jeusschrist2005 - Tumblr blog

jeusschrist2005 · 2 years ago

Note

I am beyond flattered to be included among such great writers! And I am beyond honored to have been noticed by such a wonderful writer, too! Thanks so so so much <3!!!

teehee hiii hello! :D im very new to the danonation community, despite being an admirer of mr paul for almost a year now,,, there's so many amazing people and content they make but, it's really overwhelming and a bit scary to explore on my own! you're one of the few people i instantly felt safe to approach so, would you be so kind as to direct me a little bit? which danonation blogs are active right now, or maybe even personal friends of yours, just to start my journey in this community? i really really wanna participate, but since i don't have a single creative bone in me and can't contribute in art or writing, the least i can do is give love to all of you lovely people!! 🥰 thank you for your time 💛

p.s. if you don't mind, i might have more questions later!

p.s.s. your blog themes are always so adorable and so so aesthetically pleasing it's amazing 😭💞

Hey hi hello, my friend!! Thank you so much!! I’m gonna leave all of my account recommendations under the cut because wHOO I went a little bonkers! Other than that, you’re always welcome to shoot me an ask whether you have a question or you just wanna say hello! Super glad to have you here and I hope that you have fun getting to know everyone and everything!!

@lost-in-sokovia

I couldn’t get through a post about talking about creators in Danonation and/or my friends without mentioning Soph. Not only is she immensely talented, but her ability to shift between writing the sweetest moments and angst is basically unmatched. Shoutout to her for warming me up to the concept of having kids tbh bc wOW I did not see that one coming! She’s also one of my closest friends on here and I would heavily recommend giving her a follow and sending an ask; she’s absolutely precious to me and deserves all the love this community can possibly give her (but that’s just my opinion 🙄).

@quietsounds

Now, if we're talking about my friends, I have to drag my wonderful Storm into the conversation as well since we met through Danonation. Storm has a wiiiide range of interests and gifs a lot of different things bUT his gif sets are fucking phenomenal. He hasn't been super active on here lately but I would still recommend dropping him a follow because lmao I am hugely biased (because I love and adore him) and because he's one of the most creative people I know and his work deserves to be seen by as many eyeballs as possible and fully appreciated.

@riddlersbimbo

Okay, I should preface that Bowie is on a bit of a hiatus and they’re kind of running on a queue schedule. However. I still adore Bowie with all of my heart. I genuinely cannot explain it; all I know is that I was born to be Bowie's biggest fan. Aside from that, they are such a pillar in this community. The work they put into giffing every Paul movie?? And furthering the Chubby!Eddie agenda?? And the bimbo agenda?? Listen, on this account, we’re all Bowie stans (lmao, new mandate, friends; we’re all Bowie stans now).

@puzzlekinq

It’s only been for the last few months that I’ve been following Ethan bUT LEMME JUST SAY. I cannot fathom how my dash survived beforehand. You can be sure that Ethan will always have something either slightly unhinged, horny, or downright hilarious to post. They also write a bit as well and it’s some damn good writing if I do say so myself!! Also literally every time they post this plays in my head (but that piece of information is more for Ethan's benefit than anyone else's lol).

@riddlers-den

I feel like almost everyone in my little circle has read or at least heard of Max’s Edward fic, Disarm. And I can confirm, Disarm is fantastic. But I also adore basically everything else of hers that I’ve read. Max’s interpretation of characters (specifically Eddie and Calvin) just makes my writing brain so happy. She is also incredibly funny, a massively talented artist, and a very lovely person to talk to and I couldn’t imagine this little community without her.

@finniestoncrane

I should preface this recommendation by saying that Finnie doesn't post purely Dano content and is more in the realm of the DC fandom in general. I would also give her content warnings a once over beforehand since they might not be everyone's cup of tea! But I still wanted to include her here because, her work and her personality has always inspired me so heavily and...goodness, I love being able to call her one of my mutuals. Her sense of humor is top notch; like truly, whenever she posts her little pictures where she draws herself as a stick figure wrapped around one of the Rogues, I lose my absolute mind. Anyways, stan Finnie too, Finnie is the coolest.

@bloomdolly

If you are in the market for a cutesy, coquettish aesthetic and Paul content wrapped up in one super sweet and kind person? Look no further than Ushuaia! I swear, every time I interact with her it feels like I’ve been hit was this pastel ray of light complete with lace frills and ribbons. She’s the absolute sweetest and the bits of her creations that she’s put out reflect that entirely and I can’t wait to see what else she can think up!

@the-odd-devil

Goodness, it feels like Odd and I have been mutuals for literally forever because they’ve been there pretty much since the beginning of this account?? I always love getting a chance to interact with them and it’s been so cool seeing them start to develop their own ideas (and I swear, Odd, I will get to your dark academia college!Eddie fic as soon as I get a chance to actually sit down and read it). Also…their 70s Pornstar!Jimmy Tree headcanons…god if they ever post about them, I will actually lose my mind.

@starlightsearches

Fun fact: Star was among the first fic writers I read from when I first got into Danonation! They are a multi-fandom blog but again, I just had to include them because their writing is fucking intoxicating and I'm sorry but I'll never get over it.

@danoberry

So this serves as apology to Wren for being awful at keeping up with fics lately because ages ago I know I promised to read one of her Calvin fics and then I never did sO I AM SO SORRY. But this also serves as me taking the chance to gush over her work. Like y'all know I will fawn over anything Joby Taylor related and her Joby fic, i'm so sick...GIRL I'M SO SICK ARE YOU KIDDING MEEEE. Like truly...I lost my mind for part of a day when she followed me because hahahah I'm a nervy little guy and I am always so hesitant to make new mutuals (especially when they're this talented goodness gracious).

@jeusschrist2005

Okay, I will admit that I'm also a little newer to their work! But goodness gracious, just from the bits I've seen of both their Joby fic and their Eli stuff, I love what I've read so far and I really wanted to include them on this list as well!!

31 notes · View notes

jeusschrist2005 · 2 years ago

Text

Twisting Your Word and Your Prophecy || Eli Sunday x femme!Reader

word count: 2,808

warnings/tags: smut, vaginal sex, hand jobs, Eli’s a bit ooc

summary: Six months later Eli Sunday speaks to you. (Sequel to “Mark of Cain” but can be read alone)

“‘Therefore whoever kills Cain shall suffer sevenfold vengeance.’ And the Lord set a mark upon Cain so that whoever found him would not slay him,’” were the words flying out of Eli Sunday’s mouth in an especially emphatic sermon, on a cold January’s morning. He had a certain energy, a thirst for blood that turned his face pink with rage and unwieldy desire.

His face contorted at his brow, his lips drew up and spittle flung visible as he began to speak with even more energy, nearly screeching with the strain of projecting his voice loud to the whole congregation, and to the Lord. His incessant clamor nearly deafened you — you found yourself wanting to be far, far away from him, but at the same time something stirred inside you, and in your naivety you thought that Eli compelled the holy ghost into your vessel and set your heart alight.

Truthfully, your reaction to Eli’s eraticism was not new, nor did it have anything to do with a higher power, because you knew in your heart of hearts that Eli was a liar; he was not a vessel for the word of God. You knew he didn’t believe his own lie either, but you both convinced yourself to believe he was for the good of the people. It’s why the two of you had such a temperamental attraction to one another. Like magnets you drew near to each other when you were opposite, and farther from each other when you were face to face and seeing what should not be acknowledged.

But what is it that shouldn’t be acknowledged? Eli’s self-obsession? Your devotion to him? It was a mixture of both of these snowballed into the mistake you made of knowing Eli more intimately than anyone else could. You didn’t have a strong bond with Eli before then, but you’d loved him from afar since the moment you stepped foot in the church. It felt real to be with Eli; it felt like love. But he denied you, and you accepted his rejection with feigned dignity.

Now, you hadn’t talked to Eli since that night, not much more than a stiff “thank you” or “God bless you” was exchanged between the two of you throughout these thirty-something Sundays. You were embarrassed to talk to him. You were afraid of his rejection. You knew well that Eli would not accept you as you were, and there was an air of resentment radiating off him while he uttered his greetings to you. You were not forgiven for tainting him.

That resent didn’t equate to hate, though. You’d seen Eli’s hate in the way he held himself while talking about, or to, Mr. Plainview. There was something reptilian in the way he stared with eyes we black as night, tongue flitting between his lips as he prepared to exhibit palpable aggression. Eli never approached you like he did Mr. Plainview. Eli never approached you at all, but when you did occasionally catch his eye he pierced you with a despaired, confused gaze. It wasn't hate, but it wasn't love. It wasn’t of indifference either, and your wonderment ate at your decomposing soul like gnats and maggots.

When the service was over and the congregation filed out you stayed behind to talk to Eli. He was obliged to stay, though you could see through his eyes, glassy with jealous fury, that he was absent-minded. He stood at the door while the last few people shuffled through, saying goodbye automatically. You sat on your pew (right side, second row, as per usual) awkwardly waiting for his acknowledgment. What compelled you to stay here, you do not know, but you were burning to talk to Eli, and the fire in your stomach had not ceased since it first awoke in the middle of the sermon.

“Have you come to seek atonement?” was his practiced, formal (if not rude) greeting.

“What in the world for?”

Eli wanted not to confront it as much as you didn’t want to.

“Well… what can I help you with?”

“I’d just like to talk, Mr. Sunday. Your sermon spoke to me today.”

“What did it say?” Eli was surprised by this, and softened up at the mention of his sole talent: professing God’s word. He smiled sweetly.

“It said that people who act in jealousy are fools, and people who hate the fool are more of a fool than the fool is!” you laughed starkly, “isn’t that funny?”

“I’m not following,” Eli said, but the corners of his lips turned into an amused smile.

“I’m a fool, Eli, and I’ve been hating myself for months. Those months have made my life Hell.”

Eli was quiet but his eyes shone with practiced sympathy. He sat on the pew a safe distance away from you, folded his hands and placed them on his lap.

“I can’t bear to look at myself in the glass,” a single tear ran down your nose and hung in the air before falling to the floor and leaving a splash on the dusty, wooden floor, “and I’m the source of my own misery.”

“God has you, he has already forgiven you for your sin,” (his face was beet red and he faced forward, away from you) “You must ask, and he will cleanse your conscience.”

“I’ve asked. He’s done nothing.”

“Confess, pray more. God will help you realize what it is you need. Give yourself to him and you will know the way.”

“Do you know the way?”

Eli smiled, but shook his head. This caught you by surprise. He was always so self-assured.

“Haven’t you out of all of us given yourself most to God? Aren’t you his prophet?”

Eli opened his mouth to speak, shut it, then licked his dry lips with that serpent’s tongue. “I’m not omniscient.”

