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kinktober | pleasure in your pleas - o.p.
summary: with oscar teasing you relentlessly, your incesent begging shows how badly you need him. the begging only drives him on, taking great pleasure from your pleas.
WARNINGS: 18+ content, fingering, dom!oscar, begging, teasing, dirty talk, praise, light dacryphilia.
w.c. 2.8k+
a/n: last week of kinktober!! remember there's this post, an extra tomorrow and then the final halloween post. hope you all enjoy this, as the majority of you all voted dom!oscar! let me know your thoughts via reblog, comment or ask, i love hearing from you guys.
oscar piastri was a lot of things—charming, competitive, and determined—but when it came to you, he had a streak that was insatiably playful, bordering on devilishly teasing. you were lounging in his hotel room after a long day, the air between you charged with a lingering electricity. the chemistry the both of you shared was undeniable, and despite the endless hours of travel and work, your mind could never quite keep away from thinking about him.
tonight was no different.
oscar was in one of his moods, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he lay on his side, propped up by an elbow. You could feel his gaze trailing over you, soaking up every movement of your smaller body, every shift in your expression as you read the latest articles on your phone. he had a knack for reading you, knowing just what buttons to press to drive you to the edge.
his fingers traced an absentminded pattern along your thigh, the gentle graze of his fingertips causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin. his touch was maddeningly light, not enough to satisfy the craving you had building inside but enough to keep your senses buzzing with anticipation.
you shifted restlessly on the bed, your breath coming out a little sharper than usual. “oscar…” you managed to say, your voice sounding far too needy for your liking. you knew he could hear the pleading in it—he always did.
“what is it?” he asked, his tone all innocent curiosity as if he hadn’t been the one tormenting you for the past twenty minutes. his fingers halted their exploration, and you almost whimpered at the loss. the small smirk on his face started to grow larger as he heard you try to restrain any noises.
he knew what you wanted. hell, he could practically feel it radiating off of you in waves, the growing desperation to have him do something, anything, more than this teasing.
“oscar,” you said again, hoping he would just stop this game. but he didn’t move. instead, he leaned in a little closer, tilting his head as if he were trying to figure you out.
“i’m listening,” he prompted, his voice low and smooth, laced with a teasing note that sent a shiver down your spine. you bit your lip, embarrassed at the sheer neediness in your voice. You were supposed to be strong, confident.. not this needy mess begging for his attention. but when he was looking at you like that, with those knowing eyes and that infuriatingly smug smirk, it felt impossible to hold onto any semblance of control.
“please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but were instantly met back with a “please, what?” and there it was—that teasing lilt again. it drove you crazy, the way he reveled in making you beg for him. his fingers resumed their lazy exploration, but now they danced along the inside of your thigh, so close to where you ached for him yet so far at the same time.
your breath hitched at the touch, your hips arching slightly towards his hand of their own accord. but he pulled away in an instant, as if to punish you for trying to get what you wanted without asking for it.
“please,” you repeated, louder this time, almost desperate. you could feel the heat building between your legs, a slow, torturous burn that only oscar seemed capable of igniting.
“come on,” he pressed, his voice barely above a whisper now. he shifted closer, his face mere inches from yours. “you know what I want to hear,” he coaxed, hooded eyes switching from your own, to your lips, and then back up.
you felt your cheeks flush, embarrassment warring with the overwhelming need you felt. he knew exactly how to push you, to toy with you until you were practically falling apart at his feet. it was maddening, the way he got such a twisted pleasure out of hearing you beg.
“oscar,” you tried again, your voice trembling slightly. “please, fuck. just—”
“just what?” he cut in, smirk overtaking his face completely. he was enjoying this far too much, taking great pleasure in the way you were slowly unraveling under his touch. he hadn’t had you like this in so long, due to the latest tripler header. why shouldn’t he let himself indulge a little?
your hands fisted in the sheets, trying to find something to ground you. “touch me,” you finally managed to say, barely a whisper. “i need you.”
“oh?” he raised an eyebrow, pretending to be surprised. “you need me?” he pushed, needing more than that to allow his fingers to continue their journey up your thigh.
“yes,” you breathed, nodding desperately. “please, osc. i need you so fucking bad, i’m desperate,” you told him, closing your eyes in defeat. you knew you had to let yourself beg a little more to get what you wanted.
but Oscar wasn’t satisfied with that. no, he wanted more. he always wanted more, and today was no different.
“say it again,” he urged, his voice dropping to a low murmur. his hand traced up your thigh once more, fingers grazing the edge of your shorts, so achingly close yet still not quite enough. the icy touch of his calloused fingers against your soft skin was amazing, you desperately needed him to move further.
you felt yourself shudder, the tension in your body almost unbearable at this point. “fucking– please,��� you repeated, louder this time. “i need you, oscar. i need you so fucking bad, you have no idea.”
he let out a low chuckle, the sound reverberating through you, making your breath catch in your throat, heat filling your cheeks. “that’s a good start,” he mused, almost as if he were talking to himself.
a good start?? you felt a surge of frustration, though it was mixed with desire. that combination was deadly, and it felt almost too much to bear. he was enjoying this, drawing it out just to watch you squirm beneath him.
“oscar,” you pleaded, your voice breaking slightly. “please—” “hmm,” he interrupted, tilting his head as if considering your plea. “i don’t know… i’m not sure if you really deserve it yet.”
the words sent a shock of arousal through you, a mixture of frustration and want so intense it nearly left you breathless. he was toying with you, holding back just to hear you beg more.
“please,” you begged again, your voice a desperate whimper now. “i need you so badly, oscar, please—”
“much better,” he murmured, his fingers finally slipping under the hem of your shorts, brushing over the fabric of your underwear. you gasped at the sudden movement– but still, it wasn’t enough. not nearly enough.
you couldn’t hold back the needy sound that escaped your lips at the sensation. “osc,” you breathed, your voice nothing more than a desperate plea at this point. “for fuck sake– i’m begging you.”
he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “i love hearing you beg like this,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. you wanted to roll your eyes at oscar, as if he didn’t just state the obvious. but he spoke up again before you could. “do you even realize how good you sound right now? whining.. begging, just for me?”
you let out a shaky breath, your entire body trembling with need. you repeated your pleas over and over, your voice barely recognizable now, laced with desperation. “osc, please…”
he seemed to consider your plea for a moment, as if weighing his options. and then, finally, he pressed his lips against your neck, the gentle brush of his mouth sending a jolt of pleasure through you.
you let out a high-pitched moan, your entire body relaxing into the touch. but he didn’t stop there. his lips trailed down, leaving a trail of soft kisses along the curve of your neck, his hand slipping lower as his fingers brushed over the fabric covering your most sensitive spot– the spot where you needed him most.
your breath hitched at the contact, another moan escaping your lips before you could stop it. you were too far gone to care about holding back now—too lost in the overwhelming need for him to keep up any pretense of restraint.
“oscar,” you breathed, the sound of his name almost a sob. even more so when you continued to chant his name, hoping he’d accept those begs and start giving you what you wanted.
he hummed in satisfaction, his fingers finally slipping beneath the fabric of your underwear, brushing over your heated skin. you let out a shaky breath, your entire body trembling at the sensation.
“good girl,” he praised quietly, his voice sending another shiver down your spine. his low, quiet voice was such a sharp contrast to your loud, insistent begs that he was making you hit out with. “you’re doing so well for me, baby. doing just as i ask.”
the praise made you feel lightheaded, your mind going blank with need. he knew exactly how to unravel you, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the overwhelming desire for him.
he pressed a finger against your clit, the sudden contact making you gasp. your hips arched involuntarily towards him, trying to chase the feeling. but he pulled back just enough to leave you wanting, a teasing grin on his lips. your eyes widened at the loss of contact, staring at his cocky expression with confusion lacing it’s way onto your features.
“patience,” he chided, his voice laced with amusement. “you begged so nicely, love— i want to enjoy this for a little longer, you understand right?”
you let out a whimper of frustration, your body practically thrumming with need. it was almost unbearable, the way he kept you on the edge, never quite giving you enough to tip you over.
“please,” you begged again, your voice was nothing but a broken whisper at this point, just like he wanted. “oscar, please—”
he seemed to take pity on you then, his fingers finally slipping inside, pressing into your heat with a deliberate slowness that made you feel like you were coming apart at the seams. you let out a choked moan, your hands clutching the sheets as if they were the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.
he set a slow, torturous pace, watching with rapt attention as you writhed beneath him, his name falling from your lips in a desperate chant. you were so close, teetering on the edge, and he knew it. but just as you felt yourself start to unravel, he pulled back, his fingers stilling inside you. you let out a frustrated whine, your hips bucking towards him in a futile attempt to chase the feeling.
“not yet,” he hummed, his voice all dark amusement. “You’ll have to beg a little more than that, baby.”
You couldn’t stop the tears of frustration that welled up in your eyes, your entire body trembling with need. “please,” you sobbed, your voice breaking. “fucking hell– i’m going to lose it oscar, i’m begging you please—”
“that’s it,” he murmured, his voice almost reverent as he took in the sight of you, completely undone beneath him. “you’re doing so well for me.”
and then, finally, he relented, his fingers resuming their movement. this time oscar resumed his rhythm with renewed intensity, his fingers driving into you with a purposeful, steady pace that made your whole body quiver. he was focused, watching every expression you made as if memorizing them. it was almost as if your desperation was a reward in itself, fueling his relentless teasing.
“look at you,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly. “so needy for just my fingers?”
you could barely respond, the pleasure building inside you making it difficult to think straight. every stroke of his fingers sent another wave of heat flooding through you, and the pressure inside was coiling tighter and tighter. your lips parted, your breathing ragged, and you felt your chest rising and falling faster than you could control.
his words kept you tethered, just enough to drive you forward. “shit,” you whimpered, feeling so close to the release you had been begging for. “oscar, i’m going to—”
“no,” he cut you off, his voice firm yet still maddeningly gentle. “not yet.”
the desperation in his tone mirrored your own, but he was too wrapped up in this—wrapped up in you. he wanted to hold you there, wanted you to reach the peak only when he decided to allow it. your eyes fluttered shut as you tried to obey, every muscle in your body taut, straining against the thin thread of control he held over you.
you felt a tear slip down your cheek, your voice catching in your throat. “oscar, please—” the word was a broken sob now, a plea, a surrender. you couldn’t hold back anymore, the raw, vulnerable sound of your voice echoing in the room.
“that’s it,” he cooed, a dark satisfaction coloring his voice. “such a good girl, begging so sweetly for me. just like i wanted you to do, and you listened. so, so good for me.”
the praise felt like gasoline to the fire, burning away the last shred of restraint you had left. your nails dug into his arm, your grip trembling as you tried to ground yourself in the onslaught of sensation. the ache inside you was almost too much to bear, the pleasure teetering on that agonizing edge, waiting for permission to break free.
“oscar,” you pleaded, your voice strained and breathless. “i need—please, i can’t– i need”
“i know,” he murmured, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and something more tender, something almost fond. “but you need to hold on just a little longer, baby. i know you can do that for me”
the way he spoke, the absolute control he wielded over you, left you feeling utterly powerless and yet completely safe. it was a maddening paradox, the pleasure intertwined with the anticipation. every second felt like an eternity, and yet you never wanted this feeling to end.
when he finally pressed his lips against your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin, you felt another surge of arousal rush through you. he was marking you, claiming you, and the knowledge of that made you feel impossibly closer to the edge.
“okay,” he finally breathed, his voice almost a growl, his fingers picking up speed. “now.”
it was all you needed to hear. the words triggered something inside you, the pressure snapping like a tightly wound string. your body convulsed, the orgasm crashing over you in an overwhelming wave, leaving you breathless and shaking. his name fell from your lips in a cry, your vision going hazy as you rode out the intense pleasure.
oscar didn’t stop, working you through your high with steady, deliberate movements until you were left trembling in the aftershocks, your body completely spent. he held you, his touch gentle now, as if afraid you might break under his hands. the intensity of the moment slowly faded, replaced by a lingering warmth that spread through your entire being.
you were panting, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. oscar shifted beside you, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you. his fingers brushed against your cheek, wiping away the tear that had slipped out earlier. there was a tenderness in his gaze now, a softness that hadn’t been there during his teasing.
“good girl,” he murmured, his voice low and affectionate. “you did so well for me. listening to everything i said.”
you felt a smile tug at your lips, the praise making your chest swell with a quiet satisfaction. the teasing might have driven you to the brink, but the way he looked at you now made it all worth it.
as the tension melted away, you allowed yourself to relax against him, your body still humming with the lingering echoes of pleasure. oscar shifted, pulling you closer to him until you were nestled against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you. he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, the gesture intimate and comforting.
“are you okay?” he asked softly, his tone laced with genuine concern. you nodded, still too dazed to form words, and felt him chuckle quietly against you. the sound was warm and familiar, grounding you in the aftermath of everything that had just happened.
he held you for a while longer, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your back as you slowly came back to yourself. there was no rush, no urgency, just the quiet intimacy of being held by someone who knew you so deeply.
and as you lay there, completely spent and yet utterly content, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the way oscar knew how to push you to your limits—and then catch you when you inevitably fell.
#em's fics#em's filth#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri x female reader#oscar piastri oneshot#oscar piastri smut#oscar piastri blurb#oscar piastri fic#oscar piastri imagine#f1 smut#f1 blurb#f1 imagine#kinktober 2024
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Ruined surprises | L.H
>> You have a surprise for Logan but unfortunately your boyfriend finds out before you can tell him. <<
Pairing: Boyfriend!Logan Howlett x Girlfriend!Reader
Wordcount: 1.881 Words
Warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, pregnancy, insecurities, lots of kisses, allusion of smut, hint of domestic!Logan
Authors Note: @wtfhasmy-lifecometo asked to get some domestic!Logan. He isn’t mentioned as thaaaat domistic, but he got his kitten ear hair. Hope you enjoy.🙂↕️🙂↕️ Dividers made by me.
You were sitting on your bed, wrapped in a blanket and a hoodie of your boyfriend. They were just about to kiss in the book, as you felt a shiver running down your spine. Your eyes moved from your book toward the door as you saw Logan leaning against the frame of the door. His green eyes were focused on you — like always — because it was rare that he wouldn't look at you with love and adoration when the two of you were in the same room.
You smiled softly, sitting up straighter as you placed the book to the side. He looked different — not Logan as a person, but his expression was another one as you were used to. Logan would usually look at you with nothing but pure love, but right now you see a hint of uncertainty and almost fear in his green orbs. He slowly pushed himself off the frame and walked closer to you.
He didn't say a word when he sat down, his hands resting in his lap while he looked at the ground in front of you. Logan used to be the softest and sweetest, most confident and cocky man you have ever met, but right now he looks like a lost puppy. The little kitty ears he always made were almost completely ruined — probably by his hands, which were running through his hair — a habit he had whenever he felt scared and tried to calm himself.
You were quiet, watching him intently. You didn't want to break the silence, but slowly the tension grew, and you couldn't stop yourself from squirming slightly. Even though you were used to him being quiet sometimes, just wanting your closeness, cuddles, and lots of kisses between the assurance he needed, he would act differently. It was unlike the man you were together with, and it scared you slightly.
“L-Lo?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, sounding shaky and broken. He turned his head toward you, staring into your eyes. Logan still refused to talk, or maybe he didn't feel like talking right now. It only made the tension in the air and especially between the two of you worse. You couldn't put a finger on this situation or his weird behavior.
Slowly he lifted one of his calloused hands, holding something in it that looked pretty small in his big palm. His eyes moved from your down to his hand as he stared once again at it. Logan was sure that he had studied this thing for around half an hour already. He felt a lot — fear, happiness, uncertainty, but also so much love. It was too much for him to handle, or maybe it was too much because he found out the way he just did.
“What's that?” You asked, trying to get a better look so you would find out what he was holding there. Logan turned his face back to you; there were a lot of emotions swirling in them, and when you finally got a better look of the thing in his hand, you swallowed thickly. It couldn't be that; it couldn't. You made sure that it would be hidden until the evening where you had planned a dinner — and then you wanted to tell him. But now it looks like you were hiding it for other reasons than just making it a special moment.
“I should ask ya that, bub." Logan said the first words since he found it. His voice hoarse and his tears glistened slightly with tears as he held the thing further up. You had the perfect view on it then. You felt a lump in your throat, your eyes searching for Logans. “Is it true? A-Are you pregnant?”
You nodded, anxiety bubbling to the surface, and you pulled your legs closer to your chest, wrapping your arms around it while you kept your eyes on Logan. He closed his eyes, a shaky breath leaving his slightly parted lips. One of his hands — the one that wasn't holding the pregnancy test — ran through his hair, pulling softly. Logan leaned forward, resting both of his thick forearms on his knees while he stared at the test.
He had so many questions about it, so much to say, but yet he was sitting there and couldn't get a word out of himself. There wasn't a thought that would have made sense if he had said it out loud. Or almost no thoughts — there was one who slipped past his lips, his insecurities too much to push them away.
“Why didn’t ya tell me? I-I mean, how long do ya know it already? Did ya plan on telling me?” The questions suddenly blurred out of him after the first words fell over his lips. Logan felt so insecure and lost, not knowing how to react when you answer his question differently from how he hopes. Your boyfriend didn't even know if he wanted to hear the answers. “Is it even mine?”
You gasped, and your eyes widened even more as tears welled up in them. Logan didn't look at you yet, but he inhaled deeply, knowing about the tears in your eyes. He slowly turned his face, swallowing the pain when he saw your tears. His heart clenched; he just wanted to comfort you, but he was also too scared, too vulnerable himself.
“Bub, i-is it mine?” He asked; this time his voice was steadier but still heavy with emotion. You nodded; of course, it was his. You never had eyes for anyone else but Logan; you would never cheat on him. Not when you had the sweetest and most caring man at home. Logan loved you no matter what, and you knew it.
