#WHAT KIND OF LOVE IS THIS THAT LOVES SO DEEP TO FIX THE SMALLEST THINGS AND PUT IN EFFORT WHEN IT COMES TO STUFFED ZEBRAS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fortheb0ys · 6 months

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Sorry for the screenshots, I posted it without finishing what I was saying :)

THANK YOU, POOKIE🙏 YOU GUYS FEEDBACK ALWAYS MAKES ME THE HAPPIEST😭 I JUST LOVE HOW YOU EXPLAIN MY WRITING :)

I think older men with braces is so underrated. I think people tend to think braces is something we get when we're young but people don't realize how often older people get them. Hell, I've seen a burly mid 40 construction guy have them. AHHH HE LOOKED SO PRETTY😢

I have such a huge oral fixation that I just love love love them I can't even explain :3

AAAAHHHHH PUPPY PLAY JEFF🙏🙏 THANK YOU FOR FEEDING ME AN IDEA!!

Tiny lil drabble below :3

I'm just I'm imaging dog sitting for Shauna while she's at "book club".

Jeff's a but weary of you at first cause he's a loyal doggie to Shauna.

Of course, you'd be friendly and tried to win him over. You'd bring treats, toys, and take him for walks down trails Shauna said he liked. He'd just take the treat to his puppy crate and munch on it quietly or play with his new toy alone in the backyard as you sat on his porch, watching hoping he'd want to play fetch. You'd always treat him kindly, calling him a 'good boy' whenever he'd do the smallest things.

But nothing worked. Most days he'd sit and whine at the door, waiting for Shauna to return home. You'd never try to push him, knowing he was only really ever comfortable around her.

You'd push you luck and try to give him pats but he'd shy away from you touch and give you warning nips at your hand. Jeff had a biting problem that Shauna was training him on and knew it would get him in trouble if he bit you hard.

Unfortunately was going to be a situation that he'd find himself in.

Jeff had a plush bunny named Bunbun that Shauna had gifted him for one of his birthdays. It had became his most precious item. He'd never leave it out of his sight, taking it everywhere he went.

It'd seen better days and was a bit raggedy. Though in Jeff's eyes that what made it special. All his happy memories told their story in each hole and stain.

One day while Jeff laid down for a nap, you thought it a kind gesture to surprise him with his Bunbun all fresh and fixed up. You sneakily take his plush without waking him to patch and wash it up.

You woke him up for dinner and show his plush all fixed up. To your surprise, Jeff does not take it well. You ruined him. All those special memories washed away. It wasn't what Jeff knew nor liked.

Jeff was seeing red. With teeth beared and a growl sounding deep from his chest, he lunged at his biting deep into your hand. You quickly throw him off, now just as angry as him. Blood oozes from your hand as you cradle it to your chest, dirtying your shirt.

You yelled at him calling him a 'bad dog', taking him by the collar to drag him to his crate and locking him inside till Shauna came home.

Now alone to reflect on his actions, Jeff felt the guilt weight on him. You were just trying to be kind. Tears welled in his eyes as he whined out.

It felt like an eternity before Shauna had come home.

Jeff could hear you explain what happened and her apologizing profusely than the door closing as you leave. When she comes in the room, a look of disappointment paints her face.

"Jeff, what the fuck? Why would you do that? He's just trying to be fucking nice and you bite him! You're such a bad dog."

Before Jeff could argue his case, Shauna stormed out turning off the lights leaving Jeff locked in his crate alone in the dark.

All night Jeff cries. Why was it just earlier he was a good boy but now he's just a bad dog? He just was upset about his bunny and he's working on his biting problem.

He fails into a restless sleep, only to be awaken by the front door slamming shut. The early morning sun is telling him that Shauna has left without giving him a goodbye kiss. She must still be mad at him.

Before he could sulk farther, Jeff hears footsteps. He perks up thinking Shauna hadn't left but he sees you walk into the living room. Jeff grins, happy to you back. You must have forgiven him but the empty look behind your eyes tells Jeff something different.

You walk over to his crate, unlocking it. Without saying a word you sit on the couch, turning on the television to fill the silent room.

Jeff shyly walks over to sit next to you. He takes his place, a gap taking up the space in between you.

"H-hello." Jeff nervously tries to apologize but he's not sure how.

"Jeff, I'm only here cause Shauna paid me in advance. I'll be gone at the end of the week." You said coldly before Jeff could even apologize.

Jeff's countenance falls. You used no nicknames. No sweet tones. You hate him. Shauna hates him. He really was a bad boy. Tears once again fill his eyes and this time he couldn't quietly cry. He sobbed out apologize, pleading that he was a good boy.

His begging broke you. It was clear Jeff was genuinely remorseful.

"Jeff? Puppy? It's okay. I forgive you." You comfort him while pulling him in, holding him close to your chest.

Once he calmed down, Jeff apologized properly, explaining his motives and with his explanation you agree to start over again.

Jeff was still a bit weary mostly but soon you found yourself caring for him most of the week. Shauna spent more and more time at her book club.

Of course Jeff didn't take it well. Spent his time whining for her return. You kept him preoccupied with toys, walks and playtime. His separate anxiety was a bitch but you seemed to fill her place just a bit.

Unlike the first, your kindness didn't go unappreciated. Jeff and you grew closer. He was much more hyper, was attached at your hip and wanted psychical and emotional affect. Even when Shauna came home, Jeff was upset to see you leave.

Shortly after you found things had became more sexual. You were bathing Jeff after he gotten himself dirty while playing in the mud.

Jeff was enjoying his bubble bath, you both giggling and splashing each other one minute than the next Jeff finds himself pulling you into a bruising kiss.

You pushed him off, asking what Shauna would think. Jeff admits to you that there's no book club, that Shauna's cheating, that's he's just a mutt to her.

God, you knew you shouldn't have went farther but everything felt so right with him. If he wasn't Shauna's puppy than he'd be yours.

From that moment on, you and him began your relationship.

He'd greet you at the door, completely naked with only his ears on and a tail plug snug in his asshole.

His tail plug wagging as he bounces up and down excited to see you. You'd be fucking him on the couch within a minute. His begging pants filled the room.

You'd have sex so often that Jeff rarely ever wore clothes while around you. The moment Shauna left so did his clothes. He'd dress when you left but the fabric on his skin felt so foreign.

His energy sure came in handy as well. Different positions, different places in the house, he could fuck for hours. His sexual urges were unsatisfied. At times you'd arrive to watch him and he'd be in his puppy crate masturbating. The mess in his crate signaling he'd had already came a few times already.

He'd look at you with big puppy eyes, begging to have your cock in his mouth while he pushes his plug in and out of his hole.

By the time you put your cock in him, he's cum more times than he could count. The blonde fur on his tail now a darkened, completely soaking wet. His cock's so sensitive that he whimpers as you stroke him.

He loves belly rubs especially after sex. His tummy slightly bulging from how times you've cummed in him. His belly looked like it was a full litter of your pups.

He was always a loud pup. From barking at anything and everything or crying for attention. During sex he was no different. He'd whine and whimper. You bought him a bone gag to keep the noise down.

Remember his biting problem he'd be working on?

At times you'd leave the house covered in bite marks. When Jeff was completely lost in the pleasure, he'd bite unknowingly. When he'd realized what he had done, he'd lick your wounds clean.

Jeff would wear a plug constantly. He loved the feeling of being full. Whether it was the plump head of your cock, plug or toy, he craved the feeling.

Praise was always a big thing to Jeff. He needed to be reassured that he was a good boy due to the rocky start of your relationship. Whenever he felt like he had be bad, he'd cry and beg for you not to throw him away. You'd pull him into a tight hug and cradle him till he calmed down. Once he did, he was back to his hyper and horny self.

#thank you 🥭#whole thing was inspired by you #jeff sadecki x male reader #jeff sadecki x reader #jeff sadecki #x male reader #x reader #yellowjackets x male reader #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets #sub character #top male reader #dom reader #dom male reader #☆*cj's inbox 📥#☆*🥭

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 4 months

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Saw that you write for ST now and maybe you could hit us with a messy/sneaking around type of relationship with iv if you can

Messy

The thing was that you had always been there. Almost from the moment the bands had been formed. Always there. Offering help. Sorting through little things that needed fixing. You were familiar. Safe. Not to mention that you threw the same shit IV threw at you back at him. Even if you looked like kids bickering about the smallest of things. It eased something deep within him.

“This is messed up”, you breathed heavily, pulling back. You knew that you shouldn’t have caved in. Shouldn’t have given in to the temptation to sneak into IV’s room now that everyone has fallen asleep. “It’s you who sneaked in here”, he muttered, brushing his fingers over your puffy lips. “As if you wouldn’t have done the same if I hadn’t beaten you to it”, you rolled your eyes at him. It was his antics after all. You were the one finding him at odd hours, knocking on your door.

“I have more self-control, princess”, IV breathed right against your lips. But the minute you leaned it to kiss him once again, he pulled back. A devilish smile on his face. The bastard knew he was hot. Knew he had you in as tight of a chokehold as you had him. “Really?”, you snickered, “Well, I can go then”, you shrugged. “By all means do”, and that’s enough to make your face fall. Funny banter forgotten.

It shouldn’t surprise you by now. This had been the reality ever since he found you backstage two months ago. The adrenaline had been running high that night and IV just sprinted to you, practically smashing his lips to yours. And then the push and pull started. He might have been all shits and giggles but this guy was pretty clueless when it came to knowing when he was crossing a line.

“Fuck you”, you hissed, turning to climb off his lap. Nearly tripping over the discarded clothes on the floor. His hand wrapped around your upper arm almost immediately but you yanked it out of his grip, “No, I heard you loud and clear IV”, huffing you picked up your shirt, yanking it over your head. “Come on”, IV grunted, frustration lacing his features. A bitter chuckle slipped past your lips, “So, who’s crawling back to me now?” He tilted his head to the side, watching you for a moment, “Did you just throw the line from our song at me?” Annoyed at yourself for not thinking about it you simply flared your arms in the air, “Look at you figuring it out”.

You waited for a snarky comment. A smart comeback. He was the master of those. Never missing a beat but it never came. Instead, he reached out, pushing some of the loose strands of hair away from your face. “Don’t go”, IV muttered, “Please”. And here it went all of your frustration directed at him. “IV this is all kinds of messed up”, you shook your head, trying to put distance between you both. “I want you here”, he sighed. Letting the silence fall between you both before adding, “I just don’t know how to ask for it”.

You closed your eyes, feeling his words sink into your bloodstream. IV sneaked an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. You didn’t fight it this time. Letting your arms fall loosely over his torso. “Thank you”, he breathed against your hair, making you snort lightly, “That sounds weird, don’t thank me”, “But you stayed”. You pulled back ever so slightly, looking into his eyes.

Those same eyes that had you drowning for weeks now. “Don’t look at me like that”, you muttered, pushing his head to the side. “Like what?”, he chuckled under his breath, making you huff, “You know well like what, IV”. And you knew that he wasn’t gonna admit so you added quietly, “With those puppy dog eyes that make me do stupid shit”.

His signature smirk spread over his face once more, “I like it when you do stupid shit”. You shook your head at him, “I bet”. Taking your face between his hands he squeezed your cheeks together, making you hit his chest playfully. “But I love when we do stupid shit together more”, he shrugged and that was enough to make a smile break onto your lips as well. “Here it is”, IV beamed, “That smile I love so much”. Leaning in he captured your lips for a feather-like kiss. “You’re an idiot”, you pointed a finger at him. “For you, yes”, he winked, leaning in to kiss your finger while he was at it.

#sleep token x reader #sleep token x you #sleep token imagine #sleep token x oc #sleep token iv x reader #sleep token iv imagine #sleep token iv x you

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smileysuh · 2 years

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lovely puppy

🌙 staring. Model!Jeno x afab!Photographer!Reader

🔮 preview. You’re reminded of the Greek Narcissus, who had fallen in love with himself in a still pond reflection- But Jeno does tear his gaze away from the photo - unlike the Grecian beauty who’d turned into a flower for want of looking at himself - and Jeno turns to you with eyes full of that same puppylike innocence that had bewitched you during the shoot.

cw/ tw. simp!jeno, praise, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), sexy polaroids, size kink, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, pussy/breast worship, etc...I pet names. puppy (7)

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 5.8k

🍭 aus. model/photographer, non idol, strangers to lovers, etc...

☀️ mlist + an. this is a work of fiction intended to spark joy, if Jeno's recent controversies have affected you, please protect yourself and refrain from interacting with this post, and allow others to make the same decision for themselves.

As a photographer, you’ve worked with your fair share of models. You’re familiar with their general ways of being, the highs and lows, the primadonas- the narcissism that lays the foundation for your profession-

And yet- you still find yourself being surprised by the new talent that fights tooth and nail to be on the receiving end of your attention. There are models who have studied your work, and enter your studio with wide eyes and breathy comments of grandeur. Then there are the models who see you as a cheque, a faceless, nameless camera that is there only to capture their beauty… they have little respect for the great task that befalls you as photographer.

Today, one of the models you’re working with fits neither category, and it’s hard for you to ignore.

Lee Jeno is an up-and-coming male model from Korea; he’s young, and there’s a glint of innocence in his eye that you notice the first time you snap a shot- but there’s also something else- something dangerous. Something that says, try me-

You’re not sure what to make of him, or the way he so easily flips between a man with a confident, smouldering stare, and an off-camera puppy who’s eager to please. But you do know that you enjoy the way he takes direction.

“Lift your chin up slightly,” you instruct, eyes fixed on your camera screen, watching the way a simple shift of his head can allow the perfect amount of light to caress his skin, “Just like that-” the shutter clicks; “Beautiful.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, a small movement, one that most people wouldn’t notice- but it’s your job to notice the smallest of details, and you don’t miss any of the subtle cues Jeno subconsciously throws your way.

Even when you direct him with two of the other female models visiting your studio, Jeno’s body language so often mirrors your own that it almost feels uncanny- things like the simple shift of his feet pointing toward you- something you keep adjusting him on- it’s becoming harder and harder to talk yourself out of the fact that Lee Jeno is interested in you as more than his photographer.

