don’t read please.
It had been a while since you’d left your village and mated with your lizard boyfriend. You lived together in a cave you’d decorated to fit your needs. The people of the village killed and hated monsters even if the creatures did nothing to harm them. You were happy with your mate, even if he was a lizard monster. He was kinder and sweeter than anyone had ever been with you. Your life with him was filled with loving care and sexual bliss.
The sound of your mate’s voice as he entered the cave made you turn around. His massive form filled the space, his reptilian eyes gleaming as they saw you. He was a handsome creature, three heads taller than you, his skin a mosaic of vibrant greens, blues and oranges. His eyes were bright amber, his arms and legs powerful and muscular, with sharp claws. He walked in his back legs, his tail was long and sinuous, slithering like a serpent and tipped with a sharp arrow.
You noticed that his hunt had been successful. In his hands, he she was carrying the evening bounty, two plump rabbits. He set them down on the nearby table and walked over to you, his massive lizard form towering above you.
“Won’t you greet me back home, little mate?”
You grinned. When you had told him about the custom where humans kiss their loved ones goodbye and welcomed them home with another kiss, your lizard mate had become obsessed with you doing this to him.
Smiling softly, you raised yourself on your tip toes and opened your mouth. He didn’t have lips to kiss you with so he let his long forked tongue brushed inside, flicking out to taste and feed from your mouth. You moaned and gripped his arms, and he pulled you down to the ground, carefully moving you so that you were straddling him. Tenderly, you kissed his scaly face, slowly wiggling down the chiseled length of his body.
“Welcome home, baby,” you said and heard him groan.
You peppered more kisses and touches along his thick neck, his torso, then in between his powerful thighs where his protective slit was. His cocks were hiding inside, only the flared tips visible. Your mate sported not one but twin dicks, exactly the same in appearance. Leaning in, you gave kitten licks to the tips of his cocks then sucked them in your mouth. Slowly, the two shafts emerged from their hiding place and sought the suction of your mouth.
Gods how you loved to worship his dicks.
They were several inches long and self-lubricant with jagged ridges from base to the flared tip. They were pretty thick, too, as you couldn’t wrap your hands around each shaft. You pumped one cock while suckling the other, then alternated between the two. You took each shaft deep in your throat, gagging only slightly. Your mate let out a low, rumbling growl, vibrating from deep within his chest. His cocks hardened further and with a hand on your nape, he fucked your mouth deeper, causing you to moan and stretch your lips to fit him.
“Good mate,” he drawled, his eyes on you.“Fuck— ahnnn… so good, look at your pretty lips.”
You could only blabber in reply, your mouth filled. Wet, slurping noises echoed as you worked your mouth and tongue all over his length, sucking and licking. His growls intensified, punctuated by sharp moans and controlled thrusts of his hips as he cried out your name and spilled his cum into your mouth. You latched your lips atop both cockheads and swallowed fast, it was too much and some of it dribbled down your neck.
Despite the violent explosion of his dicks, he rolled you on your back, hunger burning in his eyes as he tore off your clothes. He exposed your body and marveled at your petite form. Wherever he was scaly, you were creamy smooth, wherever he was hard you were soft and pliable. His tongue tasted your round tits and flicked the pink nipples. You whined as he travelled low, licking your belly, your inner thighs and with a primal growl, nuzzled his nose in your pussy and asshole. He growled, the beast in him satisfied; you still smelled of him, from the morning fuck he’d given you earlier.
“Please…” you could only whimper as his tongue probed your pussy.
“Such a good mate for me, dripping with my cum in both her naughty holes,” he praised, his long tongue sliding deep and curving inside you.
“Yesssss,” you clutched his head, careful of his scales.
Holding your legs open with his hands, he fucked you with his tongue, his hard textured appendage rubbing that sensitive spot inside you. You arched frantically against him, your stomach quivering. Your release hit you so hard that you saw stars flying in your vision. You rode the waves of ecstasy, trembling with aftershocks while he pushed your bum up and closer to his tongue, fucking you still.
Once the haze of pleasure faded, you felt a finger toying around the rosebud of your asshole. A long time ago he’d stared cutting at least one nail short, so he could finger you without hurting you. You whimpered, still oversensitive but he didn’t stop, he never stopped pleasuring you. The thick finger pushed past the tight resistance and you rocked your hips, meeting his thrusts.
“That’s it, mate” he said, watching your tight hole being forced open around his monstrous finger. “Fuck yourself on my finger, you look so beautiful like this.”
“Mnnn… more, want you.”
He suckled each breast, licking around the flushed areolas.
“My pretty mate wants my cocks again?”
“Hmmmm… ple-ase, fill me up,” you whined, panting heavily. “Inside, deep… hnnn.”
With a hint of a smile against your breast, he cupped your asscheeks and stood up with you in his arms. As he pushed you against the wall, you locked your feet and hands at his nape, careful to avoid the spikes on his back. You felt one hand cradling your back, protecting you from the wall while his finger thrust up your ass again.
Grinding his hips, he palmed his twin cocksheads and positioned them against your slick pussy. You moaned and wiggled your waist, giving him the okay to do this. Gently, he lowered you down on his shafts, your walls stretching around the incredible thickness and accepting them both to the hilt. His shafts invade you so deep that the tips kissed your cervix.
