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highvern · 3 months

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Drive Me Crazy

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x f!reader

Genre: smut

warnings: strangers to lovers, virgin!JK, dry humping, oral sex, cum eating

Length: ~3.7k

Note: yes i'm insane. no i won't be taking further questions. thank u @gyuswhore for chaperoning my descent into JK madness

summary: You're not the only one with a shitty dating life. Your driver seems to be having a worse night than you can imagine. But things take a turn for the better in the backseat of his car.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

“Uber for Y/N?” you ask, stumbling into the backseat. “Thanks. God, you wouldn’t believe the night I’ve had.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the man, Ian according to the information on the app, gasps.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” You’re a wreck; makeup running, clothes damp from the rain peppering on the window. The last thing you want is some hot guy as your driver for the short journey back to your apartment but at this point you can’t muster the energy to care.

“Uhhh—”

“You probably don’t want to hear about my shitty night.”

“Well that and—” he starts, cut off before he can say more by your tipsy motormouth.

“Where does a man get off telling me he isn’t interested in gold diggers when he’s a public school teacher? No offense but what gold?” you ramble. “Not to mention, when I told the waiter to split the bill he asked if I thought he didn’t have any money. Like make up your mind dude.”

“What the fuck?” he asks lowly.

You nod in agreement, hands thrown wide in exasperation. “That’s what I’m saying!”

“That’s fucked up.”

The thickness of his voice doesn’t register in your mind, a broken edgy scratching at the edges of your brain but it doesn’t signal any significant interest “Oh, that's not even the worst part.”

“There’s more?”

“He said ‘I asked too many personal questions.’”

“Like?”

“What he liked to do for fun, if he’s originally from the city, do you like dogs or cats? Literally anything I could think of because apparently he’s allergic to carrying a conversation.” In your hand, your phone rings with an unsaved number. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is your Uber. Did you mean to cancel your ride?”

“What?”

“Ian from Uber? I’ve been circling the block and haven’t found you and you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Oh! I’m sorry I’ll just—cancel. Yep. Bye.” You stare at the equelly unease expression on Not-Uber Driver Ian’s face, muddled brain racing. If he isn’t your driver that means you got into the car with a random man.

“Who the fuck are you?” you scream.

“Who the fuck are you?” he yells back.

You fiddle with the door handle, unable to grab a hold with shaky hands. “Oh my god, you’re a kidnapper.”

“I’m not a kidnapper!”

“That’s what a kidnapper would say!” You fumble for the pepper spray in your bag only to find it absent. It’s not your usual bag. It’s the nicer one that barely fits your phone and chapstick. Damn it.

“YOU GOT IN MY CAR,” he argues.

He makes a good point. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I tried but you talk a lot.”

Another good point.

“Oh my god, what the hell,” you gasp. “Why are you sitting here with the doors unlocked? I could have robbed you.”

“I used my last five bucks to buy this ice cream. Just kill me instead.”

You balk. “That’s so sad.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.”

“You’re a horrible kidnapper.”

“And you’re a pretty shitty carjacker so I’d say we’re even.”

If he was dangerous he's had plenty of time to prove it. Instead, when he looks back over the center console, all you see is the red rimmed eyes of a kicked puppy with a bird nest for hair. A ridiculous expression for a man of his size but you pity him nonetheless. He’s harmless. Pathetic. But harmless.

There’s a story about him and you’ve always been curious. “Okay, not-Ian, why are you sitting in a parking lot eating ice cream on a Friday night? Kidnapper thing aside, this is just sad.”

He’s hot. Even in nothing but sweats and his own misery. The intimidating kind of handsome that people, men and women, pine over. Hand themselves over on a silver platter if he so much as asked.

“Thanks,” he grunts, going for another spoon of ice cream.

“So why are you upset?” The rain outside intensifies, setting the scene to bare your souls in his cramped Toyota.

“Ugh…” he hesitates.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I don’t think it can be any more embarrassing than what I just went through.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Why not? If it’s more embarrassing then I won’t steal a bite. Is that chocolate?”

“Cookie dough,” he corrects. “This girl I’ve been talking to ditched me.”

“Because?”

He prepares with a deep breath, steeling himself against whatever motive his fling had. “I’m a virgin.”

“What?” you ask dumbly. Virgin.

Chin tipped back, he swipes at his face in embarrassment. “I told you it's embarrassing.”

“You’re eating your feelings because you’re a virgin?”

“Yes.” He waits for your interjection. When it doesn’t come he hesitantly continues. “And the last person I told laughed in my face and started hooking up with my roommate. So…”

“What a bitch.”

“Yeah. People just assume I’m some kind of man whore.” He explains, head banging against the wheel. “But I’ve never done anything besides… ya know?”

“I have no idea, complete stranger.”

“Like hand stuff.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely a virgin,” you snort. “Move over, I’m coming up.”

Shimmying into the front seat takes more coordination than you’re prepared for. The hem of your dress rises to brazen heights, a draft curling around the edge of your panties. Its a feeling you assumed would be happening with your date and not in the car with a random stranger. But beggars can’t be choosers. At least it’s good ice cream.

He pointedly avoids looking anywhere close to your legs. Polite. Innocent. Virginal. How cute.

“Thank you. That makes me feel so much better.” His eyes roll as you settle into the passenger seat, snatching the container and taking a bite from the same spoon he’d been using.

“Sorry,” you say after swallowing. “Is it because you don’t want to? Because that girl can go fuck herself then.”

“No, I just, I don’t know. I get nervous? They’re expecting someone who knows what they’re doing and I have no idea. And then all I can think about is what if I’m bad at it which makes me more nervous and then I feel like throwing up.”

“Please tell me you haven’t thrown up on a girl.”

“Ew, no,” he laughs, taking a bite for himself. “I just make an excuse to slow down and then leave.”

“Okay. Well…” You try to think of something, anything, that could make him feel better. It’s not everyday a stranger spills their guts about lacking sexual experience. “So what if you’re bad? It’s not like you can’t get better.”

“Okay, but what girl wants to sleep with a guy who’s bad in bed?”

“How do you know you’re bad if you’ve never even tried? It’s different if you’re bad and you don’t care. Just tell whoever you're with you’ve never done it before. If they don’t jump at the chance to teach you then they can fuck off.”

“Well, Mina rubbed my face in it—”

“Oh fuck her. She seems like a bitch.”

“You’re not wrong,” he says.

Rain drizzles on the windshield, obscuring the lights into messy streaks. A flood of memories surrounding your own virginity rush to the forefront.

Your college boyfriend, Jimin, wanted to wait. It was cute. High school sweethearts going to the same school, taking similar classes, holding hands in the library. You thought he wasn’t ready and you respected it, found it endearing that he wasn’t like most of the guys your friends dated that couldn’t wait to do it.

Or you did until you decided to surprise Jimin for his birthday with breakfast in bed and got your own surprise. A girl, naked in his bed, Jimin’s own clothes scattered around the room.

You broke up with him right there. Two days of crying later, you invited your lab partner, the one Jimin couldn’t stand, over.

It was Yoongi that sent a selfie of you two cuddled up in bed to Jimin. He still likes to cash in on that favor whenever he needs a dog sitter.

Yoongi knew there were no feelings involved. A simple favor in the form of revenge against a shitty ex. Maybe not-Ian is your chance to pay it forward. By the looks of things, you wouldn’t be suffering.

“Ya know, some girls like guys who are inexperienced. It’s hot knowing you can teach someone how to be good in bed. Like an ego boost.” You shrug. If he wasn’t looking at your legs before but he sure is now. Pink ears and round eyes, his fingers twitch in his lap as you suck the spoon clean. At least the hour spent shaving your legs isn’t going to waste. “Besides, you obviously care how the other person feels, which is more than some dudes.”

“Why would someone not care if the other person feels good?” he asks, tone laced with disgust. “That seems like the entire point.”

“The world is full of mysteries.”

“My name is Jungkook by the way.”

Jungkook. Fitting somehow. It tastes good on your tongue. Like the cookie dough ice cream.

“Y/N.”

You end up in his lap in true stereotypical fashion. A too long silence, his eyes on your mouth and yours on his. Someone leans forward and now you know Jungkook is a great kisser with even greater upper body strength.

His inexperience shows in the fine details: shaky hands, hesitant tongue, waiting for you to take the lead as not to offend. It’s endearing. Someone as big as him treating you with such gentleness. But it means he’s thinking about messing this up and that’s the opposite of what you want.

You kiss him deeper, a grip on the side of his neck that he eagerly surrenders too. Your other hand wedges between your chests. Teeth nipping at his lip, you rock against him, palming against the soft cotton sweats until he’s plump in your hand.

“God,” he chokes. His own hands busy themself on your body, one at the seat of your ass, teasing the edge of your dress where bare skin peaks out while the offers a tight grip at your chest, pinching your nipple in desperate retaliation.

“Feel good?” You rut again, a tease for your own pleasure in the form of Jungkook’s heavy breath. It’s decent contact on your core, not enough to get you off but plenty for right now.

Kissing is well in his realm of experience. Obvious from how quickly he finds his bearings, licking behind your teeth. It’s good. Better than dry humping his thigh in the front seat should be. Vision dark from his hands frantic at your ass, thighs rising to meet every torturous curl against the heat of his lap.

You fall into his shoulder, drool staining his sweater as you pant. “Ever had your dick sucked?”

“No.”

A vein raises across his neck and becomes your new guidemap. Your hand at his crotch squeezes, his cock twitching at the action. “Do you want to?”

“You don’t have to,” he hisses.

You squeeze his cock again, enough for a needy drive of his hips in response. “I want to.”

“Seriously?” he marvels.

“If it’s cool with you.” You nose along his jaw, teeth scraping red over his skin. His stomach dips under your hand. “Get in the back, I don’t need to get caught with your dick in my mouth.”

“Holy shit, don’t say that.” He kisses you again, firmer this time.

You crawl back through the narrow opening between the front seats, ass on full display for Jungkook’s eyes. The heat of his palm ghosts over your legs but he doesn’t touch. The deliberate arch in your spine isn’t enough to break his self control just yet.

He comes next. The struggle is endearing, half stuck between the seats and wiggling forward. “I think I’m stuck.”

“Why didn’t you just go around?” You snort, grabbing around his arms and pulling to no avail.

“Too late now.”

You're both laughing. Breathless because Jungkook is lodged between the seats with zero hope. “Why are you so heavy?”

He wiggles through with your help, nearly elbowing you in the head in the process. But he’s in the seat with his lap as prime real estate. You try to commandeer the space once again but Jungkook stops you. Instead, he settles between your legs, weight pinning you into the door. Broad shoulders block out the light but you take it in stride, fisting the back of his sweater as he finds your pulse.

“Can I go down on you?” He nuzzles down your throat, mouthing the spots he’s learning make you putty in his hands.

“Yeah, sure,” you hiccup. “That’s fine.”

Jungkook crams between your legs, bending in half on the floor like a contortionist. The sparse kisses across your thighs would be a blatant tease if nervousness wasn’t rolling off him in waves. He’s eating pussy for the first time and acting like it’s open heart surgery.

“Calm down.” You brush a hand through his hair, attempting to be comforting.

“I am calm.” A bold faced lie. Even in the darkness of the backseat the signs of his impending nerves are obvious.

“You’re shaking,” you say. “I’ll tell you what feels good. You’re not gonna mess it up.”

An open mouth on your core kiss leaves you sweating with a weak hum. At least he knows where the clit is. Or has a vague idea of its presence. Jungkook presses his face further into the cotton, suffocating himself without realizing.

“O-oh,” you hitch.

Humiliation brews from such a visceral reaction to something as basic as a kiss over your panties. But Jungkook is out of his depth here and any reaction will stroke his confidence.

He ducks away, watching you with rapt attention. You’re the teacher and he’s a student eager for whatever validation that may fall from your lips. “Good?”

“Yeah, do it again,” you praise.

He nods before diving back in, throwing your legs over his shoulders for better reach. Your pulse jumps with juvenile eagerness. Like it’s the first time you’re left with a boy unsupervised and his hand is the first real thing to touch you between the legs. It makes you feel dirty. Has your hairline sweat and tongue go dry. A bold wash of his tongue couples the next kiss, hot and wet as he laps against the fabric until your own arousal mixes with spit.