You studied Eli and his puffy face, his starched shirt and pretty waistcoat. His hair was combed in it’s usual mock bowl cut, and it looked slightly caked with dust and grease. He was as much a human as you were, you realized, and your heart panged with empathy. He was plain, meek, and wiry. He seemed more of a boy than a man; a boy in a role too grown up for him, and although it had been some years it was obvious he was still struggling to fill the shoes of his father. You slid your hand to his, which rested on his right thigh, and held it gently. He turned his head. He made no move.

“Would that you were.” You squeezed his hand. “But then you wouldn’t be you.”

Eli turned his hand into yours and held it firmly, brought it up to his lips and kissed it gently. “What am I?” Eli asked, hot breath against the back of your hand.

It was a loaded question, and Eli’s demeanor felt far too inappropriate, too sexually charged for you to handle. What was Eli to you? You couldn’t exactly answer. He was unattainable, he was powerful, he was alien; you saw him as you saw the coyotes and buzzards that circled the land, saw him in the cracks of the muck and the skim of your goat milk, saw him in the light of the moon and the burn of the sun. He was everywhere.

“Holy.”

You withdrew your hand from his lips in discomfort. His eyes, wide and searching, met your own. There was a glint in his look — a certain luminosity that you hadn’t seen in him previously, which showed the cogs of his brain turning. Realization thrusted up and crashed down upon him like a wave, and all that remained was the black tar pits of his imploring irises.

“And if I wasn’t?” His voice teetered between a whisper and a mumble. His throat was dry, as were his lips and his pretty rosy cheeks. He looked like he did the day that you bathed him — you could almost envision the dirt caked on his face.

“I’d love you the same.”

Eli said nothing. He turned his head down to study the grain of the pew. His brow furrowed. He was trying to make out what to say.

Anticipation gnawed at the meat of your ribs with the razor sharp teeth of hell-hounds. He was a mirage in the desert of your heart and you thought for one minute he might be your oasis — a drink of water, a slice of paradise sucked directly from his supple lips. Your patience ran thin.

“Do you think you could love me?” You squeaked without a thought.

Eli’s head whipped to face you again. Your forwardness was a welcome surprise, for Eli’s mind was racing for another way to beat around the bush.

“I could, I mean — I do. Yes, I do.”

It was ultimately Eli who leaned in to kiss you, his body wracked with shakes. He held onto your shoulders in a strangely feminine move. You indulged in the slick of his lips — which were cold from the lack of heating in the chapel. He was sloppy, and anxious, desperately clinging on to your clothes. You gently pushed him away from you, then held him in a sweet embrace, as though he were not some lust-driven thought, but an old friend. Your throat tightened, your forehead tensed. You held him through your wave of disbelief and he stayed obediently.

“Have you thought about me?” You whispered. “Do you think about me when you’re alone?”

“All the time,” Eli answered and slipped out of your embrace to grip your icy hands, “I want you all the time since you…”

“Since I bathed you,” you supplied, turning red with embarrassment. Eli mirrored your embarrassment.

“I’d like to have you,” was Eli’s next, vague statement, but by his swollen lips and excited eyes, and fretful shaking hands, you knew what he meant.

You rested your hand on his thigh and voiced your assent.

“Meet me at midnight?”

All of Eli’s family was asleep. You were wound tightly in layers upon layers of wool, shivering from the freezing temperatures of the desert at night. Eli’s stark figure standing near a shed a hundred yards away spooked you out of your element. You approached him.

“Why’re you just standing there like a creep?!” You whisper-yelled.

“I’m sorry,” Eli whispered, “follow me.”

You pattled along behind him. You took in his dress — a greying night shirt and dark brown pajama pants. He was dressed simply. You looked at the crop on the back of his head. His hair was mussed and silky.

He pushed the creaky door of the shed open. There was a small walkway and a few stalls, presumably for animals. It smelled strongly of hay and hair, with an undertone of rotting wood.

“The flock-shed?”

“I know it’s not the best,” Eli said abashedly, “but it’s private.”

Eli laid a tarp down on the floor. You sat on it with as much grace as you could, then Eli joined you, sitting cross-legged. In the dim light of Eli’s lantern, which sat between you two, you surveyed each other. Eli leaned in after a second, eager to feel your lips on his. You held him like you did in the church — desperately and brazenly. You had him in your hands, and you wouldn’t stop until you had all of him, knew every part of his body, heart, and soul; good, bad, and ugly, you would take Eli into you as your own.

There was something mildly ritualistic about the way Eli caressed you. He traced along your curves with the ebb and flow of your body, which was still covered completely in thick wools and linens, with nothing but innocent admiration.

You shed your coat after a while of kissing and holding Eli. It was warm enough in the shed, which was heated by a tiny wood stove, though the fire was going out. You led Eli to hover over you as you laid down on the hard ground, getting hay and dirt in your hair.

Eli’s tongue was explorative, and wet. For some time you laid, mostly still, with your eyes open and staring at the ceiling while Eli prodded you with his slithering tongue. It was uncomfortable, but it was a necessity you thought.

When he pulled away you wiped your lips with your sleeve and took note of his tiny frown. You sat up a little and settled your hands on the elastic of Eli’s waistband waiting for permission to pull them down. Eli kneeled awkwardly with his arms not knowing what to do. He waited for you to make a move. You cupped one hand over his cock, already fully erect and straining against his clothes. You rubbed him a bit, staring bright eyed at his pinched face to catch his reaction. His brows furrowed as he bucked against your hand.

You lowered his waistband. His cock twitched as your cold hand took grip of it, stroking him at an uncomfortable angle. He was leaking already, slicking your hand and his erection. You loved nothing more than to please Eli like this. His strained breaths and tiny pants spurred you on more than anything, and you felt heat gather in your lower half. You sat on your heel and rocked against it subtly to try to get some relief, hot and damp against your bare foot.

You kept your pace on Eli’s length, loving the way he felt in your hand, but mostly afraid to move on from what you knew. You almost lost yourself in a trance to the movements, but Eli startled you out of that peace with an urgent, “stop.”

You pulled your hand away as if you’d been burned. “Are you —“

“‘M’close,” he cut you off. “I’m sorry.”

You smiled. “Do you want …?”

“Lay down,” Eli urged you. With fumbling hands he pushed up your skirt. His unskilled fingers felt you teasingly over your panties. He removed your underwear, then prodded gently at your hole, feeling the fluid and spreading it along your cunt. He didn’t spend much time on you — apparently too eager and too preoccupied. You didn’t have much time, and you’d have to be quiet. You hated the circumstances, but you would take him any chance you got.

You spread your legs wide and Eli slid between them. He leaned over you, pressed a hesitant kiss to the apple of your cheek, then lined himself up with you. “Are you sure about this?”

“It’s all I think about,” you sighed dreamily.

Eli smiled uneasily but said nothing else. He pushed the tip in slowly in order to let you adjust to him. The stretch was a bit uncomfortable— everything about this was, quite frankly, but you couldn’t ask for anything better. Eli didn’t wait to start up a slow rhythm, which you were half-thankful for. You were ready for him, though your body was a bit resistant at first.

You stared up at Eli as he hovered over you. His eyes were shut and his mouth slightly open, breathing short puffs of air. He ground into you softly, rubbing against your g-spot in just the right way. Your resulting whine startled him out of his stupor.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded frantically. “Yes, yes, perfect. Keep going, please.”

“You feel so good,” Eli breathed as he regained his pace. “We shouldn’t be doing this, God.”

“Are you going to stop?” You asked, a bit worried, but by the look on his sweaty face you knew Eli wouldn’t stop until he felt release.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Eli said, and took your sweaty hand into his. You felt tears swell at your eyes, though you couldn’t exactly place why. You felt warm and loved for once in your life. To ask for someone more than Eli would be to ask for the moon itself.

“Never,” you smiled, and he laughed too.

He sped up his thrusts, obviously close to orgasm, and hit you in just the right spot for a short span of time. You pulled him down for a sloppy, wet kiss, and the next second he pulled himself out of you, stroking himself off onto the tarp.

Eli looked at his spend on the floor, and the guilt on his face was palpable.

“Hey,” you said, sitting up carefully, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Eli said and pulled his trousers up. He shuffled over and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Eli replied, but he sounded uneasy. “We can’t keep on like this, though.”

“Make me your wife and we can,” you said desperately.

You were met with a look of concern, then a chaste kiss on the forehead. He hugged you and held you to his chest, saying “Maybe I will.”

#eli sunday x reader #there will be blood #paul dano #paul dano x reader #danonation #danocel #eli sunday

37 notes · View notes

jeusschrist2005 · 3 years ago

Text

Let Your Heart Be Light|| Pierre Bezukhov x femme!Reader

Word count: 5900

Summary: Count Bezukhov enchants you at a Christmas Ball

Warnings/tags: smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), piv sex, princess!reader

Characters: Pyotr “Pierre” Kirillich Bezukhov, Marya Dmitrievna Akhrosimova, Vasily “Vaska” Denisov, Andrei Nikolayevich Bolkonsky, Elisabeta (“Lise”/“Liza”/ “little princess”) Bolkonskaya, many other mentioned characters

Authors note: sorry

The woman prattled on, pinching your rosy, windburned cheeks as she complimented your beauty, your youth. You took it in stride and played it off as though you recognized the strange woman who was all over your personal space.

“You are such a doll,” she continued her cheerful speech, “you’re the prettiest girl at the party. By far.” You could smell the alcohol on her breath. Her face was inches from yours and it was almost laughable.

You smiled widely. As you were about to make your modest reply, a young voice interrupted.

“That’s not quite twue,” he said, his heavy lisp as endearing as you remembered. “She can’t be the pwettiest girl at the party — that title is weserved for you.”

The woman laughed haughtily, “Oh, Vaska, you flatter me so!” She grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him square on the nose.

Vasily Denisov, as young and dashing as ever, turned to face you. “It’s a pleasure to see you,” he said timidly.

“It’s been too long,” you agreed, and greeted him with an awkward embrace. He was around five years younger than you; a fine gentleman, and handsome in the face yet wiry in the body. He acted as an adult, and you were amused by his frankness. He whisked away from you and the woman — who’s name you still could not remember, even though you really should — after a few short minutes of small talk.

The woman — you silently prayed for someone to reveal her name — was only tipsy enough to make a fool of herself and still remember it the next day. She leaned against you slightly, and you didn’t mind much because she was so inviting. On the few occasions you’d crossed her before, she was always at her best, ever a great guest. She was loved and respected even in her buffoonery.

“Why don’t we sit down?” You offered and begin leading her to a velvet chaise in a less busy corner of the great ballroom. She followed along.

You sat silently for a minute, soaking in the moments of peace that you got when nobody talked.

The crowd shifted busily. The sheer amount of people was overwhelming, especially considering you hadn’t gone out in years. But the women were graceful, beautiful, and letting themselves drink in attention from boys without fear of judgment. They chatted, and flirted, and drank and ate. The men stood tall and proud, the older ones telling stories nobody wanted to hear, and the younger engaging in playful (and obnoxious) banter. You took joy in seeing their joy. You were happy too, even talking to a woman who you sparsely remembered. The Christmas spirit was high, and most everyone’s face was ruddy with glee.

