#machine forwarding service | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rileyslibrary · 1 year ago

Text

After suffering a gunshot wound, you wake up in a hospital bed with Ghost sitting by your side. Unfortunately, the effects of anaesthesia leave you unable to recognise him and, worse, confuse him with someone else.

A/N: Fluff. Based on a request I received a while ago. Hope you like it, anon!

———————————————————————

A machine on your left beeps rhythmically. The taste of something metallic lingers in your mouth, and the iodine smell stinks your nostrils. Your eyes open slowly, but the bright ceiling light forces them shut again. You lick your lips and attempt to swallow a couple of times. Dry. Your mouth is dry. You need water. Your hand moves towards your face, but a low, raspy voice advises you against it.

“Careful now,” it says, and a hand gently grabs your wrist. “Don’t pull the IV off.”

You turn your head towards the figure beside you and squint. It’s a man, but your blurry vision doesn’t help you identify him. Your eyes travel to your wrist and focus on the closest part of him: a skeleton’s hand.

You try to shake your hand off his grip, but it turns out futile. Frustrated, you give up and raise your middle finger at him.

“Not my time yet,” you declare. “Fuck off.”

“Pardon?” he asks.

“Not ready to go yet,” you reply, tucking your middle finger in your palm and lifting it back up again. “And also, fuck off.”

The man releases your wrist, placing your hand gently beside you. He clears his throat and leans forward. Though your vision remains blurry, you spot what looks like a human skull with a hood over it.

“How are you feeling, love?” he asks, his tone softer.

“How am I feeling, love?” you repeat. “Did Hell improve their customer service?”

“I’m not-” The man begins but pauses. He sighs, shakes his head and rests his elbows on his thighs. “Never mind.”

“Where am I?” You ask.

“Hospital.” He replies. “You took a bullet.”

Directing your attention to your body, you feel a dull throb in your chest. You wince as your fingers brush against the bandages.

“You are joking.” You reply and slap your hand on the bed. “Why? How?”

“Well,” He says and tilts his head to the side. “You exchanged a few shots with the enemy, your gun ran out of bullets, his didn’t, and here we are.”

“My gun?” You ask, shocked. “I have a gun?”

“Several.” He nods.

“SEVERAL?” You shout. “Why would I possibly need several guns?”

“It’s your job, love.” He replies.

“My job is to have several guns?” you ask. “And shooting at people?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” he explains, “but it’s mainly for defence.”

“Well,” you shrug and wince at the pain. “Doesn’t look like I’m that good at defence—especially for having several guns.”

“I was really worr—”

“Water,” you interrupt and gesture at your mouth. “I need water.”

“Doctor said it’s not the time for water yet,” he replies.

“Why?” you ask, pretending to check a non-existent wristwatch. “What time is it?”

“No, love,” he replies and muffles a chuckle. “Doctor said you need to wait until you have some water.”

“You throw the ‘love’ thing a little too freely,” you mumble, licking your lips and lifting your index finger. “I’d be really careful if I were you.”

“Really?” he asks, leaning back into the chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Why?”

“I,” you say and point at yourself, “got a boyfriend, thank you very much.”

“Oh,” he exclaims and tilts his head. “Is that so.”

“Yup,” you nod. “And he can kill you.”

“Can he?”

“Can?” You say, and a smug smile forms on your dry lips. “He will absolutely, one hundred and a thousand per cent kill you.”

“Is he that good?” He asks.

“I mean,” you shrug, motioning at the bandages on your chest. “He’s much better than I am.”

“Oh wow,” he exclaims and leans forward. “Is he as good of a boyfriend as he is a shooter?”

“Far from it,” you reply, letting your hand fall to your side.

The man doesn’t speak. He doesn’t seem that comfortable all of a sudden. He shuffles in his chair, trying to find a better position, and when he does, he clasps his hands together.

“Go on,” he finally says. “Spill it.”

“Ok, so,” you begin, “first things first, he doesn’t listen to me when I want to vent, and whenever he does, all he says is nonsense.”

“The lad gives you solutions,” he snaps, “and you call them nonsense?”

“I don’t want solutions, man,” you reply, shaking your head. “I want him to just listen to me.”

“Even if the solutions he provides are literally the answers to your suffering?”

“Even then.” You confirm.

“Gotcha,” he nods. “What else?”

“Oof,” you sigh, “how much time do you have?”

“I’m immortal,” he reminds you, “plus the next reaping is in five hours.”

“Oh boy,” you reply. “Business not going that well lately, huh?”

“Not many deaths to take care of,” he spits. “I guess some people could use some serious training when it comes to their aim.”

“Speaking of training,” you say, “he’s always at work and never spends much time with me.”

“The guy’s trying to spend as much time with you as he can, for fucks sake!” he shouts, throwing his hands up. “He even lied to get you on his team!”

“How do you know he put me on his team?” You ask.

“I keep a close eye on him.” He replies.

“What did he lie about?”

“Your precision in aiming,” he jokes and motions for you to continue. “Next one.”

“I can’t think of anything else,” you reply. “Other than he doesn’t say how much he loves me.”

“You’re having a laugh now, aren’t you?” He says, and his tone feels almost threatening. “He’s showing it to you daily; offering advice, keeping you close to him, even risking the possibility of being accused of nepotism for crying out loud! He doesn’t need to say it as well for you to know it!”

“It’s just nice to hear it sometimes,” you sigh and twist a thread from the bed sheet. You turn your head slightly toward him, and he lowers his head to the ground.

“How about you?” You ask. “You have a girlfriend?”

“I do,” he confirms.

“Shut up!” You shout, widening your eyes and immediately closing them back again. “Where did you guys meet?”

“Hell,” he replies. “Right in the pits of it.”

“How is she?” You ask.

“Perfect.” He states.

“Bullshit,” you murmur. “No one’s perfect.”

“She is to me.” He says, shrugging.

“Do you love her?” You ask.

“Absolutely,” he replies, nodding slowly. “One hundred and a thousand per cent I do.”

———————————————————————

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x female reader #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #simon riley #cod mwii #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fluff

11K notes · View notes

mountainsandmayhem · 1 month ago

Text

In My T-Shirt

|| Joel Miller x Female Reader ||

A/N: this is VERY loosely based on a true story, but if it was Joel Miller in front of me at that time…well, I would have been a puddle. Thank you @lotusbxtch and @for-a-longlongtime for listening to me lose my mind last night. This is not at all beta’d or proofread, so just take what you get. Dividers by @saradika-graphics

C/W: kissing, flirting, dirty talk, lots of teasing, pet names (baby, sweetheart, etc.), fully clothed orgasm.

Word Count: 2.6k

My Masterlist

Working in a male dominated has more cons than pros. Most of the contractors coming in for supplies treat you like you haven’t been doing this for ten years, but not Joel Miller. No, Joel is your favourite customer, and you reckon that you might be his favourite supplier. He comes in every other day, and today you watch him from the window of your office as he hop out of his truck with a Starbucks in hand.

“Iced London Fog,” he beams. “Half sweet and with oat milk.”

“You remembered?” You all out gush.

“Course I did,” he says with a wink before telling you what he needs and you ring him up. As you pull your radio from your safety vest to call his order out to the forklift operator, his eyes flick to the logo on your shirt. His company logo.

“Nice shirt,” he teases.

“Oh thanks. Some guy I know gave it to me. Heard he’s pretty good at his job.”

“Heard he’s the best,” he jokes, puffing his broad chest out. “Got an award recently and everythin’.”

“That so? I heard his supplier put some pressure on the vendor to get that product for him AND waived the delivery fee. Lucky guy to have someone like that.” You know you’re flirting, but so is he. Your staff will probably gossip about it later. Even though you’re their boss, they all know you have a small crush on him.

Joel’s perfect lips pull into a smile, dimples forming into his sun-kissed cheeks. He leans forward to grab his invoice, his rough hand purposely caressing yours as he says, “you have no idea how lucky.”

Your phone rings about ten minutes before close, “Joel - Miller Construction” across the screen.

“Hey Joel,” you say, your usual greeting when he calls.

“Hey, sorry, I know ya close soon, but I need another few bags of that polymetric sand and I need to finish this job tonight.” You can hear the stress in his voice, yet he’s nothing but polite.

“All good. When will you be here?” You’re slightly annoyed that you’ll have to stay longer since you have a bottle of red wine at home that’s been calling your name. The thought of getting to see his big, brown eyes one more time today though wipes out any negative feelings.

“About twenty minutes or so. I can give you my card number if you wanna leave them outside the gate.” Disappointment swirls in your gut at the thought of him not wanting to see you.

“No, it’s ok. Just slide the gate open, I have some stuff to catch up on. I’ll wait.” It’s a lie. An outright lie. You don’t have anything to catch up on.

“Thank you. I’m sorry,” he coos.

“It’s all good, Joel. That’s what I’m here for,” you say with a smile, using your best customer service voice. “See you soon.”

Shortly after all your staff has punched out and left, the door bings. You pop out from the back to see Joel, his hair messy, a smudge of dirt or grease on his face from his workday. He smiles when you come into view.

“Sorry again,” he apologizes.

You’ve gotten to know Joel pretty well over the past few years that he’s been your customer, so as you pull up his order you say, “You really don’t need to apologize, Joel. I’m sorry you have to work late on a Friday. Where’s Sarah tonight?”

As he slides the chip of his credit card into the pin pad he replies, “Stayin’ with her friend Ellie from school. Havin’ a sleepover or whatever it is girls do.”

The machine beeps the sound of approval. With a soft, nostalgic laugh you say, “God I miss being a kid.”

When you look back up at him he’s looking at his company logo on the upper left part of your T-shirt, your safety vest now removed and hanging in your office. His eyes trail to the small hole in the collar part. In any other job you’d never get away with wearing a ripped shirt, but the safety vest covers it and it’s also your favourite shirt. The cotton of it is so soft, and every time you put it on you remember how shy yet proud Joel looked when he brought it in for you. It was his first round of shirts after he finalized his company logo, you’d supported him with his first job - and every job since - and he wanted you to have one.

“Looks like ya need a new shirt,” he quips, smirking slightly.

“No way, I love this shirt. Ripped collar and all.” The two of you walk towards the showroom door, he holds it open for you and both wander towards the sand he needs.

“You sure? I just got a new batch of swag. Shirts. Sweaters. Hats. Might even have a water bottle or a note pad or two in my truck.”

The two of you stop in front of the pallet of sand. “That so? How do I get some of those?” It comes out much flirtier and suggestive than you mean for it too.

Joel easily lifts two of the three bags he paid for, each of them weighing fifty pounds. His large, strong, vein-lined hands wrapping around the bags as he hoists them to rest on one of his broad shoulders. The hem of his T-shirt lifts, exposing the V of his hip. Your mouth goes dry as you look away and go to lift the third bag.

“I can get it,” he says, but you lift it with ease, holding it more like a toddler than a sack of potatoes in the way Joel is.

“I’m friggen ripped, bro,” you joke with an attempted baritone, making him laugh. As the two of you walk to his truck, you repeat, “So, what do I have to do to get one of those new shirts?”

Your gazes meet and you watch as his eyes trail slowly down your body and then back up, his eyes hungry as they pause for a second too long on your lips.

“Well…” he nearly growls, before a devious smile parts his lips.

That awkward, introverted side of yourself wants to squeal out a giggle and push at him jokingly; luckily, your cool, flirty side wins.

“You wish, Miller.”

He pops the tailgate and flips the sand bags in one smooth motion. The gravel of the parking lot crunches under his boots as he spins towards you and then steps in close. You can smell the sunscreen and freshly cut grass of his day at this proximity. His hand brushes against your stomach as he scoops the bag from your arms. Before stepping back he says, “If you ask me really nicely, I’ll let you have whatever you want.”

You haven’t even registered what he just said when he steps away. Without him close, you almost feel like you might fall over. Like his eyes locked to yours were the only thing keeping you upright. Your world starts to spin, and then there’s Joel again; Deep, coffee brown eyes looking down at you with an intensity you haven’t seen before. And, hooooly fuck, does he look sexy right now.

“I’m waiting,” he murmurs.

You clear the pins and needles from your throat gently then stammer, “Pl-please Joel?”

His breathing quickens as he watches your lips form the words. “You can do better than that. Come on…ask nicely, sweetheart.”

His hands come to your hips. You’ve imagined Joel in scenarios like this for years, but the reality of it is soooo much better. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth as you try to recall what it is that you’re supposed to be asking for.

“Joel,” you purr sweetly. “Please may I have a new shirt?”

His head lowers to yours, and now, not only does he smell like sunscreen and freshly cut grass, but also the mint of his breath.

“That all you want?” He taunts.

“N-no,” the shaky whisper of your voice barely sounds like yours.

“Water bottle?” His voice is cocky and playful. He’s a menace, you always knew it, but this is the first time you’ve really seen it. Unable to form a sentence, all you can do is nod in response. “Can’t ask nicely if you don’t use your words, baby.”

Your pressed flush against him. Joel is solid and steady against your pliable body and erratic breathing. “Can I pretty please have a water bottle, as well?”

The tip of his nose grazes just barely against yours. “Atta’ girl.”

He steps away abruptly and all the air feels like it’s been sucked from your lungs. He wanders to the rear passenger seat door as you grip onto the tailgate to attempt to ground yourself. He shuffles some things around and then wanders back to the back of the truck. He places the shirt and bottle beside your hand.

“Thank you,” you say with a gulp.

Joel’s eyes seem glued to your lips. “Fuck,” he mumbles to himself. “I really want to kiss you, but I don’t want you thinkin’ that you have to do it. This is different from our business relationship.”

“Kiss me,” you rasp.

His hands meet your waist again. He’s close. So very fucking close and your entire body is humming with anticipation.

“Are you giving me consent to kiss you?” He whispers. “Knowing that you can say no and it won’t change anything?”

“Yes, Joel. Yes. Please kiss me.” He chuckles darkly at your neediness.

“And you’ll tell me to stop if you want me to stop?”

Your cheeks flush and the frustration of being kept on the edge builds. You need Joel’s lips on yours; in fact, you don’t think you’ve ever needed anything this badly.

“I’ll tell you to stop if I want you to. Kiss me, Joel. Kiss me or I think I’m going to die.”

“Goddamn, baby girl. You have no idea what it does to me to hear you beg while you’re wearing my T-shirt.” His hard cock presses against your hip as he says it. Your hands scramble for purchase on his forearms, his nose bumping lightly against yours.

“Stop teasing,” you whine, poking out your bottom lip.

He nips at it quickly and then his mouth is on you. His warm lips fuzing with yours passionately. He wraps one arm around your back, the other cupping the back of your head. You go completely boneless for him, letting him bend and manipulate you to be closer, head tilting to let him in more. That’s all you can think. More.

You slide your hands up his forearms, over his tanned biceps until they’re wrapped around his neck. Your lips part, calling him to take whatever he wants from you, and when his tongue passes your lips to lightly swipe against yours, sparks burst behind your closed eyes and you let out a desperate whimper.

At the sound of your need for him he kisses you harder, the passion evolving into something much more heated than you’ve ever experienced. His knee presses between your thighs, getting you as close as possible while still fully clothed.