“Look her in the eyes,” you tell him, standing a mere foot or two away for a close-up between Jeno and another model. This is the first thing he’s having trouble with, as his gaze keeps shifting to you, anxiously looking for more and more direction as the shoot goes on- “take a breath, and when you’re ready, look into her eyes-”

He’s beautiful. Breathtaking really, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he tries for the shot again, looking at the girl in his arms with a certain kind of shyness that’s becoming rare in your profession-

“Chin up a little more again-” you urge- gnawing on your tongue, poised to take the photo-

Jeno follows through with the movement, and the angle is just so- allowing sunshine to cascade across his skin again, illuminating the deep, chocolatey brown of his irises-

The shutter snaps; a perfect moment captured in time.

You release the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

As you look over the photo, stepping to the side and allowing some other members of the crew to rush around and deal with the models, you realize that there’s a very real chance of you falling in love with the beautiful model who’s captured so much of your attention today.

You’ll have to be careful.

It’s late evening and you’re two glasses of wine deep into looking over the photos of the day when someone buzzes your front door. Despite everything in your head telling you that the person who’s arrived unannounced isn’t Jeno- something in your heart knows it is.

You take your time, laughing slightly to yourself, swirling your drink as you head down the small flight of stairs to your entryway. Just to be safe, you check through the peephole, and your heart nearly stops from the brief glimpse of the model who’d had your full attention not twelve hours ago.

Swallowing thickly, you open your front door, leaning in the archway with a cocked brow.

You give him a once over, examining the leather jacket, white shirt, black jeans outfit that should be more basic than sexy, except- he pulls it off so well-

You don’t bother with a hello, you jump straight to the point; “Did you forget something, mister Lee?”

“Jeno,” he corrects, and you watch his adam’s apple bob in amusement, “and uh- no, I didn’t forget anything.”

“Yet, here you are,” you tilt your head to the side, flashing a smile that captures his gaze. The man couldn’t be more obvious about his attraction to you if he tried- “Would you like to come in?”

He nods, as eager a motion as ever, licking his lips and following you past the threshold when you push the door wider for him.

“I had a good time during the shoot today,” he tells you, keeping up the same cordial manners he’d shown while on the job. He even flashes you a genuine smile, his eyes dazzling in their sincerity while he takes off his loafers in your awning.

As a photographer based in New York, you’re more than used to people leaving their shoes on when they enter your space- there’s something sweet about the careful, respectful way Jeno interacts with your home-

“I had a good time during the shoot today too,” you echo when you realize you’ve taken a moment too long looking at the model without saying anything, and you clear your throat before continuing; “You’re lovely to work with.”

“I’m lovely.” Now it’s his turn to repeat your words, smiling to himself- and you think he must enjoy the way the English tastes- you enjoy the way it sounds coming from him, the little accented tones- “Thank you.”

He’s so polite- you could really, really get used to this.

“Can I get you a drink?” you ask, as you head up the stairs to the main level of your home, the model following closely on your tail.

“I’ll have what you’re having,” he answers while you enter the kitchen.

Wine it is.

You don’t mind the quiet, don’t mind the way he watches you while you grab the bottle- it feels kind of nice to be the watched instead of the watcher, and within minutes you’re handing Jeno a wine glass and making your way towards the main studio area of your apartment, where you can relax in the safety of a familiar set.

“Take a seat,” you tell him, the instruction coming as naturally as the wave of your hand towards your sage green, sectional sofa.

Despite other sitting options, you choose to also get comfortable on the modular vintage piece you’d purchased last month, it’s one of your favorites, and it allows you to tuck your knees up, leaning an arm on the backrest while you angle towards the model.

Even with his loafers off, Jeno is dressed in a way that makes him stand out- at least, in comparison to you, who are in a mauve, silk sleeping set.

Your night plans hadn’t involved leaving your place of residence- Jeno’s obviously had.

“What time is it?” you ask, taking a sip of your wine while you watch Jeno get as comfortable as possible while in jeans on your sofa-

He pulls his phone out of his front pocket, which makes adjusting substantially easier, and tells you “almost midnight.”

“It’s still early for models, no?”

He lets out a small chuckle, pocketing his phone before taking off his leather jacket to throw over the back of the couch.

“Still early,” he confirms.

“So why aren’t you out at the clubs?” you cock your head to the side, sizing Jeno up again now that his jacket is off. “What brought you here?”

He swallows, shifting to face you, denim stretching across thick thighs when he lifts a knee to rest it on the couch. “I wanted to see you.”

“You saw me this afternoon,” you play coy, trying not to grin too hard at the way the model is inflating your ego.

Jeno licks his lips, hand smoothing against the fabric of your couch. “Wanted to see you alone.”

The word ‘alone’ almost feels like it echoes in the quiet night of your large studio room.

It’s just you and Jeno, nestled on your couch, amongst the various plants and items that make up the space.

There’s no one to witness this, no one except the moon, who shines brightly through your wall of windows, illuminating the model in the same loving manner that the sun had during the shoot.

“Do you do this often?” you ask, taking a sip of your wine and assessing the man over the rim of your glass.

“Do what?”

At first, you think Jeno might honestly not know what you’re implying, but then you see the shadow of a smirk work its way onto his lips, a glint of mischief sparking in his eye-

He’d seen the way you’d played coy just moments ago, when you’d told him he’d seen you in the afternoon, and he’d just shown you two can play that game.

After clearing your throat, you rephrase the question. “Do you often show up at a photographer’s house looking for a little… one on one attention?”

He smiles, meeting your gaze, and gives a small shake to his head - no - taking a sip of his wine.

You wait on his next words.

“I liked the way you directed me during the shoot today.”

It’s a statement that surprises you- as is his next; “Can you show me some of the photos? I interrupted you while you were editing?”

He motions to the laptop that’s closed on the coffee table a few feet away - you’d abandoned it when your front bell had been rung - along with your tea, and phone, which is already on silent, as you should have been in bed a while ago-

You knew there’d been something urging you to stay awake and edit-

You’d thought it had been the images of Jeno’s back, exposed by wonderful styling-

But it had been the model himself, delivered to your door-

“I can show you the photos,” you tell him, reaching to set your glass of wine down next to the tea. Neither liquid is needed right now, your thirst is being quenched in a much more wonderful way-

“Did you-” Jeno’s words are quiet at first, but he clears his throat and repeats with more confidence, “Did you enjoy telling me what to do?”

You cast him a sideways glance while typing in your passcode, laptop opening to a closeup of Jeno’s face that you’d been inspecting.

“You’re very good at what you do,” you say delicately, still toeing the line-

If you tell him, point blank, that he’s a good boy- that he’s wonderful at taking direction - that you’ve been thinking about what he’d be like in bed- taking more directions-

Well, if you were to do any of those things- then this harmless flirtation would escalate to the next level- and as much as you enjoy Jeno, as much as he draws you in- you’re not really sure you’re willing to risk it- to risk your career, your reputation-

Jeno shifts closer to you, shoulder brushing up against your own while he bends down to look at the open laptop on the coffee table.

“The lighting-” he breathes, lips parting-

You watch Jeno inspect himself- inspect the version of himself that you’d captured hours ago; a beautiful, young stallion of a man- who could have the whole world in the palm of his hand if he wanted to.

You’re reminded of the Greek Narcissus, who had fallen in love with himself in a still pond reflection-

But Jeno does tear his gaze away from the photo - unlike the Grecian beauty who’d turned into a flower for want of looking at himself - and Jeno turns to you with eyes full of that same puppylike innocence that had bewitched you during the shoot.

“No one’s ever taken pictures of me like this before,” Jeno tells you, a line that makes you scoff.

“You’ve worked with photographers way better than me,” you insist, a self-depreciation that you follow through with a list of a few of your peers who’ve also had Jeno in their set-

“But the way you take photos,” the model cuts you off with a statement of his own, his hand coming down on your thigh-

You look down at his hand for a moment, and then back up. Your eyes meet and Jeno’s words die in his throat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips-

“Jeno,” when you say his name, you notice the way his gaze flickers between your eyes and mouth- “from now on, when I ask you things, I want you to answer honestly- can you do that for me?”

He nods, a hurried “yes” tumbling from him a moment later to pair with the motion.

“You’ve come to my studio, at midnight, to get me alone- you want to see the pictures-” he gives a small nod with each statement, “so why don’t you tell me, in detail, what you really want.”

“Hm?” he blinks.

“I said,” you rest your hand on top of his, the one that’s still on your thigh, “why don’t you tell me, in detail, what you want. I can’t direct you and have you be my good boy if you don’t make it clear what you need.”

“I need-” you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, breaking your gaze to look at your laptop again- then his eyes meet yours and he states, as clearly as possible, “I need you.”

“I assumed that much-” you say with a laugh, “I said I wanted details.”

He’s tensed now, broad shoulders all stiff, pupils blown- eyes darting everywhere. His lips part to say something, but in the end, he just sighs, musing, “I want what my director wants.”

“You like making me happy, is that it?”

You cock your head to the side, reaching out to gently drag your nails across Jeno’s cheek and down to his jaw- he leans into your hand, eyes closing, a soft sound of pleasure escaping him-

“You’re so eager to please, huh?”

“Yes,” he breathes, lids fluttering open again when you retract your hand- “Want to make you feel good.”

“Then you’re going to do a few things for me, okay?”

“Anything.”

You reach for your wine, closing the laptop before relaxing back into the corner of your sectional, eyes turning to Jeno. “How about you start by moving my coffee table off the carpet.”

His face shows his confusion, but Jeno stands all the same- reaching down for the furniture-

“Ah ah ah,” you tut, making the model freeze. “Don’t want you lifting it and having everything on top fall off- be good and go slow, take off all the items, move the table, then put them back.”

You watch him swallow, and he follows through, movements looking less frenzied and rushed.

He starts by taking your laptop and the two decorative photography books and setting them to the side.

He’s clearly aware of your gaze, watching him while he completes the task, and you can see the flush of his neck, betraying Jeno’s inner anxieties before he voices them, asking gently, “Can you tell me why I’m doing this?”

You stand up, and Jeno stops, turning his body to look at you- eyes widening-

Whatever he expects, it’s not for you to turn your back on him, crossing the studio toward the shelf of photography tools and memorabilia.

“You’re moving the coffee table,” you say, plucking up a polaroid camera, “so that when you get on your knees to eat me out, you don’t knock anything over.”

He gapes at you for a moment or two before hurrying back to his task.

You leave your wine glass on the shelf after one last sip, and then return to the sofa.

After you take your seat, you simply watch Jeno. He’s down to the final details, his hands mad scrambling for your laptop and design books.

When he’s done with your coffee table, it looks the same as it had before - decorative pieces and all - just a meter to the side, off the carpet.

And then Jeno is a foot away from you, dropping his knees to the braided jute rug-

“Eager puppy,” you coo, enjoying the way the model still holds that air of innocence, even while on his knees for you.

His hands are gentle when they reach for your form, warm palms cupping against the back of your knees- and then he’s tugging you forward, dragging your silk-set-covered core closer-

“Want you,” he states, with as much confidence as you’ve seen from him.

His eyes stare into your own, and you can’t help but set your camera down and lean forward, cupping his face so you can press your lips to his for the first time.

It’s a chaste kiss- but when you pull away, Jeno follows, hands finding leverage on your knees while he captures your bottom lip between his own, tongue gliding against its surface-

You stifle a groan, adjusting one hand on Jeno’s cheek while the other anchors onto his shoulder, fingers digging into the hard muscle you find there.

He gives a small tug to your pants, and it has you breaking the kiss in favor of lifting your hips-

Jeno may have told you he wanted direction, but he knows exactly what to do with you, no prompting needed: he tears your silk bottoms off.

His eyes immediately go to your core- and he lets out an animalistic sound when he finds you still in panties. His fingers hook past your waistband next, and in an instant, Jeno has you naked from the naval down.

His own shirt is quick to follow your clothing to the floor, exposing his broad shoulders, and muscular torso-

This time, when he adjusts your legs over his shoulders, he gets a full glimpse of your pussy, and you can see Jeno’s pupils blown with lust, even in the limited light of your studio.

The same way the model needed little direction with tearing your clothes off, he needs no direction when it comes to what to do next; he simply tugs you forward, burying his face between your thighs.

It’s the most you can do not to let out a desperate whine at the way he just goes for it- his tongue pressing into your hole, his nose brushing by your clit-

And his hands- they reach behind you, grabbing at your ass, forcing you harder onto his mouth-

Your fingers lace through his hair, anchoring you while your back arches, you’re propped up by the backrest while Jeno has you on the edge of your seat, his shoulders taking more of your weight as he burrows deeper and deeper into your pussy.

“Just like that-” you tell him, voice breathy in the silence of your studio-

Jeno growls against you, vibrations jittering through your body like magic-

His lips suction around your clit and your legs twitch around his head- you can feel a rush of wet between your thighs, can feel your orgasm building faster and faster in the pit of your stomach-

Then Jeno is pushing a digit into you, one long finger thrusting into your sopping heat while he flicks at your clit with a tongue intent on making you cum.

You can’t help but grind down against him now, tightening your grip in his hair so you can wiggle your hips-

A second finger enters you, both of them crooking up to brush by your sweet spot, earning a whimper of ecstasy that fills the room.

“You’re gonna make me cum-” you whine, closing your eyes and throwing your head back so you can focus on the feeling of him worshiping your pussy-

Your admission makes him go down on you even harder, lips suctioning around your clit again, making lewd wet noises while his fingers pump in and out of your hole, continuously brushing by the spot that makes you tingle-

“Jeno-” you gasp his name, a warning of what’s to come-

But you can’t say much else, your thighs locking around his head while he tips you over the edge, core fluttering around digits that pump you through your orgasm, tongue flicking at your clit-

A flurry of praises tumble out of you while you grind against the model’s face, using him for your own release- prolonging it-

Jeno works you through your orgasm, works out every last drop- his tongue as eager as ever to collect everything you have to offer him.

When you finally let go of his hair, body going slack, he knows you’re done, and he pulls his mouth from your core.

His fingers continue inside of you, slow, rhythmic pumps that quickly make you whine-

Opening your eyes, you find Jeno watching you.

His lips are a little swollen, they’re parted, allowing him to take steady breaths-

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Jeno had just cum- he’s giving major bedroom eyes, the dreamy kind of dazed expression a prince would bestow upon a princess-

You reach for your camera, lifting it and taking a quick polaroid-

The flash makes Jeno flinch, and you find yourself reaching out to cup his jaw, sweet assured nothings tumbling out of you in an effort to apologize for the camera flash-

The model leans into your touch, but he also plucks the polaroid as soon as it’s done, assessing it with eyes that flicker over the photo- before handing it to you.

“You got my best angle,” he remarks, as you take in the image for the first time.

