#I did not know about the meaning of the gesture but now...

[jamespotterismydaddy]

On the Brink

joel miller x reader smut

description: you’ve been wanting him for so long but joel can’t bring himself to give you what you want, what you deserve. a near death experience makes him realize how much he needs you

WORD COUNT: 4,2 k words

WARNINGS: smut, angst, age gap, semi-public sex, it’s also fluffy and cute at the start so no complaining about the angst

Your eyes watch him from across the yard with that same look you’ve had for the past few months. He knows what it is. Of course he knows what it is- he’s not an idiot… but that doesn’t mean he can ever acknowledge it. You’re young. Not a child by any means but for god’s sake, you’re half his age. There will be no entertaining these longing glaces you throw his way.

It was innocent at first, or at least he thinks it was. You would knock on his door, ask for his advice when it came to things like shooting and whatnot. He liked being helpful, useful. He liked that it was him that you came to, not Tommy even if he was known to be a sharpshooter. He thought that you looking up to him was the part he liked; he’s starting to realize that what he really likes is your attention.

“You need some help there, Mr. Miller?” You ask sweetly as he pulls in the planks of wood. He didn’t even see you walk over.

Joel rolls his eyes. You know he doesn’t like it when you call him that. Makes him really feel his age. “Not from you, trouble.”

He was getting the supplies together because part of his front porch was rotting and he’d be damned if he fucked his knee up some more stepping through a weak plank. He could use the help, but he just doesn’t want your help.

“You getting sick of me already?” You say, giving him that ‘kicked puppy’ look that would make any man’s heart melt. He doesn’t like how it makes him feel more than sympathy.

“Course not.” He grumbles. “I did just see you this morning though.”

“What can I say… i’m clingy.” You shrug and grin at him with a smile so bright it could light up the sky.

“Go be clingy with somebody else.” He waves you off as he picks up his pencil and ruler to start marking lines on the wood. “I’m sure any man in Jackson would appreciate it.”

You stop for a moment, like you see something underlying in his words. “That seems to imply that you don’t think my attention is purely friendly.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs but doesn’t give you any more of an answer.

“Besides, are you not a man in Jackson?” You ask teasingly, wanting to get more out of him.

He tries to keep his focus on his work so his attention doesn’t feed into your teasing. “That’s different.” He grumbles.

“Why is it different?”

He sighs, keeping his head low but letting his eyes rise up above his glasses to meet yours. “It’s different because i’m an old man in Jackson.”

You frown a little. You know what he means but you want him to explain it anyhow. “What are you saying?”

“I’m sayin’ that I can’t entertain…” He gestures with his hand. “... whatever this is that you’ve been doing for the past few weeks.”

He knows. Of course he knows; you haven’t been exactly subtle. You just never thought you would be able to make him say it out loud. “And what have I been doing?”

“Askin’ too many damn questions.” He grumbles under his breath and grabs his ruler to check his cut lines again. What is it all those carpenters say? Measure twice, cut once? That must’ve been a rule he would live by.

“What is it that i’m doing, Joel?”

He stops with his work now to look up at you properly. He seems like he’s about to speak but pauses for a moment, knowing that if he addresses this then it’s out in the open. He won’t be able to neatly pack up this conversation and put it in a safe where nobody can find it. Whatever is going on between the two of you… it’s pandora’s box.

But in the moment, he can’t find it in himself to care.

“You’re flirtin’ with me, sweetheart.”

“I am.” Is all you say in reply, looking into his eyes far too deeply.

He’s a little surprised and was half expecting you to deny it. “Well you shouldn’t.”

“How come?” Your quick little replies are irritating him now.

He rubs his forehead with his thumb, feeling frustrated. You’re not stupid and you know he’s twice your age. You know why you shouldn’t. You know it makes him feel wrong. So why act so clueless?

“It ain’t right.” He grumbles. “I’m too old for ya.”

“I don’t mind.” You say softly. “I would still like you if I was 10 years older.”

“It’s not about you liking me. It’s about what’s good for you.” He sighs. “And an old man ain’t it.”

“I hardly care about pre-outbreak morals, Joel.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about what you deserve. A man that can keep up with you, take care of you even 20 years from now. I can’t be that.” He looks almost nervous now. He feels the same way he did when he asked Tommy to take Ellie to the fireflies. It’s a different sense of care but he still doesn’t feel worthy for you in the same way that he didn’t feel worthy for her.

“It’s you that I want.”

He sighs.

“There’s plenty more age-appropriate men in Jackson who’d be chomping at the bit for a chance with you. You should go and take your pick of them.” He continues, trying his best to push you away. It’s not like he doesn’t want you. Christ, he really wants you. But he also cares about you and that means he’s gotta try to nudge you in the right direction.

“I took my pick. Currently, he’s being difficult.” You say and he scoffs as he tries not to think about how endearing he finds your quick wit.

“I said age-appropriate.”

“Well there’s no other man i’m interested in.” You understand why he’s trying to convince you that he’s not somebody you should spend your time on. Maybe there was a time when things like age were more important but it feels miniscule now in the great span of things and besides, you can tell when he’s being self destructive. “So it hardly matters how many there are to choose from.”

He furrows his brows. Joel can hardly understand why it would be him you would want. He originally thought whatever you were feeling was a passing fantasy due to proximity, but it’s starting to appear as if it’s more than that. You’re just so full of light; he doesn’t want to ruin that.

“Y’know I can probably finish up here on my own. I ‘preciate your help though.” It makes him uncomfortable to realize your attention isn’t going to be quite as fleeting as he thought. He doesn’t know how to react to it. It’s not that he wants to hurt you. He’s just never been a man of many words.

“Um… yeah okay. No problem.” You try not to show how upset you are but it hurts for him to brush you aside so easily. “Bye.”