He nips your swollen bottom lip again as he pulls away, just enough to tug your hair to the side and expose your throat to him. You tense at the pain, but when his warm tongue runs up your throat you basically dissolve into him.

His facial hair scratches against your ear as he says. “Be a good girl and thank me.”

“Th-thank you, Joel,” you obey, your voice a crackling whisper of need and desire.

“You’ve been drivin’ me wild for years in that shirt,” he rasps, his lips ghosting along the sensitive skin of your neck. Your hips move on their own, grinding against the leg he has pressed where you need it most. He continues between kisses, “Did you know that? How goddamn hard I get when I see my name sitting on top of your heart.”

All you can do is pant and cant your hips.

“It’s like you belong to me.” Your nails scrape along his scalp, a mix of a gasp and moan filling the minuscule amount of space between you. “Mmm, you like that, don’t you? Me saying you belong to me?”

You capture his lips with yours, kissing him deeply as you moan a sound of agreement. Joel spins the two of you, then lifts you slightly so you’re sitting on the still lowered tailgate of his truck. You normally wouldn’t be this public with your desires, but all the businesses around you are closed and the sun is starting to set. Plus, between the tall gate that encloses the yard and all the pallets of product, the chances of being seen are low.

“More,” you hum, wrapping your legs around his hips. You can feel his cock pressing against you. “More, please. Touch me, Joel.”

His hand slips between your bodies, his warm palm cupping your pussy over your jeans. Heat spreads as you grind into his palm.

“Been imaginin’ you like this for years, baby girl. Those moans are so much prettier in reality.”

“Same,” you coo with a smile, running the tip of your nose along his jaw. You feel his entire body shudder as you gently graze his earlobe with your teeth. You whisper seductively, “I want you to kiss all of me.”

Neither of you want to break apart. Neither of you want to stop this. But it can’t happen here, not on the tailgate of his truck in the parking lot of your work.

“Come over,” he practically begs before kissing you gently, just once. “I have to install this sand, I can be home in an hour. Meet me there.”

You fake another pout and grind into his hand again. “But I’m so wet for you right now,” you tease.

“I know, sweetheart. Can feel how you’ve soaked through these jeans that hug that perfect ass of yours. Come over, I wanna be able to strip you down slowly, giving every inch of your perfect skin the attention it deserves.”

You feel your orgasm building and you tip your head back to see the deep oranges and purples of the summer sunset forming in the sky.

Joel’s lips find your jaw, his palm pressing harder into your center. Between kisses he says, “Can you come like this?”

“Yes. I’m close,” you say, bringing your eyes to meet his. The deep sparkling chocolate brown of his irises send a flush of warmth through your entire body. You feel like you’re being slowly burned to death and you never want it to stop.

“Show me,” he encourages, then you watch as his tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip. “Use my hand.”

It doesn’t take much longer for you to come apart. He holds you tightly to his body as your boneless form twitches and shakes.

“Fuck - Joel. Oh…oh my god.”

“That’s my girl. Just let it take you.” His eyes dance along your face.

“K-kiss me,” you ask with a shaky breath as the clenching of your pussy starts to slow.

His lips meet yours tenderly, so soft that you almost think you might be imagining it. If it wasn’t for his scent surrounding you, or his strong arm still wrapped around you, you’d be convinced this was a dream. Your hips slow, but he doesn’t pull away. He kisses you, keeping you pressed to him until you’re ready.

You pull back slightly and he follows your lead.

“Come over tonight,” he states again and tucks your outgrown bangs behind your ear. His cock strains even harder at how blissed out you look. “One hour. Let me taste you properly.”

You nod, a crooked smile lifting your lips as you look up at him. “One hour,” you repeat.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel miller/reader #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller au #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x oc #pedro pascal fanfiction

562 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 2 months ago

Note

okay so i just read your requests rules and im not sure if this falls under a no no, so im just gonna ask.

would you write about reader getting emotional after remus just being really nice to her and sticking up for her bc she has trauma from like bullying or just not nice experiences regarding people being not nice or making fun of her (maybe in the adult sense it could be coworkers. like new girl at the the office au for example)?

i know your guidelines say no bullying but specifically like asking out as a prank is what is the example is so i am unsure if this is toeing a line or not. i feel like it’s not but better to be safe then sorry. thanks lovely 🩵🩵

You’re good sweetheart! That rule only really applies when like the love interest is the one being a bully. Thanks for your request <3

cw: service work rudeness

barista!Remus x barista!reader ♡ 854 words

Your work is loud enough that everyone needs to shout a little to be heard. You’re trying not to feel personally attacked by it.

“The cookie crumble latte,” the woman standing on the other side of the counter from you enunciates, over the sounds of whirring coffee machines and the customers chatting behind her.

“Perfect.” You start punching in her order. “And what size would you like?”

“Medium.”

“Lovely, got it…” Her total comes on-screen, but something dawns on you. “Oh. I’m sorry, we’re out of the crumble topping.”

The woman’s face screws up into an expression you can’t confidently interpret. It’s either bemusement or utter disdain. “What?”

“The crumble topping we put on top of the latte,” you try to explain. “We’re out of stock.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?”

“Would you like to try it without the topping?” you try.

“No.” Definitely disdain now. Your heart begins to pitter like a rabbit’s. “I want what I ordered.”

“Yes, I’m very sorry. Is…is there anything else on the menu you’d fancy?”

“You’re really out of the crumble.” She narrows her eyes at you.

“We are, yes.”

“The cookie topping that all the lattes come with?”

You think she’s trying to make you feel stupid. Not all of your lattes even come with that, only the one she’s ordered. “Yes,” you say anyway, hoping to pacify her by agreement.

The woman cocks her hip. Behind her, a few customers in line are looking over, wondering what’s taking so long. You feel the too-familiar heat of having a crowd’s irritation centered on you.

“I find it difficult to believe that you’re all of a sudden out of the ingredient for your most popular drink,” she says slowly. “Have you gone and looked in the back?”

Stupidly, your throat is starting to tighten. You keep your eyes on the screen in front of you to avoid looking her in the eye. “No,” you say quietly.

“Well, why don’t we give that a try?”

“Excuse me.” Skin brushes softly against yours as Remus steps in next to you at the till. “Is something the matter?”

“Possibly.” Your customer smiles at him. It’s sharp-edged and doesn’t reach her eyes. “Are you out of the topping for the cookie crumble lattes?”

“We are,” he confirms without missing a beat.

“And have either of you been to the back to verify that?”

“I do inventory every morning,” Remus says evenly. “We ran out of the crumble topping yesterday. Is there something else we can help you with?”

“Well, I was really looking forward to having it—”

“Then you’re welcome to try another of our locations and see if it’s available. Next.” He waves the customer behind her forward, at the same time motioning for your coworker to come take over. “Nik, can you please…? Thanks.”

You don’t look up to see the first customer’s reaction. You’re shepherded away, through the swinging door and into the relative darkness of the back room, Remus’ arm around your shoulders.

“Hey,” he says in a low voice, head bent toward yours, “you alright?”

You nod, wiping your sweaty palms on your apron. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t know what you have to be sorry about,” he murmurs. There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, an invitation to lighten things if you want it. “You weren’t the one throwing a fit over some small thing nobody can change.”

You make a noise approximating a laugh, a soft, brief exhale through your nose.

Remus tilts his head further, trying to see your face. “Sure you’re alright?” he asks gently, his solid, nobody-is-ever-going-to-hurt-you-again arm around your shoulders. “You looked like you were maybe starting to get a bit misted up.”

You take in a breath, letting it out through your mouth. Try to alleviate the tautness around your sternum. “I’m okay,” you say. “Sorry, I’m just, I’m not very good with things like that.”

“With people being cruel to you?” He gives your shoulder a tiny rub. “I’m glad, lovely, I don’t think any of us would want to be. That’s not how anyone should talk to each other, is it?”

A small, self-pitying part of you wonders what Remus would think if he knew how often it’s happened to you. You should be good at being treated cruelly by now, really. You should be accustomed to it.

You look up finally, giving your coworker a commiserative smile.

Remus smiles back. The gentle brush of his thumb over your arm feels almost like a reward. “I know it’s our job to put up with a certain amount of shit,” he says, “but if anyone talks to you like that, you can always come let me know, yeah? I’ll handle it.”

“Remus,” you say softly. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he replies simply. His hand coasts across your back as he pulls away. “I’m going to go help Nik, but you stay back here as long as you need, alright?”

“Alright,” you echo. You cross your arms over your stomach, taking another deep breath for yourself.

Remus sends you a fond look as he goes.

591 notes · View notes

eatommo · 1 year ago

Text

Father Figure [j.m.]

Summary: A shower and DBF Joel "pussy drunk" miller, no plot here. No outbreak/preoutbreak

A/N: Can be read as a stand alone but is a true sequel to Kisses of Fire. Heavily inspired by @absurdthirst and @wardenparker 's Marcus Moreno soulmates fic that I devoured in an all-nighter. Not beta'd all mistakes are my own

c.w: age gap, dub-con due to alcohol, showering together, pet names, oral sex (both recieving), pinv, creampie, food play (he drinks champagne off her pussy), overstimulation, service dom vibes, daddy kink and attached daddy issues, probably missed some lmk!

It wasn't fair. Joel had magic hands when it came to woodworking and tiling, hell you've even seen him work magic at a claw machine, but how was he better at washing your hair? Every ounce of tension fell out of your muscles, and the cool water washes away the sweat and sticky traces from your thighs. You keen into his fingertips, leaning back into the warmth of his body and letting yours rest against the plain of his chest.

He hums, and you feel the vibration of it echo in your own content noises, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy, “Sweet little thing.” You blush, feeling a little shy, which should be ridiculous, but you feel as if he's doting on you, every bit of his attention is working out every knot of tension in your body that you didn't even know existed.

He steps forward, urging your head back under the water as he washes the soap away with tender touches. The smell of his soap in your hair is almost overwhelming, and you still feel the ache of being filled by him, by all accounts your brain should be returning to its rightful place right now but all you can think about is how skillfully and hungrily he consumed you.

You felt dizzy, and the lingering traces of the alcohol were burning off. “I think I could go for another glass.” You look at his eyes in earnest, hoping to see some sort of reflection of how your heart is swelling in your chest.

“Already ahead of you baby, I put it and two glasses in the freezer for when you're finished.” His words are warm, and comforting, as if sensing what you're craving from him.

You crack a smile, standing on your toes to kiss the hollow of his throat and to your surprise, there's a strangled sound that comes from beneath your fingertips. It's a groan. Halting your movements, you stay there, hovering, and watch as he swallows harshly.

Tauntingly you let the tip of your tongue trace up the column of his throat and he turns to iron in your grasp, “Mr. Miller.” you tsk, the shift in power bolstering each small syllable, “A weakness.” You run the flat of your teeth against his skin, and you feel a shutter rumble through his body in a subtle confirmation.

He tries to play it off, a small rumble of laughter as he runs conditioner through your hair with his fingertips, combing it through the ends of your hair. His cock is half hard just from feeling your mouth on his throat as it rests against your belly, water passing between the two of you as you finish up the dance of sharing his modest shower space.

Your body should be tired, and admittedly your legs are weaker with each step but you couldn't be more aware of each passing lingering touch as his hands soothingly run up your back coaxing your body to follow and obey.

By far the most beautiful thing in the room is Joel. His chest is flush and glistening with droplets of water that fall from his clean, tousled hair and runs down his work-sculpted chest.

He catches you staring and tilts your chin up to look into his deep brown eyes, “Like what you see baby?” he's being smart with you, and yet you can't find the words to form a retort. His hand grips your jaw firmly, and he leans down for a kiss.

His mouth is warm, his tongue languidly swiping across your teeth bringing an embarrassingly loud moan out of you as you enjoy the taste of him and the skimming brush of his thumb on your pulse that all but turns your bones to jelly. You forget that he even asked you a question until he breaks the kiss with a laugh that sends a shiver down your spine. “And to think I’m not even done with you yet.”

He lets his hand move to the back of your head and buries his fingers in your hair and gives a gentle testing tug, you do your best to hold his gaze as he peers into your eyes, you let out a confirmational hum. With a single glance, he communicates what you’ve wanted since he took his pants off, and he holds your head steady as you sink to your knees. The tile is warm from the wash of the water, and he shields you from the shower head as you admire his massive semi-hard cock.

You rest your hands on your thighs, resisting the urge to start touching yourself as you kitten lick over a vein that catches your attention, you see the steady throb build as he gets harder beneath your tongue. You suck the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking lightly as it pulsates against your tongue and his hand tightens in your hair. You suck more of him into your mouth, swirling around the head and swallowing around him, eager to please and be good for him.

“That's my girl.” he coos, bringing his other hand to your cheek, caressing it gently but urging you to take more of him all the same. God, you’re half convinced the man could talk you to an orgasm, his praise wraps around your body like a vise, luring you into a headspace you’ve only experienced tonight.

He jerks his hips, pitching them forward and deeper until he’s nudging the back of your throat. Tears prick at your eyes, as your jaw begins to ache with the stretch, you find your hands drifting closer to the insistent twinge of your clit begging for his attention again. The hair at the base of his cock is sparse but it tickles your nose as you reach your breaking point, coughing and sputtering around him. You use the flat of your tongue to massage the underside of him while he fucks into your mouth.

He grunts as he keeps thrusting a few more times, you taste the salt of his precome on your tongue and he slides out and you gasp for air and swallow the excessive amount of drool pooled in your mouth. The strings of spit connecting the two of you might just be one of the hottest things you've ever seen. He gives you a lopsided grin, swiping a thumb over your chin, “Messy, messy little girl.” His voice is deep, hoarse with need and debauchery.

The shower is off and he pulls you to your feet, wrapping you in a plush towel that's warmed from the steam-filled room. He places a soft kiss on your forehead and you hum contentedly, recovering from the lack of oxygen and the dizzying weight of his cock in your mouth. You lean against the cool counter of the sink, running his brush through your hair in an attempt to keep from staring at him, but he settles behind you and slides his cock against your ass as he pins you to the counter.

You can vaguely make out the shape of his body behind yours in the fogged surface of the mirror, mixing together with the beauty of a mosaic painting. He is standing tall as his dark hair falls to tickle your ear as he kisses along the curve of your shoulder. His mouth is delicate, but the edge of the counter digs into your flesh, you're finding yourself hoping it bruises, as he continues to press his skin to yours.

He lets a rough palm run from your belly between your breasts and uses it to tilt your head back, kissing the sensitive skin on your throat with a gravelly contemplative hum at your back. “Go sit, I'll bring up something to drink, hungry?”

His hand is heavy and calloused, sitting on your throat, the gesture is dominant, and you feel so small and so pliant under his grasp. But the warmth and tenderness between your legs doesn't argue, and your lips are still swollen from the stretch of him in your mouth. You feel a deep satisfaction, heavy like the possessive yet caring touch of his hand guiding your mouth along his shaft.

“No,” You try and sound confident, but your voice is hoarse and you're beaming at him with a fucked stupid grin on your face, and it comes out a simple squeak.