“I-it’s yours; I wanted to tell you. But I wanted to make it special. I wanted to make dinner for us,” you mumbled, your eyes teary as you looked at him. Logan nodded, feeling regret as he heard your words. He bit his lip, nodding to himself. “I love you; I would never cheat on you, Lo. You know that, right?”
Relief filled his chest; he sat up straighter and nodded. He was finally able to calm himself down. He nodded, opened his arms, and waited for you to get the hint and crawl into his arms. First, you were unsure about it; you weren’t sure why, but you were vulnerable, and you knew he was too. But your body moved on its own, slowly letting yourself fall forward until you were resting on your hands and knees to crawl over the bed to Logan.
He immediately wrapped his arms around your smaller frame as he pulled you into his lap. Logan’s thick arms wrapped tightly around you, and you hid your face in his chest. Inhaling deeply, you immediately relax in his warm and familiar embrace.
“‘m sorry, bub,” he grumbled softly. Logan placed his chin on top of your head, sighing softly. His fingers were caressing your back, drawing small circles on it. “I’m happy to get a little one with you — more than happy. It’s just—“
“Your insecurities,” you finished his sentence. Logan groaned quietly, making you chuckle, but the two of you knew you were right. His insecurities were something he suffered quietly most of the time; he got jealous when you talked to younger men or when you laughed with someone he didn’t know.
Logan trusted you with everything, but there was that little voice in his mind that screamed at him that he wasn’t enough for you. You could find someone younger and would be happier with him then.
You lifted your head and leaned back softly before you captured his cheeks with your hands. You smiled softly before closing the gap between the two of you and pressing your lips softly against his. It was just a small kiss, but as you pulled away, you saw the love and affection back in his eyes — no more fear or insecurities.
“If you don’t want it, we can talk about it and find a solu—“ you are interrupted by his hands on your mouth. Logan glared at you like you were crazy before he removed his hands to press his lips against yours. He didn’t want you to say it out loud because there was no way he wouldn’t want that child — your child.
“Don’t ya dare sayin’ that. I love you, bub, and I— I was just overwhelmed. I thought you were hiding it. But I want it. I want it with ya. I would love it even if it wouldn’t be minded, but knowing it is, yes!” He mumbled against your lips before kissing you deeply once again. “I love you; I always have and always will. But they have to get my claws, or I have to buy them a pair of these fancy kids Wolverine costumes they sell at Halloween.”
After a moment of a lot of kisses, Logan suddenly got up with you on his lap and turned around. He threw you on the bed and kneeled down in front of you. He pushed your shirt up and smirked at you, leaning to your belly before kissing it softly. “Hi, little Lo. Before you can talk back, some rules.”
“LOGAN!” You shout with a giggle before slapping the back of his head softly. He grinned into your skin, kissing you once again. He wasn’t bothered about your cute little swap; he was a man on a mission.
“So, don’t hurt ya mommy; do ya here me? I will do the washing and whatever, but I can’t cook. So if ya want food, ya have to be nice, or ya will get some disgusting burned food,” he grumbled, his big hands sneaking over your belly. Your baby belly wasn’t visible yet, but it didn’t matter to him. It was his — it was yours. He was going to be a dad with the prettiest girl carrying his baby. “But now... make some space down there. And keep ya lil claws in ya hands, lil Lo. Daddy has to make things up to ya momma.”
“I love you too, Lo. But am I allowed to decide if I want you to make it up to me like that?” You asked, but Logan shook his head. Of course, you could say no, and he wouldn’t force you, but he knew that you just wanted to tease him. And he loved it, but he couldn’t help continuing to kiss your belly down to the waistband of your pants with a smirk, his big hands gripping you by your sides and holding you tight against him.
"Mhm... maybe when I’m done. But first I want to give ya more of my lit Lo’s. And then we can make dinner together,” he mutters under his breath — emphasizing the ‘together’. Logan was tickling you when his warm breath came down on your skin. You chuckled softly, shaking your hand while you were running your fingers through his soft brown strands. As you pulled him away to kiss him again, he grinned at you. The kiss was deep, passionate, and filled with love and desire — letting him know that you don’t have any complaints about his plan — about your boyfriend giving you more sweet little babies.
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Better Bite the Bullet .ᐟ
❤︎ | He's just trying to be a good best friend by teaching you a useful skill in life... blowjobs (2k wc) ╰ feat. iwaizumi hajime (hq) x afab! reader
kinktober entry no. 10 | kinktober masterlist
tags - college au, childhood bestfriends, Oikawa mention, blowjobs, handjobs, no p in v, p*rn with plot, virgin! reader
minors do not interact
You've known Hajime since you were in diapers, long enough that he had grown indifferent to your antics. He hasn't even looked up once from his phone as you paced tirelessly around his bedroom. You were losing your shit and Hajime was sitting on his bed without a care in the world.
A bright idea came to you in the form of making your footsteps louder in hopes that it would annoy him enough to catch his attention. He clicks his tongue once before narrowing his eyes at your moving form.
But not even a second later, his eyes were back on his phone one again. "What the hell are you even doing?" he asked.
"Pacing around. Isn't it obvious?"
He grumbles, finally turning his phone off and throwing it to the side where it landed on his pillow with a soft thud. "No shit Sherlock. I meant what are you pacing around for? It's annoying."
Finally, you stop in your tracks, facing your childhood best friend with your lower lip between your teeth. You've been dying to tell him what was on your chest an hour ago. But now that you're about to spill the beans to him—you found yourself tripping over your words.
"I guess... um... Oikawa kinda asked me to hang out soon... um..."
Hajime's interest was piqued. Normally he wouldn't give two shits about who Oikawa asked out. But this time it was you. An uneasy feeling brewed in his stomach, like he had drank rancid milk.
"And you're worrying about it like some middle schooler? C'mon you're in college," he deflects. Of course, it was his defense mechanism—to act all tough and harsh with the revelation.
You crossed your arms in defense. "I get that... but it's THE Oikawa Tooru that we're talking about here."
"So?"
"What do you mean 'so'? Is your head not screwed on properly?"
Hajime rolls his eyes. Not only were you about to be whisked away by Oikawa, but you had the gall to act like a total brat right now.
"He's just asking to hang out—what's so amazing about that?"
Truth be told, you hadn't thought this far into what it would be like if you had this conversation with Hajime. You figured you wouldn't have to divulge the second—more embarrassing—part of this whole event.
A disappointed sigh leaves your lips. You screwed your eyes shut as if to prepare for the impact of his reaction on what you have to say next.
"A friend of mine told me that when he says something like that... it usually leads to... you know..."
Hajime's eyebrow perked then silence ensued. He knew what you meant, of course. He wasn't born yesterday.
"To what? Fucking?"
Your eyes shot open at his vulgar choice of words. That's exactly what you meant, but you didn't think he'd be so blunt about it. "I mean—if it does get to that... obviously I won't just go all the way with him. I haven't even talked to him that much," you say—backpedaling.
"You won't go all the way, but you'll go somewhere huh?" he pried further. He played it off like he was teasing or, worse yet, mocking. But he wanted to know; he knew his friend's intentions, but he didn't know yours.
You nervously bit your lip again. This was going to be the third revelation of tonight. Never in a thousand years would you have thought that you'd be having his conversation with your childhood best friend.
"Maybe... maybe, yeah... that's what I'm nervous about..."
The uneasy feeling had grown worse. Hajime swallowed even though his mouth felt dry. "Then just don't," he suggests. "You could always just hang out normally."
Another sigh escapes you and you decide to sit beside him—plopping down on the mattress. You ran your fingers through your hair, smoothing out any tangles that had built up.
"I just wanna experience something... you know? I'll only be young and in college once..." you admit. At this point, there was no use in hiding it. Hajime knew every substantial detail anyway.
This time, it was Hajime who sighed. Part of him still felt dread, but another felt pity for you.
"Jeez..."
Hearing his reaction, you felt the urge to stand up and find your bearings. But a warm hand grips your wrist before you could go. You turn to look back and see Hajime's determined expression.
"I'll teach you then."
────────────
Hajime was a 100% sure not a single rational thought was left in either of your heads. Somehow, he thought that if only you touched him and not vice versa—it would be fine. And, somehow, you agreed to it.
You gulped at the sight in front of you, Hajime leaning against the wall on his bed with his dick out of his sweats.
"Well... that's certainly... something..."
"Do you also plan on commenting about his dick when you see it?"
His sarcasm was hardly appreciated right now, especially since you were sure that your nerves would send you into a tailspin.
"No, of course not. I just—fuck, fine. Let's get to it," you say before scooting closer to him.
Carefully, you reach out and gently wrap your fingers around his shaft. Hajime hissed softly, but you were too concentrated to even notice.
Mesmerized, you swiped your thumb over his tip and gave him a soft tug. His jaw was clenched so hard, trying to act like none of this fazed him. But the way you treated him so delicately was arousing in its own way.
You begin stroking him faster. "Is this okay? It doesn't hurt, right?"
"No, but," Hajime pauses before placing his larger hand over yours. "You could do it better though."
He was now guiding you—actually teaching you how to jerk a guy off. Your eyes were fixated on the way both of your hands glided up and down his shaft, slippery from the immense amount of pre.
But his eyes were on your face. Oddly enough, he found it endearing how focused you were at the task on hand (quite literally). He watched every time your face scrunched, how your mouth was a bit agape, and how your eyebrows would quirk up sometimes.
It was cute, he thought.
As soon as you figured out the pace and pressure, he let go of your hand, allowing you free reign over his dick. You felt it twitch. It was most likely a good sign at least. Even better now that he had his eyes closed, head thrown back against the wall.
Maybe this was easier than you thought. Maybe you could do something else. So your hand slows and your eyes trail up to his face. "Hajime."
"What?"
"Can I use my mouth?"
All the air was knocked out of his lungs upon hearing the words that left you. "Huh? What for?"
"No one's gonna be impressed by a handjob. Guys already do it on their own all the time," you reason.
Hajime clicks his tongue. "You don't have to do that kind of thing yet when you're this inexperienced."
He tried staying stern despite the almost pleading look on your face. Hell, he wasn't even sure why he was denying you. He could have your pretty lips wrapped around his cock in a second and here he was—acting like a righteous fool when he doesn't have to be.
Again, he clicks his tongue. But, this time, not because of you. He's annoyed at himself for having no restraint... for having no shame that he's kind of taking advantage of his best friend's naivety.
But to hell with it.
"Okay," he relents. Hajime watches as you get even closer to him. Only then do you feel the nerves consume you once more.
The newfound confidence you had earlier had quickly dissipated as soon as you began leaning down. It didn't help that his natural manly scent was intoxicating. It was warm—you felt it against your face—and it was achingly hard.
You pucker your lips on instinct, accidentally kissing his tip instead. Hajime thought you were doing it on purpose to fuck with him, not realizing that you were tripping out of nervousness.
"Don't be a tease."
"I'm not!" you countered before quickly wrapping your lips around his cock. The warmth of your mouth sent shivers down his spine. But the slight grazing of your teeth on his sensitive shaft made him uncomfortable.
"Ah shit.... less teeth. Gotta hollow out your cheeks a bit."
Your jaw was already hurting. Though it probably had less to do with your skill and more to do with his size. He seemed more manageable with just a hand, but now that you're using your mouth, the task seemed gargantuan now.
But you still try. You do as he says and you feel his entire body relax a bit. It takes a lot of your concentration to make sure your teeth were out of the way and your lips provided enough suction.
That alone had Hajime seeing stars. It wasn't the best blowjob of his life, but seeing that it was your head bobbing up-and-down on his dick was a sensation in and of itself.
After getting used to the basics, you decide to throw in a little bit of tongue action. It caught him by complete surprise and a soft groan spilled from his lips.
Scared that you had hurt him, you were about to lift your head to ask him, but his hand quickly places itself on top of your head. He wasn't rough nor did he forcefully keep your head down.
Instead, he began caressing your hair—starting from the top of your head, going down to smooth your locks. It was his way of reassuring you that he felt fine—amazing even. You were doing a damn good job for someone who hasn't done this before.
Hajime avoided using his voice throughout the whole thing to make it less intimate and more 'educational' if that even made sense. But he understood that you probably needed more reassurance.
"That's it," he started. "You're doing so well... so well for me."
Hajime had filthier things to say otherwise, but again, this was supposed to be 'educational'.
As much as you want to keep up the pace that you built, your jaw was too sore for that. A bit of a break wouldn't hurt, so you retract yourself—tongue lolled out with a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. The sight alone would have made him bust, but he kept his composure... somewhat.
"Oh fuck..."
His words spurred you on, however. You settled on suckling his tip while your hand worked on the rest of his length. Having the best of both worlds made his head spin. His leaking tip was the most sensitive it had ever been and the fast pace of your hand made the coil in his stomach tighter and tighter.
Hajime wanted nothing more but to come in your mouth—consider it as payment for him teaching you. His dick began to twitch again like earlier, but this time you noticed the way his abs would tense up. The dampness that had been pooling in your underwear ever since you had his dick in your hand was starting to become distracting. But you pulled through.
"Fuckkk... I'm coming in your mouth," he announced. Thick white ropes of hot cum painted your tongue. The flavor was odd—something you've never tasted before. It made your face contort a bit.
He tried catching his breath after that single mindblowing orgasm. But through his high, he noticed the hesitation on your face. "You don't have to swallow that you—"
But he stops mid-sentence as he watched you gulp down his fresh seed. You've gone this far—might as well.
Hajime swore that he felt his dick twitch back to life, ready for more. He wasn't sure what you did to him. But now he was certain that you absolutely shouldn't do this with anyone but him.
"Fuck... forget about that moron. Have fun with me instead."
©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms
╰ author's note Wow... I'm actually kinda proud of this one?
#haikyuu#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu smut#haikyuu!!#iwaizumi x reader#iwaizumi hajime#iwaizumi hajime x reader#iwaizumi smut#hq#hq smut#kinktober#kintober 2024#mksu.ktober 24#mksu.works
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Kinktober Day 31 ~ Costume
Logan Howlett x Fem! Reader
Summary: Logan really likes your costume.
A/N: We started Kinktober with Logan and we're ending it with him. Happy Halloween and I hope you all enjoy!
Prev *✧・゚:
Kinktober '24 Masterlist
“What…is that?”
You look down at yourself, a little confused. “What? It's my costume.”
Logan focused on the tight, black leather suit you were wearing. The collar popping out along your neck. A zipper in the front of your cleavage. With yellow accents along it that really reminding him of his early X-Men days. “Wade told me you wore something like this when you first started. And I wanted to match with you…”
He motioned to his yellow and blue suit, “Sweetheart, I didn't even try.”
“Yeah, I know.” You shook your head. Logan would feel some type of way at your disdain, but he’s too focused on your suit. How it filled out your body very well.
“Just ignore pumpkin.” Wade commented, admiring you while dressed in his suit. Paired with a pink tutu and a tiara. “I think you look fantastic. Perhaps identical to our grumpy fella.”
“Aww, thanks.”
Logan grumbled, “Let’s just go.”
All of you were going to a Halloween costume party at a bar. Everyone dressed in various costume, drinking drinks that were half priced. Logan’s kind of scene, besides the goofy costumes. You were obviously excited, mingling with everyone at the party. Everyone complimenting on your costume. You pulling out your fake blades and impersonating your best Wolverine stance.
If it was anyone else, he’d think it was fucking corny. But this was you, his lover.
Who looked so damn good in that suit. Your curves highlighted for him to see. Well, not just him. Logan noticed others in the bar checking you out, eyes going up and down at your figure. Now, going to this party was a mistake. As always, you wanted him to behave, not start any fights that involved you taking cover somewhere. Good thing he had a handle on his strength. Otherwise the beer bottle in his hand would’ve shattered.
“I think this costume is too tight…” You sighed, snuggling beside him. “I can barely pull the zipper up past my chest.”
Logan felt the bottle crack. “Really? You’re usually good about your sizes.”
“I am. I told Wade what size to get when he said he was going to order it for me.”
“…you let Wade order your suit?”
“Yeah? He offered. He said he was getting Vanessa’s fairy costume at the same place-oh my god.” Suddenly, you got shy, your face buried in his neck. Logan’s arm around your waist got tighter as he comforted you. “No wonder some people were staring at me.”
He scowled at said patrons who immediately pretended to go back to conversing. “It’s okay, sugar. This is just a reminder to watch that asshole when you ask him things.”
You shrugged and Logan grimaced. He wasn’t a fan of you getting like this, having a sense that everyone was watching you.
“Hey,” He made you look up at him, “did I tell you how fucking sexy you look in that costume?”
You clicked your teeth, “No, you didn’t.”
“Well, you do. I wanted to rip that off of you and say fuck this party.” Logan admired your outfit once more, squeezing your side. “Actually, I still do.”
You lean forward, your eyes lowered as you scan his body. “Is that so?”
“You know it.”
“The party will keep going for a few more hours…” Your hands trail from his forearm, up to his bicep. “And Wade drove…”
Logan growled, pulled you close. “Just say where.”
You two did your best to disappear from the party, going to the backseat of the rental car. Your lips immediately on Logan’s before he could close the door. The kiss hot, heavy as you two tried to pull off each other’s costumes. Or at least enough to get to the important parts.
When you zip down your suit, the zipper stopping at your stomach, Logan went directly to your breasts held up by your bra. He had enough for him to mouth at your chest. Him kissing along the cups of your black bra while you grinded against his crotch. The tent in his suit prominent.
You clutched the ends of his mask while he gripped your thighs, squeezing them to increase the pace of your hips. His own matching the rhythm of yours. Your breaths mixing as your tongues collided once more, tasting hints of the drinks you two had. Logan didn’t give a damn if the car was shaking from your movements.