You walk off, regretting trying to push his hand, regretting the conversation in general… and most definitely regretting that you agreed to fill in for Tommy on his patrol shift with Joel in the morning.

~~~~~

When he walks into the stables the next day, Joel’s ready to grumble to his brother about how he has no damn coffee left and slept like shit, but is stopped in his tracks when he finds you tacking up Bellard.

You don’t turn around to look at him, you already recognize the sound of his heavy footsteps and besides, who else would be in the stables at 8am?

“I promise i’m not trying to stalk you. I already agreed to cover Tommy’s shift. Ben’s still not feeling well.” You tighten the cinch on the horse, not wanting to have any more whoopsies involving your saddle half slipping off like when you were just learning to ride.

“Didn’t think you were.” He says, already able to tell how your voice is colder. You’re more closed off to him now.

You put your foot into the stirrup and swing your leg over so you’re sat on the saddle. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Joel.” It’s ironic really, they way you sound so vulnerable when you speak even though you are literally sitting up on your high horse.

“You don’t make me uncomfortable, sweetheart.” He says as he gets up onto his horse as well, giving her a light nudge with his heel to get her moving. “You could never make me uncomfortable.”

His false mirror words don’t fool you, the illusion shattered like glass by his nervous mannerisms. You know your conversation with him yesterday made things weird and you’re starting to wish you’d just ignored the whole thing like a normal person. You’d just really felt the need to defend yourself, never wanting to chase a man who doesn’t want you. Even if you have a feeling that he does.

But he ignores it. For the whole patrol he ignores it. The slight crack you saw in his demeanor has melded itself back together and he is back to the gruff man he usually is.

What you don’t see is his watchful eye, ever on you, protectively. You don’t know that it’s the same way that he watches Ellie and Tommy. The only people he would risk everything for, the only people that he makes sure are safe before himself. But it isn’t quite the same, is it? There’s something more in his gaze as it’s cast upon you, a hint of the same longing you have when your eyes fall on him.

“Did you hear that?” Your question puts him on alert right away. He tries to listen and he thinks his old ears are failing him before he hears the crash. It’s coming from a cabin east of Jackson, one that’s been checked through multiple times, even by Joel himself. While patrol routes are changed often, buildings are still checked regularly for anyone that might be hiding out. Clickers are of course dangerous but thinking, intelligent humans are much worse.

“Stay here. I’ll get closer and see if it’s anything to worry about.” He says, like it’s a command.

“I’m your partner, not your sidekick. I won’t let you go in there alone just because you don’t think I make good backup.”

“Jesus, woman ya really think that’s why I want you to stay behind?” You give him a look that says that’s exactly what you think but he doesn’t have time to validate you when there’s a chance that something dangerous is in that cabin right now. “Just follow at a distance then at the very least.”

That’s enough for you so you nod and the both of you hop off your horses and tie them up, not wanting them to spook at the first sign of whatever is in that cabin.

The two of you approach slowly and you try not to flinch at the crashing sounds so you can hold your gun straight. You also don’t want Joel to sense your fear. It’s not helpful for him to be worrying about you. You won’t be a distraction. He moves around the side of the cabin to look through the window and mouths the word ‘infected’ to you, holding up three fingers. You nod to show your understanding and he starts to make his way back, likely to come up with an action plan.

Though he barely makes it two feet when one of the horses whinnies. You both freeze. It wasn’t that loud, right? How good could an infected’s hearing possibly be?

Your answer comes moments later when they burst through the front door, but they don’t hear Joel. You’re the one who is in direct line of the horses.

“Shit.” You breathe out as you aim your gun and make a shot for the one in front, missing the head but hitting it in the shoulder. A shoulder shot doesn’t stop a runner.

“Goddamn it.” Joel acts quick, putting a bullet through the one closest to him with easy precision. The infected drops to the ground.

The one closest to you is still moving fast and you know you need to make this shot because if Joel misses, the last one will be on you before you can even think. You keep your hands steady, too pumped full of adrenaline to shake like you were before, and you pull the trigger.

You hear a gunshot, but it isn’t yours as Joel takes down the other runner. Your gun never fired.

Because your gun is jammed.

You pull the trigger again, and again, frantic now.

It’s no use so you drop the useless weapon. You look down for a moment to draw your knife but it’s too late as the infected tackles you to the ground.

“Joel!” The call rips out from your throat and Joel is sure he’s never heard such terror in anyone’s voice before. Well… not so sure.

You hold the infected back as well as you can, knowing that it’s over if you’re bitten, but you don’t have to push it back for long.

Joel’s gun fires and the shot rings true as the mindless flesh creature falls off next to you. A headshot taken from just the right position so the bullet wouldn’t graze you.

“Are you hurt?” The fear in his eyes matches your own as he kneels in front of you and seems to check you for injury over anything else.

Then he pauses.

“Are you bit?”

The thought comes to you at the same time. You were so dazed during the attack that it’s something you actually have to think about.

“I um… no.” You stumble over your words for a moment before speaking more confidently. “No, it didn't bite me.”

“Good.” He nods and moves on quickly, helping you to your feet.

He starts to move around, checking the infected, checking the house. He’s not focused on you anymore, like he wants to be distracted from the thought.

“One of them probably got bit a day or two back. Didn’t tell his friends and then…” He trails off, gesturing to the bodies. “This happened. Don’t think it’s something to worry about too much though. Probably an isolated event.”

He explains, but he’s rambling. Joel Miller doesn’t ramble. The near death experience is brushed under the rug, but you won’t have that.

“Joel.” You start but he cuts you off.

“I can write up the report for it. I know that’s something you’re not a fan of.” It’s idle talk, nothing of value.

“Joel.” You say his name more firmly now and he looks up at you. “I almost died.”

He clenches his jaw, the tenseness in the conversation now unavoidable. You walk closer and it takes everything in him to not step away. He wants to leave, wants to push it down, but you almost died. He can hardly wrap his mind around it. If he had shot that runner a second later, it would have bitten you, at the very least, and his next bullet would’ve been in your head.

“I know.” He grumbles.

“Do you? Because you won’t look me in the eye.” There’s desperation in the way you look up at him and it’s like he’s staring through you instead of at you.

He lets out a breath and it kills you because you can’t tell what he’s feeling. There’s emotion in his eyes but you just don’t know which one.

“Please don’t shut down on me.” Your hand rises to touch his shoulder and he feels warmth bloom in his chest. He hasn’t felt that in a long time.

His eyes finally flicker down to yours and then to your lips for just a moment. He should think about what he’s doing, he knows that. Your age should be enough to put him off, but he almost lost you only minutes ago.

He won’t deny himself any longer.

Joel’s hand lifts to your chin and your eyebrows twitch slightly in confusion as he tilts your chin up. You part your lips to speak but don’t get the chance because his mouth is now on yours. All his hunger and need and desire finally come out as he kisses you harshly. His other hand finds your waist and he pulls you against him, never breaking the kiss. It’s like he doesn’t need air to breathe as he pushes his lips against yours and walks you back until a tree stops you. His tongue pushes into your mouth and he groans when feeling yours push back.

He pulls back and you worry that he regrets it, thinking he acted irrationally or emotionally. Those worries are quelled when he focuses his attention on your neck, leaving gentle kisses and sucking on the soft skin just the right amount so it won’t leave any marks. You let out a soft moan as his fingertips graze up your thigh before gripping it firmly and lifting it up against him.

“I need you, Joel.” You whisper so softly that he’s not even sure he heard you correctly.

“Hm, honey?” He still isn’t fully focused as he trails kisses up your jawline.

“I need it.” You whine a bit and he frowns.

“No.” He murmurs against your skin, kisses so soft and featherlight that you can’t be convinced he’s even touching you. “Not here. You deserve better than here.”

“Please. I’ve been waiting for so long.” You slip your hand under the hem of his shirt. “Been so patient.”

A hint of a smile graces his face. “Patient? Sweetheart, you’re begging me to fuck you in a forest in the middle of our patrol.”

“You’re the one who kissed me.” Your hand slides up his chest. “You gotta finish the things you start, Mr. Miller.”

His hand grabs your other thigh and he lifts you up so you’re pushed against the tree. “You know I don’t like it when you call me that.”

You bite your lip, enjoying the feeling of him lifting you up with ease, like he’s got something to prove. “I know.”

“Then you should learn to watch your mouth.”

You smirk, knowing just how easy it is to rile him up. “Why don’t you watch it for me?”

He huffs as if your bratty little comments annoy him, but you know he likes it. It’s easy to tell by the way his lips find yours once again. His moves are messy and imprecise. It’s so unlike him to be so reckless but it’s you that brings it out of him.

Hands are pulling at clothes and you’re quickly at a point where your pants are off enough for him to touch you. His fingers waste no time pushing past your underwear to tease you. The movements are slow now, just enough to leave you wanting for more.

“Joel.” You try to scold but it comes out more like a breathy moan.

“Hmm?” He’s not focused on your face anymore, no matter how pretty it might be. He’s more concerned with how many fingers he can push inside you before you start to whine.

“Joel.” You pout again as he feels your wetness pooling in his palm.

Three then. He thinks to himself, calculating how long he’ll have to wait to let you adjust to his cock before he can fuck you how he wants. But he already knows he’ll be pushing your limits.

“Shh, baby. Clearly, you’re not as patient as you claim to be.”

You can’t even reply, not with how good it feels when his fingers start to curl inside you. Joel continues the motions for a minute or so but it’s not what you want. It feels so damn good but this isn’t the way you want to finish.

You start to push him away and he stops as soon as he sees the hesitation.

“Everything alright?” He asks and your heart melts at the tenderness in his voice.

“I wanna feel something a little bigger.”

He rolls his eyes. “No damn patience.” He unbuckles his belt and starts to unbutton his jeans. “I’ll give you what you want then.”

He pulls his jeans halfway down his thighs- his very nice thighs- so he can pull himself out of his boxers. There’s no more slow, teasing actions. He wants to show you what your impertinence gets you. Lifting you back up with just one hand, he uses the other to guide his cock to your entrance.

As the head pushes in, he watches your face so he can see how you struggle to take it. You won’t speak up though, not after you whined and begged for him to fuck you. He might be a lot bigger than you’ve had before but that doesn’t mean you can’t take it.

Joel doesn’t want to miss the look on your face as he pushes in but can’t help but glance down. The sight of your desperate pussy sucking him in more and more is almost enough for him to finish there and then, but he holds off. He won’t let this be something you regret.

“Fuck.” He groans as he pushes the rest of the way into you with a sharp thrust. You whimper, hiding your face in his neck. “It’s okay, baby. You’re doing so well.”

The praise makes your cheeks heat and he starts to pull himself back out again before you hear the slick squelch of another deep thrust.

“Shit, Joel.” The stretch stings but it’s a good hurt.

“I know. I was trying to prepare you but you never fucking listen.” His words sound sympathetic, no matter how harsh they are, but the way he punishes you with his dick seems to contrast that.

His hands hold up both your thighs as he leans you against the tree for more leverage so he can pull his hips back and fuck into you deeper and deeper.

“Mmm.” You moan, unable to form thoughts, let alone words.

The way the head of his cock hits just the right spot before slipping up to kiss your cervix makes you feel pleasure in a way you couldn’t previously fathom. You’ve never been fucked like this before and it just makes it oh so better because it’s him fucking you.

Joel’s deep brown eyes feel like they’re burrowing into your soul with the way he’s watching you. He lives for it, your reactions, every little sound you make. It all makes him harder as he slams into you rougher with each thrust.

“You feel so perfect, sweetheart. Taking me so damn well, finally learning how to listen.”

“Dick.” You grumble and he chuckles.

“I’m not the one who begged for this.” His hips push against yours. You didn’t think he’d be able to get even deeper but he does. “Fucking begged, honey.”

“I’m not the one who let go of all my morals for it though, either.”

It’s a dangerous thing for you to point out, almost threatening enough for him to stop. But it’s also another thing he likes about you. You always bite back. There is even some part, some sick part, of him deep down that enjoys how wrong it is. It enjoys that you, being so beautiful and smart and full of life… and so young still want him. You could have any man between your thighs but it’s Joel whose fucking you.

“I’m close, Joel.” You say after his fingers have crept down to rub between your legs. He needs you to finish first, needs it bad.

“Cum for me. Wanna feel you squeezing around me. Wanna know how you love it.”

His pace never falters as he leads you to the edge, drawing in and out of you with a pace that you didn’t think a man his age could hold. It just feels so good; you want it to last forever, but all good things end eventually.

“F-Fuck.” You moan and he feels it as your walls tighten around his cock. It almost makes him cum instantly but he pushes through enough to lead you through your high.

You’re panting now as he pulls out, spilling himself onto the forest floor. You look up at him as he lets you down gently. You’re scared, scared that it’s over now, scared that this was a one time thing. And he just won’t fucking look at you.

“Joel?” Your voice cracks. God, you hate how you can’t control it.

His head snaps back right away and when you look into his eyes… it’s not regret that you see. “It’s okay, trouble. You did good.” There is something more in the way he comforts you. “We’re good.”

It’s not much of an explanation but it relieves you. You understand him and though he didn’t speak many words, you know what lies between the lines. This isn’t the end of what’s between you.

comment to be added to taglist

@grayandthyme @littledes1re just thought I’d tag my new moots because y’all’s writing inspired me to get back into it :)

[clairewritesfanfics]

Old Friends

Your Character Settings: AFAB, Jason Todd's childhood friend, civilian, famous author

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

“When the cops told me they’d be sending over a bodyguard, I didn’t expect them to send in a superhero,” you said, setting down the frog-shaped pitcher on the coffee table. 

You then took a seat directly facing Red Hood. Tall. Bulky. Vigilante. Alleged colleague of the Bats if you were going by the giant red bat logo across his chest. He looked almost comical on your thrifted loveseat, but he kept his knees together and folded his hands politely over them, as though that would help make him look smaller. 

“I was told you were getting death threats,” he said. 

“Authors get that kind of mail all the time.”

“But it got worse, right?”

You shrugged. “I can deal with that type of thing, I called the cops for a different matter.” You gestured at the envelope on the table.

Red Hood examined the contents. They were photos of a shattered library window, specifically, the Jason Todd Collection, which was a library that doubled as a shelter full of secondhand sofas and couches and two bathrooms. It’s been around for three months and completely owned and funded by you. 

“I’ve heard about this place,” he said. “It’s amazing.”

“Thanks, I’m glad you think so because I want help finding the son of a bitch that broke in and beat up the people sleeping inside.”

“I’m pretty sure the cops already dealt with that.”

“They said they were going to deal with it, but a few officers took some pictures and didn’t even bother interviewing the victims.”

“I understand your concern for the victims and I don’t mean to be rude, but I came here to ensure that you were safe. It’s not exactly a secret that you own the Ja…” he paused briefly before continuing, “that you own the shelter. An attack on the place could’ve been a way of getting your attention. The shelter was attacked after your latest book release, correct?”

Your growing temper simmered and you reclined on your armchair. He was right. “Okay, I see where you’re coming from.”