Joel smiles down at you softly, running his thumb along your jaw. The adoration is plain on your face, unmistakable. You’ve seen him with this look hundreds of times but there’s something about the moment and the intimacy of this, the low-revving engine of your lust that’s almost as palpable as the steam on the mirror.

He never fails to make you feel special. His mouth finds your forehead for a lingering but gentle kiss, a promise to return. He leaves the room tying a towel around his waist, and you let your eyes linger on the flexing cords of muscles in his back as he shuts the door behind him.

Doing your best to collect yourself, you run your hands through your hair and take a deep breath, using his surprisingly plush towel to tousle your hair as dry as you can manage, before draping it around yourself and securing it above your breast.

His room is much cooler, but the heat beneath your skin is unstoppable and your body is still as alive as it was with his cock down your throat. The bed is disheveled, you find a place among the scattered pillows and prop yourself upright, pulling a book off of his nightstand to skim over the description on the back.

Soon you hear his footsteps on the stairs, he knocks gently on the door before nudging it open carrying two champagne flutes. He settles in next to you, and you saddle up next to him, pressing your hip to his, the urge to be close to him almost overwhelming.

You take a sip, letting the sweet bubbly liquid settle in your mouth for a moment, washing away the salt of his skin. You nuzzle your head on his shoulder in affection, feeling both spent and keen on finding out what's next.

His hair slicked back makes his deep brown puppy dog eyes even more dreamy as he beams down at you before taking a sip from the glass. You stare at his hands and the delicate way the veins and tendons flex to hold onto the stem of the glass, swallowing around the lump in your throat.

“Something I can give ya?” He notices, because of course he does. You shift, throwing your legs over his lap, and taking another swig from your glass, determined to finish before you give in to your incessant need to be filled by him again.

You hum, faking being contemplative, “I’m not sure, what else might you offer?” Playing coy has worked before, but something in his eyes seems hungry, and it stirs something like fear in your belly.

He holds your gaze, taking a long tauntingly slow sip even letting his tongue sneak out to tease the rim of the glass, “You have no idea baby.”

Instantly you're flooded with flashes of what he could possibly be alluding to, you imagine yourself pinned beneath him, straddling his face, even on your knees for him again. You've never felt so incredibly giddy over a teasing phrase. Hoping that there is a promise in his words, and that every little passing ache of potential is just a preview of what's to come.

He sees it plain as day on your face, eyes glazing over and the curves of an insidious smile twisting your mouth into a lopsided grin. He wishes he could read your mind, but he settles for running his hand across your abdomen, trailing over the sensitive and admittedly ticklish flesh just to feel you squirm beneath him.

You take a sip from you glass in an attempt to still your voice before you speak, shifting your hips below his warm touch. You know what you want, and he is just as privy to your needs, “Use your words, darling.” Another sip, and he presses his lips to the shell of your ear, “Be sweet for me baby tell Daddy what you want.”

“Your mouth, please Joel.” you rush, too aware of your body’s reaction to his touch. He pulls the towel free of your chest, and takes a nipple between two fingers and tugs until it's tight and you feel a hint of pained arousal. You whine correcting yourself, “Please, daddy.”

He lets out a small groan, the sound enough to make your clit throb for his attention. “Good girl.” He moves between your legs fluidly, the final sip of alcohol stirring in the bottom of the glass as he settles, pulling your hips to the edge of the bed and settling on his knees. He takes the towel you were wearing, gesturing for you to lift your hips as he arranges the towel beneath you.

You let your head fall back against the sheets, expecting the warmth of his mouth. Instead, you feel the ice-cold bubbles of his last champagne sip dribbling gently over your pussy, jumping at the cool sensation and the juxtaposition of his flat tongue swiping up the length of your sex. He moans against you as the taste envelops his thoughts and he loses himself in the sweet taste of you. He drags his tongue over your entrance, and swirls over your clit in long, practiced movements. Every second that passed your body was tensing, building to yet another climax in such a short amount of time your legs start to shake.

You almost miss the chuckle that escapes him, as he sucks harshly on your clit and your vision starts to ebb white, but he stops just a second short. “Did I make your little legs quiver?” You can’t find it in you to pick up your head off the bed.

He laughs.

The sound is deep, and throaty, and you can feel it reverberate in your bones as he crawls over you, his face wet from his efforts. He wipes his chin on the back of his hand, his eyes bright and playful.

The slide of his thick cock is tantalizing, your brain is telling you to stop but the throb of him against you and the warmth of his breath against your neck is encouraging you to take him. To be his good little girl.

His hips stutter as he buries himself inside you, your body giving a small jump when he bottoms out without warning. He groans loudly, pressing his forehead into the crook of your neck.

"Such a good little thing.." His words are slurred slightly, his mind drunk on lust and alcohol. He's so hard and thick and you can barely breathe. Your nails claw into the flesh of his shoulders, pulling him closer to you, wanting to feel the weight of him on top of you both overwhelming and comforting at the same time.

Your eyes flutter shut, his praise and his cock lulling your brain into a blissful fog. Your cunt grips his shaft and he lets out a low hiss.

Joel moans, burying his face into your hair, his breath coming in short pants. His thrusts are slow and deliberate, dragging the thick head of his cock across every inch of your walls. He stays like that, pushing and pulling in and out of you. He fucks you with abandon, his pace quickening as he chases his own pleasure.

Your mind is fuzzy and your eyes are unfocused. You don't know if it's the alcohol, or the fact that Joel's cock is currently splitting you open, or maybe it's the fact that you just don't give a fuck anymore, but everything just seems so right.

It's as if he knows exactly what you're thinking. "You feel so fucking good." His fingers grip the sheets and the muscles in his forearms ripple as he fucks you.

“Make yourself cum,” His thrusts are frantic, and his pace is practically begging you to comply. Scrunching your face in concentration, a few little overstimulated whimpers earn you more words of encouragement. “Cum all over me darlin.”

It's the most you can do to hold on as the coil inside of you tightens impossibly. The friction of him sliding inside of you is too much and not enough all at the same time.

He finds your chin and pinches it roughly, directing you to look into his eyes as he orders you to touch yourself. You do as you're told fingers snaking in between your bodies to find your swollen and abused clit. He grins as he sees your eyes roll back in your head and you come with a shout, his name on your lips.

Joel’s body starts to shake as his words evolve into primal grunts and groans. Your pussy is spent and the sweet smell of your release hangs in the air as he uses your limp body for his pleasure.

He calls to you as he cums, praising your body and plunging as deep as he possibly can as his cock pulses and empties inside of you. The room spinning and your ears ringing, his body sags on top of yours, his forehead pressed to yours as you place an exhausted kiss to the small patch of skin in his beard you’ve always been fascinated with.

You lay together catching your breath, your body slowly starting to feel the soreness between your legs and the dull throb of multiple orgasms that leaves your body feeling weightless and heavy at the same time.

#pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #hbo the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #joel miller the last of us #the last of us #tlou hbo #tlou 2 #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedrostories

1K notes · View notes

cheol-e-kat · 3 months ago

Note

Hi! New follower here! Im in love with your work! Could I please request Cheol x reader. Sexual frustration and ex sex please. Where ex's have been with other people but no one can get them off like their ex can. Thank you!!

haiiii not anon for once ^^ thanks for your follow ♡♡ and for participating in bingo - i hope you submit more asks

i know it's been a bit since you submitted this, but i hope you like it ^^

♡ kat

bingo squares: sexual frustration + ex sex

pairing: choi seungcheol / f!reader

summary: y/n is missing her ex, especially a certain part of her ex and all the things he can do with it, and decides to send him a text

word count: 2.4k

genre: pwp, alternate universe, f2l, ex sex, low key make up sex

Rating: 18+, MDNI, explicit

warnings below cut

warnings: explicit language, penetrative sex, fingering, oral sex, squirting, overstimulation

y/n fell back against the cool sheets.

she listened to the guy next to her breathing hard like he was on cloud nine after round 14 of pounding her pussy - it was round one and had been dull.

“whew, that was fuckin’ amazin’, darlin’” he said giddily.

she gave him her best customer service smile and reached for her phone. there was a text she desperately needed to send.

[y/n 04:23]

hiiii

she didn’t expect a response. ever probably. they had unquestionably broken up. she knew that. she definitely knew that.

but she had to try because the mediocre sex she had been having lately was just not it.

she didn’t even look forward to sex anymore. it was dull, at best - she might as well be doing her taxes.

instead, she was just wasting her time, placating men with her lack-luster, ‘oh, yes, b-a-b-y, that is just so good’…’yes, right there’…’u h u h’…’oh boy, howdy, just like that’- she was completely phoning it in.

if they paid any attention, they would know she was speaking roughly like the worst pre-recorded robocall machine to ever be invented. but funnily, they never seemed to notice. so she just kept saying more and more unhinged things - she had to entertain herself somehow.

she slid out of bed and grabbed her clothes and headed for the bathroom.

he stopped her for a moment, “hey, now, i thought you promised you would stay the night, make me breakfast and all that,” he said with a wink.

she stared blankly for a moment because when the fuck had she ever offered anyone that, much less texas pete over here.

“oh, yeah, sorry about that sugar, but i plum forgot, i’ve got this thing in the mornin’ and i just can’t miss it, ya’ know?” she shrugged.

for some reason, she had let a friend drag her to a country western club the night before, and she had been using her best southern accent all night. it was heinous. but again, she had to make her own fun.

“well damn,” he sighed, “i was lookin’ forward to that.” he squeezed her hand gently. “you just seem like you know your way around a kitchen,” he smiled again.

it wasn’t that he wasn’t cute - he was fine. totally okay - for anyone else on the planet.

she nodded and smiled, “sorry to let ‘cha down, but my boss is a real son of a bitch,” she smiled as she spoke and slowly pulled her hand from his grasp.

she went to the bathroom, cleaned up, threw on her clothes, and made a quick getaway.

she was in an uber when she saw the text.

[cheol 04:23]

u up? also why?????

she smiled - a genuine smile for once.

[y/n 04:46]

just going thru a drought T-T

she stared at her phone for a moment before flipping it face down in her palm. she didn’t want to watch the lack of response. they had been friends. they should have never fucked. they should have never dated. because now she couldn’t even complain to him when things sucked.

she felt her phone buzz and almost threw it. she really was not expecting a response.

[cheol 04:51]

you still know my address, right?

she read the message over several times before answering.

[y/n 04:52]

yea

he was quick with his response, though.

[cheol 04:52]

just come over then - i want to hear the southern accent tho

she snorted and asked her driver if he could change the address.

seungcheol answered the door in his underwear, which was cute and made her wonder where he had tossed his pjs - she knew he slept in them.

he leaned against the door, smiling, “seriously, i want to hear it,” he whispered.

she rolled her eyes, “oh god, at least let me come in first,” she pleaded.

he grinned and shook his head, “got to give me something,” he smiled cutely, “you know ‘m worth it,” he watched her with a flirty gaze she knew too well.

she looked him over, “fine,” she sighed, “uhh, hey, good lookin’,” she laughed, “fuck that was terrible.”

he nodded, still smiling, “come on, one solid thing,” he asked, his voice daring her.

she sighed softly and reached out - she caught her finger in the waist of his underwear and snapped it against his skin.

“fuck, really? how old are you?” he kept it to a whisper. his neighbors would complain otherwise. they both knew that all too well.

she smiled, “awe, darlin’ did that hurt? i didn’t mean nothin’ by it, my hand just got away from me, and lord knows what it’ll do next,” she scrunched her nose and held back a laugh. he looked dumbfounded.

but he finally moved out of the way and let her in.

she dropped her bag by the door and followed him into the kitchen. he tossed her a bottle of water.

“so, shua’s idea was less than perfect?” he leaned on the counter, watching her.

she rolled her eyes, “i mean,” she paused, “why do you even know for one?”

he grinned, “you were killing him with the accent - you know his LA-brain can’t handle when you whip that out.”

she smiled and shook her head, “right, so just voice messages or what went into the gc?”

she knew there were several she was no longer in, but she tried to get past the awkwardness of that. besides he shook his head - the gc was sacred.

she groaned, “look, can i shower?”

“you texted me at this time to take a shower?”

she shrugged and pouted, “please,” she put her hands together, pleading fully.

she didn’t like the idea of being all grimy from a bar or from where she had been, which neither of them addressed. because if seungcheol knew about the accent and the bar, then he knew about the mechanical bull ride - which was 12 out of 10 in her opinion - and he knew about the guy she went home with.

he followed her into his bedroom and left her to find her way to the bathroom. she stripped and took a long shower, thankful for the hot water and that he still had the soap she picked out. by the time she was out and had dried off, she noticed that there were clothes for her to change into. she hadn’t even realized that he had come in - not that she minded. it was sweet.

she pulled on one of his shirts and some boxers - and she wandered into his bedroom. she knew she should probably sleep on the couch, but when seungcheol reached out for her, she couldn’t resist.

she was happy to climb into his warm bed and snuggle against his side.

she woke up slowly - she wasn’t exactly surprised by where she was - she knew what it felt like to wake up with him. it was more of a bittersweet feeling. she barely admitted to herself that she missed him as much as she did.

she tried to pretend that none of it bothered her - like seeing him with other people - or how absolutely fucking bored to death she was without him. she wanted to hurry up and leave before lying there dredged up too many feelings.

the problem was when she moved - he pulled her back down, kissing her softly. and it worked like a spell. she couldn’t break that kiss - that perfect kiss with seungcheol that she had been missing so badly.

and when his strong hands pulled her back where he wanted her, lying on top of him, she couldn’t resist that either. she kissed him and ran her hands through his hair. she moaned softly and happily let her tongue slide against his, tasting him. she felt his hands firmly trace along her thighs and ass, squeezing her cheeks and spreading them before finally giving her a soft smack that only made her smile.

she felt like she was in a daze by the time she was on her back, and he was undressing her, kissing all the places he liked most. she played with his hair, savoring the feeling of him. she groaned softly as he kissed and licked her nipples, sucking at one breast and then the other, as his hand slid down between their bodies and his fingers began to tease her pussy.

he didn’t say any ridiculous things as he stroked her clit. he didn’t ask any weird questions as he slid his fingers inside her, knowing what she liked and how. he filled her pussy without her needing to explain a single thing to him.

he kissed her softly as he worked her open - stretching her the way she had been dying to be stretched for weeks. he was three fingers deep in her without any awkward exchange about how ‘yes’ she liked that feeling - she liked the edge it brought her to. but it was also basically required for a guy with a dick like seungcheol’s.

she had missed his dick.

she pressed him back gently, interrupting the normalcy of it, “can i go down on you?” she whispered.

he nodded, “yeah, but i was about to do that to you,” he said with a soft smile.

she reached up, smoothing his bangs, “we could both do it?” she asked, shrugging, pouting just a bit.

his smile widened, “you really do miss it then?”

she flushed, wondering who the actual fuck had told him that little juicy nugget of information. and also, not really caring, because yes - she had.

she nodded.

and they moved so she was lying across him, her pussy in his face, and she was staring directly at the cock that she measured all other cocks against. were they as long as his? were they as thick as his? did they just look like a thing that belonged deep in her throat because his always looked that way.

she was felt his fingers and tongue making quick work of her - his fingers roughly massaging that little spongy spot that did things to her, while his tongue worked her clit.

she moaned as she licked and sucked the head of his dick - she used her hand to work his length, squeezing the base of his cock tightly and loosening her grip as her hand came closer to her mouth - she pulled off, spitting in her hand before going back to working him.

she took him deeper in her mouth, letting the head of his dick hit the back of her throat, loving how the smooth, soft skin felt against her tongue. she wanted him to fuck her face and make her gag.

but it was early in the morning - she knew he just wanted to fuck. not f u c k.

she knew she was close to coming, but she wanted to taste him. she started to work quicker, moving her mouth and hand in unison, creating the illusion that she was taking him deeper than she was - she could feel the hard way he was gripping her ass now.

she could hear his soft groans, and the gentle, whispered, “yeah, baby, just like that - so fucking good,” even as he dove back into her, licking and sucking her until she came, until she was a dripping mess that he licked into even more. he finally pulled back, “fuck, i love how you come for me.” he leaned back in, kissing her opening and licking into her - his fingers working her clit again.

she shivered from the overstimulation, but she kept working his cock, licking and sucking even faster, until she felt the sudden explosion of liquid heat in her mouth - she forced herself to take him deeper, wanting all his cum down her throat. she swallowed and gagged around him. she kept pumping him, until she was sure she had swallowed every last drop.

when she landed on her back again, and he grabbed her waist, pulling her into the position he liked - her legs wide, one over his shoulder, his hands under her ass lifting it so he could thrust fully into her. she loved when he made her take all of his cock.