The decor was elegant, not too understated and not too tacky either. The curtains were open to allow the delicately crafted high windows to pour moonlight over guests. The simple silver accents lent a glimmer to the evening. The lighting was just the right amount of romantic and practical. You felt enlightened, and as you looked to the little crucifix that hung above the grand entrance, you smiled, feeling He was there with you tonight, guiding your heart and your head.

“What a lovely evening,” Lisa Bolkonskaya said as she took a slow, careful seat on the arm of the chaise. You turned in surprise and greeted, then smothered her with a kiss on each cheek.

“You took the words right out of my mouth.” You smiled honestly. It was always a joy to see the little princess, as giggly and yappy as she could be. She was beautiful, young, with just a sheen of tragedy hidden underneath her carefree composure.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” remarked Princess Bolkonskaya.

“I am. It’s so nice to be out.”

“I'm beginning to think someone slipped something in your drink, you’re acting so out of the ordinary,” the older woman budged in, and the girls both laughed.

“Marya!” Liza chastised and in a mannish gesture stooped down to kiss the middle-aged woman’s knuckles.

Marya! How could you forget Marya Dmitrievna?

You scoped out the people while Marya and Liza chatted (and Marya sure could chat). You recognized a few people, but not enough to go up and chat with them. You were closest to the Bolkonskys, and you found no company in any other aristocratic family. They were, for the most part, stuck up and snobbish, but you’d found friends in Marya Bolkonskaya (who was absent) and her aloof sister in law who you were currently chatting with.

Towards the center of the room you found the younger generation: Denisov, Natasha, Nikolay, Sonya, and a few others that you couldn’t quite name. Boris Drubetskoy was somewhere away from the rest of the younger generation — he was a boy who was more reserved. You swept the room, wondering if the sweet boy had attended at all (and also seeking the nonchalant Prince Andrei, who you loved like a brother). You saw the lovely Princess Hélène Kuragina leading a group composed of mainly handsome women, Old Count Ilya Rostov (our host) stood in a larger circle including his wife and a few honorable older society members, a rowdier group led by Anatole Kuragin, and various small groups like the one you were in.

You glanced up through the crowds of people whisking about when somebody caught your eye. Dressed in a high collared shirt and rich black trousers stood a man you couldn’t quite place. His wide, obtrusive stance confirmed that he was someone of importance — or maybe just someone stupid enough to think so. He was chatting excitedly with Prince Andrei Bolkonsky — wild gestures and urgent voice. You could hear him when you focused on him; his voice carried through the din like a hot knife through butter. Normally, it would annoy you, but his ignorance of social rule seemed to be a quirk of his character rather than a genuine flaw.

You turned to find Marya Dmitrievna gone, and Liza coming onto the cushion to take her place. Upon seeing your confused look Lise said, “She recognized someone across the room.”

“Oh,” you said quietly.

Without a third person, your conversation turned much more intimate. You and Liza talked of theatre and books, prayer and outings, but most importantly: men. You were single, and had been for years, and Liza was of course married to the esteemed Prince Andrei Bolkonsky. She hopelessly adored him, and a cloud rose over her thin brow when you mentioned her pregnancy. She quickly averted the topic of discussion.

“Andrei is perfect — my baby is healthy as far as the doctors say, and I… Well, I don’t want to think about being left because of war and fighting.”

“Andrei couldn’t have found a better, prettier wife than you, dear Lise, he will make sure you’re safe. And by my word he shall be safe.” You embraced the small girl tenderly. After pulling away, and seeing how her thin lip trembled, the princess whispered a thanks, then shook her head to rid her troubling thoughts. She put on that usual plastic smile. Your heart broke on her behalf.

“There are lots of bachelors here tonight,” the little princess began, righting herself, “who do you fancy?”

“I haven’t had a chance to look,” you laughed awkwardly. All the men were quite the same: bald and dull elderly men, young obnoxious boys, and boisterous gentlemen who had no interest in anyone but themselves. “And I would not ‘fancy’ any of them.”

“You've set your standards too high. Or perhaps too low!” Lise said cheerfully. She stood slowly and you jumped up to support her. She turned you out to look at the crowd with her. “Go, go on and have a drink. Socialize!” She encouraged you with a gentle push.

You stumbled and turned back around to her.

“I will not make a fool of myself, Lise.” You said harshly and took your seat on the chaise again. Lise had already sat back down. “You’re a good helper, but no. That is too forward.”

Lise looked at you in feigned sadness. You smiled in amusement at her face.

“The only way you’ll embarrass yourself is by being awkward and fretful, like you are now!” Lise said, in her normal happy tone. She pulled your hand away from where it picked at your laced bodice. “Have some manners, sit up tall. And tell me, truthfully now, who is it that you fancy?”

“Who’s put the idea in your head that I fancy anyone?”

“I get this feeling…” Lise trailed off and surveyed the room. Her eyes landed on the beautiful Hélène, who was draped elegantly over her chair and talking to her brother, Anatole. He was quite handsome, and his languid attitude enticed you (it enticed most high-society women, though none would admit it). Even still, there was something off about the Kuragins. Lise began to speak again, “You look sunnier than ever…there’s something in the eyes. Who’s caught your attention?”

You glanced over to Anatole briefly, then at Prince Andrei, wondering when he would save you from this increasingly perilous conversation with his gossipy wife.

“Say,” you began, and pointed with your glass to the foolish man you had spotted earlier. You’d been itching to find out who he was. “Who is that man with your husband?”

“You’re kidding,” Lise laughed lightly, “that’s Pierre Bezukhov.”

“As in Count Bezukhov?”

“Yes, the talk of the town. How dont you know him?” said Lise in a hushed tone.

“You know him?”

“Of course. He’s Andrei’s best friend. Sometimes he feels more like his wife than I do,” Lise laughed. “Oh, they’re such fools together.” She reminisced. Then in an incredulous tone: “Do you like Pierre?”

“No! I haven’t even spoken to the man,” you shook your head but your flushed cheeks gave you away.

“Let’s introduce you to him,” Lise said and cut you off when you went to deny the offer, “He’s a very nice man. Kind-hearted and all. But I must warn you he’s no good morally — really, it’s a wonder he showed up at all after last time.”

“Last time?” You asked. Lise either ignored you or didn’t hear you. She scoured the crowd, found her husband and met eyes with him and beckoned him over.

Andrei strode through the crowd to his poor wife and kissed her briefly on the cheek before having a hushed conversation with her; one which you dared not intrude on. Andrei pulled back from his wife’s ear, a disconcerted expression gracing his stony face. He bowed to you, and you to him.

Pierre stood awkwardly trailing behind his friend as if awaiting instruction. You glanced at him over Andrei’s shoulder. He was already looking at you. He shot you a sheepish grin and you looked down at your hands abashedly.

Prince Bolkonsky pushed Pierre forward with significant strength, and Pierre stumbled awkwardly into your view. You stood to greet him, seeing that he was more afraid of you than you were of him — that, and the circumstances had hardly been explained to him.

Pierre looked over your shoulder at Princess Bolkonskaya for assistance, then at her husband, before finally looking over his spectacles at you. Lise introduced you to Pierre.

“It’s an honor to meet you, madame,” Pierre said, taking your extended hand and pressing his dry lips to it.

“Likewise, Monsieur Pierre,” you smiled, “I’ve heard much about you.”

“Nothing too embarrassing, I hope,” said Pierre, flushing all the way to his ears and glancing at Andrei. Pierre was renowned for his poor social skills; many people blamed it on his education abroad and the undoing that came from that, but he was always an awkward young thing, and about as stubborn as a mule.

“Nonsense,” you smiled, your white teeth gleaming in the low, warm light. Pierre smiled a close-mouthed smile, characteristically ungainly yet endearing.

Wanting to change the subject and break the awkward silence between you four (Lise and Andrei watching you and Pierre exchanging shy glances), Lise broke in: “Do you have a partner to dance with, Monsieur Pierre.”

Pierre shook his head hastily but looked over at pretty Hélène, who was all sparkling smiles and perfect golden hair.

You looked up at Andrei, who smiled down at you almost encouragingly. It was obvious he knew something that you did not, and you sent him a wary look. In this silence, Pierre had grown fidgety and tense.

Lise went on: “Why don’t you go dance together?”

The little princess clasped her husband's hand in her tiny ones and looked between you and Pierre as if this was the brightest idea she’d had in ages.

Pierre looked to you in alarm and your face mirrored his own panic. It might’ve been comical if you weren’t placed in one of the most uncomfortable situations of your life. Regaining composure, and with an uncomfortable laugh, you said: “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Lise.”

“I don’t see why not,” Pierre jumped in before Lise could answer to you. His objection came unexpected to you. He was obviously obsessed with someone else — why should he dance with you?

“Go on with him,” smiled Lise. You looked to Andrei, who was hardly listening. Lise followed your gaze. “The doctors say I shouldn’t dance, though I wish Andrei and I could join you. Don’t let me stop you from having a good time.”

“What do you say, princess?” Pierre ejected.

You felt cornered. Had you any choice? You collected yourself, smoothing the folds of your blue satin gown.

“I think it would be splendid,” you smiled. “I’ll dance with you, Monsieur Pierre, when it’s next appropriate.”

Pierre smiled, showing a row of slightly crooked teeth; it was the kind of smile that could brighten a room of utmost depression. Even Andrei, who was perpetually drained, had the beginnings of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth upon seeing his happy friend. You sat on the chaise next to Lise and waited expectantly for the two men to do something (go away, you hoped. You were awfully embarrassed and dying for a conversation with your dear friend).

Andrei kept standing over his wife. Pierre shuffled and sat at the edge of the chaise, just too close to you that it demonstrated his social ineptitude . He let his long, stout legs spread open mannishly. You almost scoffed. His unawareness was at once sweet and bothersome.

“I’m no good at meeting new people,” (he said this to you as if it were one of his deepest secrets, looking at you in earnest), “I never fail to make a fool of myself. I hope you understand I don’t mean to offend you… or be at odds with you. I understand perfectly if you don’t want to dance.”

“Oh, heavens no. You’re perfect.” You squeezed his bicep in reassurance, though maybe it was a step too far. “I’m just as out of practice as you are.”

“I highly doubt that,” he said leaning closer to your ear, “I could see from across the room how graceful you are.”

“You’d be mistaken. I have as much grace as a newborn fawn.”

“Nonsense. You’re as lithe and as beautiful as a ballerina,” he said.

You blushed, and brushed your hair out of your face. Pierre was about a head taller than you. He naturally talked quite softly, leaning towards the ear of the people he talked to — you’d seen him moments earlier doing it with Andrei — and it added to his friendly, intimate character.

“Have I made you uncomfortable?” He quickly tried to back out of his statement, grabbing both your hands and forcing you to look at his sincere worried expression. It only made your heart pound harder. You shook your head.

“You’ve been a perfect gentleman, Pierre.”

