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kitten4sannie · 5 months

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ᴅᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ ᴄʀᴀᴡʟᴇʀ

ꜱᴇx ᴘᴏʟʟᴇɴ/ʙᴜᴋᴀᴋᴋᴇ ➠ ᴍɪɴꜱᴀɴʏᴜɴʜᴡᴀ

pairing: half orc! mingi x elf! reader (fem) x barbarian! san x goliath! yunho x tiefling! seonghwa

genre: fantasy au/dnd vibe, humor, gratuitous smut

summary: you go on a quest with a group of brutish, questionable individuals. anything for some gold and riches, right?

w.c: 6.5k ish…..yeahhhh

the world’s longest list of warnings: alcohol mention/usage, soft/hard! dom party members, brat in the streets baby in the sheets sub! reader, these mfs have a hard-on for social hierarchies esp mingi (he’s a big pervert too hehe), mxm (real homies jerk each other off), monster fucking (mimic box…listen i saw it in a porn one time and its been my dream to recreate it since okay sue meee take me to court!!), five?? some?? idk they made it work somehow, voyeurism/exhibitionism, praise/degradation, pet names, olfactophilia, aphrodisiacs, teasing, vast size differences, size kink, strength kink, manhandling, oral (receiving), overstim, tit play, bulge kink, handjob, blowjob, titjob, all the jobs actually, double penetration made possible with magic incantations <3, creampies, back shots, and facials for everyoneeee !! one for you!! and for youuu~~ also the word cock is mentioned at least 50 times in this one sorry bout that hshjs

a/n: hi ahhhh so this chaotic jumble of insanity is my baby 🥹 and it’s also my very first filth fest fic of the month !!! so yk what that means ;3 go on and strap in for me okay? it’s about to go down frfr <3 this is a sort of sequel to my half orc mingi fic but it can be read on its own! also i’ve never actually played dnd,, i’ve just heard about it from my brother so don’t expect an extremely accurate representation;;; i did do quite a bit of research tho <33 but yeah that being said…. rip reader’s elussy </3

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ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ʙʏ ꜱᴛᴇᴇʟʏ ᴅᴀɴ

0:01 ❍─────── 3:01

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ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

“Ladies and gents, now this is a quest that’s not for the faint of heart,” your local guild master announced, leaning his heavy forearms on the crowded bar table below him, stroking his long, bushy beard absentmindedly, the wood furnishing of the bar creaking underneath his weight.

The lively room grew a bit more quiet, some individuals quirking their heads in the seasoned barbarian’s direction, yours included. “With a hefty 1000 gold pieces as your reward, this quest requires you to find and locate the rare lujuria plant, then bring its seeds back to me. Unfortunately for you lot, they’re only found in the abandoned dungeons near Mist Falls. Any takers?”

At the mention of the plant and location, most of the interested individuals turned back to their ale and friends, resuming their loud, enthusiastic conversations. You, however, couldn’t believe how idiotic the other patrons were. You could do quite a lot with 1000 gold pieces, and being a solo adventurer, you wouldn’t even have to share it with anyone. With dollar signs in your eyes and a spring in your step, you headed up to the busy bar, having to get on your tippy toes and wave your hand around past some of the larger patron’s broad shoulders until the guild master noticed your presence.

“Now, don’t tell me a dainty little high elf is interested in the quest I just announced. You gonna scare them off with your shiny hair and sparkly crystals?” the older man gruffed, letting out a hefty laugh, before taking a couple gulps from the oversized mug he held within his large, calloused hands.

When you simply stood there with your hands crossed over your lace-covered chest, the guild master set his mug down, his bushy eyebrows raising upwards. “Oh, you’re serious.” He leaned down to your level, cupping his hand around one side of his face, allowing you to smell the ale on his breath. “Do you know why no one likes to go to Mist Falls, little Miss?”

You shook your head, causing the small jewels that dangled from your silky hair to sway a bit. You cupped a hand around your own face, murmuring, “Why does no one like it, Mister?”

“There’s some strange wildlife that frequent the land there. Otherworldly things…things that an elf like you wouldn’t want to get wrapped up in,” he explained carefully, looking over the lens of his glasses to squint at you. “Unless, you’re into that sort of thing, of course.”

Not understanding what he meant by his vague statement, you shrugged it off, taking his underestimation of your abilities as a challenge you couldn’t bear backing down from. “I’ll take the quest, Mister, and I’ll bring you those seeds.”

The guild master smiled down at you, chuckling a bit, like you weren’t in on the joke that he was so amused by. “Very well, little Miss.” He handed you the rolled-up scroll, his lips still curled into a suspicious smile. “Good luck with your quest.”

Taking the scroll, you nodded your head at him, a smug smile painting your own face, as you turned on your heels to leave, reveling in the fact that your levels of commitment and intelligence were clearly in the upper echelons compared to the rest of the idiots that frequented the crowded guild.

Before you could leave without any issues, a deeply familiar, incredibly cocky-sounding baritone voice interrupted your mental victory dance. “Would you look at that. Gonna handle a dungeon all on your own, eh, princess?”

You quickly turned your head, your eyes landing on the tall, solid beast of a half-man, half-orc standing with one hand resting on his leather-bound hip, his golden eyes slowly studying your body with an almost nauseating amount of interest. “Mingi…” you sighed, the events of your last few meetings flashing through your brain, the tips of your ears turning a faint red. “Oh, you think I can’t handle a stupid quest on my own either, huh?”

He shook his head, his shaggy silver hair falling in his eyes, forcing him to swipe it out of the way with his large ringed fingers. “Nope.” His simple response encouraged his equally large, equally intimidating party members, who were hanging out near him, to laugh and chatter amongst themselves.

Now your hands were on your hips, getting hit by a wave of annoyance, your cheeks burning. “Watch me.”

Mingi took a step towards you, just to show you and anyone nearby just how much he towered over you, his lips quirking up into a shit-eating grin, still peering down at your body like he could already picture what you looked like without the form-fitting lace dress that was wrapped around your curvy body like a pretty present, one that he wanted to open as soon as possible.

“With a petite little body like yours?” He reached down to slip a finger into your hair, playing with one of the crystals that adorned it. “Yeah, so small and delicate, like a pretty little fairy, ain’t ya? Those monsters in that dungeon will swallow you whole.”

You might’ve hated Mingi to an extent, but he was good. Good at making you feel tiny and desirable, and so wet, you were afraid he’d be able to smell it from where he was standing. You closed your thighs together slightly, lowering your closed fists to your sides, leaning forward. “I-i’m not a fairy, you dumb orc! I'm an elf! And I don’t need your help!” Just as you turned around to leave, Mingi cleared his throat, making you turn your head back to glare at him.

He placed his other hand on his hip, letting his weight shift to the opposite side, his head tilting the other way. “Sweetheart, listen, I know you’re very capable of getting what you want,” he mused, chuckling softly at the way your face scrunched up slightly in embarrassment. “But, I’m sure you could use some extra party members to back you up. Me and the boys want to help you. Won’t you let us?”

You gazed at Mingi a little while longer, before your eyes shifted to his friends, first drawn to the most elegant-looking tiefling you’ve ever seen. He had sleek skin that looked like expensive marble, his hair as white as the frost that would cover all the lands during the winter months, his heavy horns ridged and curled into an ‘s’ shape, and black as soot, his thin, pointed tail quietly slithering around in a snake-like motion behind the long black cloak that hung from his pointed shoulders.

“That’s Seonghwa,” Mingi informed, with his arms folded across his wide tattooed chest. “Doesn’t talk much, unless it’s to cast a spell or call me stupid.”

Seonghwa’s pretty lips formed a smirk, wrapping his arms comfortably around his slim, corseted waist, his sharp, milky eyes focused intensely on you, like he was peering through you and straight into your soul.

“Oh, are we introducing ourselves?” someone said excitedly, your eyes following the voice upwards until they landed on the handsome face of the gentle-looking goliath standing besides the tiefling. At roughly seven feet tall, the broad man sported shiny, golden locks, pretty brown eyes, and a tribal tattoo that was plastered on his veiny neck, clad only in a thick pelt that sat comfortably around his solid waist, wearing matching furry cuffs on his thick forearms. “I’m Yunho! I like to get drunk and smash stuff. What do you like to do, elf girl?” The goliath stepped forward to shake your hand, his hand completely encompassing yours, your neck almost hurting from having to look up at him.

“Hi, Yunho,” you replied, smiling softly, feeling a bit dizzy from your vast difference in sizes. Everything about him was just so big, you couldn't help but wonder what else was too. “I’m Y/N. I like to go on quests and collect gold.”

“Don’t tell me we’re actually going to help a high elf,” the last party member interrupted in a low voice, sneering, showing off his large, rounded canines when you looked past Yunho to scoff at him. “And an annoying one, at that. I don’t care if she’s fuckable. This is still a waste of time.”

Yunho put a large, warm hand on your shoulder, covering it completely. “Don’t take San’s words seriously, sweet. He bullies people when he likes them.”

The brooding barbarian folded his arms over the thick, furry pelt that covered his broad upper half, rolling his eyes, a few strands of his wild raven hair falling past his forehead. “Or maybe I just don’t like stuck-up little elven brats, ever think of that, Yunho?” His pronounced eyebrows joined together in a bout of sudden fury. “Huh? Can you even hear me up there, you oversized son of a bitch?”

A faint blush appeared on Yunho’s cheeks, smiling in San’s direction, before looking back down at you. “See? He loves me.”

You returned his smile with a grimace. “He loves being a dickhead too, apparently.”

“Excuse me?!” San growled, about to walk up to the both of you to prove that he only loved moonshine, his trusty club, and himself.

Mingi stepped in front of San, waving his hands around exasperatedly, wishing someone presented a dialogue skip option a long time ago, bored of the introductions. “Alright, alright, so are you coming with us, or not, princess? What’s the verdict?”

You rolled your eyes, opening the large entrance door of the guild, eventually letting out a long sigh, glancing back over your shoulder with a pout. You knew you had a slim chance of surviving without them, but you still had your pride. You let out a small hmph, annoyed when they still all just stood there waiting, encouraging you to stomp your silk shoe down on the ground, grumbling, “Ugh, are you coming, or what?”

Mingi and his friends chuckled amongst themselves and elbowed each other, amused by the amount of fiery zealousness your tiny body possessed, finishing their mugs of ale, eventually following you out of the guild and onto the dirt road.

“Hurry up! I wanna explore this dungeon today, not during the next winter solstice!” you called out to them, already at the forest entrance, tossing your head back in an exaggeratedly annoyed fashion.

The half-orc waved his hand around nonchalantly, despite his large lower canines growing more and more visible the more he began to smile, pulling out a small pair of lace panties that had a familiar design etched into them. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get your little elf panties in a twist,” he chuckled, bringing them up to his face to take a sniff.

Your inquisitive expression melted down into one of horror, then scrunched again, this time pleading him with his eyes. “Mingi…don’t tell me you’ve kept those all this time.”

“Of course I have, princess. In fact, I jerk off with them every chance I can in your honor. I can cum real hard just from knowing I turned a high elf onto orc cock forever. I still remember like it was yesterday,” he sighed dreamily, wiping away a fake tear, like had just said the most romantic sentence even known to orckind.

“I still fuck elves, you twat! I don’t need you or your stupid orc cock!” you argued, turning away so that none of them could see how flushed you had gotten, heading into the forest by yourself.

“That’s a damn lie. You showed up to my hut like three times during the Great Hunt not too long ago,” Mingi explained, following after you, his friends following beside him. “Don’t you remember? I had to carry you home after you passed out from squirting too hard.”

“No!” you shouted from ahead of him, swearing you were going to melt into the floor.

“She’s got elven pride, that one,” Mingi sighed, admiring you from behind. “Anyway, I got her soaked panties to prove it. You want to see them, don’t ya, Hwa?” Mingi elbowed Seonghwa, who just shook his head in disappointment, while he continued smiling truimphantly to himself.

࿏࿏࿏

Your group took on a range of opponents, from skeleton armies to disingenuous slime cubes that you may or may not have fallen into, able to pass through quite a few levels of the dungeon, mostly due to Seonghwa’s spell casting abilities, San’s uncontrollable rage, Yunho’s knack of destroying anything he came in contact with, and Mingi’s axe-wielding skills. Did you want to admit that to yourself? Sure. Out loud? No, of fucking course not.

You picked off bits of pink slime that still clung to your wet form, grumbling under your breath about how sticky you felt, not even noticing that some of the slime had already absorbed into your skin.

“Need a little help there, princess?” Mingi mused, reaching down to your shoulder and wiping off some of the slime for you, his fingers tingling once he had done so.

“I suppose so,” you murmured, standing still so that he could continue helping you, surprisingly not even that bothered when the other members of your newfound party all gathered around you and picked or pulled off the remnants of slime that remained on your body, face, and hair.

As you entered the next room, all five of you noticed how the tinglyness remained, how it spread throughout your bodies like a gentle ripple effect, your bodies now collectively hot to the touch, though no one said anything to each other — at least, not yet, anyway.

“A chest!” you gasped excitedly, putting your dagger back into its respective holder and running up to the large, gold-plated chest that sat at the edge of the room, just waiting for someone to open it up and collect its contents.

“Don’t be stupid, elven brat. Not all chests are filled with treasure. Some of them could be decoys. You know that, right?” San rested the rounded bottom of his ginormous club down onto the dungeon floor, leaning on it, raising an eyebrow at you. “Or do you only familiarize yourself with crystals and orc cock?”

“Shut up!” You held onto the barbarian’s insult, rather than hearing him out. “You’re just saying that because you want the treasure for yourself!” You got on your knees in front of the chest, muttering, “Selfish prick.”

“What’d you say?!” San barked, his hand squeezing around the thick handle of his weapon.

Mingi slung an arm around San’s tense shoulders, smiling as though he was quite pleased with himself. “She’s got a mouth on her, huh?” He met San’s grimace with a shoulder squeeze. “Don’t worry, Sannie. She’s gonna learn the hard way.”

Yunho walked up beside Seonghwa, lowering himself down to sit on the cool stone ground with a thud, wiping a bit of perspiration that had formed on his forehead. “I’ve been feeling weird since we left the slime room, Hwa. Can you cast a healing spell?”

“Yeah, me too, now that you mention it,” Mingi called out, rubbing his sweat-covered neck with his free hand, encouraging San to open his own black furry coat, revealing an expanse of sweaty, tan, tattooed skin underneath it.

Seonghwa nodded his head in agreement, waving his hand around in front of him, manifesting a large glowing violet pentagram into existence, which eventually disappeared after the spell had be casted completely, a faint glow still visible around the edges of your bodies.

“Mm, I don’t really feel any different…” Mingi mumbled, his hot-blooded body even more tingly than before, starting to feel like he could fuck someone into oblivion right at that moment, even more than usual.

Once you had opened up the chest, ignoring the subsequent pounding inside your chest and cunt, you were met by a multitude of shiny, gold coins just waiting for you to take. “Holy shit, I’m rich!”

“You better split that with us, before I split you in half with my cock, stupid elf!” San griped from where he stood, now a bit hunched over, his words slightly slurred, not even fully realizing what he was saying.

“Wh-what?!” you squeaked, your ears bright red, turning your head to look at the barbarian in disbelief, not even noticing when the chest in front of you began to sprout limbs, a long, slimy tongue slipping out past the gold.

“I said, I’ll split you open–” San fully dropped his club, which resulted in a resounding thud inside the small room. He pointed an accusatory finger in your direction, blinking at you through his hazy vision, using his other hand to grab at himself through his furry kilt. “–with my big, barbarian cock!”

Yunho pointed at you as well, wanting you to notice the big monster that was about to have its way with you. “Um, Y/N, you should…”

“Not now, Yunho, I have to tell this idiot barbarian to suck my clit!” you informed angrily, holding your middle finger up at San, which he returned enthusiastically.

“Oh, yeah? Then, get your fucking ass over here and sit on my face, you elf slut,” San barked back, sticking his tongue out at you, still holding onto Mingi, appearing drunker by the second — though it wasn’t alcohol running rampant through his body. It was lust. The rest of them were feeling it too.

“Slut? I’ll show you slut,” you grumbled, about to stand up and give San a piece of your mind, your fist, and possibly your body when the mimic suddenly snatched you up with its long limbs and pinned you to the floor. “Oh my god, what’s happening? What the fuck is that?!”

San simply chuckled, leaning his back against the cold concrete wall of the small room, trying to cool his intensely heated body down. “That’s a mimic, dummy. I’m sure you can handle it though, since you’re so tough.”

Mingi looked to his friends, biting at his lip, noticing that none of them even attempted to assist you, more concerned with finding out what the monster was about to do to you. Even Yunho, who was the only one with any semblance of a conscience out of the entire party, somehow couldn’t bring himself to get up, instead answering to the oversized tent that was forming underneath his pelt.

The mimic pinned your wrists together above your head with one strong hand, using the other to lift one of your legs up into the air, breathing harshly as it studied your slick cunt through your tiny lace panties, eventually licking a long stripe up your body, from your pussy up to your chest, leaving your white garments completely soaked and see-through.

Trying desperately to free your hands from the monster’s unwavering grip, unable to prevent more slick from leaking out of you with your legs being held open, you angled your head back to look at the upside-down versions of your party, crying out, “Are you fuckers just going to sit there and watch?!”

“Yeah…we are, sweetheart,” Mingi sighed out, still leaning on San, a few drops of sweat cascading down his flushed face. He dragged his tongue across his teeth, breathing in the flowery scent of your arousal, inhaling so deeply his bull ring shifted slightly. “I’m sure you got it handled. Just tire it out with that wet fucking cunt of yours, will ya?”

A strong wave of pleasure pulsed through your body at Mingi’s response, looking to each of the members, realizing that they were really just going to observe as you got pleasured by the monster, getting more aroused by the second. What was wrong with you? You would’ve contemplated it more, but any thoughts you had would completely fizzle out once the mimic’s tongue came in contact with your cunt, licking you up and down in a rapid, desperate fashion. Its tongue was so heavy and hot against your pulsing cunt, you couldn’t help but cum within a few minutes, your body going limp. “Fuuuck, oh my god…”

“Came nice and hard, didn’t you?” Mingi continued to share his filthy words with you and his party, all five of you reacting positively to it. “I can fucking smell it, princess…” His smile twisted into a faux pout, his voice dripping with lust. “That tongue isn’t enough for you though, is it? Mm-mm, not nearly enough. You need cock stuffed inside your tight elven pussy, don’t you, darlin’?”

All you could do was let out a long pathetic whine, your flushed, fucked-our face giving Mingi and the boys the answer they needed. Now that you weren’t fighting back, the mimic lifted your lower half up into the air, positioning you so that its tongue could slither inside you, pistoning it in and out of your willing hole, your upper half hanging upside down, your tits bouncing with each of the mimic’s thrusts of its wet appendage, your writhing body on display for your party members’ viewing pleasure. “I’m…going to…kill you all…for watching…” you huffed out in between moans, drool slipping out past your parted lips.

Mingi turned his head to share looks with his friends, all of them now dealing with the same almost painful predicament. “Are you all as hard as I am…?” When they nodded, he felt a little less guilty, reaching down to rub at his leaking cock through his kilt, able to feel how stiff it was even through the thick material. He gazed down at you, biting at his bottom lip, holding onto the thick leather of his body harness, trying not to blow his load too quickly. “It feels good, doesn’t it, princess? I can hear how just how sloppy that mess of a cunt is…Do you like the way it’s fucking you senseless with its tongue? Is it filling you up just right?”