He’s right- there’s something so… (for lack of a better word) endearing about Jeno-

This je ne sais quoi-

Especially when he’s between your legs, eyes lusty, lips puffy-

You’d taken a perfect photo, including only a little of your thighs on either side, capturing the main subject - Jeno - in a type of voyeuristic, sin skin framed vignette-

You lean back against your sofa to get a better look at the image, and Jeno moves slightly to follow, which prompts you to adjust your foot, pressing the ball against his shoulder to stop him-

“Did I say you could move?” you challenge.

Jeno’s lips part, and then he swallows thickly, shaking his head and sinking back to his knees patiently.

You allow your foot to slip over his shoulder again, leg once more relaxing on the large expanse of Jeno’s back.

“You’re good with your tongue,” you conclude finally, gaze shifting between him and the polaroid.

“Thank you.”

“And your hands too.”

“Thank you.”

He turns his head to the side kissing at the part of your leg that’s reachable-

He’s being so good for you- allowing you to control the tempo, the pace-

“How are you feeling, puppy?”

The pet name feels natural- you’ve said it once before, and Jeno had practically mewled in response.

The use of the name now makes Jeno shuffle on his knees, breaking your gaze-

“Want more,” he says quietly, bowing his head-

“Do you want more here? In my studio? Or would puppy prefer a bed?” You enjoy teasing him, enjoy the way ‘puppy’ feels on your tongue.

“Like, your room?” There’s interest in his eyes now, and it has your own core tingling at the prospect of allowing the model into your most sacred space-

“Yes, Jeno, my bedroom.”

You figure, he’s already made you cum once, the least you can do is give him a proper bed to fuck you in-

Besides, in the studio, it still feels like there’s a barrier between you. You still feel like photographer, and he still feels like the model- it will be nice to go to your bedroom with Jeno- with the man who’s made you question all your preconceived notions and prejudices around models.

None of the men in his profession whom you’ve entertained for a date have ever reached your bedroom.

You’re excited for Jeno to be the first.

He’s also excited, so excited that he jumps the gun a little, standing and grabbing you, tugging you to his chest in a bridal-style hold that has you giggling, juggling the photos and camera in your hands-

“Which way is your room?” he asks, already taking long strides towards the entrance you’d entered the studio through.

“Straight through the door, down the hall, last room on the right,” you tell him, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace.

It feels good to be carried- feels good to be made to feel small and light-

Jeno is five foot eleven inches of solid muscle, and you have no doubt his regular workouts involve a good amount of weight training; he definitely makes it seem like he’s used to lifting someone of your size.

While he carries you, you take the opportunity to admire his bare torso, the muscled pectorals- his bread basket abdomen-

Before you know it, he’s entering your room, and the two of you are collapsing onto your bed.

He gets you under him, slotting between your thighs while you abandon your camera to the side in favor of reaching for him, grasping at his strong, bare shoulders while his lips press to your own-

It’s an eager tangle of limbs, but as soon as Jeno gets solidified, you find yourself pinned; completely at the mercy of the large, all-muscled model, who ruts his hips against your own, dragging his denim-clad cock by your core-

“Jeno-” you whimper his name between a flurry of kisses, reaching one hand between your bodies to cup the front of his jeans-

He lets out a groan of pleasure, hips rutting, pressing himself into your hand-

“Take these off, and fuck me,” you tell him, remembering that - even though you’re in your bedroom now - you can still give commands.

He’s quick to follow through- and his follow-through involves rolling off of you and onto his own back, so he can fumble with his belt, lifting his hips to push the denim down-

You find yourself all but jumping on him the moment his cock springs free, your knees pressing into the bed on either side of his waist, your hand reaching between your bodies-

Jeno releases a moan when your fingers wrap around him, your thumb brushing past the head, swiping beads of precum across his skin-

His hands grasp your hips, adjusting you on top of him, and he looks up at you with lusty desperation-

You can’t help it- you reach for the camera discarded by his head, and you lift it to snap another polaroid while Jeno stiffens below you, muscles jumping to tensed glory-

“Such a pretty puppy,” you tell him, releasing a breath of pleasure from the mear sight of Jeno, while your free hand tightens more around his cock-

“Fuck-” he grunts, hips pressing up- length pushing through the grip of your hand- “Tell me what to do.”

“I already told you, take off your pants, which you’ve done- so, good boy-” you let out a laugh at the way Jeno reacts to the term of endearment, “and now,” you fan the polaroid, helping it develop faster- “fuck me.”

“Protection?” he asks, swallowing thickly- releasing your waist in favor of rubbing his thumb against your clit, prompting you to shift your hips just so-

“I’m clean and on the pill, you?”

“Clean-” he responds, left hand applying pressure for you to lift yourself up- “not on the pill.”

You release a laugh- and it’s stifled when Jeno adjusts his cock and helps you sink down onto it, his girth stretching you out deliciously.

You’re wetter than belief - from one orgasm and just from Jeno in general - so sliding down, inch by electrifying inch, is almost too easy.

Your camera is forgotten, as is the polaroid, and you discard them to the side in favor of your palms falling flat onto Jeno’s shoulders. His own hands are tight on your waist, aiding you in your first movements- lifting up and sinking back down-

Moans of pleasure fill your bedroom, the feeling of Jeno’s cock dragging against your walls is too much to bear silently- and your nails dig down against his skin, helping you grip him as tightly as your pussy is gripping his length.

Then he’s tugging at your shirt, the word “off?” prompting you to get yourself fully naked in seconds, nipples peaking to the coldness of the room-

But they’re not cold for long, as Jeno is quick to sit up, capturing one in his hot mouth while the other is pinched between two shockingly gentle fingers-

“Jeno-” you whimper his name, pussy clenching around him at the feeling of his attention being focused on your chest-

With him sitting up, it’s easier than ever to use his shoulders as leverage for your movements, and his free hand finds your hip, urging you to bounce faster on his lap.

“You feel so good-” you tell him, throwing your head back while you ride closer and closer to an orgasm-

The man beneath you releases your nipple, hungry mouth moving up your neck- he grabs your jaw, forcing your lips to his own.

His other hand goes flat to the bed, allowing him some leverage to thrust up and meet your motions-

He eats up your noises and returns them with pleasured sounds of his own, his cock burying deep inside your pussy with each bounce on his lap-

You break your kiss, latching onto his shoulders while you gasp in his ear- “I’m cumming baby, don’t stop-”

And suddenly you’re rolling.

Suddenly you’re on your back, and Jeno is above you, adjusting your legs around his hips-

“Touch your clit?” he asks - his first real request - and your hand flies between your thighs.

Being on top had made Jeno feel as deep as ever- but with him hovering over you, his own powerful hips rutting against yours to dictate everything- you realize Jeno is simply big.

Both positions feel equally wonderful- your pussy filled deliciously with every thrust-

And your fingers glide easily over your clit, making your whole body tingle with ecstasy that gets closer and closer to fruition until you’re over the edge again.

You throw your head back against the pillows, eyes closing so you can focus on the waves of pleasure that threaten to overtake you while Jeno continues to fuck you as if his life depends on it-

He’s making the prettiest sounds- and you grab at him, smoothing your fingers through his hair while you bring his lips to your own.

You’re intent on breathing him in- on hearing every noise- and he’s more than eager to kiss you, with the same ferocity as his hips-

“Gonna cum for me?” you ask, still tingling with wonderful pleasure that’s definitely bordering on overwhelming now-

You want him to cum so badly, want your young stallion model boy to fall over the edge with you-

He releases a grunt of affirmation, but it’s not good enough for you.

You continue to thread your fingers through his hair, forcing your eyes open to look at him-

“Jeno-” you coo, stealing a chaste kiss- “please cum, you’ve done so well- cum for me-”

He lets out his loudest moan yet, burying his face in your neck, mouth playing feverish kisses against your throat while he continues to fuck you wildly-

“Come on-” you breathe, trailing one hand down his gorgeous back- reveling in the muscles you can trace there-

You still have one hand playing with your clit, and the bucking of Jeno’s hips is quickly building you to yet another orgasm, that you definitely hadn’t been expecting-

“Fuck, Jeno-”

He kisses you desperately, thrusts faltering when your pussy squeezes his length. You can feel him cumming too- coating your walls while he continues to pump into you, pinning you to the mattress with his large body-

You grasp for his shoulders, dragging your hands across muscle while you eat up his moans, your lips and tongues colliding.

His pace gradually starts to slow down and soon he’s still on top of you.

You’re kissing lazily now- and you’re the one to break it, pulling back just enough to prompt Jeno to give you space.

He looks at you with hazy, bedroom eyes, while he catches his breath, and his lips are downright enticing-

“That was really good,” you tell him, brushing your fingers up and down his back.

Jeno buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing hot kisses there to show his enjoyment of your praise- and then his lips find your ear.

“Was I your good puppy?” he asks, gently nipping at your lobe-

His hips rut forward- he’d never truly slipped out of you after cumming, and now… you can feel him starting to stiffen again-

“Of course,” you coo, threading your fingers through his hair, gently running your nails across his scalp, “you’re my best puppy-”

“Yeah?” He kisses your pulse point.

“Uh huh-” you relax against your pillows, letting out the most contented breath of your life. “And what pretty photos I took too-”

He groans, gently rocking his hips against yours again-

“You’ll be good and spend the night, won’t you puppy?” you ask, tone turning mischievous when you add; “It feels like you still have some energy I could enjoy.”

Jeno lets out a sound of affirmation, kissing at your jaw-

He’s your good model, always taking directions.

And now, he’s your good puppy too- wrapped around your finger and eager to agree to whatever you ask.

You know there’s no hope of a conventional relationship- afterall, he’s an international model and you’re New York based-

You don’t have any romantic notions about traveling together, or pinning the angel down- no, you’re realistic about it. Realistic about the way your bodies respond to each other, and the purpose you both serve in inflating the other’s ego-

He’ll be your secret- your lovely puppy.

He’ll be whatever he ends up being.

But for now, you simply enjoy the feeling of having his complete and undivided attention while he thanks the gods that he has yours.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! i don't often do dom leaning y/n's, so this was new for me, but i really enjoyed the way it turned out :)

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!

🔮 preview. As much as you call Jeno puppy- as much as he gets on his knees for you- the man knows exactly what he’s doing in regard to making you cum. He could have all the power if he wanted, and the thought of that has been scaring you a little as of late-

cw/ tw. oral (f receiving), fingering, pussy whipped Jeno, unprotected sex, praise, mentions of male masturbation, multiple orgasms, etc...

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 1.5k I teaser wc. 380

🌙 staring. jeno x afab!Reader

bonus teaser

You’re sitting in your kitchen, sipping your drink and looking over the photos you’d taken last night.

Your collection of polaroids gets bigger and bigger every time your model and part-time loverboy comes to town, and you’ve begun to enjoy the process of adding them to a special photobook complete with a lock and key.

To have Jeno trust you with the pictures- it fills your heart with something unexplainable, a warmth that licks at you every time you open the book to wistfully recount your past experiences with the angelic man who’d been delivered to your doorstep months ago after a shoot.

The first few photos hold special weight for you, the innocence you’d captured in his eyes has remained, but it’s less so now, replaced - in part - by a confidence that one gains when they spend a great deal of time with another.

There’s a similar confidence in the warm hands that smooth across your shoulders, announcing the arrival of the man in question, who molds his bare torso against your back, leaning over your chair so he can see what you’re up to.

“Hi,” he says, his lips brushing past your cheek.

“Morning sleepy,” you smile, turning your head to the side so you can capture his lips in a chaste kiss. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.” Jeno straightens, heading around the island counter to grab himself some coffee. “I always get the best sleep here.”

His statement makes you happier than you can say, so you don’t say anything, opting to simply watch the lovely, very shirtless, man, as he slowly starts his morning.

“What time are you heading to the fashion show today?” you question after a few beats of silence.

Jeno looks up at you from where he’s stirring his coffee, and then he lets out a small knowing chuckle. “Not for a few hours.”

“Don’t give me that look, puppy,” you release a laugh of your own. “You know I try to let you retain your energy for days when you work… but after…”

“Don’t want after,” Jeno insists, abandoning his coffee in favor of approaching you again, forcing you to turn in your chair so he can slot between your knees while he captures your hands, lacing your fingers- “Want now.”

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#jeno #lee jeno #jeno lee #lee jeno smut #jeno lee smut #jeno smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct dream #nct #jeno nct #nct jeno #model jeno #model jeno smut #jeno x reader #jeno lee x reader #lee jeno x reader

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hestella · 2 months

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Hannibal Lector: A New Face

A/N: I'm currently not done watching Hannibal so there are A LOT of mistakes and it probably won't make any sense lol please tell me out of the kindness of your heart if you want me to fix anything or want to let me know. Also some scenes are improvised by me, I don’t own any characters except for my OC(which is, well, you), all credits to Hannibal NBC and Red Dragon series. LOVE YOU ALL

Warnings: mentions of violence, sexual violence, blood, murder, use of Y/N(cause I can't think of a cool name), Fem!reader, kind of POC reader?, psychopath reader, trauma, mental illness, BLIND READER

Will Graham was gifted a special talent, the talent to see and read a person's mind, no matter how wicked or broken it was, he was able to know exactly what and why and how. His talents were greatly appreciated from the FBI, especially solving murder cases.

He had some of friends, but there was one particular and close friend he had, her name being Y/N.

She seemed to be also have a special natural-born talent. After an unfortunate event, she was permanently blinded and needed to have a walking sick with her, but she still was able to memorize and observe the smallest details of practically anything she felt and heard. Her talent was also what the FBI needed, but she never actually applied, or even participate on those kinds of stuff, unlike Will.

In fact, she was just a plain old professor, teaching philosophy, she gave lectures in colleges and universities for a living.

At first Hannibal thought she was boring, until he actually got to meet her.

When Jack got to know Will, it wasn't that long after he also got to know Y/N. Will constantly mentioned her, about her abilities and how she would have thought about some things. Will knew better than to actually mention FBI cases to her, but the other way, there wasn't anything stopping him. If Will was doing lectures, not with the FBI, Jack automatically sought her for help. She reluctantly accepted, not because of the work itself but for Will, thinking that he would heal when she solved some cases for him, giving him a break. She had control of her lectures, so she was at least more flexible than Will. And with all seriousness, she was good. It was different from Will’s way of investigation, but she was able to collect evidence according to the case and end up with a conclusion, which actually helped Jack a lot, since Will’s investigation relied on his assumptions, that he himself couldn't really make sense.