“Ma’am–”

“Don’t call me that, makes me feel old. Just call me by my first name.”

He hesitated before saying your name and, “your new book’s controversial.”

“Yeah. Not everyone’s happy that I brought back a character from the dead. He was a fan favorite so half of my readers were happy to see him again, but the rest think that resurrection cheapens the plot.”

“I think you foreshadowed Hector’s return pretty consistently.”

“You read my books?”

He tilted his red helmet and you could feel him smiling under that thing. “I like love stories.”

“That–Jason!”

His whole body stiffened, but then a giant, furry thing emerged from behind his loveseat and started sniffing his shoes and thighs. 

You sighed. “That’s Jason. He usually hides in my room when I have people over. C’mere, boy.”

Instead of running to your lap like he always did, your seventy-kilogram, stranger-fearing rescue folded its legs and laid its heavy head on Red Hood’s boot. 

“Huh. That’s never happened before.” You eyed the hero suspiciously. “Can you talk to animals or something?”

He chuckled. “No superpowers, I’m afraid, guess he just likes me.” He bent down and gently rubbed the dog’s head. 

Your throat rumbled lowly with mild jealousy. It took you a whole year before Jason would let you approach him without peeing.

Red Hood then asked, “So…Jason?”

“What?”

“Was that always his name?”

“No. According to the shelter that found him he never answered to a single name. When I got him, I refused to just call him dog or it, so I reinforced the name Jason.”

“...you named him after Jason Todd?”

“Yes, I did.” You crossed your arms. “Now, can we please discuss the reason why you’re here?”

“I didn’t mean to get on your nerves, I was just–”

“–curious, I know.”

“You must’ve really cared for this Todd.”

You thought of Jason, beaming as he handed you a cheeseburger, laughing at a joke you told him, and you smiled. “He was my best friend.”

Red Hood said nothing.

“He died a few years ago. He was the smartest person I knew and he… he didn’t even get to finish high school.” You exhaled and looked at your bookshelf. “I want the world to remember his name, even if it’s just from the dedication pages in my books and a small library.”

***

Red Hood made himself comfortable on the rooftop overlooking your apartment. You may not have cared about several death threats but he did, and he wasn’t about to leave you alone unguarded.

“So this is where you’ve been,” a sing-song voice interrupted his thoughts.

Jason clicked his tongue.

Nightwing wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Heard everything from Babs. I can’t believe you approached her as Red Hood before you showed up as Jason.”

“Go away, dickhead.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Tsk.”

“She’s really cute, are her books any good though? Never found the time to read, well, anything. But Babs said–”

Dick’s words merged with the city’s usual background noise as Jason continued to watch you behind your balcony door.

He watched as you knelt down to help Jason the Dog slip into a red hoodie before pressing a tender kiss between its eyes.

He then opened his phone and scanned your weekly schedule. You were too reckless. You left a lot of your things out in the open. What if a freak found your planner?

He made a mental note to install some cameras when you leave to get groceries tomorrow.

Disclaimer: The image of Red Hood used in this post does not belong to writerclaire. It's by Dexter Soy and was lifted from: https://www.reddit.com/r/DCcomics/comments/h0iavp/cover_from_red_hood_and_the_outlaws_20_by_dexter/

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[vainvenus]

code red. | charles leclerc + alexandra saint mleux | pt.1

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader x Alexandra Saint Mleux

Synopsis: You and Charles meet up for lunch to get to know each other and shake off any awkwardness before the season starts.

Includings: Charles centered chapter, pretty fluffy, gentle teasing, subtle comforting + flirting, anxious behavior, themes of self doubt, charlie and alex being obsessed

An: Don't worry guys well get some Alex and reader love soon, trust

@samantha-chicago

Monaco was unusually calm for a weekend. The sun warm, breeze light, the quiet hum of city life drifting through the air like background music.

Charles sat at a corner table of a small, tucked-away café just above the harbor. The kind of place tourists rarely found. The kind of place with iron chairs that creaked a little and tomato plants growing in clay pots against the wall.

He had suggested, said that it wouldn't be too packed since it wasn't a local spot. He knew that you would like the sound of that.

He got there early. Water glass half-empty, thumb tapping nervously against the table.

And then you arrived.

Not loud. Not even dressed to impress. Just… there.

You were wearing a soft cream sweater tucked into dark jeans, your styled simply yet unintentionally graceful. You looked like you were trying not to draw attention, though Charles had a hard time looking away.

He stood as you approached, offering a small, warm smile.

“Hi." You said softly.

“Bonsoir. You found it okay?”

You nodded, fingers brushing against the sleeve of your sweater.

He gestured to the seat across from him. “I figured somewhere off-grid would be better than a packed touristy cafe.”

You sat carefully glancing away from him, as if you were afraid the chair might not be meant for you.

“Thank you. It’s…nice. Quiet.”

Charles smiled. “I thought that might be your style.”

You blinked at him. “You did?”

He gave a sheepish shrug. “I may have…looked through your page a little. I'm also good at reading people.”

Your eyes dropped to the table. “My page PR stuff mostly.”

“It still tells you something." He said gently. “The photos you keep versus the ones you post. I wonder what photos you keep for just your eyes.”

"Maybe one day you'll see." You murmured and he smiled at that.

He let you study the menu without pushing. When the waiter came, you asked for a specific kind of pasta, asking for light cilantro. Your voice just above a whisper. Charles ordered for himself then folded his hands loosely on the table.

“How're you liking Monaco so far?” He asked, leaning in a little.

“Oh it's gorgeous. I haven't been back for a while but I'm here visiting a friend.” You replied. "Trying to decide if I should get a home here."

“You should." He said. "Most of the drivers live here and it'd make it easier for you to connect with them. Plus, no taxes." He joked with a small chuckle.

And although he mentioned you connecting with the other drivers he hated the thought of that. You didn't need to socialize with anyone else on the grid besides him.

“I just don’t want to be recorded all the time." You sighed. "I know Monaco has no paparazzi but...it's like a gold mine to find a driver.”

Charles tilted his head. “You should get used to it.”

Your lips pressed into a tight line. He backtracked, voice softening.

“I just mean…it’s not something you can stop now. You’re with Ferrari. That alone makes people watch, living in Monaco wouldn't change much."

You looked up at him slowly. “I didn’t expect them to pick me.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not…loud or flashy like the other rookies this year. It kind of makes me feel like I'm falling behind or something." You sighed.

Charles leaned forward, his voice low. “You don’t have to be loud to be great. You're a F2 champion, that says enough."

You blinked at him. For a moment, you looked like you didn’t believe him. But your shoulders relaxed just a little.

When lunch arrived the conversation stayed light. He asked about your favorite circuits, your earliest memories of karting, what your helmet colors meant.

You didn’t offer stories unless asked, but when you did, they were quietly poetic. Little glimpses of long nights in cold paddocks. Mornings where your dad made you coffee before races. The moment you got the call from Ferrari and didn’t speak for ten seconds because you thought it was a mistake.

Charles listened like every word mattered. Because to him, it most certainly did.

At one point, you paused mid-bite, eyes flicking toward the sidewalk.

There were two people with phones out, casually pretending not to take pictures.

You shrank slightly into your chair, keeping your gaze down on your plate as you spun your fork around your food.

Charles noticed instantly.

“Hey.” He said softly. “You okay?”

You nodded, lips pressed together in a thin line before you glanced back over at the window.

He followed your gaze, then turned back to you.

“You’ll get used to it.” He said gently.

You were used to the fame from F2 from F1 was other worldly. The fans were so much more intense and unapologetically themselves in the worst ways sometimes. “The cameras. The looks. The attention. It’s annoying, but it’s part of it now.”

You looked down. “I don’t want people making things up. I've seen so many gossip pages and I don't want to cause a problem for my PR team already."

“They will anyway." He said with a shrug. Charles had had his fair share of tabloids that spewed rumors that were far from the truth. “Let them. You just stay exactly like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like you." He said simply. “You don’t need to worry about rumors when you know the truth and when you know who you are."

You raised a brow. "Which is?"

He paused, giving you a once-over that lingered just a second too long before his eyes found yours again.

Warm, full of something soft and kind. Like he was looking at the girl who didn’t just hang the moon and stars, but made the whole sky spin just for him "Perfect. Ferrari wouldn't have signed you if they thought otherwise.”

You stared at him for a moment, something unreadable flickering in your eyes.

Then you smiled.

Small, real, and almost private.

“Thank you.”

The silence after was warm.

When the check came, Charles didn't even allow you to look at it before he snatched it up and pulled out one of his cards from his wallet. And when you tried to offer your card, Charles just shook his head with that teasing glint in his eye.

"Charles! I can pay for my own meal." You shook your head as he had a tight hold on the check, waving his hand as you tried to give him your card.

“I'm paying and that's final.” He said, leaning back. “You can pay me back by not outqualifying me at Australia.”

You laughed like really laughed. For the first time that day.

And Charles? He could've recorded it and listened to it every single day.

★

The door hadn’t even clicked shut before Alexandra called from the kitchen, “Well?”

Charles let out a soft laugh, tossing his keys into the dish by the entry. “You didn’t even give me time to take off my shoes.”

“Because I know you.” She said, poking her head around the corner, a grin already forming. “You’re smiling.”

“I always smile.”

“Not like that,” She teased, setting down her glass and leaning against the counter. “That’s a she’s so pretty and I’m a little obsessed smile.”

Charles didn’t deny it. He walked into the kitchen, still in his jacket, hair a little windblown. His face had that softness it always carried when something— or someone got under his skin in the best way.

“She’s…” He paused, looking for the right word. “Quiet. Really quiet. But in a way that makes you want to wait for what she’ll say next.”

Alex's brow lifted. “So a little mysterious?"

“She barely talked unless I asked, but when she did—” He shook his head with a smile, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge. “It’s like she’s scared to take up space. But she should.”

Alex’s grin grew. “You’re whipped.”

"How could I not be? She's...perfect."

Alexandra couldn't help the smile continued to grow on her lips. “What’d you talk about?”

“Karting. Her helmet design. Her reaction to being told the news. How she doesn’t like people looking at her.”

“Rotten luck.” Alex said, hopping up to sit on the counter. “She’s with Ferrari. They’re going to look.”

“I told her that." Charles said, smiling like he still hadn’t quite come down from it. “Told her she didn’t need to change. That she already belongs.”

There was a small beat of silence before Alex said, “You’re already so protective.”

He gave a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “She just makes you want to be.”

Alexandra huffed. “I want to meet her.”

Charles hummed. "You will, mon amour. You will."

There was a beat of silence before Alex spoke again.

“Do you think she knows how cute she is?”

Charles looked away with a soft chuckle, then back to Alex. “I don’t think she knows anything good about herself. From how talented she is to how cute she is."

And that sat between them for a moment. A quiet truth neither of them liked.

Alexandra slid off the counter and touched his arm. “Then lucky for her, she has us.”

"Lucky indeed."

[thewertsearch]

GG: Do you remember around when we first started talking? […] GG: And you claimed you were the one making my pumpkins disappear? [...] GG: You later proceeded to try to prove to me that what you were saying was true. GG: But none of your attempts thereafter would ever bear any fruit, pardon the pun. […] GG: And I think this unfortunately began a pattern of mistrust.

The signal was manually blocked by CrockerCorp, no doubt - and that was all it took to send Jane down a path to mistrust, suspicion and isolation.

It's easy, when you have her in the palm of your hand.

TG: i cant just always appearify stuff from you any time i want TG: i can only take stuff im "allowed" 2 which is pmuch random TG: like stuff that by takin id be messing up the time line cause that stuff is supposed to be there and serve some funciton it hasnt served yet […] TG: but pumpins 4 some reason are a lil easier to take i dunno why TG: like they are specifically and arbitrorily unhinged from spacetime

There's simply no force in this reality greater than the memetic effect of a long-running Hussie Joke.

TG: i so gonked your gaurds jane GG: … GG: Did you gank them when my gourd was down?

Fuck, Jane, that was a bona-fide dad joke!

This girl's filling a lot of roles that this cast has been sorely missing up until now. Out of all the Alpha Kids, she's the most unlike her B1 counterpart - which makes her so interesting to read. She might not be an Heir of Breath, but she is a breath of fresh air.

TG: im psyched about u wanting to believe me and all TG: but part of me still feels like i should prove it TG: like i tried to once TG: it was just frustratin i mean im a sciestist i should be able 2 prove my shit TG: like TG: subject my claims to the fuckin madrigogs GG: Um… GG: Madrigogs? TG: *mad rigors

Roxy, for her part, seems to be as much of a scientist as Mom was implied to be. Mad science ladies are possibly my favourite archetype ever; thus, Roxy's speedrun to S-Tier continues.

Anyway, it looks like Roxy's about to try and prove... something. It's hard to say what would completely sway Jane, though - after all, the girl's already seen a First Guardian and a robot bunny. If they couldn't convince her that something funny was going on, what will?

TG: i mean trust between friends is sweet and everything but i dont know if i wanta be the repipient of like a butt load of pity believins

Bit of a sore point, I gather. She's already sick of this shit with Jake.

GG: It's not about pity! GG: It's more like a gesture I'm trying to make. GG: Or maybe that's not quite right. GG: It has more to do with setting things right for myself than making it up to you. GG: Does that make sense? TG: ………….

I agree with Roxy's silence, here, because something about Jane's attitude is rubbing me me the wrong way. Like, I can't put my finger on why, exactly, but something about this self-centered attitude to remorse is a little...

...ominous.

[pure-kirarin]

Shanks, Ben Beckmann & Smoker x S/O that doesn't speak their language

Hi dear Anon, despite my requests being closed, I really liked your idea and wanted to write it. So here are some cute & fluffy headcanons. As someone who uses their second or third language on the daily I have been in such situations and it inspired me to write these hcs. Hope you like them!

Shanks

Honestly? He doesn’t care. Language barrier? What barrier? Shanks barely talks his own language and has been communicating with drunk pirates all his life. 

You think not sharing a common language is going to stop him from flirting? Please, there is another kind of tongue you both share!

He grins wide, then slaps a hand on his chest. “Me—Shanks.” He says it slowly, like he’s discovered the magic of human speech. “Shanks.” He points at himself again, just in case. Then points at you, eyes twinkling. “You?” You blink. Then cautiously mimic his gesture, your hand on your chest. “...Y/N.”

He gasps like you just revealed you were royalty. “WOW.” He turns immediately to his crewmate Ben Beckmann, who's calmly smoking in the corner like he is used to his captain’s reactions.

“Ben, did you hear that? She gets me.”

Ben doesn’t even look up. “Congratulations tarzan” But Shanks is glowing. He turns back to you and clinks his drink against yours with reverence. “We’re basically fluent now.”

Whenever you are with Shanks, you never feel the need to speak, it’s full instinct, it’s about the looks in the eyes, about the way he catches on when your breath hitches because he is too close.

He loves the way you look into his eyes like you're searching for words inside them, like you're hoping his gaze can speak for you.

And somehow, it does. You don’t have to explain. He gets you without talking. His fingers gently lift your chin, slow and deliberate, tilting it just enough so your eyes meet his without escape. His thumb brushes your chin, his breath warm against your lips :

"You want a kiss, don’t you?" he murmurs, voice low and teasing, an invitation.

He already knows the answer. It’s written all over your face, in the way you lean in just a little too close, in how your eyes flicker down to his lips before you can stop yourself. And yet, he waits for you to close the distance. 