“Fuck me…” He felt cum leaking from his tip, “You gonna make me cum if you…”
Your mouth pressed along his once more, clearly not caring. Not when his covered cock was rubbing along your suit, managing to hit your clothed clit. Logan groans in your mouth as he can smell you, the grip on your thighs getting strong.
“Keep going…just like that…” You’re practically bouncing on him, starting to get incoherent. You don’t even care when he pulls down your bra cups, latching on to your nipple, pinching the other. He smirked when you cry out. The motion of your hips get sloppy, grinding along his cock to keep hitting that spot.
Logan knows your pussy was soaking your pretty panties. He didn’t get a chance to see them while you two were getting dressed, but he bets they match the cute bra you have on. The one he’s ruining to get more access to your skin. He’s so tempted to cut them off, but you don’t like when he cuts off your clothes.
Instead he goes through your suit, feeling the warmth of your bare skin. Logan decided to reach down, going under your lacey underwear to feel your plump bottom. You gasp, reaching under his mask to grip the nape of his neck.
A corral of moans and groaning fill the car. The friction of your covered pussy along his suit made Logan’s cock throb. Your moans increase in pitch, head thrown back when you shout to the car roof. Your body tense and trembling against him. He shuddered, not stopping his grinding as he was close. Logan’s muscles tensed when he orgasms, holding you close while cum stained his boxers.
He wanted to come inside you, but the night wasn’t over yet. He’ll save that when he has you in his bed. You give him one last kiss, pulling down his mask to dishevel his hair.
“You know, they’re gonna know we fooled around in the car.”
You move on to his face, leaving little kisses. “It’s Halloween. They’ll be fine.”
Tags:
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#kinktober#kinktober 2024#logan howlett x reader#wolverine x reader#logan howlett x you#wolverine x you#logan howlett x black reader#wolverine x black reader#x reader#x black reader#wolverine smut#logan howlett smut#logan howlett#wolverine#cookie's kinktober 2024
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uh oh, i'm falling in love | myg
summary. the night that yoongi realises you might be a lot more than just a close friend to his heart.
pairing: yoongi x reader
genre: fluff, best friends to ??, one sided love? (up to reader's interpretation)
word count: 1.5k
warnings: none <333
notes: this was a request from my love, @perfectlyoongi-main. you can find the ask for this oneshot here. listening to labyrinth by taylor swift on repeat while writing this definitely made me feel very very single, but i loved writing this sm. as always, likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback is so so appreciated!! i hope you guys enjoy <333
────
main masterlist
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You stop in front of the small, old-fashioned photo booth, hands on your hips as you look it over with mild scepticism.
It’s a flimsy structure tucked in a quiet corner of the mall, slightly worn down with chipped paint and a fading sign hanging above it. It’s the kind of booth that hasn’t been updated in years, where the pictures are low-quality and slightly off-colour, but you look at it with the excitement of someone who’s just discovered a hidden gem.
“I don’t think we’ll both fit inside,” you muse, tilting your head as if a different angle might magically increase its size.
Yoongi stands beside you, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark denim jacket, eyeing the booth with a barely hidden look of reluctance.
If he's being honest, he’d much rather be back home with you, watching movies in the comfort of his living room, eating pizza, and letting the night pass by as it usually does. It’s how he’s spent his birthdays for the past three years since meeting you, a quiet tradition he’d grown to look forward to. But this year, you’d insisted he get out of the house, brimming with excitement at the idea of taking him somewhere, refusing to tell him what you had planned.
And even though he could’ve turned you down, Yoongi knew he wouldn’t. Not with the way your face lit up when he agreed, that joyful glint in your eyes that made his heart beat just a little faster.
“Maybe we should just do this somewhere else,” he suggests, already eyeing the dim mall corridor as an escape route. “There’s no way we’re both fitting inside unless you sit on my lap or something.”
He means it as a joke, but the moment the words leave his mouth, he realises the weight they carry. His heart skips a beat as you turn to him with that playful smile he knows so well, eyes sparkling with a mix of determination and mischief.
“I don’t think—”
“Oh, come on! It’s your birthday,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “And we’ve been best friends for long enough that it won’t be weird.”
Yoongi opens his mouth to respond, but the words seem to disappear before they can reach his lips. The suggestion should feel casual, even funny, but there’s a strange tension that settles in his chest, stopping him from brushing it off like he usually would. It’s the same tension that’s been creeping up more often these days, the one that leaves him feeling almost breathless whenever he’s around you.
“Unless,” you add with a sly smile, your expression feigning innocence, “you’d rather sit on my lap?”
He chuckles, the sound more nervous than he intended. “Fine. Whatever,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. But as he steps forward, he feels a strange warmth creeping into his cheeks, something uncomfortably close to anticipation.
You squeeze into the booth first, settling onto the small, tacky leather stool with a satisfied grin. You pat your lap playfully, but Yoongi only shakes his head, stepping into the cramped space behind you.
His heart thrums erratically as he settles onto the stool, his knees brushing against yours as he wraps his arms loosely around your waist, pulling you just close enough that you both fit within the booth’s limited space. You lean back against him, so naturally that he wonders if you can feel the way his heart races at the contact.
“See?” you say, glancing back at him with a grin. “This isn’t so bad.”
The camera’s light starts blinking, giving a brief warning before the first picture snaps. You immediately turn to him, nudging his cheek to bring him closer, and in the tight space, it’s all he can do to keep his balance as he leans in, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Smile!” you chirp just as the flash goes off.
The light catches him off guard, and he blinks, momentarily dazed by the brightness. He hears you laughing softly, your shoulders shaking against him, and he’s hit with a wave of warmth, one that spreads through him as he watches you, momentarily forgetting about the camera entirely.
With a slight grin, you shift in his lap, angling the two of you for another shot as the timer counts down again.
You’re so close he can feel the faint trace of your perfume, the warmth of your skin, the rhythm of your breathing as it syncs with his. And for some reason, the thought of being this close to you—closer than he ever thought he’d be—stirs something unexpected within him.
Another flash, capturing you mid-laugh, oblivious to the storm of emotions brewing within him.
As the countdown begins again, you glance back, your gaze meeting his, and Yoongi feels himself freeze. There’s a hint of something in your eyes—an invitation, perhaps, or maybe a question—that makes his heart race all over again.
His eyes drift to your smile, the soft curve of your lips, the brightness of your gaze, and he can’t ignore the way his own heartbeat echoes in his ears, loud enough that he’s sure you can hear it too.
The timer clicks down to the next flash, and he forces a smile for the camera, though his mind is elsewhere entirely. He’s trying to make sense of the strange rush of feelings flooding through him, feelings that have been building up slowly, subtly, over time.
The booth is quiet now, the only sound the soft hum of machinery and your shared breaths. You tilt your head slightly, resting it against his shoulder, and his entire world narrows down to this single moment. Yoongi feels his arms tightening around you, an instinctual gesture that’s both protective and vulnerable.
The timer clicks down to one last shot. "Alright, funny face!" you call out, pulling an exaggerated grin, and he chuckles, trying to shake off the gravity of his own emotions as he mirrors your expression. The flash captures the both of you, frozen in a moment of joy.
As the final picture fades, you stay in his arms a beat longer than necessary, and the realisation hits him like a tidal wave, too strong to ignore. This isn’t just friendship, he thinks, feeling a pang of something so overwhelming that it borders on painful. Somewhere along the line, he’s fallen in love with you, and he doesn’t know if there’s a way back.
But you’re oblivious, still laughing as you climb off his lap, crouching down to grab the strip of photos as they print out. “Look at this!” you say, waving them in front of his face. “I'm definitely hanging these up on my fridge.”
He blinks, his gaze lingering on you as you sort through the photos, laughing at the silly faces, the close-ups of your laughter, and his slightly dazed expressions. You’re so focused on the photos that you don’t notice the way he’s looking at you now, eyes soft with something deeper, something he can no longer deny.
“See, I told you that it'd be fun.” You glance up, still beaming, and he forces himself to nod, plastering a smile over the vulnerability he feels beneath the surface.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice almost lost in the small space. “I guess it was.”
But even as he smiles, the weight of his realisation settles heavily in his chest, pressing down on him with a strange mixture of longing and fear.
He wonders if he’ll ever find the courage to tell you, or if he’ll spend his days hiding this quiet, aching love, content to stay by your side as a friend, the way he’s always been.
You turn to him, still laughing over one of the photos. “Hey,” you say softly, a note of seriousness creeping into your voice. “Thanks for tonight. I know this isn’t your usual birthday thing, but… it means a lot.”
And for a brief moment, he thinks about telling you everything. He thinks about confessing, about admitting that the thought of spending his life without you, without these small moments of joy and laughter, terrifies him more than anything else. But the words catch in his throat, stuck beneath the weight of a love he’s too afraid to speak out loud.
“Anytime,” he finally says, his voice a whisper, barely audible above the hum of the booth.
You look at him for a moment longer, a soft smile playing on your lips before you hand him one of the strips of photos. As you walk out of the booth, he follows behind you, trying to ignore the ache in his chest, the quiet, unspoken confession that lingers in the space between you.
Maybe one day, he'll find the courage to tell you how he feels; maybe one day, he'll get to be more than just your friend.
But until then, his love will stay hidden in the attic of his thoughts, known only to him.
And for now, that's enough.
#tanni’s works 🖇️#bts#min yoongi#yoongi#suga#bts suga#bts yoongi#bts min yoongi#bts fluff#yoongi fluff#bts angst#yoongi angst#bts smut#yoongi smut#bts x reader#yoongi x reader#bts x oc#yoongi x oc#bts x y/n#yoongi x y/n#bts x you#yoongi x you#bts oneshot#yoongi oneshot#bts drabble#yoongi drabble#bts imagine#yoongi imagine#bts scenarios#yoongi scenarios
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❞ ᝰ .ᐟ i cant stop thinking about ghostface!artrick . . . help!!
they didn't really mean for this little thing to go so far. to wrap up the entire campus of stanford in paranoia.
it started as a little game. cheap thrills under a cheap mask. all adrenaline and nothing serious. ten bucks to the first one to scare someone into screaming — twenty if the person started running.
then one night, on a dare from patrick, they crept up behind a ginger frat guy at a party. he was laughing loudly, a cup of something spilling over his hand. "oh, the sexy one from kappa pi?" he slurs, "psh, she thinks she's too good for it. well, if one of you pinned her down, one taste of this dick would change her mind, huh?"
boisterous laughter erupted from the group, one of his friends shouting your name like it was a punchline, their voices thick with smug confidence.
the next morning, the guy was missing.
it'd been too easy. the douche was piss-drunk, so leading him into the alley behind the dorm building had been effortless. patrick carried a shiv, because some chick told him it was hot one time.
art found a dumpster that they threw his limp body into.
they hung out with you the next day, bought you dinner and then took you back to their dorm. carried out the usual — running their hands through your hair, snuggling against your perfect little chest as they watched a movie.
"who's missing? oh no, i hope they find him!"
then, they realised, that in some sick way, they liked it. patrick watched some bullshit halloween movie the next day, came up with the idea to call people with the voicebox. build the tension even more.
a list was made — anyone that had done them dirty on campus, including all of your so-called friends. ex-boyfriends. patrick buys a bigger knife. art makes the calls.
you come over, all teary-eyed and sniffly after the latest news about one of your exes. they fuck you to make you feel allll better — because you still have them, don't worry! he was an asshole anyway!
they play their doubles matches. win them. do press conferences where they address the killings that have been happening on campus, sniffle as they look down at their laps.
"horrible."
"we're all so scared," patrick chimes, nodding solemnly.
¡! ❞ © niya-writesshit 2024
#¡! ❞ niya's writing#im brewing MORE#ghostface!artrick#pretend patrick goes to stanford 2#art donaldson blurb#art donaldson x reader#patrick zweig#patrick zweig x reader
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arranged marriage part 3
and final
part 1 part 2
sinopsis: after the death of his girlfriend in an accident, Rafe falls into a severe depression. His family offers him a family friend, Arabella, with whom he has always had a bad relationship, to marry him for the good of the family.
warnings: arranged marriage, barely named violence, mentions of possible pregnancy, etc
author's note: this story is very long, english is not my first language, the tags are not correct so don't tell me anything cause I ALREADY KNOW, then I'm going to correct
word count: 3148
mention: @rafegf-real
The next morning, Arabella woke up alone as usual. She sat up slowly, still with the memories of the previous night replaying in her mind. She searched for her phone on the nightstand, hoping perhaps to find a message. Her fingers slid across the screen, and finally found it: a short message from Rafe, telling her that he had left early to take care of some business and would return later.
Arabella let out a sigh, neither upset nor surprised. She knew what Rafe was like and it was obvious that he was going to leave her alone after what had happened the night before. So, after reading his message, she got up, took a quick shower and dressed in a light robe. She went down to the garden, where she asked for breakfast to be served. The morning was cool, and the rays of the sun illuminated the freshly watered flowers. As the aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped her, the other members of the family began to appear, still sleepy but with tired smiles.
The conversation over breakfast was quiet, Arabella didn't say much, she answered a few questions and made a few comments about where Rafe was. But Arabella couldn't quite concentrate.
When she finished breakfast, she retreated to her room to get ready to go out. She wanted to clear her head, see if Rafe would come back at some point. However, as she was going through the contents of her bag and choosing the last detail of her outfit, her phone vibrated again. This time, the message was from Sarah. She read it and her eyebrows immediately furrowed:
Sarah: "Arabella, Rafe threatened JJ. He told him not to come near you again. Do you realize what he's doing?"
Arabella felt a pang of discomfort. Had Rafe threatened JJ? The news surprised and irritated her, but at the same time a part of her understood why he would do it. Her fingers typed quickly before she even stopped to think.
Arabella: "Maybe he exaggerated, but I don't think he did it in a bad way."
A few seconds later, the phone vibrated again. Sarah answered almost immediately, and her tone seemed much more upset.
Sarah: "Are you really defending him? Arabella, he threatened JJ, don't you understand how serious that is? He shouldn't be butting into things like that!"
Arabella bit her lip, feeling a mix of emotions beginning to well up inside her. She knew Sarah was right, but she also felt loyalty towards Rafe, as if it was her duty to at least try to understand him.
Arabella: "I'm just saying that maybe he has his reasons. He cares about me, Sarah."
Sarah: "Does he care? Please, Arabella. Two days ago you said you couldn't stand the way he is and now it turns out that you're on his side. You shouldn't be so naive. Rafe can't go around threatening people who are close to you. That's not normal!"
Arabella felt frustration building up inside her, wishing Sarah could understand. Her words came out in the chat without quite measuring them:
Arabella: "He's my husband, Sarah. You may not understand, but I'm going to defend him."
Sarah: "Your husband? Until yesterday you said you hated him, that you couldn't trust him. And now you're defending him like he's the best thing that ever happened to you? Make up your mind, Arabella! You can't go from one extreme to another every time it suits you."
Sarah's last message hit Arabella like a slap in the face. She stared at the phone screen, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Was it true? She had been confused, yes. Her feelings towards Rafe had changed rapidly, but it felt almost as if she had no control over it.
Arabella left the conversation with Sarah hanging in the air, deciding it wasn't worth dwelling on. With her jaw clenched and her fists slightly tense, she finished getting dressed. Before she left the house, thinking she could at least clear her head a little, she heard the sound of a door opening. Looking up, she found herself face to face with Rafe, who had just arrived with a carefree, almost haughty expression.
The tension between them was palpable. Rafe barely glanced at her and seemed ready to ignore her, but Arabella couldn't keep quiet.
"Really, Rafe?" she snapped, her tone cold, though with a hint of vulnerability that betrayed her frustration. "After last night, do you feel like threatening JJ?"
Rafe let out a short, humorless laugh, looking at her with a mix of annoyance and disinterest. He seemed about to make a scathing comment, but instead, he just shrugged.
"You should be grateful," he replied in his arrogant tone, completely dismissing her words. "I'm doing you a favor by not having that Pogue on top of you."
Arabella felt a knot forming in her stomach, somewhere between anger and sadness, but she stood firm, trying to keep her voice from wavering.
“You're shit, Rafe. You treat me like I'm worthless, after last night, you left me alone again, like I didn't matter,” she whispered, no longer able to keep up the cold mask.
Rafe rolled his eyes, but instead of ignoring her, as he usually did, he realized that Arabella was ready to leave. Without thinking too much, he grabbed her arm, stopping her from moving forward. The strength of his grip surprised her, and she looked at him, seeing his eyes darken with a mix of fury and something she couldn't immediately identify.
“Where do you think you're going?” he asked, his voice low and charged with an intensity that made her tremble.
Arabella tried to break free, but his grip was firm. She looked directly into his eyes, searching for something that had perhaps ceased to exist a long time ago. Rafe held her without giving an inch, as if he really cared that she tried to leave.
“Away from you,” she replied, her voice barely audible, but each word resonated loudly. “If you don’t want me here, then I’d better leave already.”
For a second, Rafe looked at her with something that almost seemed like surprise. His haughty expression cracked, revealing a slight shadow of doubt before his mask fell back into place. But instead of letting go, he tightened his grip, pulling her even closer to him.
“And you think you can leave that easily?” he asked, challenging her. “You should know I won’t make it that easy for you.”
Arabella swallowed hard, feeling frustration and pain burning inside her. She looked at him, hurt and defiant.
“You’re the one who leaves me no choice,” she said, controlling the tremble in her voice. “Why do you want me to stay? To ignore me?” To remind me every day that I'm nothing but a burden?
Rafe let out a sigh, a mix of frustration and resignation, but he didn't answer. Instead, his eyes wandered for a moment, as if he were looking for a way to express something he himself didn't know. But, without saying anything else, he abruptly let go of her, as if by doing so he were reaffirming his own indifference.
Arabella decided she didn't want to spend another minute in that house. So her only plan was to spend the day at her parents' house, John and Margaret. Upon arrival, the hugs were warm and sincere, full of affection and the familiarity of those who don't see each other that often. "I missed you so much," he told them, smiling as he settled into the cozy sofa of his home, decorated in soft shades of blue and white.