You couldn’t believe just how turned on you were in the moment, hardly about to breathe in between your bouts of pleasure, your body beginning to sieze up when the mimic shoved its tongue as deep as it could go, causing a prominent bulge to form inside your lower stomach. “S-so good, Min, gonna cum again…”

“Cum for us, baby, that’s it…” Mingi sighed, leaning his shoulder against San’s, noticing how he began to play with his cock through his kilt, doing his friend a solid and reaching over to stroke the base of it for him.

Groaning underneath his breath, San reached over to help Mingi out as well, the both of them hyperfixated on the way the mimic drank up your juices as though it needed it to live. Seonghwa and Yunho were in a similar position, but instead of answering to their aching cocks, they simply watched on, the visual stimulation clearly enough for them.

The mimic lifted your limp body upwards so that you were on your knees, with its large, agile tongue fitted in between your trembling thighs, grabbing you by the waist so that it could drag you back and forth along its long, slimy appendage. “Just like that, oh my god, it’s so–fuck–” you gasped, barely able to look at the men that were huddled around you, the new position not allowing you to hide away from their hungry gazes, your body on full display for them.

With his hand now fully hidden underneath San’s kilt, Mingi nodded his head at you in approval. “That’s my naughty little elf girl,” he praised you in a gravelly voice, groaning at the sensation of San tugging at his dripping cock from underneath his own pelt. “Let me see you cum one more time for us, princess. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Mingiii, I’ll cum for you,” you whined obediently, reaching down your shiny, wet body to rub your clit around through your thin, soaked panties, unable to keep your mouth closed anymore from how hard you were breathing.

“What a good listener you are, baby. Look at you playing with your tiny little clit without me having to ask. Such a good elf girl you are,” Mingi continued to praise you, knowing exactly what made you tick, his hand squeezing around San’s throbbing length.

San let out a higher pitched moan, his body beginning to tremble against Mingi’s. “I can’t believe you–unnh–managed to tame her so easily…”

“It wasn’t hard, Sannie…fuck– She may be a brat, but she’s a good girl at heart…” Mingi was beginning to fall apart as well, San’s calloused hand continually rubbing along his cock enhancing the pleasure of watching you willingly playing with yourself while you rode a monster’s tongue, his party’s presence filling him with even more warmth. “Cum for us, sweetheart, show us how pretty you are when you fall apart…”

Mingi’s praise-filled request mixed with the sensation of your puffy clit grinding along the mimic’s slick tongue sent you barreling over the edge, cumming so hard, you saw stars, barely able to grasp at the dagger that still sat inside its holster.

Meanwhile, San and Mingi both began to groan and shudder against the cool dungeon wall, shooting their hot loads onto each other’s hands and the insides of their pelts. Seonghwa and Yunho both coated their own undergarments with white, biting into their bottom lips so hard they just about broke the skin.

They were all so deep in their wells of ecstasy that they hardly even noticed when you let out a war cry and stabbed the mimic with your long dagger, rendering it dead, causing it to fade away in a flurry of sparkly, white dust, leaving a few gold pieces for you to take.

“I told you I could fucking take care of myself,” you grimaced, shoving your items into a small pouch you had hanging from your upper thigh.

Once the post-nut clarity set in, Mingi cleared his dry throat, scratching at his prickly chin. “I mean, you did defeat the mimic on your own, so credit is due when credit is due, princess. You just used your pussy to combat it…which is just as valid as using a real weapon, don’t get me wrong–”

“Shut it!” you simply yelled, your face so hot, it probably rivaled the surface of the sun, stomping past the recovering men and pushing the next door open once it unlocked itself, wasting no time to enter the last floor of the dungeon where the supposed lujuria plant was said to grow.

“Let’s go help her out with that plant. And remember, whatever happens, happens. Just know I’m not fucking any of you.” Mingi patted San’s shoulder, looking over to the other members of his party with a playful smile.

San smacked Mingi’s back playfully, which Mingi returned. “Let’s put that elf brat in her place.”

Mingi nodded. “Yeah, on my cock where she belongs.”

Seonghwa scoffed from beside them. “Could you be anymore crass?”

Yunho patted Mingi’s and Seonghwa’s shoulders, practically dislocating them, smiling goofily, his cheeks and face flush from the energy he exerted. “What happens in the dungeon, stays in the dungeon, boys.”

Seonghwa quietly nodded his head in agreement, until he murmured softly, “Indeed.”

࿏࿏࿏

“Where are you, you stupid fucking plant?” you called out inside the vast, foliage-covered room, swiping at the overgrown leaves and plants that were in your way, almost tripping over a few vines that grew in and out of the broken-up cobblestone floor below your feet.

The rest of your party followed your lead, Mingi and Yunho taking the initiative to cut down the thicker plants and foliage that stood in your way with their axes, almost completely out of breath when you finally came across a large pink plant growing in the middle of the room.

“I’m assuming that’s it,” you said mostly to yourself, slowly walking up to the plant, impressed by its intricate petals and inviting flowery scent. “It’s not as scary as I thought it’d be. It’s almost…pretty…”

Just as you reached out to touch it, Seonghwa opened his mouth to warn, “Wait, don’t–”

As soon as your slender fingers came in contact with one of the flower petals, the plant sent out a puff of dusty pink pollen directly into your face and the air around your party, before folding in on itself and growing comically large spikes to protect its core which contained the golden glowing seeds you needed to complete your quest.

You began choking and coughing along with the others, reaching out blindly through the thick pollen, finding solace in Seonghwa’s arms, who began reciting a spell to lessen the effects of the plant’s attempt at self defense, but it was too late. Mind-altering desire had already set in. “Can’t breathe…can’t think…” you whispered, grabbing at Seonghwa’s chest, unbuckling his top and revealing his smooth, marble skin, henna-like tattoos decorating his jewelry-adorned collar bone.

Seonghwa clutched your shoulders, breathing just as profusely as you were, murmuring, “Don’t think, then, silly elf,” before pressing his mouth onto yours with haste, his long, snake-like tongue slipping inside your mouth to explore it.

Strong, solid hands grabbed at your hips from behind, Mingi pulling them back so that he could grind his cock into your ass, his lips already ghosting along your neck. His deep, gravelly voice made you let out a weak moan into Seonghwa’s mouth when he sighed, “Gonna fill your cunt full of my cum, sweetheart. So fucking full.”

“Then, I get to fill her slutty elf cunt with my tongue first,” San interrupted, already on his knees, positioning himself in between you and Seonghwa, not hesitating to tear your skirt and panties apart to access your rapidly dripping cunt. “So pink, so pretty…” He attached his drooling mouth onto your clit, sucking so roughly, your knees almost buckled underneath you, about to completely collapse when he plugged your hole up with his hot tongue.

Seonghwa pulled away slightly, finally letting you breathe without having his tongue down your throat, instead completely shredding the front of your dress with his talons, just in time for Mingi to groan and cup your tits, squeezing and moving them around, saliva leaking past his plump lips. “I always know exactly what your idiotic orc brain is thinking,” he sighed at Mingi, bringing his own hands up to tweak and pinch at your nipples, making you cry out.

“Oh, yeah? Can you read my mind right now, Hwa? Can you tell that I’m about to stretch this elf’s little fuckhole wide open with my fat fuckin’ cock?” he said near your twitching, elongated ear, his hard length slipping in between your thighs to rub along the underside of your cunt, his dark eyes settled on Seonghwa’s before returning to your slick body, their hands moving in tandem to play with your tits, each getting a chance to squeeze your squishy flesh and tease your increasingly puffy nipples.

Yunho, who was hard beyond measure and feeling a little left out, walked up to the side of you and reached down to show off his enormous cock, the slick , oversized tip an angry shade of red. He pouted down at you, letting out a small whimper. “Can you please help me out, sweet? I’m so hard, it hurts…”

Unable to resist his puppy-dog eyes, you nodded, licking your lips, collecting his vast amounts of pre-cum at the rounded tip with your fingers, eventually using it to slick up the rest of his cock, doing your best to jerk him off with your small hands. “Does that feel good, Yunho?”

“So good, doll,” he gasped, leaning his head back, not registering when he began to thrust his hips forward into your hands, using them like a fleshlight.

You’re so big, Yunho, fuck– I can hardly wrap my hands around it…” you sighed out, opening your mouth to lick at the tip of his cock each time he thrusted into your hands. Your mind went blank, until you suddenly remembered that San was in between your squeezing thighs, devouring your cunt like it was his last meal, his tongue and lips wreaking havoc on your clit, his thick fingers shoved inside your pulsing hole.

“Like the way I’m eating this cunt of yours, eh, elf girl?” San mumbled in between slurps, gulping your juices down, a few dribbles of it cascading down his veined throat. “You don’t even need to answer, love. I can tell you do just from the way you’re fuckin’ squeezin’ my fingers.” San groaned deeply, watching the way you dripped for him as he continually went knuckles-deep inside you, biting his bottom lip, growling, “Cum for me. Cum all over my face, you brat. Fuckin’ do it.”

You unraveled almost instantaneously, getting your creaminess sucked off of your slit by the desperate barbarian, not even noticing that he had been jerking himself off so roughly, he had already made himself cum before you did.

“Goddamn it, since when did high elf squirt taste so fuckin’ good?” San mumbled drunkenly to himself, licking at his swollen lips, prior to sucking your cum from his fingers noisily.

“You’ve had your fun, Sannie boy. It’s time for this little elf girl to experience the pleasure of getting broken in by real men. Hwa, you know what to do,” Mingi announced hastily, already bringing you down to the floor so that you were about to slowly take the half-orc’s cock in your cunt from behind, Seonghwa supporting your front, the tip of his tail already brushing back and forth over your swollen clit, rubbing his large, ridged cockhead on your puffy lips to slick them up with his pre-cum, his own plump lips moving at a quick pace, expertly reciting an incantation that would allow you to physically take two obscenely large cocks at once, all well as increasing your natural lubricant and allowing you access to heightened physical sensations.

“Fuck, look at you…What a good little elf girl you are, taking us both inside you like this,” Mingi sighed into your ear, reaching around your body to lazily rub your wetness into your sensitive clit. “Almost like you were made to take monster cock, huh? Not made for little elven peckers, it seems.” He pressed his hand into your lower abdomen, able to feel the pronounced outline of his friend’s abnormally large length. “Mm, that’s right. You loved being stuffed full of monster cock, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Love it, Min, so much,” you choked out, your mind going positively blank, the only thing on your mind being the insanely pleasurable stretch you felt inside your core, knowing you were quite literally filled to the brim. “Feels so good, I can’t think.”

“Why think when you can just feel good, princess?” he chuckled, rubbing your tummy in an up and down motion, feeling the outline of Seonghwa’s thick, ridged length with his calloused fingers, shuddering from the sensation of their slippery cocks rubbing along one another inside your tight, slick walls . He nuzzled your neck and the side of your face with his prickly cheek, whispering onto your skin, “M’ so proud of you, sweetheart. I broke you in before and now here you are, taking big tielfing cock in your pussy while an orc’s stuffing you just as full. What a pretty sight you are. Wish I could take a picture.”

“Oh my god, Mingi, please, it’s so–” you could hardly verbalize, your eyes just about rolling into your skull, your body pulsing with so much pleasure, you could barely keep up with what was happening around you.

Mingi routinely filled your elongated ears with more filthy words, Seonghwa gazing deeply at you, your willing hole continuing to clench around their thrusting cocks, getting stretched so pleasurably, you almost passed out from that sensation alone.

All the while, San positioned himself in from of your tits, squeezing them together and driving his cock back and forth between them, grunting and groaning each time.

Yunho gently grabbed your chin, coaxing your mouth open as wide as it would go, whispering, “That’s it, my sweet, just a little wider…” He began to feed you his cock, stuffing your mouth full and instinctively fucking your throat, your jaw already beginning to ache from the obscene girth. “You’re so tiny…can barely take it…huh?” Moaning breathily, Yunho eventually settled for fucking the inside of your gummy cheek, afraid that he would suffocate you if he continued to throat fuck you.

It seemed that this quartet had been in this exact position before. That was clear to you now. You couldn't have been more wet and willing if you tried. Getting used by two filthy men while two more watched and desperately tried to get off using your body in any way they could filled you with a sense of purpose you didn’t realize you had always sought after.

“You want our cum in your pretty elf cunt, princess?” Mingi huffed, in between harsh, deliberate thrusts, his hands cemented on the reappearing bulge in your stomach. “Huh? You want us to make a mess of you, aye? Want to be fucked so full of our seed, you’ll give us pretty elven offspring?”

Once Yunho freed your saliva-streaked mouth from his suffocating length and resorted to jerking himself off, you were able to reply in a fucked-out, slurred voice, “Yeah–yeah–yeah– fill me up, wan’ it all. All your cum, in me, on me, I need it, pleaseee.”

Your willing party members’ highs all crescendoed in succession, Mingi resorting to sloppy, rough thrusts inside your tight hole until he spilled most of his load into you, his cum splashing onto Seonghwa’s cock, dripping along their lengths to form a milky rim. “Oh, fuck, that’s it…but I’m not done yet, princess…I gotta–nngh–leave my mark on my favorite elf…” He slowly pulled out with lewd pop, coaxing a few more cum shots out of his cock with a large, closed fist, watching the large milky droplets slide along your smooth skin and torn sections of your dress onto the curve of your exposed ass, his eyes creasing with clear adoration. “That’s more like it…”

“W-was that necessary…?” you murmured, trying not to cum just from the sensation of getting stuffed full of cum, sensing that Seonghwa was next in line to come undone inside you.

“Oh, my gods, I…see heaven,” Seonghwa gasped sharply, the whites of his boundless eyes glowing brightly, his lips parting to allow a shaky moan to escape. Seonghwa gripped your hips so tightly, he was bound to leave handprints, relying on slow, deliberate strokes, using your contracting cunt to milk the cum from his cock, unable to resist leaving a few drops on your clit and mound when he pulled out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, gonna cum all over these tits, you little elven slut, take itttt,” San gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening, only having to pump himself between your slick, pre-cum covered tits once more before he was able to leave thick spurts of white all over the bottom of your heated face and lips, leaving most of his load on your messy tits.

“O-oh, godddd…!” Yunho came last, and the most, closing his hands around his reddened tip, whining profusely, unable to keep himself from completely unloading all over your pretty face and hair, practically drenching you in his cum.

Mingi reached down to cup your chin, tilting your head back so that he could get a good look at you, admiring the way their collective seed dripped off and out of you, swearing he could shed a tear from such a beautiful sight. “Look at you. My pretty princess.”

You gently nuzzled his large hand, smiling contentedly, tasting the salt of someone’s load on your lips when you licked at them. “Your pretty princess…”

It took a while for all of you to come down and catch your breath, the effects of the pollen still practically running through your veins, but you managed to wobble your way over to the main plant and slowly pull your trusty dagger out of its holder, slashing the plant until its precious seeds dropped into your open palm. You looked down at the golden, glowing seeds, your fingers still splattered with milky liquid, reminding you of the trials you conquered to get to your ultimate goal. As you wiped your sticky face with your sleeve, you looked around at your panting, much more docile party members, wondering if it was all worth it.

Mingi brushed some of his sweaty hair out of his eyes, noticing the way you were looking up at him, sending a cocky smile your way. “So, you’re 200 gold pieces richer, princess. How does it feel?”

“Huh?” you questioned immediately, your fingers closing around the pouch that contained the precious lujuria seeds. “It was 1000 gold pieces. Did fucking me stupid render you stupid instead?”

“I’m sorry, darlin’, but with each party member fee, it rounds out at 200 a person,” he corrected you, bringing you in to give you a gentle hug and a pat on the ass, chuckling delightedly to himself, his friends joining in on the amusement. “That’s still quite a bit. You can buy yourself a pretty new dress since yours is all torn and drenched in our cum, ya’ know?” He leaned his head in your direction, twiddling his large thumbs, his smile growing more lewd. "That means I can have the one you're wearing right now, yeah?"

You grimaced, your blood boiling over, already stomping your way out of the last dungeon floor, your voice still growing louder and louder the further you walked away, swearing to yourself, “This is the last time I do anything with you, Mingi! Never again. Never! EVER!”

Mingi simply waved off at his friend’s questioning gazes, holding the seeds that you had taken from the plant inside his own hand, admiring their shimmering edges. “Don’t worry. She always comes back.”

fff taglist: @itza-meee @chnt1 @k-hotchoisan @wonyobie @vampiregirl215 @yuyusbunny @christmastodoroki @luvt0kki @pieyoon @goldnhwa @choisanboobenthusiast @icyb3rry @maximofftrash @choism @yunhosmelonbar @nebulousbookshelf @astayinwonderland @slutologyy @10nantscompanion @ddaeing @pandagirl-016 @Randomgirl11-posts @staytiny816 @horanghae8 @smally97 @ateezzzser @crispybaguettes @bubblegumbird @midnightmaja @i2nsstuff @asimpelslut @svt-dinosaurus @wisejudgedragonhairdo @deathbyyeekies @firefox79 @wildesreblogs @everyonewooeverywhere @raspberrysannie @Whatintheninerealms @hyunjinsbby (if i couldn’t tag you pls check your privacy settings <3)

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dreamauri · 1 month

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♪ — 𝟱 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗦𝗘𝗦, 𝗟𝗡𝟰 lando norris x fem! reader (fluff) “. . . using his five senses, these are his favourite things about you.”

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests | taglist )

Sight

Everyone knows Lando's mid at fashion. not as good as lewis or as depressing as max.

He has a quite good collection of hoodies and shirts that he loves

and much to his fortune, you like his tops as well

it always comes to him as a surprise, seeing you wearing a hoodie he knows you wouldn't own only to remember he wore it a few days ago.

"...is that mine?" "Where'd you get that- is that ... hey! thats mine!" "i thought i hid that!" "didn't i put that in the laundry?"

but he doesn't want you to stop wearing his stuff, its like a confirmation that you're his girl

besides you look good in his things, to the point that he picks out stuff he knows would look good with your skin tone

Lando put his hands on his hips with a huff, watching you walk around the apartment with the hoodie he's been searching for, walking around half naked for 40 minutes now. He wanted to protest or tease you, but decided to just throw his hands up in confusion. "Do you know how long i was looking for that?" he huffed. you looked at your hoodie momentarily before shrugging. "Wait, you're wearing it wrong." Lando sighed as he came up from behind you, pulled it off, flipped it inside out before pulling it back over your head and adjusting the sleeves.

Touch

As a racer, one of the most important arsenal are his hands

it's his thing, and it kind of makes him touchy at times, but not in a bad way of course

he loves holding your hands and playing, even with your fingers sometimes

he finds it very intimate

holding your palms to his, tanging your fingers together, hooking pinkies together, anything

"No!" Lando shouted in protest trying to reach back for your hand while still keeping his eyes on the roads. "Y/n!" He made grabby hands with an dramatic offended frown. You couldn't hold your laughter as he found your bicep and trained his finger till he found your hand and pulled it close to him. "This is mine!" He huffed, holding the back of your hand to his chest as if it were his most prized possession.