Ben Beckmann

Whereas it’s flowing and energy bursts with Shanks– with Ben, it’s a different story! Ben doesn’t talk a lot anyway, so a language barrier just fits into his rhythm. He’s a master of reading the room, and he picks up your cues fast. A raised eyebrow, a pause before your sentence—he’s already adjusted to you.

Ben is very patient with you, he doesn’t rush to finish your sentences, he doesn’t feel the need to. He just lets you express yourself and tries to understand your meanings through your tone. 

Since Ben is very smart and observant, he starts to understand patterns in your speech, and starts secretly learning your language, which makes it way easier for you to communicate. He also sometimes uses what he has learned to teach you a few useful words. 

Misunderstandings happen often, since you barely speak his language. You sometimes mispronounce words in ways that make the other crew members laugh — like that time you said ‘bitch’ instead of ‘beach’. Ben doesn’t mind, though. He just smiles and gently corrects your pronunciation.

He encourages you to practice and talk slowly and he is very patient with you. He occasionally points at things and names then so you remember what they are called. He finds your pronunciation very charming and cute. 

You two are sitting side by side, the soft clink of glasses between you, the night wrapping around like a quiet blanket. He leans back lazily, pointing his finger upward: “This is the sky.”

“The sky…” You repeat after him, and he feels like a proud teacher. You point out at his cigarette, as if you’re asking him for its name. He raises an eyebrow and points to it as well: 

“This…It’s a cigarette.” You repeat the word clumsily, making him scoff— a soft, amused sound that’s full of affection.

It’s moments like these he treasures, when the language barrier isn’t a wall, but a way to bond. 

Smoker

Smoker gets easily frustrated, but not at you, he is aware that you are still learning and finds pride in you speaking more than one language. Whenever someone dares to mock your accent or your mistakes, he snaps at them like a flame catching fuel

“—If I hear any of you making fun of her, I’ll crush you to pieces! Aren’t you fucking ashamed? How many of you even speak more than one language?!”

He tries so hard to hide it — the way his heart melts every time you mispronounce a word or mix up a term. It's so damn adorable, it almost makes him turn into a puddle. But he’d never let you see that.

So instead, his ears turn a soft rose-pink, and he takes a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling more smoke than usual, like he's trying to hide behind it. His expression stays neutral, but that little flush, the way his eyes soften for a second too long, gives him away every time and makes you giggle.

He listens closely, not to mock but to remember. Every little mistake you make, he tucks it away in his mind, not with irritation but quiet fondness. Later, when things are calm, he’ll bring it up like it’s nothing: “— By the way, it’s pronounced ‘six,’ not ‘sex.’ Just so you know.” As if he hadn’t been thinking about it all day. As if he hadn’t found it cute as hell.

Whenever he feels overwhelmed by emotions, he silently thanks the language barrier — it lets him say everything he feels without shame. He tells you how much he loves you, how beautiful he finds you.

You may not understand every single word, but you feel all of it. His gaze doesn’t waver, and in that moment, the language barrier becomes something else entirely, not a wall, but a shelter. A secret place where he can be completely vulnerable, and still feel safe, but not for too long, since you’re catching up fast. 

please leave a comment if you enjoyed these hcs ! kisses.

[saphronethaleph]

Love Language

“So, uh… Dad?” Hiccup said, nervously, but that was mostly just normal for him. “I’ve got a… question.”

“What sort of question, Hiccup?” Stoic replied, not unkindly – for him, anyway.

That was sort of how their family relationship went a lot of the time, as it happened. The two of them being at pains to be normal with one another.

“So… how exactly do we know that dragons are, uh… monsters, evil, want to hurt us, want to destroy us?” Hiccup asked, rattling off the normal dragon description from the Book of Dragons. “Extremely dangerous, and so on?”

Stoic blinked, then looked at Hiccup with the sort of look that – normally – would be reserved for a relative who’d said something extremely thick.

He wasn’t used to turning it on Hiccup.

“They keep… attacking us,” he said. “Raiding us. Carrying off our sheep.”

“Yeah, about that,” Hiccup replied. “Because, I’ve been a Viking teenager for a while now and the general impression I get is that that’s how Vikings show that they want to become friends.”

Stoic snorted.

“Not getting on well with your friends?” he asked.

“That plural is assuming a lot, Dad,” Hiccup replied. “That… word is also making some assumptions, actually! Though you did keep telling me that all the punches and stuff were just a way of making friends – but, I wasn’t actually talking about my friends, I didn’t mean them, I was meaning to talk about the dragons.”

“And?” Stoic said.

“The point I’m making, Dad, is that… so, uh, I tried putting myself in the place of the dragons,” Hiccup said, shaking his leg and leaning awkwardly on the door frame. “And I wondered what Vikings would think if we went somewhere and the people there were firing catapults at us and shooting flaming rocks at us, and that sort of thing, and… I’ve met Vikings, dad. I’m pretty sure you’ve met Vikings!”

Stoic paused, to actually consider that.

It was one of the increasingly large number of things about this conversation which was not Normal, but he was willing to give it a go.

“...hm,” he said. “That sounds like a pretty good night out, actually.”

“That’s what I’m getting at!” Hiccup agreed, now leaning over more. “Hold on.”

“What is it?”

“Not you, I mean-” Hiccup said, then gestured at someone Stoic couldn’t see.

Or possibly just nearly fell over, the lad was gangly.

“Anyway – uhm – I think the dragons just want to be friends,” Hiccup went on, speaking very quickly. “And that they’re enough like Vikings that all we’re doing is just making them more interested.”

“Nonsense,” Stoic replied.

“Really?” Hiccup asked. “Because – uh – are you at least going to think about it before you decide that I have to be wrong?”

“I don’t need to think about it to know it’s nonsense,” Stoic said, firmly.

“Yeah, that sounds pretty Viking too,” Hiccup muttered. “Stubborn and unwilling to admit that you might be wrong about something… so, uh… what about an experiment?”

“Is this some of that scientific method stuff Gobber had you learning?” Stoic checked.

It sounded a bit suspect, to him.

“Yeah, actually,” Hiccup agreed. “But if something happens you can’t say it’s impossible, right?”

Stoic carefully considered the question.

If something happens, you can’t say it’s impossible.

“All right, so let’s accept that for the sake of argument,” he allowed. “What kind of thing?”

“So I gave a Terrible Terror a fish,” Hiccup said. “Once. And now I literally cannot get it to stop rubbing against my ankles, making a kind of purring noise, and curling up next to my bed when I go to sleep.”

Stoic blinked, looking Hiccup up and down.

“...there doesn’t seem to be a Terrible Terror rubbing against your ankles,” he said.

“Yeah, because I can’t stop it, but Toothless can,” Hiccup explained. “Because, uh, there’s this Night Fury…”

“A Night Fury?” Stoic repeated, then went back over the conversation and reprocessed this new information through it.

“...are you telling me you befriended a Night Fury?” he asked. “How?”

“I shot it down,” Hiccup replied. “And, uh… since then I’ve kind of been testing the hypothesis, that’s more of the whole science thing, and it took like eight seconds to convince the Monstrous Nightmare in the training pens that I was a cool guy to be around. I just kind of smiled and that was it?”

He shrugged, then finally lost the battle against keeping the Night Fury out of the doorframe, and the Unholy Offspring of Lightning and Death Itself slowly pushed the leaning Hiccup across the doorframe.

Then spotted Stoic, groonked something, and sat on his haunches like a giant, attentive dog mixed with a curious cat possessed of a penchant for pushing things off tables.

Stoic spent several seconds contemplating what to do, then – experimentally – threw his hammer at the beast.

It ducked, letting Hiccup topple over with a thump, then loped off after the hammer. A few seconds later, a Terror sat on the prone Hiccup’s side and curled up before visibly and very quickly going to sleep.

“You, uh… see what I mean?” Hiccup asked.

The Night Fury came back, tail swishing from side to side, and deposited the thrown hammer eagerly in front of the door before making a pleased sort of gronk-chirp.

Stoic gave up.

This was now Normal.

Making that new categorization was going to save a lot of time.

“My working theory is that, to dragons, we’re friend shaped,” Hiccup said, still trapped under the snoozing Terror.

[girllblogging777]

IN WHICH you force spencer to help you with the only thing he doesn’t know about. makeup.

the video of your makeup routine pops up on your phone, and you press the mic to record the voiceover, a smile on your face “go ahead baby…”

spencer braces himself, rolling his eyes “remind me why i agreed to do this again ?”

“because you love me, obviously” you answered with a shrug, and a tilt of your head.

“right. i do”

you gesture your hand towards your phone, signalling him to finally start talking. internally, you’re giggling, because you once again got him to indulge in your weird little activities he doesn’t know the first thing about.

“ahem, so… hi, hello everyone, whoever’s watching this video of my beautiful girlfriend making herself even more beautiful. i’m spencer… spencer reid - the boyfriend, and i’m supposed to explain what exactly she’s doing in this clip.”

you grin and give him a thumbs up, motivating him to keep going.

“so, she begins by washing her face with some fancy cleanser, which is very important because it maintains hydration, prevents breakouts, exfoliates and removes dead skin, - too many details ? right, sorry.”

he purses his lips when you glare at him, amused.

“then, she proceeds to use some serum, as well as eye cream and moisturiser, which surprisingly works wonders - don’t ask why i know, just… i know. and she also uses sunscreen, as all of you should because, well… it prevents aging and skin cancer.”

but then, the clip shows you opening your makeup bag, and his eyes widen a bit.

“uh, now’s the part where my IQ slashes to 60… this is uh… foundation ? oh no, that’s concealer to conceal blemishes and eye bags she doesn’t have - damn babe, i could use some of that too. now this is foundation ! she puts it on her hand for… some reason, and applies it with a brush… so, that’s kinda like painting-“

you facepalm yourself. painting ? really ?

“wait, why is this so dark ? oh, she’s drawing shadows with a stick… to try to make it look like her nose is tiny and her cheekbones are sharp… baby, you really don’t need that-“

okay, this was really getting amusing to watch, especially because he was analysing the video so carefully, his brows furrowed as he stared at the phone.

“glitter ! liquid glitter… on her cheeks. wait, that’s why you always look so glowy… gives her that ethereal look, you know ? i very much approve of the glitter. oh, and that’s blush. i know that too. but my favourite blush is the one she gets when i kiss her. or the one she’s got right now because i’m very much embarrassing her-“

he’s looking up at you, smiling like an idiot before you point back at the phone.

“right, sorry. i got distracted. baby, who’s even gonna watch that, seriously ? this is some fancy powder… i don’t exactly know what it’s for, but it originates from ancient egypt !”

“spence, come on”

“this is mascara, i know that too… woah, is that some kind of torture device ? hey, what are you doing to your lashes !”

you giggle, covering your mouth as he goes on about the lash curler.

“this is a pencil. for her lips. she uses it like twenty times a day, but i don’t know why. it tastes bad too. oh, and the lipgloss of course, couldn’t forget the lipgloss.”

his words are slowed down, because he’s too busy staring at your lips on the screen.

“uhm… and now she’s spraying something all over her face ? i’m guessing that means we’re done, damn, that was something. thank you for listening, i hope you enjoyed this video because i sure did - enjoy the video, not voiceovering it”

and with that, you take the phone from his hand, pressing the stop button. he lets out a relieved sigh, looking at you with puppy eyes. “how did i do ?”

“not bad at all, spence. but glitter, really ?”

of course, over the next few weeks, the girls at the BAU never stopped teasing him about it. jj kept calling him a “lovefool” and when emily asked penelope for her lash curler, they both warned him “careful, genius, we’ve got a torture device in the room”

okay, makeup may not have been the subject he mastered the most. but he was still glad he had complied and made the stupid video with you, because the smile that had formed on your face back then might have been the most precious thing he’d ever witnessed.

no makeup needed.

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT, PRINCESS?"

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH REMMICK

I hope you like it! 😊🖤☝

WARNING: EXPLICIT SMUT UNDER THE CUT

Remmick could hear your heart pounding and your blood rushing through your body at a speed faster than a normal human's every time he looked at you.

It didn't take him long to realize the reason for your condition, so one night when he gave the others permission to go hunting, he decided it was time to talk to you privately about what was clearly happening between you.

You walked into the small barn where you were temporarily staying, your legs shaking with nerves.

Before he left, Stack had told you that Remmick wanted to talk to you, but he hadn't told you why, or what he had to say.

You didn't know if it was because you had done something wrong or because… you really had no idea, which only increased your nervousness.

You opened the barn door as you glimpsed the simple yet imposing black chair in the center of the room where he was sitting.

The soft moonlight reflected off his features, making his dark eyes shine in the brightness of the star.

"Hi," you greeted, not knowing what you were supposed to say. "Did you want to see me?"

"Yes," he nodded. "Come in, please," he said, gesturing for you to close the door.

He stared at you for a few seconds, clasping his hands together and placing them on the armrests of the chair he was sitting in.

"Did I…?" You swallowed hard. "Did I do something wrong?" you asked. "Whatever it is, I can fix it. I'll do whatever it takes to…"

"Relax, honey. You didn't do anything wrong," he whispered, causing you to take a deep breath, a little more calmly. "I just wanted to talk to you while the others were busy on their little excursion, that's all."

"Okay," you murmured, suddenly shy. "What do you want to talk about?"

-I'm glad you asked - he celebrated, looking at his nails distractedly - you see, it's been several weeks since I've been able to ignore your attitude towards me - he said, going straight to the point, making you tense from head to toe - don't bother denying it, love - he whispered - I've been alive for a long time, and there are certain things that one learns to identify as soon as they are in front of them, and you, my dear y/n, desire me with such intensity that sometimes you have trouble breathing when I look in your direction, like now - he explained, sketching a half-smile -

-I-I… didn't mean… t-to…

-Shhh, it's okay, sweetheart, it's a natural reaction - he murmured - I can see through you, the longing for the darkness that surrounds me is… delicious - he whispered, and the way he said it made your skin crawl - you're drawn to me like a moth to a flame, but you must be aware that, If you're not careful, the flame could end up devouring you, darling." His eyes shone with an intense reddish glow. "Is that what you want, Princess?" He asked, resting his gaze on your face. "Do you want to be devoured by the flame?"

"Y-yes," you murmured, feeling your cheeks blush intensely. "I want it," you replied. He nodded, pleased by your answer.

"In that case, be a good girl and sit on my lap," he whispered, his eyes following your every move.

He held the straps of the garment you were wearing between his fingers, making you feel the touch of his cold fingers against your skin.

"This dress… is beautiful," he whispered. "It's a shame I have to get rid of it, don't you think, darling?"

“Please…” you shifted impatiently on his lap, making him laugh.

“Oh, look at you, you poor thing,” he mocked lightly. “So desperate, and I haven’t even touched you yet,” he whispered in your ear. “I can hear your lungs struggling to fill with air, and your heart pumping blood through your body so you can keep breathing,” he murmured. “I can feel EVERYTHING,” he almost gasped. “I can FEEL YOU,” he emphasized. “I feel you in every pore of my skin, in every particle floating in the air, your smell…” he growled. “It’s driving me crazy, baby, I need to have you,” he moaned as if it physically hurt him to even say it. “I need to be inside you.”

“Do it,” you gasped. “I want to feel you, please…”

You didn’t even need to say anything else.

Remmick quickly removed your dress, careful not to rip it, and with one swift movement, he was inside you.

You both gasped as you felt each other so clearly.

"You're mine," he panted in your ear. "You're all mine, forever."

"Forever," you repeated, feeling the pressure in your lower abdomen increase more and more. "Remmick, I need…"