During the day, Arabella and her mother enjoyed the warmth of the sun in the garden, where Margaret had prepared a small seating area with cushions and blankets. They caught up, her mother asking a thousand and one questions, most of which Arabella answered by lying. Margaret loved Rafe and truly believed he was the perfect son for her daughter and that their marriage was going very well.
As the evening fell, John decided that he would be in charge of dinner, a duty he had always considered a pleasure. He headed to the kitchen and began preparing Italian pizza, one of Arabella's favorite dishes, which filled the house with its comforting aroma. Meanwhile, Arabella and her mother took care of setting the table. The laughter and chatter continued as they arranged the plates and cutlery, and Margaret told him about the latest news in the neighborhood.
"I ran into Mrs. Thompson at the market today," Margaret said, smiling as she recalled the conversation. “She was so proud of her new pot of begonias, she almost convinced me that I should buy some for the garden.”
“She’s always been a bit over the top with plants,” Arabella laughed, enjoying the light, familiar atmosphere.
However, as night began to fall and dinner was almost ready, the doorbell rang, breaking the quiet atmosphere. Margaret hurried to open the door, excited by the arrival of a visitor. Arabella, feeling a pang of anxiety, tried to ignore the uneasiness inside her. “Maybe it’s a neighbor,” she thought, but she couldn’t stop her heart from racing at the name the maid called.
“Mr. Cameron!” the maid announced, and at that moment, Arabella felt her blood run cold. Her face lost color and her mind began to spin. She didn’t want to see him, not in this environment, not after their last argument. However, her mother’s happiness pushed her to hide her discomfort.
“Rafe, what a surprise!” Margaret exclaimed with a bright smile, as she made her way to greet him with open arms. John joined her as well, completely oblivious to the tension between his daughter and the young man. Arabella stood still, almost paralyzed, watching as Rafe entered her home, with his characteristic confidence.
“Arabella,” Rafe said, his voice soft, almost a whisper, but with a tone that made his words seem more like a challenge than a greeting. Arabella stared back at him, trying to keep her composure, even though inside she was overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions.
“Come, dinner is ready. John has made his famous Italian pizza,” she said excitedly. As everyone sat down at the table, Arabella knew the evening could get complicated. Rafe took the place next to her, and even though she tried to focus on the food and her parents’ conversation, her mind was stuck on Rafe.
As dinner progressed, the table was filled with laughter and lively conversation. Arabella's parents couldn't help but ask questions about their daughter and Rafe's marriage. Margaret beamed proudly as she asked, "So, Rafe, what's our little girl like as a wife?"
Rafe, trying to keep his composure, replied with a smile. "She's very good, I couldn't have asked for better."
Arabella, sitting next to him, felt a slight tingle in her stomach as she listened to him. As the conversation continued, John turned to Arabella with an inquisitive look.
"And you, daughter? How do you feel about this new life you're building together?"
She smiled, aware that she couldn't let the awkwardness show on her face. "It's a new beginning for both of us."
The words seemed to hang in the air, but as the questions continued, Rafe and Arabella glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes, sharing nervous smiles that tried to hide the underlying tension. Rafe's ability to maintain small talk was becoming an art.
Finally, dinner came to an end and John stood up to pour drinks. Rafe took the opportunity to approach Arabella, placing his hand on her waist naturally, as if it were something he had done all his life. However, for Arabella, the sensation was strange, almost uncomfortable. The touch of his hand caused her a mix of confusion and curiosity.
As John poured a drink, Margaret joined the conversation. “We know that the first stages can be complicated, but you always have to keep communicating. How do you guys handle that?”
Rafe, taking a sip of his drink, turned to Arabella, hoping she could add something to the conversation. She, feeling his gaze, replied, “Yes, we definitely have to talk about what we feel. Honesty is key.”
John nodded, satisfied. “That's what we want to hear. The foundation of any successful marriage is trust.”
Rafe, noticing how John approved of Arabella's response, felt he could relax a little more. His hand slid back slightly, making sure she was comfortable, though the gesture only intensified Arabella's discomfort. There was a tension in the air that they could both feel, and at the same time, there was a strange connection that was forming in the midst of the familiar conversation.
The night was growing thicker as John and Margaret said goodbye, noticing the tiredness on their faces. They approached Arabella and Rafe, telling them that they had prepared a room for them in the back cabin so they could have some privacy. They both nodded silently, and after a few words of farewell, they headed together towards the small shelter, not speaking along the way, surrounded by an awkward tension.
The awkwardness between them seemed to fill every corner of the room, making even the smallest noise feel amplified. Arabella, not wanting to start a conversation, walked around the room taking off her jacket and shoes, while Rafe stood in the doorway watching her with an unreadable expression. The awkwardness seemed to morph into something else, something neither of them could quite figure out.
Arabella removed her clothes with slow but determined movements. She didn't bother to look at Rafe, or to cover herself in any way; she had reached a point where embarrassment seemed a distant concept, and with a few too many drinks, her inhibitions had disappeared. When she was completely naked, she approached him without saying a word, her eyes holding Rafe's in silent defiance.
Arriving in front of him, she raised her arms, inviting him to touch her. Rafe hesitated for a moment, but then took her in his hands, running his gaze over her, as if trying to understand the unexpected display of bravery. Without warning, he kissed her intensely, capturing her lips in an almost desperate gesture, as if through that kiss he wanted to resolve all the silences and accumulated tensions.
Arabella, however, moved away a few centimeters, looking at him with a mixture of defiance and frustration.
"Why didn't they choose another woman to marry you?" she asked, her words resonating with a resentment that went beyond simple words.
Rafe did not avoid the intensity of his gaze and, without hesitation, he answered her with a low voice loaded with a sincerity that surprised her.
"No other woman could have put up with me like you do."
Arabella closed her eyes for a moment, processing those words. The resentment continued to burn inside her, although little by little she felt that something else was emerging between them, something that confused her.
“So… is our marriage always going to be like this?” he murmured, whispering the question into the air. “Torturous?”
Rafe watched her in silence, and after a moment, he raised one of his hands to gently caress her cheek. There was something unexpectedly tender in his gesture, something Arabella hadn’t seen in him before.
“We can make it work,” he told her, his voice so low it almost seemed like a shared secret.
Arabella felt his words seep into her skin, calming something inside her. She didn’t know if she could trust his promises, or what her own emotions were telling her at that moment, but in that instant, she decided that none of that mattered.
Rafe kissed her again, and this time the kiss was slower, deeper. Without words, they both let themselves go, allowing the barriers that used to separate them to fade away in the darkness of the night. Between kisses and caresses, they shared an intimacy that went beyond words and silences, allowing themselves, for a moment, to forget all doubts and resentments.
They spent the night together, giving themselves over to an act that seemed to be both a fight and a truce, a way of getting closer and protecting each other at the same time. Amidst sighs and caresses, they abandoned themselves to a closeness they had never shared before, as if that night were a promise of what their life together could be, or perhaps just a fleeting moment in the midst of uncertainty.
After that moment, Rafe and Arabella's relationship definitely didn't turn into a fairy tale. They both had their quirks, and their character wasn't easy, to put it mildly. However, something had changed between them; the tension that had once separated them began to transform into a genuine connection. They began to understand each other, and that compatibility that had been so hard to find emerged in the most unexpected places, especially in the warmth of the bed.
Rafe, who had never thought too much about ties or commitments, now found himself being fiercely protective. He had lost a woman in the past, and the wound was still there, latent. But with Arabella it was different; the fear of losing her was eating away at him. He had come to realize how much he loved her, how much he wanted her. Only she managed to disarm him and expose his vulnerabilities, and although that terrified him, he accepted it because he knew he wanted her in his life forever. Arabella was the woman he wanted to build a future with, the only one with whom he could imagine children and a life in peace.
Arabella, for her part, was satisfied, but more than satisfied, she was happy. At last she could get along with her husband in every possible way; there were no more secrets or nights when he disappeared. Every night, Rafe stayed by her side, enveloping her with his presence and warmth, and every night, she silently prayed that from that love and desire, a child would grow in her womb. She longed so much for that dream: to form a family with him, a stable and happy family, something she had not always had. She was going to achieve it, because Arabella knew that Rafe, with all his faults, was the man she loved. He was still the same, arrogant and haughty, that man that all the girls wanted but that only she had the pleasure of calling HERS.
#fanfic#oneshot#imagine#x reader#rafe cameron#rafe fanfiction#rafe imagine#drew starkey#obx#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron x kook!reader#rafe cameron x oc#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#rafe fic#obx4#obx fic#obx season 4
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I don't know of you have done something like this, but if not, could you do scenarios for the dark au where tav gets hurt by someone who wants to take their place? Maybe they think they are unworthy? Adore your writing 😊
Ahhh thank you so much !! This was super fun to write !
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Dark!BG3 | Replacement
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For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin, GrandDuke!Wyll
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CW: Controlling, manipulation, coercion, forced memory loss, blood, murder, F!reader only noticeable in Wyll's though
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Conqueror Minthara:
The dark silence of the Underdark gardens wrapped around you like a shroud, broken only by the echo of your own hurried footsteps. The recent fight with Minthara had left you frustrated, her possessive nature grating at you until you’d finally stormed off. You knew it would unsettle her; Minthara wasn’t one to let anyone, least of all you, slip from her grasp so easily. Still, you had hoped she’d give you a moment to breathe. As you heard footsteps approaching, you rolled your eyes, assuming she had come after you, too possessive to let even a single disagreement take you from her.
But something felt wrong.
The figure moving toward you was silent, controlled—lacking Minthara’s usual predatory grace. You barely had time to react before you saw a glint of steel, and a sharp pain seared across your side. You stumbled backward, clutching the wound, blood slipping through your fingers. As you looked up, your gaze met with the cold, disdainful eyes of Minthara’s second in command, the drow who had always regarded you with thinly veiled contempt. Her smile was a twisted thing, cold and malicious.
“Surprised?” she sneered, moving closer, her weapon dripping with your blood. “You really thought Minthara would care about some pet who has no place here? I’m going to end this—make it look like you couldn’t handle the Underdark after all. That you tried to escape. Minthara will believe it. She’ll have no choice but to move on.”
A chill ran through you as you realized the depth of her envy. This wasn’t just hatred; it was the envy of someone who despised what you had with Minthara, resenting that Minthara would choose you over anyone else. She stepped forward again, preparing to strike. But before she could make contact, you shoved her back with all the strength you could muster, sending her stumbling.
She staggered, then stopped short as her back hit something solid.
No… someone.
The second-in-command whirled around, eyes widening in horror as she came face-to-face with Minthara herself, who stood in the shadowed path with a deadly calm. Minthara’s gaze was dark, her face set into an expression of quiet, simmering rage that made the air feel even colder. Her eyes flicked from her subordinate’s trembling form to the blood dripping from your wound, taking in the entire scene in an instant.
“It’s not what—” the second-in-command stammered, scrambling for words, but Minthara cut her off with a look that could freeze fire.
“Silence.” Her voice was low, yet filled with an icy fury that sent a shiver down your spine. She reached out with a quick, brutal motion, grabbing her second-in-command by the throat, squeezing hard enough to cut off any attempt at explanation. The drow gasped for air, her eyes wide with terror as Minthara’s grip tightened, her nails digging into the delicate skin of her neck.
Minthara leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper.
“You thought you could lay a hand on what belongs to me? You dared to assume you had any right to touch them?” With a powerful surge, Minthara threw her to the ground, her movements sharp and precise, her eyes blazing with an almost unhinged rage. “You’ll wish for death before I’m done with you.”
The second-in-command lay incapacitated, her body twitching as Minthara’s magic left her unable to move, trapped in a state of suspended agony. Only then did Minthara turn her attention to you, her expression softening slightly as she moved toward you with an almost predatory care. She knelt beside you, her hand reaching out to steady you as she examined the wound on your side.
“You were hurt,” she murmured, a faint trace of anger still lacing her tone, but there was something else, too—a flicker of concern beneath the dark fury. She ran a gentle hand over your wound, applying enough pressure to stem the bleeding, her touch unexpectedly tender.
Despite the pain, you found yourself laughing, a soft chuckle that echoed through the silence.
“I knew you wouldn’t let me out of your sight,” you managed, your voice laced with irony. “Couldn’t lose control over me for even a moment, could you?”
Minthara’s eyes met yours, a dangerous glint in them, but there was something close to satisfaction there too.
“And a good thing it was,” she replied, her lips curving into a dark smile. “Or perhaps I would’ve had to hunt down the fool who thought they could steal you from me.”
Her hand moved from your wound to cradle your face, her thumb tracing your cheek in a gesture that was both possessive and strangely affectionate.
“You belong to me,” she whispered, her voice fierce. “No one else. Don’t ever forget that.”
She helped you to your feet, her arm around your waist, her grip both a support and a reminder of her control. You leaned into her touch, feeling the strength in her hold, the unyielding protection that came with her possessive love.
Behind you, her second-in-command lay helpless, bound by Minthara’s spell, and you knew without a doubt that her fate would be brutal. You didn’t need to watch to know that Minthara’s punishment would be swift and merciless. She would make an example out of her former subordinate, a warning to anyone who dared threaten what was hers.
As Minthara led you back through the garden, her hand firm around you, you felt a mixture of relief and resignation. She had saved your life, yes, but the possessiveness that drove her had been there all along, the dark and consuming love that wouldn’t allow you even a moment of freedom. She had saved you, but it was all to preserve what she saw as hers.
The pain in your side pulsed, but Minthara’s hand remained steady on your waist, her grip almost comforting in its possessiveness. In her twisted mind, her actions were justified. She had protected you, saved you from harm—she would do anything to keep you, even if that meant wrapping you tighter in her control.
As you walked together, you glanced up at her, and for a moment, you thought you saw a hint of something soft in her gaze. But then her expression shifted, her smile dark and triumphant. In her mind, she had won; she had kept you safe, defeated any threat to her claim on you.
And as she led you deeper into her realm, into the shadows where you would remain by her side, you knew that you would always be hers.
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Mother Superior Shadowheart:
The courtyard of the cloister was cloaked in the muted gray light of early morning, shadows creeping along the stone walls as you squared off against your opponent. You took in the young Sharran before you, an ambitious acolyte whose eyes gleamed with a familiar hunger—a dangerous mix of ambition and jealousy.
You’d noticed their glances toward Shadowheart, the way they lingered when she walked past, barely concealing the devotion in their gaze. It was almost amusing to you, for no one in this cloister could threaten the place you held at her side. The memory gaps may have left holes in your mind, but your body moved with sharp, instinctual precision, honed through countless battles. You didn’t need memory to remind you that you were one of the best.
You circled each other, fists raised, and the acolyte’s stance was confident, too confident. You could feel the arrogance radiating from them, and it made you chuckle under your breath. They thought they were someone to be feared, someone with the skill to challenge you. And yet, as the fight began, it was clear they had underestimated your reflexes, your raw power.
Blow after blow, you dodged, struck, and blocked with a near-effortless grace that left them seething. It was obvious now they were outmatched, but there was no sign of retreat in their eyes. Instead, their lips curled into a sneer, and they muttered something under their breath—something too low for you to hear, but the bitterness was evident. And then, with a swift, practiced motion, they reached inside their cloak and pulled out a dagger, its blade glinting sharply in the dim light.
You felt a flicker of surprise. This was supposed to be a sparring match, nothing more, and yet they’d brought a knife into the fight. You tensed, muscles coiling as your eyes narrowed on the blade in their hand.
“So,” they taunted, their voice laced with venom, “the Mother Superior’s pet isn’t as sharp as she used to be. Gaps in memory, isn’t it? She doesn’t tell you everything, does she? How does it feel to be kept like a mindless tool, only good for taking orders?” They circled closer, eyes glinting with malicious amusement. “You don’t belong by her side. You’re just… convenient. Nothing more.”
The words stung, gnawing at the back of your mind. It was true that there were holes in your memories, pieces that didn’t quite fit, details that you couldn’t fully recall. But you pushed the thoughts aside, refusing to let them take root. Whatever was missing, whatever had been forgotten, it didn’t matter. You were here, and you were hers. That was all that mattered.
But the Sharran sensed your hesitation, a flash of doubt, and they pressed their advantage, lunging forward with the dagger. You dodged, narrowly avoiding the blade as it sliced through the air, but their relentless attacks began to push you back. You caught glimpses of their smirk, their taunting gaze, as if they were relishing every missed block, every moment of weakness.
And then, in a swift, brutal move, they managed to slip through your guard, the dagger cutting across your arm. You hissed in pain, blood dripping from the fresh wound, and you staggered back, feeling the weight of the fight suddenly shift. They saw the opening, and their eyes lit up with a triumphant gleam. They lunged forward again, the dagger poised for the killing blow.
But just as the blade was about to strike, they stopped—frozen in place, eyes wide with terror. Their limbs were rigid, locked in a stance of helpless fury, and a faint, dark aura shimmered around them. You looked up, following the line of their terrified gaze, and saw her.
Shadowheart stood at the edge of the courtyard, her eyes blazing with fury, her hand raised in a silent spell. With a flick of her wrist, the Sharran acolyte’s head twisted sharply, an audible snap echoing through the air as their body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
For a moment, the only sound was your own ragged breathing as Shadowheart strode forward, her expression a cold mask of wrath. She didn’t even glance at the fallen acolyte, her focus entirely on you. She knelt beside you, her hands gentle as they traced over the wound on your arm, her fingers glowing with a faint healing light.
“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice soft, a sharp contrast to the deadly fury she had just displayed.
You nodded, your gaze flicking between her and the lifeless body nearby.
“They… they mentioned something about gaps in my memory,” you said cautiously, searching her eyes. “They said I don’t belong here. That I don’t know the whole truth.”