Smell

Lando cares a lot about of appearance, including how he smells. He's proud to have his own distinct smell, clone and deodorant and some expensive shampoo and body wash.

what makes him feral tho is smelling himself on you

if you've been cuddling or hugging for an extended time, if you're showering with him and you pick up the perfume of the shampoo

you're not going to escape his hold for a while

expect him to hold you hostage and nuzzle in you and leave kisses all over your neck or shoulder or back, constantly telling you how good you smell

it fills his ego, as if he's marked you

("oh my goood," lando's muffled scream came from your neck as he snaked his arms around your stomach, hugging you tight from behind. You tried to pull away, feeling shivers from lando's beard tickling your skin. "Nooo," You tried to push and pull for an escape but the brit held you tight, hooking his legs around your waist foor good measure. "How do you smell," he audibly took a big sniff from the side of your neck "so good?" he completed the sentences as he began leaving kisses all over your back.

Hearing

Lando's big on humour, everyone knows that. He likes to make everyone around him laugh.

you're his main victim though, he looks for good jokes or funny tiktoks just to get you wheezing

it's music to his ears, makes him feel as if all is right. your laughter and happiness mean more to him than any pole or fastest lap

He finds your laugh cute and contagious, always laughing with you

you two might as well end up laughing forever because neither of you can stop

("What was that?" you were wheezing on the floor, body shaking on your knees. Lando was couched, laughing in silence with his mouth open wide and eyes tearing up. He found himself shaking even more with his muted laugh at the sight of you falling on your back looking like a bug struggling to get back on its legs. He pointed at you and you pointed back at him feeling your face redden. "What are these two idiots doing?" Max fewtrell asked from a distance. )

Taste

Lando never ever eats without you. ever.

He drags you along to his races if he can because of this reason.

and if he can't, you're going to be staying up for a a face time so you can snack while he eats

The reasoning is that food without you tastes absolutely horrible and your presence makes everything much better

He also considers the food you feed him heavenly while someone might think your cooking is mid, lando appreciates the effort and time you put, which automatically makes everything 100 ties better

he also appreciates the fact that you cook and bake the things he likes the way he likes it, going out of your way to get and research recipes and go with trial and error and internally,

he also loves the fact that you banned fish or any sort of seafood from in the house.

and as cliché as it sounds, he can always feel the "love" you put into a meal, and will eat anything you give him, even if you brought him take out or a snack because you still thought of him

"I want to help." Lando watched you pull ingredients and tools from the cabinets and fridge. "I want to help." He repeated again with the pout, holding up the cliché apron that matched the one he wore already. "Alright alright." you gave in, putting the new apron on. "Fewtrell is coming in 30, I don't wanna look like an idiot." "You never look like an idiot." Lando scoffed, tightening the two strings into a bow for you. "You're the best chef. You beat Gordon Ramsey." "pretty sure Ramsey could wright a song about all the things wrong with the kitchen."

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its-time-to-write · 9 months

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I saw you asked for requests a few days ago. I was wondering if you would consider doing another part of the Kent!reader x Jamie fics.

I was thinking they do end up pregnant and its them telling everyone they’re pregnant . I can see everyone being so excited for them. And then Roy is just freaking out.

Since they’ve already discussed wanting to be together forever and have kids I can also see them deciding to get married before the baby is born in a small ceremony like Beard had.

I have quite a few requests about Jamie x reader having a kid, so if that ain’t your jam, maybe don’t read my next few posts😂 It’s totally my jam tho, maybe bc I’m suffering from baby fever again. thanks for requesting and for your patience!!

let’s fall in love for the night

Jamie’s jiggling his leg up and down so fast that you’re surprised he hasn’t cramped yet.

“Calm down,” you hiss, hand on his knee.

“Can’t,” he whispers back. “Roy’s gonna fucking kill me.”

You have no sympathy for him. “Yeah, and whose fault is that? Yours.”

Jamie shoots you a sideways glance. “Excuse me, this was a team effort.”

“Whatever,” you say. “I still say it’s your fault.”

Molly swoops by to refill your water glasses. “Dinner’s ready in a few minutes. Roy and Phoebe have been working very hard,” she says.

She raises her eyebrows on the word very, and you’re sure that Roy’s patience is being pushed to his limits. He loves cooking and refuses to let anyone help him, but he also loves your niece and can’t deny her anything she wants.

“Better go check on them,” she says, leaving you and Jamie alone again in the backyard.

Jamie resumes the previous conversation and says, “Well, I wasn’t the one wearing that blue thing with the flowers.”

“Well obviously,” you shoot back, “it wouldn’t even fit you.”

Jamie’s stopped jiggling his leg and he places his hand on top of yours. “Oi. Has Roy ever actually killed anyone before, or does he just have serial killer eyebrows?”

You wrinkle your nose and ask, “Why the fuck would I know?”

“You’re his sister,” Jamie replies in Phoebe’s patented duh tone.

“I’m his baby sister,” you say. “I’m even younger than Molly. If he’s killed someone, they’ve both conspired to make sure I’ll never find out. And hey, don’t make fun of the eyebrows. There’s a good chance this baby’s gonna end up with them.”

“Babe you don’t have ‘em,” Jamie points out.

“I wax,” you say smugly. “Oh, Molly texted. Time to go inside.”

Jamie groans but lets you lead him to the table.

—

All told, Phoebe didn’t do half bad.

“Auntie, I did the potatoes all by myself,” she says.

You look to Roy for confirmation. He grunts and gives a tiny nod.

“Great job, Phoebs,” you say.

Molly sets down her fork. “I’ve been thinking of changing my name back to ‘Kent,’” she says.

“Brill,” says Jamie.

“Fucking finally,” Roy says as he hands Phoebe some money. “For future words,” he mouths to her as she counts it before depositing what you’re pretty sure is 20 quid into her pocket.

Molly says, “We’ll all be the Kents again,” and you can feel Jamie go stiff next to you.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Roy asks, and you turn to see Jamie’s gone completely pale.

You pinch his thigh and he jumps. “Nothing,” he says hurriedly. “Well, not nothing. But, I dunno, don’t want to overshadow Molls’s good news, ya know? It ain’t important.”

You pinch him again.

“Ok, it’s actually a little fucking important (sorry Phoebe, take it from Roy). But um, maybe you could help me babe?”

He shoots you a pleading look so you take pity on him. You’ve had more than twenty years dealing with Roy, so you’ll let Jamie slide this once.

“Right, so, we’ve been meaning to tell you- I’m having a baby,” you blurt out.

Roy’s dinner roll gets crushed in his hand as his face goes bright red.

“What,” he growls, and you’re not sure if you’re more terrified by the absence of “fuck”s or the fact that it was a statement, not a question.

“That’s wonderful, love!” Molly says before Roy can say anything else. She’s not looking at him but you can practically feel him take psychic damage from the shut up and be happy you prick, message she’s sure to be telepathically sending him.

“It’s Jamie’s, right?” she continues, taking a bite of salad.

“The fuck kind of question is that?” you ask indignantly. “Who else’s would it be?”

“You don’t have to pay me for that one,” Phoebe pipes up. “I’ll give you a free tab of one hundred words because of the baby. If it’s a girl, you can have fifty more.”

You grin. “Sounds like a plan.”

“You’re probably going to owe her the fifty, Phoebs,” Molly says. She points to Jamie with her fork. “I mean, look at him. He practically screams ‘girl dad.’”

“That’s- fucking- great,” Roy garbles out. “‘Scuse me.”

“We’re having a backyard wedding next Saturday, too,” you call after him. “So we probably won’t all be the Kents again.”

You wince as he slams a door from somewhere in the house.

“He’ll come ‘round,” Molly says consolingly. “Remember how he was with Phoebe? And I was already married!”

You grip Jamie’s hand. “Molls, why can’t he just emote like a regular person? I mean honestly, did our parents fuck him up that bad?”

Molly raises a shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t know, babe. Think he’s just like us, really, afraid of loving something so he just pushes it all away. And besides, you’re the baby of the family. We’ve always tried to protect you and keep you safe, and sometimes he feels like you’re out of reach.”

You ask, “He told you that?” and Molly just laughs.

“Not in so many words,” she replies. “But you know how he is.”

“He’s an arsehole,” you grumble. “I’m going to go talk to him.

—

Roy is, predictably, in the backyard. Not many places for him to go and think properly.

You find him sitting under the tree.

“Oi,” you say, “budge over.”

He grunts and moves so you’re not quite in the dirt.

“Can you be sitting on the ground?” he asks.

“It’s been like three months,” you reply, “That isn’t long enough for me to get stuck places.”

Roy says, “hmm,” but doesn’t offer up anything else so you just sit in silence next to him, pressing your shoulder to his.

“Why the fuck did it have to be Tartt?” he asks after a beat. “Could’ve been fucking anyone in the fucking world, and you fucking chose him.”

“You like Jamie,” you say in confusion.

“I don’t,” Roy replies, “he’s a prick. And a fucking footballer. Why’d you have to go for a fucking good-for-nothing footballer? He can’t even be around for his family when they go through shit because he’s going to be busy scoring fucking meaningless goals or some shit.”

That stings for a moment, but you take a good look at Roy’s face. It’s stoic, but shit if you can’t read it like a book. Blood is blood, and you’re a Kent just like him.

“This isn’t about him, is it. It’s about you. You think you did a shit job as a brother and an uncle so Jamie’s going to be a shit father.”

“I missed out on a lot,” Roy says hoarsely. “And before you say fucking shit, I’m not fucking crying. So shut the fuck about it.”

You grin and wrap your arms around him. “You’re the best big brother a girl could ask for. Took all my cues from you. And anyway, you’ve been there when it counts. Phoebe fucking adores you, practically attached at the hip you two. And yeah, Molls and I missed you when you were at Sunderland and Chelsea and wherever. But… you came back. We needed you, and you came back. So don’t go projecting your stupid self-image on Jamie, because he’s not like that. And you’re not either, you absolute fucking ape-armed frizzy-haired shit-faced twat.”

Roy huffs out a chuckle. “Ape-arms. Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

“Almost went with ‘camel knees.’ Haven’t used that since I was ten, but I thought it might hit too close to home these days.”

Roy laughs for real this time and tilts his head so it’s resting on yours. “Still fucking weird that my little sister’s having a kid.”

You say, “You’ll get over it. Oh, and don’t wear a goddamn T-shirt on Saturday.”

—

It’s rainy, so the backyard wedding becomes a living room wedding, because who really gives a shit? Richmond have a game tomorrow, but for today they’re in yours and Jamie’s house all dressed up (but still in trainers) laughing and smiling as Dani officiates what you’re sure is your dream wedding.

It’s not the one you and Molly would’ve giggled about as kids when you sneaked from your bed into hers, but everyone you loves is here.

For once, Jamie’s house almost seems too small.

(Dani was the only person you two knew who was ordained or whatever. And hey, could you have picked a happier person for it?)

Molly and Keeley had gone out with you to find a white dress, Sam and Phoebe were the flower-people, and Roy walked you down the stairs to where Jamie was standing with Isaac by his side.

“I’m not fucking crying,” Roy whispers in your ear. “It’s fucking allergies from being in this prick’s house for too long.”

“It’s my house too,” you remind him.

Roy just sniffs, pats your hand where it’s tucked into his arm, and presses a kiss to your cheek.

All in all, it was pretty great.

Gifts range from hair products to restaurant gift cards to designer baby clothes, including a tie-dyed onesie from Phoebe.

“I have a matching one at home,” she explains.

But now it’s the evening and everyone is gone except family.

“Can’t believe my baby’s married,” says a beaming Georgie as she ruffles Jamie’s hair from their place on the couch.

“Can’t believe he attained his childhood goal of marrying into the Kent family,” Molly remarks.

Jamie grins smugly. “What can I say, I’m a fucking goal-getter.”

You’re snuggled in Jamie’s arms, dress exchanged for a white sweatshirt and sweatpants set, courtesy of Rebecca.

“I’d’ve had a poster of you on me wall if they made one, babe,” Jamie says. “Better sight than that hairy git.”

Roy just rolls his eyes and says “I’m getting another beer.”

“Can you bring me a piece of cake?” you call after him.

“Me too?” Phoebe asks, looking hopefully at Molly.

Jamie pats your knee. “Don’t think he heard you, love. I’ll get it for ya. You too, Phoebs.” He shoots a wink in her direction, and she giggles.

“Oi, grandad,” Jamie says, walking into the kitchen. “Did you hear your sister?”

Roy turns around from the fridge with a menacing look.

“If she has a single moment of unhappiness, I’m going to fucking kill you,” he growls.

“Jesus, sorry,” Jamie says, hands in the air. “What’s got your knickers all in a twist?”

Fucking Jamie, never able to back down from a good squabble with Roy.

They’re both keeping their voices down because they know if they got caught, no less than three people would be grabbing them by the ear and yelling.

They might know this from personal experience.

Roy says, “She’s my little sister. I’d fucking murder for her, and so would Molly. Always tried to make it easier for her when she missed our parents and shit, but it always fucking got to her anyway. Didn’t help that I fucked off to Sunderland at fucking nine, before she was even fucking born. She’s wanted a family of her own for fucking ages, and if you fuck this up for her they will never. Find. Your body.”

Jamie’s not sure Roy’s ever looked this menacing, which is saying something, because he’s Roy fucking Kent. He always looks menacing.

So he nods and says quietly, “I ain’t gonna fuck it up, Coach. Had a shit dad too. Always wished he were around, except when he was then he’d get all fuckin’ angry and shit. But… still wanted him, y’know? Weird. Anyway, not gonna be like that with her. I want a family too.”

Roy looks straight into his eyes, looking for the barest hint of insincerity. Jamie’s gaze doesn’t waver. He’s not sure of much, but he’s sure of this. He’s sure of you.

Roy says, “Right,” nods once, then claps Jamie on the shoulder right at his phone dings.

Jamie pulls out his phone to a text from you that reads, pls stop fangirling over my brother. baby wants cake and so does ur mum

He smiles and tries to figure out how to balance three plates at once.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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orderforbrian · 5 months

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jonathan sims routinely steals his boyfriends clothes, and no, this does not exclude stealing his boyfriends magic selkie pelt 🦭❌

shameless selklie au fic plug we're gonna update it i swear I SWEAR

[Start ID: Multiple drawings of Jon and Martin from The Magnus Archives in an AU where Martin is a selkie. Jon is a thin, Persian man with short, dark curly hair that has a single white streak, wears glasses, and has a mustache/beard. Martin is a fat, mixed Korean/Polish man with dark, shaggy hair, glasses, and a beauty mark by his lip. Top left: Jon lays in bed with Martin's seal pelt pulled snug around him, his glasses lie beside him. One eye peeks open at Martin chastising him off panel, "Jon! Why would you steal my pelt when you're literally on top of the blanket!!". Jon mumbles sleepily, "Yours is warmer...". Top middle: Jon and Martin lie in bed together. Martin is hogging his pelt, gripping onto it tightly even when Jon sadly tugs at it. Top right: Jon sits next to Martin, who's in his seal form and looking angry. An arrow points to a sheepish Jon that says: pelt stealing privileges REVOKED. Small text nearby says: his ass cannot be seal anymore. Bottom left: Jon stands with Martin's pelt over his pajamas, looking much like a robe. Martin has a conniption off-panel, a tiny angry expression by the speech bubble, and says, "You're treating my pelt like some - some - magic snuggie!". Jon says, "It kind of is tho?" and an arrow points to him that says: slept in it all night. Maybe he won the tug of war from the previous image. Top right: Jon has the selkie pelt wrapped tightly around him. Martin stands behind Jon and pushes the seal pelt's head over his face with a smirk, "UM - correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe I'm the only selkie in this household?". Jon, obviously caught for the thief he is, only groans, "Mm." End ID.]

#order up! art tag #jmart #jonmartin #selkie!martin #selkie martin #tma selkie au #tma au #selkie au

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captainfern · 9 months

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Bestie- I know requests are closed and ily and I apologize I'm really just writing this so the idea is in the air and now wasted. But I was wondering if you could do a fic of Price + 141 where reader accidentally used a pheromone perfume.

It WORKS tho, like WORK WORKS. The guys (or just Price ofc) just kinda run on instinct and are super like..RAR SEX ya know??

Also HII IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I'VE REQUESTED!!! My birthday was the 15th, I'm now 20😐 but I also got a car so😋

Anywho glad to be back reading your stuff after I went away for a bit. LOVED the Marigold stories that came out!!!! Love that series sm. Thank you!!

-🌻🐾

aghh this is so late i’m sorry !! but happy late birthday and i hope you had a lovely day <3

here’s a birthday present for you x sorry it’s not a full fic, but i hope you enjoy anyway :)

18+, gn!reader, 141

price

he smells it on you and does a double take like what ?? what is that smell ??

you’re all like “what smell ?? 🙈”

starts rubbing his facial hair against your neck like a cat, trying to collect as much of the smell as possible on him — he’s gripping your hips and pressing you as close to him as he possibly can while he does it

pinching and grabbing at your hips each time you try and put some space between the two of you. he continues to rub his beard against you, it tickling your soft skin

he’s grunting and not really listening to you as you try and speak to him. the only time he responds is when you say that he can fuck you and he goes off !!

ruts into you hard, nosing up and down your neck, kissing along your pulse. he’s got a heavy grip on your hips, no doubt leaving indents, as he thrusts in and out of you

his sounds are deep, like grunts and groans, and he doesn’t talk much, so focused on that yearning feeling clawing inside him each time he inhaled the sweet smell of you

gaz

you physically show him the perfume and show you putting it on, and he’s all like “that will never work it’s fake 🙄”

spoiler alert: it worked

throughout the day, he’s following you around like a lost puppy, trying to put his hands on you any chance he can, even just holding your hand or wrapping his arm around your lower back — you feel so warm against him and you smell so good he can’t help it

if you applied some on your inner wrists, he’ll place gentle kisses there and along your arm, leaving your skin sparkling with tiny patches of saliva

he whines any time you pull your arm away, especially if you’re carrying on with your day at home as usual after putting the perfume on. he’ll whine and try to get your attention without actually trying to get your attention

when you finally give in, he’s eating you out like no tomorrow — you’ve sprayed a bit on your inner thighs, so he’s pressing his cheeks to them as he shoves his tongue inside your hole

is a whiner and whimperer !! so so desperate for more, tasting you on his tongue and smelling your heady scent

soap

he buys the perfume for you 100%

real cocky about it too. he knows it’ll work and he can’t wait to test it out

tries licking it at first, dragging his tongue across your neck or wrists, and you have to fend him off before the cheeky cunt licks it all off of you lmao

if you’ve sprayed some on your pillows/clothes, you’ll come home to find him burying his face in it, probably grinding his hardened cock into the mattress, moaning your name under his breath

he’s obsessed with you, but you can’t blame him, you’re fucking stunning !! he’s so happy just to start humping up against your arse, pressing his cock against you, moaning loudly

fucks you doggy, pounds you straight into the damn mattress with deep, heavy thrusts that have you mewling, his full balls slapping against you

moans loudly, and definitely kisses wet and sloppy along your spine, leaving a trail of spit as he fucks you harder into the bed

ghost

you watch his pupils physically dilate right in front of you as he catches the smell

he straight up starts salivating too

intrigued by the way whatever you’re wearing is effecting his body — drapes his body over yours carefully, whole body weight against you, your back against his front as he casually inhales in deep breaths

very attentive and loving — rubbing the fat of your thighs and arse gently, hands splaying across your tummy, interlocking his fingers with yours, massaging your shoulders and back

keeps his face buried in your neck the whole time basically. if he had been wearing his black paint, it’d be smudged all across your skin

mmm he fucks you nice and slow, and no matter the pigment of your skin he is sucking kisses and dark bruises all over your neck and chest !! his thrusts are almost too slow, but he’s grinding his pelvis against yours and making you tremble beneath him

praises you the whole time, telling you how good you are for him, how much he loves you, how pretty you are, how perfect your body is, how proud he is for you taking all of his cock <3

#captainfern #captainfernsalutes #call of duty #cod smut #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #call of duty mw2

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koithelittle · 7 months

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cg!cc!wilbur moodboard + headcanons!!

note; so like half of these? were from a hc post that was unformatted and turns out i messed up the request but i am- i can’t fix it without feeling absolutely horrible so. i turned them into this and just added like way more! i have plans for a couple new fics plus absolutely endless moodboards so be looking out for that! this moodboard was my first and has been collecting dust in my drafts for months. love it tho! otay das aww.

paci creds; littlemothshop on ig!

navigation

other moodboards

taglist; @jjtheresidentbaby @lillylvjy @wilmaslittleflower @whos-nicooo (ask or do to be added!)