"Whoever that killed these girls probably has some kind of women that look like those victims. It can be a daughter, a long gone crush, a mother...someone that they have deep connection, whether it's positive or negative. That makes them most likely a male." She explained, after listening to all the information she needed.

"We already assumed that this was a male, unintentionally. Any other observations?" Jack said.

"It's most likely a daughter, though. Young, all from different campuses. He chose these campuses specifically, I'd say, probably one his daughter goes to, or is planning to go to." She continued. "However..." She stood up, walking towards the board with the pictures, wandering her walking stick from side to side.

"He...he has a thing for killing. he's not doing this for pleasure, it's...it's more like art. Precise, like....." she turned around. "...like those people who hunt wildlife." she said.

"...what?" Jack asked.

She bit her lips, not knowing how to say it. "...like those people, I can't, I can't explain it." She looked towards Will, or just turned around where she sensed he was, for help.

Will nodded. "..yeah, I get it. I can see that, wildlife hunters."

"He probably also owns some personal space, like a cabin, out in the woods where he can dissect and dress the animals he hunts. That's probably where he killed these girls too. He would have been used to it, if he used to, or still currently is a hunter." She muttered.

"Yes, where he can butcher, cool, and storage animals, and apparently people. Even if someone accidentally saw blood or, smelled something from there, it makes sense because it's for that purpose, except it's for animals." Will continued.

She nodded and looked back at Jack, her eyes not really focusing exactly to him. "...did that help?" she asked.

"...quite." Jack looked at her only white eyes.

“im glad,” she gave him a faint smile. “But I’ve been trying to ask…is there someone else here? Apart from Will, me, and you?”

“allow me to introduce myself, Ms. Y/L/N, I’m doctor Hannibal Lector. I apologize for my unintentional ambush,” Hannibal stood upon respect, even if she couldn’t see.

“ah, so you were the one. I thought I was having delusions,” she turned her head to face him, her white eyes staring somewhat at Hannibal. She walked towards him and reached out her hand, which Hannibal accepted gently and respectfully. “No need to apologize, Dr. Lector.” She gave him a smile too.

“I should say you’re quite flexible on communicating, even though you’re visually impaired. Different from Will, you try to have eye contact with people. No offense, by all means,” Hannibal muttered his short observation.

“I’m not offended, it’s true. But there’s no need to psychoanalyze me, doctor.” She let go of his hand and reminded him, slithering away from Hannibal’s attempt to make her step out of her circle.

Hannibal wasn’t able to get a hold of her. She rarely talked, but rather tried to hint the FBI about the evidence. He tried inviting her to dinner but she was always somehow reserved. She surely seemed careful about who to let in her circle.

Hannibal tried to step into her personal space by packing up food that he made and giving them to her. He planned to do that to Will too, getting to know him and partially using it to show her what kind of a person he was. His plan was this: pack breakfast for Will, then let Will tell this event to her, and then eventually making her comfortable enough for him to make breakfast for her too. It was getting two rabbits by one stone.

Hence, that was what happened. A second of silence surrounded the two, as they chewed and swallowed the food.

“Agent Crawford told me you have a knack for the monsters,” Hannibal mentioned.

Will put down his fork and looked at him. “..I don’t think the Shrike killed the girl in the field.”

Hannibal also put down his fork and leaned a bit forward. “The devil is in the details. What didn’t your copycat do to the girl in the fields? What gave it away?”

“..everything. It’s like, he had to show me a negative to prove that-“ he sighed. “Y/N would’ve explain it better,” he muttered. “it’s like he had to show me a negative so that-so that I could see the positive.” He rubbed his face.

“….Y/N?” Hannibal muttered.

“Crawford wants her. I don’t want her to be, but I feel like she can see more than I can.” Will looked around. Hannibal noticed this.

“…May I ask you a question, Will?” Hannibal said, his breakfast long forgotten. Will just waved his hand, nodding his head. “Do you live with someone else here?”

“..yeah, we, Y/N and I thought it wouldn’t be that bad of an idea, rather than getting separate rooms…” Will explained. Hannibal nodded. So that was the thing he felt was off about the house. He was honestly surprised, but didn’t let that out.

“where is she, then? Sleeping? I would love to share this meal with her too, if she can,”

“She leaves at 4 in the morning to go to her job.” Will replied, taking another bite of the food. “and she’s strictly vegan, so I don’t think she’ll be able to eat any of these,”

“I see. Her job, which is..”

“Teaching. Modern philosophy at Johns Hopkins.”

“ah, Johns Hopkins. I should’ve known.” Hannibal almost gave him a smile.

With the additional information, it was too easy for Hannibal to roll Jack Crawford up and persuade her to be one of his patients too. He added a little bit of extra reasoning with her injury, telling Jack perhaps the right therapy may make her sense more, and less be obstacled by her blindness. It wasn’t his initial goal to help her sense like a not-visually-impaired person, but he was confident it was possible.

He decided to pay a visit to her lectures.

(Should I make this a series??)

#mads mikkelsen #hannibal lector #will graham #hugh dancy #jack crawford #y/n #hannibal lector x reader

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moodywyrm · 1 year

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Jumping on here with the smutty Sevika idea I got upon seeing your post- my mind never rests- I feel she’d be a scoundrel in bed, making you choose the size of the toy she claims she’d fuck you with but then grabs the complete opposite. Like if your pick is a sizable, she’d secretly fix on the smallest one in the group & so on. Watches amusingly your lil expressions as you cluelessly do all the dumb things you would if it were the size you’d actually chosen banging into you but you only realize it too late,, by then she’d have had her full laugh,,

No pressure btw & have a better rest of your day~ (´•ω•｀)♡

hi hello I love you and your writing and your little posts abt Sevika bc they're always So Correct.

this ask has been haunting me all day because it's so sevika. I don't think she would ever go larger than you could handle, but I can 100% see her teasing you by going Smaller. like you just fucking need her to fuck you with one of her bigger straps, a dark purple, girthy seven inch silicone cock. and instead she pulls out a thinner five inch strap in the same color.

she has you face down on the bed, your ass and cunt on display for her, your hands hugging a black satin pillow to your chest for emotional support. you're expecting – craving– a deep stretch, so when she starts to push in your whine. at first it's good, but as she gets deeper and deeper it goes from pleasure to confusion.

"What's wrong, doll? Not big enough for you?" Sevika teases, knowing full well she picked one that's too small. Her thrusts are rough, but it's not the same and you can feel tears welling up as you whine.

"Nngh, too fucking small, do we– ah– have a bigger one?" You cry, trying to fuck back onto Sevika for any added stimulation. You can hear her laughing behind you, her human hand wrapping around to play with your clit.

Sevika knows she'll give you what you want, but she wants to extend this. She wants you desperate, dripping, whining, crying for her cock. "No baby, this is the one you wanted, yeah? Looks like my little slut needs me to buy a bigger one, eight inches maybe? That sound big enough?"

You just whine, fucking yourself on what you think, but can't fucking believe, is seven thick inches. The tears are coming now, accompanied by the sweet whines of Sevika's name, one hand reaching back for her, begging her to fuck you like you need it. It's torturous, and you're not in the mindset to realize that Sevika's fucking with you.

So when she slows down and pulls out, you're whining, sitting yourself up and look at Sevika. You're upset, clearly, pouting and teary and needy. It isn't until you look down that you realize what happened, and you're suddenly less sad and more Pissed. Sevika, in the following events, realizes she likes you kind of pissed and horny.

You turn around, grabbing the correct dick off the bedside table, pushing it at Sevika so she can switch it out. You help her redo the harness, smacking her hand away when she tries to grab your waist.

"You don't get to touch me, asshole." You growl, shoving her back against the headboard. Sevika's eyes goes wide, feeling herself throb at the assertiveness you're displaying.

You straddle her, lining your cunt up with her cock and sinking down. The stretch is delicious, and you're practically shaking with you good it feels. "Fu- fuck, 's so good."

Sevika watches as you shakily pull yourself up, slamming down onto her cock and pushing the base of the harness against her needy clit. She grunts, reaching for your waist to help you out. Imagine her surprise when you smack her hands, grabbing them at the wrists and pushing them down against her tummy.

"I said – fuck– you don't get to touch me," You grumble, using your grip on her hands as leverage to bounce on her cock, finally taking your pleasure.

The sound of you fucking yourself on her is loud, all sloppy smacks coming from the sound of your thighs hitting hers. Sevika can feel how wet you are, from the amount of slick dripping down onto her thighs. When she looks down, she whines as the string of slick forming every time you bounce on her.

She wants nothing more than to grab your hips and guide you up and down, but she respects your wishes. Realistically, she could break out of your hold in a heartbeat, no doubt. But Sevika can't deny, there's something so incredibly attractive about you holding her down, taking everything you need from her without reservation. And if she can't touch you, at least she can talk to you. And talk she does.

"That's it, that feel good? Pretty girl just needed a bigger cock in her needy cunt, huh? The small shit doesn't do anything for you, does it? I've spoiled you baby, got you so used to a nice thick cock," She murmurs, staring at you with hooded eyes.

Her words make your head spin, your pussy clenching around her strap as you falter. It's all you can do to nod, giving her a pathetic little "uh huh" before sitting down completely and grinding on her.

"Aww, my pretty girl's fucking tired ain't she? If you just let me go, I could help you," Sevika whispers, pressing a kiss against your forehead from where you're slumped against her. "Could play with that pretty clit and push you over, or hold you up and fuck you on this cock, just how you deserve. That sound good?"

And fucking christ, it sounds so good. You want her so bad, you barely even remember why you were so angry.

The second you move your hands off of hers, she's on you. Her human hand is toying at your clit, her mechanical arm wrapping around your waist and holding you up. Sevika starts pistoning her hips up into you, the mushroom tip of her cock punching against that gushy little patch of nerves that sends you careening, wailing and grabbing at Sevika's back.

It's all so much so fast, you barely have time to stumble out a weak " 'm cumming, fuck," before you're convulsing on Sevika's strap. Your orgasm rides through you, lighting every nerve ending on fire as you shake and scratch at her. You're drooling into her neck, the lazy hickey you were making left forgotten as your orgasm emptied your brain out until all you could think of was Sevika. She fucks you through it, whispering dirty praises as you leak down her cock, onto her thighs.

"That's it, cum for me baby. Ya look so fucking good for me, all fucked out and pretty," She growls, easing her thrusts as you come down. She never pulls out, just sets you down on her cock as you try to even out your breathing.

You think she's gonna let you rest, maybe end it here, until Sevika wraps you up in her arms and lays you down on your back, keeping her cock buried in your sloppy pussy. She places one gentle kiss on your forehead before pulling out to the tip and pushing back in, slowly building up into deep, rough thrusts.

"You didn't think we were done, did you? You still have a few orgasms in you, so lay back, doll. Let me take care of this pussy."

#meatyarms #arcane smut #arcane sevika #arcane sevika smut #arcane sevika x reader #arcane sevika x reader smut #arcane x reader smut

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hexalianrebel-blackfeathers · 6 months

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Squid Surge

Panda’s Notes: We all know Olivia Octavius is prime ler material, but in 6 whole years, I haven't seen a thing. So here's a thing. >w< Blame @carrie-tate for this one. I love this picture.

[Ao3] || [Cookies Found: 0] || [Commissions] || [Ko-fi]

There’s something about staring into the pulsating epicenter of an interdimensional rift that changes you.

There’s something about losing your lab’s main source of funding that changes you too, but that’s neither here nor there.

The last few months were spent on research. Peter Parker had reportedly been 26 years old when he died…Spiderman had only appeared in the city about a decade ago, give or take. It had been barely a year after that first appearance when she and Spiderman became recurring enemies.

Sixteen years old. Maybe seventeen. She’d been fighting over and over—reworking and redesigning machine after machine—to fight a child. It was a bit funny, to say the least; in fact, it explained a lot. His terrible humor; his exaggerated voices for those first few years; his…unorthodox plans.

…She would miss him. In a sense, of course.

The universe is a funny thing though. Hardly a day after Peter was gone, three entirely different Spider-characters had given her a hell of a fight in the woods just outside of Alchemax. One of them being a nearly-identical—not counting the obvious difference in age—Peter Parker, and another with the ability to turn completely invisible. Now, that was something.

The one with the invisibility power; he’d first appeared in the Alchemax building alongside that second Peter, in a terrible store-bought spider suit and barely able to use his ability consistently. It was kind of adorable, like watching a kitten’s first attempts to climb. In the heat of the chase, it touched something human deep inside of her—She’d have to make a note to fix that—and she couldn’t help teasing him a bit in the moment.

The next day had been the collider’s final one. Six Spiders in total, five of which disappeared through the fluctuating rifts. She’d made the mistake of believing the smallest one—who showed up in a black-and-red suit after showing off his invisibility—was a seventh variant, but it’d only lasted a moment. The others had recognized him; they were so happy to see him. It might have felt nice to kill him, in that moment.

But she hadn’t; she honestly didn’t fully remember what happened. She awoke on a hard surface, her pneumatic arms clutching for purchase on something. Blood was running down her face and some bone somewhere was definitely broken. The whole chamber was filled with light in colors she had never imagined. The air was being pulled toward one of the portal generators; the temperature shifted wildly as everything swirled, and for just a fleeting moment, she had a glimpse into a web of something infinite and indescribable.

So, yeah. Minor Existential Quandary. No big deal. Not an issue at all.

Recovery was an interesting time spent between different casts and braces, readjusting actuators and programs. No one took much notice; lying low between the chaotic moments was something she took a sort of pride in. The news droned on in the background every time; the word on the street was a particular, brand-new black-suit Spiderman. She was curious about him; she admired his sacrifice. But days turned to weeks, turned to months. He didn’t disappear; he didn’t falter; if anything, he was improving quickly for such a small thing. He was supposed to be here, in this dimension.

That brings us back to this. She’d wracked her brain trying to remember that night. The whole week had become a bit fuzzy with the head injury, but something stuck about. Miles. Spoken like a name. She’d heard it a few times during the encounters they’d had. They were all just so talkative, weren’t they?

Hacking into databases wasn’t necessarily a strong suit of hers. Not to say that it’s hard, but it’s nowhere as easy as robotics. Miles is an interesting name to search for too, all things considered. Not common enough for her to scrap the search entirely—Like Peter, funny enough—but not so rare that the hunt was a simple handful of clicks. And she adored a good puzzle.