"You fucking liar,” you croak. The back of your head knocks against the window, hips rolling into his mouth.

"What?” Jungkook asks, leaning back but just barely. His breath fans over your skin, a shiver crawling up your spine. “Did I do something—"

“It’s good. So good,” you praise. “Touch me more.”

He jumps at the chance. Your panties tear down your thighs, out of the way with some rough maneuvering. Bare for his eyes, Jungkook takes more than a fill before diving in for another taste. But not until he spits on your clit and rubs in the mess with his thumb. Your thighs spread wider to accommodate a hard pass of his mouth, more wet kisses burning your cheeks.

“Jungkook, fuck,” you sigh. “When you said ‘hand stuff’ what did you mean?”

“I’ve touched a vagina before if that's what you're asking.”

You swat his hand. “Don’t say vagina, it makes me feel like I’m at the gynecologist.”

“Sorry, a pussy.”

“Don’t say it like that either, weirdo. Have you fingered one?”

Pointed silence is answer enough.

“It’s okay. I’m not gonna make fun of you. Just don’t put a finger in my ass and you’ll be fine.”

He doesn't laugh at your poor attempt to cut the tension but he releases a weighted sigh, muscles sagging an inch. Better. Instead, he focuses on stroking you to life between your folds, fingertips nudging your bud teasingly.

“Use your mouth some more and then finger me too,” you beg.

“Uh—how many? I don't wanna hurt you." He’s unsure despite the obvious twitch in your thighs. It burns depravity through your veins. His innocence is hot. Jungkook doesn’t even realize how fucked up he has you from some softcore porn level touching.

"All of them. I don't care, I’ll tell you if it’s too much."

One hand firm on your stomach, keeping your dress out of the way as he spreads your insides with two. The first strokes are meek. Nothing to scream over but he’s learning and that’s what's important. Seconds tick by and Jungkook finds a hesitant rhythm. Wet noises echo with each slow sheath, reserved but stretching you all the same. The wet strokes of his tongue are there too, placating just in case. A soft curl of his fingers makes your hips cant into his mouth.

The fogged windows are a dead give away to what's playing out in the backseat. If anyone stumbles down the sidewalk then you’re both dead but Jungkook’s mouth is distracting in the worst way.

And then he licks between his fingers, tongue slipping past his knuckles for a pure taste of your arousal. You go fuzzy at the edges, thighs squeezing tight until he’s forced to keep them spread or risk having his head crushed.

“Oh–fuck me, god.”

It’s not fair. For him to be good at this so quickly. To delude himself into thinking he could possibly be bad, trying to convince you he’d be bad. Complete unfair how ill prepared you were for Jungkook worshiping your pussy like he’s never tasted anything better.

He really needs to be more confident because, in the cramped back seat of his car, you’re losing your mind and it’s barely been ten minutes.

“Can I—” he asks around your clit.

“Do whatever you want, just don’t stop,” you ramble. “Jungkook, fuck.”

A hand of your own sinks into his hair, angling his chin for better access. Wet echoes fill the car, sharp mewls from your lips adding to the noise. Nerves blazing, your ride his mouth for all its worth. Eager slippery circles of his tongue against your clit intensify, built on praising moans of his name.

“Fuck. Tastes good,” he grunts. A squeeze of your hand, the one not pulling his hair and then he’s finding your chest, blind groping until you guide him to your nipple and curve into the sting of his grip. He twists it. Hard.

You want to cry. The sweat suck of his mouth, fingers confidently curling it that spot that makes the air thinner in your lungs. Moans die between your teeth. Too quick into the next sensation to revel. There isn’t a thought other than Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook.

“Jungkook!” you cry, grinding into his fingers. Your teeth clench as a third one stretches that extra inch. Stiff in the thighs, you force yourself down into the friction. His tongue hardens, perfect for use as you hump his face weakly.

Your legs kick, scrambling under the sharp pleasure. He’s got you melting into nothing right on his carseat. Jungkook doesn’t lean back to ask for more confirmation; just takes the signs for what they are and keeps going with renewed stamina at the promise of your pleasure.

“I’m gonna—oh, god. Yessss,” you hiss. Nails sharp against the back of his neck, Jungkook buries his face in your cunt.

You go rigid, voice breaking into a desperate whimper. Jungkook has the sense to keep going, lashing at your clit over and over with each desperate pulse of pleasure through your veins. Flashes flare behind the darkness of your eyes squeezed tight. You make a few more desperate noises, lurching in his hold before falling lip and worn.

“Fuck, okay. Okay,” you whine, pushing him away from your core before the stimulation becomes too much.

His mouth is drenched, cheeks and chin smeared with your orgasm. A flash of tongue collects some of the mess but you drag him into a kiss before he can go for seconds. First time eating pussy and he’s one for one. If that doesn’t help his confidence then nothing else will.

“Give me a second and I’ll blow you,” you pant into his lips.

“I-it’s okay.”

You pout at the brush off, a deep kiss as you invade his space. “I promise I want to.”

Your hand goes for his pants just to be captured with his own. His fingers are still soaked from your insides. “No, I…I came too.”

“Really?” you ask in awe.

Jungkook is embarrassed again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. That’s hot.” You kiss him again with a gentle suckle along the curve of his lower lip. Jungkook drinks it in, crowding you back into the door again like you aren’t a pile of mush. Your back hurts from hunching over for so long but you let him keep you tangled up for a little while longer just to feel the shuddering exhale from his nose across your cheek. “Can I see?”

He swallows thickly before rolling down his sweats. The thin fabric of his boxers are wet, sticky under your shaky hand. You dip below the waist band, fingers grazing the limp ridge of his cock. He’s stuck in the inbetween of soft and hard but still hot and heavy in your hold. Your core throbs in interest at the feeling.

Jungkook shivers as you swipe at the slit, collecting a bead of cum. You want to get your mouth on him but he looks like he might cry if you keep playing with it.

When your hand retreats, rising to your lips for a taste, his eyes round, mouth gaping over silent words. The pink of your tongue comes out, lapping at the thick mess coating your thumb.

“Is it okay if I get your number?” he asks after the initial shock wears away.

“Yeah,” you snort. “You can have my number. You can give me a ride home too. And we can do that again in my bed.”

The glee on his face is worth the disgusting mess between your thighs. “Hell yeah.”

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@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @writingbarnes

@dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts @wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos

@seungkw1 @horanghaezone @jespecially @scoupsjin @isabellah29

@luvseungcheol @crisle19

#ksmutsociety #kvanity #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #JK smut #bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #svt x reader #🫡 highvern

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jeongin-lvr · 10 months

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💭 ׄ ︵͡ a little crush, c. beomgyu

꒰ 🗯️ ꒱ 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖻𝗌𝖿！𝖻𝖾𝗈𝗆𝗀𝗒𝗎，𝖿𝗐𝖻？𝖬𝖤𝖠𝖭 𝖡𝖤𝖮𝖬𝖦𝖸𝖴 𝖲𝖴𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖠𝖢𝖸，𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋! 𝗒𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗇 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖿𝗅𝗒，𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖾𝗑𝗁𝗂𝖻𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗆，𝖽𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝖿 𝗎 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗍？𝗀𝗒𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖺��𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗅𝗎𝗍，𝖻𝖺𝖽／𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅，𝖾𝗍𝖼，𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀，𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽．edited！

[ 𝟣．𝟥𝗄 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 ] ❤︎︎ [ 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 ] ❤︎︎ [ 𝗆．𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ]

"𝗦𝗛𝗨𝗧 𝗨𝗣," Beomgyu’s voice was hoarse and tired but his movements and touch was quite the opposite. Hands clawing and handling your figure as he pressed your face into the pillow in your bed. But no matter how much you hissed at you to stay quiet, with the way he was fucking into you from behind, you quite literally couldn't.

Your fingers desperately grasped onto the white bedsheets, eyes fluttering shut and brimming with thick, hot tears. Beomgyu’s rough hands angled your ass just right, hand on the back of your head and pressing you into the pillow with need; the deeper he fucked, the more he pushed you into the mattress below.

"G－Gyu!" Your muffled voice coming out in a whiny tone, despite the thickness of the pillow muffling your words, your voice was loud and only getting louder, "So... f-fucking deep—"

"Do you want Yeonjunnie to hear? Hm? You fucking slut, you want your big brother to catch you getting fucked by his best friend?" Beomgyu taunted, knowing it only fueled the fire rather than tame it. But a sick, sick part of him loved the thrill of it. Of never knowing when the two of you are going to be caught in the act.

It's the 3rd night in a row he's been staying at your house, for Yeonjun of course. Best friends, as they always said. Beomgyu was his best friend. You grew up thinking Beomgyu was the prettiest boy ever, always having a tiny crush on him (actually massive but you won't admit it). Seeing him every weekend was both the highlight and worst day of the week because of how nervous he made you — almost sickeningly to the point of tears.

When he joined soccer, your brother joined too which meant you went to all his games. You saw every time he’d run and laugh while you silently cheered off to the side. You saw him sweat and each time he lifted his shirt you damn near passed out. When Beomgyu had crushes you'd envy whatever girl he'd be swooning for. You knew he only saw you as the little nuisance Yeonjun had around; the sister, you thought. That was all. Apparently a one year age difference was enough to stop the world.

But not anymore. Not since you started college and every night you'd come home to Yeonjun and Beomgyu, also in college, mostly fucking around doing whatever boys do. Beomgyu suddenly caught a liking to you— his eyes following your movements with anything you did. And of course you noticed because, well, that's the guy you've been longing for practically your entire life. Every first you wished it was him, every crush was nothing compared to the desire you had for him. Obviously, the crush shrunk as the years went on, but there was always a part of you that begged for him.

He caught you in the kitchen one day. Your back turned so you didn't immediately see him. You were simply finishing up the dishes, wiping away the wetness on your hand and placing the last plate on the drying rack. Suddenly, two hands were pinning you to the sink, two very large hands on either side of your body, a low tone filling your ears.

"I heard you have a little crush."

And the rest was history.

"N-no! Can't help it, m'sorry— oh!" A particularly sharp thrust stabbed at your g-spot, the fluttering sensitivity making your eyes fall shut and your heart pound through your ears, "Beomgyu!" You cried out his name and in an instant his hand was pushing your head deeper into the pillow, stuffing your mouth with the cotton and letting the soft, suffocating fabric lull your voice.

"Then fucking learn," He growled into your ear as he let you up for air, whispers sharp as knives. And with that he began to fuck into your ass quicker, watching with wild eyes as your wet pussy devoured his cock with every pump. The precum dripping everywhere onto the sheets, down your thighs, even on his lower abdomen, everything was drenched, "Look at this fucking mess. Noisy and a messy girl... don't you have any manners?"

You cried, letting a pleasurable tear drip down your face and into your mouth. Beomgyu snickered sadistically, kissing the tear streak in a surprisingly soft way, going to your ear, "Bad girl, aren't you?"

There was a shuffling outside your bedroom door and within an instant your head shot up, eyes wild and wide. High alert as you tried to fight against Beomgyu's dominant hand, alas, he won, keeping your hair wrapped in his hand while his dick still fervently filled you up.

"W-who is it?" You blubbered out behind a hiccup, struggling to stay up and coherent. Beomgyu watched with intrigue, tongue flicking across his upper lip.

Yeonjun's voice was apparent and you had to curse yourself instantly, "Yeonjun. Y/n, everything okay in there? I thought I heard crying."

You instantly tried cover for yourself, "No, I'm fine! My b-back is just—" Beomgyu slammed into you, the wet slap of bodies meeting making you jolt and almost moan out, stopping yourself before the lewd sound left your lips, "It's s-sore."

Yeonjun shuffled but never left, "Are you sure? Can I come it to che—"

"No, no I-I'm fine!" You begged desperately, not wanting your brother to catch you being ruined by his own best friend.

"Oh...kay, then have you seen Beomgyu? He said he had to piss and then he disappeared," Yeonjun half snickered with obvious concern and confusion in his voice.

Beomgyu bent to your ear, tugging your head to the side, "Why don't you tell him how he's fucking into your pretty cunt right now, hm, love?"