- he makes sure your regression is completely private, only the band knows and whoever of your friends knows.

- barely anyone even knows you're dating him, let alone that he's your cg when you're little. it's all very private!

- he has pacis, sippys, and toys all scattered around the house. although there's a special spot for it all, it's just sort of floats around !

- he's big on cuddling you when you're little, especially if you're having a hard time ! he'll hold you, calling you soft names to help you slip into or stay in little space.

- doesn't really mind any name but prefers daddy/dada!

- he likes to set up corners around his house that are safe spaces. pillows and blankets and one of your many favorite stuffies. he also likes to put a basket that has some coloring stuff n toys!

- when he's streaming and you're regressed, he'll usually set you up under his desk, blankets and a stuffie, paci and the switch with your headphones. he'll ruffle your hair and rub your back while he streams, making sure to keep an eye on you while he's talking.

- he's got pretty set boundaries with you. bedtime at a certain time, with quiet time before. baths are always fun! and they're always after playtime so you're a bit calmer !

- loves getting you custom pacis from shops, managed to get a lovejoy themed one and couldn't stop smiling at how happy you were.

- speaking of Lovejoy! he'll take you to band practice alot, little or big! the guys love to help care for you. hold you and play with you! Joe is your favorite, since he likes to let you sit in his lap and play with his beard.

- wil really likes to color with you, but he's also always up to play pretend too!

- keeps close tabs on you and knows your habits pretty well, so he catches when you slip way before you do!

- loves cooking for you all of the time, he knows your safe foods like the palm of his hand so he'll give you a few options to pick from at each meal

- holds you when you sleep, and rubs your back

- favorite names to call you are bunny, baby, and little one!

- his kitchen is packed full of all of your safe foods and favorite utensils and plates! it’s mostly in your favorite color, but he knows it helps you eat and enjoy eating so he doesn’t mind

- he has a little note on his phone that lists your favorite things, big and little. movies, shows, snacks, foods, sweaters of his— etc. he wants to remember everything he can!

- he’s very patient and soft with you, careful with his words and tone.

- he likes it when you lay across him, your head on his shoulder or his lap so he can rub your cheeks and hair. just loves giving you mindless affection!

- favorite part of the day for him is when he’s getting you to sleep. sometimes it’ll be through a vod he puts on, a cartoon or he’ll just sing to you.

- loves sitting behind you with you in his lap as you play. he likes to join in too, of course but sometimes he just likes to watch.

- he likes to color with you and help you find all the colors you need, handing them off to you whenever you ask

- piggy back rides!! although his favorite method of travel for you is holding you on his hip or carrying you when you face him. he just feels safer doing that, like he can keep closer tabs on you.

- whenever you pout or you’re sad, he’ll get you to laugh and giggle by making silly faces or noises but especially likes tickling you!

- reads you a story at every nap and bed time. sometimes he’ll make them up but he really likes the books since he can show you pictures!

- he sits you on the counter or on a stool while he cooks so he can keep an eye on you but still have you involved without you getting hurt or feeling obligated to help. he can do it just fine on his own, but he doesn’t mind you being there!

- he’s more strict when it comes to routines above all else. he just wants to make sure you’re healthy and well cared for.

- he likes to have some age appropriate and easy workbooks on hand, just to give you a few pages to work on while he works. you feel involved and you like filling them out (and he likes checking them so he can put stickers on it and draw a smiley face for good work!)

- he’s a picnic guy, so he’ll gather up a lunch in a picnic basket, pack your little bag and take you out to the park or an empty field or even a pebble beach and just have a lil picnic with you. he’ll read a book or write some music while you color and draw or play with whatever you brought!

- he loves it when you kiss his cheek to make him smile. if he’s ever sad a lil kiss on his nose or cheek or chin will just make him absolutely beam! and then subsequently attack you in kisses and tickles.

- loves calling you baby, but baby bear has a nice ring to it to him.

- jokes he’s your papa bear

- adores when the guys come over to work on music but end up playing with you and indulging you in your pretend play! mark gets really invested when your toy of choice is blocks, he’ll try to build the highest tower but joe always knocks it over. cue a very long bicker match!

- ash likes to color and draw with you. he’ll teach you cool techniques and show you all the fun stuff he can draw!

- joe really likes to play with your calico critters with you, coming up with silly scenarios or putting silly outfits on them.

- wil likes to watch from the sidelines, just gushing at how cute it all is. he has good friends, but an even better love!

- sometimes when he’s bored or lonely (when he’s on tour mostly) he has a habit of doing a bit of online shopping and ordering whatever thing you last mentioned. sometimes a stuffy, sometimes a paci but more often than not, a new toy. he just loves you and the thought of getting to see your face when he finds something for you just makes it even better.

- just overall a very attentive and sweet cg!

#sfw agere #koimoodboards #koiheadcanons #wilbur soot agere #wilbur soot #wilbur soot moodboard #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur #wilbur soot x gn!reader #cg!wilbur soot moodboard #cg!wilbur moodboard #cg!wilbur soot x little!reader #cg!wilbur soot #cg!wilbur

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orqheuss · 1 year

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Not yet corpses (still, we rot)

(Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/GN!Reader HURT/COMFORT)

Summary:

For a moment, everything felt still. Silence consumed the space, sucking all the air out of the room like the tide as a tsunami made its way towards shore. All Ominis could hear was the harsh ringing in his ears and the startled gasp from his counterpart behind him. Panic began to crawl its way into his throat once more. Sebastian’s heart stuttered in his chest, his words forcing themselves out around the lump that formed under his jaw. “Oh, dear God…” *** What were the boys doing while you were saving Hogwarts? *** Contains spoilers from the game Title from the song "Dirt and Roses" by Rise Against

Word count: 6k

AN: I’m moving all of my fics over from Ao3 to make them more accessible! These are my fics.

TW: - Blood - Gore - Anxiety - Detailed descriptions of injury - Near death experiences - Claustrophobia (only for a little bit, tho. I have it too and that's all I could write, lol)

“Knight to E5.” Sebastian quips, leaning back in his wicker chair, his arms crossed against his chest and a smug smile tweaking at the corners of his mouth. He watched the boy across from him regard the wizards chess board, the tip of his wand blinking that comforting red light he had grown accustomed to after years of friendship. It was probably not the most fair thing in the world to go against someone blind in a game that required sight over everything else, but that didn’t stop the brunette from trying his very best at beating his best friend in absolutely everything— he was nothing if not competitive. That being said, as much as he loved the idea of pulling one over on Ominis, the feat was nearly impossible . The blond was far too good. It didn’t matter if it was a game of gobstones, a duel in Crossed Wands, even exploding snaps, a game where sight was a necessity, all because of that blasted wand! The only thing that Ominis was truly bad at was potions, and even then he would likely still get an Acceptable on their OWLS. Sebastian felt that this round of chess was different, though. He could see the furrow of his partner’s brows in the low candlelight of the Undercroft, trace how his hand rested on his chin in puzzlement— fingers pinching at the skin there and stroking like tweaking an imaginary beard. He was currently in the lead, most of Ominis’ pieces resting broken on his side of the board. A truly violent game, that wizards chess.

A light tisk came from his companions mouth, his wand still gently coasting over the top of the board just out of reach of the pieces, before his eyebrows slowly rose back to their normal position on his temple, a mischievous smile making its way across his cheeks and a twinkle of something unrecognizable, but all the more devious, in his eyes. He leaned back in his own chair, adopting a similar cadence as his brunette counterpart, his body language oozing confidence. Sebastian shifted in his seat, eyes casting uneasy glances between the boy and the board as sweat began to bead on his brow. Surely not, he mused— there was no way Ominis figured out a new strategy.

The blond lightly chuckled, sensing the sudden nervousness of his friend. “Queen to E5.”

Bollocks.

Sebastian was helpless to watch the white marble queen piece shift its way across the board towards his onyx black knight. The matriarch stood from her throne, bringing her chair around to her front and up over her shoulder, before crashing it down over the head of his brave steed. The brunette scowled at the board before tilting his chin to the ceiling, his head cracking lightly on the back of the chair as he leaned away and groaned into the musky air of the hideaway, his arms thrown upwards in a show of surrender.

“You’re a bastard, Gaunt.”

Ominis laughed, his form slumping forward over the little end table they were next to as he waved his wand, collecting all the broken pieces and placing them back into the chess box where they would self-repair.

“No, unfortunately my heritage is legitimate.” He simpered, a light jab dancing on the tip of his tongue. “The juries still out for you, though, my dear friend. You have as much grace as a charging erumpent.”

Sebastian gasped in outrage, his hand dramatically fluttering to his chest and resting over his heart like a damsel in distress. “Oh, I’m wounded! You’ve wounded me, Ominis. How ever will I recover— doomed to live a life of desolate mediocrity at the hands of my very best friend?” He slowly slid out of his chair, letting gravity work its magic and flopping dramatically on the floor, limbs sprawled out like a flattened lizard.

The smaller Slytherin guffawed, a large grin splitting his face as he kicked his leg out towards the brunette, his shoe jabbing him harshly in the calf. “Quit it, you buffoon. You aren’t going to die because I beat you in wizards chess.”

Sebastian sighed heavily, the back of his hand slapping against his forehead in overzealous woe. “Oh but I am! I will never be the same, never! I shall cover all of my mirrors so I never have to see my failurous face ever again— cover my head with a ghastly bag to shield the world from my shameful dereliction!” Small sounds of sorrow continued to fill the air around them, long drawn out “boohoo’s” falling from the brunette’s lips at a consistent rate.

Ominis stood from his chair, stepping over the fallen idiot and plopping down onto the chaise lounge to their left, a book floating into his hand with the flick of his wand. “I think the entire student body would thank you for that.”

The blond laughed at the incredulous noises of his companion, leaning his head to the left quickly as Sebastian’s boot flew through the air right where he once was and smacked into the pillar just beyond. The taller Slytherin got up from the ground, muttering obscenities under his breath as he limped over to where his shoe landed, taking the time to lightly smack the blond on the back of the head before rounding the space and throwing himself on the other lounge chair diagonal to the opening of the Undercroft.

“You’re an arse, do you know that?”

Ominis smirked downwards towards his book, lethargically licking his finger before flipping to the next page with gusto. “Oh yes, I pride myself in it. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m only one to you— I’m quite nice to everyone else.”

Once his boot was securely back on his foot, Sebastian pulled out his pocket watch from his waistcoat; he checked the time, glancing in confusion at the gunmetal gate entrance of their secret space.

“Hey, have you seen our charge today? They’re normally down here by now.”

Ominis scoffed, a blank look crossing his face and a sardonic bite taking over his tone. “Do you ever think before you speak?”

Sebastian met his gaze with a blank look of his own. “Where’s the fun in that?”

The blond sighed deeply, raising a hand to his face and waving it in front of his unseeing eyes. “No, I haven’t ‘seen’ them today, nor have I heard from them.”

Lifting himself to a seated position, the brunette’s brows scrunched together in puzzlement, slight worry tipping the corners of his mouth into a frown. You normally met them in the Undercroft after dinner so they all could hang out until curfew. Today, though, you were missing. Sebastian couldn’t remember if he had seen you today at all, come to think of it. You were supposed to have potions with him, but in his hazy memory he remembers that your stool was empty. Where were you?

He turned his gaze back to the other Slytherin, confusion and concern lacing his tone as he spoke. “I haven’t either. Should we go search for them? They normally owl us if they’re going on a mission.”

Another sigh. “Sebastian, I’m sure they’re fine. They’ve bested practically the whole wizarding world in a duel at this point— they can handle themselves. Let’s just have a quiet night, yes?”

The Sallow boy threw himself back onto the chaise with a huff, his hands folding together and smacking against his abdomen. He knew that you were more than capable of taking care of yourself— he had seen it in action. Still, the knowledge of your fighting prowess did little to alleve his nerves. Each of the trials the Keepers were sending you on got more and more difficult— more dangerous. The thought of you getting hurt, or even worse, dying, made him feel ill. Ominis felt the same, they had talked about it before, but he was better at hiding it. Even now, though, Sebastian could see the telltale bounce of the blonds leg from nerves out of the corner of his eye. He was just as worried about you. You had told them all about the trials after they had stumbled upon you in the Undercroft a few weeks ago, bruised and bloody with at least five Wiggenweld potions scattered around you, as well as some gauze. Instantly the both of them had asked, nay insisted, that they go with you for safety, but you shut them down quickly— the trials were for you and you alone, no outside help. They reluctantly agreed to let you handle them, but they certainly weren’t happy about the arrangement, not in the slightest.

The two sat in silence for a while, their eyes drifting every so often over towards the Undercroft gate like you’d step through any moment. Worry began to claw at their throats like a rabid animal begging to be let out of a cage. Ominis’ leg had picked up speed around the five minute mark, no longer paying attention to the book in his lap and instead turning his ears minutely towards where you would hopefully be coming from soon. Sebastian was right, you would normally send them a letter if you were going to be out for the day— you knew how they worried about you. Silence seemed to spread around the room like a thick fog, its tendrils wrapping around the boy’s heads and slithering into their ears, leaving an unnerving ringing behind. They were getting antsy, anxious energy pouring from them in waves.

Just as they were about to move and suggest looking for you again, a loud, deafening boom rang through the room. Crates tumbled to the ground with a crash as the ground rumbled below their feet. It was like the earth below them, below the entire castle, was breaking apart piece by piece. Paintings fell from the walls around them, tables shook and tipped over, school work and books spilling across the floor in rivers. Sebastian sprang from his seat, sprinting across the small space and throwing himself next to a shaking Ominis, his arms wrapping around the blonds head to shield him from falling debris. The tremors continued for what felt like years before everything halted in their tracks— silence filling the room once again and only breaking around the heavy, panting panicked breaths that left the two boy’s lungs. They slowly de-tangled themselves from the other, their gazes lifting up from the ground to take in the damage around them. Dust covered every surface, clinging to their clothes and hair and dyeing everything a light grey.

Ominis spoke first, his voice whispering like he was afraid that if he broke the calming quiet everything would start all over again. “Are you alright?”

Sebastian sighed shakily, his heart hammering in his chest as he grabbed the blond's hand and squeezed. “Yes, I’m fine. Are you?”

He nodded. “What was that?”

“I have no idea. Sounded like it came from under the school— an earthquake maybe?”

Ominis shook his head, dust lightly falling from his hair and brushing against his shoulders. “In these parts? At this time of the year? Unlikely.”

Sebastian furrowed his brows once again. “Then what could it be? Should we go check—”

The brunette paused, his blood running cold in his body as his skin turned a ghostly white as sudden realization hit him like a speeding broom. Ominis seemed to have come to the same conclusion, his hands shaking at his sides as they both turned towards each other, brown eyes meeting milky blue in barely hidden fear. Only one thought passed between the both of them: you were out there somewhere.

The room began to shake again, the stone floor trembling with stronger aftershocks as more things began to slam to the ground around them. The duo quickly jumped up, their arms covering their heads from falling debris as their legs carried them as fast as they could go towards the exit and up the stairs towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts hallway. They quickly scrambled through the cabinet door, slamming it shut behind them as their feet nearly slid out from under them on the smooth tile floors of the main floor. Professors were running around, herding students left and right and ushering them towards their common rooms for safety. Sharp corralled them both, blocking their path from the rest of the school and their mad dash to find you amongst the chaos, and shoved them in the direction of the Slytherin common room, only turning away to look for more lost souls as the two boy’s got swallowed by waves of green and silver robes. Sebastian desperately fought against the stream of students, throwing elbows left and right as he swam towards the front and towards, what he hoped, was freedom from the crowd. A sharp cry came from his left and he shot his head in that direction, barely catching the sight of Ominis’ blond head as it disappeared in the hazard of students. His hand darted out, catching his friend’s shoulder before he could be trampled and pulled him to his side where he would be safe, clutching onto him like a lifeline in a storm as they were carried away, down the Grand Staircase and into the dungeons. Once safely inside, the ornate serpentine door slammed shut behind the students, bathing the room in startling silence once again.

The rumbling was muted this far under the black lake, only the sound of murky water splashing against the large bay windows of the common room filled the large, encompassing space. Students milled about, some retiring to their bedchambers while others sat on the various surfaces spread around the room. Tense whispers filled the air, questions and theories about what was happening swimming in everyone’s minds and entering through their eagerly listening ears.

“Was on the moving stairs when it started, I was. It was quite funny watching all the paintings scramble from their frames before they fell.”

“What do you think is happening? It seems to be coming from under the school.”

“I saw all the Professors run towards the Astronomy wing. What do you think they’re looking for over there?”

“Weasley had something in her hand before it all started— a bit of parchment. Looked as pale as the Bloody Baron after reading it. Wonder what it said?”

“I heard one of the Ravenclaw's say they saw some goblins over by the east wing. Do you think they have something to do with all of this?”

“Do you think they’ll cancel finals if half the castle is destroyed?”

The two fifth year boys stood apart from the crowd. Sebastian paced the length of the room, going back and forth a number of times, wringing his hands in front of his chest and worrying on his bottom lip with his teeth. Ominis sat on the bench in front of the large floor to ceiling windows, elbows bent atop his knees and long fingers wracking through his normally perfectly styled hair. Anxiety oozed from them like a poorly made potion seeping out of the bottom of its cauldron. No one had seen or heard from you before or after the chaos. They had to get back to the Undercroft— it was the best place to wait for you. The brunette caught bits and pieces of the conversations flowing around the common room, and each one set his nerves alight just a little bit more. Astronomy wing? Goblins? Oh Merlin. He knew, whatever was happening had to do with Ranrok. If it had to do with Ranrok, then you had to be there too. Sebastian spun towards his friend, quickly pacing towards him with determined steps and nearly throwing himself onto the bench to the blonds left. He leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, just low enough so no one else would hear.

“Ominis, we have to get out of here. If we get back to the Undercroft, we can wait for them there. They know we’d be there.”