A shadow passed over her face, and for a moment, her grip on your arm tightened slightly. But then she softened, her fingers brushing over your skin as if to soothe the hurt beyond the physical wound.
“They were just trying to weaken you, to plant seeds of doubt in your mind,” she replied, her voice steady and calm. “Your place is here, with me. By my side. You belong nowhere else.”
She leaned closer, her gaze locking onto yours with a fierce intensity. “The gaps in your memory… they’re a consequence of the life you had before. A life that no longer matters. I saved you from that. I brought you here, to the cloister, where you can be who you’re meant to be. With me.”
The warmth of her magic seeped into your wound, and you felt the pain ebb away, replaced by a comforting numbness. The lingering doubt in your mind was overshadowed by the strength of her conviction, her unwavering belief in the path she had set for you. Shadowheart was your anchor, your guiding star, and you could feel the weight of her possessive devotion wrapping around you, a reminder that whatever had come before no longer held any power over you.
You managed a small smile, nodding as you reached up to brush a hand over her cheek, feeling the coolness of her skin.
“I trust you,” you murmured. “And I’m grateful to be by your side.”
She returned your smile, her gaze softening as she covered your hand with her own.
“Good. Because that’s exactly where you belong.” She cast one last, dismissive glance at the body of the acolyte, her lips curling in distaste. “No one else will threaten you. They don’t deserve to stand in your shadow.”
As she helped you to your feet, her arm wrapped around your waist, guiding you back to the cloister, the doubt faded away entirely. Whatever shadows lingered in your past, whatever memories had been lost, it didn’t matter. You were hers, and she was yours, and no one would ever take that from you.
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God of Ambition Gale:
The dim candlelight of the summoning chamber cast flickering shadows over the cold stone walls, and the air was thick with incense and chanting. You shifted slightly, testing the limits of the runic circle that bound you in place, but every movement was met with an oppressive, invisible force, pressing down on you with unyielding weight.
As the realization settled in, your initial smirk of amusement at this mortal’s audacity faded, replaced by a gnawing unease. It was almost laughable how easily they had managed to capture you; Gale’s control over your divine power left you vulnerable, deliberately kept weak to prevent you from ever fully escaping his grasp. And now, as you felt your strength ebbing, you understood the gravity of your situation.
The follower knelt before you, a zealous glint in their eyes as they recited incantations, their voice laced with fervor. Dressed in elaborate robes, they wore talismans devoted to Gale, symbols of their fanatical devotion etched into every surface of the summoning chamber. The entire place was a shrine to ambition itself, each detail meticulously designed to honor your god—and your captor.
The follower finally lifted their gaze to you, a manic smile stretching across their face.
"You don’t deserve him," they hissed, their tone a poisonous mix of reverence and disdain. "You’re a weak god, nothing more than a hollow vessel given power by him. But me…" They leaned forward, their voice trembling with adoration. "I could worship him in ways you never could. Gale deserves undivided devotion, unbroken ambition. Not… someone as faint and powerless as you."
You opened your mouth to respond, to laugh off their words, but the runes pulsed, and with each pulse, you felt a new wave of your strength drain, seeping out of you and into the lines of the ritual. Your heart sank. This wasn’t just a simple binding. It was a siphoning—a slow, deliberate draw on your power, meant to weaken you enough to fuel the summoning of Gale himself.
They took a step closer, their eyes wide with triumph as they watched the light fading in your eyes.
"How does it feel, I wonder, knowing your own god keeps you shackled like a plaything? To be so close to greatness, yet to never truly be allowed to touch it?" They tilted their head, enjoying your silence, interpreting it as surrender.
And for a moment, there was fear in you. Not for yourself but for the terrible emptiness left behind as your power faded—a hollow reminder of Gale’s relentless control. You knew he saw you as his own, a piece of his ambition that could never exist independently, even as a god. This mortal, in their arrogance, had taken advantage of that very control, and now you were helpless in a way that gnawed at you.
The ritual circle blazed with renewed energy, and the room shook as a presence took form in the air—a dark, powerful force pressing down on everything within the chamber. The candle flames flickered and bowed as if in reverence, and a sudden silence swallowed the chanting, the air itself holding its breath as Gale stepped into the room, his very presence swallowing up all light and sound.
The follower fell to their knees, eyes wide with reverence and ecstasy.
"My lord!" they whispered, their voice filled with adoration as they reached out toward him. "I have shown you my devotion, captured this… pretender, to prove my worth. I am yours, my lord. Take me in place of—"
Gale’s gaze shifted from you to his devotee, a glint of curiosity sparking in his dark eyes as he studied them. His expression was unreadable, his face set into that unsettlingly calm mask he wore whenever he assessed someone who had piqued his interest. For a moment, the acolyte seemed to believe they had earned his favor, their face glowing with hope as they knelt before him.
But then Gale’s eyes narrowed, and a chill swept over the room as his expression darkened.
“You misunderstand your place,” he said, his voice soft, the calm tone belying the fury simmering beneath it. "You, a mere follower, believed yourself capable of taking what is mine?" He took a slow, measured step forward, his gaze never leaving the trembling form before him. "Did you think that capturing a god under my domain would earn my favor? Or did you simply seek to undermine me, thinking yourself worthy of such… ambition?"
The follower’s eyes widened in terror as they tried to back away, words of apology tumbling from their lips, but Gale’s power was already wrapping around them, a dark, suffocating force that held them immobile.
“It seems you lack an understanding of devotion," Gale continued, his voice chilling in its softness. "Let me show you what happens to those who overstep their bounds."
With a flick of his wrist, the follower’s body seized up, their breath catching in their throat as they gasped, unable to move. Gale’s magic seemed to compress around them, their bones creaking as his power slowly crushed the life from them, his face a mask of calm detachment. Their eyes rolled back in agony, their limbs contorting as Gale made his judgment swift and final, using them as an example of ambition misguided.
And then, in a flash, it was over. The follower’s lifeless form crumpled to the ground, leaving a chilling silence in the air.
Gale finally turned his attention to you, his expression softening as he regarded you, though the possessiveness in his gaze was as strong as ever. He stepped into the circle, effortlessly dispersing the runes with a wave of his hand, releasing you from the binding that had held you so helplessly in place. He reached out, fingers brushing over your cheek with a strange tenderness, his touch a reminder of both his power and his control over you.
“Fear not, my muse,” he murmured, his voice rich with dark affection. “No one else will touch what belongs to me. Not even those who worship me.”
You nodded, your head dipping in a gesture of submission, knowing that he would take no other answer. Gale smiled, his thumb tracing your jawline with possessive satisfaction, and he pulled you close, his hand settling at the back of your neck.
“You are bound to me,” he whispered, his voice soft but laced with command. “Your power is mine to grant or withhold, and none shall touch it, or you, without my will.”
And with that, he led you from the chamber, the empty remains of his follower a silent warning to any who dared question the place he had carved out for you in his unyielding ambition. Gale was your god, your captor, and your guardian all in one—and no one would come between you and his dark, consuming love.
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Ascended Astarion:
The sunlight was unforgiving, searing down on your skin the instant you were thrown into it. Agony flared as the delicate warding spell that had protected you disintegrated, leaving you exposed to the relentless rays of the sun. Pain consumed you, blinding and unbearable as your flesh burned, blistering and cracking in mere seconds.
You stumbled, gasping as the raw heat seared through muscle and bone. You tried to scream, but your voice died in your throat, choked out by the fire consuming you. The world was blurring in and out, and through the haze of agony, you could make out the blurred silhouette of your attacker, smirking from the safety of the shadows just inside the door, watching with satisfaction as you writhed.
The spawn had been relentless in their ambition, and it was only in that agonizing moment that you finally understood just how deeply their envy ran. They thought themselves worthy of Astarion’s favor, the one destined to be his dark consort, and they had waited for the right opportunity, the chance to strip you of your place by his side.
Your vision dimmed as the fire ate away at you, the edges of consciousness fading. You barely registered the door bursting open again or the cold shadow that swept over you as hands—cold, firm hands—gripped you and pulled you away from the merciless light. The next thing you felt was the cool press of stone beneath you, the oppressive heat gone, and then… nothing. There was nothing but pain and darkness.
Through the haze, you felt something pressed to your lips—warm and metallic, filling your senses with the rich, familiar scent of blood. Instinctively, you drank, the sensation grounding you, soothing the burning wounds with each pull. Slowly, the pain dulled, replaced by a distant, comforting hum. Your senses began to return, the blurry edges of the room coming into focus as you felt the charred skin mending, painfully knitting back together as life returned to your broken form.
As you finally blinked the haze from your eyes, you found yourself staring up at Astarion’s face, his crimson eyes softened with an uncharacteristic tenderness, though his mouth was drawn into a taut line. His hand cupped your cheek as if you were something fragile, his thumb brushing over the fresh, healed skin where burns had marred it only moments ago. He was murmuring softly, words flowing over you in a tone both soothing and possessive, though you could hardly process them in your dazed state.
“It’s all right, my sweet,” he cooed, his voice low and warm as he leaned over you, his face barely inches from yours. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone harm you, not like that.”
You blinked, slowly looking past him, only to freeze as the full scene came into focus. Scattered around you were bloodied remains—the spawn, or rather, what was left of them, was strewn across the room. Their limbs had been torn from their body, reduced to a gruesome pile of parts on the cold stone floor. The once-confident smirk you had seen on their face was gone, replaced now by a horrified stillness in their lifeless eyes.
Astarion’s grip on you tightened as he followed your gaze, his expression darkening.
“Oh, don’t waste your energy on them,” he murmured, his tone smooth but edged with a chilling coldness. He tilted your face back to him, forcing your gaze to meet his. “They thought they could take what’s mine, dared to strip you of the protection I gave you, to hurt you. But they forgot one simple thing.”
His hand traced down from your cheek to your throat, where his fingers rested possessively, feeling the steady pulse of your blood.
“You’re mine. Body, soul, and everything in between,” he whispered, his voice a velvet command. “No one else could ever take your place.”
The fear, the agony, the helplessness of moments ago seemed to fade as he held you, his arms wrapped around you with a fierce protectiveness. His fingers stroked through your hair as he continued to murmur assurances, the words as binding as a spell, each one a reaffirmation of your place at his side. There was no room for doubt; in his arms, you were shielded from the pain, shielded from everything but his absolute, consuming devotion.
“They all think they’re special, my dear,” he said, casting a disdainful glance at the remains. “But they’re not like you, none of them. You, my sweet, are the only one worthy of my power, my attention. You belong to me—and I to you.” He smiled, a cold, dangerous glint in his eyes as he brushed a lock of hair back from your face. "And I won’t let anyone interfere with that."
You managed a weak nod, leaning into his touch as he continued to hold you close. The last vestiges of the agony you had endured melted away, leaving only the soft, possessive murmur of his voice, the steady rhythm of his fingers tracing over your skin, as he soothed and calmed you back from the brink. He was your anchor, your constant, and in this moment, his power was a shield around you.
As he held you, the remnants of his wrath still lingering in his gaze, you knew that no one else would ever challenge your place beside him. Astarion had made his stance clear in the most brutal way possible, a warning to any who would dare cross him—and a reminder to you that, no matter what, he would always keep you close, bound to him in his dark, all-encompassing love.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Naturist Halsin:
The grove was quiet, the leaves whispering softly as a gentle breeze passed through, but that night, something felt amiss. Halsin lay beside you, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest as you slept, and assumed you were simply exhausted from the long day spent in the forest. He smiled, pressing a light kiss to your forehead, and closed his own eyes, content to rest with you beside him. But when he stirred from sleep later in the night, something had changed. A low, strangled sound pulled him from his slumber, and in the faint moonlight, he saw your body trembling, the tremors rolling through you like a shiver from the deepest cold.
You weren’t asleep; you were convulsing, and a dark glisten of sweat clung to your brow. Alarm shot through Halsin, who immediately recognized the signs of poison—a potent, slow-working concoction he’d seen used in rare cases within the grove.
His mind raced as he searched for the antidote, pulling it from his stores and carefully administering it, tilting your head back to help you drink, whispering words of encouragement as he steadied your shaking hands.
After a few agonizing moments, the worst of your spasms subsided, and your breathing leveled out. Weak and shaken, you looked up at him with hazy eyes, trying to focus. Halsin kept his gaze soft, filled with concern but tinged with a growing anger simmering beneath. He held you close as you regained your strength, his hand a steady presence on your back.
Once you could stand, Halsin supported you, guiding you from your resting place out into the heart of the grove. Under the canopy of starlit leaves, he called upon the druids, summoning them with a low, commanding tone. His voice reverberated through the grove, uncharacteristically severe, and one by one, the druids gathered in the clearing, forming a loose circle around you both.
Halsin’s protective arm around your shoulders lent you strength as you looked at each of their faces, searching for the one who had betrayed you.
Though your hands still trembled, your gaze hardened as you focused on a single figure at the edge of the circle, a druid whose stance was too stiff, whose eyes averted yours. The poisoner looked back at you, a faint glint of resentment flashing in their eyes before they began to back away, inching toward the cover of the trees. Without hesitation, you raised a shaky hand, pointing directly at them.
"It’s… it’s them," you whispered, your voice weak but sure.
The druid’s face twisted with fear and defiance, and in one swift motion, they turned, making a desperate break toward the edge of the grove, hoping to escape into the shadows.
But Halsin would not allow them to flee. His jaw tightened, his fury coming to the surface in an uncharacteristic, brutal wave. With a single gesture, he summoned thick, thorned vines from the earth.
They erupted from the soil with a life of their own, coiling like serpents as they slithered after the fleeing druid. The vines caught up quickly, wrapping around the traitor’s legs and yanking them down to the ground, winding up over their body with fierce intent.
The thorned vines tightened, digging into flesh, piercing through clothing and skin alike. Blood began to pool, dark and stark against the earthy ground, as the vines tore through, showing no mercy. The grove seemed to hold its breath, watching as the very nature that the traitor had twisted for their own purposes now turned on them. Halsin’s gaze was unyielding as he watched, his expression set, the compassion he usually reserved for his people absent.
The druid let out a strangled cry as the thorns pressed deeper, breaking skin and severing tendons, each tightening coil met with a gory result. Their blood soaked into the earth, nourishing it, just as Halsin had intended, a grotesque reminder of what happened to those who threatened his own. For him, this act was justice—a stark, undeniable message to any who might dare undermine the safety of his grove or his kin.
Finally, as the druid’s life slipped away, Halsin released his hold, the vines loosening and receding back into the ground, leaving only silence and the faint scent of blood on the forest floor.
When it was over, he turned to you, his expression softening as he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.
"You are safe now," he said, his voice a blend of calm and the fierce protectiveness that had driven him to act so ruthlessly. “No one will harm you here again.”
Though you were shaken, you found strength in his touch, nodding as he pulled you close, his embrace as unyielding as the very nature he had summoned to protect you. The grove was a place of sanctuary, of balance—and Halsin had shown that he would stop at nothing to keep it that way, even if it meant spilling blood into the very soil he had sworn to protect.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Grand Duke Wyll:
The opulence of the ballroom shimmered around you, chandeliers casting warm light over the swirling dancers, the ornate fabrics, and glittering jewels. You held your head high beside the Grand Duke, finding solace in the joy of the night despite the whispers that trailed in your wake. Nobles murmured, their words carrying faintly over the music. Most of it you had learned to ignore, but tonight, the gossip felt sharp and unrelenting. Snippets of conversation floated past, just loud enough to reach your ears.
“Can you believe they let her into the ballroom at his side?” one of them whispered with a haughty laugh. “She looks more suited to a servant’s position,” sneered another, their words laced with contempt. You clenched your hands at your sides, taking steady breaths to brush off their malice. But then, their murmurs grew darker.
“I heard the Grand Duke only keeps her around for amusement. How long, I wonder, until he tires of her?” someone murmured, laughing softly. “It would be such a scandal if she were to just… disappear, wouldn’t it?”
Their venomous words stung in a way that you hadn’t anticipated, pressing upon a wound that you had tried to bury. You excused yourself, weaving through the crowd until you found the balcony, stepping out into the cool night air. The stars twinkled overhead, their beauty a quiet comfort against the bitterness of the nobles’ words. You leaned against the balustrade, the city lights below calming you, giving you a moment’s peace. But that peace was short-lived.
Behind you, the same group of nobles had followed, lingering just by the doorway. One of them tittered, their tone thick with false innocence.
“Out here on the balcony, alone?” another mocked, their tone feigning concern. “Careful, dear. You wouldn’t want to lose your balance.”
You turned to leave, but they circled around, blocking your path with thinly veiled malice. Their eyes gleamed with an unsettling intent as they crowded closer, nudging you further out toward the edge of the balcony. Your pulse quickened as your back met the cold stone of the balustrade, the space behind you yawning into open air.
“Oh, no need to look so frightened. We’re simply having a little chat,” one of them cooed, their smirk betraying their intent. They pressed closer, each small movement edging you nearer to the ledge.
Then, a voice rang out, slicing through the tension like a knife:
“Enough.” Wyll’s voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable, sharp edge beneath it that cut the air like steel. The nobles immediately straightened, stepping back from you, their sneers evaporating as they turned to face the Grand Duke himself.
“We were only talking to her, Your Grace,” one of them stammered, their tone suddenly meek. “No harm intended.”
Wyll’s gaze was dark, his eyes smoldering as he took in the scene, his jaw set and expression unreadable. He looked at you, his expression softening for a moment.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice gentler, the protective undercurrent unmistakable. You swallowed, brushing off the fear that had crept in.
“Yes, Wyll. I’m fine,” you replied, trying to steady your voice.
But he didn’t release his hard gaze from the group of nobles before him. His mouth curved slightly, a hint of a chilling smile playing at his lips as he issued his next command: “Jump. Off. The. Balcony.”