You shook your head with teary eyes, cheeks red and eyes blurry from tears, "G—Gyu... can't!" You tried to whisper but it came out more as a incoherent babble of moans.

"What's that, Y/n?" Yeonjun questioned.

"N-nothing, I haven't seen him, Jun! F-fuck," You struggled against your own tongue, unraveling around Beomgyu’s dick piece by piece until you shivered and shook. Then you felt yourself cream around him, the hot nectar dripping down your thighs seamlessly in thick globs. Beomgyu felt you fall apart, pressing your entire face into the pillow and heaving out, begging you to stay quiet. Yet, there was that sinister smirk on his angular features.

"I'll go look for him!" Yeonjun called just as you unwinded and broke, shaking violently around Beomgyu’s cock with wavering consciousness.

Beomgyu cooed, "Hm, such a slut aren't you? Cumming before I even said you could? And with your brother right there... fucking whore."

You sobbed, reaching for his hand desperately, which he accepted. There was a soft moment shared as your fingers interlocked and he remained buried deep in your throbbing cunt. Then Beomgyu moved again, making you sputter and shake with overstimulation.

"I didn't say I was done, did I?" Beomgyu snickered, squeezing your hand as you listened to the tapping feet of Yeonjun just outside, searching for the very man ruining your organs at the moment.

#feat. beomgyu .ᐟ #beomgyu choi #choi beomgyu #txt beomgyu #tomorrow by together #tomorrow x together #txt x reader #txt fluff #txt fanfic #txt smut #txt imagine #txt yeonjun #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu #beomgyu smut #beomgyu oneshot #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu hard thoughts

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hazelfoureyes · 6 months

Text

A Doe in Fall (part 4)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds

Part 4 Enough

Alastor struggled with the prior expectations others had of him, but you eased them away with gentle hands. And to your great comfort, Tommy’s absence is noticed but not entirely shocking to anyone. With that concern behind him, finally, Alastor gives in to his own selfish wants and asks for your help with his “work.”

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, No smut! No pussy eating! No fingering! It took away from the important events and Alastor’s mental health (I know he’s not real but he’s KINDA REAL?) so I didn’t include it. Next time! , Murder, dead bodies, allusions to bad things by bad men, Alastor has had bad times and will have bad times, bad kind of choking, domestic shit, Detective Brady, Obvious Sin」

You let Alastor start the shower, remembering people often complaining you turned it too hot. Stepping into the tub and drawing the curtain around, you told him to face the water so you could clean his back. It wasn’t dirty, you just wanted an excuse to touch and stare.

A moment of silence, you were a little scared to speak but had a question burning a hole in your pocket, “Do you like sex?” You ran the bar of soap down his back, no wash cloth in sight.

“It’s … pleasurable.”

Your mouth twisted, “I thought maybe…it didn’t work.”

He laughed, “You wouldn’t be the first. Works fine. I just don’t care to use it much. I don’t-“ a pause, he considered how to say it as he had never said it out loud before, “I don’t see the appeal, typically. There’s better ways to enjoy my time and chase pleasures than sweating over a stranger,” The word stranger floated in the air around you. Alastor felt the need to push it away, dispel it as quickly as he could, “Dancing is basically the same thing, which seems to be the issue with current society.”

“I can respect that. Well, I’m relieved you aren’t dependent on murder for an erection because I don’t think I can hide that many bodies.” A chuckle from him, but you grimaced. Not now, don’t joke now. Stop hiding from the uncomfortable vulnerability of blunt honesty. You were glad he couldn’t see your face, resting your head between his shoulder blades as you lazily washed his lower back and down, “Don’t push yourself. I know I’ve been-,”

“Affectionate?”

“Aggressive.” You winced, “your word is better. Just, I wont… I can't enjoy something you don’t want.” Your traced circles onto his skin, “I can't get my rocks off to someone’s bad time.” A smile you couldn’t see, small and warm. “I hope it’s obvious I won’t go anywhere.”

He laughed louder, offending you a little.

“Sorry, it’s just— yes that’s been made clear. I quite literally told you to stop following me and somehow here we are.” He looked over his shoulder at you and gestured for the soap. You shook your head no.

“Turn around.”

He paused.

“Not— not like that. Unless you want me to?” You would drop to your knees so fast you would damage the tub if he said yes.

“I’m good dear, thank you.”

The tub was safe.

You took your time, covering his chest in suds, his arms, his sides. You did get on your knees after all to wash his feet, his calves, his thighs. You stopped short of going any higher.

He looked down right bashful. It was so cute you wanted to shove your face into his crotch and scream.

Alastor wasn’t used to people handling him. Not outside of uncomfortable situations. The order of events typically went as follows:

Date makes a move. Alastor politely redirects. Date gets annoyed because it’s not the first time he’s done this. Alastor offers other ways to please them, be it his hands or his mouth. They either get sad (‘You think I’m repulsive, don’t you?!’) or angry (‘What kind of man are you?’).

If he didn’t find them worth the effort, he would simply end the date then and there. But if he liked them enough, enjoyed their company enough, needed them for some purpose enough, he would acquiesce. They would touch him, and he would react like the touch-me-not plant he used to harass as a child, moving without thought from the stimulation. And he’d think about more engaging things until he got them to finish or he could say he did.

And it would buy a little more time with good enough affection and good enough company and good enough reasons.

Good enough. ‘Enough’ was right there in the phrase.

And then it would repeat until someone gave up.

When he didn’t move or reply as your hands sat where his thighs met his hips, lost in some train of thought, you left it be and stood. Lathering your hands, “One spot left!”

He suddenly looked so tired, eyebrows rising as if to ask you ‘what’s that?’ yet the dullness of his eyes indicated he wasn’t actually asking.

But like a fall from a mildly scary height into the sea, thrilling but safe, he tensed as your hands moved. When you began to wash his face, he hit the water feet first. His shoulders noticeably relaxed, and you thought you saw his chin shake a little, but you let it go to rub circles on his cheeks. You got behind his ears and under his chin. You tried to make a mustache but the soap didn’t lather well enough for that.

“You’re not missing out. I don't look good in facial hair.” He said, and you believed it.

You handed him the soap and let him finish cleaning himself, trying to steal looks without being too obvious. Making a mental note to yourself for every piece of him to compliment later when he was more comfortable.

It tickled when he washed you, those soft fingers making bubbles across your skin. The steam was dampening his hair. Ah, you just noticed he wasn’t wearing glasses.

“Can you see? Without the glasses?” He was down now, cleaning your already clean legs.

“Ah, well, no.”

You held up 7 fingers.

He squinted then made his eyes wide, “Hmm…. Two hands.” You pushed him down with your foot to his chest, him catching himself with his arm. “At least I didn’t say three, dear.”

You play kicked, “Unfunny!”

When he laughed now he looked boyish. His laughter bright as a bell. It was so jarring that it made your subconscious remind you of the dead man lying in the other room. The juxtaposition impossible to ignore.

Alastor noticed the shift in the air, getting up and setting the soap down on the lip of the tub. His hands rubbed your cheeks, your chin, your nose.

“You can leave after you’re all cleaned and dressed.” He was looking at your nose as he spoke.

“I can do anything I damn well want.” Your eyes skirted around his face before making him meet your gaze, “Atleast to the car. Okay?” Suddenly insecure about how aggressive you were, “Please.”

Alastor nodded, could he see your smile? You could see his.

It was unspoken, and somehow equally shocking as the night you grabbed a dead man by the legs, that you dressed each other. Domestic was the only word for it and it was downright frightening for you.

But your body didn’t stop, some magnets in your fingertips drawn to the buttons of his shirt, to the collar you adjusted, to his glasses that you rested on the bridge of his nose.

Alastor hadn’t any idea what he was doing, perhaps his mother had told him to do this and he had long forgotten it. Maybe he saw it in a movie. Or read it in a book. But gingerly, as you sat on a side of the bed away from Tommy, he knelt and rolled up your stockings, watching as you clipped them to the garter belt. He slipped on your shoes and took your hand to help you stand. As you put on your dress his hands took the buttons at the bottom and yours took the top, meeting in the center. His newly clean fingers straightened out the wrinkles.

He avoided looking you in the eyes, something heavy in the space between you two telling him the air might catch fire if he did. He didn’t know what that meant, and he had done enough new things for one evening.

“Can I ask you something?” He took the twine that tied the clothes together and began looping it through eyelets in the canvas.

“Of course.” He could ask you anything, if you answered was still up in the air.

“Why did you work for a man like that?” Continuing to avoid your face, he busied himself with drawing the sides and corners of the canvas up like a giant sachet.

A good question. One you would think he’d have asked before the murder. “He wasn’t like that before. This whole… thing was a recent shift. I know it was gambling but I think he was getting into some hard drugs too. His behavior had just gotten erratic.”

He tied the twine tightly, “It seemed impulse control was an issue for him, given his brief conversation with me. This-,” he pointed at you, suddenly full of passion again, “This is what I meant. I don’t talk to men for long. What a terrible conversation that was.” You fought back a smile. “Was he bragging? You wouldn’t believe the number of men— well I suppose yes you would.” He pushed up his sleeves and held them in place with arm bands, “If that is the typical sexual tendencies of men then I’m glad to see I evolved past it.” Alastor was spewing a stream of consciousness that even you could tell was out of character.

Or perhaps, “I have a feeling you’d be saying all this if I were here or not.” You stared down at the canvas bundle.

That smile again, “Normally it’s under my breath but— they don’t seem to mind!” He gave the bundle a tug, checking for the sturdiness of the twine.“So, usually I do this closer to the car…”

It was unladylike and you loved it, legs open wide as you lifted your half of the bloody package. You lumbered down the tight stairwell as he went backwards, insisting it was the gentlemanly thing to do. There was a moment you were alone at the bottom of the stairs as Alastor brought the car around. You gave the body a little kick, “Why’d you have to go and be such an ass?” Mumbled under your breath like a professional.

As you both stood there, trunk full of Tommy between you, you were unaware of what little wildfires you’d set off in the other.

Alastor felt his stomach flipping, an impulse to grab your face with both hands and kiss you making his fingers tap the roof of the car. He was worried if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop. An issue he had never had before, but it still felt like an issue nonetheless. It was, wasn’t it? An issue?

Something in you felt like the good wife in the doorway, waving your darling off to work in the morning. Wanting to plant a kiss on his cheek and straighten his bow tie. If you’d seen a neighbor do it you’d roll your eyes and fake a gag, but you wanted to give it to him. You wanted to give him consistent adoration he could rely on and that was the only example you could think of. A nervous hand considered clawing the feeling out of your chest entirely.

You both decided to play it cool, Alastor dialling back the urge and planting a single kiss to your nose. You hummed, “If anyone asks…”

“You saw Tommy take the cash and leave.” Alastor said quickly, so confident you could believe maybe you had.

You nodded. Biting your bottom lip you stopped the urge to offer more help. Trust needed to exist that he’d ask for it if he wanted to.

Maybe your face was losing its skill, mask dissolving under the events of the night, because a grin spread across his face, “Baby steps.”

Always scared of letting him slip through your fingers, you tried to hide how badly you needed another date to look forward to. Pursing your lips, “Speaking of, we’ve checked off public acts of indecency, a dance hall romp, and now some gentle sex near a formerly living man. Would you like to get coffee this week?”

“In the daytime?” False incredulity

“Fully clothed.” You added.

If he hadn’t stifled his laughter, it could have been dangerous, “Scandalous.” A small panic, he hadn’t actually agreed yet. An unfamiliar feeling of insecurity came down on you like a mistimed curtain fall.

“I’ll need a few days…Saturday, at ten, the little cafe at the west entrance of our favorite park?”

Our. Your knees buckled a little.

“Sounds positively deviant. I’ll be there with bells on.” Why was your heart pounding now. Why now?

“It’s a date then.” A kiss to your cheek, he tensed, holding back. “Can I drive you home?,” it was spoken into your skin. His lips not leaving your face.

“I have to go back in. Tell everyone how much of an ass Tommy is for leaving me all alone with that wealthy bore.” Your cheek leaned into his kiss. His lips dragged across your skin to find your mouth, still open.

He exhaled, shakey and slow. Your eyes saw something new; dilated pupils staring down at you. A heat was pooling in your lap again, never so receptive to a pair of eyes before.