"I know, baby. I can feel you clench around me." He panted, gripping your hips tightly with his hands. "Cum for me, my love."

That's what you did.

You came against him, and he gently held you in his arms as you both caught your breath.

It had definitely been worth it not to have accompanied the others on their night of hunting.

[astarions-world]

I have been getting so emotional thinking about this scene. I haven’t even reached it in my own play through yet (hopefully soon, I’m just leaving Act 1) but I’ve seen many videos about it and it just makes me emotional every time.

Astarion and Hugs

Larian did such a good job portraying what trauma would be like for someone like Astarion (and with other characters too as well). They had to have consulted a psychologist right? I’m not a psychologist but I just wanted to look at all the little details of this scene that really show you just how hurt Astarion really is.

This is the first scene in which he truly opens up with romanced Tav. He takes off his mask, he gets rid of his “seduction” act and he decides to be vulnerable with you, which is probably scary for him. It’s interesting to me because when he asks to talk to you and you reject him, he’ll break things off with you, which tells you this is very important to him.

He genuinely expresses remorse and guilt for what he did to Tav. He starts it off by saying he “feels awful”. Obviously he’s realizing what he’s been doing is not cool and he feels bad about it and wants to be honest with Tav, because he’s starting to genuinely care about them.

He opens up about how he wants them to be something real but he doesn’t know what real looks like after he spent 200 years faking it. One of the options is to hug him. I love this option.

I mean look at the trauma behind those eyes during the hug. This is a man who has been used and abused for 200 years. He’s so unsure at first. This is a man who has never seen a lick of kindness or love shown to him for 200 years. Who’s to say he even knows what a hug is? When Tav begins to hug him, he’s unsure, confused, and doesn’t know what’s going on.

When he realizes it’s a hug, and that it’s being shown as an act of love and care towards him, and it’s not a gesture meant to hurt him, he returns the hug, still unsure of what to do but feeling reassured that he is loved.

I mean, how sad is that? This man has never had anyone hug him or even express love and care like that for 200 years. It takes a huge toll on a person and it’s very in character for a traumatized person (especially if violence was involved in the trauma, which seems like it was the case for Cazador) to be unsure at first of gestures like hugs. I believe later in the game (correct me if I’m wrong cuz I haven’t gotten that far yet) there are certain scenes where he hugs you and it’s plain to see that he appreciates them more now.

I just wanna jump through the screen and give this man a hug irl during this scene. It’s weird that I’m getting so emotional over pixels on a screen but Neil did such a good job bringing Astarion to life and portraying a man who has been through a lot of “pure shit” in his unlife.

The story of Astarion becoming loved and cared for for the first time in his unlife is so beautiful to me. And he slowly learns to care about someone else too. A lot of people criticize him for being selfish in the beginning of the game and cruel but it makes sense to me. Cruelty is all that was ever shown to him for 200 years, but once he starts to see that people can be kind, he starts being kind to others as well, in the best way he knows how.

Now, excuse me while I go cry over a fictional man.

[rose-gold-chains]

Pairing: IIIxIV

Word count: 5443

[WARNINGS: unprotected sex, light bdsm practices, degradation, orgasm control/denial, edging, overstimulation]

18+ content - minors, do not interact.

As usual, feedback is welcome and very much appreciated. Be kind, though!

Iii is in a foul mood and IV loves it.

He doesn’t know what happened to bring on such a sudden shift, but he knows what it means for him: mean, demanding, controlling III. And he’s not one to complain.

All he knows it’s the pattern is always the same, and sooner or later, III will drag him into a secluded room and tear him to pieces slowly, painstakingly. All he can do is wait.

It’s almost methodical, the way he does it. He takes all his anger, and frustration, and anxiety and channels them into being the most dominant he can be.

It takes two hours, twenty three minutes and about eight seconds.

But who’s counting?

“You,” there’s a long, bony finger pointed at him, “go to my room.”

His blue eyes are dark and serious as they stare back at IV, unmoving, stern, and his voice is deep, accent thick with simmering anger, “I expect to see you undressed and kneeling when I come back. Understood?”

“Understood, sir.”

“Good.”

•

All IV can hear as he slowly undresses himself is the ticking of the wall clock hanging right above the bed, and the white background noise of the cars driving some floors below seeping through the half-opened window.

It’s kind of soothing, in a twisted way.

The anticipation is killing him as he sinks to his knees on the soft mattress, naked skin brushing the fancy silk sheets III insisted on buying in all the colours of the rainbow, hairs all over his body standing straight with excitement.

His cock is already half hard, blood rushing south at lightning speed as he imagines everything III will put him through - but when the door opens and shuts, all the coherent thoughts fly out of the fucking window: III looks like an absolute vision. He’s wearing all black - form fitting t-shirt and loose track pants hanging low on his skinny hips, and he’s towering over the bed like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.

“I haven’t even stepped into the room and you’ve already made three mistakes. Can you tell me what they are?”

IV must look like a complete idiot, because as much as he racks his brain for answers, he still comes up blank, and all he can do is look lost and shake his head.

“Think fast, bitch, because ‘I don’t know’ is not an option, and every wrong answer will grant you ten spanks.”

“I— didn’t fold my clothes properly?”

“Mh. You did four things wrong, then.”

Fuck.

“I,” he breathes, thinks, rinse and repeat. Nothing.

“What? Are you too dumb to form words or are you just trying to piss me off?”

“I— genuinely can’t think of anything, Sir,” his voice sounds alien to his own ears, small and vulnerable, “I’m sorry.”

“Fine, I’ll give you the answer. But that means you’ll get the paddle instead of my hand. And you’re getting spanked however many times I see fit, considering you’re too much of a dumb slut to know what’s best.”

From the outside looking in, a person who’s not familiar with their dynamics will think that III is some sort of evil monster taking advantage of poor little sunshine IV.

Fact of the matter is, though, IV is enjoying every single second, revelling in the attention and the dominance; he loves being told what to do, how to act. Adores being punished - or rewarded.

He can get out of his own head and just feel: every hit of the paddle, every smack of a hand on his skin or pull of his hair takes him one step closer to the special place in the back of his head that has him floating on pure pleasure and adrenaline, and he can’t fucking wait to get there.

“Number one: I told you to kneel, I didn’t tell you to kneel on the bed. Number two: I didn’t tell you you could get hard,” he gestures at IV’s dick with disdain, eyes rolling slightly, “number three: i didn’t give you permission to look at me when I came into the room. Now get down from there, I want you face down, ass up on the carpet.”

As much as he enjoys pain, IV is not a big fan of carpet burn.

He can either disobey and face III’s wrath -fun, painful, ultimately rewarding - or obey  - and still be punished, of course, since he did make three, no, four mistakes - but avoid provoking III further, since he’s already in a pissy mood. Choices, choices. 

As much as he loves instigating III, a big part of IV lives for the moment when his volatile partner praises him for being good. And he’ll get his punishment in any case - the way his cock twitches and hardens even more guarantees it - so. Rug burn it is. 

He can feel him walking around the room, can feel the eyes on his naked skin, burning patterns into it with his mind.

The click of the closet door opening sends a shiver down IV’s spine, a tingle of anticipation bubbling in every nerve ending on his body- he knows the paddle is in there, together with a plethora of other devices made especially for him.

He doesn’t hear rummaging, though- the door clicks shut in record time: which means the paddle was ready all along, that he was gonna get paddled either way, no matter how pristine his obedience was. It means III had a plan all along.

“Can you count, or do I have to do that, too?”

IV shifts in his spot a bit, feels the carpet dig into his shins and his knees, “I can count, Sir.”

“Good,” smack, “go on then, I don’t have all day!”

“One, Sir. Thank you.”

They land everywhere: from the round part of his bum to the lowest part of his thighs, the hits rain on him like blessed water mixed with the flames of hell.

His eyes water more and more with each one, and his body doesn’t know if it wants to move away from the pain or towards it, stuck in a loop of pleasure and pain that’s washing over his senses like tidal waves.

His dick twitches at every strike, hangs heavy and swollen in between his legs, leaking, begging for a shred of attention, yearning for some sweet, sweet crumb of friction.

“T— twenty five.”

The sound of the paddle clanking on the floor tells him it’s over, but he wouldn’t dare moving until told.

“You’re not as dumb as you look, then. Get on your knees.”

His arms are shaking as he attempts to raise himself from the ground, and he almost eats a handful of carpet when his right hand slips and loses grip, but he manages.

“Face this way, slut, I have no use for you looking the other way.”

Shimmying his way around is no easy feat, especially since his knees are scraped pretty badly from rubbing against the carpet during his paddling, and every movement sends a jolt of pain through his nerves. He’s pretty sure one of them is bleeding, a tiny dot of crimson leaving its mark on the pristine white fibres.

III takes a long, calculated glance at him, eyes sparkling with mischief. He looks like a giant standing there while IV is kneeling: his impossibly tall and slender body adorned in all black is an imposing presence, ominous almost, towering over IV’s figure with ease. The light hairs of his happy trail glisten with a veil of sweat and it’s mouth watering, hypnotic.

God, IV is so obsessed with this beautiful man.

“Hands behind your back.”

He removes his hands from where they’re hiding his very obvious erection and puts them where instructed, “yes, Sir.”

“Still hard, I see,” his voice is tinged with something IV can’t quite put his finger on: his wishful thinking says it sounds like awe, his rational mind quips that it’s most likely annoyance, “you’re so desperate that not even twenty five strikes will get your dick to go down? Fucking pathetic.”

He blushes a deep shade of red as his dick throbs at the humiliation.

“If you’re so hungry for it,” III spits, as he lowers his pants just enough to get his half hard dick out, “then have at it. And make it worth my time.”

He scoots his way over to him, barely resisting the urge to flinch every time his scraped knees glide on the carpet, and puts his whole nose into the sparse hairs at the base of III’s cock, taking in the smell of detergent and arousal, letting it invade his senses and put his mind at peace.

“Less sniffing, more sucking,” he pushes his hips forward once to drive the point home, “you’re a bitch, but you’re not a fucking dog.”

The weight of III’s cock on his tongue is familiar, yet every time feels like the first: his reactions to getting head are dependent on his mood, on IV’s behaviour, on a myriad of other variables that make the experience surprising in its familiarity.

IV puts his soul into it, sucks cock like he’s paid to do so.

Apparently though, today his passion, enthusiasm and effort are not enough: the moments he puts his right hand at the base of III’s length -just so he can give attention to what doesn’t fit in his mouth- is the moment III steps back completely.

“I told you hands behind your back. I can’t fathom how is it so hard to fucking listen?”

He walks to the closet again, and this time the noise of objects rattling against each other is almost jarring in the deep silence of the room.

He comes back moments later with a pair of— pink plush handcuffs?

“I— Sir?”

“What now?”

“Are those—?”

He would usually go with rope, if he’s feeling frisky. Or tape.

Zip ties occasionally, and if he’s in a sweet mood, probably silk.

But pink plushy handcuffs are a first - and IV can’t for the life of him figure out where the fuck they came from. Or better yet, he knows where they came from: his fucking browser history.

He’s always had delicate skin, and he doesn’t mind the marks on his body - truly doesn’t. But his wrists always hurt for days after, insistent red welts blossoming on his wrists every time he ends up bound or tied, and sometimes he finds himself browsing for something sturdy yet soft, something that will keep him in line without the added strain on his already damaged skin.

He just never thought—

“I— don’t know what to say.”

“Thank you will do, I believe.”

His voice is still stern, but there’s a hint of affection in his tone that he can’t mask or hide.

“Thank you, Sir,” look at him, tearing up at the sight plushy handcuffs like a degenerate fucking idiot, “thank you so, so much.”

When they click in place on his wrists, the soft material is a stark contrast to what he’s used to: they’re firm, the sharp tug he gives them confirms it, but they don’t hurt, they won’t leave angry marks.

No matter how mean III acts, how punitive and cruel his actions look from the outside looking in, IV knows he’s cherished.

III taps his jaw once with his index finger, and the warmth of his skin against his shakes IV out of his thoughts, “open wide.”

It’s all the warning he gets before III’s cock is shoved so far down his throat he almost chokes on it.

Every sharp snap of III’s hips threatens his precarious balance, and all he can do is focus on breathing through his nose and engaging his core muscles so he doesn’t topple over on his ass and make a fool of himself.

Just when it was getting good - IV had found a rhythm with his tongue that allowed him to give iii pleasure without choking, and III had started making these gorgeous, choked half-moans every time the tip of his cock hit the tender back of IV’s throat - III stops.

And IV can’t help but make a slight noise of complaint.

“Shut the fuck up, Jesus,” his voice is fucked like he’d been the one taking a dick down his throat instead of giving it, “get on the bed.”

Getting up is no easy feat, especially with his hands locked behind him and throwing off his balance, but the promise of something more gives him the strength to obey as quickly as his body would allow.

“Ass up, I’m tired of looking at your pathetic face.”

•

“I’ve opened myself up already, Sir.”

“Playing with your sorry hole like a slut doesn’t mean you’re ready for me.”

As much as IV would love nothing more than being fucked into oblivion sooner rather than later, he knows proper prep is a non negotiable for III: no matter how mean he’s being, he’ll always make sure there’s plenty of lube and plenty of time spent on it.

It doesn’t matter if they fucked the day before and IV feels still loose enough; or if he tells him he’s prepped himself beforehand, III will always, always double check.

Rationally, he knows it’s a good thing.

But the desperate, horny, greedy, impatient part of his brain still sometimes registers it as a nuisance - but he still sags against the sheets, props his ass up high, and waits.

“God,” III whispers as the first finger breaches IV’s hole, “you were made to be fucked, weren’t you?”

IV is glad he’s not facing him, because he’s pretty sure III would start giving him shit for how much he’s blushing at the makeshift compliment, warmth spreading from his face all the way down his chest like wildfire, unforgiving and unstoppable.

“Look at this,” he speaks like he’s talking mostly to himself, voice quiet, no longer as commanding as it was before, “your hole is so hungry for it, for me,” he pushes a second finger in, the slide made easy by copious amounts of lube and the fact that - as much as III doesn’t want to believe it - IV had actually already opened himself up as he said, “isn’t it?”

“Only for you, Sir.”

Two fingers soon become three, pumping in and out of him at a leisurely pace like they have all the time in the universe, and IV wishes III didn’t know his body as well as he does because he’s purposefully avoiding that sweet, sweet spot inside him that makes him see stars: this is methodical, a means to an end, and the end goal is apparently not IV’s pleasure.

He's still impossibly hard though, knees spread wide and cock hanging heavy between his thighs - he’s pretty sure he’s been consistently leaking since the fucking handcuffs clocked shut on his wrists, mind getting fuzzy at the edges, body feeling light like a feather and heavy like a block of lead at the same time.

The moment III’s fingers slide out of him leaves him and get replaced by his cock leaves him gasping for air like a fish out of water, mouth agape and desert dry, “o-oh fuck.”

The rhythm is ruthless from the get-go, every thrust as punishing and fast as the previous one, and each aimed at that perfect angle that makes him feel as if his sanity is about to slip away from his grasp any moment.

IV feels like he’s hanging on by a thread as moans and groans are ripped out of him every time III’s cock slams back inside.