The nobles’ eyes widened, shock rippling through their features. One of them dared a weak laugh, disbelief clear in their tone. “Your Grace, we were only—”
Wyll’s smile vanished, replaced by an expression of cold steel. “You heard me,” he said, his tone low and final, his gaze unwavering as he pointed toward the balcony’s edge. “If you think it’s amusing to dangle someone on the edge, let’s see how you enjoy it.”
You placed a hand on his arm, trying to dissuade him. “Wyll, it’s not necessary,” you murmured softly. “They were… they were just being cruel.”
He turned to you, his eyes softening as he spoke, but the resolve remained.
“No one threatens what is mine,” he replied, his words more promise than explanation. “No one.”
He looked back at the nobles, who now trembled under his gaze, each one of them calculating their next move. They understood the Grand Duke’s reputation well—his ruthlessness and sadistic side were spoken of in hushed tones among court circles, and none of them were willing to test his patience further.
With shared glances of terror, one by one, they stepped up to the edge, each steeling themselves before casting nervous glances back at Wyll. They preferred to take their chances with the fall than face his wrath.
With a reluctant step backward, the first noble swung a leg over the edge, preparing to lower themselves down rather than leap, followed by the others, each descending with as much dignity as they could muster. Their terrified breaths and grunts of effort echoed faintly as they made their way down to the ground below. Each fall was punctuated with a sickening thud that made your stomach lurch each time.
When the last of them was gone, Wyll turned back to you, his expression softening again. He reached out, brushing a gentle hand against your cheek, his voice lowering to a soothing murmur. “No one will ever make you feel less than what you are, not while I am here. Do you understand?”
You nodded, his touch grounding you, the earlier fear beginning to fade. Wyll wrapped an arm around you, drawing you close, his gaze lingering protectively as he looked back over the balcony, ensuring that no one was there to help any unfortunate survivors, he wanted to let them rot, let the world see what happens to those who threaten what is his.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Okay so no cambions in this, I'm going to add them when I finish their catch ups because I kind of follow a narrative with these and I have not fully fleshed out their narritives yet. Hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox
If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x
#bg3#baldurs gate 3#minthara x reader#minthara x tav#conqueror Minthara#Minthara#yandere gale dekarios#yandere bg3#yandere Minthara x reader#yandere shadowheart#yandere shadowheart x reader#shadowheart x tav#shadowheart bg3#mother superior shadowheart#ascended astarion x reader#ascended astarion x tav#ascended astarion#yandere astarion#yandere halsin#dark halsin#halsin x reader#god!gale x reader#dark bg3#god gale#yandere wyll x reader#grand duke wyll ravengard x reader#grand duke wyll ravengard x tav#grand duke wyll
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Guys- hear me out yall-
Zombie pred, but protection vore.
It's a zombie apocalypse, and you have no one. You're on your own, and you are barely sane. That is, until you meet Zed.
By some miracle, Zed has survived this long, though you aren't sure how. They are slow and fall behind constantly. Normally, they catch up, though, so you have stopped worrying about them. They are also a pacifist, which makes everything 10× harder because now you have to kill all the zombies they dont.
One thing that worries you though, is that they eat little to nothing, always giving away their portion to you. But you can see it. They are hungry. They want to eat, but they dont, and you can't figure out why.
One day, you and Zed are on the run, as per usual. You're clever, darting into alleys and through abandoned buildings. And as always, Zed follows behind, slowly but surely catching up to you.
You dart into an old home. Without warning, a loud crash sounds to your right. You look over, and to your horror, a group of zombies had crashed down your excape door. Behind you, you heard more zombies coming. Without another option, you rush up the stairs to your left. With your heart racing, you run into a room. You open the window, but without anything to climb down, you will break your legs from the fall.
This is it, you think. You will surely lose to this horde. There's too many. Zed won't fight. Hell, if Zed finds you, that's a miracle in of itself.
And a miracle happenes. Zed slowly walks through the door to the room. They make their way over to you with a confused expression on their face.
"Why are you here? I thought you would want to get out as soon as possible." They furrowed their brows
"I-" you can't get the words out. You're going to die here. You both were going to die because of a damn house. You break, tears stream down your cheeks. "We're going to die here, Zed."
Their look of confusion turns to a look that you rarely see from Zed. Determination. "No, no you aren't going to get hurt ok?" The spoke softly. "I- I need you to trust me. Please, trust me that I wont hurt you."
You have no time to react as you get pulled quickly towards Zed. Soon, a warm wetness soaked your face, squeezing every nook and cranny. It spread, engulfing your ears, then neck. You squirm, but strong hands pin your arms to your side.
As you slide further into this unknown, more tears find their way into your already tearful eyes.
Your lower body gets slung upward, and you feel yourself siding down quicker. A roaring thud echoes through your ears with a rhythmic pattern. You try to kick your legs, but feel yourself tireing as the warmth engulfs you.
After what feels like an eternity, you slip into a larger area with more room. But thats not to say you arnt still confined. Your feet are the last to get consumed, and with them your last sense of reality.
The rest of your body slips into its new resting place, allowing you to wrap your head around what is happening.
The place around you is moving, not like it's walking but in an almost petting motion. It's wet and slimy, but it doesn't hurt at all.
You must have died, and this is the afterlife. that's the only logical option. You nod your head, sealing that as fact in your mind, that is until a voice softly vibrates from above.
"See? Your ok right?" Zed spoke with hesitation in their voice.
"What... What? Just... what?" You couldn't put a sentence together. Where were you? Why is Zed up?
"'What' what?" Zed asked.
"What just happened?" You finally manage to get out.
"I um..." they paused, "I kind of... um... ate... you..."
What? Your heart stopped. How is that even possible? You start to panic, and you press your legs out against your confines.
Zeds' heart sped up too, after they realized you were now scared. "Nonono sorry please I promise you're ok. You're safe, I promise. I- I just thought, zombies won't be able to smell you in here." You could hear their hopeful tone.
"And what about you? Huh? Now they just have a human terducken to eat." You snap, ignoring the fact that you are eaten and trying to focus on the staying alive part.
"They wont touch me..." Zed wispers, guilt rolling in their words.
"What?" That must be your new favorite word.
"Zombies dont eat other zombies."
"But you're not a-" You pause. Everything makes sense. The slowness, the pacifism, not eating. Zed is a zombie.
You have been eaten by a zombie
Maybe will continue tomorrow. But yall get the vibes????
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I wanna touch on a couple things I noticed from the asks that are being sent regarding the current discourse. About a month ago I received this ask, wanting me to 'name, names' after I made some generalized post about something or another (probs racism per usual because that's been consistent)
What I don't make clear outside of the vetted and trusted people I speak to daily, is I usually send messages to the person I'm talking about in hopes to advise that something was not hitting. I’ve blocked a couple ppl whenever I feel like my point was dismissed because I don’t got the time baby
Occasionally, I'll do anon if I'm just not in the mood for potential issues if the ask gets answered publicly and the reason for that is what I'm about to show you.
This is an ask my mutual @kyletogaz got after expressing frustration about the situation/lack of apology and so is this and this. And this is a link to @ungodlybre post on all the asks she's gotten in the last few days after she commented on a post about the Mace fic. I just received an ask a few seconds ago yall can look at as well
This is the post my friend/mutual kiko made that I reblogged and essentially got the ball rolling on the current convo about how Mace/black characters are depicted in fiction. Kiko has been one of the few other poc people providing links and information on what the issue is with the fic.
I noticed the glaring tonal difference in how non black people like Kiko, who originally brought up the issue, are in comparison to the black female bloggers that I referred to earlier, after they expressed frustration about the new crop of fandom shit.
I couldn't find the ask that @/Fulltacs (a non black person) answered when asked about why the writer was getting heat, but I read the ask and it was actually pretty respectful towards fulltacs, while being incredibly dismissive/rude when referring to Bre (@/ungodlybre)
I've seen several of my white mutuals repeat in their tags/posts the issue about the fic and what not. I have yet to see them receive the kind of directly antagonistic asks from anons who claim to be black/poc with the intent to shut down or convince us to stop talking about the writer. I’m not gonna get into digital blackface or blackfishing but I have my doubts on these anons being racially black.
Overall this is all an example of something called racial gaslighting but specifically misogynoir
Misogynoir is a form of racial microaggression towards black women where race and gender meet. It usually stems from implicit bias, which is the reason why people had a problem with the fic in the first place. Not the damn kink. or even the unwitting use of an anti black slur.
The continued dismissing about word use/forgiving the author and the overall vitriolic tone asking these black women to educate or saying things like: ' You are a bully’ ‘shut up because it's not that big of a deal’, ‘the writer tried or I'm black and-' is just an example of how black women are spoken to on and outside the internet and why many of us have chosen to not directly say anything about racism outside of private messages.
It’s why Kiko and the mutual that dm’d @/auspicoustidings are latinas who’ve chosen to address the situation as an act of solidarity when Jess (kyletogaz) and I were excited to read the Mace fic and were unsettled by it
"the intersectional nature of Black women’s identities triggers a particularized stereotype or trope of the “Angry Black Woman” and explains how this trope is often invoked in aggressive encounters to deflect attention from the aggressor and to project blame onto the target." - A quote From this article
“racial microaggressions are subtle and everyday slights and insults that can include insensitive comments based on an array of racial assumptions … as well as the minimization or denial of the racialized experiences of people of color.” - From this study on Perceived Gendered Racial Microaggressions Experienced by Black Women.
I don’t have the time or the desire to do a crash course on misogynoir and the ways implicit bias shows up in real life and fandom. What I can say is if you need or want the visibly/vocally black people in this fandom to shut the fuck up right now, while non black people (including the author) are being afforded a sense of kindness/assumption of innocence and well doing for speaking up, than you are apart of an anti black problem
Those black bloggers said innocuous shit like “long suffering sigh” or “hate to see it” and are still getting hate and that is the reason we are saying many fics about black characters like Kyle who is often disregarded, make us uncomfortable . This kind of bias is a dog whistle only those who have been raised black/poc see irl and it’s present in the way people write fics.
My ask is for people to take a second and really ask yourselves if you think this is a safe space for Black/non black poc people to educate on racist tropes in writing and then I wanna know if you even realized that before I said something
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Day 30 | Interrogation play - Jude & Ellis
Kinktober masterlist
Gender-neutral reader (genitals not specified)
Word count: 1.3k
18+, pwp, sub reader, roleplay, threesome, burning, oral (giving), knife play, minimal editing
The room was dark, only one stream of light coming in through the door. The ropes held your wrists and ankles to the chair tightly. Tied in a way that had you self conscious of how open your legs were. The room echoed with the sound of Jude’s footsteps as he slowly paced. Ellis stood behind you.
Your heart hammered in your chest. You knew it was just roleplay but the adrenaline pumped through you and your chest felt tight, like you were actually in danger.
Ellis leaned in. “I hope I didn’t tie them too tight,” he whispered.
You turned to give and gave a smile while shaking your head.
Your attention was jerked away when Jude grabbed your chin. He stared down at you. His eyes cut into you like he was dissecting you.
“Ya best tell us what cha know, or else.”
Smoke from his cigarette wafted up. Around his face, partially obscuring it.
You opened your mouth but no sounds would come out. You swallowed. “I-I don't have to tell you anything.” Your voice came out less confident than you'd hoped.
“Hah! Ya think ye can hold out with a response like that?”
Within an instant, his hand snatched the back of the chair and pulled. The chair tipped forward with you, forcing you to look into his eyes and smell the smoke in his breath. His face was so close to yours. The chair felt so unsteady. His hand was the only thing keeping you from falling. He examined you. His amethyst felt like they were tearing into you.
He smirked. You rocked as he adjusted to hold the chair with only one finger. “I could let cha fall flat on yer face. Bet it would look real cute an’ pathetic.”
You gulped. The heat between your legs got worse, but the ropes held you down.
He pushed it back. The balance tipped and you landed on all four legs again with a bam. It rocked back with so much force it tipped backwards.
Your heart nearly dropped until you felt something soft and firm and warm on the back of your head, stopping you. You turned your gaze up to see Ellis smiling down at you. You sheepishly smiled back. He felt so much bigger than you when looking down at you like that.
He set your chair back down.
Jude’s voice suddenly snapped you out of it. “Ellis, wanna rough the birdie up?”
Ellis glanced to you and you nodded. He smiled.
“Sure.”
He pulled out his knife. He quickly flipped it so the back, non-sharp side faced you. He pressed the back of it into your flesh and pushed down. Enough so you could feel the pressure and a bit of pain as he dragged it down your body. But you could tell he was being very careful not to accidentally cut you.
Heat flared up between your legs. Your chest began to heave. He pushed harder and you couldn’t suppress the moan.
“Hah,” Jude laughed, “yer turned on by this ain’t cha?”
He lifted his shoe and pressed it between your legs. He rocked it into you and you squirmed in the ropes. Moans ripped from your throat.
Jude pulled his foot back and stepped back.
He took a drag from his cigarette. He held it between his fingers as he leaned in closer to you. The heat from it made your skin tingle as he hovered it close. For a brief moment he looked you directly in the eyes. A question in his usual harsh gaze.
You nodded. He pushed the burning end of the cigarette into your arm. Your face twisted in pain and you screamed. You tried to press your thighs together. The ache only grew worse.
Jude removed the cigarette and flicked it to the ground. Ellis swept in with an ointment and rubbed it into your skin where the circular burn was. You bit your lip and whimpered softly at the sensation.
His hands slowly wandered and caressed all over your body. You sighed and leaned into him. Your body melted into a puddle.
Next thing you knew, the ropes were pulled undone and you were pulled off the chair and onto your knees. You hesitantly stared up at Jude.
A smirk formed on his face that sent shivers down your spin. “Since ya ain't usin’ yer mouth fer anything good…”
You got a chill down your spine. He grabbed your chin before changing his mind and grabbing your hair. He yanked your head towards his groin. Your eyes widened as you stared at it, wondering if he was really going to do it. His free hand went to his belt. It clicked as he undid it. You licked your lips.
“Lookin’ a little too eager there. Makes me wonder if this ‘s even a punishment fer ya.” He smirked, just about to pull it out, until his eyes turned up to Ellis. His face quickly turned to annoyance. “Look away.”
You almost laughed, until he pushed/forced your mouth onto his member.
He immediately started at a brutal pace as he fucked your face. Tears pricked at your eyes and you almost gagged. You could feel him deep in your throat. You desperately tried to relax it.
You felt Ellis soothingly stroke your back. Your skin tingled at his touch. Your muscles actually relaxed and you could take Jude better. You tried your best to run your tongue along him.
“No peeking,” Jude said to Ellis.
“Okay.”
You did your best to glance over at Ellis and you saw him covering his eyes with his free hand to follow Jude’s order. Jude yanked you back down on him harder.
Ellis’s hand went down to your rear and squeezed gently before sliding between your legs. You gasped and nearly gagged as you felt him start to rub you. You saw a flash of his knife reflexing in the small amount of light. Your heart leaped to your throat.
He moved the hilt of it between your legs and pressed it in. Slowly rocking it against your clothed sex. Moving it just right. Pressing up against the spot that made it throb.
You moaned around Jude.
After a moment Ellis pulled the knife back. Then you heard and felt a rip. Air suddenly hit your sex and his fingers went back to work. You choked out a moan and pressure coiled in your stomach.
Between Ellis’s fingers and knife and Jude hitting the back of your throat, you couldn’t hold it back. You cried out around Jude’s cock as you came.
Jude’s hips stuttered and he twitched in your throat. He grunted and let out a guttural groan as he spurted down your throat. His hands pulled your hair tight as he finished.
After a moment he sucked a big breath in and pulled back. He left your mouth with a string of saliva still connecting you. He pulled back so quickly you would have fallen over had Ellis not wrapped his arms around you.
He sat you up against him on the floor and stroked you as your limp body came down.
Ellis hummed as he held you in his arms. He pressed his face into your neck and ear.
“I lied earlier,” he said softly. “I looked through the cracks in my fingers. I couldn’t help it. You looked so cute.” His smile faded a bit. “I just wished it was me who made you look like that.”
Jude’s head whipped back around to Ellis. He scowled. “Gonna be workin’ ya to the bone fer a month fer that.”
Ellis smiled and nuzzled into you. “Worth it.”
#kinktober#kinktober 2024#smut#ikevil#ikemen villains#ikevil smut#jude jazza x reader#ikevil jude x reader#ellis twilight x reader#ikevil ellis x reader#jude jazza#ikevil jude#ellis twilight#ikevil ellis
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Hot take on a 200-year-old book
At the start of Pride and Prejudice, Darcy liked Caroline Bingley, and Caroline isn't completely irrational to think that she might get him to propose eventually.
Oh, he WON'T, not with her connections in TRADE, but it isn't so very wrong of her to have hopes of him. He doesn't like meeting new people and he's used to her because she's his friend's sister, he's had her to stay at Pemberley at least once and is now staying with her family so he must not have hated it! Plus, she has fashionable manners and appearance, she's generally fairly savvy and clever, and they have a great time being bitchy to each other about people they don't like. She's funny in a mean way and SO IS HE - "She a beauty? I'd as soon call her mother a wit." For Darcy, Caroline makes a fairly amusing person to trade zingers with, roast vulgar people, and probably to use as a shield against other husband hunters that he knows less well. I suspect that Caroline's plan when they come to Netherfield is to just keep being in his orbit, showing off her society hostess and witty one-liner skills, and eventually he'll realize he has to get on with producing an heir and will decide that as far as eligible known quantities go, better Caroline than Anne De Bourgh. (Which, I mean, at least Caroline brings more pleasant in-laws and you could actually have a conversation with her.) It's not a terrible strategy for somone as antisocial as Darcy, honestly, though I think that pre-book Darcy is okay with being FRIENDS with the Bingleys but wouldn't be polluting the shades of Pemberley with them, so to speak - that's a bridge too far for his sense of what is due to his family.