Now, how to narrow this down… If the precedent held true, the kid would be under 20 years old. Great. That removes…40% of the results. That’s still a few dozen in the area though, less puzzling now and more downright luck.

…Olivia doesn’t really believe much in luck. What she does believe in is probability. Such as, if someone were to, say, spread an itty-bitty little rumor through the proverbial criminal grapevine about a new secret project Doc Ock was working on; well, then the probability that such information would get to Spiderman was nearly 100%. And then, the probability that Spiderman would simply have to infiltrate Alchemax to confirm such a rumor was…

Actually, that brings us to the present. The brace on her leg kept the occasional aches from distracting her; the one on her wrist had just become a habit from weeks of routine. She stood in her personal lab, making a few final calibrations. Frankly, the timing was impeccable. The tablet beside her, showing schematics and diagnostics for the mechanism on the table, had a small grid of dots in one corner that shifted from green to red in a sort of line before only one dot stayed red. She tapped the grid, making it the focal program on the screen, and she smirked to herself as she lifted the apparatus enough for it to attach itself onto her back. It felt lighter; less metal hidden in the tubes definitely helped. The arms lifted her weight off the floor easily; that part hadn’t needed any changing.

“One last thing.” She finally spoke, pulling her glasses off while one of the arms passed her goggles into her hand. “I’ll need to test the new program; it’d be so nice to have some assistance~” She pressed the red dot on the tablet, and a loud hiss suddenly came from the ceiling behind her, quickly followed by a startled yelp. She turned with a grin, finding a flailing partial-silhouette made of fire suppressant powder. “How nice of you to drop in, Spider-Man.” She taunted playfully, lashing an arm across the room toward him.

He dodged to one side, perching himself on a table as he let himself become visible again. “I-I—How…?” He stammered out, ducking away from another arm trying to grab him.

“It’s a temperature detector, sweetie, not a person detector. In fact, I had to increase its sensitivity just for you!”

He glared at her—Don’t ask how she can tell—before lunging to one side and attempting to rush at her. She had lifted herself up and backwards to stand on the workbench, and Spider-man flinched as all four arms lashed toward him. He fired off a web, attempting to pull himself out of the way, but she managed to catch him by one ankle and drag him close enough for another arm to coil around his wrist. The claw shoved into his hand, blocking the trigger on that web shooter as he flailed nervously.

“Huh, the speed adjustments paid off too.” She grinned, tapping her chin as she watched Spiderman grab at the plastic tubing.

“This is the secret project I heard so much about?” He let out a huff, and she could feel the air tingle as sparks started to jump off of him. “Can’t say I’m impressed.”

Her smirk didn’t falter at all. “Sorry, Miles; I made a point to keep this design completely insulated from electricity.”

He froze up completely. Oh. She actually hadn’t meant to let that slip so early. But given his reaction…

“I don’t—” He tried to speak, but the new anxiety was dripping from his voice.

“So that is your name!” Olivia laughed. “Honestly, you Spiders really should work on keeping your mouths shut during these little fights.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Octavius.” He growled, looking away and prying harder at the claw on his wrist.

She eyed him skeptically, shaking her head. “You can play tough if you want, but I do have to tell you: You were wrong earlier; my secret project is actually this little program.” She emphasized the statement by running the command, leaning casually on the workbench as she was set back on the floor. Two of the remaining arms moved suddenly, the claws squeezing gently at his sides. The reaction was instant and, frankly, hilarious.

Spiderman let out a panicked sort of noise, his free hand grabbing at one of the offending claws. “A-Aye, watch it; tell your vacuum tubes to keep their hands to themselves!”

Olivia let herself chuckle, twirling her finger casually in the air as the claw on his other side mimicked the motion. “Oh, come on now, Spiderman; you think I’ve never heard that one before?” She taunted, smirking as she watched him squirm. “Besides, it’s not like they’re doing anything; you’re fine.”

She waved her hand dismissively, pretending to turn her attention elsewhere while both claws suddenly moved faster. The gentle squeezes became very purposeful kneading from his hips to his ribcage, and Spiderman—Miles—kicked wildly as a startled laugh managed to escape. Olivia glanced back at him, crossing her arms and hoping her sarcasm didn’t show too much. “You still alright up there?”

Miles was definitely glaring at her if his tone was any hint. “You’re doing this on purpose…” He tried to growl, but it sounded a lot more like stifled giggling.

“Doing what~? I’m not doing a thing. The program is just a maintenance tool. Keeps all the joints working, like cracking your knuckles.” She tapped her chin. “Unless, of course…”

“Shut up.” He snarled, trying to scrunch himself up as both claws crawled tauntingly slow up his sides.

“…You’re ticklish.”

There was a beat of silence as they stared at each other, and electricity jumped off of Miles’ hands again.

Olivia sneered as she let the claws strike; one of them resumed the pattern of squeezing up his side while the other tickled mercilessly under the arm he was dangling by. And wow, it really shouldn’t be this easy; this was just unfair. Miles actually burst out laughing, his escape efforts redoubling in the form of much more aggressive kicks. Olivia simply kept her distance, chuckling as she pulled the tablet on her desk closer to make a few notes.

Reaction times were good; pressure calibration seemed accurate; minute motions were apparently quite realistic, if that squealing was anything to go by.

“Are you having fun?” She taunted, reaching to sneak a poke on his stomach and snickering when he nearly connected a kick through his laughter. “I think this is fun. Now…” She tapped her chin as she examined her notes…

Logic and Opportunity… In a situation where a problem is presented, these two will balance in some way. Most people, when an opportunity presents itself, will try to logic out the surrounding circumstances to decide if the opportunity is truly worth taking at the time. A computer, however, gathers all the logical information it has, determines an optimal solution, and when an opportunity to perform that solution appears—

…This is all to say that Olivia finally lashed out with her remaining actuator, the claw snatching Spiderman’s mask off of his face.

Oh…This feeling again.

Spiderman—Miles—looked shocked for a second, the momentary joy in his eyes giving way to a panic that was…primal, to say the least. Fear that everything was going to fall away. The sight of impending death, and the knowledge that you aren’t ready.

Olivia hesitated. There’s something about staring into the eyes of the kid you had made deliberate plans and attempts to kill that changes you.

Both of them were frozen; his face was hard—determined—but it didn’t disguise the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes. His mind was completely blank.

What was she thinking? She realized quite suddenly that she hadn’t fixed that pesky humanity. His face softened as she thought; her expression must have changed.

What had actually changed was that her arms had lowered him closer to the floor, the grips of the claws loosening enough for—Right, they were fighting. He wrenched his hand, opening the claw on his wrist enough to pull free, and he broke into a sprint the second he hit the floor. She reflexively pulled herself out of the way, stumbling slightly as her legs hit the workbench. Olivia looked quickly around the room, only to find herself alone. His mask had fallen to the floor; he wouldn’t leave without it. She was about to adjust her goggles to shift filters, but a familiar crackling over her shoulder caught her attention. She felt a hard shove, most of the electricity absorbed by the apparatus as the arms moved to keep her from falling. Static tingled through her shoulders as she turned to face the boy standing poised on her desk. She could handle this; she just needed to focus.

[ERROR!]

The message flashed in the corner of her vision, and Miles squinted at her, apparently spotting the backwards text through her goggles. She fell suddenly to her own feet, the actuators shifting as the device on her back sparked. A dull ache shot through her spine; they weren’t responding to the neural link. Not really a great time for that, but nothing she hasn’t dealt with before.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t prepared for two of the claws to start tickling her sides, and Miles stifled a laugh at the giggling snort that escaped her. Yeah, actually, forget that poignant revelation she just had; she’s still going to kill him.

“You little brat!” She barely managed to get out, her tone nowhere near as accusatory as she’d wanted through her own growing laughter.

He stepped back slightly when she staggered forward, and he crouched on the desk, resting his chin on one hand as he watched her crumble with a slight smirk. “Y’know, you’re right; this is kind of fun.”

Now, he was the one to hesitate, not that she was able to focus fully on him or anything. She heard his web shooter fire, and the mask was snatched off of the floor. There was a faint tapping before he gave an exasperated sigh. “¿Cómo encuentras algo?” He huffed before, suddenly, the actuators went mostly still. They still spasmed occasionally, and when they attempted to retract back into the apparatus just left three of them deflating on the floor.

[EMERGENCY OVERRIDE ACTIVATED, SHUTTING DOWN]

She’d barely caught sight of the message through the slight haze in her eyes just before her goggles darkened and deactivated. She took the time to catch her breath before she pushed herself up, one of her hands moving to rub her side as the giggles faded away. Spiderman was gone, as far as she could tell—Smart kid—but her glasses had been webbed to the ceiling. Smug little brat.

Olivia fished one of her many spare pairs out of a drawer on her workbench, sighing as she pulled the tablet closer and flicked through the different programs. A thirty-character access code later, she was scrolling back through the security footage for this room. One of the angles had a crystal-clear shot of Miles’ face. The ideas that must have been running through his head to put that much fear in his eyes…

No one else had access to these records until the security backup at the end of the night. Olivia valued her privacy more often than not.

Logic and Opportunity. When a situation presents itself, a computer will logic out a solution and perform immediately when the opportunity arises.

Olivia took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. She deleted the footage.

A dot on the grid program shifted subtly from red to green, and she smiled.

There’s something about humanity that changes you.

#tickling #a panda writes a thing #miles morales #olivia octavius #spiderverse tickle #itsv tickle #atsv tickling

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desertfangs · 8 months

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Through the Garden Gate [AO3] Lestat/Daniel - Explicit - 4,459

Not long after Tale of the Body Thief, Lestat and Daniel talk about Lestat's body swap and how Daniel worries his relationship with Armand is falling apart.

I wrote this in kind of a flash of inspiration but I figured I might as well post it now, since I'll be posting a lot of stuff in February for fandom events and don't know when I'll get around to it otherwise.

I really just love Lestat and Daniel having deep conversations and I think Daniel tends to ask the best questions. They are my BROTP with benefits and I know some of y'all love them as much as I do, so I hope you like this!

Brief excerpt:

“Is it true that you swapped bodies with a mortal?” Daniel had been burning to ask about it since Lestat first jumped him in Pirate Alley, and the question tumbled out almost immediately after they sat at the small bar table.

A storm of emotion passed over Lestat’s face. “I did.”

Daniel leaned closer, across the small bar table between them. “What was it like?”

“What do you think? Incredible. Messy. Uncomfortable. Amazing.” Lestat shook his head. “Impossibly strange. But it had been hundreds of years since I’d known mortal urges, mortal discomfort.”

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” Daniel laughed slightly. Mortal discomfort—aches and pains and hangovers and head colds—had been the bane of his existence during his last mortal years. He’d been in his early thirties and yet already his body had changed so much. Sleeping at the wrong angle could ruin him for days.

“Not entirely. There were good things.” Lestat smiled, but it didn’t reach his blue gray eyes, which were trained on his martini glass full of blue curaçao and vodka. “The taste of wine. The sun.”

Daniel reached across the table and touched Lestat’s hand, which was a rich, tan color, like the rest of his skin. “And how did this happen?”

Lestat sighed. “I had a moment of weakness and went into the Gobi desert. It’s not important now.”

Daniel snorted. “Yeah, clearly. Are you okay?”

Lestat waved a hand and then his magnificent, winning smile returned. “How did you hear about my last misadventure anyway? I’m still working on the book.”

Daniel sat back against the booth and tapped his fingers on the table, keenly aware of the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. “Louis wrote a very concerned letter about the whole affair.”

Lestat frowned. “To you?”

Daniel flushed. “To Armand. Sent to Night Island. I stopped by to check on the house and I opened the mail.” He hadn’t thought much of it at the time—he and Armand often treated each other’s things as if they were their own, which was perhaps a bad habit, but it had always worked for them. Once he’d read it, he’d felt a bit like he’d overstepped, and he’d tucked the letter away to give to Armand next time he saw him.

“And where is that impish maker of yours, hm?” Lestat asked. “Where are you two living these days?”

“Barcelona, for now,” Daniel said. “Assuming he’s still there when I get back.”

Lestat smirked. “Trouble in paradise?”

“You could say that.” Daniel thought of Armand’s hardened expression, his cold kiss against Daniel’s cheek as he’d left. The icy atmosphere of the flat they shared. Daniel fiddled with the plastic sword that held an olive and onion in his cocktail, stirring it around the drink. “He’s gotten so damn volatile. The smallest thing sets off these terrible fights. Or worse, he gets quiet and sullen and avoids me. To be honest, I prefer the fighting.”

Armand had barely said a word when he’d left. Daniel had been pushed past all reason and needed a break, so he’d offered to go check on The Night Island, an errand they did from time to time as they traveled around in hopes that some new location might fix all their problems.

In truth, he’d hoped Armand would come with him. Maybe being home again for a few days would rekindle something, give them some perspective. But Armand had simply wished him bon voyage, without so much as a suggestion he didn’t want him to go, and now Daniel was procrastinating going back.

“He and Louis could teach a masterclass in administering the silent treatment,” Lestat said morosely. He stabbed the cherry in his drink with his own plastic sword, a little green one, and then let it drop, blue liquid splashing out of the glass.

Read the Rest on AO3

#lestat de lioncourt #daniel molloy #lestat/daniel #armand/daniel #armand #tale of the body thief #post-totbt #vc fanfic #vc fic #tvc #vc #vampire chronicles #the vampire chronicles #my favorite brotp with benes #it's been a minute since i wrote anything i liked with them and then this just kind of poured out #idk it happens like that sometimes

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loud-mouth-loser · 1 year

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the other side of the street

summary: joel lives in the house across from yours and you've had your eye on him. you feel like he could be the answer to all your sorrows -- or at least a shoulder to cry on.

pairing: neighbor!joel miller x reader

rating: angst

warning: pre-outbreak!joel, one-sided pining (?), age gap (20 and 36), mention of dysfunctional family, alcohol, comfort, a kiss, crying, angst

w/c: 2.7k

a/n: this one took a while to write. i just wanted to put down some feelings so...here

----

Whenever you sit outside on the porch, on one of those outdoor plastic chairs, nursing whatever drink is appropriate for the hour (coffee, lemonade, or a beer), your eyes always drift to that house across the street. The brick one with a pick-up parked out front.

There’s a man, Joel, who lives there with his daughter. You’ve only talked to him a handful of times, maybe at a semi-annual neighborhood barbeque or at Walmart in one of the aisles looking at brands of cereal, but never on purpose. Nonetheless, you have a fixation.