The smaller Slytherin inhaled deeply, his body shaking with tremors stronger than those rocking through the castle. “How are we going to get out? The room is packed— there’s no way we could sneak out undetected.”

The brunette hummed in thought, placing his hand on Ominis’ knee to steady his nervous jittering. It was up to him to come up with a plan, the room was much too loud for his companion to think clearly— multiple stimuli overwhelmed him easily. He racked his brain for a solution, every thought coming in small glimpses around the unending worry he felt for you. They’d have to be invisible to get out of the common room, there was no way another student wouldn’t see them leave.

A lightbulb sputtered to life in his mind.

Oh. Oh. That would work.

He squeezed the blonds knee before letting go and grabbing his wand from his robes. “I have an idea, follow my lead.”

Sebastian cast the disillusionment charm around himself quietly, watching his fingers and legs disappear into a slight trick of the light. Ominis nodded, doing the same to his right. They both stood as quiet as mice and made their way through the throngs of silver and green clad students, dodging and weaving around flying limbs before all but running up the grand spiral staircase and skidding to a halt outside of their common room door.

An eerie hush fell over the still castle dungeon. The rumbles had quieted down enough, only a soft vibration making its way through their shoes and shaking their bodies instead of the intense tremors that shook the building moments earlier. That had to be a good sign, Sebastian mused.

They both took off towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts wing, their legs pumping as fast as they could go. The setting sun cast shadows across the floor, catching on each piece of debris and drawing the brunette’s attention to just how much damage had been done. Sebastian grabbed Ominis’ hand, pulling him along and calling out obstacles in their path. They leaped over fallen pillars, dodged around scattered armor, and slid around corners, their shoes loudly squeaking on the linoleum floor and nearly sending them tumbling into walls with their haste.

Finally, they made it to the hidden cabinet leading to the school's underbelly. The blond threw himself against the door, unlocking it with a flick of his wrist and all but shoved the brunette down the stone steps. With a loud crack, the metal gate clipped shut behind them. They both heaved over, their bodies folded in half as their hands grasped onto their knees. Heavy breaths left their lungs from the exertion, sweat beaded on their brows from the heat of their bodies as well as from the intense nerves that shook through their bodies. Sebastian stumbled over to the table they sat around earlier, picking up one of the wicker chairs that had been knocked over from the ground and plopping himself down into it. Ominis collected himself, rolling his spine back into a standing position before beginning to pace. Each second of taciturnity filled his gut with more and more hysteric energy. His mind was going at the speed of light, horrible images of what fate could be befalling you slid behind his eyes like a demented moving picture show. All of his reserve flew out the window with the rest of his carefully curated apathetic coping mechanisms. His hands pulled at his hair, fingers digging into his roots and sending spikes of pain through his skull. The brunette carefully watched him from his vantage point, his eyes following each step of his companion as he made his way across the length of the rather large room. He could see the silvery tears that began to gather in the blond's eyes from his intense fear and called out to him in what he hoped was a calming voice.

“Ominis please sit down, you’re only going to work yourself into more of a panic if you keep pacing like that. They’ll be here soon— everything will be fine.” He cringed at the tremors that were present in his words, hoping the young wizard didn’t notice it.

The other boy turned towards the sound of his voice, quick as a whip, his eyebrows crinkled at his brow in dread and hands flailing around punctuating his snapped words. “What if they don’t, Sebastian? You heard the others in the common room, there were bloody goblins near the school! You know just as much as I do that that could only mean Ranrok is here. He’s probably the reason for everything that’s happening, and if he’s here that means that they’re down there, wherever in Merlin’s name there is, with him! They could be dead in some unknown tomb under the school and we would be none the wiser!”

Blinding, distressed anger struck down Sebastian’s spine as he stood from his slumped position. He snarled towards the smaller of the two, “Don’t you dare even say that. They’re not dead, they can’t be. Don’t even put that idea into the universe!” He could see the blond flinch at his harsh tone, his hands moving to wring together. The brunette sighed deeply, willing his heartbeat to slow down and his anger to disapparate. He carefully made his way towards Ominis, steps loud but gentle like approaching a startled animal, and placed his hand on the other's shoulder. He pretended it didn’t hurt him that he felt the boy stiffen under his touch. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you, but we can’t think like that. We have to stay hopeful.”

The Gaunt boy relaxed slightly, his hands falling to his sides as he lowered his chin towards his chest. He sighed, “You’re right, it’s no use getting worked up. All we can do now is wait.”

Sebastian carefully led him towards the lounge chair he was sitting on earlier, gently pushing down on his shoulders so he would relax into the plush cushions before joining him. He tilted his head back towards the ceiling, eyes closed as he silently prayed to whomever was listening that you’d return to them safely.

***

The Undercroft filled with the sound of the large brass clock that resided in the Hogwarts clock tower, two loud clangs ricocheting off the stone walls that surrounded the space and filling the anxious ears of the two Slytherin’s that rested in its belly. Hours had passed since the tremors started; they long since puttered off and made way for the chilling quiet of the night. Both boys had not moved from their spot on the chaise lounge, each glancing longingly at the gate that led towards the castle hallways as they waited impatiently for their friend to return from what they could only imagine was a deranged war. They both fought valiantly against the sleep that clung to their bodies, each ticking second sending them closer and closer to sweet unconsciousness. They couldn’t sleep as long as you were still out there in Merlin knows what condition.

Sebastian sighed for the umpteenth time, his hands running through his already unruly curls and sending them into all possible directions. His leg bounced at his side, the muscle flowing with his anxieties and only being released by the constant movement. Ominis stood once again from his side, shaking the sleep from his person and beginning to pace the space once again. He couldn’t keep still any longer, not when you’d been gone for so long. Blond tresses fell in front of his eyes from his incessant hands combing through it. He took deep breaths, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth in order to calm his rapidly pounding heart. The silence was driving him mad, every little sound that wasn’t you coming through the metal gate was like a bullet to his brain. He feared the worst for you— the idea of you leaving this world without a word made his chest feel like it was caving in on itself.

The creak of the Undercroft gate broke both of the boys from their perturbed revelry. Sebastian sprung to his feet, head whipping to the side at the sound as Ominis spun on his heel and ceased his endless pacing as you stumbled through the doorway.

The blond made a small sound in the back of his throat, relief palpable in the air around him. “Thank Merlin you’re okay, we were worried sick about you!”

Sebastian’s heart stuttered in his chest, his words forcing themselves out around the lump that formed under his jaw. “Oh, dear God…” He breathed, his feet glued where he stood in shock as he took you in.

Ominis’ heart rate picked up exponentially. Tuning his ears to what was happening around him, he could hear the heavy breaths leaving both of his best friends with a renewed clarity. Your breathing was more stuttered than Sebastian’s, like you were struggling to suck in the air around you. Something was dripping lightly on the ground by your feet, the sound of its little plinks against the stone bounced around his skull like a small pebble skipping across the black lake. Pushing himself to focus more on the sound, the scent of copper filled his nose and sent a shiver down his spine.

With a pained whimper, your legs gave out and you crashed to the hard ground with a resounding thump.

Sebastian sprang into action, your noise of distress breaking him out of his stupor as he rushed over to your fallen form, calling out to the other boy in panic.

“Ominis, get the Wiggenweld potions!”

The blond stumbled over his feet, running towards the box in the far corner of the room that they filled with first aid equipment for moments just like this. The Sallow boy slid the rest of the distance between the two of you on his knees, arms outstretched to catch the top half of your body against his chest as the rest of your body gave in to gravity. He grasped you gently by the shoulders, moving your face into his vision and scanning you for injury.

“What happened? Who did this to you!?”

Your eyes were unfocused on his, black half moons coloring your bottom lids and the tops of your cheeks. Your voice was soft, barely loud enough for Sebastian to make out anything you were saying. He caught little snippets, mumbles of words like “Ranrok,” “repository,” and “Rookwood.” Blood dripped from a cut on your forehead, cascading down your incredibly pale face and staining the collar of your white button down. Your house cardigan was sliced open at the arm, showing a deep laceration stretching from the top of your arm to your elbow— Sebastian worried that if it was any deeper it would have hit bone. Your skin was almost grey from blood loss, your veins zigzagging under the flesh of your neck, chest, and arms like small strikes of lightning. He could see your knees through the rips in your trousers, the skin shredded and bruised, little bits of gravel dotting the wound like birth marks. One of your hands clutched your side, blood blooming through your fingers like a macabre rose bouquet. He carefully pried your fingers away to assess the damage and his breath caught in his throat, a sound of agony escaping from his open mouth. Through the hole in your shirt he could see multiple large, jagged slices in your side, each oozing buckets of blood. You winced as his fingers ran along your ribs, another groan of pain vibrating in your throat. He raised his eyes back to your face, irises dancing side to side as he tried to catch your gaze. Your entire body was shaking with adrenaline. He gently cupped your cheeks in his hands, forcing you to meet his piercing stare. His voice shook with dismay, the words leaving his mouth in a frenzy.

“I need to look at your side, okay? I need to see how bad the damage is. Just nod if you’re okay with that.”

You blinked slowly at him, a hand reaching out and wrapping around one of his wrists as you minutely nodded. Sebastian carefully took your hands into his and placed them on his shoulders for stability before unbuttoning the bottom of your shirt. His eyes were greeted with an enormous bruise, purples, blues, and blacks covering the skin of your lower left ribs and splintering out towards your chest. He sucked in a breath through his clenched teeth— you definitely had a few broken ribs. Your body began to slump against his, eyes fighting harder to stay open. He lightly slapped you on the cheek, frantically trying to keep you conscious.

“Hey, hey! No you don’t, you need to stay awake. Stay with us, okay?”

You laughed, wincing as your ribs shifted painfully, and smiled, your teeth stained a light pink from swallowing blood— you were absolutely delirious. “You should see the other guy.” Sucking in a deep, stuttering breath, your vision began to blur even more as your mind filled with numbing static. “I-I did it.”

Sebastian took your face into his hands once again, watching you with bated breath. “What did you do? Please, what happened to you?”

Your gaze focused on him finally, eyes softening as your smile stretched even wider. “I controlled it— the ancient magic, it’s inside me.”

The brunette blanched, his brain needing a second to catch up with your words before he laughed incredulously, head shaking in disbelief. “We can focus on that later. Right now, we need to stop you from dying, okay?”

Ominis appeared at his side, arms laden with as many potions as he could carry as he dropped roughly to his knees to your right. The oblong shaped vials clinked together as he haphazardly set them down on the ground, quickly drawing his wand and scanning you for any other injuries. Each pulse of his wand, each image blasted into his mindseye, sucked a little bit more color from his cheeks in horror. His hands hovered in the air next to your arm, shaking with barely contained terror as his mind fought whether to touch and comfort you or not touch you in case he hurt you even more.

His whole body vibrated, nerves completely shot to hell and his voice betraying every ounce of trepidation he held inside of him. "We need to get you to the infirmary! Why in Merlin's name did you come down here? You need a proper doctor, not us!"

You shook your head weakly, your speech slurred as your head slightly lulled in his direction. "Knew you'd worry— had to make sure you both were okay..." A breath. "Wanted to be with you— to see you...one last time..." It was getting harder and harder to breathe— each breath felt like you slammed your lungs in a bear trap.

Sebastian shushed you softly, lips grazing the skin of your temple as he whispered into your hair. "Quiet now, save your strength. You're safe now, you made it to us." He cleared his throat, adopting as much determination as he could muster. "You aren't dying today, alright? We won't let you, you stubborn bastard."

He gently lowered you so you were laying on your back and your head rested against the cool ground of the Undercroft, pushing the hair sticking to your temple back so he could clearly see your eyes. In his haste to move you, he didn’t notice that they were closed. Your breathing left your parted lips at a dangerously slow rate; your body finally giving out from the intense pain pulsing through your system. White hot panic screamed at the front of his skull.

“Hey! What did I say? Stay with us, dammit!”

You didn’t budge.

“Shit. Shit!”

Uncorking one of the potions, he pressed it against your lips with one hand and tilted your chin back with the other, whispering prayers for you to wake up as the bitter liquid slid down your throat. Ominis bit his lip hard, muffling the hysterical pants that threatened to leave his lungs. The taste of his own blood filled his mouth as it steadily dripped down his throat. He pressed his fingers against the pulse point on your neck, feeling for your heartbeat. It was soft, but still there.

The blond grasped one of your hands in his while the other still held his wand, coasting the tip of it over your body like he did to the chessboard hours before to check the status of your injuries. Your fingers were so cold.

Nodding towards the brunette, unseeing eyes never leaving your body and voice shaking, he shouted, “Give them another one!”

Sebastian pressed a second potion to your lips, watching it flow down your open throat as color began to return to your cheeks. His heart continued to slam against his ribs painfully, threatening to break out from under his skin.

The skin around your arm began to lace itself back together, the large cut that resided there turning into a barely raised scar— the same happening to the slice on your temple.

Another potion.

The bruising around your naval began to disapparate, the skin around your ribs painting itself to match the rest of your complexion.

He gave you the last of the potions, watching as the final scars of your battle stitched together and solidified at your side. Your flesh was red and angry around where the wound was, raised and burning to the touch, but no longer gushing enough blood to feed a small army of vampires.

Both boys held their breath as they waited for your eyes to open once again, each one counting the seconds that you remained unconscious. The space behind their eyes began to sting with unshed tears. Dread nestled itself in their chests and spread through their entire bodies like a wildfire, both fearing the worst— that you wouldn’t wake up, that the potions didn’t help, that you were still dying.

“Please don’t leave us. Not yet.” Sebastian whispered, leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours. His voice cracked with sorrow.

After what felt like a century, your eyelids fluttered open and you took in the world around you. The taller Slytherin leaned back so he could catch your gaze, breathed a heaving sigh of relief, tears gathering in his lashes and streaking down his cheeks as he gave a weak, watery chuckle. He brushed his fingers through your blood slicked hair, a soft smile tweaking the corners of his mouth.

“Hey, stranger. You scared us there for a second.”

You smiled up at him, eyelids slitted but finally open, finally alive. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.” You croaked, your voice raspy.

A harsh sob left their blond companion, his body finally slumping around the tautness he held since you entered the room. He rolled onto his back, legs thumping against the ground below as he brought his hands to cover his face, tears of pure, unbridled joy leaking through his fingers and wetting the dusty floor as light relieved laughs and muted curses spilled from his lips.

“You both are going to send me to an early grave, I’m sure of it.”

Laughing to himself, the brunette gazed down at you, his thumb lightly tracing along your cheekbone. “Let’s get you to the hospital wing, yes? Then you can tell us all about what happened.”

You nodded against his hand, letting him pull you up to your feet and wrap his hand around your waist. Ominis stood with you both, doing the same on your other side after pressing a careful kiss to your hair, squeezing your hand in his.

Safely tucked between your two boys, the three of you made your way out of the Undercroft and into the hallways of the castle you saved— the castle you called home.

***

like what you read? here's more!

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sorenphelps · 5 months

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All the artwork I made (so far) for the fanfic Fall For Me by @nikialexx for this year's @rsbigbang!

When we received the fanfic summaries and I saw that there's gonna be a rockstar AU, I ranked it high and was hoping for the best that I'd get it... And I got lucky, we got paired up with Niki, and I cannot even begin to express how much fun working with her has been! When I signed up for the Bang, I had no idea that I will end up being such an overachiever, but our collaboration was just too inspiring for me to stick to making only 1 picture! I'm gonna share a little backstory for all of them, also listing all the hidden easter eggs!

The banner: It was inspired by an off-screen scene (and a Hozier gif) Niki shared with me which inspired her to play with this AU to begin with! She was kind enough to let me design the look of the characters however I wanted and as I am the biggest facial hair enthusiast irl, I shamelessly drew the boys with beards, even tho it is not even once mentioned in the fic! (I aspire to be the fanartist known for drawing every male character with a beard, jsyk.) I am especially fond of Remus' nose, it just turned out so cute! Also, big thanks to Niki again for adding the extra bit about Sirius' parents coming from Vietnam, which is a very personal touch for me! It's the reason why I draw the Black family members with East Asian features, and finally it is perfectly valid in this fic's canon! 🙇🏻‍♀️

The paparazzi photo: This was my very first idea upon reading the summary of the fic, and thankfully Niki was very onboard with this too! This however turned out to be more challenging than expected, the first version was from a different angle and I really couldn't figure out the correct proportions and perspective, and the pose is harder to pull off in an anatomically correct way to begin with, so after some discussions whether it would be plausible in the fic if the paparazzi would have a room next to this balcony instead of in front, it finally clicked into place! And it is actually a real place in Madrid (the hotel and the background too)! Madrid is my ultimate favourite European city and I've spent 2 weeks working there this spring, so I could actually use my own photos as reference! I also hid a crescent moon and a star on the label of the wine bottle in the background! In the fic it is a kiss and they shouldn't be this visible, but I think I managed to convey the heat of this moment anyway. I really like how Sirius licks Remus' neck and their pleasure is obvious however subtle it is. Also because it is not an actual kiss, it has around the same level of ambiguity as the "original" semi-hidden photos would have in my opinion?

The Instagram posts: This idea came to me while reading the first draft of the fic. I've always liked social media inspired drawings, so at first I just sketched it out for fun, but then I liked it too much, so I finalized it, only to realize that I remembered incorrectly and it was not an Instagram post in the fic! Thankfully Niki was flexible enough to change the platform to Instagram in the final version to cover for my mistake! As in the fic it's Snape who takes the paparazzi photos, I referenced him in the first insta post (username). The second insta post was a last minute addition, I figured why not put the story in a "frame" this way. I wanted to draw Remus again, and I had so much fun with it, I've added a lot of easter eggs too! He is drinking wine and is a little tipsy - just as the beginning, and a lot of other times in the fic actually, haha -, he has the ring, the photo was taken in James' restaurant, and there is also Padfoot the dog, who is now bigger as a whole year has passed! Niki gave me free hand with the caption and the comments too, so I decided to really double down on the story framing idea, and have the same comments, but with a twist, emphasizing Sirius' sassiness more (the caption and the extra comment from him saying the love of his life is his dog, but i used the moon and wolf emojis so it would refer to Remus... Also Padfoot is on the picture which is a nod back to the first one when the comment said who is on the picture).

The extra sketches: Originally I didn't want to add the extra sketches, as all three were just warmup before/after working on the actual pieces, but Niki decided to include them in her fic anyways! I really enjoyed the tension of the bathroom scene, I might even clean that sketch up sometime, but the roughness somehow really fits the vibe of the scene! The guitar playing one was actually the first version of the insta post that I only drew for my own fun, before I moved to make a more direct illustration of the scene. I really like how it looks, the guitar just looks so right in Sirius' hand! The boy really is a born rockstar, haha! The balcony in the background has the same pattern as the hotel in Madrid, however it really is just a coincidence. And how could I have resisted drawing Sirius with baby Padfoot?

The promo pic: I had the basis of this picture since working on the banner, but I actually only finished it recently. My aim was to make it look like an actual promo, influencer style (that's why the text is so cringy)! I've also came up with the idea of drawing the rockstar version of Sirius with a cross earring while working on these pictures, which I liked to much that I draw every version of him with it now 😆 It's like 95% of aesthetic and 5% reference to his godfather status (which makes sense only in my native language, cause the word for godfather is mirror translated as cross-father).