He groaned, his cocks throbbing inside you. “Fuck, such a tight little pussy.”
“Please,” you clutched him for dear life, you were so filled, so stretched. It was too much and at the same time not enough.
“Easy, little one. I don’t want to hurt you.”
He fucked you slowly, pumping his hips and each time he pulled out, his dicks delved just a bit further in. You hugged him for dear life, moaning and panting while your whole frame bounced with each quickening thrust. Your soaking cunt swallowed his cocks over and over again, the plap-plap of skin ringing out in the room.
You came again, pussy seizing around his twin lengths, walls clenching hard as you rode your climax. He kept fucking you through your orgasm, turning you into a moaning, sobbing mess. As you undulated together, a particularly enthusiastic roll of your hips caused his cocks to slip out. You let out a sound of protest at the emptiness but your mate was back inside you, only this time each cock pressing in a different hole. His primary cock filled your soaked pussy, while the other nudged deep inside your puckered hole.
“Want you to carry my scent in both holes, little mate,” he growled. It was a lizard thing, a possessive thing that you liked very much.
Filled in both holes was intense and sent shivers down your spine. Your nipples rubbed against his lizard chest, tits squeezed delightfully until he decided he wanted a view, so he leaned back and watched as your red-marked tits bounced with each thrust. You both stared down as he dragged his cocks out, both shafts frothing with your juices— before he thrust back into your holes. Again and again, his relentless thrusts warmed and filled your body, drawing you to another climax.
“Going…ngh... to—"
“Let go, sweet mate," he licked up your pulse. “Let go and squeeze those perfect little holes around my dicks.”
At his command, your pussy and ass clenched, your orgasm making you frantic. You wrapped yourself around him, your holes fluttering and squeezing around his dicks. Thrusting to the hilt, your mate let out a monster screech and exploded, spurting ropes and ropes of thick white cum inside you. You milked him dry, collapsing on his strong chest. You tried not to sleep, but your eyes felt heavy. You drowsed on his shoulder as he took you to the bed, and you slept peacefully with you head over his chest.
I hope you liked this! Any kind of support is appreciated. Reblogging and comments even more so! 🖤
#lizard monster x reader#lizard monster#lizard smut#lizard x reader#lizard monster x human#monster x female reader#monster x y/n#monster x you#monster x reader#monster x human#monster smut#monster fucker#monster lover#monster boyfriend#monster fudger#monster fuqqer#monster romance#terat0philliac#teratophillia
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god, i will never get over episode 5.
louis and armand are two forces of nature colliding and collapsing into something explosive. they are two performers acting out a scene for three over and over, the void growing larger and threatening to swallow them. they are vying for control and companionship, both real and imagined, circling each other in the prison of their desire for him.
they settled for each other, and that’s fine, this is fine, they’re all FINE, but really, the thing both of them want more than anything in the world is his love, and louis is the one who has it, even though armand was there first. and louis may be cruel and self-destructive at times, but at least he’s locked in there with him, at least there’s someone to serve, at least he’s not alone, that’s something armand can work with.
but when louis rejects him too, when he attempts a prison break twice in the same night, when he makes it clear that armand ranks below death, the decades of grief and rage and resentment smelt up everything around them, including a young daniel molloy. daniel, who is irrevocably changed by an event he cannot remember, who has been attributing the scar on his neck to the wrong man for almost half a century. armand removes daniel’s memories of him but leaves behind the imprint of his teeth in daniel’s neck like a brand. it says, you will not remember this, but this is the night i make both of you mine.
armand becomes a myth-maker. i can make this simple, he says, there is no way out of this and you do not want to leave. there is no other man waiting for you, because he only loves himself, because he didn’t love me so he cannot love you. you want me because i will shape myself into anything you desire, and even when you don’t want me, your memories will tell you that you do. i am protecting you from yourself, because before me it was all pain, remember? i left just enough for you to reach the correct conclusion. i am protecting you even when it looks like i’m protecting myself. i saved the boy, remember? you wanted to kill him but i stopped you. you are dangerous when you want something. i will always stop you. you are here, and i am at your service, and we can do this forever. i am of great use to you. you want me. you want me even though he didn’t, and that’s enough. you are safe because i don’t have to be alone.
#iwtv#interview with the vampire#amc interview with the vampire#amc iwtv#amc iwtv spoilers#iwtv spoilers#armand de romanus#louis de pointe du lac#daniel molloy#lestat de lioncourt#loumand#danlou#iwtv season 2#lesmand#loustat#FAILMARRIAGE!!!!! *kills myself*#long post
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Where Your Feet Pass [2]
general masterlist | taglist | series masterlist
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Pregnant!Reader
nothing but bets and wagers
cw: depression, stress, medical situations, sexism, minor hurt, minor comfort
wc: 4.4k
You miss waking up to the scent of coffee.
There was nothing better than sliding out of bed and slinking off into the kitchen, still blinking the sleep from your eyes, where you would quickly be greeted by a fresh caffeine rush. Invigorating. Tantalizing. A delicious, earthy roast would coat your tongue as you savored the warmth of the mug seeping into the palm of your hands. Birds would chirp outside the window as your husband would approach you from behind where loving arms would wrap around your waist. Soft lips on your earlobe. A whispered promise. Rough stubble against your jaw.