You’ve never yearned for someone like this before.

Because Joel is different.

He’s soft.

He has that kind of softness you’ve been searching for your whole life. That feeling of comfort that you’ve craved since you were old enough to think.

It’s the way he acts with Sarah, his daughter, showing her unconditional love and always looking at her with an air of awe that says “I can’t believe you’re my kid.” Or how he’s constantly fixing a neighbor’s sink or a/c unit because he can “spare the time” when all he really wants to do is sleep after a hard day of work.

He’s selfless and genuine. A rock in a trashing sea of incoherence. Something to hold on to as the waves push and pull at you, trying to suck you out into uncharted waters.

But he’s also a man.

And you, a woman.

You can’t help but admire the gentle curls of his greying hair and those precious brown eyes. And his southern drawl that could pull you to your knees. He could just say your name and you’d be stammering over your words.

He’s more man than you’ve ever experienced in your life.

And you crave it, you need it.

You need to feel his scratchy salt and pepper scruff rub against your hand as you pull him close, forehead against his, if only just to look into those deep brown eyes. If only to have him look back at you.

You need to hear his voice brush against your ears, telling you how beautiful you are. How he’ll always keep you safe. How you’ll always be loved.

You don’t know why you’re like this: needy, touch-starved, emotional. Could be a lot of things. The fact you’re the youngest, but the only one that can make a meal or clean a plate. Or how you’re the smallest but can take words like a punch in the face.

Ultimately, you’re the college student, the one who made it, but you were dumb enough to let yourself get sucked back into the same bullshit you escaped from. You wonder if he knows what goes on behind those closed doors. How dysfunctional a house of four can be.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. It would never work out.

Joel is only in his late-30s, but he’s still too old for you. More like, you’re too young for him. You’re just a kid in his eyes. A kid that grew up, but isn’t really grown-up. And he’s busy. He has work and a daughter to raise – you’d be one more thing to worry about.

And you have enough on your plate as well. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you. But life isn’t fair.

Having this time alone gives you a second wind, a chance to stop yourself from leaving once and for all. Here, you can sit outside away from your family and away from their expectations and demands. Here, you can stare at that house and think about another life, one that’s out of reach. And you’re okay with it because at least you’ll never be disappointed.

“Mornin’ neighbor!”

Your mind has been so busy and overcrowded with thoughts that you don’t even realize you’ve been staring at Joel who’s come out to collect his mail. He waves at you, a small smile tucked under his mustache. He’s walking toward you?

“Mr. Miller. Hi.” Heat flushes under your skin and you sit up straighter at his presence.

He almost looks nervous as he approaches you, “Hey, I, uh, was wonderin’ if you could do me a favor?” That southern twang slides off his tongue with every word and you just want to lick it up.

Is that weird?

Shit, he’s waiting for a response.

“S-sure, what do you need?”

“It’s my brother’s birthday tomorrow so I’m taking him out for drinks tonight. I just need someone to watch over Sarah and the house.” He nods over to his place as if you didn’t know where he lived. “Usually, I have her go over to Adler’s but they’re out of town…”

“Oh, sure, of course, I can.”

“Really? The pay ain’t great.”

“You don’t need to pay me, Mr. Miller, you’ve done a lot for my family. I’m happy to help.”

“I appreciate it, sweetheart.” He seems surprised but genuinely grateful, “Is 7 ok?”

“I’ll be there.”

—

You get there at 6:55, not wanting to appear too enthused, but also wanting to be punctual. He gives you a smile when he opens the door, already dressed in a button-up and dark slacks.

“Thanks again for doing this, kid.” Kid.

“Yeah, sure.”

He calls out to Sarah, who’s in her room, telling her he’d be back late and not to wait up. She yells back a muffled, “Got it, Dad. See you later!”

“Don’t let ‘er stay up too late.” He says right before heading out. “She’s a good kid, but she can be persuasive.”

“Don’t worry, I got it covered from here.”

You watch as he gets into his truck before closing the door.

You never thought you’d actually enjoy babysitting a 14-year-old preteen. You expected sass or at least a face of indifference, but Sarah is different. She’s polite and easy to get along with.

She says you’re a step up from hanging with Mrs. Adler and her mom, making dry oatmeal cookies, and watching Nana stare at the wall.

You think it’s a compliment, so you take it as one.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Mini Miller.”

After making sure she did her homework (because you’re a responsible adult), you end up watching one of the Jurrasic Park movies while eating mac and cheese for dinner. It’s nice being able to relax, not tensing up whenever you hear footsteps approach you on creaky wooden floors. This is an escape for you even though it’s just you fulfilling a favor.

You glance at the time on the microwave. 11:47 pm. Way after bedtime. “Alright kid, I think it’s time to head to bed.”

“Kid? You’re only 7 years older than me!”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” You pick up the dirty bowls and place them in the sink, “C’mon, your dad will kill me if I let you stay up any longer.”

She rolls her eyes, “No he wouldn’t”

“Either way. Get on with it.” You give her a look that says, ‘don’t push me’.

“Alright, alright. I’m going.”

—

It’s been quiet without Sarah around to talk to, and quite boring. You idly flip through channels, barely paying attention to what’s on as the volume is low enough that you’d have to hold your breath to hear it. It’s sometime around midnight, almost nearing 1 o’clock and the whole neighborhood is dark, not a single light on.

You’re watching reruns of some sitcom when you hear his truck carefully pull into the driveway. The engine dies and the front door opens.

“You’re still here?”

You look at Joel from where you’re seating, “Yeah, just wanted to make sure you got home safe.” He nods, still standing there like he doesn’t know where to go now. “Sarah’s asleep… We made mac and cheese for dinner.” That caught his attention.

“Is there any left?”

“Should be, but it’s cold. It’s been in the fridge for a couple of hours.”

You watch him walk to the kitchen and rifle through the fridge. He gets out the container of saved pasta and then turns to you, the fridge door still open. “You want a beer or somethin’?”

You snort, “I’m only 20.” He shrugs at that.

He sets out a bottle for himself, “Won’t tell anyone if you don’t. What’s one year, right?”

“I–Ok.” He takes out another.

He doesn’t even bother to heat up the mac and cheese, just brings it over to the coffee table and sits next to you. “What’re we watching?”

“Um…Friends, I think.” He opens the beers, twisting them open easily, and passes one to you. “Thanks.” He answers you with a quick nod.

You both watch the show silently as he eats, the show’s laugh track is a mere whisper in the air. You were actually planning on heading home when he returned, but now…it would be rude to – right?

And then there’s an ad break.

“So how’s the family?” You tense from the question.

“Fine, good.” You hope he doesn’t notice.

“Really?”

You nod, “Yeah.” You take a long sip of beer, a buffer to keep you from saying anything more. It’s bitter on your tongue and acrid at the back of your throat. You swallow it anyway.

“And you? How have you been?” Me?

Sometimes you wonder if people know how questions like that can make or break a person. A simple, “Are you okay?”, could push you off the edge. And this is Joel that’s asking you.

His gaze feels heavy on you as he watches your hands fiddle with your bottle anxiously.

“I’m…good.”

His eyebrows raise, “Good…really.” He sighs, “That’s all you got for me? You’re just ‘good’?”

“Um…How about you Mr. Miller?”

“Tired.” You can see it in his eyes and that smile. You decide right then and there, you can’t tell him now. Even if the world is crumbling under you. You’re too young for him and he’s busy. “Glad I have the day off tomorrow.” You nod understandingly because that’s all you can offer. You wish you could do more.

“That’s good”

The show is back on, but neither of you turn back to it. The glow of the tv washes over your forms, locking you in place.

“What’s up, honey?” He puts down his food, sitting it right on the edge of the coffee table. It’s a precarious position that lowkey freaks you out, but you’re more afraid of his words. “Is something wrong? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

You follow his actions, setting down your bottle while also subtly shoving the container of pasta further onto the table. “Oh, n-no, Mr. Miller. I’m ok.”

“Please, you can tell me.” His words are pulling you at you, peeling layers off of your practiced role. It’s hard to hold back. Maybe it’s time to leave…

“I–don’t…”

“Why are you still here?” This time the question isn’t asked with an air of surprise. This time he’s worried. You realize you aren’t getting out of this easily. You swear your lip will split with how hard you're biting down on it. “This is a safe space, sweetheart, say whatever you need to. I’ll listen.”

Just like that, you’re yanked off the edge. But now, you’re not as scared. Now you know he’ll be there to soften the fall.

You talk slowly, careful to just ease along the edge of your feelings, “Sometimes…I don’t want to go home.” Just admitting that takes a huge weight off your shoulders. Joel readjusts his seating position and he’s now turned toward you. He’s listening.

“Why not? Is something happenin’...?” Those gentle brown eyes urge you to continue.

“It’s–When I’m with my family, living feels like a chore.” It’s spilling, overflowing, “My brother just got out of jail, my mom’s a borderline alcoholic, and my dad is rarely home. I feel like I can’t breathe when I’m in there like I’m suffocating in my own makeshift box. I get angry at them and at myself, and then I’m guilty,” It’s pouring and you can’t stop it. “And t-then I feel lost,” Your voice cracks, but you’re too engulfed in everything to care, “because they’re all I’ve known. And I want them to change, god I do, but I also just want them to go away. I want to go away, even just for a little bit.” You don’t realize you’re crying until a warm droplet spills down your neck and under your t-shirt.

“Come ‘ere.” He pulls you against him, letting you lean on his chest, not caring if your tears soak through his clothes. You let the tears fall now that you aren’t facing each other and they spill down your cheeks, hot and sticky. “It’s okay, honey. Just let it out.” A hand smooths against your back, comfortingly.

You could be crying from embarrassment as much as your emotional exhaustion. Or even about how good it feels to finally be comforted.

His heartbeat is steady under you as well as each rise and fall of his chest. The soothing movement helps to calm you down until you’re just sniffling every so often.

“Have you ever been in a room full of people, but feel completely and utterly alone?” Your voice is hoarse and faint, slightly muffled as your cheek is pressed flush against his chest.

His voice is soft, “I have.”

Another sniffle.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore, Joel.” Your head is tucked under his chin and nuzzled into his soft flannel.

His hand your head off of him and he looks right into your eyes, palm cradling your cheek, “You’re not alone, honey.” He says it so quietly like it’s just for you to hear and no one else.

You must look a mess, eyes red and nose snuffed, as you stare back at him. Your eyes glisten with tears and admiration like he’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. And then they drop, below the honey eyes, and under his freckled nose.

What would you have to give to get that kind of comfort?

You realize what you’re doing and look back up, face heating with flustered energy and embarrassment. His eyebrows are furrowed when you meet his eyes again. He has to know exactly what you were thinking.

God, you fucked it all up!

You expect him to push you away…but he doesn’t.

He leans in before you could say anything, pressing his lips gently against yours. It takes you a second to realize what was happening as held you and breathed you in. He’s kissing you.

Your eyes flutter shut and you sigh into the kiss, eagerly pushing toward him to feel this skin flush against you. His lips are so soft as they brush against yours, careful to keep things slow and gentle as you ease into it. You whine softly as he pulls back, trying to chase his lips as he leaves. You can’t, he’s holding you back.

He starts nipping and sucking at your plump lips lovingly before pushing back in to swallow down your gasps. His hands continue to cradle your jaw, guiding your head as he deepens the kiss, tongue gliding over your sensitive lips. You try to ignore the way his whiskers tickle your upper lip as he pushes into your mouth, tongue mingling and laving against yours like it’s his life source.

“Joel.”

His touch disappears.

You pull away, dazed by his kiss. His taste. You wonder if he felt it too, that spark, that connection. The feel of his lips against yours is addicting and you’d do anything to do it again.

When you meet his eyes, it’s clear he doesn’t feel the same.

“...T-this was a mistake.”

“What–”

“Honey, I shouldn’t have done that.” He gets up off the couch. “You were distressed and I took advantage of it.” You start to shake your head, but you don’t get a word out. “I did and I apologize. Look, maybe these beers weren’t a good idea. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea…”

“Joel,”

“It’s Miller.” Any glint of hope you once had is immediately snuffed out.

“But, I wanted it.”

“You don’t know what you want.” That hurts. He can tell. His eyes soften, “Can we just…pretend like that never happened?”

“Yeah. I-I understand, Mr. Miller.” You get up and collect your sweater and phone, leaving the barely-touched bottle on the coffee table. “I’ll…just go now. It’s way past my curfew anyway.”

You anxiously try to walk around him to the front door, but he stops you with a hand on your shoulder. You freeze.

“Just…be safe, okay?”

“Sure.”

You walk out.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #the last of us #joel miller x you

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dreuuubullets · 8 days

Text

When Life Falls Apart

Plays "Fix You" by Coldplay

Hi everyone. It's 10:04:00 PM 9/13/24. In the middle of doing adhoc tasks at work. Here in my unfurnished apartment in Pasay.

There’s a special kind of peace on a cold, quiet night tonight. The air is crisp, the sky is a deep blue, scattered with stars that twinkle like tiny diamonds. It’s so quiet that even the smallest sounds feels amplified, as if the world itself is listening. The stillness is comforting, a gentle reminder of the beauty in solitude and the magic that a quiet night can bring. And this made me decide to write something here tonight. About what? Struggles.

If you’re reading this, the title of this post somehow, got your attention. You might be going through one of those moments when it feels like everything is falling apart. Maybe you’ve just failed at something you were deeply passionate about, lost someone you loved, or find yourself struggling to trust anyone because so many people have let you down. Life can be brutally challenging, especially when your heart feels like it’s been shattered into a million pieces, and the pain seems like it will never end.

I know this feeling all too well. I come from a complicated family background. My mom is still technically married to her husband, but they haven’t been together in years. My dad, on the other hand, is in a relationship with his wife and already had three kids by the time I was born. It was a messy situation, to say the least. I grew up mostly alone, spoiled by the financial support my parents provided, but lacking the emotional stability of a traditional family.

So, at 16, when I met my 2nd girlfriend, I was determined to create the family I never had. I wanted to experience the warmth of a close-knit family, and I promised myself that I wouldn’t let my own family be broken like the one I grew up in. I swore I’d be a responsible husband and father. But life has a funny way of throwing curveballs when you least expect them. I was cheated on and led on five times before I finally decided to choose myself. It was soul-crushing, and at one point, I even contemplated ending my life.