“Should I come back?” He knew he shouldn’t.

Luckily so did you. “You know I’m not far from here. Just get home, or wherever you're going, safely.” He finally let his mouth capture yours, his hands roaming the soft fabric of your dress. Red, smooth, warm. You broke away, pulling from some well of strength you didn’t know you had, “If the girls see— there’s no motive quite like a jealous man.”

That grin erupted, beaming a toothy smile that warmed you to your core, “Endlessly fascinating.” His fingers lingered on you until they were pulled away by the limits of his reach, him backing up to the car door, “Be safe. Good night.”

Your legs crossed one in front of the other, had a man ever considered your safety enough to say it out loud? Without adding some patronizing addition like “little lady” or “pretty thing” to it that felt more like an admission of intent? “Good night.”

Alastor rode home in silence, sometimes so lost in thought he would snap back to reality and realize he had no idea how long he had been driving. It would take a second but he would confirm he was still on the right path.

It was too soon to bring you to his home. He knew that was a logical statement. However, every other part of him wanted to carry you over his shoulder into his house and show you around, excited to hear your responses to the details of his safe harbor. He could cook for you. You two could push the sofa back and dance in the sitting room. The back porch was lovely for early morning reading.

An incorporeal pain tore through his stomach.

Hands gripping the steering wheel, bright eyes popping up from the tall grass as he rumbled past.

He was getting ahead of himself again. All of the idioms he was taught were going up in flames.

‘Don’t put the cart before the horse.’

Unfortunately he had guilded the cart as well, so weighted with the gold of his hopes he was worried the axis would snap.

‘Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.’

He had saddled you with an entire coop of his joy. Unfair and unwise.

‘Pearls before swine’

He was, like many men, reduced to a greedy mouthed animal at your feet, incapable of appreciating your attention as it should be. But he didn’t want you to stop. Perhaps a pig could learn?

So much for evolved.

As he pulled into the dirt driveway of what was his father’s home, then his mother’s home, now his own, he wondered what your first thoughts would be. Would you like it? Were you expecting something grander? Something shiny and new?

When he was backed up to the greenhouse he rested his head against the steering wheel.

The smell of the soap was heating up with his thoughts, remembering your hands. You smelled the same now tonight, the same soap. What an intimate thing to share. Could he ever hope to share such things with someone, or was it foolish to spend time thinking about it?

Alastor would give nearly anything to share a set of plates with someone gentle, to have a set of hand towels in the bathroom for himself and someone patient, to warm two mugs in the morning with coffee for himself and someone understanding.

A secret little dream he threw away shortly after entering adulthood. Which was fine for him. If having those niceties meant having to fake that a part of himself mattered more than it did, he didn’t want them. Not that much. He was already putting on a show outside, he couldn’t bring the audience into his home. His mother’s home.

As he grappled with Tommy’s impromptu shroud, he considered his outward image.

He was proud of it. He chose to have it, it was a tool that got him far in life and elevated his status. No qualms. Just, when you expect to do something all of your life alone, it’s foundation shaking to learn perhaps you didn’t have to.

He had convinced himself he preferred to be alone. But now it seemed maybe he had been lying to himself. At some point he confused accepting a situation with preferring it.

He stared down at Tommy’s pale face, clothes dirty and body stiffening on the metal work station of the greenhouse. He probably would never have learned about Tommy if not for you. No rumors or whispers or warnings about a theater manager abusing the artists in his employ were floating around.

Again, he felt his chest tightening. It didn’t matter if he had had the man already in his sights or not. He would have killed him. Alastor ran his hands through his hair. Would you have stopped him, would he have let you, if you swore Tommy didn’t deserve to die?

No. A silly rhetorical. Had you begged on your knees with tear stained eyes he’d have kissed your cheeks and said whatever you asked to hear. And then he would wait for Tommy to be alone in a dark place like he did the others. And he would avoid looking you in the eye for as long as he had to, until you forgot about the former employer.

With a single and soft clap of his hands he shut his mind off and went about his work. Now wasn't the time for questions and what-ifs. He needed to make Tommy disappear as soon as possible. He didn’t usually kill so close together in time. A brief thought slipped through the cracks of his walls, This would be easier with help.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

No one noticed Tommy was missing until the following night. But given he’d gotten a considerable payday Monday the staff just assumed he was off snorting his profits.

It wasn’t until Wednesday morning did police come by, Tommy’s mother having called in a missing person’s report.

You heard the girls speaking to the detective outside the dressing room before rehearsals.

“This is typical Tommy.”

“He’s been dabbling into some heavy stuff.”

“You didn’t hear it from me, but! I heard he got,” you couldn’t see what she was doing, “ya know?”

When the detective looked into the dressing room and asked who he hadn’t spoken with, your eyes met in the mirror, recognition painting his face.

“Detective Brady! The assistant manager can talk now.” Someone called from down the hall. You continued covering your bruises, hoping he hadn’t noticed them. With a pat to the door frame, metal ring clinking, he left.

He didn’t have time to speak with all of you before it was doors open and left before the show began. As soon as you got home you fished around in your key bowl for the crinkled card.

You dropped it back in, hands coming to your face. Of course. Why would it be any other man?

Deep breathes. It isn’t strange he ran into you before, you worked and lived in the area. He probably handed that card to every woman he passed at night.

Slow breathes. The girls did the legwork, just follow suit. You were a single woman. No one would suspect you of anything unless they found a smoking gun under your pillow. Even then, if you could bat your eyelashes enough and find a dainty enough cross necklace you could beat any rap.

All you wanted now was to see Alastor and tell him. Three more days.

Surprisingly, the theater ran perfectly smoothly without Tommy. James, the assistant, stepped up and everything carried on as usual. The detective didn’t come back, either. Rumor in the dressing room was that Tommy had been an open-and-close case of bad decisions leading to bad outcomes.

There was a sadness at the theater regardless, no one having heard any news. He had wandered off before but he always returned in time for the big weekend shows. But Friday night came and went and Tommy never showed. Which for you was expected, but the other staff seemed worried. The girls, not so much.

You weren’t as scared as you had thought you’d be. For yourself, atleast. You would rather die than let Alastor be found out because of you. Maybe he would have advice to ease you. Even if he didn’t, you’d be comforted getting him up to speed.

Knowing you’d see Alastor soon was like knowing when the next big rain was coming. You spent all week planning your time around it.

Except for the small detail that you hadn’t actually known where the west entrance was to the park, or even that the gates had names. But you found it easily enough. As you approached you could see him waiting, a blue suit without the jacket, was there a color he wouldn’t look charming in?

No. Silly questions seemed to be in the air lately.

You slowed as you approached, him hearing the click of your shoes and turning before you could gather your thoughts. This was the first time to see him in the daylight.

His mouth was moving but you didn’t hear anything, brain short circuiting. His hair looked so much brighter in the sunlight, sun passing through brown locks. You could see his eyes looking at you, brows rising as he questioned something, but your thoughts were arrested by the color of the gaze you’d spent weeks trying to get into the focus of; a bright honey brown that seemed to shimmer. A little pop of light bounced off a button of his vest, his smile gleamed as he leaned towards you.

Run. You had no business here. A possibly soon-to-be criminalized dancer and him. You should have worn a better dress. Should have gotten your hair done. Should have better.

Alastor couldn’t figure out what your face was saying. He was proficient in reading the expressions of others, in discerning the changes in the air of any given room, but this… he couldn’t place. Your eyes were wide, smile taut and flat as you took a step backward. His hand reached out to stabilize you, your heel catching on the uneven pavement of the lesser cared for wards of the city.

“What’s wrong?” His smile softened.

You spoke without thinking, something you never did, “You’re too beautiful. I should go.” Your attempt to turn away only half in jest. His bright laugh rang out, melting the muscles of your legs.

“That’s a new one.” His fingers lingered on your arm, “You can pick a seat, I’ll grab coffee. No staff on the patio.”

Considering fleeing still, you thought about how sad he would be standing there with two coffees in his hands. The weather was quickly cooling, but in the early sun the outdoor seating was perfect for a coffee date.

Shaking off the nerves, you tried to get a fucking grip. You adored your physical form, you had no issues thinking you deserved whatever you wanted to have. But, well, it was like he was glowing from the inside out. Even his skin seemed to catch the light. There was that quick heart beat again. You looked through the glass front, Alastor in line. If you had gone through with the plan to rob him, and had he returned in the daylight to argue with you… you’d have just handed back his wallet and maybe even your own.

The least attractive thing about him was his money, strange considering it was normally the most important thing a man had in his pocket for you.

Did he know? That you had been-

“Autumn, was it?”

You heard something in your neck pop as your head spun toward the voice. The color left your face, you stood so quickly you almost knocked the chair over.

“Detective! What a blessing!” Your hands were trembling as you reached out for one of his with both of yours, “You’ve been on my mind lately.”

The detective, tall and lean, eyes a striking cool blue and hair the color of wheat, removed his hat. “Oh?”

“Yes. I never got a chance to thank you for saving me last week. That man was just not taking no for an answer.” You took several steps to the left, making his back turn towards the cafe doors.

“I thought maybe you’d been cross with me. You ran off like-.”

“I was just nervous. I didn’t know if you were for real or just another trickster trying to get a lady alone.” You stared at his eyes, trying to keep him focused on you.

“Ah, well, you had good reason to be. Lucky coincidence seeing you here.” He set his hat under his arm, “I was just headed to your manager’s mother’s home.”

Your eyes flitted to the counter, back to Brady. “Oh? Is…is it bad news, sir?”

“Not a trace of the man. But, that isn’t uncommon down here I suppose.” The detective sat down at the table you’d been at….you stayed standing. He motioned for you to take a seat, “That being said, I don’t think Tommy just wandered off with some cash.”

Were you wearing your perspiration pads under your dress? You think you were. If not, maybe you could just spill water on yourself and say it was a stain. Stiff, you took a seat.

“I was hoping to interview the rest of you ladies. I was going to stop by tomorrow but, if you have a moment, what can you tell me about him?” His eyes looked like ice, their effect similar as a chill ran down your spine.

“Well, oh geez… I don’t want to speak ill of anyone, ever.” Your hard learned skills were coming back to you. Your hands came together to shyly fidget with each other.

“Consider it a help to the police, no worries ma’am.”

“Miss.” You corrected, that practiced smile small and chaste, “I’m not married, sir. As you can imagine, in my profession, it is very hard to come by good, honest men.”

A chuckle, he put his hat down on the table. Fuck. Fuck!

“But, uh, yes. I can tell you quite a bit. Tommy was a fine man. For awhile. He was very respectful to us. A clean and tight ship.” You saw the door open behind him, Alastor using his back as his hands were full. “But, the last three months or so, he started getting mean.” You leaned forward, putting your left hand on Brady’s that rested on his hat. Your right hand slipped to the side and under the table, waving frantically to Alastor to turn back around.

Without question he swiveled on his heels, sitting down at another empty table near the cafe doors with his back to you.

You gripped his hand and the hat with one motion, and set it back on his head, “If he saw me talking to a flat foot…it could be a lot of trouble. Maybe we should speak privately.”

Why were you incapable of finding a balance between honey and venom? Your words came out too sweet, voice dipping into the tone you reserved for marks.

“Ah, well…Miss Autumn-,” Brady shifted in his seat.

You stood up, slapping his shoulder, “I meant the theater! Sir!”

He flustered, shaking his head and standing too, “I didn’t say anything!” His nervous laughter eased you, walking further from the table so he would follow. “Well, I’ll be by tomorrow. Maybe we can finish this conversation.“

A nod, not at all intending to tell him you didn’t work Sundays, “That sounds good. Anything I can do to help. But really, I expect Tommy will show up as soon as the cash runs dry.”

With a tip of the hat, he walked off to bring bad news somewhere else.

You waited a moment before moving to the seat across Alastor. You thought your bones had turned to jelly, “Thanks for the rerouting. Was I obviously rattled?” You were mortified.

“No, not at all!” Alastor set the cup in front of you. “A former beau?”

You shook your head, “Worse. Detective Brady back there came by the theater this week, but didn’t have time to speak to me. Just so happened to see me now on his way to Tommy’s mom. Actually, that was something I wanted to tell you. I’ve met him before.”