The noises III is making are not helping his predicament: he grunts with every thrust, moans every single time he pulls far enough away that the head of his cock catches on IV’s rim just to slide back inside with ease, then grinds against him like a feral beast in heat, pushing as deep as he can go and brushing all the right places - it’s maddening for both of them, animalistic and primal and so, so fucking dirty.

IV is aware he’s sweaty all over, skin so damp he feels like he’s gonna slide off the stupid silk sheets any minute now but he can’t stop writhing, twitching, moaning - hell, he’d probably pull his fucking hair out if his hands weren’t bound behind him.

He would be grossed out by himself if he weren’t so fucking close, tethering dangerously over the edge of the precipice and so fucking ready to fall over and let the void take over his senses.

His mind is foggy at best and incoherent at worst, and all he can think is pain pain pain pleasure pleasure pleasure, with the way his ass and thighs burn so good every time III’s hips slap against his abused skin, new redness forming over top of the purple spots that were already there, and his burnt knees catching in the folds of the fabric with every forceful thrust.

He’s only vaguely aware of III saying things to him as he fucks him from behind, random words making their way into his muddled mess of a brain, things like “brat” and “slut” and “baby” spoken directly against his ear as III keeps a firm hold on his hair, bending his back in positions that any sane person with functioning eyes would probably deem impossible to achieve.

“I’m gonna come,” he’s not aware he’s spoken until it has happened, and he’s only sure it was him because he’s gone, but not gone enough that he can’t recognise his own voice, thank you very much.

III has him trained so well that he wouldn’t dare come without permission in any circumstance, no matter how taxing.

“No, you’re not.”

He realises he’s crying only because his tears feel salty in his mouth.

That’s all it takes to pull him under.

He can vaguely register himself talking.

It feels as if someone else outside of his body is stealing his voice, speaking for him like a ventriloquist’s puppet, and it’s nothing but a mantra of “please, please, please,” and “need to come, want to come, let me come”.

It’s embarrassing, it’s desperate, it’s his brain losing all filter as reality quickly slips from his grasp.

The moment III’s buries himself balls deep inside him feels like coming home, like IV is floating on a cloud of sugar dust and rainbows and morning dew: the warmth spreads through him as his insides are painted white, and suddenly the urge of coming is overcome by the overwhelming pride of being good.

He managed not to break the rules, he made his Sir come like he’s supposed to, he’s done what his body was carved out for, all those years ago: pleasuring III and nothing else.

•

“Baby,” his eyes feel sticky and gross as he tries to pry them open, “hey? You with me?”

I’m good, he wants to say, but his throat is tight and rough - he nods as best as he can, head feeling too heavy on his weak neck, and attempts a smile that doesn’t come as easily as he would like it to.

There’s delicate fingers carding through his hair and a big hand holding on to his cheek, stroking gently in comforting patterns, lulling him into a sense of safety and home, “you were so good for me, angel. So, so good.”

“Sir,” is what he manages to say as he attempts to find his voice, pain shooting through his throat at every noise, “t-thank you.”

A tall glass of water gets pushed to his lips and he drinks and drinks and drinks until it’s all gone, drops falling from the corners of his mouth and onto his chest, sending shivers down his spine as his overstimulated body registers yet another sensation.

He’s sitting up, he realises.

There are no cuffs on his wrists.

And III is looking at him like he hung the fucking moon- so. That’s something.

The next thing he notices as his body starts making peace with his brain, is that his ass hurts like a motherfucker: he’s probably all bruised up, pinks and purples and reds creating sunsets on the fair skin of his butt and thighs. His hole is also leaking from the remains of III’s load, making a wet, uncomfortable patch under his abused ass.

The third thing he notices is that, despite being sore and battered, despite having blacked out for god knows how long, he’s still rock hard.

“Ngh,” he’s still not capable of forming coherent words, apparently, but III’s attention is on him in a split second despite his muffled noises.

“What’s wrong, angel?”

“…please.”

The smirk that spreads on III’s face is devious, “I don’t understand what you’re begging for, baby. You’re gonna have to be more clear.”

If IV had the strength, or the mental capacity to lift himself up, he would slap the shit out of that smug face.

As of now, though, he can barely keep his head upright.

“Sir, please, I need—”

He stops himself, hyperaware that he needs to play his cards just right if he wants even the slightest chance of going to sleep without blue balls.

“Go on, don’t be so bashful,” he chuckles to himself and it sounds almost devilish, “if you want it so bad, then you should be able to ask for it.”

“Can I come? I’m still hard. Please, sir. It hurts.”

“I thought you liked pain, no? Thought you enjoyed being my little pain whore.”

If III is not budging, then its time for the heavy artillery. It’s only fair.

“Please, daddy.”

*

IV isn’t sorry about the “daddy” thing. It was a cheap shot and he knew using the D word after III had already come would have been dangerous, but as much as he loves pain and edging, death by blue balls isn’t on his “favourite ways to die” list.

That said, what III is doing now feels more like retaliation than release. One hand on his throat, firm orders not to touch himself, and two long thick fingers curled in his ass, and a few minutes that felt an eternity later iv feels like crying.

He must have been, because III tuts, patronizing and merciless. “Poor baby” he says, and if IV wasn’t crying before, the mocking tone he’s using would for sure bring on the waterworks, “so, so sad.”

He isn’t sad, he’s so horny even his dick is crying, as III can very well see, but the guy is really being a bastard this evening. Not that IV could verbalize that.

He moans brokenly and tries to rock his hips against III’s hand, and all he gets is a swift slap for his trouble. And the pressure on his prostate never lets up, multitasking king that III was.

Cheek smarting, IV squeezes his eyes. “Be good” he hears over the sound of his shallow breaths, as III wraps his hand on his throat once again. He’s not actually choking him, it’s more a warning, orders to behave, so of course he skirts the line and bears down even more on iii’s fingers in his ass.

IV hears the smirk in his voice and god, he has no intention of opening his eyes and looking at III’s face. Not now, not while he’s nearly sobbing, body on fire, dick weeping on his belly. The sight of III’s malicious expression could do him in. So he just begs, like a prayer in the darkness behind his closed eyelids. “Sir, please, daddy, I just need to...”

“I’m giving you what you want, and you’re still whining. Maybe I should just leave you manacled to the bed and let you sleep it off.”

“Nononono. Please please please...”

The squelching sound is disgusting and hot, a mixture of sweat and lube and cum making IIi’s fingers slide in and out of him without resistance.

The fact that he can read IV’s body like a children’s book is clear from the fact that every single time he’s about to come, the pressure on his prostate relents just enough to bring him away from the precipice, only to start all over again.

And again.

And again.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy,” the word falls from his lips like a prayer, like a broken record - that’s all his brain can process, all that’s left in his muddled thoughts.

It’s “I’m begging” and “thank you” and “I love you” all wrapped up in a neat bow of desperation, body and mind overwhelmed by the sensations as he fights to stay present, fights to stay anchored to reality as his last slivers of sanity threaten to leave him once more.

It’s an eternity - and a million lost orgasms - later when the words he’d been begging to hear finally leave III’s mouth, “go on then, come for me.”

They sound like an hallucination, a figment of his imagination, far away and muffled, but still his body obeys on the spot, back arching as he spills all over himself like a trained puppet.

III milks him through it, doesn’t stop even when IV’s body feels like he has nothing left to give.

He feels as if a fire has been ignited from the inside out, burning bright hot as pleasure washes through him and mixes with pain and renders him unable to do anything but lie there and take it.

“Again.”

He’s begging for the opposite reasons now: he’s over sensitive and sore and he needs it to stop, needs this to be finally over.

“Please I can’t— I— Sir!”

“You begged like a bitch to be able to come, now what?” the hand on his throat squeezes just enough to drive the point home, “Can’t take what you asked for?”

He’s sagging in the sheets and they’re all bunched up now, wet and sticky and gross - it looks like a scene from the most low budget porn movie, the way the silk glistens with with lube and fluids in the low light of the bedside lamp.

Despite his prayers to stop though, IV’s cock never went down, and he can feel the tell-tale signs of another orgasm approaching, heat spreading through his gut and his groin as his body, taut like a guitar string, snaps once again.

He sobs through it, tears spilling freely from his eyes as his dick twitches and throbs with his second orgasm of the night, wetness pooling on his belly on top of the mess that was already there.

When two orgasms become three, though, there’s not much left to it: it’s almost dry, nothing but a few drops sliding pathetically down his spent, reddened cock.

“One more.”

He can’t do it. He can’t.

He wants to be good, wants to obey, but he doesn’t have it in him, he’s too spent to even think about coming again. His balls hurt, his cock is sore, his hole is now so swollen and achy that he will most definitely have trouble walking without a limp tomorrow.

“Please sir I can’t- I— daddy. I can’t.”

“You can.”

“No, no, please. No more!”

“Then use your safe word and this stops immediately. Until then, you’ll give me one more.”

Avocado.

It’s on the tip of his tongue.

He could say it and the abuse on his poor hole would be over, he would receive his much needed aftercare and probably a bubble bath with the strawberry body wash he loves so much, the one that’s so bubbly that almost feel like it’s gonna spill out from the tub and smother the bathroom in a foamy inferno of bubbles and doom.

But III says he can, and he wouldn’t say it if he didn’t think it, would he?

“I— really don’t think I can.”

“Safeword,” he curls his fingers again with force, pushing against IV’s prostate like he’s trying to punish him for complaining, “or shut the fuck up.”

He debates in his mind the best course of action, but he keeps getting lost, losing his train of thought, losing his fucking mind.

“Avocado.”

And just like that, the fingers that were inside him slide oh so carefully out, and the hand on his neck is removed in favour of caressing his cheek.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t be mad,” he’s crying again, he probably never stopped, and his voice is small and frantic, “I really couldn’t do another one, I’m sorry.”

“Baby, hey,” it’s impossible to think that this is the same person that mere minutes ago was calling him a slut, voice sugary sweet as he addresses IV, “never apologise for having to use your safeword. Never apologise for setting boundaries, do you hear me?”

“But— I let you down. You thought I could do it a-and I couldn’t.”

The words are barely comprehensible, with all the sobs shaking his whole body.

“You didn’t let me down one bit,” his eyes are deep and sincere and so fucking blue, “I love that you give yourself to me so freely, that you trust me so deeply. You did so well.”

••

He’s laying in the bathtub, warm water and bubbles all around him and III perched on the edge behind him, carefully massaging coconut and vanilla shampoo in his hair, when the realisation hits: he is in love with this beautiful, beautiful man.

He also realises that the thought made its way into his mind once already during the night, as he was being tortured with orgasm upon orgasm: in the mess that was his brain, fuzzy and overstimulated and lost, the thing that kept him anchored to his sanity was that he’s in love, and he’s pretty sure it’s mutual. So.

Something to think about.

“You’re awfully quiet there, love,” III’s voice is like a soothing balm on his soul, a salve to ease all troubles and pains, “something on your mind?”

“Jus’ tired, that’s all.”

IV is an awful liar, the way his voice tilts upward at the end of his sentence gives away the fact that he’s not being completely honest, but if III noticed, he doesn’t push further.

“Alright,” there’s a last splash of water to the back of his head, probably to make sure all of the shampoo suds have been rinsed away, “shall we get some lotion on that cute butt? Then we can get some food in your precious belly. How’s that sound?”

“I’m in love with you.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can process that he’s speaking, and the way he shuts his mouth is testament enough to the fact that he did not mean to say it out loud, not while he’s wet and naked and still partly out of it.

Fuck.

And III isn’t replying.

Why isn’t he replying?!

“I—I’m sorry. It just— came out. I didn’t mean to make it weird or-”

He stands up as fast as he can as the last of the water runs down the drain, frantically trying to turn around without smashing his face on the wet, slippery tile of the bathroom.

He needs to look III in the face, needs to understand why he’s not saying anything.

III is still there, perched on the edge of the fucking bathtub, trousers wet from bathing IV with all the care in the world and IV finds himself thinking he looks absolutely glorious even while he’s rejecting him.

He’s down bad.

“Say something?” the fact that he’s on the verge of tears is evident in his shaky voice, the knot in his throat making it hard to speak properly, “III?”

And III is… smiling?

That’s good, right? It has to be good. IV needs for it to be good.

Or maybe he’s laughing at how pathetic he is, falling in love with his best friend who he sometimes hooks up with, after being fucked within an inch of his life.

“You fucking idiot,” that’s not a good start, not when IV’s mind is spiralling in every direction and thinking of every possible worst case scenario his mind can conjure up, “took you a while there to catch up.”

“I— you- what?”

“I’ve kinda, sorta been in love with you since the first time you drunkenly kissed me and then gave me a handjob and covered my dick in black paint.”

“That was last year.”

“Well,” he shrugs like it’s nothing, like he hasn’t just made IV the happiest man on the face of the planet, “yeah.”

III wraps a big, fluffy towel on his shoulders - he didn’t realise he was shaking, droplets of water drying in his body at the contact with the cold air.

“So, about that lotion? I don’t want your butt to be sore tomorrow.”

And if IV grabs him by the front of his sopping shirt and kisses the daylights out of him, nobody but them has to know.

[avenging-fandoms]

Mine Now - CM Punk

Summary: requested by anonymous- I will absolutely combust if you write cm punk smut (please) Seth Rollins has been your mentor and friend for a few years. CM Punk has been taunting Seth about you for weeks. Seth doesn't know you've been thinking about being with CM Punk since the first time you saw him decades ago.

Content warning: smut. 18+. USE PROTECTION. things may have been changed a bit

idk i feel like punk fucks like small hands so here's a reference video.

please like and reblog!

gif divider credit: @enchanthings-a

The Staples Center shakes when Seth Rollins' music blares through the speakers and fans sing along to the 'woah's'. You stand next to but kind of behind him with your hand folded in front of you, taking in all of the fans for Seth and smiling at those who acknowledge you.

You've been with the WWE for nearly half a year, only being introduced a few weeks prior in a Royal Rumble. You didn't win, but you did last with 7 girls left in the ring with you being number 17, so you count that to yourself as a win.

Seth cheered you on from the side of the ring as your mentor, but he kind of made it about himself. He wanted to look like an angel for helping a new wrestler, but he was still a good mentor. He's a hard-ass when he needs to be but always your cheerleader.

It kind of made you feel bad for how much you crave CM Punk.

When you arrived, Seth warned you over and over about Punk, telling you he's a snake and can't be trusted, but he didn’t need to. You grew up watching CM Punk with your WWE-obsessed brother, you knew he was a pompous asshole who didn’t care about anything or anyone but himself. 

Seth absolutely loathes CM Punk while you had to hide you were smitten with him, and him taunting you and Seth wasn’t helping get rid of those feelings.

Seth jumps up and over the ropes, throwing his arms out and the crowd cheers. You step up and bend through the ropes and stay near them, letting him have his moment on the microphone.

"Los Angeles how are we feeling?" The crowd screams and cheers, your eyes scanning the signs and laughing at a few funny ones. When Seth puts the mic to his mouth again, the crowd starts to cheer Punk's name. Seth laughs and looks at you in disbelief. "We're out here in the middle of the Staples Center to talk about that hypocrite's name you all are chanting, weren't you small brains just chanting my song?"

It was a mix of cheers and boos and you wrap your fingers around the rope, sitting near the buckles and watching Seth. "That snake, for weeks, has been non-stop telling my mentee how I'm not good enough to teach her how to win, he's been telling her to leave me for him," he laughs into the mic and your cheeks flush pink and you try your best to hide it with your hair.