“miss this, baby girl?” he asked - his voice was so low.

she nodded, “missed it so much,” she whined, grabbing the sheets before he was even inside her - she knew how good it would feel. and with how long it had been, she was sure it would be like the first time - like he was splitting her apart.

and was she ever right about that part - she bit the back of her hand to keep from screaming. he didn’t stop to say anything - he knew she loved it - knew she loved the way he stretched her every time - not just the first time.

she was a whining, whimpering mess - she could feel tears pricking the edges of her eyes as he was really fucking into her - rolling his hips relentlessly.

when he reached down and grabbed her chin, “crying for me?”

she nodded.

“that good?” he asked, breathless and grinning smugly.

she nodded, “so fucking good cheol - i’ve missed you so much,” she whined.

she definitely hadn’t meant to say that, and even in her dick-addled mind, she hoped he took it as ‘i missed your dick.’

but she felt him pause, it was this one millisecond of him staring at her, having heard her perfectly, knowing exactly what she meant.

she was shocked when he shifted their position, all so he could lean down and kiss her while still managing to fuck her brains out. sloppy, sweet kisses that almost distracted her from what his cock was doing.

“missed you too,” he whispered as they pulled apart.

and he sat back up, picking up both her legs this time, putting them over his shoulders, so his dick somehow hit even deeper.

she yelped from the impact of his dick hitting as deep as he possibly could, pounding her cervix - not to mention he had decided to stroke her clit too.

she knew the familiar sound of her pussy being that wet - the lewd sound it made every time he thrust inside her, every time his dick hit just right - she knew what she was on the precipice of - and then it happened - he pulled out just in time for her to pussy to gush as she came. and then he was thrusting back into her, fucking her like she needed him too. until she felt him come - felt him fill her full and fuck it deep inside her.

lying next to him after, even if he told her to ‘fuck off’ - at least she had gotten one more great fuck from him.

but when he pulled her close and curled around her, she had the feeling she wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

a/n: i've never written anyone in a 69 before - kind of fun hehe anywayysssss bingo responses are still be responding to, so if you want to send in an ask, feel free - i'm just a bit slow since i finally picked a long fic to work on

♡ kat

if you want to submit a bingo request, here are the bingo choices - just send an ask:

bingo v. 1 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 2 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 3 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 4 ⋆.˚ 333 followers bingo ⋆.˚ monster themed bingo ⋆.˚ bingo v. 5 (new)⋆.˚

♡ bingo reqs master list

♡ seungcheol: knotting + marking || professor (prof. choi, pt. 1) || monster || spanking (neighbor seungcheol) || big dick + hate sex || forced masturbastion (prof. choi, pt ii) || voyeurism + punishment || coffee shop au + forbidden relationship (untitled alpha!!cheol pt. 1) ||

♡ mingyu: lingerie + praise kink || bed sharing + big dick || praise + worship kink || vehicle sex + oral fixation || drunk pda + no underwear || enemies to lovers + tentacles ||

♡ seungcheol & mingyu threesome: oral ||

⋆.˚ my [master list] if you want to read more

⋆.˚ if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here]

[ taglist ] ☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @hanniebub [e] ☁︎ @perfectiondazesworld [e] ☁︎ @scoupshawty [e] ☁︎ @peachytokki [e] ☁︎ @halavia [e - drab/one/multi] ☁︎ @haik-chu [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @gigglensnort [e - one/multi/priv] ☁︎ @thepoopdokyeomtouched [e - multi/priv] ☁︎

395 notes · View notes

scannainscanrula · 3 days ago

Text

shadowed corners

remmick x reader (18+ mdni)

You're a romance author suffering from insomnia, writer's block, and strange nightmares. Your publisher offers to send you to Maine for a short sabbatical to clear your head. It's a quaint town with charming locals, and a mysterious man running the lighthouse that nobody seems to know much about... [part two here]

author's note: well well here we are again. this is MUCH longer than my other fic and i intend to have at least 3(?) chapters for it, so strap in girlies. no smut just yet yous have to earn it first by sitting through all this fucking exposition. grma enjoy! warnings: horror elements, discussion of animal death, discussion of shark attacks, sexual themes

You sit at your desk in front of an empty document, the cursor blinking at you mockingly. Your eyes are tired and your head feels heavy, and the last time you fell asleep at your desk you had drooled on your keyboard, and you really don’t want to find a place to get it fixed.

“An old-school computer always helps me when I have writer’s block,” one of your colleagues had told you at a cocktail party when you lamented about your publisher’s insistence on a new concept.

You had a very embarrassing and uncomfortably visible breakdown in her windows-only corner office. You began word-vomiting all over her sleek carbon fibre desk about your writer’s block and insomnia– leaving out the extra embarrassing detail of your recurring sexy nightmares– and she had patted your back and attempted to comfort you with corporate jargon. When the tears started she lowered some blinds and lowered her voice, sitting against the edge of the desk in front of her.

“Look, kid. You’re a hell of a writer, okay? Nothing sells like your stuff. I mean, I don’t get it, but the girls love this… creepy vampire stalker shit.”

Dark romance, you want to correct her, but it’s futile after four years working together.

She sighed, crossing her arms.

“How about… I give you a company card and you go… rent on the coast somewhere for a few months? We have some contracts to draft because these streaming services are just chomping at the bit for rights to adapt. So you go pack your things and take a break. Get an Ambien prescription, fuck a fisherman, whatever you need to do.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll bankroll it.”

She taps her manicured acrylic nail on the cover of your most recent title, Shadowed Corners. It was a total and complete success, where your first two were mafia romances set in the same universe, SC was a dark romance with a vampire love interest stalking your adorable main character. You love red flags, and Milo was covered in them.

“You’re a money-printing machine, babe.”

So here you are, not relaxing, not on sleeping pills, and completely unfucked by any hot guys. You press your fingers to your temples and sigh, closing the pages and pushing the circular off button for the computer. You slide back and lean forward, stretching your creaky back. You miss your cozy little setup at home, your comfortable chair and the souped-up gamer style keyboard. You sacrificed comfort hoping it would make you work harder, but you think you’ll just finish this little sabbatical with more lower-back pain than usual.

You fill your water bottle with the filter in the fridge, admiring the stickers all over it. Among the logo of your publishing house and the ones about writing, you have fanart of your books and quotes from your own characters. Ones you’ve found at book fairs and second-hand stores as well as online. A handful were sent along with fanmail. Your laptop and idea notebook are covered too, because it drove you mad to know people liked your stuff enough to make art out of it.

You huff and trudge up the stairs, feeling exhausted and dreading the next day. You sit in your bed and look at the sticker of Milo with his signature phrase I’d like to see you stop me, babygirl.

You turn the bottle away from you as you open the bedside drawer. Inside of it are two options. A scent-proof bag that holds your pipe, grinder, and bud, a vape, and a few edibles. The other is a vibrator. You wonder what the point of this vacation was. You could get high and get off at home in the city. And at least there you could order munchies for delivery after you’d fucked yourself silly thinking about the made-up vampire in your head.

You just shut the drawer, rolling your eyes as you lay back.

Two hours later, you can’t sleep. You’re “jerking off your ego” as your friends would call it, looking through positive reviews of your last title. You know you have detractors, people who think your work is trash or anti-feminist. It’s a little trashy, but it’s just for fun. And you’ve had your share of shitty boyfriends like any girl your age, you know the difference between right and wrong. God forbid a girl wants a hot vampire to follow her home, you think.

You sit up and put your phone face down. You need fresh air. You need a walk. So, you bundle up and stick in headphones for a brisk, freezing, 7 PM wintertime mental health walk. The New England air isn’t just cold, it’s thick and wet with the marine layer from the ocean, which you’re a short walk away from. It’s not nice, but it does invigorate you as you follow the path from your little cottage down to the beach. It’s pretty private, tucked away in a little alcove– which you were warned not to enter when the tide is too high. You peek over to see it’s not. So you climb down and skirt around the rocks to walk on the main beach, which is empty. Obviously. The recently released audiobook of one of your peers’ newest titles plays in your ears, narrated by a sultry English man. You should have gone somewhere else for inspiration. You vaguely remember hearing someone at a book release party talk about how inspiring their trip to France was, and another person responded about their time in Ireland. You’ve mostly just met fishermen and townies, and none of these men had the Milo quality about them.

Milo was inspired by a stunning man you saw while at a nightclub in New York City. You were very, very drunk on espresso martinis, but you saw him and his adorable girlfriend– who also served as your muse for Annmarie, SC’s protagonist– at the bar together. His arm was around her waist in a way that was possessive but romantic, his hand rested over her tummy, and you saw his thumb rubbing circles into her skin lovingly.

“Oh my God, girl, are you seriously drooling? You are so drunk,” your friend had half-sighed, half-laughed as you wiped a little drool from your chin with the back of your hand.

“We have got to get you some dick, queen,” another friend joked.

“I am perfectly fine being single,” you protested.

“Nuh-uh, I read that last book of yours. All work and no dick makes you fucking crazy. How did you come up with that shit anyway?”

“She’s totally sick in the head, that’s how.”

Your back straightens up as you think you hear a voice.

“Miss!”

You pause the book and turn around to see a man jogging behind you, holding something in his hands. You freeze with terror until you realise it’s your notebook he’s holding.

“You dropped this,” he says, handing it over. He stays a nice distance away from you.

He has some sort of Southern accent, not New England.

And he is very, very attractive. He wears a tight black t-shirt and black athletic shorts. His short hair is semi-dark, and probably reddish from the way it looks in the blue moonlight. He smiles politely at you, his dark eyes are hard to see. There’s a scruff of facial hair on him.

“Thanks.”

“Sorry, I… I woulda tapped your shoulder, but I was worried you’d sock me in the nose if I scared you.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Are you uh… you okay? It’s pretty dark out here.”

“Yeah, I know. I was just clearing my head.”

“Right.”

You take a breath and introduce yourself quickly.

“I’m Remmick,” he says.

“So, what are you doing out here, Remmick?”

“Well, I work at that lighthouse. Just takin’ a jog before I head up there.”

“Oh.”

Hot lighthouse worker. That could be a love interest.

“You on vacation? I think I’d remember your face if I’d seen it before.”

Charming lighthouse worker.

“I’m uh… on a sort of sabbatical.”

“You a doctor or something?”

“God, no. I’m a writer.”

“Yeah?”

The tone and timbre of that yeah have your head spinning.

“Books or what?”

You nod.

“What kind?”

You hesitate.

“Can I guess?”

“Go for it.”

He thinks for a second, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he does, which makes you flush.

“Are they scary?”

“Parts of them are scary,” you admit.

You remembered researching for SC and finding out that a lot of people only have a little over one gallon of blood in their bodies. You felt lightheaded and queasy at the visual of a plastic gallon bottle full of blood.

“But they ain’t all scary, huh?”

“Nope.”

He eyes you and smirks.

“Are they dirty?”

You hesitate and suck in air through clenched teeth.

“Yeah. They’re pretty dirty.”

“You must make good money, huh?”

He chuckles and you shrug.

“I do alright.”

“Yeah, I bet you do. Where’re you stayin’?”

You pause and he holds up his hands.

“That probably sounded creepy. I only meant… there’s some nice places, and there’s a Holiday Inn.”

“Well, it’s not the Holiday Inn.”

He looks at the watch on his hand.

“Shit. Well, I gotta get goin’.”

He says your name and your chest fills up with a weird feeling. Half-elation, half-dread.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah. You too. I’ll see you around,” you respond.

“Only if you keep walkin’ at night. Boats don’t need a lighthouse in the daytime,” he explains quickly, jogging off toward the beacon.

Hot lighthouse worker who’s charming and funny. Now that could work.

You go home and open the fridge. Time for boxed wine in a mug as you power-write for the next forty-five minutes until your hands cramp up.

You put the notebook down and pull out your favorite pen. You need certainty when you put book ideas down. You write in quick, messy bullet points, only getting down little ideas. You heard that coastal New England towns are famous for gruesome murder. Your instincts take you to the mafia but one glance at your water bottle has you thinking otherwise. SC was such a success, and you’re the vampire girl now.

So you begin to pen the vague outline of a dark romance with a steamy, stalkery vampire lighthouse worker. A man in thick knit sweaters with a messy beard– that could get messier covered in blood or buried between a writer’s thighs–

You pause and see you’ve written writer on the page. You cringe and scribble that out. You had your humble beginnings with composition notebook self-insert fanfiction as a tween, but you’re a big girl now. And you’re already writing prose over a guy you just met, you really don’t need to make it any weirder. Your mind goes through some humble, wholesome occupations to compliment a love interest like that. Baker? Too cliche. Schoolteacher? Too male gaze. Big city corporate lawyer? Too Hallmark movie.

You tap back of the pen against the page rhythmically and sit up. Investigative journalist. Still technically a writer, but the only things you investigate are late-night Twitter links on a private spam account not even your best friends know about.

Your pen dashes across the page, scrawling wildly. There’s not even any music playing, just the not-so-distant sound of the ocean, the radiator, and your own hand brushing against the paper. Soon, you’ve filled five pages without realising and that doubles in a blink. Shit! Your hand cramps up and you lift the pen finally, massaging your other thumb into your palm. It’s time for bed now, as three hours have passed and your back is killing you.

You ascend the stairs again and just go to sleep, hand and wrist sore and content with your productivity.

You wake up surprisingly early the next day, and decide to go into town to get some groceries. Your fridge is looking sparse and the pantries are basically empty. You buy some frozen stuff and some supplies to make coffee. You see the honey is placed on the highest shelf you’ve ever seen and huff. No workers around. You can probably get it on your tiptoes. You strain to reach it and hear a man’s voice.