(In fact when you think about it, the way that Elizabeth and Wickham enjoy dishing dirt about Darcy is kind of a mirror of the way Darcy and Caroline start out!)
I think part of why Caroline gets so very desperate and blatant is that Darcy stops playing along with their usual games as he starts to fall for Elizabeth. It's not so funny when it's about his crush, and instead of giving back another quip about how inferior these country bumpkins are, he not only shuts her down but does it in a way that is complimentary to another woman. I think the first time he does this is at Lucas Lodge with the infamous "fine eyes" comment. You can SEE Caroline getting more and more frantic to re-establish their prior rapport and Darcy just doubling down on taking every one of her attempts and turning it into a way to say something nice about Elizabeth, to the point where by the end of the Netherfield trip he is deliberately fucking with Caroline and I think is kind of enjoying it in a "hah hah, you can dish it out but you can't take it" sort of way.
If Caroline was a little smarter and more devious - a bit more like Wickham - she would have eased off and focused her comments not on Elizabeth but on her family, especially Mrs. Bennet and Lydia, who DO behave in a way counter to propriety and good manners and are genuinely embarrassing to their better-mannered sisters. That way, she could have reinforced his feelings against the match. Continuing to push him and doubling down every time he pushed back activated his Lady Catherine-Tuned Stubbornness Circuits (aka "I am the master of Pemberley and you don't get to tell me who I can or cannot marry").
Caroline and Elizabeth are both witty and fun to talk to, but Elizabeth is witty in a playful and sweet way that doesn't offend people (even when she might WANT to, see pretty much every conversation they have at Rosings). And most important, in the long run, Caroline encourages Mr. Darcy to indulge in his worst self (much like Fanny Dashwood does to John Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility) while Elizabeth challenges and inspires him to become his best self, and that's the most important difference between them.
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𝐿𝒪𝒮𝒯 𝒜𝒩𝒟 𝐹𝒪𝒰𝒩𝒟-𝑅𝒜𝐹𝐸 𝒞𝒜𝑀𝐸𝑅𝒪𝒩
The summer heat was thick in the air, clinging to your skin as you stood on the edge of the Cameron estate’s sprawling lawn. The soft buzz of cicadas filled the space between you and Rafe, who was pacing near the driveway. You had been waiting for him to calm down ever since you arrived, but it seemed like nothing could settle him lately.
It wasn’t the first time you’d watched Rafe spiral, but it was the first time it scared you this much.
“Rafe, you need to stop this,” you said, crossing your arms. Your voice was more frustrated than you meant it to be, but you couldn’t help it. “You’re getting in too deep with this stuff.”
Rafe stopped pacing, turning to look at you. His usually bright blue eyes were clouded with something darker, something you didn’t recognize anymore. There was a time when he’d come to you when things got bad, when you could pull him back from the edge. But lately, that seemed impossible.
“I’m fine,” he snapped, but there was a strain in his voice. “I don’t need you worrying about me, Y/N.”
You frowned, stepping closer to him. "Well, too bad. I'm always going to worry about you."
His jaw clenched, his hand running through his messy hair. He was dressed in a wrinkled T-shirt, dirt and sweat staining the fabric. You knew what that meant. He’d been hanging out with Barry again, doing God knows what. Rafe’s obsession with getting approval from his dad, from anyone was pulling him into more and more dangerous situations. It was starting to feel like you were losing him.
"Rafe, this isn’t you," you said quietly. "This isn’t the guy I’ve known my whole life."
He looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a brief moment, you saw the boy you used to ride bikes with through the island streets. The boy who would sit on the beach with you for hours, talking about nothing and everything. But that boy seemed so far away now, hidden beneath the weight of whatever darkness he’d let creep into his life.
"People change, Y/N," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe you should stop expecting me to be the same, yeah?"
His words stung, like a sharp twist to your chest, but you refused to back down. “I don’t expect you to be perfect, Rafe. I just…I don’t want you to lose yourself.”
He scoffed, stepping away from you. “I’m not losing anything.” But you could see it in his eyes. He was already lost.
Hours later, the sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon, casting a cool darkness over the island. You sat alone on the dock, your feet dangling over the edge, listening to the gentle lap of the water against the wood. Rafe hadn’t said goodbye when you left the house. He hadn’t said much at all. The tension between you two was getting worse, and you hated it.
You stared at your phone, hoping for a message, a call, anything to tell you that he was okay. But there was nothing. The silence was deafening.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps on the dock snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned quickly, expecting to see a stranger or maybe one of the Pogues, but instead, it was him.
Rafe stood there, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. His shoulders were slumped, his face worn from whatever trouble he'd gotten into tonight. His chest heaved slightly, like he’d run all the way here.
“Y/N,” he said, his voice low and rough. He took a hesitant step forward, and the crack in his tone made your heart ache. “I’m sorry.”
You blinked, taken aback by the sudden apology. Rafe never apologized, not to you, not to anyone.
“What happened?” you asked, standing up from where you sat. You moved toward him, noting the bruising on his cheek, the split in his lip. He looked like he’d been in a fight, and your stomach dropped. “Rafe…”
He shook his head, running a hand through his hair again, the way he always did when he was frustrated or trying to hold himself together. “I got into it with some guys. Over something stupid.” His voice wavered, and you could tell he was trying to keep it together, but there was a vulnerability in his expression you hadn’t seen in a long time.
“Are you hurt?” you asked softly, stepping closer to him.
“No,” he said quickly, but then his voice cracked again. “Not really.”
You frowned, reaching out to touch his arm. “Rafe, what happened?”
He took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to find the right words. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, but when he finally spoke, his voice was broken. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
Your heart clenched, and you reached up, brushing your fingers gently against the bruise on his cheek. “Then don’t. You don’t have to keep getting yourself into these situations, Rafe. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
His hand came up, gently wrapping around your wrist as he closed his eyes at your touch. “I don’t know how to stop, okay?”
You could feel the weight of his words, the pain he’d been carrying alone for so long. And in that moment, all you wanted was to take it away, to remind him that he didn’t have to carry it by himself.
“You don’t have to stop alone,” you said softly. “I’m here. I’ve always been here.”
He opened his eyes then, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the walls he’d built around himself started to crumble. Rafe pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours as his hands wrapped around your waist, holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.
“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered again, his voice trembling. “I’ve been such an idiot.”
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “You’re not an idiot, Rafe. You’re just…lost. But I’ll help you find your way back. I promise.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes filled with something raw and unspoken. And then, without another word, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and tender, filled with all the things he hadn’t been able to say.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours again, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t,” you promised, tightening your hold on him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And as the two of you stood there under the moonlit sky, with the water softly lapping at the dock beneath you, it felt like maybe, just maybe, you were both finally found.
#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe obx#rafe x reader#obx#obx x reader#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron x reader#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron#outerbanks rafe#rafe x you
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⸻ peonies & passion
· pairing: queen maeve x fem!reader · type: one-shot · summary: maeve's usual assistant is out sick for the day & you're assigned in her place. unbeknownst to you, maeve always looks forward to the few & far between times when you replace the woman...so she can see you again. · tags: soft, sapphic romance, fluff, pining, cuddling, kissing · word count: 2,569 · a/n: this is the first time i've really explored my bisexuality, so this piece means a lot to me. ♡
She knows she makes you nervous. But, in truth, while you're busy mentally beating yourself black and blue for stumbling over your words and two left feet because of her presence, it only serves to endear you to her all the more.
She likes how easily she can make you blush with only a playful wink, or by nudging you with her shoulder. She also likes the smell of your perfume, which reminds her of peonies, and that, even when you're gone, the scent of you still lingers where her skin has brushed against your own.
She likes when she catches you shyly staring at her, only to look away embarrassed when her eyes meet yours.
She likes your quiet voice and lovely laugh.
She likes.
She likes.
She likes...you.
Maggie always dreads this part of the day: the end of it. Well, only when you're once again in each other's company, that is.
Because, once it ends, unless her usual assistant calls out again come tomorrow—and she's definitely secretly hoping that she will—it will be an undetermined amount of time before she sets eyes, or gently brushing fingertips upon you again.
She wonders, often, if your sheepishness is due to her supe persona, or her.
She wonders if you like girls.
But she can't just come out and ask that, because she doesn't want to make you uncomfortable. And God-forbid you take it for sexual harassment. She's not a scumbag like the Deep. She could never hurt or take advantage of you. She never wants you to think otherwise.
Because she...adores you.
Her, one of the strongest women in the world, brought metaphorically to her knees by someone so soft and fragile. But that's exactly why she loves likes you. For all your charming qualities. Physical or otherwise.
"Would you want to stay for a bit?" Maeve asks quietly while removing her diadem.
You blink at her nervously with wide eyes and she fights back a grin at the adorable sight.
"Oh. Is there something else that you need?"
She shakes her head, throwing the jewelry piece onto the coffee table. "Just wanted some company. Unless you have somewhere else you need to be?"
You clutch your tablet to your chest and softly shake your head, and she watches as your soft curls cascade over your shoulders.
She wonders if they feel as smooth as they look before her eyes flit back to your own.
"I don't," you reply sweetly, with a kind smile.
She nods toward her bedroom. "I'm going to get changed, then maybe we can order takeout and watch something?"
You smile and nod again.
She grins. "Do you want to borrow something? Just so you're more comfortable?"
You take a step closer. "S-sure."
She nods, then turns back toward the bedroom and you begin to follow along behind her, until she stops and glances to you over her shoulder.
Your eyes flit between hers only briefly before your face turns a shade of crimson. "Right. Sorry. I'll let you change first, then..."
She would have no qualms with you following along after and watching her. Or, much more, letting her undress and dress you in her clothes—or simply undress, so she can admire the piece of artwork she's sure you'd hiding beneath your sweater and dress slacks—but she refrains from offering something she's sure will lead to you never coming back here.
To you never coming back to her.
Once Maeve has finished changing into a loose sweater and joggers, she returns to you with a t-shirt and sweatpants resting atop her arms.
She lets her hands brush against yours when she gives them to you.
"You can change in my room, if you want."
You nod silently before glancing to her from under your long lashes and stepping past her with heated cheeks.
She knows it's cliché and maybe a little on-the-nose, but because the story can be construed either way, she streams Fried Green Tomatoes while the two of you eat Chinese takeout.
She glances to you from the corner of her eye, watching as you take a bite of your crab rangoon and she bites back a smile at you being so near her. While wearing her clothes. And in her apartment, at that.
You lean forward and grasp a bit of lo mein between your chopsticks and your hair falls forward—nearly into your food—so she reaches over and tucks it gently behind your ear while allowing her knuckles to graze the warm skin of your cheek.
You glance to her with a mouthful of noodles and she grins broadly at the sight.
Your heart skips a beat.
Once the movie is through, Maeve is reluctant to move, even if she needs to desperately pee.
But she refuses to, because you’ve fallen asleep against her shoulder. Your cheek rests upon the crown of it while your body is pressed firmly into her side as slow, steady breaths escape through your slightly-parted lips.
She smiles softly to herself at the feel of your warmth before slowly leaning her head to the side to rest atop your own.
She knows it’s dangerous to let herself fantasize about a life she could never have—it only makes the yearning for you ten times worse, as if that’s even possible at this point—but she lets herself anyway. For only a moment.
So she imagines a life where this is what she has to look forward to coming home to every night: you.
Whether it’s with you in sweats eating junk food and takeout on the couch while watching bad B-movies on TV, or the pair of you lying in bed while she caresses every inch of your body while whispering sweet nothings to you to ensure you never forget how treasured you are by her, she would be content. Because it’s you that she would be sharing every moment with.
And then you stir in your sleep and the fantasy slips away.
You slowly lift your head and blink sleepily at her for a moment.
And all she wants in the entire world is to crush her lips to yours.
But she can’t lose you.
So she merely smiles instead.
“Evening, sleepy head.”
You sit up suddenly then and your eyes grow wide while you shrink into yourself out of embarrassment.
“Sorry,” you say quietly.
She shakes her head while standing and gathering up empty Chinese takeout containers to toss in the trash on her way to the bathroom. “Don’t be. You’re exhausted. And I didn’t mind.”
When she returns to you after relieving herself, it’s to you gathering your things.
“Are…are you leaving?”
You glance to Maeve while shrugging on your cross-body bag. “Yeah, I’m pretty tired. I probably should’ve been in bed an hour ago.”
You blush while shifting nervously on your feet. “I had a nice time tonight. Thanks for dinner. I appreciated it.”
She takes a small step forward, desperate for a reason to keep you a bit longer. As in…all night.
“You could just stay here. If you’d like?”
You merely blink at her, your mind going blank in an instant.
“It’s just that you’re exhausted, like I said, and… I don’t want to have to worry about you on the roads. And I don’t mind if you, y’know, sleep over. I’m no Homelander, so I can’t exactly fly you home, or I would.”
She cringes internally. If that didn’t sound like a pathetic excuse at a come-on, she doesn’t know what would.
“I don’t want to be a burden, or impose,” you insist.
She shakes her head, padding toward you. “You could never be that to me.”
She runs a hand down your arm, taking your bag from you. “The bedroom is this way.”
“Oh. I could just…” You glance back to the couch, then back to her. “If you have some extra sheets?”
She shrugs slightly. “My bed is more than big enough for two. Besides, what kind of sleepover would it be if I banished you to the other room?”
She throws an arm around your shoulder then, tugging you in the right direction alongside her.
You said goodnight to each other over twenty minutes ago, yet Maeve’s heart is still pattering away in her chest like a goddamn machine gun at the fact that you’re lying in her bed, only a few inches away.
You’re turned on your side away from her, but she can tell from the depth and rate of your breaths that you’re still awake as well.
She wants to say something.
Should she say something?
If she does…what?
Maybe you’re on the verge of sleep and her talking will only serve to jolt you back awake. And she doesn’t want you dragging tomorrow, simply for your own sake.
But she has you here. In her bed. She has been desperate for months to see you again and now she has you all to herself.
She won’t waste the opportunity.
“So,” she says quietly. “What did you think they were?”
You slowly open your heavy lids and your brows furrow. “Hm?”
“Idgie and Ruth,” she explains.
You turn over to face her, and you stare at her while she stares up at the ceiling.
“What about them?”
She folds her hands atop her stomach. “Have you ever wondered if they were more than just friends? I mean, it always came off that way to me in the movie. I don’t know about the book, since I’ve never read it.”
She turns her head to look at you. “Have you?”
You shake your head.
She remains silent, waiting for your thoughts. Rather, for you to take the hint at what she’s trying to imply.
“Some, I think. Even when I was little, I always thought Idgie was a lesbian. She seemed more butch to me, at least. Like, Ruth was the only person in the whole movie she had eyes for.”
She slides her hand infinitesimally closer to you. “What about Ruth? Do you think she loved Idgie? I mean, I know she did, but I mean in that way.”
Your eyes flit between Maeve’s. “What do you think?”
She slides her hand the least bit closer, ignoring the way it shakes from nerves and uncertainty. “I think she was all Idgie could think about. And that Idgie adored her and…and she would’ve done anything for her just to make her happy and keep her safe. But Ruth… I think, maybe, she was afraid to admit that other part of herself existed. Fully, at least.”
You pulse begins to quicken.
Is Maeve… Is she…
You take a moment, then reply. “I think that Ruth saw Idgie as being stronger than her. And thus out of her league, you might say. And Ruth just…tried to do what was expected of her. Because that’s the way she was raised: to be a perfect, demure young lady who stays quiet and within the lines. She didn’t want to hold Idgie back. Maybe because she feared she could never get to the level of fearlessness Idgie had been at since she was a child. She wanted her to be the free spirit she was always meant to be.”
Maeve finally rests her palm atop the back of your hand. “Maybe Idgie felt like she could only be that when she was with Ruth, though.”
Maeve feels like she might as well turn into a giant fucking cheesewheel at the way she’s talking to you, but you make her that: into a sappy romantic. She just feels like you’re the type who probably has an appreciation for that sort of thing. And she likes when you’re happy, especially from her causing.
“Maeve—”
“My real name is Maggie. Which I think you know already, but you can call me that instead. If you want.”
You swallow thickly, starting again. “Maggie, are you… Do you—”
She finally crosses the threshold she’s been toeing cautiously for months on-end.
“Like you? What finally gave it away?” She asks with a soft smile before caressing your cheek.
You blanch. “Oh. I…”
You trail off, having no idea how to approach this situation.
Wait.
Is that why she wanted you in her bed? To stay the night?
You’d thought so differently of her, but instead…she’s just like every other power-hungry celebrity, isn’t she?
Your eyes sting at the sudden realization.
“I’m not… I didn’t come here to…” You grasp for the best way to word this that won’t lose you your job.
Meanwhile, Maggie’s heart shatters.
“Oh. I thought maybe…”
She drops her hand away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I misread things.”
You both stew in awkward silence for a moment.
“You don’t think that I’m…”She looks at you again. “I’m not trying to sleep with you.”
You stare at her doubtfully. “You’re not?”
She smiles and shakes her head. “No, sweetheart. I’m just…”
She sighs. “Alright, here goes: I’m crazy about you. I know the times we see each other are few and far between, but in the interim you’re all I think about. And I’ve been too scared to tell you any of this out of the fear of making you feel uncomfortable or harassed, or out of the risk of never seeing you again.”
Your heart jumps into your throat and your stomach quickly fills with butterflies.
Maggie watches appreciatively as your cheeks turn pink, which she can see even in the dim lighting the moon provides only in thin slivers through her bedroom curtains.
“I’ve only ever been with boys before,” you whisper.
She scoots the least bit closer to you. “Maybe I could change that.”
A pause. “Can I kiss you?”
A smile spreads suddenly across your face without warning and her heart warms at the sight.
You nod silently.
Maggie moves even closer until her body is pressed along the length of your own.
She tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek, and then she presses her lips to your own.