His brows rose, blowing slightly on the coffee, “Oh? A patron of your theater?”

“No. That night with Legs. He stopped me a quite a few blocks before I found you. Gave me his card and a warning about missing people and something about little ladies being out at night.”

Alastor nodded, unphazed.

“Should I be worried? Because I’m worried.” You couldn’t even touch your drink, stomach in knots. He smiled, breaking the spell Brady had cast over you.

“Without a body there is no proof anyone is dead. That’s all that matters.” Alastor was cocky, leaning back in his chair with a far too relaxed demeanor.

You hadn’t realized your shoulders were so tight, “Sorry for shooing you away. I just got so scared! If he knows I,” You caught yourself, face going red as you corrected, “thought I had a guy, it could put you under a spotlight.”

His hand came over and gently rubbed your open palm with his thumb, “You’re right. That was smart, thank you.” Alastor smiled brighter, “Now! Let’s put that behind us. I don’t have a terribly long time. There’s a couple things to discuss. Most importantly,” he leaned over the table, face serious, “You think I’m beautiful?”

You kicked at his shin under the table, “My heart nearly stopped! I thought it was something important! Unfunny!”

A snicker, “Cruel?”

You nodded, “Very!”

It was by most people standards a normal date. It only strayed from mundane when Alastor walked you home and asked if you had any nightmares about Tommy.

When you told him you hadn’t slept that well in weeks, and thanked him softly for his affection as you felt that had something to do with it, he hummed happily. He offered you his home phone number, you gesturing to the phone box at the corner in return.

The nights were busy, so you often spoke in the mornings before his work. You’d made somewhat of a schedule, waiting in the booth around when you knew he was up and settling with coffee. He’d call, you’d ramble about your evening and what wild thing happened. Luckily the detective never returned after his Sunday visit so your stories were just fun and lighthearted. His laughter sounded so good over the staticy phone line. He would tell you about his work, about the bands he had the pleasure of hearing. New Orleans was the undisputed mother of jazz, and it showed in the fervor of his audience. It wasn’t uncommon he was busy keeping up with demand for more big and new sounds.

While you enjoyed every opportunity to see him, be it coffee at a different cafe than the first or a walk around forested areas you knew were of use to him, the calls were nice. It allowed you to enjoy him without worrying about putting any undue pressure on him. You could twirl your phone cord and bite your lip without concern.

But finally, the moment you’d been waiting for. You called Alastor and he sounded tense, like he hadn’t slept. With a simple “What’s wrong?”, he asked if you’d want to help him with work.

The first one was almost too easy. Alastor had you wait at a bar where a man he clued you in on frequented. A staff member of his station had missed work for several days, supposedly sick. Alastor got the real story from eavesdropping on the ladies at lunch. The man, Mr. A. Wellington, was next. After watching and waiting, Alastor knew the man’s patterns well enough. Including you was a risk, but he had been fighting the urge to ask you for so long now. This one seemed it would be cut and dry.

All it took was a smirk, a well placed hand, a laugh. The man practically pushed you down the back stairs of the bar and out through the doors that led to the service street. So engrossed in ignoring your suggestion of slowing down, he didn’t hear or see Alastor standing feet beside you both.

The look of betrayal on the man’s face as his eyes flew from Alastor back to you increased Alastor’s high was three fold. He asked the man, already too gone to reply, if he remembered his staffer. “You should. She’ll always remember you.”

You leaned against the door that led back to the hotel bar. Your eyes and ears were open for any unwanted company, any possible danger. Other than your own little madman. Alastor took this one personally, you could tell by how much messier he was than the first two.

While he didn’t explicitly state his code of ethics for selecting “victims”, you had picked up on the pattern. A man who assaulted a young woman, a wife beater, a violent segregationist.

Was he really doing bad things? You found it hard to pity any of them.

Once the messy part was done you’d help get the man, as it always had been so far, into the trunk. You’d share a few kisses and clean the scene before being driven home, where you’d share a few more. Your favorite part, by far. And after you waved, he’d drive off to wherever he went with the dead men.

But one night was atypical. One night was downright horrible.

You lured a man into a large park beside the water. A part of you almost felt bad, as he sweetly held your hand. He had been a perfect gentleman, you seducing him at a dance hall. Alastor had warned you he was dangerous, but you wondered for a second if he was Dangerous or dangerous. Like Alastor-dangerous.

You found your answer when the man smiled down at you, telling you how beautiful you looked in the starlight, how you’d stay so beautiful forever, and wrapped his hands around your neck. Capital “D” Dangerous.

The man was knocked off balance by Alastor tackling him from the side. You all three fell into the dirt and grass. The wind was forced out of you from the impact, your hands failing to get traction as you tried to sit up. The ground was slick with mud from recent rains flooding the rivers. Hurricane season was already in full swing.

The man wasn’t huge, but he was larger than Alastor. You watched the men struggle, slippery ground complicating Alastor’s attempts to stay upright as he straddled the man, and he couldn’t get leverage enough to bring down the knife. Horrified, you sat on your legs feeling helpless as the man lifted himself and Alastor off the ground entirely and tossed him onto his back. A small cry, Alastor rolled away revealing a rock where his back had landed.

The man only needed one of his large hands to wrap around Alastor’s throat but he used two for the fun of it. Your shoes slipped off as you struggled to get to your feet like a baby deer newly introduced to the world. Everything was wet and spinning, your lungs were burning.

Alastor didn’t feel scared as his vision went black, just annoyed he had fucked up.

Even that feeling washed away as a grayness flooded into his consciousness. Everything lost color, flavor, texture. All urgency inked out.

Before everything slipped away, before he slipped under, he thought he heard his mother calling his name.

He thought he heard you scream.

Part 5 is halfway done 👌

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove @saccharine-nectarine

@looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith ,

#hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #human alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #hazbin alastor #fanfiction

755 notes · View notes

cyberm4n · 7 months

Note

May I request a bit of Lucifer with a plus sized reader who has a breeding kink? 💕

thank you so much for this request anon it has plagued my brain /pos as someone who's midsized and VERY gay i think the plus sized ladies need more love in fanfic. i hope you like it, im not 100% happy with the writing but lmk and ill change it up :)

cw: smut, breeding kink (duh), mentions of daddy kink but it's not rly used, reader is described as plus sized could be midsized ig, cum eating?? it's not like DIRECTLY mentioned but it kinda happens??, reader is overstimulated cause lucifer wants to make her a mommy, not proofread well

other: im on vacation and working through some requests so please know your request has been noted! ill probably come out with some more alastor/reader/lucifer sometime in the next couple of days.

■ for starters, i firmly believe that he's the kind of guy to LOVE chubby girls

■ like he loves how soft you are

■ if you're laying in bed with him you better expect for him to be all over you

■ no matter what you wanna wear he thinks it hot. seeing you confident is his biggest turn on and he loves it when you are feeling your best.

■ put on some low rise jeans and that man is on his knees for you

■ safe to say this man is 100% your number 1 supporter and will hype you up no matter what

■ if you're taller than him, literally no issue. like have you seen the height difference between him and lilith?

■ look he's a guy who knows how to handle anyone of any shape/size/gender

■ he's been around since the beginning of humanity this guy knows how to fuck

■ we all know he's a munch

■ i feel like he'd be the kind of guy to be REALLY into thighs

■ like you'd be laying in bed and he'd start kissing down your body, his hands running over your curves

■ paying special attention to your lower belly before moving to your thighs

■ he likes going down on you but if you at all want to ride his face he's 100% in

■ i feel like if you hadn't asked he'd definitely have suggested it before

■ the kind of guy to like pull you down on his face

■ he wants you to SIT dammit

■ the breeding kink tho.

■ i feel like he'd already have a daddy kink but the breeding kink just adds to it yk

■ he thinks you look absolutely divine when his cum is leaking out of you

■ but on days he's particularly feeling the breeding kink, he 100% shoving his fingers in you after he pulls out.

■ gotta make sure you stay full

■ he can't help it he just loves you so much he wants to see you swollen with his child :(

"darling just one more for me please" he breathes out, sweat dripping down his body as he tries to coax another orgasm out of you.

he had been feeling in a bit of a mood tonight, and when you came into his office with those shorts of yours on he couldn't think about anything other than breeding you.

so here we are, laid out on his desk, and him hovering over you. your legs ache from trembling so hard, and every orgasm makes you practically blind from how long he'd been going at it. his cum leaks out of your hole, he'd been dumping load after load in you, and now he's shaking too.

he's gotta fill you up though, he'd love nothing more than you carrying his love. he feels that pit is his stomach tighten, and he gently rubs your clit. "gonna be such a good mommy," he'd coo, feeling you turn to putty in his arms.

when the time comes and he crashes over his orgasm, spilling deep in you once more, he's careful to stay locked in for a little while, but he's peppering your face with kisses.

"you did such a good job ducky" he murmurs, rubbing soft circles on your hips. until he'd pull back just a little to watch his cum leak out of you again, utterly spent.

when he finally completely pulls out its not long until his fingers make their way in you, "shh baby i know, but i gotta make sure it takes" he'd whisper to you as you squirm away from him.

he tsks a little shortly after, his fingers slowly withdrawing. he plunges thumb into your mouth, "suck" he says firmly, which you do, of course. cleaning off his fingers so good for him.

he pulls his hand back, it returns to your side, and you whine as you feel his fat tip press against your hole again, and he coos down at you, folding your legs up to your knees. "cmon missy, we can go one more time right? you can go again sweetheart" he says as he eases his cock into you again.

safe to say, he's dumping loads of his cum in you until he's shooting blanks.

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer smut #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #request #plus size reader #mid size reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer

605 notes · View notes

stevieschrodinger · 1 year

Text

Eddie goes zero to sixty when he wakes up. He expects to be dead, so the strong smell of disinfectant and boiled hospital food comes as a shock that, at first, he doesn’t believe.

But then the irregular bleating of the heart monitor next to him starts to sink in, the beeps sounding way too fucking fast and that stresses Eddie out even more. He tries to escape out of the bed, gets tangled in tubes and wires, agony burning up his side and through his stomach, practically falls out of the bed when his own legs won’t hold him.

The floor is rock solid and stone cold, and that just ratchets Eddie’s panic further, because now he’s stuck and he can’t escape and there are people – people he doesn't know – touching him, all talking all over each other and it’s so much, too much to handle, the overload -

“Holy shit kid,” a voice Eddie would recognize anywhere, mostly because he’s been warned by that voice so many times about getting caught dealing and carrying and, “Jesus, give him some room a second.”

“I thought you were dead,” Eddie rasps out, voice totally fucked.

“Yeah, well, thought the same about you kid,” Hopper answers, stoic and honest as always.

“I can’t stay here,” Eddie finds his hands twisted up in the material of Hoppers jacket.

Hopper nods, knowingly, “back into bed, give me half an hour.”

Eddie agrees, holds onto that, because the lights are too bright and the noises are all so fucking loud and even the sound of his own breathing is annoying.

“Kid,” Hopper raps on the door frame, and every fucking pair of eyes in the room swivels to him because literally everyone rammed into Max’s room is a kid to Hopper. He narrows it down a bit, looking at Steve, “Munson’s awake.”

Half the people in the room shoot up, Dustin’s fastest despite his fucked up ankle, so Hopper sticks an arm out, wraps him up, stops him even though the kid is screeching and wriggling in his hold, “just Steve, the rest of you stay here.”

There’s a roomful of complaints, but something in Hoppers tone must relay the urgency, because they do obey in the end.

“So, he needs somewhere to go.”

Hopper nods down at Steve, “Owen’s can wrangle it, but it’s got to be somewhere known, somewhere that has the space, somewhere...private.”

Steve gets what Hopper’s laying down, his place is the only place that makes any sense, “yeah, of course.”

Because there’s no question.

Eddie limps across the threshold, most of his weight supported on Steve’s shoulders. They take one look at the mountain of stairs and divert straight to the couch. Steve can see that Eddie’s in pain, that he’s restless, that he can’t settle, “what can I do?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Feel like there’s...fire ants or something, crawling all over, under my skin.”