I fell into a dark place, turning to vices, women, and alcohol, trying to numb the pain. I became someone I didn’t recognize—flirting for fun, pulling away the moment things got serious, too guarded to let anyone in. In my attempt to protect my heart, I forgot how to truly love. And when I did finally get into another relationship, I didn’t handle it well. I hurt people, became arrogant, and lost sight of who I was. My past mistakes haunted me, and it took years to recover from the self-inflicted wounds.

Eventually, I made a promise to myself: if I ever found myself in a relationship again, I would be the best version of myself. I would give that person the love and care they deserved, the understanding and passion I once had. And I did—I met someone, fell in love, and for a while, it felt like I was finally getting it right. But after two years, I got cheated on again. It was a painful reminder of why I guard my heart so fiercely. I love deeply, and when I get hurt, it takes me a long time to heal.

But this time, I refused to let heartbreak destroy me. I focused on healing and becoming a better version of myself. I met someone else, and although it didn’t work out, I’m okay. I’ve learned to find peace in the journey, even when the outcome isn’t what I hoped for. I’m still lucky. Life might not always go the way we plan, but I believe we have the power to decide how we respond, to pick ourselves up, and to keep moving forward, even when it feels impossible.

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arcturusreads · 1 year

Text

hold me closer

pairing: lucy carlyle x anthony lockwood word count: 1265 words request: yes/no prompt/summary: Lockwood couldn't heal Lucy's wounds from her life before Lockwood & Co. but he was going to do everything he could now to make sure that she felt safe and happy in her new home. Because you look after those you love. a/n: crossposted on my ao3 account: saiwriteswords

“Luce?” Lockwood tentatively called her name as he walked up the stairs to her attic room. “Do you mind if I come up?”

His ears strained to hear a muffled grunt from her before he carried on making his way to her room.

“Luce,” he stopped when he saw Lucy curled up in in ball on her bed. Her eyes were shut tight, and concern ran through Lockwood’s body. He placed the tray of food down on her dresser and sat next to her on the bed. His hand began to stroke her hair, like a reflex. Neurons firing, wanting to comfort her before his brain was able to compute what was happening.

The crease on her forehead faded away as Lucy shuffled herself closer to him. She took a deep breath of Lockwood’s woodsy scent and wished she could bury herself in it.

“Is everything okay? I came up with some food for you, you barely touched dinner tonight.”

Lucy just shook her head, not wanting to talk or open her eyes. She just wanted Lockwood to stay there with her. It was taking all her self-restraint not to hold onto his shirt to make sure he wouldn’t move.

“Luce, you’re worrying me a bit. Is everything alright?” Anxiety laced Lockwood’s voice and it was enough to get Lucy to look up at him.

“I just- there’s this buzzing in my ears Lockwood and I can’t get it to go away.” Her voice broke, “I feel like I’m going to go crazy.”

Lockwood felt an ache in his chest, he could tell how much Lucy was suffering and he knew this wasn’t the first time it had happened. They’d had a tough case last night and it had been overwhelming for her. He should have kept a closer eye, should have made sure that she was okay.

He went to stand up, but Lucy caught the sleeve of his shirt, halting him. “Please, don’t go.” Her voice was quieter than what he was used to. None of the usual strength or authority in her request.

“I’m just going to grab that glass of water for you,” he nodded his head towards the tray he’d put down. “And then I’m going to be right back, I promise.”

Lucy kept biting her lip for a moment before finally nodding and letting his sleeve go. Lockwood moved with all of his usual grace he had when he was fighting with his rapier, before helping Lucy sit up and take a sip of water.

“Wait a second,” he stopped her before she could lay back down.

“Lockwood, please. I just want to curl up again, I don’t have the strength for this right now.”

If Lockwood could, he would wrap Lucy up for everything that was hurting her in this world. Everything that caused her the smallest amount of sadness and pain. Every time he saw her in any kind of discomfort, it was like a clamp formed around his chest and the only thing that would loosen its vice was finding a way to fix things for her. But that wasn’t always possible. There were things about Lucy’s past that he didn’t know about, that she wasn’t quite comfortable to share with him but he saw her sometimes space out when someone would mention her family or her life before coming to Lockwood & Co. and there was nothing he could do to change what she had been through. No way that he was able to take away years of pain from her. So, he worked on making her life here with him and George as happy as possible but that was easier said than done for an agent.

“Two seconds, Luce. I promise, just give me two seconds.”

Lucy didn’t have it in her to even argue with him. The sound of her own voice had begun to grate on her ears when it was mixed with all the buzzing. It wasn’t often that she would let Lockwood get his own way, at least not without some kind of fight but today was his lucky day it seemed. So, Lucy just nodded, closing her eyes again in the hopes that somehow that might dull the sound that wouldn’t leave her alone.

She felt the mattress dip beside her and thought that Lockwood had just sat down again but she could feel him shift around. Curiosity got the better of her and Lucy opened her eyes to see Lockwood leaning against her headboard with his legs on the bed.

“Come on,” he eventually said when Lucy just furrowed her brow. Any cockiness and certainty he usually spoke with was gone. Instead, he was shy and unsure and Lockwood wasn’t quite able to meet her gaze. When Lucy didn’t move, Lockwood shifted slightly and finally looked at her face.

“Just come here, Luce. Lean back against me.” He held out a hand for her and when Lucy just stared and didn’t make a move, Lockwood wanted to die of embarrassment. What did he think he was doing? Who did he think he was? Anthony Lockwood, prize idiot.

Lucy finally took his hand and shuffled herself over to him, sat between his legs with her chest resting against his back but Lockwood knew that she wasn’t relaxed. This was the most physical contact they’d ever had. There were the sleepy heads on shoulders in the library, hands clasped together as they ran when they were on a job, his hand brushing against her back as he moved past her in the kitchen. All subconscious movements, contact that came naturally to them, that they never thought twice about. But this was different, this was purposeful and that was a line that neither of them had crossed.

“I’ve got you,” Lockwood wrapped his arms around her waist and Lucy’s hand automatically drifted to cover his. And slowly she felt herself relax against him. The tension in her shoulders slowly eased and she shut her eyes again.

“Any better?” The whisper made a shiver run through her body and she slowly nodded.

“A little, the buzzing though-“ whilst it had eased, and hadn’t completely disappeared.

Lockwood began to gently hum a lullaby he remembered him mum used to sing to him when he was having a nightmare. The song had always managed to lull him back into a deep sleep, forgetting about whatever was chasing him in the dark and he hoped that maybe it could do the same for Lucy. Even if it only gave her two minutes of relief for the incessant noise that she couldn’t get away from. He just hoped he wouldn’t make it worse.

Lucy could feel his chest vibrate as he continued to hum, and as she focussed on every note, she was able to stop paying attention to the humming as it began to quieten down. When the lullaby eventually came to an end she frowned. She wasn’t ready for it to end yet, she wasn’t ready to leave the embrace that Lockwood had her in. Just a few minutes more. That was all.

“Lockwood, can you sing that again please?” She asked in a quiet voice. She couldn’t see the smile on Lockwood’s face when she uttered those words. It was gentle and warm and everything that she made him feel.

“Of course, Luce.” He wrapped his arms around her just that little bit tighter and began the lullaby all over again. And he didn’t care how many times he would have to repeat it, as long as Lucy Carlyle felt safe with him.

#lockwood & co #lockwood and co #locklyle #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle

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positively-peachy-143 · 6 months

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Them with a reader who has BPD and has really bad mood swings and they say or do things that they don't mean

For example reader gets upset and maybe goes non verbal to try and have space to calm down and whatever member from the gang is tryna figure out what's wrong and reader lashes out on them

It's totally fine if it makes u uncomfortable and u don't wanna do it

GUYS I LOVE THIS OMG

Word count: 756

Characters: Sodapop Curtis, reader, mentions of Darry and Ponyboy.

Ship: Sodapop x GN!reader

TW: BPD splitting, arguing(?), no escalation just yelling, guys we bullied Soda in this one.

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

You hadn't been together long, but long enough for Soda to tell when something was bothering you. He was never very good at going about comforting you, as he's a very hands-on, snuggles-fix-everything kind of partner, and you were a very leave-me-alone-or-I'll-bite-you kind of partner when you were upset.

Right now all you wanted was isolation. It was too hot, your shirt felt itchy and too tight, the ambient noise of the gang cackling in the other room was too loud, driving a spike deep into the most agitated nerve in your brain. The split came out of nowhere. You'd been fine for weeks, happy even, and now you're thrown off-kilter by what? The smallest inconvenience.

Hiding in your room was the cowardly thing to do, you knew that, but it felt like the only thing soothing your nerves was the soft plush sheets on your bed and the dark room. You felt a migraine brewing, and just as you were about to relax, try to nap maybe, tension flooded your senses when you heard your bedroom door creak open.

"Baby?" Fuck. It was Soda. You didn't turn to look at him, having been curled up, facing the wall. You could just picture that concerned look on his face, so stupid and punchable. You knew you'd feel bad for thinking about him like that, but right now you didn't have the patience.

"Go away." You grumbled, shoulders hunching to further hide your face. You hear a sigh, and for a moment you think maybe he'll grant you the relief of being alone again, but those thoughts shatter away when you feel the end of the bed sink down to accommodate his weight.

"c'mon, what's going on?" there it is again. He sounds so worried, too worried. You were fine, couldn't he see that?

"I said go away." the words are bitten out, a hiss, a warning. Only he doesn't relent, as blind and oblivious as he is. A hand finds your shoulder, gentle but startling. Consciously, you know it's Soda, but your body reacts as if a stranger had just grabbed you. You flinch away, this time turning over to glare at him.

You falter for a moment, he does too. His eyes are wide in his face, the kind of expression you'd imagined on Darry after he hit Ponyboy. Only Soda hadn't hit you, and you reacted like he had.

On top of it all he still looks so. punishingly. worried. Couldn't he just get angry? You hadn't ever seen that color on him before, but anger, a fight, is what you craved. You felt that foggy haze of aggression take over, wanting nothing more than to see him storm off in a fit of rage.

The conscious part of you would realize later that it wasn't possible for Soda to act like that. Making your next words sting all that much more.

"Are you blind?! Can't you see I don't fucking want you right now!?" you snap, voice raising. In your chest you feel anticipation building, waiting for him to fire back.

He doesn't. He blinks, startled, dejected. That venom in your words clearly hit him to his core.

"Darling, I-" He starts, a quiver teetering his voice. Before you can stop it, you step all over what he was about to say with your own attempt at starting a fight.

"I don't wanna hear it! Can you just get. out. already!?" It's almost a growl how you say it, and you can see his face fall, defeated. He almost visibly deflates as he gets to his feet. Why did you say that?

No, you know why you said it. He was being too pushy. You needed to stand your ground.

Soda mumbles an apology to you, dropping his gaze to the tattered carpet as he skittishly leaves the room, looking similar to Johnny with that kicked puppy expression.

You'd put that expression there. Your words. Your venom. As you watch him leave, there's no satisfaction in your chest at winning the argument, only overwhelming sickness. Tasting bile in your throat, the silence settling on you like a thousand eyes judging you.

What had you done?

Soda meant no wrong, you knew that. Why did you get SO angry with him?

He was overstepping. A small part of you hisses, a part you'd trained to defend you. But you know, in your core, even if you wouldn't admit it, that Soda wasn't the problem here.

How on Earth were you going to fix this?

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

aaaaaaaaa guys first rec tell me how I did!! I really loved writing this one guys, would love feedback! (pos and neg!!)

#the outsiders #sodapop curtis #bpd #BPD splitting #sodapop x reader #sodapop curtis imagine #sodapop imagine #reqs open #LOVED WRITING THIS #PLEASE REQ MORE I AM BEGGING.

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know-the-way · 2 years

Note

I would LOVE to read anything by you, unfinished or not 🖤 if you’re still okay to share ofc!

lol Well, you’re very sweet, thank you. And okay! Not sure if this is one I’ll try to finish, but here’s one from my abandoned wips file:

It’s set just after the scene in 02x05 where they search for Ambrose at the Spellman house and can’t find him. On the car ride back to the academy, Zelda reflects on her wedding eve and all the events/emotions surrounding it. (tw: mentions of rape/attempted rape)

The silence is palpable as they head back to the academy, only the grit of the tires on the Spellman Mortuary driveway and the muted hum of the car motor. She’s had more to drink in the past hour than she normally does in a whole day’s time and her gaze is fixed on the retreating image of her childhood home. Faustus is idly tapping his fingers upon his cane next to her. Even though she’s set to be eternally bound in unholy matrimony to him tomorrow, and it should be one of the most exciting nights of her life, she finds herself turning closer to the window, her nose nearly touching the glass, glued to the last embers of light from the porch windows as the driver turns the corner and she loses sight of it completely.

The way Sabrina looked at her. The contempt, the disgust… the smallest bit of fear. She must hate her truly now, but the fact is Sabrina hasn’t known Ambrose as long as she and Hilda have. She knows little to nothing of what they went through with that boy. The amount of times she, Hilda, or Edward had to negotiate at great risk to themselves just to save his skin. It’s why Edward ordered his house arrest in the first place. For his own protection (and theirs).

While she’s certain that Ambrose wouldn’t kill his unholy eminence without reason, and that’d he’d justify it with some passion or virtue he’d swear was worth the risk - the fact of the matter would still be that he’d done it. Blowing up the Vatican, the palace of their enemy, was one thing; destroying the highest leader of their own religion was another.

Actually, she corrects herself, the true leader is the Dark Lord, and the encounter she nearly had tonight is an all too strong reminder of that. Her brows knit together as her eyes fall closed, recalling the flash of light that accompanied the opening of her chamber doors earlier and the dread that instantly dropped in her stomach. She’d spent her whole life devoted to the Dark Lord; enlightened by his word; humbled by his challenges. She was a Satan-fearing woman, through and through, and the menacing touch of his claws on her shoulder was an emphasis as to why.

She can’t help but wonder what he might’ve done with her. Surely, he wouldn’t have been gentle; she’d laid with far too many of his devout followers to think otherwise. Not that she was ever gentle herself; she had claws and teeth, too after all, but something tells her the rough play of the coven orgies and even more intense of her solo partners would have paled in comparison to the Dark Lord’s expression of lust.

Her younger self would chastise her for such reservations. For whatever the Dark Lord commanded was far more important than any individual suffering and she should be honored she was chosen. She remembers counting down the days to her dark baptism as a small child, fervently pledging her devotion to the Dark Lord, starving for the power that walking the path of night promised her.