It’s all a sour memory now — something that makes your stomach twist and flutter, and it’s not due to the tiny life growing inside of you. Now, you wake up in an empty bed. The only aroma that greets you is the strange mixture of a stuffy room and the rotten city air that drifts through your open bedroom window. Stale. Decaying. Getting out of bed is difficult now that you don’t have anything to look forward to. If it weren’t for the growing weight on your bladder, and your eighteen week ultrasound appointment, you probably wouldn’t have gotten out of bed at all today.
Fresh cut flowers greet you as you exit your bedroom, and their blooms attempt to fight off the stale scent of your new apartment. They’re a beautiful gift from your supervisor, Lilah, that you received yesterday afternoon — complete with a get well soon card and everything. Curly handwriting. Soft, vibrant petals. They’re the only bit of color that exists in your otherwise pale and barren kitchen. You try to use it as a reminder to stay calm and positive; it’s certainly a better reminder than the hospital discharge papers you had sitting there previously.
The last week has been rough. More than rough. Despite your best efforts at decorating, your new apartment has become a prison. White cell walls — stuck in solitary confinement. Alone with your vicious thoughts. There’s nothing more in the world that you want other than to just go outside and enjoy the new summer weather, but with the way your hormones and emotions have been treating you, you’ve realized that’s not the best idea. If you go to the market and see a sweet husband with his kids one more time, you don’t think you’ll ever recover.
What was supposed to be you on a wonderful, calming medical leave has quickly turned into terrible, lonely self isolation.
No matter; everything feels less lonesome when you’re surrounded by good art. Or, maybe you’re still alone, but the colorful paintings you’ve spent half the morning hanging up in your studio are at least a bit comforting. That’s why it’s created, isn’t it? Not only to convey emotion and share a story, but ultimately to make the painter feel less alone? Brilliant turquoise water and soft lilac flowers; Monet’s work has been some of your favorites for as long as you can remember. It certainly brightens up the room, at least. You’re sure you remembered reading somewhere in your lease that you weren’t supposed to use nails to hang things up, but at this point you don’t care. If you get charged extra, you’ll just take it out of Isaac’s account.
Lord knows the bastard can afford it.
All goes well until you’re trying to hang up The Water Lily Pond. The minimal amount of nails you were able to steal from your soon-to-be-ex-husband have run dry, and you’ve still got more paintings to hang. Its ethereal bridge and rippling river will have to wait to be displayed in all its printed glory. No matter. You’ve got to get headed out for your appointment anyway, and maybe on your way back you can pick some up at a hardware store.
That thought makes you pause, and you stop in the center of your half decorated room. Your tongue shrivels up in your mouth. Prunes. Cracks. Turns to a dust that threatens to choke you. Maybe you’d be better off asking someone if they have extras instead.
There’s not much for you to write on. Just simple scraps of paper and old hospital papers you keep around yet can’t stand to look at anymore. You blindly rip off the corners of one of these spare pages and quickly jot down your message:
Hey, do you have any extra nails you’re willing to part with?
- 209
You don’t bother to sign off with your name. You doubt anyone remembers it, anyway, and your apartment number is plenty recognizable. All packed and prepared for your appointment, you make a quick drop by apartment 205 and slide it under Grandma’s door. You’re not sure if an old lady like her would even have what you’re looking for, but between her and Kyle, she’s certainly the less embarrassing one to ask. As soon as that slip of paper is out of sight, you turn on your heels, walk to the end of the hallway — bypassing the still broken lift — and try not to think about anything.
It’s something you fail at. Miserably. Clear mind turns foggy, you think of everything. How stuffy the bus is. How the perfume the receptionist is wearing makes your stomach upset. Synthetic. Strong. How dark the ultrasound room is. The hum of the machines. The warmth from the computer. There’s something sharp that itches your skin in the gown they have you change into, and you don’t like the feeling of the warm gel sliding along your stomach. The tech is putting too much pressure on your stomach. It’s uncomfortable. Pressing. You want someone to hold your hand.
Someone should be holding your hand, but you’re alone. Even though you know it’s better that way — isolated in that room, abandoned — it doesn’t ease the sting. A wave of thoughts wash over you in a salty assault as you wonder what it would have been like if Isaac was there. If he still loved you. If he hadn’t broken you the way that he did. Would his eyes light up at that black and white screen? Would he talk about how proud he is of you? It’s a voracious want — to be loved in the way you always thought you were; the way you should be.
“Would you like to know the gender?”
Gentle and soft, the tech’s voice pulls you out of your mind and you’re brought back to that dark room. Her eyes are trained on the screen as she taps away, taking measurements and tracking progress, yet they flicker over to you, waiting for your answer.
The lump that’s been forming in your throat all morning snakes down your throat painfully slow as you swallow. Before he had decided to get his dick wet, Isaac had insisted that the two of you do a proper gender reveal. Neither of you would find out the gender until later. He’d order catering, invite — mostly his — family; there would be pictures and glorious celebration. Proper excitement for the life the two of you would welcome into the world in a few months —
But now…
“Please,” you say with a smile.