“Can I help you with that?”

You almost fall dropping to your feet again, and a shooting pain goes up from your heels.

“Ow, shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

It’s a man in a lifeguard’s hoodie with red swim trunks on. Maybe you hit your head and you’re having some sort of insane Baywatch fantasy.

“Yes. Please.”

“Yeah, I honestly don’t know who puts this stuff up there. The lady who owns this place is like, four-eleven.” You laugh at that as he hands you the honey.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m Chris, by the way.”

You give him your name and shake his hand. Fucking hell this guy is strong.

“Are you visiting?”

“Yeah. For a few months though. I’m working on a book.”

“You write horror?”

“Sorry?”

“Um, Stephen King’s from Maine. I feel like horror writers are always trying to… come out here and get some of that inspiration.”

“I think the inspiration he had was-”

“Cocaine?” he says at the same time as you. He shrugs. “At least you can recognise that. Half the other writers are ready to climb into the sewer.”

“Shit, well there goes my day at the rock quarry,” you joke.

He laughs at that and you grin.

“I’m a lifeguard on the beach for the next six hours, if you um… feel like you need some fresh air. Sunlight isn’t really a November specialty.”

“Are people really swimming this time of year?”

“Oh, they are. But so are the great whites, so, I’m mostly on seal watch.”

“Right.”

“I’m in tower Four,” he tells you eagerly. It’s like the words just jump right out of his mouth. “It’s right by the lighthouse. Nobody swims there, so… if you wanna tell me about your book or something… my job is pretty boring.”

“I’ll see you out there, Chris.”

“See you.”

You check out and ride the bike the homeowner left for guests back to the cottage. You feel insane. Maybe you were hospitalized after that breakdown and this is all some elaborate, drugged-up daydream you’re in. You pull out your notebook after the groceries are put away and flip to a new page. You click your pen and write HOT LIFEGUARD at the top of the page.

A love triangle sounds awesome.

Later on, after you actually manage to type some words on a new, more permanent outline document, your vision drifts out the window. It is actually kind of a nice day, even though it’s overcast and windy. You stand and squeeze your hands together, stretching out. It is time for another brisk walk, this time to Tower Four.

Chris sits up there, slumped in his chair and holding his rescue tube in his lap. His tanned, toned legs are wide as he sits back.

“Would it scare you really bad if I started yelling ‘help’?” you joke, peering up at him from the ground.

He chirps your name, sitting up and sliding his sunglasses on top of his head, pushing back his hair.

“You made it.”

“I brought you a snack,” you say, handing up the small bag of chocolates.

“Wicked,” he says, taking it from your hand. He swings down like a monkey and sits with his feet dangling off the side of the tower. You share the candies and look out on the water.

“So, you gonna tell me about your book?”

“Yeah, I’m not a horror writer.”

“What do you write?”

You hesitate. You know this song and dance, the divulgence of your career and the weird stares and uncomfortable shifting that follows. It’s ruined all sorts of dates and first impressions. Fuck it. You’re on sabbatical.

“Um… dirty romance books.”

“No shit? Is it like that crazy mafia stuff online?”

“Yeah, it’s exactly that.”

“Killer. You make a lot of money?”

“Enough to stay here and not work for three months.”

“So… you’re not writing a book?”

You shake your head.

“My creative well is completely dry. I came out here for-”

“Don’t even say it.”

“-some inspiration.”

“You are such a liar,” he teases. “You’re just like all those Stephen King wannabes,” he jokes, turning away from you.

You laugh at his silliness. You remain for a while, chatting about life and the town.

“The city is wild. I’m getting used to the silence, I think,” you tell him, having moved to– illegally– sit on the tower with him.

“Is the crime really so crazy out there?”

“Yeah, I mean… most of that is just there’s so many people crammed into such a small place. People go nuts.”

“Damn.”

“No crime here?”

“Not here, no, but um… about twenty miles north there’s this beach town, it’s a complete tourist getaway, but they got rocked by some shark attacks a few years back.”

“Some shark attacks?” you repeat his casual wording, shocked.

“Sorry. That sounded insensitive, it was really scary. That place is on its last legs now.”

“Well, yeah. Who wants to stay at the Jaws resort?”

“Bull shark, probably. The same thing happened in nineteen-sixteen. It was pretty gruesome.”

“Are you fucking with me?” you question him seriously, eyes squinted.

“I’m being serious, look it up.”

“Huh. Shit.” You sit back, eyes wandering to the lighthouse.

“Have you ever met the person who works up there?”

“Yeah, he’s fucking creepy.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“You met him?”

“Mhm. Last night.”

“Remmick? The lighthouse guy? You met him?”

“Yeah…? He was jogging.”

“Fucking weirdo,” Chris mutters. “He’s a complete shut-in.”

“How long has he been here?”

“Couple years? I don’t really know when he got here, he just… was there one day.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah, well. We used to have a night lifeguard, and– listen, I can admit having a girl out here on her own was pretty stupid– not that girls are… incapable or something-”

“I get it.”

“Right. And… full disclaimer, this girl really liked shrooms, but she swears up and down that she saw that guy covered in blood and eating a seal.”

“Whoa.”

“I mean, there was a dead seal on the beach, she was right about that.”

“Great white?”

“Oh, for sure. I’m think he was probably just doing that creepy-ass night jogging by the tower when that seal washed up, and… sometimes the sharks don’t fully kill the things-”

You grimace.

“I know, it’s pretty sad. Anyway, probably it was yowling and her fucking shroomed out brain conjured up that pretty picture. But he’s just a weird guy. He’s totally nocturnal. I’ve never seen the guy in the daytime. I’ve probably seen him six times and talked to him like… two, maybe?”

“Jeez.”

“Yeah. Anyways, sorry. That was a lot. I’d just stay away from the guy if you can. I don’t know what his deal is.”

You swiftly change the subject to movies and TV, which is good, because you two seem to share the same interests. Strangely enough, vampires are among them.

“I have sisters, so, I’ve seen Twilight about a hundred times? Maybe more?”

You laugh at that. You see him grinning and you check phone, seeing that two hours have passed.

“Shit. I have got to get back.”

“Right.”

“Thanks for the company. And the advice,” you add, nodding to the lighthouse.

“Um… would you want to grab a drink, tomorrow?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure. Um… where?”

“It’s called The Weasel. It’s definitely a townie bar, but… the drinks are cheap.”

You are fiending for an espresso martini, and you fear you’ll have to settle for an old reliable at a dive bar.

“Alright.”

“Cool. Um… eight o’clock sound good?”

“Eight o’clock sounds great.”

“Awesome. See you there.”

“I will see you there.”

Your back hits a tree as you pant, unable to run anymore. Your lungs burn as you gasp for cold night air in a dark, damp forest. You’re barefoot, in a wet nightgown that sticks to your skin and you’re terrified.

You tremble, feeling the looming presence of something evil and ancient, rising up in front of you. Met with words in a language you don’t understand, a clawed hand grips your jaw. They’re wet and sticky, hot with something you realise is blood. The creature laughs at you cruelly and on the other hand grabs a handful of your nightgown, claws ripping through the fabric as it tears a strip down the center. The hand cups between your legs. It splits your lips carefully– almost reverently– brushing a knuckle between your folds, claws away from your most sensitive skin. You gasp and shiver, hands against the tree. You’re wet, though. Soaking the creature’s hands as it coats your skin in blood. It’s so dark and your vision is blurry with tears, you only see two red spots staring at you, and the glint of pearly fangs as the jaw of the creature opens and lurches forward.

You shoot up and sigh, panting as you try to catch your breath. You’ve been plagued with these “psychosexual night terrors”, as your therapist calls them, since you finished writing SC. Some weeks they’re sparse and other ones you can’t sleep without waking up sticky and horrified. Your cortisol levels are through the roof and your sex drive is in the stratosphere. The running theory is that your frantic writing for the deadline of SC drove you just a little bit crazy, and your panic and arousal from writing about Milo’s sexy antics while your publishing house breathed down your neck combined and manifested as the scary void creature in your nightmares.

You take a cold shower that morphs into an everything shower when you remember your date with Chris. Not a date. Just grabbing a drink. Could be a date.

You feel like a kid again, having a cute summer fling with a boy at sleepaway camp with the distant bitter sweetness of knowing you’ll leave in three months. Except you are an adult woman and if you do fall in love, you could just move here forever.

But that’s wishful thinking.

You wait at the bar patiently. You’re a punctual girl, your agent adores that about you, so you are a little early. You chat with the bartender. She’s an older woman with a thick Mainer accent.

“Let me guess-”

“Not a horror writer,” you joke back.

She laughs at that. Her laugh is creaky but comforting, and you can tell she’s a smoker.

“You look nervous.”

“I’m meeting somebody?”

“Yeah?”

“I won’t say who, because I’m guessing you know everyone.”

“Well, I also know who’s single and who isn’t. If you’re worried he’s married, just give me a name.”

The bar is quiet, some men play pool and a group of vacationing dads drink beers and watch some sports on an outdated television.

You order another drink as you watch the clock behind the bar tick on.

By eight thirty, you’re sufficiently buzzed. You didn’t even get his phone number to text him.

By nine, you decide you should go home. You thank the bartender and leave her a generous tip. You’ll be too embarrassed to come in here for a while.

You take the bike home, slumping on the sofa in the living room as you kick off your heels. You feel tears pricking at your eyes and rub them away, not caring about your smudged eyeshadow or makeup. You wipe it off in the bathroom and change out of your clothes. You need another walk. Maybe you’ll run into the allegedly very creepy lighthouse man and you’ll get some inspiration.

“I’ll show you Stephen King wannabe, dickhead,” you mutter to yourself, pulling on your coat and shoving your notebook in your pocket.

You follow the familiar motions, down the path, out through the alcove, and down the beach. You have some angry music playing this time as you stomp down the beach and pass the lifeguard towers. Shrooms girl better thank her lucky stars she’s off night shift, because you look pissed off right now. You stalk all the way down to tower four and roll your eyes. This is a tantrum. You’re an adult.

“I thought I might see you again,” a voice calls. Remmick is on a ledge above you, leaning on the wooden railing.

“Can I come up there?”

“I’m not gon’ tell you what to do, sweetheart.”

You try to ignore the fire that lights in you and climb the sand and rock stairs, joining him on the ledge. He sits on a bench and pats the seat next to him.

“I heard a lot about you today, from a couple locals,” you tell him, lying about it.

You get the feeling Chris was being insecure, or maybe Remmick’s stolen one too many girls from him.

“Yeah, I’m a seal-eating nightwalker, you got me,” he jokes, his hands up in mock surrender.

You exhale through your nose. You wish you could laugh harder.

“I’m just a solitary kinda fella. People here, shit, they tight knit like fishin’ nets. They think everybody’s gotta know everybody’s business. Nobody knows mine, so they’ve been makin’ things up for the past three years.”

“Sorry I brought it up.”

“Hey, I’d rather you hear it from me.”

He looks at you for a moment and rubs a hand over his knee.

“You look upset.”

“Yeah. I uh…”

You hesitate, and see him lean forward, actively listening.

“It’s stupid.”

He holds his hand out, gesturing for you to speak.

“I got stood up,” you admit.

“For a date?”

“Not exactly. Just drinks.”

He clicks his tongue.

“That’s no good. Must be a pretty dumb guy, to stand you up.”

“Yeah. That was a dickhead move. I’m just hoping it was more of a… ‘oh shit, I totally forgot’ kind of thing.”

He eyes you and you cross your legs.

“Still. You musta gotten all dolled up for it.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Well, I uh… I’m not so much a bar kind of fella, but if you wanna come out here sometimes all dolled up…” he leans in, “I got some good whiskey and two glasses.”

You lean in too, close to him.

“I might take you up on that, Remmick.”

“I gotta get up there,” he murmurs, looking at your lips as he speaks.

“Right.”

He doesn’t move, locked in place for a moment. He seems to shake off the spell and sits back, scrubbing a hand down his face, wiping his mouth. It almost looks like he’s wiping away drool. He stands up.

“You uh, you alright to walk home on your own?”

Words flash in your mind, the scene from SC where Milo promises to stalk Annmarie home, which results in him watching through the window as she touches herself. You’re drunk, you realise, as the neurons in your brain flicker out and blood rushes down your body.

“Yeah, I should be fine.”

“Right.”

He starts to walk away and turns back.

“I mean it. You come up see me sometime.”

“I will.”

You mean that, too.

Remmick thumbs through your notebook. How can you even understand this stuff? Your messy handwriting is charming. He reads through descriptions of vampire lore and fangs and turning that make him chuckle. He thinks of the smell of you, that hot scent of desire and the buzzing of your intoxicated body as you sat together. He’s so fucking cold in Maine, and he hasn’t been touched in years. He imagines you’d be hot to the touch. He knows you’re frustrated, you’ve been dissatisfied with pleasuring yourself. The descriptions of sex scenes have him biting back groans and palming himself through his pants.

He flips to the final page.

HOT LIFEGUARD

His eyes narrow as he realises who it was that stood you up. He turns the page back over, scanning through your previous writing.

LIGHTHOUSE VAMPIRE LOVER. CLAIMS TO KILL FOR HER. STALKERY? MILO PART II. LESS TENDER. MORE EVIL.

Oh, you’re fucking crazy.

He grins, his fangs sliding down.

He can make do with crazy.

You wake up early, painful early. You dress groggily and decide to get some air on the beach before the dickhead lifeguard starts his shift. You’re slightly hungover as you traverse down the path and through the alcove to walk on the beach.

The light is pale and you have to watch your step for kelp as you walk down. You see something up on the sand, and your heart sinks.

It has to be a seal. It’s not breathing, so you look at the nearest lifeguard tower for the animal control. You dial the number and wait patiently.

“Hello?” a voice that sounds just as groggy as you feel answers.

“Hi, I’m um, I’m on the beach right now and I think there’s a dead seal by the first lifeguard tower.”

“Oh, hell. Sorry, miss. It’s too damn early. Do you see any marks on it?”

“It’s hard to see with the fog. Is it safe to get closer?”

“Seals aren’t half as aggressive as sea lions, miss, so go ahead.”

You step closer, squinting with the fog. It’s absolutely dead, not moving at all. You approach it cautiously, worried about what other creatures might be lurking around.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach.

This is not a seal.

This is Chris the lifeguard, and he’s missing an arm.

#remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick #remmick sinners #sinners fanfiction #remmick fanficiton #remmick fanfic #jack o'connell x reader #sinners 2025 #sinners

264 notes · View notes

freightforwardingindonesia · 17 hours ago

Text

Injection Molding Machines

Import for Injection Molding Machines to Jakarta, Indonesia Importing injection molding machines requires accurate documentation, legal HS code classification, and efficient freight handling. Keenam International provides trusted freight forwarding for industrial machinery, especially injection molding machines, from China, Taiwan, Germany, Korea, and Japan into Indonesia. ✅ Our Injection…

#freight forwarder Jakarta #freight forwarding machinery #HS code 8477 #import injection molding machine #Indonesia injection machine import #Industrial Equipment Shipping #Injection Machine Import #legal import service #Machinery Customs Clearance

0 notes

keenaminternational · 17 hours ago

Text

Injection Molding Machines

0 notes

koalaflower · 5 days ago

Text

isagi yoichi !

jerking off to your 18+ stream ⋆｡°✩

includes. EXPLICIT smut. aged-up isagi yoichi. afab!reader. masturbation, streaming, use of dildo/toy, semi-slursagi appearance.

a/n. mind you, i wrote this AT the beach beside my parents. also special thank you to @thetwinkims for always supporting and reblogging all my posts 🥹 i giggle whenever i see your username. i love you twin.

word count. 627

isagi has never been that kind of person. sure, he indulged every now and then, but that was only human, wasn't it?

he didn’t mean to linger longer than he should have, honest. your streaming service just happened to pop up as an advertisement, and he found himself unable to exit the tab. soft body, sweet expressions, a pretty face—you were just his type. It didn’t take long for him to become a regular viewer.

best.1striker sent a $25 tip !

best.1striker: 10

the machinery whirred to life at his command, your fingers tearing into the mattress for dear life as the rubber toy increased its speed.

“fuck… s’pretty.” breathy groans escaped his lips as he fumbled for the waistband of his sweats, sliding it down past his thighs. he was already hard and leaking, cock springing out of his pants and slapping against his lower abdomen with fervor. too much. you had given him too much power.

isagi doesn’t know how much he’s donated to you in the past 15 minutes, doesn’t want to know in fear his account had entered the negatives. he was drunk off control, slumped back against his headboard that was now creaking as he stroked himself up and down to your wanton cries.

the chat flew by in a flurry of numbers and donations, but he remains focused on you—on the way your face scrunches in pleasure and the toy rams into your drooling cunt. “mhm..! s’good… all so good to me.” he’s aware you’re addressing your viewers as a whole, but he’s convinced you were talking to him. him and only him.

more. fuck, he needs more. it’s not fast enough. you’re not wrecked enough.

best.1striker sent a $50 tip !

best.1striker: 11

he’s almost certain the chat is outraged now—half horny and half spewing profanities at him for stealing the spotlight. but how could he stop when you’re crying like that? when the machine whirs even faster and it’s his name that you moan?

best.1striker sent a $10 tip !

best.1striker: say my name when u cum whore

he doesn’t even know what he’s saying, how aggressive he’s being. his fingers are flying across the keyboard, headphones slipping from his face as he ruts his hips into his fist. he waits for the automated voice to finally read out his message, eyes pinpointed on your reaction. “m-m’kay..! i will,” you reply between staggered whimpers, your obedience making his dick twitch in his firm grip. your hands fly up to grab at the pillow under your head as the dildo slams into you repeatedly.

you’re so close, he can tell. he’s watched you enough to recognize all the telltale signs. “ah..! hnn… s-s’fast, please,” you whine out, voice bumped up an octave as the speed steadily increases.

“shit,” he murmurs, tempted to cum right then and there to the sound of your voice and the glistening tears sliding down your face. fuck, he needs you. needs your pretty pussy to milk him dry and gush on his tongue like the good little whore you are. he’d spend all his money, empty out all his savings if it meant you’d keep your attention on him and him only. you’re terrible for him—a malignant cancer that’s destroying his heart from the inside out.

but he didn’t mind when it felt this good.

“hnghh..! coming… ‘m coming! isa—gi!”

his hips jerk forward, body hunching over as he cums all over the screen, coating it in messy strokes of white with a low groan. he falls back, eyes glued to your convulsing body as you topple towards your own orgasm. he leans forward again with heavy breaths, a smile spreading over his lips.

best.1striker sent a $10 tip !

best.1striker: same time tmr?

170 notes · View notes

heliosunny · 4 months ago

Note

Hii, I love your writing! Especially Lucky egg with Aventurine (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠) I'm not sure if you are still open to take a request •́⁠ ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠,⁠•̀

If you do I would like to request childhood friends to lovers with Aventurine (yandere x yandere) expect that Aventurine is more obsessed with reader while reader just threat Aventurine admirer to stay away from him. Aventurine later on found out that readers like him, of course that is Aventurine will try to pray out from reader without reader realising it.

Take your time and make sure to stay hydrated!

Yandere!Aventurine x Yandere!Reader

Aventurine leaned against the wall, arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on his lips as he watched you chase off yet another admirer. The poor fool had barely gotten two sentences out before you stepped in.

“You’re wasting your time” you had told them. “Someone like you doesn’t even stand a chance.”

It was a ritual at this point. Someone dared to approach Aventurine, and you made sure they didn’t try again.

Now, he was watching you, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You know,” he drawled, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

You scoffed, flipping your hair—or at least making a show of ignoring him. “I’m just doing a public service. The sooner they realize they have no hope, the less embarrassing it is for everyone.” Then, with a sweet tilt of your head, you added, “You should be thanking me, really.”

Aventurine chuckled, stepping closer, invading your space just enough to make it clear he knew exactly what he was doing. “Oh? You want a reward now?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “At the very least, some praise. Go on, tell me how amazing I am.”

“You’re amazing.”

You blinked. He was rarely this direct. Before you could react, he laughed, stepping back. “But, my dear, if you keep scaring them all away, people might start thinking I belong to you.”

You smirked, tilting your chin up. “Maybe you do.”

His laughter stilled for half a second. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his gaze. Then, just as quickly, his easy going mask slipped back into place.

“That would be interesting.”

Little did you know, he intended to make sure of it.

Graduation day was a spectacle. You and Aventurine stood among your peers, the center of admiration in your own right—him for his effortless charm, you for your sharp wit and unshakable confidence.

As the ceremony ended and students parted ways, he found you near the exit, hands tucked into his pockets, his ever-present smirk in place. “So....where’s someone like you planning to go after this?”

You hummed, pretending to consider before casually dropping the name of your chosen company. His eyes flickered with interest. “That’s my parents’ company”

You widened your eyes slightly, feigning mild surprise. “Oh? What a coincidence.”

“A very lucky one.”

Fast forward to your first day at work. You walked into the sleek office, greeted by murmurs from other employees—new hires always drew attention, but you? You already stood out. The air of confidence you carried made you someone to watch.

And then, the moment you had anticipated arrived.

Aventurine stood at the front of the department, looking effortlessly composed, dressed in a tailored suit that only accentuated the arrogance in his stance. His gaze locked onto yours, something smug and knowing flickering in his eyes.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You blinked, tilting your head in well-practiced confusion. “You work here?”

He knew. But he played along.

“As your head of department, no less.” He took a step forward, lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear. “I look forward to working with you.”

Under Aventurine’s leadership, and your own subtle influence, your department quickly became one of the most efficient in the company. Projects were completed ahead of schedule, deals closed with impressive success rates, and while other departments struggled with internal issues, yours remained a well-oiled machine.

Of course, much of that was thanks to an unspoken system between you and Aventurine.

While your official role had nothing to do with it, you ensured that any overeager admirer who got too close to Aventurine was dealt with—politely discouraged or, if necessary, intimidated into staying away. He, in turn, did the same for you. If anyone showed too much interest, Aventurine had a way of making them disappear from your orbit, whether through well-placed rumors, strategic work assignments, or outright dismissal.

It was a silent game between you two, one that no one else noticed.

Months passed, and your department’s success led to a well-earned celebration. Drinks flowed freely, and you, usually composed, had more than your fair share.

At some point, as the night blurred into a haze, you found yourself leaning against Aventurine, your voice slurred but your words unusually sincere.

“You know” you murmured, “I like you.”

He stilled. You were drunk—too drunk to lie, too drunk to scheme. It was the truth, raw and unfiltered, slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Aventurine’s smirk softened, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He had always known, had seen the signs, but hearing it from you, in your own words, was something else entirely.

He let you ramble a bit more, basking in the moment.

But the next morning, when you groggily woke up with a pounding headache and no memory of your confession, he understood.

You had forgotten.

And so, he continued his act. He remained your close friend, the same as always, pretending not to know the truth you had once let slip.

After all, if you didn’t remember, then he’d simply wait for you to say it again—this time, when you were sober, when there was no excuse to take it back.

-----

Aventurine had always known you belonged to him.

So when he noticed your colleague, some pathetic, overeager fool—clinging to you more than they should, he saw it as a challenge. They laughed too easily at your jokes, found excuses to be near you, and worst of all, acted as if they had a right to your time.

Aventurine smiled through it all, of course. Played the role of the charming superior, never letting on how much their presence grated on him. But behind the scenes, he was already setting things in motion.

It was almost too easy. A misplaced document here, a poorly handled report there, all leading to a mistake so significant that termination was inevitable. When the announcement came, Aventurine watched you closely.

You barely reacted. You had always been sharp—if you had truly cared, you would have noticed the setup. Instead, you continued as if nothing had changed, your attention fixated on him alone.

You bought him lunch without hesitation, stayed in his office under the guise of "helping" him, indulged his whims with a familiarity that sent a thrill through his veins.

Yes, this was where you belonged.

And then, the perfect opportunity arrived. A chance to lure you into his trap.

This time, you would walk into his web willingly.

The bar was a familiar comfort—a place you frequented enough that the staff knew your usual orders. It was no surprise, then, when a friendly female worker greeted you with a warm smile.

"Hey, you're back! Here, have some on the house." she said, sliding a small plate of treats toward you.

You took it without much thought, but Aventurine’s gaze darkened ever so slightly. His fingers tapped lazily against his glass as he watched the exchange.

Jealousy coiled inside him.

She was just being nice, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t like seeing anyone treat you as if they had the right to your attention. That was his privilege.

Still, he smiled, as he always did, masking his displeasure beneath a charming facade.

"Seems like you’re quite the favorite here." he mused, pouring you another drink.

You shrugged. "I come here often."

"Clearly."

He didn’t need to do much after that. You were already comfortable, already drinking at a steady pace. Aventurine, ever the attentive friend, made sure your glass was never empty, nudging you to drink just a little more, his own intake carefully controlled.

By the time the night deepened, you were warm and pliant under his gaze, your sharp edges dulled by intoxication. Perfect.

“You’re staying at my place” he murmured, guiding you up with an arm around your waist.

You barely protested. Why would you? He was always by your side.

One of his many houses was nearby, a private sanctuary where no one would disturb you both. He led you inside, settled you onto a plush couch, and before you could drift into unconsciousness, he struck.

"Say," he leaned in, "why do you always chase off my admirers?"

Your head swayed slightly, your inhibitions stripped away. "Because I don’t like them."

He chuckled. "Oh? You don’t like them or… you don’t like them around me?"

You groaned, running a hand down your face. "I hate it. I hate watching you with other people. You always act like it’s nothing, like it’s a joke, but it’s not."

Aventurine remained still, letting you pour your heart out.

"You tease me so much, but you don’t take me seriously," you continued, voice slurring slightly. "You make me feel like I’m just one of the people you play with, and I hate it."

Slowly, he reached into his pocket, ensuring the recording was saved—proof, undeniable, that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

Carefully, he wove his fingers through your hair, tilting your face toward him. "I’m sorry" he murmured, his voice dripping with honeyed remorse. "I didn’t know I was making you feel that way."

For a moment, it seemed like everything was going exactly as he had planned.

And then—

You lurched forward, and before he could react, you puked.

Right on his expensive designer shoes.

Aventurine stared, utterly speechless for the first time in his life.

"...Well," he finally said, voice strained, "that was unexpected."

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache, the aftermath of last night's drinks weighing heavily on you. Blinking against the sunlight filtering through the curtains, you quickly realized something was off.

You weren’t in your own bed.

Instead, you were nestled against him, Aventurine’s warmth pressing against your side, his arm draped lazily over your waist.

Before you could process anything, a familiar voice—far too smug for your liking—broke through the silence.

"Good morning, darling" Aventurine purred.

You groaned, sitting up. "Why am I here?"

He stretched leisurely, then reached for his phone. "Well, you had quite the night," he mused. "And I have proof."

Then, with a single tap, he played the recording.

Your own voice filled the air—raw, unfiltered emotions spilling out. I hate watching you with other people. You always act like it’s nothing, like it’s a joke, but it’s not...

You were busted.

Aventurine watched your reaction, "You know," he murmured, "you could just admit it. Save yourself the trouble."

You clenched your jaw, glaring at him, but there was no way out of this. He had you cornered.

"...Fine, bastard." you muttered.

"Fine?" His grin widened, and before you could take it back, he pulled you closer. "Say it properly."

You huffed, cheeks burning. "I like you, okay? Are you happy now?"

"Ecstatic." he whispered before pressing a kiss to your temple.

And just like that, you were his. Officially.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you

254 notes · View notes

neferaskingdom · 9 months ago

Text

♡ Sign Here… Wait, What?! | CL16

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Two strangers hit the courthouse for a ticket and a typo fix—next thing you know, they’re accidentally married. Chaos, a clerk who couldn’t care less, and a fiancée on the verge of a meltdown, convinced it’s all some evil plot. Spoiler: it’s not.

"For the last time, Brittany, it wasn’t on purpose!"

A/N: Inspired by my writer's block for my other fic and that one video of Charles just randomly signing anything he's handed.

CHARLES LECLERC MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

The courthouse was an absolute disaster. It was understaffed, overcrowded, and seemed to be held together by the fragile thread of everyone’s fraying sanity. You had been stuck there for hours, and all for a minor spelling error in your legal name. At this point, you were half convinced you’d be old and gray before they got to you. The whole place felt like a purgatory of paperwork.

The guy sitting next to you looked equally miserable. He had a baseball cap pulled down low and sunglasses on like he was trying to go incognito in the world’s least glamorous place. You hadn’t exchanged many words, but the mutual annoyance simmering between you two was almost palpable.

“This is hell,” you muttered, crossing your arms tightly. “Who knew fixing one typo would take all day?”

The guy let out a long, weary sigh. “Tell me about it. I’ve been here for hours. And all for a stupid speeding ticket.”

You shot him a sideways glance. “A speeding ticket? In this city? I didn’t think that was even possible.”

He gave a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, I guess I just had to be that guy.”

The shared complaint was enough to crack a small smile out of you. But that was the only bright spot in this nightmare of a day. Every time the overworked and increasingly agitated clerk called someone forward, she did it with the enthusiasm of someone trapped in the seventh circle of customer service hell. Her eyes screamed “don’t even think about making my day worse,” and the way she barked out “Next!” like she was calling people to their doom wasn’t helping anyone’s mood.

Finally, the fateful “Next!” came again, and both you and the guy next to you jumped up at the same time. You both stared at each other, disbelief and irritation flaring up.

“I think it’s my turn,” you said, arms crossed.

He raised his eyebrows under the brim of his cap. “Uh, no, I’ve been waiting way longer.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been waiting forever for a typo correction!”

“And I’ve been here since this morning for a stupid speeding fine!” he shot back, his voice rising in frustration.

You both stormed toward the counter, practically shoving each other out of the way, bickering like children. The clerk didn’t even look up from her screen, clearly sick of everyone and everything. “Names,” she demanded with the enthusiasm of a broken vending machine.