But naïveté was never kind. There were phases of night, after all, and so there was within the church, as well. Sometimes she lived in the beauty of twilight; where she found warmth, community, and ideas that set the burning passion within her blaze. Then there were midnights - a constant battle for balance as the day bid farewell to its end in tandem with greeting its beginning again; it was equal parts power and danger. Last, there was deep night - the time where the cover of darkness emboldened the malevolent; where unwanted touches, painful possession, and invading hands - so much stronger and older than hers - always seemed to find her.

It served nothing to dwell on such things, but at times hiding the effects was like asking a poorly-built dam not to break, and it had only been an hour ago, perhaps two… Her head starts to feel fuzzy and she grips the door handle for support.

Her worries and uncertainty for Ambrose are easy to stave off; she knows he will be fine (she will make it so), but the Dark Lord is not so easy… The wretched sound of his husked breathing, his towering presence looming over her making her feel so small, and those rough, invading claws that had just gripped in tight and begun to turn her towards him… would he have touched her like the others did? Take his pleasure and then leave her in who knows what state? Tradition demanded that details of any witch’s visit remain between her and the Dark Lord, but did his chosen witches even survive to lay with their husbands the next night? Could he… could he still come to claim her before dawn? The thought of it mixed with the drink in her body causes her to let out a quiet, frightened gasp and she flinches hard enough for her fiancé to notice.

“… Zelda?” he asks curiously, steadying his cane over his lap.

She briefly closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and turns to him with a weak smile, “Yes, your Excellency?”

He gives her a pitying glance, one she’d find nauseating under the best of circumstances, and reaches over to gently grasp her hand into his. “I can’t imagine how hard this must be on you, darling.”

Oh, fuck off. Not only is he entirely unaware of what exactly has her distressed, but as if he has any care for her concerns in this matter with Ambrose... it’s laughable, really. He may think her a malleable little bride, but she’s no fool, and he should very much know that by now.

“There are far greater things at play,” she takes a deep breath followed by a placating smile, “Such a burden for you, your excellency, my sincerest apologies. But I’ve no doubt that justice will be swift with your leadership, and our wedding will hopefully be a balm for this unfortunate circumstance.”

Faustus considers her for a second - a surely noticeable flinch in her eyes as she attempts to remain convincing, but then he huffs out a pleased chuckle, reaching over to stroke her cheek, “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to have you at my side, my dear.”

She gives him another demure smile, leaning into his soft touch, and feigning the docile look of a submissive little bride that she knows strokes his ego and his cock in equal measures. She plays her part well by now and, as such, it’s no surprise that the crumb of admiration she’s fed him has him grinning ear-to-ear.

“Come here, my darling,” he whispers fondly, lifting his arm so that she can settle into his side.

#zelda spellman #faustus blackwood #caos #spellwood #ambrose spellman

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sasslett · 1 year

Text

Get to know me!

tagged by @elveny, let's see if I can get this done before I have to get out of bed (someone play me the world's smallest violin)

Share your wallpaper: So my PC is set to cycle through my XIV screenshot folder as its wallpaper, so here's my Chromebook (where I do all my writing) and my phone (where I do all my blogging) wallpapers instead!

A lovely comm from thetictactician on Twitter on my Chromebook!

and this amazing comm on my phone from Hollycircling on Twitter, I can't believe she indulged me and went this fucking hard but she did this. In a week.

The last song you listened to: Warrior by Beth Crowley (this is such a Jess song tbh)

Currently Reading: Ok... so... I actually haven't read any sort of published novel since... 2011, with A Storm of Crows I think? So I used to read a shit ton, but it was 11th grade and my friends were like 'You're still reading kids books? Read something for grown ups instead' (I was rereading Percy Jackson at the time, my beloved). So I gave it a try with a 'grown up' fantasy series and... fuck GoT it was awful and I decided if that's what adult literature was like, I didn't want any part of it. So I quit reading entirely.

Last Movie: Bullet Train, months ago. I don't like watching movies - I'm huge into the behind the scenes stuff, cinematography, lighting, direction, costume design etc etc so it makes it hard to watch movies when my brain won't stop analyzing and criticizing everything (honestly modern cinema is so full of people just 'sending it' for the next big paycheck, the heart is just gone). But my husband insisted I watch this one and you know what? It was actually really well made, I was impressed.

Craving: More time. More time to finish these cosplays (Twelve have mercy the con is in a week and a half), more time to write, more time to decompress. Also craving a Chromebook/laptop/portable writing device that doesn't freeze when I type more than 5 letters in a row...

What are you wearing right now: My nightgown! (still in bed) It's got penguins on it and it's fucking adorable.

How tall are you: 5'5, idk what that is in the rest of the world. Americans, y'know.

Piercings: None, but I bought some super cute Ascian earrings last year and I've been really tempted to get my earlobes pierced.

Tattoos: None, not my thing but totally cool for everyone else!

Glasses? Contacts?: Lasik! Totally worth if you can do it.

Last drink: Choccy milk (I am an adult)

Last show: Last narrative-focused show? Uhhhhhh.... I watched the first season of The Walking Dead in 2012 and I legit can't think of anything more recent. I just don't enjoy watching things much, I'd rather be doing something, and I'm such a snob when it comes to screenwriting/characters that most things just don't appeal to me. Other than that the last non-scripted show I watched was Restaurant: Impossible.

Last thing you ate: An oatmeal chocolate chip cookie my sister made last night.

Favourite colour: Wine/burgundy! That deep, dark, blood red with just a hint of purple (in case you couldn't tell since it's the color my WoL wears in every outfit)

Current obsession: FFXIV lol

Unrelated Obsession: Unrelated? I'd say writing but that's kind of related... So, horses? I mean that's just always my obsession.

Any pets: Uh... yeah. I myself have two horses. And then... we have a shit ton of cats. So in 2020 strays kept showing up at our house and then they'd have babies, eventually we managed to catch them all and get them fixed and now some of them have chosen to move in. Shelters are full all across the state, rescues and fosters are full. So now we have... 10 cats that live inside (it's a large house) and then another six/seven that are still feral outside but fixed at least. Nothing much we can do about it, but keeping them inside keeps them safe and saves the wildlife outside, too.

Do you have a crush on anyone: An eternal crush on my husband. He's just amazing. Soft. Adorable. Handsome. Perfect. Goofy. Gorgeous. Smart. Creative. Loving. So many more words. 12 years together in May!

Favourite fictional character: Assuming player characters/WoLs don't count, Elena Fisher from Uncharted. She was the first female character I encountered who was just... normal. Not a token female, not sexualized eye candy, not walking boobs without a personality, she was... a real person, a real character in her own right, whose gender didn't change who she was. And I fell in love with that back in 2007 (I was in middle school then, so it was kind of a big deal for me). She only got better as the years went by, I still love her.

The last place you traveled: Depends on your definition of 'travel'. On a literal sense probably Portland, but since both that and Seattle are practically in my backyard I don't really count those. Other than that, Philadelphia I think, for a wedding.

TAGGING! Oh so many people should do this. Off the top of my head, if you'd like to... @ainyan, @mimble-sparklepudding, @boggleoflight, @tallbluelady, @humblemooncat, @dragoon-mid-jump, @otherworldseekers, @aethericfist and now I'm out of time and have to get ready for work so anyone else who sees this! Sorry I was tagging in a hurry, I know a lot of you are character/RP blogs so feel free to ignore.

#sassbox #tagged #thank you this was fun!!

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allsassnoclass · 7 months

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I would absolutely love an explanation for the playlist if you're up for it. I just had a look through it and it looks amazing, I can't wait to listen!! <3

alrighty!!!!

for reference, the playlist in question.

under the cut because it got a little long :)

First of all, some of these songs come from THIS playlist compiled by Maggie @calumsclifford over the years. Some of the explanations are things that we talked about when I first suggested these songs for her playlist back in the day.

1. Growing Pains by Neck Deep: THE mashton song to me!!!! this is my favorite Neck Deep song and I love the loud uninhibited guitar and drums in the original version (although my favorite version is the acoustic Dr. Martens performance). The steady support in "Don't bear the weight of the world on your shoulders/It's not too heavy/ I'll break my back so you can feel like someone's on your side" is very mashton, especially when reflecting on the manner in which they both opened up about their mental health back in the day. ashton didn't start opening up about his own mental health until after michael was getting a lot of attention for saying he went to therapy and it was getting overwhelming. maggie and i theorized that ashton starting to talk about his own was a way to help michael by shouldering part of the advocacy burden and taking some of that pressure and attention from him. then the lines "They don't know what we share in the briefest of moments/ I'm head over heels for the smallest components/ That light in your eye or that look on your face/ Secure in the fact that we both know our place" also feels SO Them, because I do think that their dynamic is pretty understated and played down publicly. They don't really ever "perform" their friendship, and because it's one of the more subtle ones that means that a lot of their dynamic is kind of passed by and overlooked, but they're both secure in it. And then, of course, the emphasis on music in these lyrics :)

2. Summertime by My Chemical Romance: you can run away with me any time you like :) michael and ashton both had BIG "gotta get out of this town" energy at the beginning, which is partly why they became the battery that was so instrumental in driving the band forward in the early days. they both risked a lot on the conviction that the band could be successful and they wouldn't be stuck in dead end jobs in their hometown, so songs about running away with another person make me think of them.

3. Don't Give Up On Me by Andy Grammer: "I will fight for you" with how protective they are of each other and always willing to defend, the idea of not giving up reflected in their relentless drive within the band and their music!

4. King and Lionheart by Of Monsters and Men: yeah just read maggie's and my explanation here

5. War Cry by The National Parks: the loyalty! the protectiveness! they will stay by each other's side!

6. Garden Song by Phoebe Bridgers: this one is mostly vibes but i like the idea of imperfect growth for both of them

7. Fix You by Coldplay: the gentle but all-encompassing support <3

8. Undeniable You by Jukebox the Ghost: okay i'll be honest this is mostly because i wrote a fic at maggie's behest (can you tell that maggie was instrumental to my understanding of mashton back in the day)

9. The Party by Maisie Peters: okay! way back in the day (years ago at this point!) I had a conversation with @clumsyclifford about whether this was a malum or a mashton song. Mashton won out for a few reasons! The line "I'll take your chaos and your crooked in a heartbeat" feels very mashton, with that sort of unconditional acceptance that they have, but the lyrics also imply that they seem like an odd couple to outsiders, which i think is reflected in where mashton ranks in popularity in the fandom. I am also a HUGE sucker for the idea that mashton feels like they've known each other since childhood. It's one of my favorite ways of portraying how comfortable they are with each other in my writing (I know there's a line in Puzzle Pieces that references that), and with the history that luke/michael/calum have, I like to think that Ashton doesn't feel any different even though he came around a few years later. The line "People ask how long have I loved you, no comment/ 'Cause probably since I was seven and you were eight/ We didn't know each other, but baby, it was fate" is SUCH a mashton line to me because of it

10. Small Hands by Radical Face: bruh just read these lyrics they make me want to stare at the ceiling and maybe cry. the support! the love! the conviction that they will get through this and that the narrator is here for whatever the subject needs! "And if you wind up in the dark again/ Just turn and call my name/ And if the fire in your chest goes out/ Well I'll hold you all the same/ And if you need to take this out on me/ Well you know I won't complain"

11. peace by Taylor Swift: this is one of those "imperfect love" songs that i like. even so, there's the unending loyalty in this one, and the lines "All these people think love's for show/ But I would die for you in secret" definitely support the idea i talked about earlier with how a lot of their relationship is understated and private. folklore in general is also a mashton album though

12. Honeybee by The Head and the Heart: big "you're my person despite our hardships" energy that i love

13. For Me, It's You by Train: honestly? i just wanted to include a train song. i like the way that so many train songs are kind of casual love? understated? the way that this is sung is so relaxed, almost lazy, and yet you have the immensely touching "for me, it's you" sentiment. i like to think that's mashton's vibe

14. The Edge of Tonight by All Time Low: i love the idea that they find solace in each other and that they act as emotional anchors!!! the idea of keeping each other safe!!!!

15. Float by HARBOUR: "Understated, overwhelming/ Life is always best when you're around" their dynamic is understated but that doesn't mean it isn't profound!!!! the safety of being able to step off the ledge with each other and trusting that you'll float instead of fall!

16. Floral & Fading by Pierce the Veil: okay full discretion part of the reason this one is on the list is because it's on a fic playlist for a mashton series i'm working on. also though, the idea of running away together! i'm sure you can tell some kind of big touchstone ideas i have about mashton from these song selections and what parts i point out lol

17. Favorite Place by All Time Low ft. The Band Camino: another person being a refuge! another person who is fiery and can't be tamed but that you can still love and be loved by! also "you're everything I love about/ The things I hate in me" giving big "opposite ends of the battery" energy with the idea that they're so similar but seeing those traits in a different person completely flips your view to the opposite.

18. Come to Me by The Goo Goo Dolls: i just wanted a goo goo dolls one :) but also! once again! the idea of a safe place in another person! physically coming together!

19. My Kind by Alessia Cara: a lot of my justification of this one is the line "Really wish I knew you sooner than my 20s" with that idea that mashton feels like they met as kids and wishes that they had. there's also so much about nostalgia and growing up in this song, and we know that they had their growing pains and got to experience those moments with each other and have grown into very unique and distinct individuals. the chorus is also very much them as individuals, and the lines "I wish somebody would've told me I'd be here now/ 'Cause this kind of life is one to sing about" definitely feels like them looking back at where they came from and where they ended up. i love the optimism of older mashton. (i love the optimism of all older 5sos, i love that despite their challenges and pressures they all seem to be absolutely thriving and happy)

20. It Won't Be Like This Forever by Neck Deep: I wanted to bookend the playlist with Neck Deep and this one is a great, optimistic look on their journey together! The equal reassurance that things will get better! The way that mashton constantly raises each other up!

BONUS CONTENT:

"One Day Robots Will Cry" by Cobra Starship is also a mashton song to me. i have no way to justify it other than the color purple. maybe one day i'll write a fic. idk. this song did not fit on the playlist but it can be a bonus track

I will also say that Bank on the Funeral by Matt Maeson is a mashton album to me. again, no justification

#ask #anon #this took so long #man i have MISSED talking about mashton #like. getting back into the nitty gritty of it!!!!!#those are my boys!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#thank you for giving me an excuse to do so :)

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