But now, it’s just you.
Giddy, the tech carefully turns the monitor towards you while trying to maintain her angle on your stomach. She’s still pressing vexingly hard on your bladder, but you try not to think about it as you take in the sight of your unborn child as the image pulses on the screen. Dancing in fluid, the little blip floats across the screen with still forming appendages and round head. They’re still surprisingly small for how much room they’re taking up; rearranging your organs, pushing out so terribly on your stomach. Your throat constricts. This is your child.
Yours, and only yours.
“This is the head here, as I’m sure you guessed,” she continues, finger carefully ghosting over the monitor. “Arms, legs, torso… properly formed skull, kidneys look good, lungs are coming in nicely… missing those extra bits, so I’m happy to tell you that you’ve got a healthy little girl cooking in there.”
A girl.
You watch her on the screen. Moisture pricks the corners of your eyes, makes them sting bitterly. How joy can elicit such odd pain is beyond you, but you ignore it in favor of attempting to savor the moment. Her legs kick, and you feel that flutter inside of you. Butterfly wings. Gentle rain on glass. You smile, and it’s just as bitter as everything else brewing inside of you, but your laugh smothers it with honey.
“You’ll let me keep prints, right?” you ask.
The technician nods her head, and ignores the way your voice cracks. “Of course. I’ll print several copies for friends and family, if you’d like?”
“Please.”
Maybe Grandma will take a copy.
This tiny being caught on black and white film is the only thing you can focus on. Even as your OB rattles off about keeping your stress levels down and increasing your potassium intake; your daughter is the only thing you can see. She’s all that matters. Your doctor talks about how high risk you are, and you’re busy counting fingers. There’s concern about your health after you ended up in the hospital a few weeks back, and her words fall on deaf ears. She mentions bed rest, and you’re comparing the size of your daughter's head to the palm of your hand. Small. Impossibly tiny. Still growing. Alluring.
Your baby girl is beautiful already.
Once you’ve made your next appointment for four weeks out, you head back home with a weight lifted off your shoulders. There’s still something insidious lurking around the corner. Tethering you to some pole. Pulling at your feet as you walk up the stairs next to the broken lift. It’s always there. Somewhere hidden. Something unnamed. You ignore it as you open your door and check to see if Grandma has answered your note yet. There’s no sort of response from her, and judging by the fact she’s not in her usual perch in the enclave in the hallway, you imagine she’s out and about doing… old lady things.
Maybe she’s got a family, which is more than you can say for yourself at the moment.
Regardless, you have no interest in decorating the rest of your studio anymore; not when you have the greatest work of art in the palm of your hands. Gentle fragrance washes over you as you enter your kitchen and place the ultrasound photos next to your vase of flowers. You giggle to yourself. What a perfect little shrine. Not even born yet, and you’re already decorating your devotion to her.
Now, you can plan. Put your energy toward something more rewarding than stressing or self depreciation. There are outfits to be bought, essentials to stock up on; names. Beautiful names, regal names, lovable names. Names you get to coo at night when she’s wanting to feed; a name that rolls off of your tongue as you call for her when she’s older. Your lips curl into a trembling smile as your thumb rubs over the smooth surface of the sonogram. You are terrified, but you are so in love.
Then your eyes wander — because they always do — around the counter. That same, pale lettering on the card your supervisor gave you stares back at you like an omen. Haunting. Get well soon! Your throat tightens as your smile fades, and you remember that you’re living in a delusion. What happiness is there to be found carrying the child of a man who couldn’t stay faithful? Or at least not fuck another woman in your shared bed?
With your mood already ruined by Isaac’s mere existence, you push away from the counter as you yank your phone free from your pocket. It’s been neglected these last few days as you’ve been doing your best to ignore him, but whether you like it or not, you’re still stuck with him. Answering his questions, keeping him updated on the baby; because if you don’t, then he’ll find some way to torture it out of you anyway. You’d rather do it on your terms.
You pull up his contact. The last message you had gotten from him was one you hadn’t seen from this morning:
Good morning my lovely.
You try not to gag as you type out your response:
The baby’s a girl.
Rapid knuckles rap against the wood of your door, and you nearly jump out of your skin as you shoot a glare at the entrance. Biting into your lip, you close your phone and discard it back into your pocket as you peer through the peephole. You’re surprised to find Kyle on the other side wearing a grey t-shirt and a dusty, Union Jack cap. Confused, though not repulsed, by his presence, you open the door and greet him with tight-drawn brows.
“Hey.” It’s awkward. Short. You’re certain he can smell your confusion from a mile away.
Instead of calling you out on it, he holds up a small plastic bag that jingles like Christmas bells as he shakes it. Several, miscellaneous-sized nails jump around, bumping into one another with an odd melody. “Got your note.”
He holds the bag out for you to take — polite and cautious — and once you have them in your hands, you can’t help but squint at them. You could have sworn you had slipped that note under Grandma’s door. Well, at least you’ve only made a slight fool of yourself.
“Oh, right, thank you,” you say with a smile, as if this had been the plan all along.