The rockband pic and the concert pic: I'm gonna list them here too, because they are both connected to the fic! Neither of them is a direct illustration, but they were inspired by the conversations I had with Niki in the meantime! The concert pic is actually a variation for the situation I tried to convey with the banner!

TLDR; (this became so long again, jeez) I really enjoyed working on all of these pictures, and I am sure that I will definitely create more! (The R/J/S threesome is just too tempting!!) It was really the most prosperous of collaborations, and it was so nice to get to know Niki too! I am really grateful for the opportunity to join the Bang, in my case it really delivered all the benefits: engaging more in this fandom, my creative drive skyrocketing and getting to know a lot of new people! Thanks to everyone involved, really!

#r/s big bang #nikialexx #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #fanart #art by lau #lau draws with a tablet #rockstar au #collaboration

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gummydummy19 · 2 years

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Kinktober day 1: Ball-Sucking

The do-over

Summary: Your boyfriend Sy gets back from tour and you show him how much you’ve missed him. (Yes I know it's basic but the point is you get to suck his balls so just go with it)

Content Warning: smut (obviously), fluff(because it’s me), cursing (because it’s sy),

A/N: AAARRGGHH my first Sy fic!!! I’m praying you guys like it! Here's the deal. This was supposed to be very short, but I soon found myself writing A LOT of backstory. I feel like I kinda rushed through the story itself tho to get to the smut part because I didn't wanna make it a full fic but....idkkkk! I just hope you guys like it!

Word Count: 1200+

You met Sy 6 months ago, at your roommate's Birthday party. The second you laid eyes on him, you were foaming at the mouth.

When you asked your friend why you had never seen him before she said it was because he just got back from a tour. Immediately intrigued, you got yourself together and started a conversation with him.

And boy were you grateful you did.

That night you and Sy stumbled through the dark hallways of his apartment and made quick, filthy love.

Being the southern gentleman he was, the next morning he brought you breakfast in bed and apologized for not at least taking you out to dinner first.

He explained how it had been a while since he’d even felt a woman’s touch and you assured him you had most definitely, thoroughly enjoyed yourself.

And you weren’t lying either. It might have been quick but you’d never met a man who made you feel that good (twice) in just 10 minutes.

However, Sy wasn’t as content and begged you to let him take you out on a real date.

You happily obliged, and thus began your relationship with Sy.

In the following couple of days, Sy proved to be much more than a pretty face and gorgeous body. He was sweet, caring, and funny.

Sadly, your bliss was short-lived, because a few days later Sy got sent out for the last 6 months of his tour.

It was hard to be away from him altogether after spending basically every waking moment in his presence for the past week. Not to mention, you were pent-up as hell. It felt as if someone had given you a bite of the most delicious cake in the world and then they had taken your cake and sent it to Irak for six fucking months.

Anywho, after what was probably the six longest months of your life, your doorbell rang, and there he was. Standing there in all his glory, head freshly buzzed, beard neatly groomed and his muscles nearly ripping through his shirt.

"Hi there, sugar." He greeted you with a smirk.

Hearing his voice made you realize this was actually happening, he was actually here, standing on your doorstep.

"Now correct me if I'm wrong but I think I owe you a do-over?"

"Are you sure you wanna do that after a 6-month drought, captain?" you teased, "Or is there something I should know about?"

"Oh yeah! I got down and dirty every chance I got over there." He joked, taking a step closer to you.

"So that's what you boys get up to in those bunk beds."

"Shut your pretty mouth, Honeypie"

"Come and shut it for me"

With that Sy finally launched forward and attached his lips to yours. His big, rough hands came up to grab the side of your face, and your own smaller, softer ones immediately covered them, not wanting to miss out on a single one of his touches.

Sy moved you back toward the living room. You lost balance when the back of your knees hit the couch and plopped down on it, finally making you break the kiss.

You were both panting. Sy stayed standing up and he looked down at you as you sat there looking up at him meeting his gaze. Your eyes were glossy and your lips were puffy, your chest was rapidly falling and rising, you looked absolutely divine.

After a few seconds of nothing but admiring one another in dead silence. You moved your hands towards his belt. He moved to cover your hands with his own, to tell you you didn't have to.

"Let me, Sy. Please?"

He quietly removed his hands and let you get back to unbuckling his pants. Neither of you broke eye contact while you slowly took off his belt and removed his pants. When you slipped down his boxers and his cock sprung free, that's when you broke away from his gaze, only for a second, and then your eyes were boring into his again.

He looked god-like, standing there in all his glory. looking down at you with his eyes hooded and his mouth slightly agape.

When you opened your mouth, his eyes scrunched shut. He threw his head backward, expecting to feel your lips around his tip. Nothing could have prepared him for what you did instead.

You gently moved his cock up. Softly holding it between your fingers, not stroking it, not even squeezing it, just holding it up.

Your tongue poked out and you softly gave a kitten lick. Not on his tip, not on his shaft, on his balls.

A hiss left Sy's mouth and you sucked in one of his balls fully in your mouth. Making sure to be gentle, you slightly sucked on it and sloshed your tongue around the sensitive skin.

"Holy fucking mother of- CHRIST!!!" Sy cursed.

Drops of pre-cum started leaking from his cock and as much as you wanted to taste him, you decided to keep your mouth focused on his balls and use the salty liquid coating his shaft as lube to help you jerk him off.

It quickly became messy. Sy was a babbling mess above you. His head was thrown back and one of his hands covered his face while the other rested on the back of your head.

You were drooling and slobbering on his balls like your life depended on it while stroking his cock with a nice even rythm.

"Shit, baby! Gonna make me cum like that."

"Hmmmmm...yeah cum for me, Sy. Missed you so much."

You hummed and moaned with your mouth still stuffed full of his balls. The vibrations made him shudder and groan and he clawed at your hair to try and ground himself.

"Fuck baby gonna cum! 'm gonna fucking cum, shit!"

His balls drew up and you quickly switched your hands with your mouth. Sucking his shaft to the back of your throat and swallowing every single drop of his salty cum, while your hands fondled his sack.

"Holy fuck, baby. If I had known you'd suck me off like that I would have swam back overseas myself." he said, out of breath and only half joking.

You chuckled at his response and used his woozy state to your advantage by yanking his limp arm, making him fall on the couch next to you.

you snuggled up against him and nuzzled into his neck, inhaling the scent you had missed so much and placing soft kisses on the exposed skin to help him come down.

"I missed you too by the way." He breathed out, clearly more relaxed now.

"But I thought this was supposed to be my do-over? I should be taking care of you, sugar."

"Oh, this was for me." You said in a matter of factly tone, "I wasn't gonna let you get away with the 'it's been a while" excuse again, Captain. Hopefully this time you last longer."

Obviously, you were just trying to get a rise out of him, but Sy's mouth still hung open in disbelief.

"Oh come here, you little minx" He growled before jumping on top of you.

It turns out your first time with Sy really was a false representation of his stamina because after his do-over you know that once he gets you in bed, you aren't going anywhere for the next hour(s).

Taglist;

@metalbuckaroo

@princessayveke

@montsepliego

@scxrletrecsmarvel

@hopelesslyrogers

@eclecticpatrolroadlawyer

@tfandtws

@vicmc624

@ahahafudge

@enchantedbarnes

@wickedravyn

@pono-pura-vida

@amayaraestyles

@matchat3a

@fictional-hooman

@sebastianexplicit

#fanfiction #captain syverson #captain sy x reader #fluff #smut #sand castle

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sarahowritesostucky · 25 days

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📖The Captain and the Rake

Rated: Mature

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 7338

Tags: historical romance, regency time period, slavery, racism (not from Steve of Bucky tho), period-typical attitudes, prejudice, mermaids, curses, internalized homophobia, historical fantasy drama, prostitution, period typical race relations and terminology ("colored," "mixed," and "black" are used)

Summary: After receiving a large inheritance, Steve must travel to the West Indies to figure out the origins of a mysterious letter.

(Regency manips made by @amarriageoftrueminds)

A.N. This fic was originally for the Stucky historical fiction event in 2023. I never was able to finish due to injury, but thought I'd brush it off for Mermay this year. This fic contains subject matter to do with the trans-Atlantic slave trade, so please heed the tags as they are updated each chapter. Racial descriptors used in this fic include: colored, black, and a couple instances of negro. I did my best to balance historical realism without getting too offensive to the reader.\ The name "Alva" was chosen before I knew about Alba, I swear to God 😂

Chapter 1. A Great and Grievous Rumbling

Steve emerged from his stateroom when a knock came at the door and a gruff voice called out, “We’ll be makin’ port within the hour now, Capt’n!”

Thank goodness.

He’d been queasy the entire trip, ever since they’d first sailed from Charleston and the rocking of the boat set into his bones. Storms had delayed their progress halfway through, and the closer they got to the equator, the more unbearable the underdecks of the ship had become. As a paying passenger, Steve was afforded small but tidy accommodations, and Captain Odinson had merrily invited him to explore the ship at his leisure, but Steve had been reticent to engage with the crew. They seemed … not distrustful of him, per se, but perhaps disdainful. In the way that men with hardened hands often disdained men with soft ones. One look at Steve, and they’d made up their minds about him being a spoilt “fancy man.”

Steve could concede that he was a comely fellow, with short, fair hair and uncommonly bright blue eyes. He sported a strong jaw and handsome nose, but his mouth had always struck him as a bit too feminine, and his eyelashes didn’t help the matter. He kept no beard, and was better groomed than the men on Odinson’s crew. Tack on the fact that he dressed in the fashion of his peers, and he supposed he might seem a bit foppish to a bunch of hard worn, seagoing men. But his body was tall and strong, towering over most other men back in New York by several inches at least.

That didn’t seem to make a difference to the crew, who’d readily laughed at a man whose constitution was weakened by seasickness. Steve had kept to his cabin, reading what little he could in between bouts of nausea. To be called up to set his eyes on land was a mercy. He was relieved that the journey was almost over.

Steve emerged above deck and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light, the fresh air a tonic to his mood. It was late into the day now, the storms having swept away all traces of cloud cover. The tradewinds came in sharp and brisk, filling the ship’s sails and propelling them closer to the coast. Seeing the dark shapes of mountains swelling in the distance, Steve felt immense gratitude for land, and even greater excitement for the unknown. Nervousness, sure, it wasn’t all pleasant business that brought him halfway across the world. But he’d been going crazy back in New York. The pleasantries and mundanalities of society life having been twice as stifling after coming back from the war—and thrice as much since his inheritance. It’d been time for a change.

“Got yer sea legs now, Capt’n Rosewater?” one of the younger cabin boys snickered as he passed by.

Steve waved him off with a gamely scowl and continued towards the port bow. He held firm to the banister and looked out at the churning waters below, then up to the land ahead. It was still too far away to make out all the details, but as the next few moments brought them closer, he could see more and more of the island: masses of trees and distant green hills, mountains beyond that, the white tops of breaking surf at the edges of the inlet, and then increasingly jewel blue tones of water that bled from pure azul, to aqua, to sparkling green in the shallows. It shocked Steve, how beautifully colorful it all was in comparison to the dull, muddy waters they’d left behind in Charleston.

They sailed past a bar of land on the starboard. It jutted out far into the ocean, curling in like an arm, as if to cradle the ships come into harbor. Steve caught sight of stone ruins poking out of the water and strained to try and see more. Captain Odinson and his quartermaster—an imposing and impressive man named Heimdall—had spent their second evening at sea consoling Steve over his embarrassing queasiness, offering him drink and telling him fairy stories of the sunken pirate city of Port Royal. Standing in the just-setting sun, Steve had to squint to see. There appeared to be something left of the old town out on the sandbar, but not very much. Most of it must be underwater, Steve thought with disappointment. Earthquakes tended to do that. It sure didn’t live up to any of Odinson’s stories.

The sun was close to setting as they drew in, other ships in the harbor floating nearby with increasing frequency. There was one particularly massive frigate on the portside as they sailed, perhaps fifty yards away, and Steve noticed some of the crew shooting it dirty looks. He turned to watch as they passed. The other vessel was moored in place. It had thick, old rails with weathered paint up top and a pitch-blackened hull below, barnacles creeping far up the sides. No sails were rigged and no crew was visible, yet as he stood there, Steve began to hear something faint.

At first he thought he’d only imagined it, or that perhaps some of Odinson’s men were below deck, hauling heavy things about in their preparations for docking. But the sound came again, and Steve felt a chill on his skin as the sound grew unnaturally, filling his ears and consuming his senses to the exclusion of all else. Louder and louder it became, until he could feel it reverberating in his head, like the inside of a conch, like a pulse. Leaning harder against the rail, his fingers gripped the wood as he listened to the sound.

It was coming from the other ship, not theirs.

Steve glanced about, but none of the crew were paying attention. It was as though they couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t understand how that was possible, as the sound swelled to a grievous rumble that made his heart beat faster in fear. It sounded like a … like a machine, like some great and groaning monster was inside the belly of the other ship, producing a deep and steady pounding. Steve hadn’t a clue what on earth could make such a noise. They’d already passed the ship by, so the sound should be fading, not growing louder. It didn’t make any sense. Steve stood there, aghast and locked in place.

Until a hand clapped down on his shoulder from behind, and he all but jumped out of his skin. The roaring was sucked clean out of his ears, immediately replaced by the usual cadence of wind and boat deck chatter as Steve whipped around and blustered over the embarrassing yelp he’d given. “Oh! Quartermaster!” He straightened himself. “Um, forgive me. I didn’t hear you approach.”

The quartermaster’s eye twinkled as he stepped up to join him. His name was Heimdall. He’d seen where Steve was watching the other ship. Together they stood at the rail and observed the island that lay ahead of them. “That, back there,” he said, referencing the frigate.

“Yes,” Steve said, not quite wanting to look over his shoulder at it anymore. “What was that?” He meant the monstrous sound of it, but had an odd and chilling suspicion that he’d been the only one who’d heard the noise. “The ship,” he said. “Didn’t you … didn’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?” Heimdall peered at him strangely. “The Hannibal. A Guineaman, godforsaken craft.” When he could see that Steve didn’t understand the scorn in his voice, he told him, “That’d be one of the old slave ships, Captain.”

Steve felt his stomach drop out. “O-Oh?” Heimdall nodded. All of a sudden it seemed that he was doubly as black—and Steve doubly as aware of it. He bit the inside of his cheek as he wondered if Heimdall knew his business on the island. Steve had mentioned his inheritance to Captain Odinson, but no one else on the ship. He wasn’t exactly proud of it, and he hadn’t wanted word to get ‘round that he was a slaveholder. Assumptions might be made. No one here knew his character or his intentions, after all. Nobody knew about Sam, or Hamilton House back home in Brooklyn, or that Steve’s aunt in Utica often mailed him back issues from her subscription to the Emancipator. Steve frowned at the distant shoreline, resisting the urge to twist his fingers into his ears. They still held the echo of that phantom sound. “Ships like that still sail?” he asked. “How?”

“Sugar, molasses, rum.” Heimdall shrugged. “For less profit.”

Steve wasn’t an idiot. He knew how all three of those things were produced: sugarcane. He now owned a large plantation of the stuff. “I see,” he said stiffly. “Do you know what’s brought me out here, then?”

Heimdall looked over at him, and for a tense moment, Steve thought he’d say yes, but then the quartermaster’s mouth twitched up in a smirk of gentle disdain. “You’re from New York,” he drawled. “Only two things’ll bring a gentleman American out to this edge of the world: money, or a powerful need to run away from something.”

“Run away,” Steve murmured, thoughts instantly veering to the genteel form of Miss Alva Barclay. He fought not to wince. He wasn’t running, and certainly not from her. “Yes,” he said, wetting his lips as he realized that he could relax once again, because Heimdall had no ill opinion of him. The man obviously didn’t know. So, Steve joined him in staring ahead peaceably, watching as the edge of the world drew into clearer relief.

“Jamaica at last!” Captain Odinson arrived happily at Steve’s side and threw his hand out at the town and the docks below. “Isn’t it beautiful? Just as I said!”

No matter the topic, Odinson always seemed to say everything with a boom, his enthusiasm infectious. Steve nodded in agreement. “Indeed.” Even in the day’s waning light, everything seemed brighter here. Steve had never once seen an entire building painted egg yolk yellow. “I knew it would be warmer here, but not like this. I’m afraid my trunk won’t be suitable for such a climate.” When they’d departed Charleston, it had only just turned November. Now all he could see were palm trees and folks dressed in light cotton clothes or even with no shirts on at all. “Incredible.”

“Indeed. You may find your New York winters more difficult to bear, once you return.”

Steve grimaced, remembering the past two winters and how exceptionally harsh they had been. When he’d departed for Charleston, there’d already been snow on the ground in New York. One of the crew members called out to the Captain, and he excused himself from Steve’s company. Steve decided to remain where he was until the work of unloading the ship died down a bit, as he didn’t want to be in the way. He spent the time watching the docks below, fascinated by the scenery.

Despite the unsavory nature of his inheritance, Steve was still very excited to be in Jamaica. Already it seemed amazing, and he’d only stood there on the ship looking at the ruddy docks, not even yet ventured into the town! He took in all the action of the street: carts and chickens and sailors cursing at one another. There was so much green. The forest beyond seemed lush and dense, the wilderness of it curling in at the edges of the town and creeping to fill up empty spaces. And oh, with the sunset just beginning to cast its colors, Steve’s fingers itched to find a paintbrush. The people bustling about were of such variety and comport that he instantly knew a day in Kingston could never be dull.

There were far more people of color than Steve had ever seen in one place. The ship captains and many of the crewmen were white, but not all, and out on the street there were many colored merchants and dockworkers. Groups of black and mixed-race children loitered about, looking hopeful for either mischief or play. Steve inhaled deeply, figuring that he’d continue to feel odd and out of place no matter what he did, but certain that he’d feel better once he’d visited his solicitor.

Mr. Coulson was due to arrive on the island within the week. Steve had corresponded with him before he’d departed from New York. Coulson had been to the West Indies many times, and had suggested they arrange for their travel schedules to align. He was the one who knew the most about Steve’s property in Jamaica, as he’d worked for and been closely acquainted with Steve’s late uncle, back in England. Steve hoped that Coulson would be there soon, as this was far from a leisure trip for him.

Coulson had warned Steve that there would be numerous steps to take, both legal and practical, before his end goal for the estate could be achieved. Nothing would be done in a day, little in a fortnight. It would take time, and both men had agreed to make themselves available on the island for not less than two months—and more, if need be. Steve himself had half a mind to winter over here and not return to New York until the spring.