Pierre smiled, and looked down at your hands which he still gripped. You wore indigo satin evening gloves which matched your dress. You allowed him to examine your gloves, and then his eyes sweeped your gown.

“Your gown — it’s spectacular. And your hair, it’s plaited so finely.”

You turned your head to the side to hide your embarrassment. “You’re too kind,” you said coyly.

“I’m sorry if I’m overwhelming you… I don’t mean to impose. You’re just so darling that I can’t help but tell you so.”

“You’re all right. I can’t say I don’t like how you talk to me.”

“I’m glad,” he smiled widely.

You felt as though you were flying in Pierre’s strong grip. The waltz was slow and romantic, something you hadn’t expected for a holiday event, but you were thankful for it. You starved for romance, and this is the closest you’d gotten in all your years. The girls around you with their handsome partners carried all the grace in the world, but you (and Pierre, though you didn’t know it) felt like a fumbling idiot. Pierre led you dutifully.

You looked over to you right and saw young Natasha dancing with Denisov. They laughed happily, and Natasha, with so much grace for such a young woman, danced beautifully. She reminded you of a ballerina in a jewelry box. You couldn’t help but admire her for her skills; skills which you lacked. In some way you felt proud, yet in another way you felt defeat.

Pierre squeezed your hand and you turned your head to look at him.

“You are far away,” he noted. “What’s on your mind?”

“Oh, I was just admiring the other dancers. Everyone is so light on their feet… I feel foolish.”

Pierre smiled at your bashfulness. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re the best dance partner I’ve had.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.” He took your entwined hands and kissed yours. You blushed.

“That’s a loaded compliment.”

“It’s the truth,” he laughed. “I’ve never enjoyed myself so much while dancing. I can’t help but think it has something to do with you.”

You smiled. You couldn’t take his onslaught of compliments. It made your stomach tense and your palms sweat. You felt you didn’t deserve the niceties from someone so noble.

“You’re very humble for such high status,” you said instead of accepting his compliment. “I like that about you. You don’t put on airs.”

“My status isn’t high,” Pierre corrected you.

“You’re doing it now, Count Bezukhov!” you teased him.

“Is that why you agreed to dance with me?” Pierre retorted. He left it at that and you didn’t pry, only smiling politely as he spun you around the room.

You couldn’t help but feel dizzy with happiness. You felt like you could go home and write in your diary about Pierre, like a dumb teen. You could almost imagine yourself jumping and jittering at the thought of him, praying to God at night that He would give you just one kiss with Pierre.

The song soon came to an end, and Pierre ended the dance with a joyful flourish. You covered your face with your hands in embarrassment and laughed. You clapped gently for him and he bowed to you.

“You’re an energetic dancer!” you told him.

He laughed dryly. “I have two left feet, and I am already out of breath,” he said and swiped a hand through his now matted, sweaty hair.”it’s awful hot in here. Will you excuse me to the washroom?”

For a few stressful minutes, you walked the ballroom looking for Lise, who might save you from the embarrassment of being alone. You could not find her in the main room, and took it upon yourself to search the mansion on your own.

You creaked open the door to a multitude of rooms, all of which were empty or held servants doing chores. One maid had explained to you that she had seen two young girls going into the winter garden, just past the master’s bed chamber (Count Bezukhov, as you would have it, was generously allowing Count Rostov to host the Annual Christmas Ball at his mansion in Petersburg).

After leaving that servant, you kept walking down the hallways, looking outside every once in a while to try to catch a glimpse at the garden, but to no avail. From the hall you could see that there was a room that would give you a good view of the entire courtyard. You pushed the door open.

Pierre started when you burst through the door, embarrassment instantly written across your face. He was toweling his own face, which he had splashed with cold water.

“Were you looking for me?” Pierre asked a bit playfully.

“No,” you said plainly. You stood in uncomfortable silence as you drank Pierre in for the umpteenth time that evening. You let your eyes track down his body — solid and strong.

“You forget yourself,” he teased you.

“I can’t help myself,” you admitted, and in seconds the regret hit like a ton of bricks. Sure, you had been searching for Liza’s comfort, but some part of you had been hoping you’d find Pierre in the expansive halls of the mansion.

Pierre’s cheeks flushed red. His tiny mouth clamped shut. With a practiced hand he slid his spectacles back on the bridge of his nose, and with the air of a elderly man titled his chin towards his chest to peer at you over the top of them. He smiled then said: “Really?”

Your first impulse was to say no, run out of the room, and send for a cab home. Instead, you stayed in the room (which, embarrassingly, was Pierre’s own bed chamber; the corner was furnished with a tiny basin (which drained out into a bucket on the floor) with a mirror above it, a well hidden chamber pot, a velvet armchair, and various toiletries— all of it separated from the main area by a room divider) and locked eyes with Pierre.

“I haven’t ever had such fun at a ball.” you blurted, land never have I been so besotted with a man.”

Pierre stared at you with a slight gape (he often would have his mouth slightly open when he was thinking of a response). His eyes were tender while they gazed upon you. The candle light flickered but it darent go out, for it would leave the two of you in complete darkness. You prayed it would not go out.

“I adore you,” was all Pierre could manage to say. His voice dropped with lust. He stayed standing as if he were a lost child. Pierre’s pupils were dilated in the dim light, and he looked so pretty. His high ruffled collar made his round face even softer and more inviting. His expressive brow, high cheekbones, and soft brown hair were exemplified in the incandescent candle light. He looked especially attractive in the blue light filtering in from the window, causing a solemn, gentle, and soft beauty on his face.

“You do?” You asked — not in disbelief, but as a means of testing the man.

“I do,” said Pierre and took a cautious step in your direction before stopping again and playing at the cuff of his shirtsleeve.

You took slow steps toward him. The only sound was the howl of the wind outside and Pierre’s uneven breathing. Once within a foot of him you took his hand in yours, pressed it to your cheek, and said: “Show me.”

Pierre took his spectacles off and set them on a chair that sat in the corner near the bathtub. With two gentle fingers he turned your chin up to briefly meet his glittering eyes before leaning in for a chaste, gentle kiss. And then another, deeper one. He held your face in his hands for a moment after — lips slightly open and slick — just to look at you.

The candle flickered dangerously as you pulled him for another kiss and you two were encased in pale-white moonlight. The room was cold, but pulled so close to Pierre you were warm enough.

You pushed into the prolonged kiss hastily and greedily. Pierre, spineless though he was, commandeered you into a slow, sensual pace. You put your open palms on his wide chest and he let his wide hands roam over your back. You pressed your body into him, trying to get impossibly closer to the count. The kiss grew heated, and soon the two of you were panting and groaning like fumbling adolescents.

Pierre walked you backwards to the washbasin, never letting go of you once along the way. He spun you by the hips to turn you around, catching you off gaurd. You cling to the edge of the basin to regain your balance. You asked nervously: “What are you doing?”

“Looking at you,” said Pierre, and his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you in place. He rested his chin on your shoulder, then pressed his hips into the soft skin of your bottom. You could feel that he was hard, and the gasp you let out caused a smug smile to unfurl across his lips.

“Pierre,” you breathed, excited byhis forwardness, but anxious all at once.

“I want to make you mine…” Pierre breathed huskily into the nape of your neck, and bit playfully at your ear lobe. You peered into the looking glass at your disheveled self — hair mussed, lips swollen, eyes wide and love drunk — and to think all you had done so far was kiss and be held. You were desperate for Pierre.

He noticed you looking in the mirror and held eye contact with you through it. He took your chin into his grip and positioned your gaze in the mirror to be on his, the other hand resting low on your abdomen.

“Do you see how debauched you look? I could take your right here, over the basin.”

“You devil,” you said as you squirmed in his grip, but his hands only tightened on your hips, “you wouldn’t dare.”

“I would,” said Pierre, “I would if you’d let me.”

“You make me ache, Pierre. I need you,” you replied in an attempt to stall.

“Will you let me have you?” Pierre asked and planted a ticklish kiss just under your ear lobe. You pushed into his touch. His and your faces were flushed in a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. You nodded, blushing harder with shame, and half-whimpered out a “yes”.

Pierre’s calloused, bear-like hands settled on your hips and pulled you flush to his. Through his britches you felt his stiffness against you, a new sensation which flinted sparks up your spine. He pushed your hips flush against the cold porcelain of the sink. Slowly, he lifted up your skirt and underskirt, to expose your bloomers and garters. His hand slipped between your inner thighs.

“Has anyone ever touched you here?” Pierre hummed lowly. You shook your head; he kissed your shoulder again. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes please,” you whispered. His fingers traced along the front of your thighs, then, gently through your underwear, along the crease between your thigh and your sex, before brushing along your slit. He brushed over your clit. You jolted.

“Are you okay?” Pierre asked.

“Yes,” you nodded, embarrassed at your response. “Keep going, please.”

He shed his gloves then continued his ministration along your vagina. He continued to tease at your clit, then dipped two fingers gently into the slick that gathered there. He prodded gently at your hole, which was begging for his long, slender fingers. He checked your face in the mirror — seeing it anxious and flushed, then brought his hand away.

“Why don’t we lie down? You’re shaking.”

You nodded your agreement. Pierre stepped away from you and you moved from your place over the sink. You flattened the folds of your dress, then awkwardly walked over to Pierre’s mattress and sat on it. He followed you, and with unprecedented abruptness, leaned down to kiss you. He missed and planted a sloppy kiss on your nose tip.

“I’m sorry,” he said, smiling happily, then pecking your nose again. “I can’t help myself.”

“I need you,” you said softly. You loved him in that moment — truly and fully, with every ounce of your being — and you felt that you needed to become one with him, whatever that meant.

“I need you too,” Pierre breathed, “lie back. I must have you.”

“Take me,” you said, and pulled him in for a searing kiss. You situated yourself on the bed better. Pierre pulled up your skirts a bit, spread your plush thighs with his large hands, and nudged his head underneath them. He slid your underwear to the side, then tongued at your folds. Instinctively, you closed your thighs around his head.

“Relax,” Pierre said, muffled by your many layers, “Let me get you wet for me.”

You laid back and allowed him to explore you, finding pleasure in the way he licked, kissed, and sucked at you. The little whimpers you let out seemed to encourage Pierre, as he ate you out, moaning in pleasure himself. By his undoubted skill and little noises, it was obvious that it made him feel just as good as you did.

All too soon, Pierre extracted himself.

“Turn around,” Pierre said and nudged your shoulder. He unlaced the back of your dress and the bodice of it fell off your shoulders. You shimmied your gown off and were left only in your undergarments. Your chemise and corset came off easily with assistance from Pierre and his nimble fingers (which surprised you due to their fatness). Then you slipped down your stockings, garters, and were left with your breasts exposed and nipples peaked in only your bloomers in the impossibly cold room. Pierre still had most of his clothes on, only having removed his expensive brown coat.