“We’re not supposed to use nails to hang things up, but I always keep extra lying around. They’re more useful and less damaging than that peel-n-stick crap they want you to use,” Kyle humors.
“That, and they’re significantly better at hanging up paintings. Don’t have to worry about them falling off the damn walls,” you chuckle.
Kyle hums as the corner of his lips quirk up. Everything about him is kind and sweet — especially his eyes, which not-so-tactfully look you up and down, lingering on your swelling stomach. It’s a look you’ve gotten used to. Pregnancy has a way of drawing attention. “Need help hangin’ anything?”
You should say no — you want to say no — but you can hear your OB in the back of your mind. Keep stress levels low. Rest in bed as much as possible. And please, keep strenuous activity to a minimum.
“If you’ve got the time.” That sentence leaves your voice shaking. Half finished. Not entirely convinced. “It’s… always better to have a second set of eyes to make sure they’re even, anyway.”
This isn’t the first time Kyle’s been in your apartment. He was in here last week to help you move your monster of a mattress into your bedroom — which you’re still not sure if you’ve thanked him properly for or not. For some reason, your stomach dips when you bring him into your studio. It’s not a place many people see. Or, that many people ever saw when it was still your proper set up when you were living with Isaac. It’s bare bones and gutted, at the moment. A lonely easel sits in the center of the room with no canvas to hold, surrounded by a mixture of works from your favorite artists. Sunlight seeps through the open windows, painting the dull white of the room an alluring gold; for a moment, it almost feels like home.
“Did you paint these?” Kyle asks. He’s staring at one of John William Waterhouse’s paintings. Miranda. A beautiful, fair skinned woman with flaxen hair sits on a large rock on the grey shoreline of a windy beach. Her hands are folded in her lap, patient, as if waiting for something.
“I’m very flattered you think I could paint as well as Waterhouse himself, but that’s just a print,” you chuckle.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
With Kyle’s mastery at maneuvering canvases, and your keen eye, it doesn’t take long to turn your studio from a half finished mess, into a beautifully covered masterpiece. There’s hardly a single inch of wall visible in that entire room.Natural lighting reflects off of the myriad of colors, casting a vibrant glow throughout the room. You smile with your hands on your hips. This is the first bit of triumph you’ve felt in weeks.
“Oh, bloody hell,” Kyle hisses. He’s made the mistake of turning the studio light on, and the bulb overhead sputters and flashes at seizure-inducing speed. He quickly shuts it off, and looks at you with a sheepish grin before clearing his throat. “I’ve got an extra bulb too, if you need it.”
“Don’t worry about it, I put a ticket in with maintenance,” you excuse.
Kyle hums, but doesn’t look entirely convinced that’s going to fix your issue. Still, he keeps quiet as you lead him out of the studio and back through the kitchen toward the exit. Goodbyes are always awkward, especially for someone who was technically accidentally invited over in the first place, and you feel your palms sweating about it already.
While you’re brainstorming ways to excuse him, Kyle’s eyes are wandering. It’s only natural that they do. That floral arrangement is beautiful, after all. Pristine, bright daisies, dainty sunflowers; glorious yellows and greens and whites. It looks too cheerful to be propped up next to a get well card. You can feel the question burning the tip of his tongue, because it’s what everyone always asks. How are you? Feeling any better? Hope things are going well for you-
Your phone buzzes.
It burns a hole in your pocket. You know you shouldn’t look at it. It’s malicious. Evil. Writhing against your body, begging to be paid attention to. Attracting your fingers like a moth to a flame, and before you know it, your hands are ensnared in the web Isaac so painfully crafted for you.
The screen burns your eyes as you look at his message:
I was hoping for a boy.
That memory of Isaac talking about doing a gender reveal party haunts you. He spoke about it as if he were ecstatic; as if he would have been happy no matter the gender. That it was supposed to be a mirthful celebration of the two of you and your unborn child — is this what you had to look forward to? I was hoping for a boy? Would he have looked at you, dejected and torn apart over the fact that this child is a girl? Would he have cheered as loud? Smiled as big? Did he just recently turn into this fiend, or have you been blind this entire time?
How long have you been loving a monster?
“What’s this?”
Kind curiosity interrupts your thoughts, and you look up from your phone to find Kyle scrutinizing over the sonograms on the counter. Your daughter's beautiful features captured on translucent film are muddied against the dark counter top that sits underneath it. There’s hardly a head or torso to be seen in that mess.
“Oh, I had an ultrasound of the kid today. It’s a sonogram,” you explain simply.
He’s bending at the hips now, eyes squinting as he tries to make sense of it. There’s something oddly respectful about the way he doesn’t touch it. Like he’s worried about intruding if he does.
“Here, it’s easier to see if you hold it up to the light. Like this…”
You grab the sonogram off the counter, and you hold it up to the natural light pouring through the open window on the other side of the room. Kyle tilts his head, enamored by the way the image clears up. A whisper of a laugh hangs in the back of his throat.
“I’ve never seen one in person before. Neat thing,” he admits.
It’s strange being so close to him. You can smell brass and soot on his skin, an odd scent you’ve never encountered before, yet one that isn’t entirely unwelcome. Certainly better than the overdose of perfume your receptionist used.