It took a while before the ship was fully unloaded. Steve disembarked and stood by his trunks as he waited for his ride. He was to be picked up by a man from the estate, so he kept an eye out for anyone who might be looking for him, and in the meantime bought a sweet bread from a street vendor and sat eating it next to his luggage. Wiping his hands clean, he reached into his breast pocket and retrieved the letter which he’d received in the post several months ago—the letter that had started this whole journey. He unfolded the paper and read the words that he all but knew by heart, at this point:

꘏ Mister Steven Rogers, I hope this letter finds you well, and I send my condolences for the loss of your uncle. We are not acquainted, and indeed I’m sure you’ve never so much as heard my name spoken in conversation, as I have not spent time in New York in many years. I am writing in regards to what is going on at your property here. As I am sure you are aware, since the passing of your relation, Mr. Charles Cleland, the house of Shield Hall and all of its materials, peoples, and lands have come into your possession. As a fellow landowner on the island, I feel it is my duty to inform you that the operation which your uncle upkept in his lifetime has quickly deteriorated into a state of chaos and disrepair. The property is currently being mismanaged by several hired men, none of whom are keeping care of their charges, the land, or the profits that the land is meant to yield. Since this property is part of your estate, and your estate pays these very men’s wages, I felt I should write you. There is a great manor house which sits functionally abandoned, with hardly a single man watching over it day and night. Vagrants have had to be chased away more than once. Your working men and women number close to two hundred, and they all have been treated harshly and unfairly by the overseers, often deprived of suitable conditions. The harvests of this past year were summarily affected by these happenings. Word of the disorganization and abuse has reached many in the community already, and rumors abound of the great discontent brewing amongst your slaves. I have received only general description of you from my aunt in New York, but am sure that you are a fine man and will agree with me that it is our Christian duty to treat all of God’s children with dignity and fairness, including the negro man in bondage. I urge you to come at once and see for yourself, for only then can things be put right. Your respectful neighbor, J. Buchanan ꘏

Steve blinked down at the page, looking once more at that elegantly scrawled name: J. Buchanan. Only an educated and moneyed man would have such excellent penmanship, lending credence to the writer’s claims of who he was. But the letter was signed only with “J. Buchanan,” with no other identifying information given. It had arrived several months ago, posted from Kingston, Jamaica, but with no return address. Its author claimed to be a fellow landowner and wrote “neighbor” as his salutation, but when Steve had looked at records of land holdings on the island, he’d found no history of a Buchanan family.

Still, the stranger had thought the situation serious enough to contact Steve, and so whether the letter’s claims were true or not, Steve felt he should investigate. That was the only respectable thing to do, since it was his property now. The very land that made him rich.

That in itself was still novel. Steve had never owned much of anything, other than his house in Brooklyn which he’d inherited from his mother. He’d grown up privileged but not overly so, within the bounds of New York Society but never pursued the way that more moneyed gentlemen were. That had all changed once his uncle had passed and word got out that Steve now owned a large sugar plantation and all of the wealth that came with it. He’d spent the past twenty months fending off eager mothers and their daughters. Two seasons’ worth of balls, courtships, and fripperies had been useful in warding off the loneliness, but they were exhausting at the end of the day.

And then there was Miss Barclay, who was one of the many ladies being continually foisted upon him. Though she was the most agreeable, Steve still felt that his lungs could take in twice the amount of oxygen now that he knew he was a thousand miles away from her—an ungenerous sentiment, perhaps, but nonetheless true.

Steve hadn’t yet spent much of his newfound fortune, the habits of a widowed spendthrift mother having been ingrained in him since boyhood; but the one thing he had indulged in, was the singular luxury of a private box at the opera house. A veritable bidding war had commenced when the next box over came up for sale not long after. That was how Steve had gotten to know Alva over the arias of Fidelio and Silvana, her mother always looming nearby like a hawk searching out prey.

Though Steve enjoyed Miss Barclay’s company as well as any other lady’s, it’d been months of these not so subtle overtures, and he feared he would soon wind up engaged if things continued on the way they were. Traveling to Jamaica now, he’d narrowly avoided the crux of this year’s winter season. It was his hope that this sojourn would send the message of his disinterest without him having to actually turn the poor girl down. Steve was only twenty-eight, after all. He wasn’t ready for all of that.

Both his solicitor in New York and Mr. Coulson in London had told him not to worry about the details of his inheritance and the running of the estate in Jamaica, insisting that others were handling it and his bank account would remain well-padded without any direct interference. “Nasty business, sugar,” Coulson advised, pointing out that Steve’s late uncle hadn’t visited the island himself in decades. It was a common arrangement that absentee landlords would hire competent men to manage the operations of their plantations. The hired men at Shield Hall would continue to do so, Coulson had assured, whilst Steve continued to reap the benefits. Steve had believed it for a time, and had been sufficiently distracted by the demands and complications of his sudden shift in New York Society. But as soon as the letter from J. Buchanan had arrived, everything had changed.

Steve couldn’t ignore “the slave problem” anymore, and he had the exact excuse he needed to make a quick escape from the burgeoning weight of high society and all its expectations of him. He was grateful to J. Buchanan, whoever he was.

Carefully, he refolded the letter and tucked it back into his breast pocket. J claimed that conditions at Shield Hall were abusive. Steve couldn’t fathom a reason for a stranger to fabricate such a story. So here he was to see for himself. He was absolutely dreading it.

“There you are. Ha, I’d thought we’d lost you!” Steve looked up and saw Odinson approaching from across the cobblestone in long strides. “We’re nearly finished,” he said, eyeing up Steve’s luggage approvingly. “You pack light for a gentleman. You must have a sense of adventure!”

Steve gave a good-natured grimace. “I’d have said not, nineteen days ago, and yet here I stand.” He illustrated his meaning by looking about the wharf. Not even away from the docks yet, and already he’d seen a parrot with more colors in its feathers than any single living thing in Brooklyn. He scratched behind his ear. Life had been in color before, hadn’t it? Surely, New York wasn’t as dull and gray as his memory was now painting it. He said as much to Odinson, who agreed and noted the closest building’s bright coral stucco. That was when Steve caught sight of a crewmember lugging out his crate of painting supplies. “Oh! Over here! You can put that one just here. Thank you.” When Odinson raised an eyebrow, Steve explained, “Well, my easel and things. I paint. A bit.”

“An artist! Good for you.”

Steve blushed, but he could tell that Odinson meant no harm. Other men in Steve’s life had contrived plenty more obvious ways of telling him that it seemed foppish and silly for a man of his status to spend so much time on such a frivolous hobby. “Yes,” he agreed. “Subjects will be in no short supply, in this place.”

Captain Odinson bid him farewell once Steve’s helper arrived and made himself known. A large and competent man named M'baku had come from the estate with a carriage. Steve shook his hand and M'baku looked at him sternly and then announced that he would be Steve’s man whilst in town. (Steve feared that he might also be his property, but hadn’t yet gotten up the courage to ask.) “Erm … shall we be off?” he asked.

M'baku took the lead and indicated the carriage. He gruffly refused Steve’s help with the luggage, and sat up front on the bench while Steve rode as lone passenger. Since Shield Hall was located a ways outside of the city, and evening was nearly upon them, they sought out local accommodations. M'baku asked Steve what sort of place he wanted to go to. “Do you want a big room? Company?” he asked, a distinctive island accent clinging to his vowels. “There are a couple of places to choose from. Different.”

“Eh, anywhere will do,” Steve hemmed, adding offhandedly that he wouldn’t mind the company of others.

So M'baku drove them to the Royal Naval Hotel. It seemed a handsome establishment, lively even, with quite a few people loitering about the downstairs. Steve checked himself in and had his luggage sent up, then he walked to the lounge with M’baku by his side. There were many fine couches and tables for the hotel’s patrons to use. Steve and M'baku spoke together for a moment, discussing their plans for the next day, when they would meet again and depart for Shield Hall.

With that settled, M'baku seemed eager to leave, and Steve could see a fancily dressed woman standing in the doorway leading into the next parlor, hiding behind a partially tied back velvet drape. She was peeking out at M'baku and Steve with narrowed eyes, looking none too pleased.

Steve turned back to M'baku and thanked him again for his help, eager to not have the prim hotel ladies complaining to management about him so soon. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said in parting, and M'baku left as sternly as he’d arrived. Steve chanced a glance towards the draped doorway again, but the lady had turned away to converse with a gentleman. The backside of her gown faced Steve; a fine India silk and muslin, as was the fashion, but it was the amount of skin permitted to show which stood out. She wore no gloves, and Steve couldn’t keep his eyes from honing in at the low dip of the neckline which was nearly below the lady’s shoulder blades in the back.

That tantalizing stretch of skin continued up her back and slim neck, to the mass of dark curls piled atop her head. Steve hadn’t realized it when she was peering out from the shadows before, but she wasn’t white. His own gaze narrowed at her in distaste, finding it odd that she of all people would take issue with a colored manservant being briefly inside the room.

Not that it was any different in New York. Indeed, Steve had tried—and failed—on an occasion or two to get Sam in with him to a certain place or another. Sometimes, if enough money was being spent and the proprietors were the right sort and employed discretion, there wouldn’t be much of a fuss made over who Steve wanted to have with him. But in many places, other patrons would eventually complain. However it was normally white people doing the complaining and looking down their noses.

The lady in the fine gown reacted to something her companion said, drawing Steve’s attention to the sound of her laughter that was like a little, tinkling bell. His eyes flicked up, and over her shoulder he caught the gaze of the gentleman with whom she was speaking. The man was easing off from the grin of a joke he’d told, and his still-laughing eyes locked intently on Steve. For a split second, it was electric, something in the man’s glittering eyes stealing the breath from Steve’s lungs.

Steve hurriedly looked away, feeling caught out. He thought he’d seen the man’s mouth twitch up there at the end, but he hadn’t the courage to turn back and check. The man was very good looking, in a rakish sort of way, with an unshaven jaw and murky blue eyes set in a handsome face. He kept his hair longer than was the fashion, but pulled back in a way that suited his features. He looked older than Steve’s own twenty-eight years, perhaps a man of twenty and fifteen or more, and he moved with the loose sort of confidence that a man did when he knew himself to be attractive. He was the exact type of fellow whom Steve avoided looking at or being around any more than was strictly necessary, lest he look or linger too long.

He turned away and ambled over into the next parlor, where he leant against the bar top and found his reprieve. He told the barkeep he’d have some good sort of rum, and took his drink off to another of the downstairs parlors, planting himself on a velvet settee where he could be out of the way and still observe the room at large. The place grew more crowded as evening drew in, and Steve saw enough to become convinced that the Royal Naval Hotel was not just a hotel: It was a bawdyhouse.

In the span of an hour, he witnessed no less than five different girls, interacting indecently amorous with seven different men, before taking said men’s hands and leading the grinning dopes away. Steve couldn’t see where they went once out of the room, but he could make an educated guess. None of these ladies wore gloves, either.

Incredible, he thought, as he watched one of them returning to approach her second gentleman within the span of forty minutes. The game began all over again, and Steve felt shocked and yet fascinated by her practiced movements and speech. It was like watching a ballet: scandalous and still elegant, the girl comporting herself with grace and impropriety all at once. Steve felt his cheeks heat as she left the room with her newest suiter, and he went back to the bar to get himself another pour.

A piano took up in one of the rooms, heard throughout the place, and more men came in. The number of women multiplied as well, but at a ratio which substantially favored the men. There were a number of British naval officers present, and Steve felt even more uncomfortable about that than he had been being led around by M'baku. He��d never hurt a negro man before, after all. He had killed English soldiers, and quite recently at that.

The last time Steve had fought had been in Canada, less than two full years ago. Niagara, dead Indians just as plentiful as all the uniformed red-and-whites, bodies bleeding into the snow. Steve suddenly remembered that he’d resolved to not make his nationality overly apparent whilst visiting Jamaica—a very British colony. And he certainly wasn’t planning on letting anyone know about his recent military service. He hadn’t a clue what the English soldiers’ attitudes towards Americans were, but back in New York, no known Brit was yet tolerated in polite company, even these twenty long months after the war had ended. Steve was certain that he’d be treated poorly at best, pickpocketed or accosted in the street at worst.

Unsurprisingly, about half of the men who filled The Royal Naval Hotel’s downstairs parlors wore the royal naval uniform. Some of them sat in groups and drank together and laughed, others played cards, their behavior for the most part unremarkable. But the ones who were there for other services made their interest plainly known as the evening wore on, and the ladies of the room would respond and float over like swans bobbing to breadcrumbs on a pond. It was not possible to miss that all of the crumbs were white, and all of the swans were black.

They were black, and less black, light skinned, and very dark indeed; as exotic and varied as any man could want. Much like the very first lady whom Steve had observed, they all wore luxurious clothes in the current fashions, with their hair piled high and woven through with decoration, sweet silk shawls draped about their arms, necks left bare of any jewelry, bosoms powdered and presented. It really was a bit like watching the ballet, and as the evening wore on and Steve sat there drinking a second and then a third round of what the barkeep called “grog,” he found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from their dance.

They spoke and whispered into the men’s ears with cultured English and sometimes French, and they moved and walked like true ladies of society (at least when they weren’t sneakily sliding their hands into places they oughtn't be). Many of the men seemed respectful at best and besotted at worst, but Steve did catch a few dark glances that they would share amongst themselves when they thought the women weren’t looking. The way they looked made Steve uncomfortable—less so for the impropriety of it all, and more so for how it made him recognize his own lack of such interest.

For a moment, he thought again of Alva, back in New York. She was a pretty and tolerable girl, well-mannered and quick-witted even, with an interest in the theater and the arts that, while not matching Steve’s own, was robust enough to hold a conversation. He had no real objections to her other than that he didn’t love her, which in itself wasn’t uncommon between couples courting engagements. The thing was though: Steve had never loved any girl at all. He’d never felt the real and pressing temptation that other men seemed to harbor deep within themselves. He lacked that natural inclination which made men’s eyes linger and their gazes go dark behind ladies’ backs.

Steve squirmed in his seat, agitated when he tried and failed to view the various prostitutes as the other men saw them: alluring, desirable, lustful. He thought they were very pretty and graceful, of course, but in the way that birds were pretty and that cats were graceful. He felt nothing more towards them. Certainly not the things that the British naval officers clearly felt. … Certainly not the things which Steve had been known to feel about certain men.

He felt his cheeks go hot as his mind strayed to the unbidden memory of a crowded house: Bleecker street, dark rooms filled with smoke and drink and chatter, people in less and less clothing the further in one went. A broad back, two men pulling off shirts, their squared jaws kissing against a couch. Steve had nearly dropped his brandy glass when he’d walked in on it. He’d always fraternized with the bohemian types through his interests in the arts, and parties in the Village were undoubtedly of a different ilk, but he’d never imagined that any man could just … would just …

And right there in the middle of an unlocked room, no less! With others not even ten paces away who might look, might see—who had seen, and had simply looked the other way.

The drapes in that Molly house had all been heavy and drawn.

Steve squinched his eyes shut to try and knock the memory from his mind. Perhaps he should choose a woman, he thought. Try and pretend for a night, maybe even awaken the desire inside himself that he was supposed to have. Steve had never been with a woman, so perhaps his perversion was only due to inexperience. Perhaps he could change, if only he put in some effort and sought out a beautiful, soft body.

He drank the last of his rum and kept hold of the glass, keen on going to the bar for another pour. Three miserable weeks at sea and not a drop had passed his lips. He was overdue to indulge in one way or another. And since he wasn’t likely to work up the nerve to actually pay a woman for her company, he thought he might as well drink. The rum was sweet, after all.

Just as he was about to stand, a dress’ hem appeared in his field of vision, the tiny white points of a lady’s satin slippers peeking out from the bottom. Slowly, Steve let his eyes trail up. Oh. It was the same girl as before, the one who’d observed Steve and M'baku with meanly narrowed eyes. She didn’t look quite so peevish now. Her dark hair was curled and styled to frame her face, her cream-in-coffee skin on prominent display in the shelf of her bosom against the dress. Her features were graceful and classically feminine, but she had a prominent forehead and a dimple in her chin that elevated her from simply pretty, to handsomely striking. Really, she seemed a girl of hardly twenty, but her perceptive eyes hinted that she might be older.

“Hello,” she said, stepping even closer, until Steve could smell her perfume. “I saw you alone over here and thought I’d come to say hello. Maybe even cheer you up.”

“Cheer me up?” Steve breathed, then sat there like a dummy, speechless for long seconds. He hadn’t entertained the possibility that any of the working women would focus their attentions on him. Not when there were so many other eager breadcrumbs fellows in the middle of the room. “Well, I’m uh, I don’t need … cheer,” is what he eventually said, the words coming out weaker than intended. He watched as the girl’s features pinched in a polite sort of titter at his expense. Steve could hardly blame her. He sounded like a regular moron.

She perched herself daintily on the cushion beside him. “Don’t be silly. Everyone needs company.” Her voice, Steve noted, was fluid and viscous, like warmed honey. She lacked the island twang and in its place there was a hint of French. “I’m Rebecca,” she introduced, holding out her hand.

Steve took it, grazing lips to the backs of her scandalously bare fingers. He let it go, and she placed it on his shoulder rather than back in her own lap. Steve gulped. Now he felt less like a breadcrumb and more like a worm on a hook. “I … I’m only just arrived,” he rasped, feeling the need to excuse his antisocial behavior. “Not staying long. I was about to go to my, um, room—to sleep, that is! Go to my room to sleep.” He coughed. “I, erm, have some business in the morning.”

Rebecca tilted her head, eyes glittering. “Don’t we all. But you must tell me your name, Sir. I’d remember if I’d seen someone who looks like you at the Royal Naval before.” She touched her finger to her chin, as if putting great effort into guessing. “Mm. You’re American?”

Steve hemmed, overly conscious of where she was still touching his shoulder. Never in his life had he experienced such forward attentions from a woman, not even from Miss Barclay and her mother. “Um, yes,” he bumbled. “American. I’m … am.” She giggled at him and Steve shook his head. “I’m not planning on making any public announcements about that, you know. I don’t want trouble. I'm only here because I’ve inherited land.” An American veteran in British territory, not even two full years since the war? Yes, discretion would be prudent. “I’m Steven Rogers,” he hastily added, realizing that he hadn’t returned the introduction. “Of New York.”

“Steven,” she cooed. “Oh, how lovely. Steven from New York. May I call you Steve?”

“Um,”

Her lashes lowered demurely. “I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Beauchêne Proctor-Polgreen.”

“That's a mouthful.”

She laughed and winked. “Oh, I don’t mind a mouthful.”

Steve felt his cheeks flame at the double entendre. He cleared his throat and looked down at his lap. Her hand was still on his shoulder, and he hadn’t a clue as to how he should politely inform her that he had no intention of paying for her services. Suddenly, he thought of how M'baku had phrased his question earlier: if Steve would like to stay in a place where he could find “company.”

Oh. Steve realized that he was an utter dolt. “Um, well. I appreciate your welcome, Miss, um …”

“Just Rebecca,” she teased.

“Right. Miss Rebecca. You’ve been most kind, but my travels have left me tired and I wasn’t particularly seeking the … the company of a lady this evening.” He waited, and sure enough, her hand was soon removed from his shoulder. He nearly sagged in relief.

“Oh,” Rebecca said. “Oh yes, well you wouldn’t know, being new to town and all. I ought to have said. I serve in a managerial capacity here, Steve.” She grinned. “I take care of the girls, you understand? I’m afraid it is the rare gentleman whom I invite up to my private quarters, these days.” As Steve’s face continued to reach new levels of heat, she stood again and went to take his empty glass from the table. “A welcome is all I had on offer for you, handsome as you are. That, and any of my flock whom you might fancy.” Her eyes skimmed brazenly up and down Steve’s form. “I daresay they’ll fight each other for a chance at you.”

“Pardon,” Steve spluttered. “I shouldn’t have assumed.” He could see it now: how much more expensive her dress was than the other girls’, how fine the combs in her hair, the gold dangling from her ears. “Madam,” he said, “You have my apologies, please.” She waved him off, obviously unoffended and perhaps even amused. Steve realized that he was wasting his good manners, blundering and blushing the way he was.