“You’re ravishing,” uttered Pierre as he drank in your nakedness. His moon-eyes wandered over your body, and with a curious innocence, Pierre dragged his finger tips ticklishly across your rib cage. Goosebumps rose along your skin.

You let Pierre look at you, watching him silently explore you. You led his hand up to cup your breast and with similar curiosity Pierre thumbed your nipple, watching entranced as he did. Your body's reactions seemed to enthrall him.

Pierre palmed at his crotch in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure that was growing there. You sat up a bit as you curiously watched Pierre undo the buttons of his pants.

“Can I?” You asked, hands hovering above his crotch. He nodded his assent. You clumsily unbuttoned his trousers , then reached into his tented drawers to feel his swollen cock. You marveled at it for a second — having never been intimate with a man before — delighting in the warmth of it, the stiffness; the pinkish, leaking tip. Experimentally, you moved your fist over his erection in a pumping motion. Pierre’s little huffs reassured you that you were doing okay. You spread the tiny bit of precum leaking from the tip along his shaft and he hissed from the sensitivity of it.

“Feels good,” Pierre praised, “you’re doing so well.”

You blushed, feeling childish under his approving words. You let go of his cock. You asked impatiently, and partly to hide your shame, “Can we move on?”

“Of course,” Pierre said and brushed your hair out of your face, “are you sure you’re ready?”

“I’ve been ready all night,” you said dreamily, looking down at your hand, which Pierre intertwined with his. Pierre kissed your cheek.

Much like Pierre assisted you in the removal of your dress, you assisted Pierre. Once both left only in your undergarments, the discomfort in your stomach dissolved. Although it was strange to see Pierre without his pretty ruffle-collared shirt on, it felt right to be vulnerable with him. You laid back on the bed and Pierre moved to hover over you. Together you slipped down your underwear, and he his. He went between your legs. Pierre was being especially slow and careful with you — as if you were some delicate thing — and you loved it. You did feel delicate underneath him, but he felt as if he too were made of glass.

Pierre kissed you again as he finally began to make a move, just fingering at your now soaked cunt to prepare you — or perhaps prepare him. He slid one long finger inside easily, then another, and curled against the spongy area/spot inside you that made you twitch. You could feel him smile against your lips.

“Tell me how you feel,” commanded Pierre.

“I don’t know,” you breathed out, overwhelmed with the sensation and emotions that the young count pulled from within you. “I need you.”

“I’m right here, my sweetness.”

At long last, Pierre positioned himself above you so that he could penetrate you. He teased at your clit with the head of his penis, driving you up the wall in agitating anticipation. He thrust against you, just rubbing against your core and enjoying the sensation of being close to you.

It wasn’t long before he positioned his tip against your hole. He slid slowly inside you. Once fully encased, he started up a slow pace, which was slightly uncomfortable at first, but quickly became pleasant. You were satisfied to go slow with him and delighted in the way you fit together like a puzzle piece; you were satisfied to hold him; satisfied to look at him; satisfied to hear his quiet grunts as he thrust into you.

“Are you good?”

“Yes,” you half-squeaked. “You can go a little harder.”

He listened to you, putting more pressure into his thrusts and brushing up against your g-spot, rubbing you in just the right way. Your fluids gathered around the base of his cock.

“So good,” Pierre praised you, “you’re doing so good. Look so pretty like this.”

His face was red and sticky with sweat. You brushed his hair back from his face and forced him down for a kiss — you were too overwhelmed by the way he looked; he was gorgeous even looking a mess. He nuzzled your chest as he thrust erratically into you, then kissed down it and took one of your nipples into his mouth, nipping and suckling it. The added sensation caused you to clench around him, and he groaned beautifully against your breast. You could feel the pressure in your cunt growing as Pierre continued to rub against you perfectly.

“Are you close?” Pierre asked impatiently.

“Yes, yes, cmon,” you sputtered out. Your mind was someplace else — someplace heavenly. Pierre rubbed circles against your clitoris as you hit your peak, fluid spilling over his aching cock. Your orgasm was white hot and blissful. You felt sedated as Pierre continued to push into your spent hole. A few seconds later, Pierre spilled his seed inside of you with a strangled grunt.

“I love you,” Pierre panted as he slumped down and rested his head against your shoulder.

His words caught you off guard — for how could he love you after one night? How could he love you as you love him? It was impossible. You felt his cum spilling out stickily on your thighs and cringed at it, then smiled over it — he had made his claim on you, just as he’d made his claim on your heart. You planted a kiss atop his head.

#paul dano #paul dano x reader #danonation #war and peace #pierre bezukhov #pierre bezukhov x reader

97 notes · View notes

jeusschrist2005 · 3 years ago

Text

I Am the Shape in the Dark || Edward Nashton x femme!Reader

Word count: 2390

Warnings/tags: smut, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, blow jobs, light dom/sub, slight degredation, praise, mildly dubious consent

Summary: Edward wakes you up with an idea and a camera.

In a bleary state in the early hours of the morning, you woke to find Edward out of bed. You turned to drink some water before going back to sleep when you saw him — stood over you in the pale blue light of early morning, in his full suit. You lunged back, half-terrified of Edward’s creeping figure.

“Stop,” said Edward harshly.

“What’re you doing?” You asked incredulously. “If I knew you were gonna leave I wou—“

He clamped one gloved hand over your mouth and said, “I’m not leaving,” in a cryptic half-whisper. He took his hand away from your face but you didn’t say anything. He caressed the side of your face, then traced his thumb over your bottom lip. “You look so pretty when you sleep.”

You giggled and pulled away from his lingering hand. “What are you doing?”

“Touching you,” he said. There was a softness to his voice, a tenderness that he often had with you. The contrast between his soft tone and menacing outfit caught you off guard. Usually when dressed as the Riddler, Edward took on a dominating persona — something altogether inhuman. He towered over everything; he was huge and brutal and scary. You didn’t expect him to be so gentle with you now. You only smiled at his response.

Edward brushed one hand through your hair, pulling it slightly due to the friction of his leather gloves. He tightened his grip and turned your head so you made eye contact with him where he was crouched at the edge of the bed. You let him manhandle you. It was exciting to see him dressed up in a casual context — he’d never done this for you before. The orange glare of the streetlights in his glasses were all you could see of his eyes. You reached a hand up to take his glasses off, but he caught your wrist in a vice grip. He pushed it back down to the mattress and let go of you.

“I want to try something,” said Edward nervously. “But I need you to do as I say.”

You stared at him in bewilderment.

“Do you trust me?” He continued. You stared some more. He tugged at your hair.

“Of course,” you said through a whimper.

“Then you’ll be a good girl and do what I say.”

“You’re scaring me,” you whispered.

Edward softened his grip in your hair so that he was merely cradling the back of your scalp. He slid his glasses off and set them on the mattress, letting you see the earnestness in his ever-expressive eyes. He was smiling beneath the mask, almost as if he were proud. He said plainly, “I won’t hurt you.”

That didn’t calm your nerves at all. In fact, it heightened them. You hadn’t considered the possibility of him wanting to be violent towards you. You closed your eyes while Edward continued to cradle your head. He stroked along the back of it reassuringly. “Will you be a good girl?”

“Okay,” you whispered at last. You were unsure of him at the moment — frightened and anxious — but you knew (or hoped) that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. You knew what he was capable of, you even liked that he was so brutal and passionate in his killings. His sloppiness was as alluring as it was alarming.

Edward didn’t say anything, but smiled and stroked your hair once more before unclipping the flap that covered his mouth (making him look ridiculous with his thin lips peeking out) and kissing you on the temple, before closing it back up.

“Shirt off,” he said. You took your oversized sleep shirt (probably one of his) off. It was cold, coming on October, but luckily the position you were in kept your chest warm. “Panties too.”

You pulled off your underwear, leaving you completely exposed to his roaming eyes.

“Lay on your stomach,” said Edward sternly but not harshly. You did. He stood and walked over to his dresser. You could hear him clicking around with things, but with the angle you were lying you could only see as far as the frost on the window, right over the head of the bed. Without warning, Edward’s hands settled on your hips and pulled you back on the bed a few feet. You gasped, and he rubbed gently on the back of your exposed thigh to comfort you.

“Are you gonna…” you trailed off, not wanting to say the word and be incorrect, or God forbid vulgar.

“Am I?” Edward asked teasingly. There was a hint of frustration in his voice, but not any anger with you.

He walked to the dresser and back again before crouching to your level once more. You turned your cheek on the pillow to face him. He was holding something black in his hand, toying with it while you watched him, propped up on your forearms. He handed it to you. It was a camcorder.

“What?” You asked, turning the thing over in your hand and seeing that it was already recording.

“Hold it,” commanded Edward as he maneuvered your arm, all while looking in the viewfinder, so that it was at an angle that showed your face and the room behind you. “Good. Just like that.”

Edward went back to the dresser and picked something up. You whipped your head around curiously and saw that he put his glasses back on. He said, “Eyes front.”

You looked directly at the camera then, trying to process what exactly was happening. You weren’t even sure the lighting was bright enough to pick up much of your features. You felt yourself getting excited — you’d been excited since Edward first spoke, but that anxiousness was a confusing mixture of fear and arousal. You anticipated Edward’s touch, but it still caught you by surprise when his fingers grazed the back of your thigh. Edward gave you a short pat at that — a reminder that he wouldn’t hurt you. He kneeled on the bed next you and rubbed teasing circles up your thighs. The soft black leather of his gloves provided a nice change of texture. Goosebumps rose on your skin at his touch paired with the crisp morning air seeping through the closed window.

Edward noticed your shiver and moved to whisper into your ear, “Are you cold? Do you want me to turn the heater on?”

“Yes, please,” you said, though you were confused as to why he would whisper that. He left you and turned the small space heater on. You smiled as he walked the few feet back to you. It was nice to have someone so attuned to your feelings (which you often didn’t verbalize). He caught you watching and smiled wide.

You heard the flick of his zipper, then the heavy sound of fabric falling to the floor. He shuffled to you, stroking his hard cock over your still body. He walked over to your head and kneeled on the bed, showing his erection to the camera — pre-cum leaking from the tip, swollen and red and pretty. He stroked himself a bit, turned your head towards his length, and said, “Suck.”

You took the head of his cock into your mouth, thought it was difficult due to the craned angle of your head. He took you by the hair and guided you onto his length, taking the camcorder out of your hand and capturing the way your lashes fluttered, how your cheeks hollowed to accentuate your cheekbones.

“Such an obedient little cocksucker. Show everyone how pretty you are,” He said, and guided you further onto his cock, pushing into your mouth for a moment longer before pulling out and handing the camcorder back to you.

Edward came back to the bed and continued his movements, this time feeling along your hips and ass, just kneading your soft flesh. The gentle, repetitive movements relaxes you even knowing they wouldn’t last long. After a few teasing moments, Edward’s fingers dipped into the crease of your inner thigh, just next your core. You waited with baited breath as his middle finger gently dipped into you folds, feeling your warmth. You pushed into his hand gently, eager to feel him touching you where you most needed.