Steve tuts. Not having a suggestion for that. Eddie’s face contorts again and he’s sweating. The nurse was very fucking clear about the pain meds, and Eddie can’t have any more for another couple of hours at the earliest. Steve doesn’t state that out loud; he’s pretty sure Eddie doesn’t need reminding.

He comes back with a cool sodden towel, feeling helpless, but the second it hits Eddie’s skin Eddie practically screeches and they know that isn’t the answer, so Steve throws it in the laundry.

“I don’t know what to say man, shower? Like, a hot one?”

“Dressings,” Eddie bites back, white knuckled and almost writhing now on the couch.

“Maybe...we should take you back, maybe they can-”

“No. Fuck no,” Eddie’s words bitten out, panicked.

“Okay okay,” Steve surrenders, palms up flat, “what then?”

Eddie’s eyes flick over the back of the couch, he can’t see the stairs from there, there’s a wall in the way, but his expression looks pained just at the thought, “I’ll try anything once.” He tries to make a joke of it, tries to make out that he’s okay, but he’s clearly in fucking agony and Steve has no idea what to do for him so he agrees readily.

Making it up the stairs takes them fully half an hour, Eddie having to wait, panting, on every single step. Steve’s never felt so helpless in his life (excluding that one time Max floated in the cemetery), it’s torture watching Eddie suffer, watching him try and keep in all the pained noises, only to fail miserably.

He manages a half hearted joke about King Steve giving him a sponge bath when they make it to the turn near the top, the wider step on the corner giving Eddie somewhere safe and secure to lean.

Steve doesn’t laugh, “how are you feeling now?”

Eddie swallows, throat clicking dry, “it’s worse. It’s like there’s...like something's under there, moving around,” Eddie draws in a hissed breath, face crumpling, “hurts. So fucking much.”

Steve doesn’t even know what to say to that, so they get moving, and those final four steps are worse than all the others combined. They shuffle through Steve’s bedroom and into the bathroom, and when Steve clicks on the light Eddie makes an agonized noise and Steve clicks it off again immediately.

“S’bright,” Eddie mutters, squinting at the floor, greasy, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. He looks ill. Washed out. No, gray. He looks like he’s gone gray in the dim light coming through the small bathroom window.

“Okay, okay, no problem,” so Steve turns to get the water going, trying to figure out how the fuck they’re going to do this considering Eddie looks exhausted and half dead already. He hears Eddie make a noise, there's a soft thump, and Steve turns back, concerned.

Eddie’s gone.

He’s just...gone.

His clothes are in a heap on the floor, bloody dressings mixed in, and Steve yells, hopping backward and nearly dragging down the shower curtain, when the pile shifts. Wings emerge. Tails.

Steve recognizes it instantly. It’s a fucking demobat.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck,” Steve backs away, edges his way through the door, thinking of the nail bat in the boot of his car. He usually brings it everywhere with him, when he can, but he was too concerned with getting Eddie into the house to think of it.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the thing as it flops around, trapped in Eddie’s clothes. Steve darts the rest of the way, scouring his room for a weapon and giving up fast; the kitchen, a knife; that would be easiest.

Steve runs for it, closing his bedroom door tight so the thing can’t escape. He runs down the stairs, grabs the biggest knife in the block and then takes the stairs two at a time on the way back up.

Steve opens his bedroom door cautiously, point of the knife sliding through the gap, just in case the thing is flapping around in his bedroom. It’s not, it appears safe.

But Steve knows the danger, he was nearly killed by just one of those things so he isn’t taking any chances. Steve waits a second with the door open...he realizes he can hear it. It’s not making the horrible high pitched screech that he’s used to, it sounds more like...well, it sounds like a whimper. It actually sounds kind of pathetic.

Steve creeps closer, only to find the demobat hopelessly tangled in Eddie’s clothes, it’s struggling only making it worse. Steve stands for a moment, staring. Eddie’s gone...and now that little creature is in Eddie’s clothes.

Eddie. Shit, Steve has a terrible feeling about this, “Eddie?”

Steve creeps a little closer, still pointing with the knife, “Eddie, man, if that’s you, you’ve got to give me something here,” Steve begs desperately. There’s still no response, “oh fuck me, I’m loosing my godamn mind.”

Steve kneels, moving a little closer, “Eddie?”

The Demobat’s strange, worm like head appears from under Eddie’s shirt and sort of...mewls. It’s pathetic, really. The open, rounded mouth in filled with rows of tiny, razor sharp teeth. It’s got four eyes, two above the mouth, and two more set behind that, and they all blink in turn, strange slits opening and closing slowly.

It makes another little noise. “Okay. Okay, lets, try...oh man I am so dumb. Dustin’s never going to let me live this down,” Steve slowly offers the back of his hand to the thing, reasoning that if it bites him, the wound won’t be too debilitating than if he looses a finger or something equally terrible. He waits, watching, poised to drag his hand back at the first sign of danger. He doesn’t need too though, because the demobat potentially formerly known as Eddie, snakes out a too long, thin black tongue, and licks a sticky smear on the back of Steve’s hand.

And that’s all. It sits still, staring up at Steve will all four of it’s beady black eyes, watching expectantly.

“Okay. Okay. I’m going to trust you. But if you bite me I swear to…” Steve mutters to himself as he carefully untangles the bat from the pile of clothing, it’s tails and wings well and truly wrapped up with the material.

It’s not awful. It feels kind of cold, but the skin isn’t like, moist, or anything, it’s very dry and kind of scaly. The wings are more leathery, and the tail is...well, it kind of feels weirdly hollow.

“Okay, I got you Munson. God that’s so weird,” Eddie’s body snakes up Steve’s arm a little way, wings flapping clumsily as he tries to right himself. Steve has to fight his instinct to throw the thing off, the last time a demobat was this close to him it nearly strangled him to death.

Despite climbing all over Steve, Eddie wraps his tail around his arms and chest...but not his neck. Not even close. Kind of like, even in this form, he knows.

Eddie ends up hooking the ‘elbows’ of his wings into Steve’s shirt and just...huddling there. Not doing anything, tail wrapped firmly around Steve’s arm, one wing against Steve’s chest and the other against his back, hugging Steve’s shoulder.

Steve stares at himself, and Eddie, in the mirror, “well, fuck.”

With no idea what the hell he’s supposed to do now, Steve heads to bed. It’s been a bit of a day, and whatever the hell this is can wait until tomorrow. He crawls into bed, carefully lying down. Eddie seems to get it, movements still slow and very clumsy, he shifts completely onto Steve’s chest, sort of walking on the joints of his wings, curling up.

Steve lies there, staring at the ceiling in the dark, “I guess this is...maybe not the weirdest thing to happen?”

Eddie makes a soft trilling noise.

Fuck.

Steve wakes up slowly, very aware of the warm weight on top of him. He blinks, vision filled with a mop of brown curls. Eddie.

Steve is hugging Eddie. Eddie is mostly on top of him. Eddie is very naked under Steve’s hands and his very obvious erection is digging into Steve’s thigh and, “Eddie, you’re people again!”

Eddie lifts his head, squinting, opens his mouth and says, “mrrrrp?”

It’s eerily reminiscent of the noise he’d made last night, as a demobat.

“You’re a dude again, dude.”

Eddie blinks. It seems to take a long time to process before he finally, finally croaks out, “coffee.”

Steve wholeheartedly agrees.

Steve slips out of bed, Eddie either isn’t acknowledging or hasn't noticed his boner situation, so Steve figures there's some sort of bro code here and just ignores it too.

While coffee is brewing, Steve figures his only possible course of action is to call the smartest person he knows. He will never admit that out loud, but luckily Henderson answers on the second ring, like he’s been waiting for Steve to call him.

“Dustin-”

“Can I come see Eddie yet?”

Steve sighs, “I’m great, thanks for asking, so cool of-”

“Steve.”

“Yeah. Yes, come over.”

The little shit doesn’t even say goodbye. He just hangs up.

Steve takes a coffee up to Eddie, who is buck naked and sprawled ass up over Steve’s bed, “okay, Eddie come on, Dustin’s on the way.”

Eddie groans, crawling out of bed, Steve heads over to his wardrobe to dig out something for Eddie to wear so he isn’t obviously staring at all of Eddie’s nakedness. There’s a thump and a, “shit,” that has Steve spinning back around, Eddie sat on his ass on the floor, looking confused.

“You okay?”

“Legs. Apparently you can forget legs really fast.”

It hadn’t occurred to Steve when he woke up, but it does now. All of Eddie is pristine; there’s not a wound, mark, scar bruise, anything on him anywhere. Steve has to step closer, kneeling in front of Eddie to prod his chest, Eddie swats at him, “you’re all healed up.”

Eddie stops swatting at Steve and prods himself instead, “holy shit. I am.”

“Well...that’s a positive, right?”

Eddie hums, and Steve goes back to digging him out a sweater and some sleep pants and boxers. That’ll do for today. Eddie’s a little wobbly when he stands, so Steve hovers in grabbing distance, but Eddie gets dressed without incident.

Steve offers him the coffee from the nightstand, now cool enough to drink. Eddie takes an enthusiastic mouthful and Steve watches as Eddie’s face goes through a series of...something, his mouth obviously full of coffee. His face is definitely doing something. And then Eddie just opens his mouth, “bleaugh,” letting the coffee just...run back into the mug.

And then he hands it back. To Steve. Who takes it reflexively, “I’ll just...I’ll go and get rid of this.”

“Where is he?”

“Okay, okay, firstly, I need you to not freak out.”

“Steve,” Dustin stares at him, “saying that is guaranteed to make anyone freak out.”

“Yep,” Steve agrees, “I mean it though, Eddie is absolutely fine, I swear it.”

“But. There’s a but isn’t there, Steve why is there always a but with-”

“He turned into a demobat last night. Like just, was a bat. And I didn’t know what to do, so we went to sleep, and then this morning he was Eddie again.”

Dustin’s face is a process, before he finally settles on, “are you sure?”

Steve rolls his eyes, “yes, yes, I’m sure. He was Eddie, then bat, the Eddie again. It wasn't complicated, just fucking weird.”

“Right...so where is he?”

Steve opens his bedroom door to find...absolute carnage. His bed has moved, the mattress is off the frame, there’s blankets and pillows strewn everywhere, feathers swirling in the air.

“Eddie?”

Eddie pops up on the other side of the bed, shirtless and frantic looking, “I didn’t, I didn’t do anything, it just, it just...it just exploded.”

Steve stares, the feathers settling. Eddie’s actually naked again and appears to be building some sort of fort on the floor of Steve’s bedroom, Steve blinks, “the pillow doesn’t matter Eddie.”

Eddie nods decisively, “good.” Then, after a moments thought, “do you have more?” And then he’s back on his hands and knees rearranging his fort, like a feral racoon or something.

“Dustin’s here, do you want to maybe come and talk to him?”

“It’s the scientific method Steve!”

“We are not throwing anyone off a roof, anywhere, any time, ever.”

They both turn back to Eddie, watching as he eats another spoon of raspberry jelly straight out of the jar.

“You got any ketchup?” Dustin asks, going back to food again.

“That won’t prove either theory, ketchup is red and sweet.”

Dustin turns to him, “Steve, that is possibly the most intelligent thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Steve’s ready to slap the little shit at this point, but Dustin’s face is earnest. Apparently Dustin actually means what he just said. Like, sincerely.

So Steve lets it go, and Dustin suggests, “we need something sweet but not red, and something red but not sweet.”

“We should go to the store,” Steve adds, then stares at Eddie for a minute longer; he’s basically fucking the neck of the jar with his tongue, “I’ll call Nancy to go to the store for us,” Steve adjusts.

Dustin nods, turning the page of his notebook.

Nancy drops grocery bags on the counter while Robin hops up next to her, “so, I thought we could make red jello and add a bunch of salt or something, I got some soup for him to try, some more jelly just in case, and some more ketchup since you said he really likes that. Two tubs of salsa…”

Steve rummages in the bag next to her, when Eddie pops up next to him, Steve hadn’t even heard him come into the kitchen. Eddie wedges himself right in there, pushing Steve back with a hand and then...hisses. Hisses at Nancy. Like, makes a hissing noise and bears his teeth. Steve just moves, lets Eddie push him back, while Nancy watches, wide eyes and surprised.