Rebecca gestured at him with his empty cup in hand. “Don’t stress, Steve from New York. You’re on Caribbean time now. ‘Eaze and breeze’.” Her voice picked up the lilt of the island accent there at the end, and she sauntered back across the parlor to hand Steve’s glass over to the barkeep to be refilled.

Steve felt glued in place until she returned with yet another helping of rum, which he was sure he didn’t need. “Thank you,” he managed, sipping it only to be polite. Between his previous three rounds and the thinly-veiled obscenity of the atmosphere, he felt drunk already. Luckily, Miss Rebecca seemed to understand his discomfort and soon left him alone, though not without giving him one last wink and a pointed nod in the direction of her company of girls.

Steve wilted, watching as she went about that parlor and the next, stopping to chat with different groups of gentlemen—some with girls in their laps, and some without—never staying in one place for long. Steve felt foolish for not having realized her as the madame that she clearly was. It was so obvious now, as he watched her in the dance of the room and its ladies. She was the prima ballerina in a sea of coryphées.

After some time had passed, Steve felt himself quite literally falling asleep in his chair. Dear lord, he needed to go to bed. He abandoned his cup and stood, heading back out towards the main lobby. Tomorrow would be a productive day, he resolved as he went up to his room. He could start on what he’d come out here to do in the first place, not sit around bawdyhouse parlors making a fool of himself.

He’d just turned at the top of the stair when he caught sight of Rebecca again. It was dark and she didn’t see him, facing the other way. But the gentleman with her did. It was that same man with whom she’d been speaking before, downstairs when Steve first arrived with M'baku.

Steve gulped and stood very still, not wanting to be noticed and drawn into conversation. The man seemed to know this, as he smirked secretively in Steve’s direction but continued on in his murmured conversation with Rebecca. The two of them stood just outside one of the doors of the long upstairs hallway, and Steve pressed himself back against the wall in an attempt to be unobtrusive.

If the fellow was going to pay to spend the night with her, why didn’t he just get on with it already? They remained there speaking for long enough that Steve had ample time to appreciate the man’s features all over again. He was as tall as Steve, which was in itself uncommon, with a straight nose and shapely lips, not to mention a strong, unshaven jaw that all but had Steve’s mouth watering in a way that he was loath to admit. He held his breath as he was shot another leer from over Rebecca’s shoulder. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’dve said the man seemed almost amused at him.

The man bent to kiss Rebecca on her cheek. He took her hand and opened the door to the room, leading her through before himself. And when he turned to close it from the other side, he paused and stared long enough to make Steve’s blood stir, before shutting himself away behind the wood.

Steve was left feeling unsettled, and not sure that he’d entirely imagined the heated look in the other man’s eye. This fellow, he surmised, must be one of the ‘rare gentlemen’ who merited invitation into Miss Rebecca’s private quarters.

Steve put himself to bed hastily that night, aroused and frustrated as to the cause of it. And despite his long-held resolve to never touch himself to the thought of another man, he was soon reminded that even he couldn’t control what things crept into his dreams.

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plasticfangtastic · 11 months

Text

Can We be Lonely together? Epilogue

a Homelander x Stalker! Reader fanfic

This is a GN reader reader fic

Author's note: too self indulgent not to write an epilogue, thanks for reading and am looking forward to making more fics for this fandom, this is Bi Homelander content if y'all read this as fem or non male reader. prev. chapters in my blog under the my fic tag or can we be lonely together? tag will be making a masterlist fairly soon tho.

R18+ mild smut, exhibitionism kink, gore, murder, dub con, dirty talk, surprise butchlander, butcher x reader, 3-way?, amoral protagonist, unreality.

Epilogue

Breeze sang in the ample halls bringing whispers from the balearic sea, a top the mountain overseeing endless azure, greens and neighborhood roofs the world seemed so far away to him.

So many absent walls in this villa, the house was airy and open, blurring the idea of inside and outside with is design.

Cream coloured linen danced against the wind to the seas secret songs, the sun leaving no corner in the shadows, sandy granite warm under the sun, evergreens could be seen from all windows, cascades of green coloured the view, and a pair of cats slept in a guest room.

There was not a sight disturbed by ugly grey buildings, just mountains and sea– left him feeling as Zeus on the top of mount Olympus, inside the airy home only the dull sound of oak ceiling fans pushing the breeze disturbed the halls.

No longer did the steps of strangers disturbed the dull accismus of this temple by the hill, camera crews left most of the home untouched, it had been a busy and exhausting week for Homelander.

Walls had been sparsely decorated, remnants of a past life clung on smooth oatmeal walls and indigo blue wood beecher paneling accentuating one living room of three-- paintings he had grown attached to and the occasional marble statue laid around, but now there were photos of a man one could hardly recognize.

With each new image, time had eroded wounds off his face, there was a glimmer on his features that had never resided there.

Garden pots had been shuffled around for the perfect frame, now he would've had to move them much to his annoyance.

It was the most anticipated interview of the decade, it had gone smoothly, Oprah had been delightful, manly tears had been shed and hair raising stories were shared, she had found him approachable above all.

After a year of silence the whole world was kept on edge awaiting for his return.

The trial hadn’t even televised but they were plenty of updates by the hour circling around-- more than sufficient. Now he had a full schedule, he was to be in the cover of GQ magazine, had some big podcasts lined up for an appearance, and Vogue to model for… it would be so strange to do without his suit.

Homelander sat with his legs dipping into one of his infinity pools, his loosely fitted honeycomb shirt draped around his shoulders like a poor’s man cape, his hair had grown a tad longer, salty seas had turned his flaxen locks almost wavy and a dark thick stubble began adorning his face.

His tablet resting behind him buzzing with a new email, the wrinkles around his eyes sank as he squinted from the blinding wet mirror, distracting enough that your step barely registered.

“You looked quite handsome in the suit this morning…” You spoke gently– I think the people are gonna love your new look… between the tan and the beard you look… sumptuous.”

“I should’ve shaved. They’ll think I look like a complete slob! I bet they’ll say I let myself go.”

You joined him by the pool as the hot Mediterranean sun stood above you, pulling his head closer to yours for a flurry of butterfly kisses.

“You look stunning, mi sol. Either way… lunch is ready… Ryan called and said him and Jaythaniel’s family just made it to Disneyland, don’t forget to pick him up tonite.” You said softly squeezing his thigh– he said he’ll call after lunch.”

He nodded absentmindedly.

“You don’t think Theodore is going to wake up?”

Worry clung to his tongue, his ears picking up the soft lull of his son’s snoring, Blender making biscuits on his sides but the child slept deeply, you could tell he had entered deep REM stage, you shook your head much to John’s relief.

“I can’t believe we are doing this… you spoil us too much.” He kissed your ear before lifting himself and dropping into the pool.

The sun sparkled harshly against the glass tiles, the sky more blue from below, your sinuous reflection watching him until he emerged, the tired breeze doing very little to dry him, you followed him giddy as his wet footprints led you to the wine cellar.

It had been an expensive endeavor to have all of this installed… several 3x3 plastic acrylic panels of 32 mm thickness, a high tech locking mechanism plus humidity and temperature control systems had to be installed independently of a good enough contractor who could reinforce the flooring with a steel mesh and coat the cement flooring with resin just to make it impossible for their friends to dig, there had been many logistical nightmares from finding the right contractors to finding a spot for it, it was easy to sell the strange boxes as a sex thing– blaming having super-abled kids increasingly longer list of powers that made it hard for dear ol’ daddy to get off… especially when the word ‘soundproofing’ had been mentioned, or his super strengths which led to some nasty laughs and a bit of murder later down the track, the last thing that mattered had been costs.

No amount of sound ever escaped the wine cellar, the zinc plates coating the walls prevented Ryan and himself from seeing in or out, Theodore was young enough to listen to instructions, if not it was your turn to discipline the toddler.

Opening that door was always a surprise, bringing him almost as much joy as that first christmas day as a complete family.

As they took the stairs he could smell mullet wine and lebkuchen– the tension in his muscles still fresh as he entered a home that had only existed in childish fantasies, awkwardness that never seemed the fade as the strangers hounded him with questions, but he had had you, Ryan and now Theodore for much needed emotional support, it had been almost perfect as it had been intense, it had been strange to hear all these stories of a woman he had murdered, who had only suffered, it was stranger how her only sister had not blame him for the nature of his birth, still grateful that he had found her even if it took forty years, grateful that something more than a pristine corpse was left behind.

Her body refusing to decay inside that pine box.

The cellar door beeps, and cogs turn inside the heavy metal door, fluorescent lights sung awake by the entrance, bringing much needed light to the dark sub-basement, only the three small lights inside the boxes lighten the area for most of the day.

A woman shuddered, flinching as more light hit her eyes, hiding beneath the bolted desk, you walked past Homelander carrying today's menu, there was something enjoyable about the challenge of creating an ever changing menu that was nutritionally balance, delicious and required no cutlery. The disheveled woman approached eagerly at the floating box, awaiting for you to place her meal, intentionally keeping her starved, this had been his decision for this particular guest-- to see if she would go mad. Due to the lack of windows she had no concept of time after all while the lights were on a timer, they were programmed to be irregular enough to cause confusion. To visit at random intervals and feed her whenever he remembered.

Homelander and John wanted to watch her scoof down her meal, to see her choke and tear up as she filled her cheeks and swallowed greedily– but their attention was reserved for guest number two.

“If I knew I had you getting all wet and bothered for daddy, I would’ve worn something nicer” His voice dry, barely lifting his head from the bed.

Homelander helps himself to the mini bar cracking open some pale ale for the world’s largest paper cup, humming a tune as he prepped today's round of meds while you set his meal.

“Got you pale ale… unless you’d like some peach bellinis?”

Homelander opened the cabinets, rows of neatly organized sex toys, booze and cleaning supplies were displayed– sex toys solely for decor, you both had committed to the bit, much of these had never been used nor did he want to, you had no need for vibrators when his hands did the job so perfectly. He took out a cattle prod, then pressed a code unto a small hidden panel making sure the guest couldn’t peek.

The inner latches came apart, the door hissed open.

There was no need to consider escaping, it was futile, the door upstairs was thicker than the glass, and no amount of yelling got anybody’s attention-- but he didn’t try killing himself either, for the last time he’d tried he had been here in no time, he had a chip monitoring his vitals at all times, and the camera on top of his room watched over him.

You also helped in that department.

Homelander entered first, you placed the food on the floor for Homelander to give Butcher his back.

Almost encouraging him to jump him.

“Would it kill you to wear pants?”

Homelander chuckled as he turned around with Butcher’s meal, wearing nothing but his wet shirt clinging to him tighter than his suit ever did, and black briefs.

“Would it kill you to agree to my offer?”

“Not going to play house with you, stupid cunt.”

Butcher didn’t argue with the meal, taking the food off his hand and sitting by the bolted table, the chair also bolted which made for an awkward fit.

“You got three months left William… these meds might get you one more… it's already been weeks… you want to spend the rest of your days here watching her starve to death or you want to be with Ryan? He wishes to see you. Be there for him… you just have to be with us.”

Butcher bared his teeth, mutterign curses under his breath as he gave him his back.

You entered the room taking the cattle prod tucked under his arm, Butcher ate ignoring him, throwing the tray towards his face, forever amused as to how he never bothered to dodge it, John rolling his eyes as the plastic dropped around him.

“I’m being generous after what you did to Dolores… that was… well… you lived up to your name.”

“Said I’ll get even.”

He had made Dolores into the antithesis of her craft, it had stung, to witness her unrecognizable being-- a DNA test confirming its identity. Close casket was the only choice.

Homelander watched him eat as you prepared yourself, undressing in the corner, fresh bruises adorning your thighs, handprints where he had held you solidly against his mouth.

Closing the door behind, locking Homelander and Butcher inside one box, giddy he jumped into the thin futon.

“Here I thought we were having the world’s most disappointing threesome… all thirteen seconds of it.”

He took a sip of the ale, it was utterly delicious but he wouldn’t let Homelander hear it from his mouth, this his only joy while stuck in this box. He turned to you watching as you opened the door on guest number 1, then back at Homelander already squeezing himself, a wet suther escaped his lips as your nude frame approached her, Butcher buried his brow.

You had ignored her for weeks, fed her irregularly while feeding Butcher on schedule. She survived on saltines and peanut butter, only receiving proper meals on the occasion but never did either of you touched her, or spoke to her.

She squealed as the tip hit her breast, too weak to do more than just scream, he had been so distracted by Homelander he hadn’t noticed the crowbar by the entrance… he could’ve sworn it was his own.

“Families should always have a mommy and a daddy… grandpa and grandma… cousins… but I don’t have any uncles… nor does Ryan have uncles… ahhh” he tugged harder hand fondling the dripping tip of his hardened member– just like that pumpkin.”

His skin crawled at the sight of the awoken thick member as he pulled it out his tight underwear, with a wet snap.

He turned to you, watching her face split red as you smacked her face with the cattle prod, she clutched at her cheek, blood spilling from the sides of her fingers, a distressed mess tried escaping you. You grinned as you felt Homelander excitement, his chest flushed as you gave a parry of messy heavy swings, she cried and as she covered her face you shocked her hands off until your eyes met, turning limp while Butcher’s heart accelerated, craning her neck, she opened her mouth leaving it frozen mid-air as you took to the crowbar.

“Pick a number of teeth … or Pusher will take the whole jaw” he whispered as he laid long languid strokes on his cock, rubbing his thumb on the glistening tip– or you can say yes”

A curved tip pressed right behind her upper chompers.

“One…?” You muttered– that’s not going to excite you right, mi sol?”

Homelander pouted, slowing down his hand, focusing on the base with short lived pumps.

“Break her jaw– let’s see how long she’ll last before she starves to death… she might dehydrate first, no?” He scoots patting the empty spot on the bed encouraging Butcher to join him— make it clean babe.”

You take the tip out her mouth and get in position to tap her jaw.

“We’ll visit in a week… hope you last my dear William.”

Butcher stood up, still with enough energy in him to fight, he might be dulled by the meds, exhaustion and his captor's cruel tactic.

“Kill her you wanker just bring some fucking fabreeze.”

You grinned mockingly, breaking more than her jaw, her body thud and her voice returned smashing her skull repeatedly caving into a pancake. Homelander groaned, edging himself as your vicious attacks drew your victim closer and closer to death, legs moving on their own, pressing his forehead against the wall, the sight of your bloody torso didn’t just titillate him, he craved the sight, knowing the glass stood between you two, knowing how far away you were and just how untouchable you were was better than any x-rated video, your ragged panting, the sweet sweat falling from the tip of your chin, blood specs bejeweled your body, was too much.

You had become more than he had ever imagined, you pressed your behind against the bloodied wall as you caught your breath.

Butcher could only try to ignore your sick kinks.

Homelander will bring as many innocent people he could and make him take part of their scenes, he whined as you got out the cage, walking painfully slow towards his– ignoring him in favor of the minibar, his hand stopped with a sneer, turning to see that Butcher had skulled down the last of his ale.

“You know he’s being nice asking you… I could just make you say yes…”

Butcher looked back at the mass, almost flinching as the woman was back on her feet, her face a torn mess but there she was still eating the last morsels of the chunky yiros with her torn jaws, for every bit of garlic sauce that dripped down her hands there was an equal amount of chunky blood spilling unto the ground.

Deepthroating the yiros more than eating it.

Her face just hanging by red ribbons, one eye swollen and bulging while the other just hung out of her socket, clumps of broken scalp swinging with the weight of her once straight hair, now dirty and matted.

She turned to see him sensing she had been watched and her face had no bruises.

He looked back at Homelander then back at the corpse now immobile, rotting, fluids escaping its bloated body, gangrenous pus seeping thru its sunken eyes while the skin darkened and dried, now his nose picked up on the revulsion, he looked at his drink and figure out that there was no drug in him– Homelander was back in his bed, his cock tucked in and not a sight that he had moved once, his toothy grin more real than the full cup fizzing in his hand, your breath warming Butcher’s ear.

Months, weeks, days, hours… he had no clue how long he actually been here, this was an illusion… some of it… tragically you two were disgustingly real.

“You want to break me into compliance?”

The white glow of your eyes not as menacing as Homelander's lasers, he took a short sip of his beer letting it dry his tongue, feeling the warm building in his stomach.

Hot fingers creep from around his hips, exploring the softened torso, he is still strong and firm under the weakened body, the illness making it hard to maintain his shape, hot water dampened his shirt, nails bruising trails as he trapped him, pressed tight against the leaner man, craning his neck to place his chin on the older man’s shoulder– no doubt floating to do so.

Before he could protest further, before he could do more than curse under his breath and wriggle, your teeth met the underside of his chin.

Intertwining your hands with his free one, no doubt he could snap your wrist but a little red light shone next to his head, telling it wouldn't be a good idea.

Homelander closed his iron grip around Butcher’s neck, leaving him gasping, feeling his pipe collapse slightly.

Your tongue licked his neck, your touch more gentle, more tender but to his shock Homelander only purred, you both stared at each other lovingly, Butcher’s neck nothing but a barrier between you two, you climbed to meet his lips, while your loved was manhandling Butcher lower so Homelander could give you wet, loud and messy kisses.

Arching him much to his displeasure, the beer spilling down his arm.

Squeezing harder on his neck, Homelander eyes are coloured a pretty dark pink, he grunts pressing Butcher into him, begging for friction.

You two kissed the older man missing his lips, feeling him shudder, kissing the blanket of goosebumps all over his body.

You loved him more than anything.

You would make him happy in all the ways that your body could.

And sometimes things are easier to do when he just communicated them, usually that would involve murder but now it was this.

Butcher had no idea what he had to say yes to. what exactly you two wanted out of him, and he had yet to spot the hidden vial of V in the cabinet.

John giggled as Butcher's hateful glare tried to burn him.

“Is okay… you’ll be the one fucking me…” he needily purrs– right, pumpkin?”

“Just let all that hatred out… make him cry…” you whispered into Butcher’s ear– make him your bitch.”

It had been his own mind that picture the blonde’s cock, that had been his own worst nightmare, but as he felt those needy kisses– be it the beer on an empty stomach, your powers or the tumor pressing on the smart sections of his brain he chortle at the thought, straining his neck to see the desperate flush on the blonde, his grip loosening, allowing him to turn just enough.

This could also be a part of this illusion.

“You just wanted to be daddy’s cute little slut?” he spat– my cum dump?”

Homelander let out the most obscene moan from within the depths of his core, you felt the heat rising from your own loins as you heard him.

Butcher tugged at your scalp, yanking you away from him.

“Both of you are such weird needy bitches… is okay… I’ll make you both into my good little whores.”

Breathy moans, both men eager to see this new game of yours play out, you would make him happy, please him, take care of all his needs… it was easier when you also felt just a tenth of that spark the first time you met William.

Unlike the last ones before these brother’s you would never grow out of love… you had so much to give after all… and he had so much to give you still.

What a bad thing you two were.

#homelander #personal #my fic tag #can we be lonely together?#homelander fanfiction #homelander x reader #homelander x butcher #butcher x reader #I am esl sorry #will post a masterlist soon to make it easy to read the prev chapters #just tryign to make a mood board as a cover #this was not proof read btw #homelander x you

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