“So nice and wet for me,” said Edward, and you couldn’t see him, but you knew that he was looking at the sticky substance on his glove. He discarded both his gloves, then straddled the back of your thighs.

He moved so his hands were stabilizing his upper body over yours and rocked himself gently against the soft skin of your ass. His already hard cock making you gasp. He continued to rock against you a few more times, until you started to get antsy under his solid weight.

“Stop squirming,” he said sternly. “Are you that desperate already?”

“Please, Ed—“

His hand reached around your throat and squeezed gently, not harming you, but warning you. “What’s my name?

“Please, Riddler?” You said anxiously, hoping you were correct.

“Please what?” He asked. “Use your words. Tell the camera what you want,” he said, and pinched your cheeks to maneuver your face to the lens.

“Please fuck me, Riddler,” you half-whispered at the camera.

“Yeah? You wanna be fucked like a greedy whore?”

“Please,” you breathed, not wanting to say much more due to the feeling of being watched by the camera. For a second you panicked — thinking maybe the camera was somehow showing you in real time; squirming and begging your boyfriend to pound you into the mattress before hundreds of strangers.

“Look at you; so pathetic begging for my cock,” said Edward in a low voice, but he gave into your pleas and lead the tip of his penis, to your pussy, prodding there teasingly before easily sliding inside of you in one smooth movement.

“Fuck,” he groaned, always in awe of the way you took him so perfectly, as if your body was made for his. You pushed yourself against him, but he held you down by the hips, effectively pinning you to the mattress. His heavy, textured jacket rubbed against your back as he let almost all of his body weight fall on you, rocking into you deep and hard, shaking the headboard with each heavy thrust. Every time he entered you, he just barely grazed your g-spot.

“Look in the camera, slut,” Edward snapped suddenly, pushing his hips into yours and once again tilting your chin into the camera. “Show everyone how much you like to be used. I bet you love that you’re just a toy for me to play with, and for them to eye-fuck.”

“Sto-op,” you whined, humiliated by his demeaning words, and loving every second of it.

“What’s wrong? Embarrassed?” Edward cooed, “C’mon, tell ‘em what you are.”

“I’m a slut,” you whispered, head turned towards the camera but eyes still shut.

“That’s right,” Edward half-growled, “my good little slut.”

You whimpered, pushing your face into the mattress to stifle your incessant squeals and moans. Your open mouth left a wet spot on the mattress. The barely-there feeling of Edward hitting almost just right inside of you paired with the onslaught of demeaning words from him, made you desperate for a release you wouldn’t yet receive.

Edward’s pace was unforgiving. He drove into you, practically immobilizing you as he used you for his own selfish release. Being held like this, being pinned underneath a man powerful enough (crazed enough) to kill, to bring so much pain to you, brought more pleasure than it should. To you, there was nothing more exciting than being at the mercy of the man above you.

Edwards' pants, stifled slightly by the mask, quickened. By the jerky movements of his hips, and the low groans, you knew he was approaching climax. In a sudden, spasmodic movement, Edward pulled out of you, and pulled your hips up so your knees were bent. He snatched the camera out of your hand and angled it towards his cock and your backside.

You sat still in the position that Edward put you in. The sound of his hand strong his slick cock. He muttered,“Fuck, gonna mark you up.”

“Cum on me,” you breathed, eager to have Edward’s semen paint your skin; proud to be marked and claimed by him. “Please, Riddler!”

Hot spurts of Edward’s cum spilled across your ass and lower back. Edward set the camera down. You plopped back down into your original position. He kneeled up beside you and wiped your back off with one of the dirty quilts that was situated on the bed.

“Turn over,” he said, taking you by surprise by keeping his dominant demeanor. You did as he commanded, and once again came face to face with him; you could never get over how horrifying he looked in his mask. It made your stomach turn.

“Please take your mask off,” you said.

He did. His hair was mussed, his face red and sweaty. He looked good, sated, eager.

“Good?” Edward asked. You weren’t sure if he was asking if you were okay or if he was good. The answer was yes to both, so you nodded happily.

“I — I need you,” you said, still aching with the need to cum.

“Does my pretty girl want to cum?”

“Please, Eddie.”

“Come ‘ere.” Edward said, but before you could move to him Edward dragged you by your hips towards him. He spread your legs at the knee, then dipped his head down to leave teasing kisses at your inner thighs. He moved to kiss at your cunt with teasing, barely-there touches. He licked at your folds eagerly, getting the taste of your on his tongue. He licked and sucked at your aching clit with enthusiastic fervor. Encouraged by the way you pushed back against his sweaty, wet face, Edward slid two fingers inside you, curling them to hit just the right spot. The added stimulation pushed you nearer to the edge, and with a strangled cry, you came over Edward’s face.

Edward pulled away from you to scoot up and rest his face on your stomach. You pet his soft, brown hair slowly, basking in the love you two shared.

After a moment you spoke up, “Are you going to post that online?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Kind of.”

#paul dano #paul dano x reader #danonation #edward nashton #edward nashton x reader #the batman #edward nashton x you #the riddler

27 notes · View notes

jeusschrist2005 · 3 years ago

Text

I’m Not That Kind of Girl || Joby Taylor x femme!Reader

Word count: 1118

Warnings/tags: Smut, fingering, semi-public sex, love confessions

Summary: Joby is feeling a bit handsy after a gig at a local bar.

“Singer was pretty good, right?” Joby said, humid breath against your ear, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand. You swiveled on your cracked bar stool to greet him. He caught you in a sloppy kiss — his lips tasting of dip and peanuts, which would have disgusted you if it were anyone but him.

“Mmh, I’ve heard better,” you hummed against his lips. You pushed your hand into his greasy mop of hair for another, more forceful kiss. You took advantage of his open, pretty mouth. Joby let his hands rest on your lower back with his finger tips just dipping into the waist of your jeans.

He sucked at your neck and mumbled something into your ear. You pushed gently at his chest, realizing that the two of you were too touchy for such a wide open public place.

“Job,” you said, “stop, you’re being gross.”

Joby didn’t stop. He seemed not to have heard you at all, as he only burrowed further into your shoulder, leaning some of his body weight against you, still mumbling and humming words you couldn’t understand.

“I need you,” he groaned softly. Your stomach dropped in exhilaration. “C’mon, lemme touch you.”

“Not here,” you insisted, “we should just get a cab, okay?”

“I can’t wait that long,” Joby whined petulantly, “we can just go in that bathroom.”

“Joby,” you said unsurely. The idea excited you, you had to admit, but it was purely gross.

“It’ll be quick.”

Joby pushed away from your neck to register your expression. He smiled arrogantly (and drunkenly) when he saw.

He’d won you over. He took you by the hand and lead you the women’s restroom, which was thankfully one lockable room — and fairly clean considering the seediness of the tavern that Joby was playing at. Joby held you against the door as he attacked your neck again, nipping and suckling in all the places that made you gasp. His hands ran over your back, then around the front to grab at your tits.

You trailed your hands up and unbuttoned the first few buttons on Joby’s blue button up so that just a bit of his snake tattoo peeked out. He slid his hands under your shirt but you stopped him, pulling his hands down and peeling his clunky rings and bracelets off before dropping them in your coat pocket. He watched while you worked, a tiny grin gracing his wet lips. Joby’s eyes were glazed with an emotion which you couldn’t pin, but you didn’t have time to question it as he cupped your cheeks in both hands and pressed a gentle kiss to your nose. It was strangely intimate, and a strong contrast to the setting of the bathroom — piss, Clorox, air freshener, black mold. You could blame the noxious fumes for the floaty feeling you got, but that would be dishonest.

Joby took note of your stunned silence, and like the gentleman he seldom was, kissed you again on the lips before whispering against your ear, “Can I finger you?”

“Please,” you said, all too eagerly. He smirked and guided you to the sink by the loops of your jeans.

“Up,” he said. He helped lift you into the sink. He pulled your jeans down to hang on for dear life to your boots. You kept your panties on, which Joby was fine with because he “knows about your weird thing with germs”.

His finger tips (rough and calloused by the strings of his guitar) traces a path up your panties.

“All nice and wet already, “Joby teased, “and all ‘cause of me.”

“Only you,” you huffed with a shuddering sigh. Joby knew exactly hit to make a mess of you. He could play you like an instrument. Under his gaze, his hands, his hips, his words, you were putty. You were too proud to admit that Joby had such a hold over you, but there was a mutual understanding that you belonged to him. And he, you.

Joby moved your underwear aside and dipped his fingers briefly into the pool of arousal that gathered there. He slicked up his long fingers, the brought his middle one up to draw light circles around your clit. You choked back a gasp.

“Feel good, baby?” Joby asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Usually, when Joby called you ‘baby’ it made you feel too young for him, infantile. But now, you didn’t mind. You could see his earnestness, compassion, and care for you. Your heart pounded.

“Yes,” was all you could manage to say.

Joby pushed closer to you then (whether it was because of his tiredness or a desire to be closer to you, you did not know). His chin was tucked over your shoulder. His hand that wasn’t busy stabilized your hip.

He finally pushed his slender fingers inside of you. You muzzled your face into his shoulder, partly to silence your noises, partly to breathe Joby in.

“You’re so responsive,” said Joby, “sounds so good. You’re soaked.”

You whisk into his shoulder. Even more encouraged, Joby crooked his fingers firmly inside of you, finding a spot that made you buck back onto his hand. He continued on berating your g-spot, listening intently to your reactions. He was almost in awe of the way that you clenched around him, how you bore down against his hand for more of him. At last, he pulled his body away from your shoulder, standing like before, and observing the way his fingers disappear ones into your dripping cunt.

“Close?” he asked. You nodded. He could tell you were close.

You could tell he knew by the look on his face — a weird mixture of excitement and arrogance. You dropped your hand down to rub against your own clit, bringing yourself to the edge while Joby’s fingers prodded and pushed inside of you.

You spasmed against both of your hands as you came. When you opened your eyes, Joby was sucking his own fingers, tasting you. He wiped the spit against his thigh, and you let yourself laugh at the situation you were in — fucked out and dirty in the bathroom of a bar you couldn’t remember the name of.

“What?” asked Joby, but he was laughing too.

“Nothing,” you said. Your smile remained. You pulled Joby closer to you by the chain on his pants and palmed at his erection. “Do you need help with that?”

Joby shook his head, smiled.

You hopped off the sink to pull your pants back up. While washing his hands, Joby kept his eyes on you through the mirror.

“I love you, yknow?” he said softly. You froze.

You whispered, “I love you.”

#paul dano x reader #danonation #paul dano #joby taylor #for ellen #joby taylor x reader

31 notes · View notes

jeusschrist2005 · 3 years ago

Text

I wrote the fic this is based on :)! This is lovely!!!

lipstick

based off of a scene from this fic

140 notes · View notes

jeusschrist2005 · 3 years ago

Text

Spent Too Much Time Staring At Your Lips|| Jay (Okja) x femme!Reader

Word count: 4688

Summary: You get closer to Jay while on business

Warnings: smut, vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex (f recieving)

His mouth was open. You watched him breathe in the stale, warm plane air. He looked peaceful despite his uncomfortable posture. You took the opportunity to look at him without fear of embarrassment.