She takes a few Steps back herself, closer to Robin, and tries a tentative, “Eddie?”

He just hisses again, before snapping, “mine!” at her.

And then he disappears, there’s a light thump on the kitchen floor. Everyone watches as bat Eddie extricates himself from his clothes, movements much better this time around. He half climbs and half flaps his way up Steve’s body, until he gets to around waist height and Steve grabs at the thickest part of Eddie’s body to help him out. Eddie climbs the rest of the way, draping himself around the back of Steve’s neck, tail wrapped under one armpit, Eddie standing on his wing joints on the opposite shoulder. He hisses at Nancy again.

“Holy shit,” Nancy says.

Dustin is frantically scribbling in his notebook.

Robin, once she’d got over the shock of Eddie’s transformation, laughed and laughed and laughed. Even Nancy was smirking at them. The way Steve was absently stroking over Eddie to keep him mollified, and that Nancy couldn’t come within ten feet of them without Eddie getting all riled up again.

“So, you and Eddie huh.”

Steve just rolls his eyes.

“He’s feeling plenty threatened by Nance,” Dustin adds, really, really, unhelpfully.

“Probably because they were a thing,” Robin speculates.

“So you and Eddie are like, dating?” Dustin asks, and whatever Steve’s face does makes Robin laugh and laugh and laugh again.

Eddie actually manages a graceful glide off Steve’s shoulder and onto the nest/fort/thing Eddie had constructed earlier. Steve was going to try and tidy it before bed...but from the way Eddie is wing walking across it, pathetically dragging the edge of a pillow in his tiny mouth, Steve guesses that he’s not.

It’s also been a bit of a day, and he can’t really be bothered.

He climbs into bed, Eddie flapping out of the way and then climbing his way carefully up onto Steve’s chest.

This is my life now, Steve thinks, as he stares at the ceiling.

And then gets winded, when the very small demobat lying on his chest is suddenly a full sized man again. Eddie nearly headbutts Steve in the chin and Steve rolls over to dump him off, panicked and with the breath knocked out of him. Eddie makes a pathetic and somehow accusatory trilling noise, like this turn of events is all Steve’s fault, before he rolls over and flops over Steve again.

Apparently, cuddling is a thing they do.

Eddie makes a noise like a purr when Steve rubs his hand up and down the naked skin of Eddie’s back.

So, yeah, this is Steve’s life now.

There is more of this series on AO3 - Stevieschrodinger

#stranger things #eddie munson #creature eddie munson #magic eddie munson #steve harrington #long suffering steve harrington #steve and dustin #dustin henderson #hopper to the rescue #bat eddie munson #steddie #steddie headcanon #stranger things headers #nancy and robin

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 9 months

Text

Imagine arguing with Sanji in the kitchen and holding up service…

The kitchen at Baratie was heating up and it wasn’t from the flaming stovetops or pre-heated ovens.

There was a wicked, hot tension between yourself and Sanji and it was making the rest of the kitchen staff sweat. No one knew what had caused the new dynamic but they quickly learnt to stay a safe distance from the pair after Patty accidentally fanned the flame. Now they only interacted with the duo when required.

Sanji was chopping vegetables for his soup that was almost ready to simmer while you silently iced some cakes on the station beside him. Both regretting the request to cook next to one another.

The blonde-haired chef finished dicing the last of the carrots and picked up the board to hold over the pot. He gently swept the vegetables into the broth with the knife. Setting the utensils back down, Sanji inhaled the beautiful aroma that was starting to perfume the air. His hand reached out for his spoon but his fingers met empty air.

He sighed and closed his eyes. “I’d like my spoon back.”

Your eyes were fixed on the patterns being made on the soft pieces of sponge but your ears picked up that his tone was directed toward you.

“I don’t have it.” You offered simply without breaking focus.

Sanji turned to you, eyes squinting. “Really? Because I recall that you used it last to mix the cake batter.”

It was your turn to exhale. “I did and I washed it thoroughly before setting it back on the table.”

“Well, it’s not here.”

“Then pull out another one.” You snapped.

Sanji lowered the heat of his soup so it wouldn’t burn before returning to glare at you. “Why should I have to when you’re the one who-”

Splat! The cook’s eyes went wide as the cold vanilla cream dripped from his chin, lips tasting its sweetness.

You now stood upright holding the bag of frosting, brows knitted to match the frown on your face.

“I didn’t take your damn spoon.”

The doors to the kitchen opened with their familiar heaviness and a wooden footstep hit the tiles.

“Why is there no soup or cakes out on the floor?” Zeff asked as he entered.

The kitchen that had gone quiet during the public argument suddenly sprang to life and scrambled to resume duties. Zeff’s eyes floated to the two in charge of the slowed menu line and his eyes narrowed.

“Why on earth are you tasting the desserts, Little Eggplant?” He inquired, approaching the bench.

Sanji’s hands flew to gesture your entire being. “Y/n is literally holding the bag. I’m a victim here!”

Zeff held a hand up to silence the boy and set his gaze on you. “You know that we don’t waste food here. Explain yourself.”

You shrugged. “He accused me of losing his spoon so I did what had to be done. I’m not apologising.”

Zeff blinked, jaw dropping slightly.

“A spoon.” He repeated slowly before his voice, and temper, was unleashed. “You two held up service because of a damn spoon!”

You held up your hands in defence. “I told him to just use another one but he was stubborn about it.”

Sanji didn’t take kindly to being thrown under the bus, rounding on you while completely ignoring the steam blowing out of Zeff’s ears.

“Excuse me but that is my special soup spoon. You’re lucky that I even let you borrow it.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s a spoon, Sanji. It’s not the All Blue.”

“You know what-?”

“I’ve heard enough!” Zeff bellowed, his voice sending vibrations through the glassware. “Mix the soup with a rolling pin for all I care. Just get it out to the customers along with those cakes or you’re both on dish duty for two months. Am I clear?”

Receiving a grumbled reply, the owner of the Baratie marched off.

A few stations away, Patty stealthily pulled a towel to cover the wooden handle of the missing utensil. It was too late to reveal the small prank without being boiled alive or baked into a pie.

With the tension still rising, Patty decided to lock them in a cupboard after the shift.

~ More imagines here ~

A/n: Heading back to the office tomorrow with a 5am wake up but here I lay at 12am dishing out some Baratie mania (with more to come). No regrets.

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kalims · 1 year

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[ 10:50 ] — leona kingscholar needs to stop using his authority for you

"what the hell is this,"

you can't help but blank out at the several savanaclaw residents all individually holding fans that vary in size and color. they're all lined up in a surprisingly coordinated line and are currently heaving their items upwards to downwards repeatedly.

basically they're fanning you?

despite your clear equally confused and horrified reaction leona lays down in a long, comfortable chair a few distances away from you. it might be a good point to add that he's also receiving the end of cold air the students are generating so you can't help but think that he's obviously the person behind this.

apart from the backround characters who are sacrificing sore arms at his expense. leona had taken it upon himself to get comfortable, his hands are behind his bed. he peeks them open to cast you a glance. "what?"

your movements stutter from pointing at the students behind him and then at leona, holding a lost face. "uh—you can't just force your residents into labor," you wince and emphasize with the pained grimace one of them displays.

heck, they're getting red in the face.

leona, who raises a brow at you like he didn't do just that pauses at you before scowling. "weren't you the one complaining all about the heat yesterday? I'm doing you a favor that's all," he explains and your jaw drops.

but that was normal! who would even assemble some type of.. club dedicated to fanning people? you just said it in the moment as an expression!

plus it really was hot. at this point if you told leona it was too cold he'd probably get about a hundred heaters installed in the dorm.

"but that was literally a joke, If I knew you'd do this to these poor students I wouldn't have said it at all," even if you're technically siding with them they still manage to side eye you a look that tells you they're offended.

and from your experience they probably think that you saw them as people who can't handle the heat.

figuratively and literally.

leona and his acts of service can get a little out of hand after all. you promised you'd be careful with whatever you'd say but it's hard now when you honestly just wanna joke around.

last time you jested about a room in savanaclaw that isn't leona's he actually made it work and boom, there's now a vacant one beside his own. though leona said that there's no need because you inhabit his own room so much that you can practically call it your own.

which isn't exactly wrong..

"you guys can go, if you want," you gesture at the group who falters for a second.

then leona looks at them over his shoulder.

"anyone?"

they all stiffen up and yell. "no dorm leader!" and another exclaims something about being glad to even work for leona while the others quickly fall into sounds of agreement.

you huff at leona who's thoroughly enjoying the artificial breeze created by human labor. his hair is flowing with the direction of it which gives you all the more reassurance that he's enjoying this much more than he bargained for.

"you're scaring them," you deadpan, and he shrugs. "fear demands respect, they respect me that's all,"

"aren't you gonna join me?" he tilts a head to an open space next to him and you're surprised he hasn't taken up the space all on his own and actually reserved a spot for you.

you clear your throat and cross your arms. gee, whatever this was is oddly enticing. you can feel how much heat your body lost from being hit by the side of the wind. you're no longer sweating profusely at the attacks of summer and can only daydream at how heavenly it would be if you were in the middle.

... you're starting to see why leona looks like he's enjoying himself.

"why should I?"

"it's my gift to you, isn't it rude to disregard it just like that?"

oh wow so this whole thing was a gift?

"is this a trap? I know, those fans are poisonous aren't they?"

he deadpans at you. "if I wanted to kill you I'd have done it another way, plus,,, it's not everyday I'm in a good mood enough to spoil you,"

"you call this spoiling?!" in your idea it's quite far from it but whatever he says..

you'd call it forced labor.

note. this is basically leona taking everything mc says too seriously. he's such a simp fr

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #leona x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland #twst #twst fluff #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #ㅤ◜◡◝ . . signed !#twstnexus

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baldurs-gape · 7 months

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Worry Worms

A little shared fact about the party was that the worms were in communication with each other. Even with the Emperor's protection, the group were bound in a way, their worms connected to each other. Sometimes it was awkward, other times funny and sometimes frustrating. Yet the worst were the moments where flashes of the past and the pain it held flashed through the group.

The first signs of a shared existence were the pang of hunger. It wasn't obvious to start with, everyone migrated to the supply packs for snacks and ate with more gusto. Yet the hunger was left unsated. Bickering turned to annoyed disagreements and huffy sulks. Lae'zel refused to even look at Shadowheart over the simple fact that the berries they'd had stashed away were now mixed with nuts.

"Perhaps we ought to ask Astarion to feed?" Wyll muttered to Karlach quietly. "It's driving me insane."

"Urgh, yes. I can't eat another mouthful but I'm still starving. Is this what being a vampire is like?"

"Like what?" Astarion sauntered up to them, thumb rubbing at the corner of his mouth as though wiping away the last dribbles of blood after feeding.

An awkward silence held them all in suspense until Wyll cleared his throat. "This hunger. Is this your day to day experience?"

Of all the thing they expected, an honest laugh was not on the list. Astarion wasn't even mocking them, he was genuinely tickled by the question.

"Darling, this hunger isn't mine. It has been dogging me as much as you by the sounds of it."

Which just left one real suspect. The one who had been most graceful at handling the sudden affliction. That evening Gale sheepishly admitted to his affliction. Once he'd consumed a locket, the hunger faded from all their minds.

If only things could be as simple. For a while it seemed like it was. The weather was gorgeous, sun bright and hot. It burned fiercely as they wandered along their path. Armour was slowly stripped, so were clothes where possible. Any stream they crossed, most of them dipped into it with sighs of relief.

"It's hot as the hells themselves." Wyll was neck deep in a clear pool, eyes closed and head tipped back.

Looking around at the various states of undress and sweatiness, Karlach gnawed at her bottom lip.

"Literally. The old engine's been getting a bit too much. My bad."

"This is your doing?" Astarion whirled to look at her. "I haven't felt like this in two hundred years!" Despite not sweating like the others, his hair looked a little lacklustre and flat compared to its usual near-perfection.

"As I said-"

"Don't. I've missed this. Don't change."

Karlach's mouth snapped shut as she nodded and made a mental note to maybe linger closer to Astarion on nights where he looked more cold and alone.