“Do you know what it is?” he asks as you lower the sonogram. He looks at you with genuine curiosity as you lower the picture back to the counter.
“A girl,” you answer sheepishly.
Kyle grins so bright you swear it’s blinding. “Granny’ll be happy to hear that. She placed a bet that you were havin’ a girl.”
Your laugh erupts from your throat without warning, and you find your hand flying to your stomach by reflex. “Did she really?” He nods. “And what did you bet, then?”
His shining grin melts more into a cheeky smirk as he glances towards the exit before looking back at you. “I bet on it being a girl, too. Guess we’re both winners.” He pauses, eyes once again falling to your stomach before landing back on your face, eyes softening. “But no one’s more lucky than you, I imagine.”
Most days, you don’t feel lucky. If anything, you’re haunted. Carrying around some sort of terrible ghost that lingers in your pocket. Cunning. Malicious. But today, in that room, getting to see your daughter? Knowing that this is your daughter? It made you feel like the happiest woman on earth, if only for a moment.
“You might be right about that,” you giggle in agreement.
There’s a gentle moment the two of you share. A hidden jocundity that you weren’t able to properly share with anyone else. But it’s short lived. Smothered and snuffed out before it can properly blossom, and then you’re walking Kyle to the door. He hesitates to step through the threshold, fingers twitching with intent, digging deep into the pocket of his jeans before holding out a small piece of paper toward you.
You recognize it as the note that you wrote on earlier — and swore you gave to Grandma and not him — but it’s got extra writing on the back. A phone number; scrawled in some of the most perfect handwriting you’ve ever seen.
“Take this. Just in case you need anything else. I’m usually gone most of the day because of work, so texting or calling is easier. If it’s all the same to you,” he explains.
You slip the paper between your fingers before folding it into your pocket where you silently pray you’ll never need it. Kyle is a good man, truly. Sweet, charismatic, and more than handsome — a model citizen, you suppose. But you know how it looks. A — soon to be — single, hopefully soon-to-be-divorced woman, pregnant, and living on her own? If people don’t think Kyle’s doing charity work, they’ll certainly think more malevolent of you.
Gold digger, pathetic, lonely woman that can’t take care of herself, can hardly keep a relationship, only hanging around this poor sod so he’ll take care of her kid no doubt. Lord knows she can’t take care of it herself-
“Thanks,” you smile.
When the door closes behind Kyle, he notices Grandma has magically appeared in her usual spot. Old, creaking rocking chair, same frail hands working yarn into clothes; she sits unbothered. She wasn’t there when he first arrived home, but she’s apparated like a damn witch.
“Was that your doing?” he asks, thumb jamming over his shoulder as he approaches the ancient crone.
“You’ll have to be more specific, dear,” she chirps.
“The note, asking about extra nails? She didn’t slide that under my door, did she?” Kyle explains.
Grandma shrugs. “I didn’t have any. Figured an able-bodied man like yourself would.”
A peeved sigh passes between Kyle’s teeth as he fumbles for his keys, head hanging low. Gunpowder and dirt cling to his body like a second skin. Filthy. Rotten like he is when he’s out in the field. He’d spent most of the day out at the range. You probably thought he was disgusting.
“Well, a little warning next time, if you would. She looked at me like I was crazy when she opened that door,” he requests as he turns toward his door. He pauses, hand outstretched and ready to unlock the door, when he remembers something. “Oh, we were right. She’s havin’ a girl.”
Crooked, yellow teeth flash in a quick grin as Grandma chuckles and pulls her knitting close to her chest. “Oh, good. I’ve already knitted three pink hats for the darling.”
Her happiness is an infectious sort of jovial that seeps into even Kyle’s skin, but his smile is quick to fade when he thinks back to the flowers and card that sat next to those sonograms. Something so bleak next to literal gifts of life — get well soon.
“You think she’s alright? Living on her own, I mean,” Kyle asks, voice low and quiet as if the very walls will whisper his words to you if he’s too loud. “I know it’s not my place but… it’s a little odd, isn’t it?”
A tangible solemness taints the air, forcing Grandma’s smile into a down-turned frown. Then, her lips set straight as she gets back to knitting.
“She’s in a lot of pain,” is all she says in answer.
“You think she lost her husband? She’s got ring rash, but no ring,” Kyle ventures.
The sound that exudes from Grandma is something he’s never heard from her before. It’s sour, bilious even. Her hands begin to work twice as fast than they did before.
“A woman who loses her husband is beside herself. She’s got too much anger for that, Kyle, and I think you’re smart enough to figure that out, too,” she replies.
That was a possibility he had imagined as well. Some idiot bastard, abandoning his pregnant wife during her time of need. It’s not unheard of. There are a lot of odious people on this earth — he’s very aware. Yet, a part of him had hoped — as sick as it is — that whoever you had been with had only died. It’s a different type of betrayal. To be loved beyond death would certainly be more comforting than to be loved until that affection suddenly ran dry.
“Suppose you’re right,” Kyle mutters.
The key slides into the lock easily, like a knife through flesh, and it almost makes him laugh. Look at him. What a tricky little monster, trying to care for someone so soft when he can recall the way blood gushes free around cold steel.