His dark lashes fanned across his high cheeks, the gentle curve of his lips, the bump across his nose. He was beautiful in his sleep, but then again he always was. The difference was stark though: in his sleep, worry didn’t cross his brow.

You sighed and leaned your head against the back of your seat, staring straight ahead. You felt like a creep when you stared at Jay, but you couldn’t keep yourself from doing it. He had a Grecian quality about him. He wasn’t carved from stone, though he looked like it. He was a commanding, comforting presence in your sect of the ALF. He was well-respected, and highly praised by animal rights activists across the globe, so much so that he seemed too good to be true.

And so, Jay’s outstanding leadership skills landed your sect on the plane to Nevada.

An announcement was made for your arrival.

The rental car was a tight squeeze. As per usual, Jay sat in the passenger seat while K drove. The five seat car didn’t quite fit all of you, so Red situated herself in your lap, which was what you’d usually do in a situation like this.

“I booked an SUV,” Jay complained to K. “It said it was eight seats and they stuck me with this piece of shit.” He kept his voice level but you could feel his agitation. He was jetlagged, and already things weren’t going according to plan. As many times as he denied it, Jay was a perfectionist.

“It’s fine, really.” K said in attempts to reassure Jay. The leader rubbed his tired eyes with his palms and tried to calm himself down. He nodded in agreement, and through the rear view mirror you could see him mouth “it’s okay, it’s okay” like a little mantra to himself. You forced down a smile.

“I’m sorry, girls.” Jay said while turning his head to semi-face you. You and Red brushed him off. He leaned his head against the seat and closed his eyes. You tried to watch him, but being sat directly behind him and with another person on your lap, your view was obstructed. You sighed and wrapped your arms around Red’s waist.

The hotel was dated and dingy. You sat on the corn-yellow couch while Jay talked on the phone with the front desk, Blond and K lay sprawled across both of the queen sized beds, and red and silver left to explore the “waterpark” that the “resort” had.

You flicked the TV on and set it to mute. The local news channel was on, spewing something about wildfires and a recent shooting. You expected that.

You listened to Jay’s side of the conversation conversation.

“This? This is your nicest room? This is — this is unacceptable. I need my money back so I can book a hotel that isn’t falling apart,” there was a pause and Jay rested his forehead in his hands, “No, no, I don’t want a voucher, are you kidding? It did not say my booking wasn’t refundable. I can’t believe…”

Jay paused again to let the person on the other end speak. Jay simply said “No…” to their question. They got in one last sentence and Jay slammed the phone down loud enough to startle a half-asleep Blond.

He threw his hands up in defeat (to no one in particular) and spun around in the desk chair to face you.

“Bad news?” You asked, trying to keep the mood light. He nodded solemnly in response. “Why don’t you change out of your suit and relax? Everyone’s tired, maybe a nap will help?” You suggested.

“What will help is getting the fuck out of here!” Jay snapped. But you didn’t take it to heart. You could see the tension in his brow.

“I told you we should’ve stayed on the strip!” Called Silver from his position in the other room. Nobody acknowledged him.

“Okay… do you wanna go get coffee then?”

“I don’t know,” Jay sighed and flopped down on the couch next to you. He gestured for you to give him the remote and you gladly obliged, craving the tingly feeling you get when your fingers brushed Jay’s. He flicked through the channels until he landed on King of the Hill, a show neither of you liked, but it became a familiar comfort due to the endless number of nights spent half-awake in a Holiday Inn of Bumfuck, Nowhere, USA.

“Let’s just stay in for the night then.” You offered. He nodded, but you could tell he wasn’t completely satisfied with that either. “But we don’t have to,” you continued, “I can try talking to the front desk if you want?”

“No,” he waved you off, “I couldn’t ask you to do that. Let’s just make ourselves comfortable.”

You glanced at the large, bright pink stain in the carpet directly in front of you, then the spider in the corner of the room, then the cigarette-burned curtain to your right.

The door opened and you swung around to find Red and K sweating from the one-hundred-ten degree heat.

“How was the pool?” Silver asked from the other room.

“Shitty.” Red responded curtly, then dropped her coat on to the ottoman.

“There were way too many people in it and the water looked cloudy.” K responded, sounding dejected, in a much more courteous manner.

Red flopped down on the couch in between you and Jay and you silently cursed her for it. Jay scooted away from her, and she pressed against your side.

“Can I use your phone really quick?” Red asked you.

“Uh, sure why?”

“I’m tryin’ta find things to do around here.”

“You want to go out? Aren’t you tired?”

“Meh.” She said and typed quickly on your phone. K came and looked over her shoulder at your phone. You felt crowded-in. Jay made eyes at you from across Red. You raised your eyebrows in agreement.

“Oh, we could do laser tag!” Blond shouted from his spot in the bedroom of the suite. Red looked for the place he was talking about and soon sparked a conversation about it with K and Blond. Silver suggested mini-golf. Both of those things sounded insufferable to you.

After one long forty minutes discussing where the group wanted to go (you and Jay staying indifferent to everything they suggested, knowing you’d both hate it either way), they decided on laser tag.

“You’re cool with laser tag?” K asked you as he tied his shoelaces.

“Oh, uh, I have a massive headache. I think I’d rather just rest for a little while.”

“Come onnnnnnnnn…” Silver whined, “we’ve been resting for two hours!”

Jay rolled his eyes and you couldn’t help but snicker under your breath. He met your eyes and sent you a secret smile. Your face burned red.

“Listening to you fight over what you want to do for an hour doesn’t count as rest,” Jay supplied.

“You don’t want to go either?” Red asked Jay.

“No. I have to get us prepared for tomorrow. You guys go ahead though,” he turned to you, “you should go have fun.”

“No, I’d literally rather shoot myself.” You deadpan.

“So grim.” He said to you. He turned to the group, most of which were standing by the door. “You heard her. Go ahead without us.”

You fell asleep on the couch and woke up in a daze and with a major crick in your neck. The xanax you took for your flight anxiety still hadn’t completely worn off, and you felt heavy and tired. You felt like this often, with all the moving and flying the ALF did. You still weren’t quite over your fear of flying, and your drowsiness was beginning to become a problem.

It didn’t matter much whether you were “completely there” (Jay’s words) or not. The mission for tomorrow was going to be simple. You were on “lookout duty” with K again, though you sometimes wished you could be part of the action. Being a newer addition, you were set on the sidelines countless times. You never complained, though. You wanted their approval, and you enjoyed sitting with K. He was funny, and you two usually split a coke and slim jim while listening to the 90s rock station on the radio.

Jay had explained that the mission had to do with an endangered reptile, or something like that (you didn’t listen when your job was always the exact same; you usually studied the map and drawn-up plan while waiting in the getaway car). He was currently on his laptop sitting at the desk, which was facing away from you.

“What’re you doing?” You asked.

Jay swiveled in his chair. “I’m just double checking that everything is in order for tomorrow.”

“You work too hard for us.”

“I’m passionate.” Jay shrugged.

“You’re a perfectionist.”

“No,” he said sternly, “I make sure we don’t screw up. Without me this would be a shit show. Hell, it already is.”

“It’s not a shit show.” You groaned.

“Yes it is, I screwed it all up.”

“No, Jay, it’s fine. You always make sure we’re safe and sound.”

“It smells like piss in here though.”

You laughed open-mouthed and obnoxiously. You were dreary and happy to be in the same room with Jay. Even if he was tearing himself down, you still enjoyed his company. He was a paternal comfort to not only you, but your entire sect of the ALF.

“Why don’t you come sit? South Park is on.”

He shut his computer and sat on the couch with you again. He was still in his suit (save the jacket). You almost chastised him for it, but he seemed comfortable enough and you didn’t want to intrude. He loosened his tie and you watched the way his long fingers wrapped around it. He lifted up his hips and unbuckled his belt. You felt yourself tinge red at the clink of the buckle — how many times had you imagined that sound? How many times had you wished you were the one undoing that damned belt?

He glanced at you and followed your gaze to his belt. You hadn’t turned your head away in time. Fuck. He didn’t say anything, just sat more comfortably on the couch and pulled some of the scraggly, beige blanket off of your lap and onto his. You didn’t remember putting the blanket on.

Jay laid his arm out behind your head, and sat with his legs in a “manspread”. This had become one of his habits — spreading himself out in order to get comfortable. You couldn’t deny that you liked the way his fingertips just barely grazed your shoulder.

After a few minutes of silence and the comforting drone of nighttime cartoons, Jay spoke up.

“I’m glad they’re gone.” He sighed heavily.

“What do you mean?”

“I just can’t stand so many people all in one place at the same time. As much as I love them, I can only take so much banter. Do you know what I mean?”

“Oh. Is that why you wanted me to go with them? I would have left if what you wanted was alone time.”

“No, no,” he said and rested his palm fully on your shoulder, pulling you in for an awkward side hug. “I just wanted you to enjoy yourself. You’re like our keeper.”

“What?” You asked. You pushed yourself away from his shoulder to look him in the face. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you busy yourself by taking care of us. It’s sweet, really. You’re sweet.”

“You think I’m sweet?”

“Of course, you’re perfect.”

“Perfect?”

Jay averted his eyes, then rubbed them with his fists. “Yeah, you make a great addition to this team.”

You frowned. You opened your mouth to speak but only a desperate squeak came out. You stood abruptly.

“I should sleep.” You said, keeping your voice level, though you felt your throat closing with tears. When you tried to walk past, Jay seized your wrist.

“Wait.” Jay muttered.

“What?”

“Don’t go. I meant it,” he said while keeping his grip strong, eyes frantically searching your face, “when I said you were perfect. I meant it. I didn’t want to make you feel put upon.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I think you’re the only person I’ve ever met who doesn’t drain me. That counts for something, right?”

“Is that enough for you? You make it sound like I’m barely tolerable.”

He stood up and took both your hands in his. You couldn’t help but notice how much larger and stronger they were than your own. You felt like a doll in his vice-grip.

“I — I worded that wrong, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re so much more to me than I let on. I want to be with you, all the time.”

You thought maybe that was overkill. You pulled your hands away from him.

“What are you saying?” You asked anxiously. You’ve been wishing for this moment for months but now that it was reality, you felt a harsh sense of dread flood you.

Jay didn’t say anything for a moment, then he seized you by the waist and pulled you close to him. The heat from his body was electric, and you could hardly register what was going on through the pounding in your ears. Jay nuzzled your nose with his own then met your lips with a chaste kiss, then another deeper one. You gripped tightly to his biceps as he kissed you languidly. You pulled back gently. You looked at Jay’s glossy, swollen lips and felt heat pooling between your legs. You leaned into the crook of his neck.