And you taste just as sweet as you look and sound and act and smell and… Nothing has ever been as perfect as this moment.
She gently spreads your plush lips with her own before tenderly flicking her tongue against yours and she nearly moans at the sensation.
God, you’re fucking perfect. Everything she’s been waiting for. Her girl.
After a moment, she pulls away and you half-bury your face in a pillow while staring up at her. “Have you and… Well, am I…”
She knows what you’re getting at.
“It’s only you, honey.”
She slowly wraps her arms around you.
“Only you,” she whispers while pressing a loving kiss to the crown of your head.
You snuggle against her neck, and your eyes slowly flutter closed while a hot tear slips from the corner of your eye. “I’ve waited for so long to do that. I was always scared of what it would be like if I ever tried. I don’t know why I was now.”
She cradles the back of your head in her palm. “You and me both.”
“Why me?” You ask in a whisper. “I mean, you’re you, and I’m just—”
She leans back and grips your chin firmly between her fingertips.
“Everything I’ve been waiting for,” she replies, cutting you short.
She leans in for another kiss.
· tagging list: @emilynissangtr @highsummon
#fic: the boys (queen maeve x reader)#queen maeve x reader#queen maeve x you#queen maeve x y/n#queen maeve imagine#queen maeve fanfic#the boys x you#the boys x y/n#the boys imagine
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Like A Wildflower
Gator Tillman x Plus size!female reader
Summary: Unpredictable things, they tend to fall apart…
Wordcount: 1,821
Warnings: Language, smut, vaginal sex, hurt/no comfort, anxiety, mentions panic, self-esteem issues, insecurities/body insecurities, Gator is a bit of an ass, and a secret relationship.
A/N: Sooooo, this is pretty self-indulgent. It’s a lot different than some things I’ve written. I wanted to try a different perspective/one of my opinions on how Gator would be in a relationship like this. Obvs. I cannon him loving bigger girlies (even when my self-esteem says no sometimes), but I wanted to explore one of the very accurate ways he could react to the situation. I was mega inspired tonight, what can I say?
This fic was intense, and I had two songs I used to inspire me whilst writing this. One of them is Wildflower by Billie Eilish. Which… I know the lyrics aren’t at all aligned with this situation (I know the song’s meaning), but I just love it so much and it resonated with me for this story in some different way. Let me know if you’re interested in part 2 (that would be partially from Gator’s POV)? One last thing, I hope those who read enjoy this, that it makes sense, you know?
The girlies who know, they know. Right? ❤️ It brought me a lot of comfort and self-strength, and I nearly cried writing it, so I guess that’s something? Anyways, if you got through this long ass author’s note - Gator loves you and so do I! Enjoy! - Kristen 💐
Gripping the leather above him, it crunches beneath your fingertips - indents, perspired palm print left behind. His dark hair is uncoiled, strewn about his side shaved head. You give it a grip in your spare, his neck rolling with your guided motion, tendons made to stand out, jugular constricting around a vice inhalation. You feel the panting hot breath hit your cheek before his nose nudges your ear.
“Holy Christ,” he stammers.
You hear the sounds of his boots arching by a crunched, worn heel, helping him bounce them, pushing his muscular thighs into a guiding assistance. His massive paws find your overflowing waist, squeezing. And with teeth clenched, Gator Tillman unravels, scatters into your airspace. With darting eyes left towards the ceiling, you’re pulling back just enough to see his tongue slick across those pearly white teeth. His mouth is smeared red, marked clean with your lipstick.
Making a map is what you find yourself doing next, digging into the tense muscles at his nape, only to push his jacket off his shoulder, bending to nose your way into his t-shirt. He bucks in between your legs the moment your lips find that constellation spattered skin, damp from a day’s musk and fading cologne spices. So warm… So Gator…
His head slams into the rest, fingers digging painfully into the bunched dress around your waist. A gone, honey soaked rasp. “Shiiit,” he’s whining. “you’re so fuckin’ slick, baby… never felt you this ready for me.”
You can’t stop your body’s automatic reaction to the first time nickname usage. You tighten around him, his massive girth nudging on that spot now, tickling electricity zaps into your stomach. Your eyes clenched closed, hips giving a particularly rhythmic roll over this man’s lap, that it has you seeing literal spots in your vision. An ache, a fucking burn that sizzles all the way down to your toes and curls them into your boots. It hurts, god does it hurt so badly that it’s hard to breathe.
You’re already starting to pick up your pace, body leading first and foremost. The lace cups of your bra become pushed beneath your breast, dragging over his t-shirt clad chest by rough movements, his hands trembling against your waist as you ride him for all he’s worth into his own driver’s seat - one hand still where it was mid-way. He keeps trying to lean in, to abide the kisses you usually chase but rarely get, his mouth left in ungodly puckers. He’s biting at mid-air, high-tailing your lips. However, you aren’t giving in, unable.
His truck is rocking with each motion, wind sweeping russet colored leaves, soaked with rain across the windshield from the tree above. You start to become shaky, falter, emotions briefly winding around the coil inside your stomach, keeping it hostage. Tears brim your sclera, sticky, soaking into your lash line as you realize you won’t be able to come too, sharing it. Of course this would be hard, how could it not be? Maybe it isn’t going to be for him, but for you..
His trim hips are stuttering beneath you, hairy thighs slamming to meet your efforts, making this so real that you can hear everything morphed inside, taste how your blood is rushing, despite it not making any sense. You’re on fire, doused in heated flames that you won’t be escaping from. One of Gator’s arms stretches the length up your back, cupping your neck, bringing you away from his shoulder that you’ve again found, to make contact with you. Shrugging it off, you don’t even look at him, eyes staying closed.
He is unsatisfied with this, uses a strong forearm to sling beneath your tailbone, hoisting you higher, making your mouth fall open enough for him to kiss his way into. Fuck it. Wet, hot, his tongue works its way into your mouth and then you’re gasping, working with him together, foreheads smashed, breaths panting around parted lips, sought between each kiss. On a particular break off, he cradles your head in his massive palm, amber eyes blown into shards, flecks of cinnamon scattered apart from that only black abyss. He’s damn near snarling, a dip in his brows, an expectant struggle.
You cry out into the vehicle when he finds what he was hunting, his crooked smirk, tongue dipping into that corner of his mouth to go with it. He grumbles into a deeper tone. “Yeah? That’s what I was fuckin’ lookin’ for.”
Saying his name, it doesn’t come out. So he keeps on going. “M’ just gonna stay right here, baby. You keep goin’. Finish us off.”
You give it your all, knowing what he likes, what will give him what he seeks. This is it… You continue your own lead instead of following his, purposely leveling yourself off that spot. His brows knot together, bushy and confused. But he doesn’t have time.
He’s fading, and going out fast for you. Gator reaches, clings, tries to take your hand, see your face as he feels you wrap around him to the point that it all drawls and reaches into his abdomen, attempting to burst through. You hide into jawline the moment that he cries out broken chants of your name, rejecting his reaching for you. He comes moments later, regardless. Tremors settle into his worn bones, muscles sated with vibrations of his release.
You resist every urge to hold him through it, shifting your hold off the seat, off him, turning yourself around to settle into the passenger seat. Your chest is heaving heavily as you push your breasts into their cups, tugging your blouse back down, lifting enough to gather your panties off the floorboard and raise your heavy, boot clad feet into the legs. He’s staring, you don’t have to check your peripheral to know this. A wounded, baffled mix of emotions cloud his face. Suddenly, Gator feels more vulnerable with you in this very moment, than he’s ever remembered feeling in his whole life.
Your knuckles scratch across the silk of your knee sock thigh highs, bringing your underwear completely up, sealing the evidence of him with you. The skirt you wear is the last thing to be readjusted. It’s silent in the cab, with the exception of rainfall, uneven breathing patterns. There is only light from street posts, houses down the pathway of the road you’re parked on. You miss every hint he throws, every single hurt, wounded look that molds his features into a haunting sight.
His belt buckle clanging as he brings it back together, along with the defeating sound of his zipper, that’s what has you glancing in his direction. He’s chewing on his thumbnail, arm propped on the driver’s window, knuckles of that hand tight. His spare is wound around the wheel, eyes haunted, unfocused as they look ahead to meet damp, black pavement. Of all the things you expect him to say, it isn’t what leaves his mouth next. Wobbly and unsure.
“I’ll make ya come next time, I promise. I got so caught up, I —“
It sounds so pathetic that you have to break it off. Deserved reservations.
“This was the last time.” Fucking Christ, it feels as if someone cracks open the bottom of your ribcage and your organs are spilling out. It’s too hard to breathe, your own cowardice showing as you finish the reveal of your sentence, of what you’ve known you had to do for yourself to keep from developing a hate for him, and all the self-berating this relationship has caused you inside. “I’m seeing someone next weekend.”
At first, you think reality has settled in on him. But then he snorts, a sound that goes right through you. He’s in disbelief, which proves that this was the right decision all along. It’s when you aren’t laughing that he gets the hint. And this time, you don’t look away. Let it all go…
“I know that you make fun of me behind my back. To your friends, to your dad when he asks why you’re with me so much, to the other women you flirt with around town. It’s how you justify doing this.”
There’s a pure amount of shame that coats his cheeks and it makes you laugh bitterly, stinging your mouth. You reach to collect your purse from beside your feet. Gator is ashamed, worked up, so overstimulated and caught that he barely is able to grab your arm as you push his door open and one leg hits the asphalt. His mouth moves as if he’s communicating some silent, pleading apology. Begging you to understand.
And you have always understood. More than you should ever have to. He’s like a deer in headlights, panicked, jaw twitching, nose scrunching. At least it affects him some, he’s not emotionless to this situation. It leaves you very little comfort, though.
His silence is one with his learned cowardice. He knows what’s right, but he’ll never cater to anything that set aside this image he’s tried to build for everyone (including Roy) to see. Instead, he’s losing the one person that’s taken everything she has in her to give - offering. A wounded animal in the driver’s seat, waiting on you to lead, to accept what little he’s willing to give. Your heart skips, launching into your throat, damp and slippery words pressing your lip’s seam apart.
“You know, I really do care about you, Gator. And I hope you find your way away from your dad and all of this bullshit.” Your voice is jagged, dragging over each word as you motion your hand around, before continuing. “But I don’t deserve this.”
You don’t any more of his silence, climbing completely out and slamming your door, prepared to walk away with remaining dignity. Gator Tillman, he has one final pulsing drive that propels him into following suit, calling at you from the opposite side of his car. “No, please?”
You tilt your head towards the sky, rain flowing feeling from murky night skies, glittering across your face, painting itself into your brows. Gator’s hands find the truck’s roof, his messy hair shining underneath the half-hidden moon, the lights lining the roadway. His breath is puffing his chest into a theatrical exertion. And you two just stare at one another across the hood of the tan GMC cab. His bridge ruffles, nose wiggling to adjust his emotions.
To his credit, he tries. But both of you know that it’s not going to be enough this time. “I do care.”
An automatic rebuff. You sink in on yourself, retorting. “In the dark, right?”
You leave him with this, his sucker punched expression, not there to see anything more, and begin to walk in the direction you came from, back towards town. By the time the rain picks up, you’re crying and a horn is blaring behind you, coming from his parked truck.
#kristenwrites#my work#my writing#gator tillman#gator tillman fic#gator tillman fanfic#gator tillman fanfiction#gator tillman one shot#fargo#fargo fx#fargo season 5#fargo s5#fargo fanfiction#fargo fanfic#fargo fic#gator tillman x plus size reader#gator tillman x female reader#gator tillman angst#gator tillman smut#gator tillman x fem!reader#gator tillman x you#gator tillman x y/n#gator tillman x reader
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Tickletober day #29: Magic
TODAY IS KAZUHA'S BDAY HAPPY BDAY TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE
Ofc to celebrate I HAD to write him for this day, and since it's magic prompt I went with a rarepair and wrote KazuLyney
One of my longer fics this round, hope y'all enjoy<3
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Kazuha x Lyney (gey)
Lee: Kazuha
Ler: Lyney
Warnings: Tickles!
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Kazuha could only watch in amusement as the eccentric magician took him away for a “private show” as a birthday treat, at least those were Lyney’s words. Not even this wandering samurai could tell what that troublemaker could get up to at times. Though, it just added to the excitement of what Lyney might do to him.
“And for my next trick… I shall make a feather appear out of thin air” the magician declared proudly before reaching over Kazuha's face. A playful boop made contact with his nose, making the maple leaf enthusiast chuckle, until he saw the magician reach behind his ear, and that’s when he felt it. A soft, fluffy material that made Kazuha instantly stiffen as it brushed over the shell of his ear.
“With just a click of a button, I managed to pull a feather out of your ear! What does the audience think?” Lyney leaned into Kazuha’s personal space. That usual, playful grin of his in its full glory.
“Outstanding, as always” Kazuha was trying and failing to remain composed. His gaze flickering between his partner’s face and that ridiculously ticklish feather he twirled in his hand.
“Ah, but not so fast. The show is just getting started, my dear~” a more sinister look overtook Lyney’s features as he loomed over the samurai, making Kazuha fall flat on his back.
Oh archons, it’s really happening, isn’t it? Kazuha thought to himself as a red flush slowly rose up his face, all the way to the tips of his ears.
Lyney let out a deep chuckle as he took place on top of Kazuha’s hips. “Don’t get too excited yet, I haven’t even started the main event~” the magician practically purred, making goosebumps rise across Kazuha’s skin.
The samurai mentally chided himself for his extreme eagerness, but it wasn’t enough to stop a giddy smile from stretching across his lips when Lyney waved the feather in front of his face.
“Hmm… where to begin…” Lyney pretended to think, hovering the feather over Kazuha’s neck, before bringing it over to his belly, and jumping back up to his collarbone. This teasing was really doing a number on Kazuha’s brain. He hated how needy he kept getting the longer his boyfriend teased him.
No amount of self restraint could’ve stopped the whine that escaped Kazuha’s lips when the feather got dangerously close to his ear, but was quickly pulled away.
“Oh? You look like you’ve got something to say”
Suddenly, everything else in the room seemed to appear more interesting to Kazuha, as his eyes looked anywhere but at Lyney. Though, his refuge was cut short when the magician cupped his chin, forcing him to look back at him.
“C’mon, I know you can say it. You’re a big boy, even more so now that it’s your birthday. So… tell me~”
Kazuha really lucked out with this teasy bastard. A gulp rang through the room before he spoke up “I w-.. tic-... me…”
“Speak up, sunshine~” Lyney cupped his ear, pretending to listen closer to his partner’s words.
This time, the samurai didn’t bother holding back a groan. Feeling a tad too impatient by the pyro user’s antics. “Just tickle me already!-” when the words registered in his brain, Kazuha froze up. Somehow, Lyney’s expression grew more sinister.
“Oh? Such an impatient audience, tsk tsk. But a magician always delivers, so buckle up~” he brought the feather over to Kazuha’s neck, finally coming into contact with the skin, much to the anemo user’s relief.
Kazuha’s lips wrinkled up as the ticklish sensation slowly took over his body. Despite both of them knowing how much the samurai wanted this, said wanderer was too stubborn to allow himself to laugh freely. Like hell he’d lose his composure so quickly (as if he hadn’t been whining moments prior), he was a poised samurai. He didn’t crumble from just a bit of tickling-
“Ah- Wait! Wahahait!” Well, so much for that.
Giggles forced themselves out of Kazuha’s mouth when Lyney’s free hand started to delicately squeeze up and down his side.
“Wait? Wait for what? I’m simply doing what you told me, silly boy~ Besides, the show must go on!”
Kazuha swore that he could feel himself grow warmer. That tiny yet unbearable feather teasing all over his sensitive neck and Lyney’s dexterous fingers climbing up to his ribs made him want to crawl out of his skin in the best way possible. It couldn’t possibly get worse than this, right?
“Look at you, such a cute, giggly thing. Letting me tickle you as I please ‘cause you love it so much, dontcha?~
Oh it got so much worse…
Watching Lyney coo at him was so distracting, he didn’t notice when the feather came up to his ear. Simultaneously, the fingers that were tormenting his ribs shot up to under his arm.
“GYAH! WAIT- NO! LYNEHEHEHEY!” Kazuha threw his head back in loud, unrestrained laughter. It was completely different from the more soft and polite chuckles he’d normally give, and boy was Lyney relishing the sight. The usually composed samurai, all red and squealing like a ‘lil boy under him. If only he had a kamera to capture the moment… perhaps next time.
Kazuha’s limbs went flying all over the place, the magician managing to evade them all with ease as he kept tormenting his lover’s armpit and ear. Truly diabolical, going for not one but two of his most sensitive spots. Kazuha would’ve protested, if he wasn’t too busy dying of laughter.
His torso started to ache, though in an odd way it felt pleasant. It felt good to let loose and laugh this much. Kazuha could feel his eyes go watery, his boyfriend becoming a blur.
He was so lost in his hysterics that he didn’t realize the tickling had stopped. His boisterous laughter slowly died down, only leaving soft giggles and hiccups. A soft hand wiped away a tear of joy that rolled down his cheek, before being pressed against the magician’s chest. Kazuha was quick to nuzzle against it like a cat. Letting his body grow relaxed in his boyfriend’s hold.
“So… how was your birthday show? I hope it lived up to the audience’s expectation” Lyney teased lightly, combing his fingers through the sweaty mess that was Kazuha’s bangs.
The samurai looked up at the magician with a smile that could bring world peace with its mere existence. Tugging straight at Lyney’s heart.
“It did. I… I had a lot of fun…” Kazuha admitted a bit more shyly. Seeking refuge against Lyney’s chest. He could feel his heart do a flip when Lyney chuckled at the sight.
“I’m glad. Me too” they both laid in each other’s embrace, letting the silence and comfortableness of the scene wash over them.
Then, a faint voice spoke up before Kazuha lost consciousness, saying: “Happy birthday, Kazuha���
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