Fans shake their signs of CM Punk support in Seth's face and he narrows his eyes. "CM Punk can only give you advice on how to come crawling back on your knees, begging for-"

Static. An electric guitar. Drums. Fans scream and cheer, and you grip the rope tighter when you turn around. The screams erupt when CM Punk steps out and smiles, nodding as he looks around. His large arms are displayed in his tight black tank top, blue jeans hugging his hips perfectly, and the grey in his beard making it harder to peel your eyes from him. You move closer to the buckle, watching as he walks down towards the ring with his eyes focused on Seth.

Punk jumps up onto the ring and holds on to rope as he shit talks Seth, doing a double take when he sees you in the corner. He gives you a smirk and keeps his eyes on you when he enters the ring. He was given a mic and steps close to Seth, taking in the chants of his name before licking his lips and putting the microphone to his mouth.

"Seth, you really need to stop worrying about me, and worry about being a better mentor. I mean, you jump in the ring and jump around like a monkey and don't even help your girl up?"

Punk's hand gestures to you and you stand up off the buckles, holding the ropes on either side of you. Punk's attention focuses on you, his Nikes taking him closer with a devilish smirk on his face.

"I've seen it every single time you two come out. Even when it's your match, he doesn't help you up, he gets up first and watches you climb, not offering a hand." He's inches from you and he notices the quickening pace of your breathing, eyes hazy as they scan over his face. "He doesn't treat you like he should be, sweetheart, which is why I've been telling you to find a new mentor."

Even with your eyes stuck on Punk's, you notice Seth starting to charge in a blur. "Watch out!" You warn and Punk's hands push your head down as he takes Seth's punch to the head and you slide out of the ring.

"Seth, stop!"

It was no use. The pent up anger from the past weeks, the past few years, was coming out at this very moment. You yelled for a ref, begged Michael Cole to call someone, but nothing works. Seth just throws hit after hit and Punk was stumbling around, Seth hitting him with a Pedigree. You back up into the announcer's table and shake your head.

The crowd boos and wails as CM Punk pants on the ground with his eyes squeezing tightly, holding his stomach. You step closer to the ring and scream for Seth to stop. Punk can't even lift his head before Seth pulls him over in front of you, grabbing a fistful of his hair and picking Punk up on all fours. Your feet move to stop him as Seth points at you, ignoring you and stomping on his opponent’s head. You have to turn away. Seth jumps and yells around the ring, CM Punk struggles to get up and your eyes are suddenly locked on him. 

Punk’s hands lay flat on the ring and he pushes himself up, shaking his head and sitting on his knees and ripping off his tank top. Directly in front of you.

Your mouth goes dry as his hands lay flat on his thighs. His chest heaves as he regains his breath, rolling his neck slowly, your eyes following the sweat beads falling down his front and hitting the top of his jeans. Your eyes go up and you’re met with his. A soft smirk plays on his lips as you both notice your knees starting to go weak. 

While Rollins yells his nonsense, Punk regains his ability to stand and waits for him to turn in his direction and throws a few punches to his head. Punk holds Seth over his head, turning to you. He sends you a wink and hits Seth with a ‘Go To Sleep.’

The crowd erupts as CM Punk stands up, looking around the arena as his song starts to play. Seth rolls onto his stomach and you slide into the ring next to him, tapping his back. 

“Hey, hey. You alright?” You bend down and move his hair out of his face, Seth's face twisting and grunts escaping his mouth. "Do you need help getting up?" Seth can't open his eyes from the pain, wrapping an arm around his head and you feel heat behind your body.

Tattooed fingers slide across your jaw and hold your chin, tilting your face up where you’re met with CM Punk once more. His thumb rubs over the bone gently and you gulp.

Your attention was no longer on Seth and solely on Punk. This was everything you wanted but you knew you'd lose everything with Seth.

He tugs your chin and you stand, the crowd making the arena shake. Punk has been divorced for a few years and has never showed interest in anyone, not any of the other girls Seth trained. You knew you may just be a pawn, but if CM Punk was by your side, you didn’t really care what you were as long as it was his.

“Are you leaving with me?” He lowers his lips to graze your ear. “Do you trust me?” He speaks.

Your body shivers and without thinking, you nod. Punk flashes a real smile at you and drops his hand to hold yours. He holds the rope open for you, and you hear yelling.

"Y/N! What the fuck are you doing?!" Seth yells and grabs your ankle, making you fall into Punk and he kicks Rollins off of you.

"Leaving with someone who'd never purposely trip her!" CM Punk spits at Rollins who holds his head and rolls around the ring. You look at Seth with sad eyes before ducking out of the ropes, thanking Punk. You go to hop down but he stops you, hopping down first and grabbing your hips to bring you down.

You lose your breath when you hold onto his biceps, thanking him with a squeak. He puts a hand on your lower back as you walk up the ramp, Seth still yelling, almost falling over the ropes.

"We're done! If you leave with him, block my fucking number!" Seth screams and you turn your head, throwing him a thumbs up before you and CM Punk leave the stage.

Your body seems to go into shock once you're out of view of the public, really understanding that now you were with CM Punk. You stood up and chose him, leaving behind a friend you've had for the past 3 years.

"Are you okay?" His voice snaps you out of it and you look up at CM Punk.

"I, uh, I think?" He laughs softly and you chuckle in disbelief. Yelling gets louder and Seth appears from the back. He rushes too quick and body bumps you into Punk's bare chest and slams your nose into it. You yelp and bend out of the interaction, Punk taking notice and shoving Seth back.

"Are you fucking serious? Get your shit together, you're showing her more of a reason to drop your fucking ass," Punk hisses and shoves Seth again. You cradle your bleeding nose and Punk throws Seth into a TV, heading over to you and holding your hand. "Come on, we'll go see medical."

"No, no, I just need a towel," you wave but he grabs your wrist and shows you your bloody hand.

"That is a lot of blood, sweetheart. It wouldn't hurt to at least get checked out." He wraps an arm around you and holds your elbow, the other hand holding your nose. Someone rushes over with a towel and you thank them, Punk holding your nose and letting the blood soak the towel.

Punk's hand never lets go of the towel until he sits you on the table and a medic checks you out. You wince as she presses on your nose but she notes no breakage or fracturing, just a hard impact and a bloody nose. She said you might be sore for a day or two and to just ice it.

She leaves the room and someone brings Punk a new shirt, his biceps still bulging through, the sleeve begging to rip. "Hey, at least you aren't broken," he chuckles to break the silence.

"Still can't believe he couldn't calm himself to not almost break my fucking nose." You lean back against the wall and hold the tissue to your nose, shaking your head. "Then again, I did leave him for his sworn enemy," you smirk and Punk shakes his head with a nasally laugh.

"Are your keys in your bag or purse?" He stands over you and you furrow your eyebrows.

"You're trying to steal my car? You could've just asked for a ride, Punk."

"You can call me Phil, sweetheart, and I don't think you can drive with your head tilted up with one hand on the wheel. I'll drive you home," he smiles and holds out his hand to help you off the table, putting his hand behind your back and walking with you to get your things.

"I'm sure it stopped bleeding by now, I can drive." You pull the tissue away and a string of blood starts to fall and you quickly put the tissue back on your nose, looking at Punk. "My keys are in the little zipper in my purse," you mumble and he grins.

Phil grabs your bags and you two head for the garage. "I can take my purse, you know."

"Why, you don't think it looks good on me?" Phil flips his hair and you giggle.

"Uh, Punk? There's some post-show interviews-"

"They all saw what just happened. They don't need any damn interviews," he snaps and the employee stammers on his words and you mouth a 'sorry,' with a small shrug. He was mean, but he was right.

You get on the elevator and when the doors close, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and closed your eyes, leaning your head on Punk's arm for the ride up to the 6th floor.

The ding disturbs your peace and Punk moves your bags to his left arm to wrap his other one around you, letting you rest on him for the walk to your car. He didn't ask you where your car was but used the lock button and followed the sound just so he also didn't disturb you.

He opens the passenger door and you hop in, Punk putting on your seatbelt with his free hand. He gently closes the door and you immediately lean your hot skin on the cool window.

Punk puts your things in the backseat and hops into the driver's seat, head hitting the ceiling and it makes your shoulders jump with a quiet laugh. "Hey! Don't laugh at me, brat," he pinches your thigh and you squeal.

You open your phone and give him the GPS app to head home, putting it on the stand. "So you know where you're going and I can rest."

He smacks his teeth with a head tilt. "You're just so smart, hon." He starts the car and backs out of the spot. Your ETA gave you an hour to be home and you had the rest of the week to relax now that you had an injured nose that made it hard to wrestle.

Phil pulls out of the garage and starts the journey to your house. Your nose was lightly bleeding now and you put your elbow on the door, loosely leaving the tissue on your nose when you lean against the glass with closed eyes.

He gets off the highway after 15 minutes and notices all the drive thrus and rubs your arm with his finger. "I'm really sorry to disturb you, hon, but are you hungry? Do you want me to stop anywhere?"

You stretch and blink your eyes open, looking around and scrunching your nose. "I want some crab rangoon," you yawn and he nods, excited.

"Sounds like a plan. If there's a restaurant by your house we'll order it before we get home so it's ready then you can relax with your crab rangoon." You nod and shift your body, putting your bloody tissue in your car trash can and leaning your head down on your arms on the center console.

Punk moves his hovering arms down and rests his elbow on the console, the rest on your head with his palm on the side of your head. Sleep almost took over until Seth's entrance song blares through the speakers.

You turn the volume down and sit up, rubbing your eyes and looking at Phil. You hit 'answer' on the screen and Punk looks at you. "Y/N?"

"Yes, Seth."

"Why do you sound far away?" You lean closer into Punk and try not to yell in his ear.

"What's up, Seth?" You keep it short and dodge his question, you're annoyed with him. You understand his anger, but not being able to control it enough to watch where he's going and making your nose bleed.

He's quiet for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry for running into you, I was so frustrated and wanted to find Punk and-"

"I get it, Seth, and I'm really sorry for everything that's happened and how it happened. I am not going to accept your apology at the moment 'cause I'm still really pissed you rushed us instead of approaching us like an adult, but I appreciate it. I'm sure you don't accept mine either and that's fine."

Phil grabs a tissue from his pocket and dabs some blood that drips and you give him a soft smile, eyes disassociating on his beard as silence fills the car.

"Are you not driving?" Seth asks and you scoff with a soft chuckle in disbelief.

"It's hard to drive with blood randomly dripping from your nose, no, I'm not."

Seth sucks his teeth on the other line. "You're right, I don't forgive you."

Three beeps and he's gone. You shake your head and sit back in your seat, looking at Phil. "He's a baby, he'll get over it." He reaches over and squeezes your chin, smushing your cheeks a bit and you look at him. "I warned him, didn't I?"

You can't form words. His fingers move against your bone and you can only nod. He drops his hand and dangles it over the center console, drumming to the song on the quiet volume.

You're awake now so you turn the music up to 15, loud enough but quiet enough. You have 20 minutes to go, which was surprising because the conversation with Seth felt very short.

"I'll order the food now, it's like 5 minutes from my house." Punk nods and hands you your phone as he travels on the highway. You order your lo mein and 2 orders of crab rangoon, turning to Punk. "I should've asked before, do you want anything?"

"Fried rice, please." You nod and he opens his mouth to add something but you do it for him.

"No meat please, the rice and veggies are fine." Punk looks over at you and tries to keep his eyes on the road. You didn't have to ask him if he wanted meat, you knew he never would. You hang up and put the phone back with an ETA home of 15, the same for the food.

"How'd you know?"

You look at him with an embarrassed blush to your cheeks. "I've watched you for a while, Phil. I've.. oh my fuck, this is humiliating. I've had a crush on you for many years."

He can't help but laugh. He rubs a hand over his beard and looks at you. "I mean, it wasn't hard to tell. You couldn't even look at me." You roll your eyes and push his shoulder.

"Well, since we're friends now, I thought you'd like this song I found." His mouth curls into a smile when he hears the beginning of his entrance.

-

"That is the definition of comfort food," you groan and lay back against the couch, a hand over your full stomach.

"I have to agree," he follows you and leans his head on his knuckle, looking at you. "You don't regret this, do you?"

You roll your head over to look at Phil and shake your head in the cushion. "I don't, I really don't. I don't have my friend anymore but.. fuck, I'm with CM Punk, I can't regret too much."

Punk laughs and sits up, holding out his hand. "Let's go get you cleaned up, there's some blood dried around your nose." You take his rough hand and stand up with him, grabbing your bags and leading him to the bathroom in your room.

He puts your bags next to your door and meets you in the bathroom, smirking down at you. "I can't see your face very well from down there." You hop up on the counter and he finds a washcloth, wetting it with warm water and tilting your chin up.

"You don't have to do all this, I can do it myself," you explain and he gives you a look.

"I know you're not used to it, but I want to take care of you, you don't have to do everything alone." He puts the cloth in the sink and washes his hands, slapping his wet hands on your thighs before drying them on a towel.

"Hey!" You giggle and grab his shirt from the bottom and pull him between your legs, wiping up the water with the cotton.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry," he chuckles and you look up at him, your spine straightening. Phil's hand was hesitant to touch your skin and you push his hand onto your hip, and it activated everything. His arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you into his thick chest, your fingers gripping his shirt and pushing up to his hair.

Punk's fingers tug at your shirt and you push him away, giving him a smile when you hop off the counter, walking backwards and keeping your eyes on his. "Come and get me, Punk."

You try to move around him but he catches you by the waist, spinning you into him and holding your neck. "Wrong answer, sweetheart."

He stands in front of you and moves your hair out of your face, tracing your features with his other hand’s fingers. “Phil..”

He smirks. “Is it okay to touch you?” He whispers in your ear and your fingers dig in his biceps when you nod. His face disappears in your hair, finding your neck and leaving soft, wet kisses down. “Lay on the bed, hm?”

Punk moves away from you and watches you lay on the bed, pulling his tank top up off and throwing it on your pillows. Your hands explore his hot skin, pulling him down to kiss you. Your legs wrap loosely around his waist and his hand pushes down your thigh, gripping and smacking your ass.

You whimper in his mouth and he pulls away to disappear between your legs. Punk pulls your pants down swiftly and over with his shirt, groaning as he falls to his knees on the floor at the edge of the bed. He yanks you closer and spreads your legs open, kissing from your ankle to the very inside of your thigh.

When you feel his breath fanning over your heat, your legs instantly snap closed. Nerves build in your chest when you feel his hands snake up your thighs and push them to the bed. You pant softly when his breath fans over your body, going up and kissing you slowly.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Don’t be nervous. Just tell me to stop if you need me to,” he pecks the corner of your mouth and your head follows as far as you can as he kneels on the ground again.

Punk learns his lesson and snakes his arms up and over around your thighs, your legs dangling on his back. “Beauty, just absolutely divine,” he groans and kisses your clit and the skin around it, his tongue laying flat and licking up, moaning at the taste of you. “Fuck, you taste so delicious.”