“Keep an eye on her, Kyle. I’m getting old. Won’t be around forever,” Grandma says, tone too steady to be joking.
He doesn’t look back as he opens the door.
“Yes ma’am.”
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All In 11
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)
based on the winning option for this poll
Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes
Note: it's a new week
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
Your phone buzzes against your leg, ripping you back to reality. Your eyes widen and drift away from the stream of font. You sit up and mark the page with your finger as you reach for the jittering cell.
You scramble to grab onto it and hesitate to hit the big green button. The screen doesn't look like usual, not that you get many calls. You tap the button and the image changes at once, Bucky startling you as he appears.
"Hey, doll," he grins and winks at you, moving the camera to lean against something. "How's it going?"
"Uhhhh," you drone, surprised. He can see you too. You know by the little reflection of yourself in the corner. "Hi. Fine." You put the book down with no mind to losing the page, "um, you?"
"You busy, doll?"
"Reading but... no."
"Mm," he hums, "glad to see you enjoying your treats but... no pajamas?"
He steps back and you get a view of him from waist up, the edge of a counter in the lower edge. You pout then give a sheepish smile, "sorry, I haven't... had a chance."
"That's okay, doll, I just wanted a peek before I went to work," he undoes his shirt button by button and pulls it off, revealing his muscular torso. You gulp at the lines of his muscle along his stomach, "why don't you put them on now and give me a look."
"Oh, uh..." you glance at the wall. It's late. You're pretty sure Roxie already left for work and your mom will probably be settling down. "Right, uh..."
"Just want something to think of when I walk the floor," he purrs.
"Sure, er," you nearly choke, "I'll just-- one sec."
"I can wait, doll. I've been waiting, haven't I?" He purrs.
You feel a pang of guilt. You place the phone down so the lens faces the ceiling and climb off the bed. He's given you a lot, too much honestly, and now you feel like you owe him. It isn't fair to take his kindness without anything in return. And he isn't asking much, is he?
You dig in the bag, the crinkle loud as the only other noise is the subtle movement from his end. You fish out the soft pajamas and peer over, making certain the phone is still flat. You change far away from it, paranoid.
You look down at yourself in the tank and shorts. Oh gosh. It's a lot less than you usually wear. Your legs are showing, your shoulders, and a bit of your tummy.
"Doll?" He says and you flinch.
"I don't know... I don't think it fits."
"I'm sure it fits just nice," he insists, "show me."
"Oh, uh..."
"I'm just looking, doll, I'll only think of what I really wanna do," he snickers.
You cross back to the bed and pick up the phone, careful to stay out of view. You turn back and prop it up on the dresser, overly aware of the unflattering angle as you do. You give a wide-eyed look and back up so you're all in frame.
You hug yourself shyly and sway.
"Let me see ya," he orders.
You put your arms straight and notice how he leans in to look at the screen, smoothing his hair back. He keeps his hands over his dark strands and growls. A flutter starts in your stomach.
"What do you mean too small? That fits your perfect," he says.
"I... really?"
"Sure, doll," he turns and you realise he's getting ready.
He combs his hair stands straight. He grabs a new shirt and buttons it as he peeks again. You near the camera and move it so he can only see your face.
"Damn, doll, I'm gonna be all over the place," he says, "you're so sweet and sexy."
"Bucky," you squeak.
"I don't lie. That's the one thing you should know about me. I will always let you know exactly what I want."
You blush hotly and a tap on the door nearly makes you drop the phone. You hide it behind you and shuffle closer. You clear your throat.
"Uh, yeah?" You call through.
"Hey, honey, everything okay in there?" She asks. Shoot, she must have heard you.
"I'm watching something," your heart hammers, "sorry, I'll turn it down."
"It's alright, honey. Just thought I heard you..."
"No, just a show," you wisp out.
You quickly back away and go as far from the door as you can. You look down at the phone as Bucky tucks in his shirt. Ugh, that was embarrassing. He heard all that; surely he must realise how lame you are.
"Mom sounds real sweet," he says, "must be where you get it."
"She's working tomorrow. Don't wanna keep her up," you explain quietly.
"That's too bad, doll. I'll just have to keep waiting... wanting," he shrugs and pulls on a dark jacket, "what do ya think? Look good?"
He poses for the camera. He looks great, as always. You feel smaller than ever.
"Yes," you answer softly.
"Yes? That's it?" He sounds disappointed.
"Very handsome," you eke out.
"Handsome?" He squints as he picks up the phone.
"Er," you search your repertoire and borrow from his, "sexy?"
"Are you asking or telling me?" He chuckles.
You giggle. You don't think you've ever told anyone they are sexy. You've never been that bold.
"Yes."
"Yes?" He laughs.
"You're, er, oh, sexy," you touch your hot cheek and look away.
"You are adorable, doll," he growls, "that's exactly what I need to hear." He grazes his fingertips over his beard, "unfortunately I gotta get on it so... tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," you confirm.
"Don't worry about a thing, doll, just bring your gorgeous self."
����
The next day is restless. It's worse having hours to wait around for... what? You don't know.