Jay’s hands traced patterns on your back as you embraced him. Your heart stuttered in your chest. Was this really happening? The taste of him on your tongue, the smell of his expensive cologne — it overtook you.

“You — I never expected,” you stuttered, “Jay, I don’t know what to say.”

“If you don’t want —“

“No, no, I want you.” You pushed out of the hug and held him by the shoulders, forcing him to make eye contact with you. “I’ve wanted you since forever.” You admitted.

He smiled goofily at you, pleased with your response.

“I felt the same — I feel the same. I want to be yours.”

Your stomach dropped at his words. You cupped his jaw in your hands and pulled him in for another, gentle kiss. He cupped your face too, keeping it still while he slowly became more forceful, a welcome intrusion in your mouth. Your lower half ignited with arousal, and you ground yourself up against his strong thigh. He gasped, and pushed his clothed erection against your hip.

“I need you,” you whispered feverishly. He groaned in your ear and peppered wet kisses down your jaw line.

“How do you need me? Tell me how you want me.”

You grabbed one of his hands, which rested comfortably on the small of your back, and led his hand to your breast. His hand shaped around the soft mound of flesh. Your nipples hardened at the tender contact. Even through your clothes, you were sensitive to his gentle, expert touches. Jay caressed your body, keeping his touches light. He littered open-mouth kisses down your jaw, neck, collar bones — any area of skin he could onto as he slowly led you to the nearest queen bed. The backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress and you pulled away from him to catch your breath.

You looked down at the mattress and its dingy, grey-white duvet. You were meant to share it with Red, two of the boys sharing one queen, and the other two sharing the sofa-bed. Felt guilty for a brief second before sitting yourself on the edge of the bed.

Jay stood over you, looking large and intimidating. He looked hesitant as he looked at your face from his advantageous angle. You took the tip of his tie between your thumb and forefinger, then pulled him down closer to your face. His eyes widened at your decision to take the reins. For a moment he looked uneasy, then his expression relaxed as he waited for your next move. You felt emboldened at his nervous look. God, he was beautiful.

“You know I love that pretty nose of yours.” You whispered to him.

He tinged a light shade of pink. You couldn’t help but find that endearing. Your brought a finger to the hump on the bridge of his nose, then slowly trailed it to the tip. Jay caught your wrist in his hand and pulled your finger tips to trace over his lips, while simultaneously sinking to his knees to get on your level.

You pushed your fingers further into his mouth, which he opened willingly, allowing you to explore him. You slowly pushed your finger further in, just to see what he would do, and he clamped down and sucked around it. You smiled at his obedience.

You took your fingers away when he started tracing your upper thighs with his nimble hands. You spread your legs a bit and watched him move his hands to the meaty parts of your inner thighs, mere inches away from where you need him most.

“Jay,” you said quietly, “please.”

“Please what?” He said and met your pleading eyes.

“I need you to eat me out. Touch me, please, Jay.”

“I’ve been wanting to taste you for forever,” Jay admitted. You pet his head and watch silently as he gets to work taking your lounge pants off, lifting your hips to assist him.

This was such a pretty sight: Jay, on his knees before you, kissing along your thighs. You felt yourself getting wetter at the sight of him along with the litany of tender touches he left across your legs.

With bated breath, you watched as Jay pulled the edges of your panties down the tops of your legs, exposing yourself fully to him. He abandoned them on the floor. His hands pushed your knees apart to get a good look at you pussy. He brought one cold finger to slide in between the lips and collect the slick that gathered there. He stuck his wet finger into his mouth and sucked, savoring the taste of you. You close your eyes, overwhelmed.

“Open your eyes,” said Jay.

You did.

“I want you to watch me play with you.” he continued.

You were speechless. Jay had a way of making you feel stuck in a moment. It was almost majestic. He was fantastical to you. Just being in the same room with him felt unreal.

Jay pulled your hips closer to the edge of the bed and dragged his finger up to tease your clit. You gasped at this light first touch of pleasure. He rubbed gentle, experimental circles around the sensitive bud. You studied his concentrated expression. He leaned closer to your center and breathed warm air against it, causing you to twitch. You lifted your hand to the back of his head and urged him forward. He groaned in response — hungry for you.

Jay obliged to your silent pleas, lapping at the fluid that gathered around your hole, then making his way up to lick and suck at your aching clit. He wasted no time in sliding a slender finger inside of you, pressing up against the spot inside you that drove you mad. You arched against his skillful tongue. He slid a second finger in, adding a good amount of girth, and rubbed insistently at your front walls, bringing you closer to the edge with each precise movement.

He continued to finger you eagerly while licking clumsily and excitedly against your cunt. You held him in place with a tight grip in the hair on the back of his head, causing him to moan against you. You felt ready to come undone under his efforts. You tugged gently on his hair and he detached his mouth from you, ready to listen, but still pumping his fingers inside you.

“Jay, stop.” You chided. He slid his fingers out and you clenched around the emptiness that was left.

“Are you okay?” He asked worriedly.

“Yes,” you breathed, “I just need you.”

“I have you. What do you need?”

You groaned. You hated him for making you ask aloud. He knew exactly what you wanted whether you spoke it or not.

“I need you to fuck me.” You obliged. At that, Jay rose from his knees to kiss you.

“God, I want you.” He huffed against your neck.

“I need you so bad, Jay, please, please.” You begged.

With ease, Jay lifted you sit higher on the bed. You automatically spread your legs to accommodate him.

Jay scooted up against you, his tie dangling over your still-covered chest. You reached up to loosen the tie while, at the same time, Jay bunched the fabric of your top over your hips and stomach. You flung his tie to the floor and lifted your arms to remove your shirt.

Now completely bare in front of Jay, who was still completely dressed, you felt inferior to him. His large, powerful form over yours made you yearn for him to completely and utterly own you. You wanted him to claim you, you wanted to be his.

He took a moment to soak in your bare body. Your nipples peaked from the freezing hotel air conditioner. Being exposed to him was not as uncomfortable as you thought it would be. He looked ok at you with admiration and love. You felt completely comfortable in your skin under him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, resting one wide palm against your chest, “so perfect. So good and relaxed for me.”

You smiled and turned your head away from him. You couldn’t take his intense stare without cracking up.

“What?” He asked, a hint of humor in his voice.

“You just… you’re breathtaking.” You told him.

He looked at you with those big, loving doe eyes and you had to turn away again to smile. He kissed both of your rouge cheeks and began to unbutton his dress shirt.

“I can’t wait to have you any longer.” Jay said as he rushed to shuck his shirt off.

“You don’t have to,” you smiled. He smiled too.

You watched, spread out and awkwardly presenting yourself, as Jay slipped his slacks off eagerly. He was left only in a pair of grey boxers. His prominent bulge stretched the fabric and a wet-patch of precum soaked into them. You sat up to pull his boxers down, exposing his hard, leaking cock. You took it into your hand, stroking it hesitantly. Jay grunted above you and thrust his hips up into the loose circle of your fist. He looked at you apologetically, and watched silently as you jerked him off, thumb flicking over the swollen tip.

Jay pushed gently on your shoulder and told you to lay down. You laid back and presented yourself to him. He crawled up the bed so he was situated between your legs. He reached his hand back down to your drenched pussy and slid his fingers inside easily, opening you up again to prepare for him. You groaned in frustration, which he found amusing.

“Have some patience,” he said, “you’ve been doing so well.”

“Please, Jay. I’m ready for you.”

“Okay,” he said and pecked your lips once more before aligning himself in your drenched hole. You sighed in relief as he slowly pressed his tip into you.

Once he was fully situated inside you, Jay stilled and let you adjust to his size. You clenched around him impatiently. He was above average size, and the stretch was a little uncomfortable, but you quickly adapted to him. After all the teasing, you were ready for him to start moving. You took it upon yourself to shift your hips against his. He rocked gently back into you, grazing your g-spot and making you twitch against him.

You and Jay quickly got into a gentle rubbing motion. Jay buried his face in the crook of your neck and made heavy breaths into it as he brought his hips to yours.

“You feel so good,” he muttered in your ear, “you take my cock so well.”

You gasped at his words. His approval meant the world to you. You involuntarily clenched around him. He nibbled gently on the lobe of your ear.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, so tight.”

Your face burned at the praise. Jay removed his face from your neck to bite along your collarbones, and you took a moment to kiss his head. He was still pushing into you in small, gentle increments and you could tell by his strained groans that he was holding back.

“You can go harder,” you told him, and he did. It wasn’t only to appease him, though. You were sure you could cum from the gentle pace he had set, but you liked the way it felt when something pounded into you more than gentle rubs. The feeling of being used and dominated by your lovers got you off faster than anything.

Jay began to pant as he gradually adjusted his thrusts, pushing deep and hard into your welcoming cunt. He was red-faced, overcome with his own need but wanting so badly to satisfy you first. One by one, he took your hands, which were currently on his shoulders, and pinned them onto the mattress, restraining. You thrust yourself up against him, amazed (and unsurprised) by his domineering.

He worked himself into you steadily for a while until he could feel you spasming against his thick cock. Knowing you were about to cum, Jay let go of one of your hands and rubbed sloppily against your clit, silently begging for you to cum before he spilled his load inside of you. You came around him, spasming wildly and arching your back, while Jay continued to fuck you through the aftershocks. You were just coming down for your high, sweating and panting, when Jay pulled out of you, jacking himself off. It didn’t take long for him to cum, spurting thick, hot ropes over your stomach and ribs.

You gasped, feeling like a used whore, but absolutely loved all the while. Jay looked silently at the mess he made on your stomach, before dragging a finger through it and bringing it up to your lips like an offering. You sucked the finger into your mouth, licking the salty, bitter fluid from his finger. He didn’t force you to clean all of it up, though you could tell he wanted to. You would have, if he tried, but instead he wordlessly left for the bathroom.

You felt abandoned for the thirty seconds you spent laying naked and sticky on the bed before Jay came back out with a wet cloth. He wiped the cum off of your stomach, and the wetness from between your legs. You felt like a useless baby being wiped by him, but you figured he liked taking care of you if the warm smile on his face gave anything away.

“I’m sorry for making a mess.” Jay said tenderly. You chuckled at him.

“No, it was hot.”

“Okay,” Jay smiled and kissed your forehead. After a few seconds he asked, panicked “you’re on birth control right? That’s the little pill you take?”

You laughed again. “Yeah, it’s birth control.”

“Oh, thank God.”

You smiled up at him dumbly.

“Let’s get under the covers,” Jay offered.

You let him make your bed up comfortably, then got in bed side by side with him. You laid your head on his chest and he stretched his arm around your shoulders, securing you to his soft body. He kissed your head.

“Red’s gonna be pissed.” You groaned, suddenly remembering your bedmate.

“She’ll be fine.” Jay said and ruffled your hair.

#jay okja #okja 2017 #paul dano #danonation #paul dano x reader #jay okja x reader #jay okja x you

37 notes · View notes