“Charles Leclerc,” the guy said, jumping in before you could even open your mouth.

You blinked at him in surprise. Charles Leclerc? Who just throws out their full name like that? You barely had time to process before the clerk barked out her next order.

“Both of you, step forward.”

“Wait, what? Why me?” you blurted out, confused as hell.

The clerk didn’t respond. She just jabbed her finger at the space in front of her, signaling for you both to step up. You shot Charles a questioning look, but he seemed just as lost as you were, though he didn’t argue. Sighing in defeat, you stepped up beside him.

The clerk slapped two pieces of paper on the counter with the grace of a war general deploying a tactical nuke. “Sign here.”

Charles didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed the pen and signed his paper with an alarming speed, as if this was something he did every day. You stared at him like he’d lost his mind.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, still unsure why either of you were signing anything.

“I dunno,” he muttered back, not looking up. “People give me stuff to sign all the time. It’s muscle memory.”

Muscle memory? Who just signs things without reading them?! You were about to protest when the clerk shot you a look so sharp it could have pierced through solid steel.

“Sign,” she repeated, her voice low and dangerously calm.

Your stomach twisted in confusion, but the clerk’s death stare was enough to make you scribble your name down without another word. It didn’t feel right, but you were too exhausted to fight. The ink had barely dried on the paper when the clerk slammed a stamp down and said, with zero enthusiasm, “Congratulations, you’re married.”

A beat of stunned silence.

Then chaos erupted.

“WHAT?!” you and Charles screamed simultaneously, both of you staring at the clerk in absolute horror.

Charles dropped the pen like it had just burned his hand. “Wait—what do you mean married?!”

“I’m here for a speeding ticket!” he continued, his voice cracking in disbelief.

“And I’m just here to fix a typo!” you added, throwing your hands up. “How did we just get married?!”

The clerk just raises one eyebrow and looks at her computer screen “But it says here that a Charles is supposed to get married today”

“Well clearly it’s not me!” he screams.

The clerk, utterly unfazed by the chaos she had just unleashed, didn’t even bother to look up from her computer. “You signed the marriage certificate. You’re married.”

You blinked at her, feeling like the room was spinning. “How—no, there’s got to be some mistake. We can’t be married. Can’t you just, I don’t know, not register the paperwork or something?”

The clerk slowly raised her eyes to look at you, her expression blank and dead inside. “It’s against the rules,” she said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Against the rules?!” you repeated, your voice reaching a higher pitch.

Charles let out a panicked laugh, running a hand through his hair. “This is insane. This can’t be happening. I’m not even supposed to be getting married!”

Suddenly, a man in the back of the room shot to his feet, waving his arms frantically. “WAIT! WAIT, NO! I’M CHARLES ANDERSON! I’M THE ONE WHO’S SUPPOSED TO BE GETTING MARRIED TODAY!”

The whole room turned to look at him as he came barreling toward the counter, his crumpled papers in hand.

“YOU CALLED FOR CHARLES!” he shouted, pointing accusingly at the clerk. “I’M CHARLES ANDERSON! THEY’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE MARRIED! I AM!”

You and Charles Leclerc whipped your heads toward each other, eyes wide in absolute disbelief. “Oh my God,” Charles muttered, shaking his head. “This is an actual nightmare.”

You stared at him, trying to make sense of everything. “I don’t even know you!”

Charles Anderson was now pacing in front of the counter like a madman, his papers flailing in his hand. “My fiancée’s going to kill me! They took our spot!”

You turned to face him, throwing your hands in the air. “We didn’t ask for this, okay?!”

“Can we fix this?” Charles asked the clerk, his voice cracking slightly from panic. “Like, can we just undo it? Cancel the whole thing? Please?”

The clerk let out a slow, dramatic sigh as if they were asking her to climb Mount Everest. She clicked a few buttons on her computer, then looked up at you both with the same bored expression. “Closest annulment appointment is… this Tuesday.”

“TUESDAY?!” you both screamed, causing half the room to turn and stare at you.

Charles Anderson let out a high-pitched shriek. “But my wedding is supposed to be TODAY! WHAT ABOUT MY WEDDING?!”

You whirled on him. “NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR WEDDING, CHARLES ANDERSON!”

Charles Leclerc was pacing now, hands on his head like he was trying to keep himself from exploding. “I can’t believe this is happening. This can’t be happening. I came here to pay a stupid speeding ticket, and now I’m married?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling like you were going to hyperventilate. “I came here for a typo correction. This was supposed to be the easiest thing ever, and now I’m married to someone I don’t even know!”

Charles Anderson, still flapping his marriage certificate, looked like he was going to start sobbing any second. “My fiancée is going to leave me. She’s going to walk out of this courthouse and leave me. We’ve been planning this for months!”

You threw your hands in the air. “This is not about you, Charles Anderson! We just accidentally got married, and you’re worried about yourself?!”

Charles Leclerc spun around to face the clerk, practically begging. “Please, can’t you just… not file the paperwork? We didn’t mean to sign anything!”

She stared at him, eyes glazed over, before sighing deeply. “It’s against the rules.”

“AGAINST THE RULES?!” Charles repeated, his voice reaching a panicked squeak.

The clerk took another slow sip of her coffee. “You can get an annulment. On Tuesday.”

Charles threw his hands in the air, pacing faster. “This is insane. I can’t just—Wait.” He turned to you, blinking rapidly. “Who even are you?”

You blinked back, equally confused. “I don’t know! I mean—I’m me? Who are you?”

“I’m Charles Leclerc,” he said, as if that was supposed to mean something.

You squinted. “…And?”

“And I drive in Formula 1.”

You stared at him blankly. “What’s that? A type of bus?”

Charles Anderson finally chimed in, “Oh my God, you don’t know who Charles Leclerc is?!”

You turned to glare at Anderson. “I don’t care! I just want to undo this whole mess!”

Charles Leclerc let out a frustrated groan. “This is the weirdest day of my life.”

“Oh, you think?” you shot back, throwing your arms up. “This is not how I imagined my day going either!”

Charles Anderson was now pacing in circles, mumbling about his ruined wedding day. The clerk, unbothered by the chaos she had caused, sipped her coffee again, clearly wishing she were anywhere else.

“This is insane! Can’t you just shred the papers or something?” Charles Leclerc was practically pleading now, his hands gesturing wildly like he was on the verge of losing it. “We didn’t mean to get married! Just pretend it never happened!”

The clerk, still sipping her coffee like none of this was her problem, took an agonizingly slow sip and deadpanned, “As I’ve said already, it’s against the rules. The paperwork is in. It’s legal. You’re married.”

“WHAT RULES?!” you cried, throwing your hands in the air. “There’s no way we’re stuck because of a technicality! This isn’t an episode of Law & Order! No one’s going to arrest you for this!”

The clerk blinked at you, her expression as blank as ever. “The rules are the rules,” she said, like she had this line tattooed on her forehead. “Take it up with a judge.”

Just as you were about to lose your mind, there was a loud crash behind you. You turned in time to see a woman in a wedding gown who was most definitely Charles Anderson’s fiancée, kick a chair out of the way, marching up to him like a woman possessed.

“YOU’RE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE AREN’T YOU?” she screeched, pointing an accusing finger at Anderson, who shrank back in terror. “You just didn’t want to marry me, so now you’re pulling this stunt?”

“What?! No!” Anderson yelped, looking around the courthouse like he could find an escape hatch. “It’s not my fault Brittany! They—” he pointed at you and Charles Leclerc, “—they’re the ones who got married!”

Brittany wasn’t having it. “Yeah, right! You’ve been making excuses for months, and now you’re going to try and pin this on them?! What, did you pay them to mess up the paperwork?”

You waved your hands in a panic. “Lady, we don’t even know each other! I’m literally just here to fix a spelling mistake in my name!”

Charles Leclerc jumped in, looking equally panicked. “And I’m just here for a speeding ticket! I don’t even know what’s going on!”

Charles Leclerc looked like he was officially losing his mind. He was pacing in circles, gesturing wildly at the air, as if the universe might suddenly intervene. “I have a race next week! I can’t be married right now! This is insane!”

You stared at him, completely lost. “What are you even talking about? Why does a race have anything to do with this?”

Charles paused mid-panic, looking at you like you’d just said the sky was purple. “For the last time I’m a Formula 1 diver!.”

You blinked and scream out in frustration. “…YOU KEEP SAYING THAT LIKE IT SHOULD MEAN SOMETHING TO ME!?”

Charles looked at you like you’d just spoken in a different tongue. “Formula 1! It’s international. Fast cars, precision driving, circuits all over the world?”

You squinted. “So… like NASCAR?”

Charles’s eye twitched. “NO! It’s not like NASCAR! It’s—" He took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm himself. “Formula 1 is completely different. It’s the pinnacle of motorsport. We race on tracks, not ovals, and the cars are way faster and more advanced.”

“Oh,” you said, not even pretending to be impressed. “So it’s like NASCAR with extra steps.”

Charles groaned, pressing his palms into his eyes. “I can’t do this.”

Before you could respond, Brittany threw her hands up in the air, clearly fed up. “I CAN’T DO THIS EITHER!” She pointed at Charles Anderson, who was now trying to hide behind the counter. “I knew you were stalling this wedding on purpose, Charles! You’ve been dodging this day since we got engaged!”

“Brittany, no! I swear it wasn’t me! It’s just some kind of mix-up!” Anderson tried to reason with her, his voice cracking under the pressure. “It’s a misunderstanding! I didn’t plan this!”

“Oh, so you just accidentally handed over our wedding slot to complete strangers?!” Brittany’s voice was so loud now that other people in the courthouse were starting to stare. “And now we have to wait while you run around trying to fix your mess!”

You slapped your hands over your face, feeling the absolute ridiculousness of the situation weighing on you. “This is the dumbest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Charles Leclerc was now pacing frantically again. “I can’t be married! This is… this is a PR nightmare! my career is ruined! Fred's gonna kill me!”

“Oh my God, no one cares about your stupid racing career!” Brittany screeched, cutting him off. “My wedding’s been hijacked, and you’re worried about PR?!”

Leclerc turned back to the clerk, his voice rising in desperation. “Can’t you just void the paperwork? Pretend this didn’t happen? We didn’t actually want to get married!”

The clerk, completely unaffected by the chaos swirling around her, let out a slow, tired sigh. “It’s against the rules.”

“SCREW THE RULES!” you shouted, slapping your hand on the counter. “No one cares about your rules! Can’t you just— I don’t know— delete the file or something?”

“The government cares about the rules,” the clerk responded flatly, barely looking up from her computer screen.

Charles Leclerc, utterly exasperated, ran a hand through his hair and muttered, “This can’t be happening. This is the worst day of my life.”

“Your life?!” you shot back, eyes wide. “I just came here to fix a typo, and now I’m married to a stranger who yells about race cars!”

Leclerc threw his hands up in frustration. “I’m not yelling about race cars!”

“Yes, you are!”

Brittany stormed back up to the counter, where Charles Anderson was practically cowering. “And you,” she hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You think this is some big joke, don’t you? Delaying the wedding again just because you don’t want to marry me?!”

“I swear, it’s not what it looks like!” Anderson pleaded, trying to grab her hands. “I love you! This is just a mistake!”

“Mistake my ass!” Brittany shrieked. “We’ve been engaged for three years, and now, instead of us getting married, I have to watch these two idiots get hitched by accident!”

You threw your hands up, eyes darting between Brittany and the hysterical Anderson. “We don’t even want to be married! This isn’t some elaborate plan! I’ve literally known this guy for less than five minutes!”

Leclerc, looking like he was about to snap, turned back to the clerk. “There’s nothing you can do? Nothing at all? Can’t we get, like, an emergency annulment or something?”

The clerk glanced up lazily from her coffee. “Like I said next available appointment for an annulment is this Tuesday. Wait no, it’s actually next Tuesday”

“NEXT TUESDAY?!” you and Leclerc both screamed in unison, your voices echoing off the courthouse walls.

“Can’t we just get another slot today please?!” Anderson wails

“Sorry but the fastest I can squeeze in a wedding is on Saturday 25th” the clerk says sipping her coffee nonchalantly.

“The 25th?” Anderson whimpered. “But… my wedding is today! The 25th is like 2 weeks away!”

“Oh, shut up, Charles!” Brittany yelled, practically shoving him. “There is no wedding today! You’ve ruined it! And you know what? Maybe that’s for the best!”

Charles Anderson looked like he might burst into tears at any moment. “But Brittany—”

“Save it!” she snapped, before turning to you and Leclerc. “And you two? Good luck with your stupid accidental marriage. I hope you’re very happy together.”

Leclerc, who had clearly had enough, shot back, “Oh, we’ll have a blast. Trust me. This is exactly what I wanted out of today. To marry a complete stranger in the middle of a bureaucratic nightmare.”

You rubbed your temples, feeling a headache coming on. “This has got to be some kind of cosmic joke.”

From behind, Anderson was still shrieking about his doomed marriage, while Brittany yelled about commitment issues and a wedding that would “never happen at this rate!”

Charles Leclerc leaned over the counter, looking like he was about two seconds away from losing it entirely. “Is there nothing you can do?”

The clerk just looks at him. “Next tuesday.”

He threw his hands up and muttered under his breath, “I should’ve just paid the speeding ticket online.”

The clerk, unfazed by the circus happening in front of her, sipped her coffee and calmly called out, “Next in line, please.”

And that ladies and gentlemen is how you ended up accidentally married to Charles Leclerc in the most ridiculous courthouse mix-up of all time.

911 notes · View notes

vilsoo · 9 months ago

Text

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 ⌇WILLIAM AFTON

william afton x fem!reader || WC: 4,172

𖤐 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. as the new intern for fazbear’s entertainment, you seemed to have grabbed william’s attention. but when an innocent work crush becomes a dark and twisted obsession, the only way he can have you is by corrupting you...

𖤐 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. dubcon, mind control (glitchtrap virus), sadism, murder, psychological abuse, manipulation, predator/prey dynamic, implied age gap, degradation, eventual rough smut, mentions of vanny mask.

𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑹𝑶𝑹𝑳𝑨��𝑫/𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑻𝑶𝑩𝑬𝑹 𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

[RIDE ANNOUNCER] This is a high speed roller coaster with sudden stops and drops! All riders must store loose items inside of a locker. This ride contains flashing scenes, special effects, and content warnings posted. Please remember to stay seated and keep all arms and legs inside when the vehicle is in motion. Any kind of photography is not allowed during the ride. Thanks for your attention and cooperation. We hope you enjoy.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Your innocence drives William Afton insane.

He remembered the first day he hired you. You were just a young woman in university looking forward to this internship with a good hourly wage. And as time progressed, you were always this sweet and tender being for him. He loves to watch you doing your own thing, his movements furtive and unnoticed as he easily blends in with the shadowy corners of the pizzeria. He was intrigued about the fascination you have for his animatronics and their quirky mechanics. Perhaps you were just as gullible as his other child victims who were too late to realize his creations were actually killer machines.

However, William’s thirsty murder drive wasn’t as insatiable for you compared to the mindless little children in his pizzeria. Your curiosity was just too adorable to him that it makes him sexually enraged sometimes. There was something about an alluring woman like you that crawled under his skin, riling him up to corrupt the dark depths of your mind. Make him own you, use you, and just ruin you as his precious little whore.