You spend your time reading, or trying to. Breakfast is small, what your roiling stomach can handle, and you put on an outfit that you think is acceptable, not that you have much to choose from. It might be strange if your mom or Roxie notice the lack of uniform. You could say you change at work?
Ugh, lie after lie. It's all so much.
You don't get very far in the book and your phone buzzes, a reminder from Bucky that your fate is coming. You grab your purse and sit out on the stoop, the sunlight beaming down. It would be a nice say if you were so damn uptight.
Merv pulls up in the sleek luxury car and you get up, checking over your shoulder to see if there's any curious tug on the curtain. Your mom's already at work but Roxie is puttering around somewhere. She could be sleeping or not.
Merv gets out to greet you. He opens the door and you thank him. He sits in the driver's seat and Springsteen drones from the radio. You smile as he shifts into gear.
"I know this one," you say.
"Of course, a classic," he praises. "And how are you today, miss?"
"Good, you, sir?"
He laughs as he steers, "very good, miss. And how could I not be." He peeks at you in the rear view, "with sunshine in my backseat."
You smile bashfully and cross your legs. You can't help the shake in your foot. You're more and more nervous with each second and turn of the wheel.
As if noticing your unease, he turns up the music, "I like this one too."
You sigh and ease into the drumbeat. The tempo keeps your heartbeat in check. You're thankful for his subtle comfort.
You turn to watch through the tinted windows. You never noticed how scenic this city is. You never went many places to have the chance.
He keeps the volume up and you let it carry you through the long journey across the city. He pulls up to the casino and steers around to the hotel entrance. You peer through then back at him in confusion. He turns the knob down.
"Mr. Barnes says to give your name at the desk," Merv instructs, "have a good day."
"Thanks, you too," you unbuckle the seat belt and sidle across to the door.
You get out with reticence. Staring up at the grand facade, you're more unsure than you've ever been. You've come this far, you have to keep going. You really have no choice as Merv slowly rolls away.
You step forward. It doesn't get easier the further you get. Your pulse hammers behind your ear as you enter the lobby and a flash of deja vu overcomes you. That night with Roxie, the morning after, and everything since. How does it all feel as if it happened so fast and yet so long ago?
You go to the desk, feeling entirely out of place. What if Merv is wrong and you shouldn't be there? What if they just look at you and laugh? No choice, keep going.
You stop on the other side of the desk and give a stiff smile.
"Hello, welcome, checking in?" The modelesque concierge asks. She's stunning and you're all the more self-aware.
"Uh, I think? My name is..."
She keeps her pristine smile in place and her eyes lights up. She doesn't even bother typing into her computer. She flits away and returns with one of little folders with the room keys inside. Oh, this is really happening.
You thank her and slowly back away. You make a slow advance towards the elevator and wait beside a couple with their suitcases. You step on with them, avoiding a glimpse through the transparent walls.
You unfold the folio and read the number, pushing the floor number, then stand back on your heels. You keep your eyes on the door, the motion alone making you dizzy.
The couple gets off before you. When it's your floor, you thankfully scramble off and take a deep breath. You once more check the number and follow the hallways to your assigned suite.
You swipe the card several times, you still don't have the hang of it. The door opens and you enter meekly. You focus on every move. Shut the door, slip the card back in the folder, put it down on the corner table.
You look up at last and let yourself marvel at the suite as you delve further in. The smell of pollen greets you with a large bouquet of roses. The suite is huge, even bigger than last time. Two rooms just the same and a full kitchenette and spacious bathroom. You don't go onto the balcony, not wanting to test your stomach.
You go back inside and glance over the table draped in a red tablecloth beneath the crystal vase of flowers. There's also a tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries and various colours of macarons. You've never had the delicate cookies before but you'd watch countless recipe videos, wishing on day to try them yourself.
There's an envelope too. You take it and run your nail along the sealed flap. You open it carefully and slip out the card within.
'Enjoy yourself, doll. I'll join you shortly. B.'
As if on cue, there's a knock on the door. Oh gosh, you're not ready. What does he mean? Join you? You hoped for a little long before... before...
You stand frozen but when the door doesn't open itself, you go to answer it. You slowly twist the long handle and open it just a crack. You peer around the edge and blink in confusion.
"Hello, dahling," the woman's affectation drags out her syllables, "well look at you, how precious."
She presses on the door and you let her force her way in. You're dumbfounded. Who the heck is she? Another long-legged beauty you can't compare too.
"Lovely hair," she remarks as she closes the door without a care, "oh, and your skin, yes, perfect canvas..."
"Sorry, er, I think you have the wrong room--"
"Mr. Barnes sent me, dahling," she trills in her way, "and I see you are very much in need of my visit so let's begin. Mm, yes, I have a vision," she struts forward, a rose gold chest in her hand, "not very much, you have a natural lustre I adore."
You retreat as she advances on you. She lifts her chest onto the chaise and flips back the lid, revealing an assortment of precisely organized palettes and tubes. You're horrified and humiliated as you realise why she's there. Maybe you aren't as pretty as Bucky keeps telling you.
#bucky barnes#dark bucky barnes#dark!bucky barnes#fic#bucky barnes x reader#dark fic#dark!fic#series#au#casino au#avengers#winter soldier#captain america#marvel#mcu#all in
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