His mouth engulfs your pussy and he flicks his tongue up and down between your folds, focusing on your clit and moaning when your fingers grip his hair.

Your thighs tremble around his head and pick your head up to look at him when he slides two thick fingers into you, making eye contact with you and holding it as he pumps his fingers and flicks his tongue, his left hand pulling his jeans down a bit to stroke his cock. Your chest heaves and you fall back against the back again, whining and twisting your hips against his tongue.

Punk stands on his feet but doesn't break away when he lays on the bed, flipping on his back and making you hover your hips above him while on all fours. He smacks your ass a few times before forcing your hips down, tongue immediately finding your clit.

Your arms give out entirely and your face falls into his shirt that fell off the pillows. His arms wrap around your waist, his hands holding his elbows to keep you in place. You bury your face in the cotton, biting down on it and pulling up with a loud moan.

"As much as I'd love to taste you cum on my tongue," he pants and pulls you down over him and you squeal. "I want to feel you cum around me, sweetheart." He kisses your chin and bites the skin, smoothing his hands over your ass and spanking you again.

You hold the back of his neck and roll him back over to be above you, Punk completely taking off his pants. He tilts his head to the side slightly when staring at you, leaning a hand down to grip your tank top, the other hand joining and ripping the material in a swift motion off your body.

A loud gasp escaped your throat and you pull him down, kissing him rough and sloppy with your fingers pushing through his hair. "Go ahead, sweetheart, put it in." Phil lifts his body so you can grab his cock, a pleased sigh escaping his lungs and his head leans against yours. You tease his tip up and down your pussy, desperate groans escaping Punk's lips. "C'mon, kitten, let me fill you," he grunts and you spread your legs, pressing your forehead against his as you push his cock into you.

"Fuck, don't move, fuck," you wince and shakily grab his face, letting your hands fall to hold his shoulders. Phil kisses your forehead and brushes your hair out of your face.

"I'm all yours, Y/N. Tell me when you're ready." He kisses the corner of your mouth and you let out a long breath, moving your hips slowly and nodding at him. He pulls his hips up and thrusts into you slowly, his jaw hinging to the side and his eyes roll. "You feel so.. fuck," Punk moans loudly and falls on top of you, laying his cheek on your shoulder with his nose pressed against your cheek.

His right arm wraps around your waist and holds your back up, strings of moans and your name falling from his swollen lips. You turn your head and wrap a leg around his waist, moaning in his mouth and scratching his beard. Your tongue smooths over his bottom lip and you whimper at the ghost hole of his lip piercing, sinking your teeth in and pulling back.

Phil growls and rolls onto his back, holding your hips to hold you up and thrust rough and quick into you. You hold onto his wrists for stability and drop your head, watching his face twist in focus and pleasure.

"Fuck, look at you." He licks his lips and drops your bodies back to the bed, letting you take control. Your hands squeeze his knees and move your hips up and down slowly, smiling and running your tongue over your teeth when you watch his eyes roll and head fall into the pillow, biting his hand.

"Look at you," you purr and smooth your hands up his torso, stopping at his face and kissing him slowly. His lips fall loose and he moans against your teeth when you smile. Punk's large hands massage your ass and smack it, gripping tightly and moving your hips for you.

"Oh my fucking god," he moans with veins popping in his neck. Phil's tattooed fingers push through your hair and hold it in a pony tail, picking your head up to look at him as he thrusts fast into you. "Fuck, this pussy's all mine, all fuckin' mine," Punk pants.

Phil keeps your hair in his hands and presses his forearms together behind your head, laying you on your back with your head resting on his arms. His thighs open your legs wider and you nip at his chin when you feel every inch of him inside of you. He pushes his hips deeper, grunting and moving in slow circles, your eyes fighting to stay open.

"Who does this pussy belong to, sweetheart?" He whispers in your ear, his biceps engulfing your head and your hand holds onto one for support. He pulls his hips back all the way then snaps his hips into you again, both of your moans dancing in the air. "I need words, or I won't move."

Punk pulls his knees next to your hips, pulling your leg over his shoulder and kissing your calf as he looks at you through his sweaty hair in his hair. "Please, Punk, more," you whimper as you scratch his thighs. He chuckles slowly and shakes his head, smacking your thigh.

"Use your words," he leans down, "Who does this pussy belong to?"

He tilts his head to the side and presses his forehead to yours, kissing the corner of your mouth. Phil starts moving his cock out of you and your hips twitch, your fingernails digging into his back.

"You, Phil, fuck," your hands press against his thighs when he starts his fast pace again. "I'm all yours, Punk."

A low growl comes from his throat and he frees his arms, pulling your hips off the bed and rubbing your clit with his thumbs. "Atta girl, all mine."

Punk tears his eyes from your face to watch himself fuck you, his eyebrows dropping in a furrow with his lips slightly parted. "Phil.. I'm.." Your eyes fall heavy and he pulls his hand away, stopping all his movements and you let out a loud whine.

"Such a brat, I want to watch you above me." He holds you close to his body and flips you two once more with pulling his cock out, letting you get comfortable before nodding he was ready.

You hold his knees for stability again and you start to move, his fingers finding your clit and your legs start to give. "You got it, baby. Keep going, you're almost there." Punk's eyes now roll and he fingers start to slow.

Your movements get heavier and slower, your fingers squeezing his legs for support. "I'm.. I'm.." you can't open your eyes and your breath sticks in your throat when Punk holds your hip with one hand and quickly thrusts into you, rubbing your clit until your orgasms hit the both of you hard.

Your body gives out on you and you fall on top of Punk who wraps his arms tight around you, trapping your arms underneath to rest next to his body. He moves his hips slowly to pump every inch of his seed into you.

Phil's hands push against your back, dragging up your hot skin and rubbing the tips of his fingers between your shoulder blades. You pick your hands up and lay them on his biceps, tracing the outlines of his tattoos with your lips parted against his shoulder.

He pulls his hips down and you whimper at the empty feeling when his cock pulls out of you completely. You lay your whole body weight on top of him, your bellies moving against each other's as you breathe.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? Need anything?" Punk kisses your forehead and brushes the hair out of your face so you can look up at him.

"I think a nice shower and some sleep would be perfect right now," you kiss his pec a few times and he sits you both up, holding out his hand and helping you up. Your legs shake underneath you and Punk smirks to himself in victory. "Oh, shut up," you grumble and he laughs, holding you close as you both head for the bathroom.

Phil takes his time in the shower washing your hair and body, making sure every finger cleans every cell on your skin. You've never felt so beautiful, so worshipped. You wash him and can't help but squeeze him in his thighs and biceps, desperate to sink your teeth in them.

You pull on a pair of sleep shorts and see the black on your pillow. You drop your towel and throw on the tank top, turning to Punk with a smile. "How do I look?"

He kneels down to grab your towel, looking up at you with his arm draped over his knee and the ghost of a smile on his lips. "I think I'm going to give you every shirt and sweatshirt I own just to see you in them."

[toasttt11]

along

August 18, 2024

Ophelia clipped back the top half of her way hair as she walked out of her bathroom after taking a shower from a run with Quinn and then swimming this morning.

She had gotten back to the lake just yesterday afternoon after being up north in Michigan for a week with just her Hughes. It was a new place for her and she fun exploring especially with all the hikes they did.

She did say bye to Ellen and Jim yesterday for a few days as they would be leaving tonight for another trip just the two of them.

The off season was slowly getting close to ending meaning the lake house will be filling back up for one more filled house of this off season.

Luke and Jack had a new friend coming out to the lake house, Macklin Celebrini the first overall pick from the last draft.

Jack and Luke both somehow got in touch with Macklin and invited him out to the lake house to train but also just to come to the lake house.

Ophelia has heard about Macklin because of his hockey skills but also outside of hockey because he is a friend of Connor’s with them both being from Vancouver and once being teammates. Ophelia knows Connor trains at the same rink some of the summer mostly every summer with Macklin.

Quinn also knew Macklin’s brother Aiden as Aiden was drafted to the Canucks. Ophelia has not met Aiden yet besides seeing him for seconds on their draft day and she realized they both were at development camp last summer but she didn’t speak to many people than meaning they would most likely officially would be meeting sooner than later.

Macklin was coming to stay in Michigan and would be staying for two weeks.

Ophelia was hoping they got along and it would be nice to have someone her age.

She knew Luke and Jack should be back soon with Macklin and Quinn was doing something on the dock with the boat as she had been taking a shower.

Ophelia had tossed a pair of blue and white striped flowy shorts and a simply black tank top.

She picked her phone up just as she heard the front door open and pocketed her phone and started heading down the stairs.

She titled her head seeing Macklin and noticed the way his hair flopped across his forehead as he pushed his hair back.

“Bee!” Jack grinned hearing her walk down the stairs as Luke, Jack, Quinn and Macklin all stood in the living room.

Macklin looked up and immediately wiped his hands on his shorts a bit nervously, “Hi.” Macklin said with a nervous and shy smile.

“Hi.” Ophelia said with her normal shy smile and furrowed her brows at Macklin thinking he seemed a bit familiar, “I’m-“ Ophelia went to introduce herself when Macklin gently cut her off.

“Ophelia.” Macklin finished for her with a sheepish smile making her lips quirk up a bit, “Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

���It’s okay Macklin.” Ophelia said with an amused look in her eyes.

Macklin smiled more as she said his name meaning she knew him.

“Oh! That’s why you’re familiar, i ran into you after my game. I’m so sorry about that.” Ophelia realized Macklin was the boy she ran into after game seven in the playoffs when she was rushing to find Jack.

Macklin laughed softly nodding remembering exactly what she was talking about, “I am, it’s okay.” Macklin also knew they have met before that but he wouldn’t bring that up yet.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” Ophelia gave him a sweet smile and held out her hand for him to take.

Macklin sweetly smiled back and softly took her hand shaking softly, “Nice to meet you Ophelia.” He glanced down a bit at her being a few inches taller than her and he seemed just quite bigger standing in front of her.

Jack hummed softly looking at the two with a certain look on his face as he raised an eyebrow but kept the idea to himself for now.

Ophelia and Macklin shared a smile before Ophelia dropped his hand and took a small step closer to Quinn as she always does.

“Let me show you your room Mack.” Luke gave Macklin a grin and patted his shoulder gesturing for Macklin to follow him to go to one of row guest rooms that Macklin gets first dibs on as right now he is the first guest here.

Quinn had a small smile after seeing Ophelia getting along with Macklin pretty eaisly and he leaned closed to her lowering his voice, “So do we like him?” Quinn had a playful grin on his face.

Jack huffed amused at Quinn’s question that Quinn always loves to ask Ophelia.

Ophelia softly laughed as she always did at his question but quickly nodded her head, “Yeah.” Ophelia already liked Macklin and she was looking forward to getting to know him more over the next two weeks.

“Good.” Quinn patted her head softly smiling a bit at her before he walked away heading downstairs into the basement.

Ophelia fiddled with her charm bracelet her eyebrow furrowed as she thought about Macklin, something about him is familiar more than just running into him once after a playoff game or seeing him in hockey clips or during the draft.

“Bee?” Jack called out softly seeing Ophelia deep in thought. Ophelia blinked snapping out of her thoughts seeing Jack calling her name and knew she could think more about this later.

Ophelia gave him a smile and quickly walked over to Jack leaning into his side as they headed down to the basement where Quinn already was and waiting for them.

Ophelia started setting up the pool game as Luke and Macklin joined them downstairs after Macklin left his bags in the guest room.

Quinn and Jack were both settled on the couch that faces the pool table, Jack was just scrolling on his phone.

“Alright to officially be apart of the Hughes lake house you have to play a game of pool.” Luke gave Macklin a mischievous smile.

Ophelia shook her head amused and fondly at Luke’s unwritten rule about playing pool. She knew how much Luke gets into the game especially as he tends to be better than everyone else.

Macklin nodded at Luke words as his eyes kept flickering over to Ophelia as she finished setting up the game.

“Do you play?” Macklin asked Ophelia looking a bit hopeful that he could play against her making her glance up and blink realizing he was asking her.

Ophelia brushed back a stray piece of her hair that fell out of her clip and slowly shook her head, “Not really.” Ophelia shrugged a bit. She didn’t really care for the game and just got bored.

Luke leaned over and shook her shoulders softly with a teasing smile, “But she is really good but Bee never plays.”

Ophelia just gave Luke a little nudge back as Macklin smiled a bit.

Ophelia settled in between Jack and Quinn after she finished helping Luke set the game up.

She gave Macklin a small smile as the same eye contact as he glanced away and at her during the game.

[die-auster]

It's not literally "chucking under the chin" but I kinda feel this vibe...

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[ingihasextra]

toby fox and co youve done it again

[abigailxiang]

.

The corners of Abigail's lips tightened at the words "regular nightmares." What an incredibly unhelpful statement. "Regular" was relative. And those dreams, they didn't sound regular to her. Not that she would know. On the nights when she did dream, hers were often filled with visions of her family, not monsters and darkness. Fear was relative too, she supposed. As Sutton spoke, Abigail's brow furrowed together at what was clearly intended to be a joke of some kind. What, exactly, was the hatman? Now didn't seem like the best time to ask, but Abigail made a mental note to investigate on what this... hatman might be.

She'd had dreams of her eyes turning black? Now that, that was helpful. Abigail was loathe to say they might have been prophetic, particularly when the only Yao Guai she'd ever heard of being capable of doing such a thing was a fiery creature with the body of a giraffe. And Sutton was certainly not that. "I suppose that's one way to use your situation to your advantage." Abigail said, not entirely sure what kind of people would buy a painting of demonic black eyes staring down at them. People, she assumed, who were not right in the head. So, another artist.

Letting out a sigh, Abigail gestured to Sutton with a tired hand. "I'm not sure what those dreams mean, but I can look do some more research. And as far as... your family situation," Abigail hesitated, her own complex situation with her parents coming to mind, "if you can find out more about your birth father, that could be helpful. But, can you please promise that you won't go to the doctors any time soon?" Don't make me hurt innocent people, Sutton. Don't make me do that, I don't want to do that. She pushed away the memories of her father's blade dragging across a hapless human's throat, her fingers drifting to touch her own for a brief moment before she returned her focus to Sutton. "Please?"

.

"Uh, I mean, nightmares? Regular ones, run of the mill kinda scaries. Eyes lurking in the dark. Horrible, twisting shadows. Monsters. Heat, so much-- And darkness. No hatman or any such thing, though, thank goodness," Sutton tried to joke, but she doubted Abigail actually appreciated any sort of attempt on her part at levity.

Sutton hadn't really had bad dreams before, maybe a time or two, but she also hadn't had many problems in her personal life. Sure, there were the heart issues. And, sure, sometimes she got a little anxious, and she needed to take something for it, or she'd get a little sad, and she'd need to take something for it, but her life, other than brain chemistry and internal irregularities, was what a lot of people might call perfect.

Of course, perfection wasn't real. What was that old saying? Nothing gold can stay? "I'd wake up thinkin' my eyes were all... black long before they ever were. I'd always check in the mirror. It wasn't real. But I'd draw them, sometimes." She shrugged. "Apparently, they're all right. A couple have sold pretty well."