And that’s when he designed the Vanny mask. A special mask created with the augumented glitchtrap virus that mind controls and corrupts whoever wears it. Just thinking about you being completely under his control, your sharp-witted brain clouded with desire and devotion for him, and only him, made him lose his mind.

It was closing time and all the guests were gone for the night. You were powering off all the beloved animatronics in the parts and service room, ready to go home and finish your assignments. But it wasn’t until William’s shadow overtook your peripheral vision, noticing him leaning against the doorframe with a gentle, nurturing smile on his face.

“Working late again?” he coaxed, the husk in his voice sending a shiver coursing down your spine. You must admit, Mr. Afton is a very fine man for his age despite the huge age gap. Your eyes furtively glide up his arms from his rolled up purple dress shirt, taking in his firm biceps and his entire muscle structure almost visible. Attractive, veiny arms and elegant, clean hands with long, slender fingers— you had to quickly glance away before you got caught staring.

“Sorry. You know how much I love to spend time with the animatronics. Especially Foxy and Bonnie,” you beamed.

“And for that, you’ve been doing such a good job so far. Such a smart girl, aren’t you?”

“If you say so, Mr. Afton,” you chuckled nervously, feeling your heart race erratically from his enticing compliment.

William waits for you as you pack up your things for the night to clock out and close the pizzeria with him. But deep down, he couldn’t control himself around you, his gaze growing darker from the morbid thought of physically digging through that pretty brain of yours and rewiring it like how he designs his killer animatronics and their broken little souls to obey him and only him. He had this gripping addiction for you, surrounding him with this madness to fucking chain up your innocence and corrupt you.

He couldn’t wait to reveal the beautiful surprise he has for you in his office.

You finally have your stuff, ready to go home for the night. “Alright, Mr. Afton. I’ll be on my way now. You have a goodnight!”

“Oh, wait—!” he suddenly sputtered, catching up to you before opening the door and escaping him. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you. I have something cool I need to show you in my office, if you don’t mind. It’s a nice surprise just for being my favorite intern here.”

The way you raised your brows and widened your eyes was so oddly adorable to him. “A surprise? Aw, you didn’t have to!”

“No, no. For your wonderful service, I felt inclined to reward you with something cool. You go on right ahead into my office and take a peak. Apologies for, uh, making you stay a little longer just as you were about to leave.”

You couldn’t help but oblige, falling right into William’s trap just like that. An innocent surprise, just how could you resist that from your boss that you were secretly crushing on? As you sauntered down the dimly lit checkered hallway into his office, you slowly open the door and noticed a white rabbit mask laying right in the middle of his mahogany desk.

It all felt so odd at first. As if something was amiss. Usually his computer and paperwork would be disorganized right on this desk, but his office was entirely cleaned out. Were you in the right room? You were sure that this was his office, the same office where he conducted your interview and got you started with your onboarding when you got hired. The same office that he invited you in for coffee and discussing about your career and pursuing your major. Frazzled with confusion and slightly perplexed of the changes and the way the air felt ever so slightly thicker and ominous, you couldn’t help but feel drawn into the mask.

There was a purple glow coming from the eyes of the rabbit mask, prompted to reach out to it and run your finger down the mask. Something about it was reeling you in, luring you into a trance that you dropped your backpack onto the floor. No matter what, your gaze couldn’t leave the mask as you stared into its eyes, utterly hypnotizing you. Then you slowly picked it up and turned it around, suddenly wincing in pain when you see the wicked purple glowing code, the cryptic symbols, and foreign arcane patterns.

Ensnared by the hypnotic patterns, it feels as if you completely lost your sense of self and became increasingly disconnected from this reality, transpiring around you. You inch the rabbit mask closer to you, the hypnotic and corrupt coding overwriting your willpower and invading you tremendously like a virus. And once the mask settles into your face, you were no longer yourself.

New user detected.

Pairing occipital transponder.

Stay calm.

This won’t hurt a bit.

You let out a yelp from a dull throb as you were helplessly consumed by this malicious coding, this malware literally brainwashing you like cables and wires attaching to your occipital lobe. At first your visual perception and your visuospatial processing were completely altered until the malware spread into other regions of your brain, specifically your hypothalamus ansa lenticularis and pallidum; where your sexual desire is mediated. It was like a vise tightening around your temples, each squeeze sending waves of sharp, pulsing pain through your fragile skull. Your coherence became fragmented. Your agony was also amplified. But these invasive commands from the virus seared into your consciousness, suffocating you with this tremendous amount of lust pooling in your brain.

William was standing by the doorframe again, watching you with a wicked smirk as you tried to rip the Vanny mask off your face, stumbling on some thick wires on the floor and falling when your balance and coordination faltered. You started screaming in terror, begging for somebody to help get this device off of you. But William couldn’t help but get turned on, and watching you scream and cry for mercy as the glitchtrap virus, the malware he programmed and created himself, corrupted you so beautifully to become his precious possession and own you forever.

When you managed to get back on your feet, William roughly grabs you by the neck from behind and snatches the mask off of you, forcing you in place when you tried to run. You panted heavily, your fear provoking the man wis=th a rush of arousal shooting inside him. He loved hearing your squeals and your cries, muffled by his large hands. It was just too precious; you, an unsullied young woman, playing right into his hands.

“Where do you think you’re going, my sweet?” he taunted in your ears, having to hold onto you tighter and suffocate you the more you squirmed. “You know that you’re under my control now, right? You can’t think for yourself anymore. You only obey.”

Your head still throbbed in pain from the virus spreading into your brain, trying to grasp onto your coherence and the ability to get ahold of yourself before it was too late. Fear, misery, and agony kept flinching inside you. You were in no position to defend yourself even if you had the physical strength to fight for your life. But the betrayal— the utter betrayal of your boss, Mr. William Afton, a man you admired for so long as your mentor, shattered you completely.

“God, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to have you like this,” his breathless voice fills your ears. “No one would ever take a smart woman like you seriously here. No one except me. Don’t you realize I was the only person that was fond of you? Nobody would even talk to you.”

With all your strength you tried to fight back and escape William’s grasp, but your struggle was to no avail. “Please— please,“ you choked out, “don’t do this— I swear, I won’t tell—“

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll kill you.” He slapped his hand over your mouth, subtly growling when he felt his cock grow harder from the fear and terror overtaking you that it brought you to tears. “You’re all mine to do with as I desire now, you understand? You’ll be my precious fucktoy from now on.”

How he loved hearing your muffled squeals, your pleads, and your cries for the first time, echoing off the walls of the pizzeria just like the rest of the kids he murdered right in this office not that long ago. But it was not his plan to kill you specifically tonight.

Because once that virus engraves in your brain permanently, you’ll belong to him forever.

There was still fear seizing within you that you started drowning in your own insanity. But soon it was invaded with an odd feeling of arousal— This painful grasp he had on you started to bloom an irresistible throbbing in your cunt, waking your body into a new sensation you’ve never endured in your life. As if the virus was rousing your soul, sedating you with pleasure, burning like acid. The way William was able to taunt you and torture you emotionally and physically had you succumbing to him, right at his command, taking every twisted thing he ever said and rewiring your brain to take it as a good thing.

“Aw, look at you. Did your sensitivity increase when I hold you like this?” The way he shamelessly cups your breasts, massaging them ever so gently had you trapped in this menacing ecstasy. A consuming, yet flagrant wrath that overflowed you. He violated your brain and you had no control of your coherence. You can’t decide what was right or wrong for you anymore; only William can do that.

Obsession. Obedience. Something so incessant, like this maddening hunger and desire, filled your body to the brim. You felt filthy. Nasty. Like a lost little rabbit caught in the woods by a big bad wolf, you were the prey. There was this erratic pounding in your cunt the more his hands roamed about your sensitive body— it was enough to make you limp like a toy for him to play with. He grabs your uniform and rips it open to expose your breasts, your nipples more tender as he plays with them.

“Look at you. It didn’t take long for the effects to kick in,” he chuckles. “Do you wanna know what’s happening to your body? My Glitchtrap virus not only brainwashed you, but rendered parts of your brain with aphrodisiac.”

Your eyes started to sulk, unable to speak properly but only whimper and moan softly from the way he toys with your body. “You’re gonna be my pretty, obedient little whore from now on,” the man continued. “Your memories will be wiped. You can’t make decisions for yourself anymore. You’re only useful to me when I fuck you in this office…”

“…and when I use you to kill more kids for me.”

He abruptly forces you down onto his desk, pressing your face against the wooden surface while taking your limp hands and bounding you behind your back with his belt so swiftly. Usually you’d be afraid. Usually you would be struck by terror from the way he handled you so aggressively in a helpless, futile state. But this virus, this aphrodisiac, rather, had you turned on so much that you couldn’t see straight. It felt like the inner whore in you awakened, and your poor aching cunt couldn’t stop furtively pounding and throbbing from how needy and slutty you really are for him.

His pants were undone while yours was pulled down just below your ass. William felt his cock stirring from the way you arched your back so perfectly for him, showing your ass off for him to toy with and slap. Your mind couldn’t stop screaming, internally begging for him to be inside your cunt already; and immediately he could tell how desperate you became kust from how you backed your ass up onto him to feel the tip of his cock. How you were so needy for friction, for the sensation, that a whine escapes your lips it urged him to slap your ass again.

“Use your words, pretty whore,” he snarked. “Before you were just my innocent little intern and now you’re my greedy little bitch who’s good for nothing but a fuck. Might have to fuck you extra hard just to see your limit with that virus.”

“Mm— please fuck me, Mr. Afton,” you slurred, almost drooling on his desk as he kept your head pinned down. “Please fuck me… like your pretty little whore.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming for you to say that, darling.”

This wild ecstasy was fulfilling William, like an insatiable hunger and frenzy slowly growing to its peak. He slides his cock deep into your soppy cunt, letting out a low grunt from the way your walls clenched so tight on him. You let out a loud cry; he was so big that it was too painful. But how merciful of him to let you adjust for awhile, right before he pulls out and slams into you again. It was so sloppy, so filthy, and so messy as he starts to pick up his speed, grunting with each thrust that your pain warred with pleasure.

No rational thought formed in your head; only unintelligent and pathetic moans from the way your boss was fucking you so hard and rough on his desk with your hands bound behind your back. Though you struggled to accommodate to his size, the virus was strong enough to make you succumb to the pleasure. His strokes were so rough, so savage, that you were already reduced to a wreck. You couldn’t get enough of this mind-numbing pleasure, it’s like you could see stars fly past your eyes. And not only did William bask in the beautiful sight of corrupting you like this— oh, he fucking loved the way your cunt felt. It was so perfect; molding it to the shape of his cock for him to use.

“Dripping all over my cock now, huh? Beg me to make you come. I need to hear you,” he taunts, his voice so terse it made your cunt throb involuntary.

“I— I wanna come all over your cock, sir,” you whined, eyes welling with blissful tears. “Please make me come. Use me all you want. I’m yours.”

“Fuck.” William threw his head back and gave a guttural groan, fucking into you much faster and that your body and mind spiked with pleasure. “I love when my pretty slut knows her place.”

Your turmoil has spiraled into shameless arousal, taking every harsh thrust of his cock hitting your g-spot so good that not only did it stimulate your cunt, but your brain. Electric sensations skyrocket through you before you could even register it all, your glossy eyes and face all ravished and wanton beyond comprehension. You loved it. You fucking enthralled in it. His rough hands on you, his savage strokes, his cruelty to you. How he managed to uncover your salacity, your forbidden desire of being bound and fucked this way like a nymphomaniac.

The thought of him brainwashing you as his free use fuckslut and his experiment, his prodigy just to kill innocent people for him… your brain became number and number, as if your orgasm completely sedated you. You let out a scream, clutching your fists for your dear life and squirming in his grip as you came so hard on his desk, your pussy erratically pounding and squeezing on his cock that it made William come inside you, pumping every load into you. You’ve lost the feeling in your thighs, trembling with every harsh smack of his hips against your ass as he fills you. Hard, deep thrusts that nudges right up against that spongey, sensitive spot inside. Your brain falls so foggy as you were at your limit, but you knew deep down that he wasn’t done with you.

William pulls out slow, eyes never leaving your pussy just to see it flexing over nothing like you were yearning for that feeling of fullness again, seeing ropes of his cum leaking out. This is all he wanted for so long— fucking you until you reach your limit and filling you with his cum all the way to the brim— all while brainwashing you to obey every command of his and doing most of his dirty work for him.

“I have been dreaming of having you like this the moment I hired you,” he spoke ominously, grabbing the mask just to abruptly shove it back onto your face as if he was downing you with a drug. “It was so fascinating to see; how I managed to control you by a virus I made. I can just taste the fear in you, and I turned that fear into pleasure…”

“…You belong to me now. I will never let you go.”

It’s a shame, how you’ll never be the same person you were before. How you’re reduced as nothing but William’s pet, having no control over your own life and using you for his entertainment, pleasure, and satisfaction. Sure, you’ll be able to live a normal life as if nothing happened; going back home to friends and family with no memory of what happened, until the corrupted emails with malware that William sends to you fucks with your brain, which was heavily prone to his psychological tortures and manipulations.

Some coworkers noticed. Some coworkers didn’t care. The difference in your personality, your attitude, your demeanor. How you’re exhibiting these vacant, yet glazed expressions at work, and the way how you spoke was either monotonous or overly compliant. But the moment William calls you into his office after hours, all that turmoil and agitation suddenly becomes your pleasure.

A few months later, missing children reports were spreading like wildfire. And though the police couldn’t find any evidence against William Afton or within every inch of the pizzeria, it was all you; hiding in your handmade white rabbit suit with patches and stitches all over, made of patterned fabrics of grey and black. How you easily lured kids into the parts and service room, murdering them either one by one or altogether in a group.

Vanny was now your new identity. Your new life.

A life you would not give anything else in the world for, as long as William rewards you.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

[RIDE ANNOUNCER] Please remain seated until the ride comes to a complete stop. Then collect your belongings, watch your head, and step carefully out the vehicle. The nearest exit will be on your left. On behalf of all of our crew, thanks for riding with us, and we hope you have a happy and memorable visit here at Horrorland!

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐎 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. do not steal, plagiarize, translate, or repost/share any of my works on any social media where minors have access. will be cross- posted on my ao3 soon.

𖤐 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: @isuckatmakingusernamess @lik0 @shintax-error @alittletiredcry @imkrul @ggukiespace @writtenbyawoman @bigg1ow @slutforaz @dorkszn @unknown-borealis @doestalker @ghostlvmi @deftoneslut004 @yongi-lee @onyxxtheghost @mostamazingpersonevr @theslashofafton83 @isfleur @satxoru @noisydelusionlove

#⛓️. 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝟐𝟒 #fnaf smut #fnaf au #fnaf vanny #fnaf x reader #fnaf x you #fnaf william afton #fnaf william #william afton smut #william afton x reader #william afton x you #tw corruption #tw coercion #tw dubious consent #tw mind control

415 notes · View notes