Their adventures carried on. They bore the shared echoes of neck pain and head aches as Wyll got used to his new horns. Gale's mage hand was perfect to for those who preferred not to be touched and Karlach was more than happy to put her rather warm hands to good use too. Given her own horn, she was all too familiar with what muscles could cramp and hurt. Wyll was especially grateful for such knowledge.

Along the way they collected Halsin who was more than happy to tag along on the quest. Nobody was tactless enough to mention how he and Astarion gravitated towards each other, circling in tighter and tigther circles. They all pretended to believe Halsin's reasons were purely altruistic and maybe with a small amount of desire to learn. Nor did anyone mention that Astarion's tent had a tendency to be set up and then abandoned as he spent nights in Halsin's. It was a small comfort and they all knew they needed as much of that as they could get.

Nights tended to be rather monotonous. Once dinner had been eaten, they all drifted off to their respective tents for rest. Sleep came easy enough, so did the nightmares. Flashes of pain and terror. Revulsion and depseration. Hopelessness that hollowed out everything which was only filled by fear tamped rage. Lae'zel was the first to wake, cursing Shar and all she made her followers endure. Determined to wake Shadowheart, she left her tent. Only, Shadowheart was already by the dwindling fire, haggard and scratching at her back.

"Is this not the doing of your goddess?"

"She's much more thorough in taking the memories." The disdain in Shadowheart's voice was a blanket to hide her own discomfort. While awake, the flashes from the worm were no less distressing but the light of the fire helped a little.

"So who-"

Gale stumbled out of his tent and retched as a particularly sordid kind of pain echoed through them all. They all shivered in unison at it.

"We need to wake him." Even as he spoke, the worm allowed more memories to play out in their minds. "He wouldn't want us to know this."

"I don't want to know this," Karlach's voice joined. Next to her, Wyll looked harrowed.

As one they traipsed to the edge of camp where Halsin's tent had been set up. He was dozing, curled around Astarion with a smile on his lips.

"Hush, he's finally trancing." Warm pride made Halsin's words drip with affection. "Said he'd not done it since before being turned."

"With good reason. Wake him up." Wyll winced as new pains from relieved memories curled through him.

Resisting, Halsin watched the group and pulled Astarion into a protective embrace. The broke 'please' from Gale was what did it in the end.

It didn't take much more than a gentle brush of lips to his forehead and Astarion blinked awake. His worm silenced but not before a flash of panic could be felt by all as he stared up at the gathered group.

"I know I'm in high demand, but could we keep it to one or two at a time so I can make sure you all have a good time?"

If only it had been a joke. Before it would have been taken as one. Now though, the truth of his fawning in face of fear was all too easy to see.

"We just-" Gale seemed at a loss for words.

"They wanted to wish you a good night," Halsin helped out, even though he still wasn't quite sure what was going on. "And to make sure you're okay."

Tight blankness smoothed out Astarion's expression. He knew the others saw the memories his trance he brought to life. "Was I-" breaking off, he steeled himself, "Did I make noise to wake you all?"

"You were very peaceful, little heart." Halsin smiled at him and tucked him back against his chest. "Rest some more. I'm sure the rest of this conversation can wait until the morning."

Dismissed, the others filed out of the tent. They didn't sleep easy, kept up by the nightmare fuel of what they'd seen. At least Astarion didn't trance again so no more memories bled through into their shared connection. Come morning, nobody said anything. But if they were a little more gentle with Astarion after that, that was their own business and nobody else's.

#halstarion #astarion/halsin #astarion x halsin #astarion #bg3 astarion #halsin #bg3 halsin #gale dekarios #wyll ravengard #karlach #shadowheart #baldur's gate 3 #bg3

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cherryc1nnam0n · 2 years

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Heats with Alpha!Eddie Munson

Summary: Lots of smut, enjoy <3

Cw: Heats, omegaverse, omega!reader, afab!reader, alpha!Eddie, lots of cum, knotting, needy reader, dry humping, big dick, dubcon but not?

You didn't even know it had started, you just woke up extra needy that day

Watching Eddie around the house made you wet for some reason, even with subtle touches that were innocent you got turned on

Then you got hit with realization, you had missed the day you had to take your suppressants and now here you were, humping Eddie's thigh

"Daddy please, give me your knot please!" You begged him with big round eyes

"Baby..." He groaned, growing harder the more you moved "I don't think I'll be able to handle it sweet thing"

It wasn't your first heat with Eddie, last one was a nightmare for him, you had milked him dry, literally

How were you not pregnant?

Birth control that's how

But this time, there was none, you guys were trying for a baby for a while now, you guys could use your heat to procreate that baby but

Eddie was scared

Last heat left his cock a bright red and feeling all tingly and sensitive

"But daddy! I need you, please!" You begged him, lips in a pretty pout that had him folding

"Fine..." He groaned

~•~

The bed was hitting against the wall so hard it could smash through, your face smushed down on the mattress, Eddie pounding into you from behind at a force that only an alpha could have, your moans were screams of pleasure, eyes white into your skull and drool all over your face

"Harder daddy! Please" you begged entirely cock drunk

Eddie was sweating already from how hard he was already fucking you, he couldn't go any harder now or he would literally break you in two

"Baby... I can feel it" he said thought gritted teeth

His knot was popping out, he was so close to cumming, balls drawing up deliciously

"Put it in me! Daddy please!"

With one right thrust he fucked his knot into you, piercing your womb with his hot load

Your orgasm hit you like a fucking train, making you fall limp on the bed

Eddie was breathing so hard he felt like the air burned his lungs, his knot locking you both together while his dick twitched inside you violently, it always took a good 5 minutes for him to finish cumming, but his legs gave out and he fell backwards dragging you with him

"Daddy? You okay?"

"Yeah baby just" he patted your thighs "Need to rest a little"

Eddie wasn't done cumming when you started to fuck yourself on his dick, the slick noises were so loud they were driving you crazy

"Baby stop" he begged

"No daddy, my pussy needs it" you said with a pout

"Baby, daddy is too sensitive"

"But daddy can take it"

That's how you ended up bouncing on his cock, he was limp under you, just lazily grabbing your ass, sometimes moving his hips up to meet your's, he submitted to you entirely and to your needs

"Daddy I'm so close!" You moaned again

"I am too baby" he said lowly

Truth is, it felt so good for him, having you on top of him, taking your pleasure out of him, using him

His knot popped out again and he pushed you down to knot you for a second time

"Yes daddy yes!" You moaned, letting him stuff you full again, another orgasm rolling in

But you weren't nowhere near done...

#eddie munson #eddie munson/reader #eddie munson x reader #boyfriend eddie munson #eddie x you #eddie munson x chubby reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x plus size reader #omegaverse #stranger things blurb #stranger things omegaverse #alpha!eddie munson #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie my beloved

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insipid-drivel · 3 months

Note

What's the general range of endurance for a horse doing the job(s) it's good at? Like, how long can a racing breed sprint/gallop before you start risking injury? Can a Clydesdale pull a plow all day, or do you need to get as much done as you can in the morning? Etc.

It really depends on how intense the work is on the horse's body, as well as the size, age, and breed of the horse itself, and the rider's observations on when the horse is visibly showing signs of exhaustion. A lot of these calls are dependent upon the owner of the horse to make, because it is very possible to command a horse to work itself to death without even intending to. (I know, this isn't a very helpful answer, but it's very hard to answer questions like these with exact details since we're talking about animals and not machines)

Race horses are usually lightweight breeds like Thoroughbreds or Arabian Horses, and were never bred for doing Hard Farm Labor like pulling a plow or working like makeshift tractors on a farm, will often run until their hearts give out if their rider lets them or makes them, especially if the horse has been literally pent up with no opportunities to run around for themselves in a while, or is extremely stressed.

Race horses especially can get so enthusiastic about racing that they develop mental health issues if they don't get to run and gallop frequently. Healthy running horses, like messenger horses, could handle keeping an even pace on a well-maintained road for hundreds of miles, so long as the rider gave the horse opportunities to slow down, cool off, rehydrate (hydration is a big factor, because horses sweat the way people do, and can die of heatstroke or heat exhaustion like we can), and get at least a few hours of rest before continuing to travel. If the terrain is rougher than a well-maintained horse path, then a horse could struggle and tire much sooner, and may even need the rider to get off their backs and walk with them until they hit easier terrain to avoid injury/overtiring the animal.

A Clydesdale or Shire Horse, which are in the family known as Draft Horses, are better at very strength-demanding, slow work (think cardio vs. weight training in humans; professional weight lifters have very different physiques, skill sets, and exercise/diet needs compared to a competitive sprinter), like pulling a plow, and it was often left up to the handler of the horse to judge when their horses are starting to get too tired and need a break. Horses pant, sweat, and generally show a lot of the same symptoms humans do when they're overheated and risking heat exhaustion or stress-based exhaustion. Horses that are given more rest-times tend to stay working longer in their lives than horses that are consistently overworked; again, like professional athletes. Professional athletes retire very young because of the intensity of their athletic life aging their bodies prematurely and making them more vulnerable to injury. The same applies to horses.

For pasture that's already been tilled and cleared of obstacles like buried rocks in the past, a working horse could probably do most of the morning/afternoon pulling a plow through "easy" soil and terrain as long as it's not too hot out (heat is a major cause of stress-related death in work horses), receive break-times to drink water and cool down, regular hoof checks (a sharp object penetrating a horse's foot can very easily result in a horse's death, so a major part of horse care is keeping their hooves clean). However, most farms that could afford draft horses instead of oxen would often own multiple to switch out when one or more of their horses got too tired during the day. Oxen were often the bulldozers-of-choice around most farms for such intense work like plowing rough soil (eg soil will a lot of stones in the way or a ton of clay), and generally did the jobs better than horses at a much lower cost per ox. Draft horses were incorporated into a lot of farming during the Victorian Era in particular as a sign of wealth and affluence on a farm, rather than actually employing the best animal for the job they needed to do. Oxen still tend to be better at a lot of farming-related work, but the horse breeding industry very much pushed the ox-training industry nearly to into extinction in the West.

Seeing draft horses doing the work that oxen used to do is more a product of showing off your wealth as a farmer than actually having the ideal animal for the job that needs doing, and so class perception and classism plays a large part in where and when you see horses doing the jobs that heartier animals like oxen are better suited for. Historically, a lot of farmers would sacrifice the utility and durability of oxen for the flashiness of draft horses, just like how today you'll find more specialized farming equipment on wealthier farms vs. cheaper, still-good-at-what-it-does-but-not-having-a-popular-brand-name equipment you'd find on a family farm.

So... realizing this reply is running incredibly long, the answer is: It depends on the setting, situation, the horse(s), and the care and responsibility of the owner/handler in addressing symptoms of exhaustion in the animal(s). On a cool, breezy day, a draft horse could work most of the morning and part of the afternoon, especially if the work they're being asked to do is fairly low-impact for them (again, depending on the job you're asking it to do and whether it's just one animal or multiple, how quickly a horse becomes exhausted is heavily influenced by outside factors), but may overheat and need to stop by mid-morning on a really hot, sunny day. That's the tricky thing about working with animals: They don't come with exact guarantees for how much mileage or power they can put out every day, and are vulnerable to health and environmental factors when it comes to how hard they can work and how long.

#long post #asks #horses

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katyawriteswhump · 1 month

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I hear your voice (and it carries me)

for @steddieangstyaugust day 17 prompt: 'Keep breathing, please."

Rating: M WC: 1700 CW Drug-use Tags: Established steddie, alternate canon season 4 (with details fudged and twisted for my own plotty purposes.)

What if Vecna came for Steve first, not Chrissy? (No actual death, I promise, just guilty-pleasure pop and major angst…)

...

Eddie climbed through the window that Dustin had left open and into Steve’s hospital room. His boots smacked too loud on the floor, and his every muscle tightened.

Steve was wired up to a series of bleeping machines. Plaster casts smothered three of his limbs. His neck was in a brace, and his face was half-lost beneath an oxygen mask.

Eddie knew, of course. Steve had arrived here in a far worse state than this.

Still one helluva punch in the gut.

He tiptoed to the bed and located Steve’s Walkman, which had been dumped on a trolley. He slipped it back over Steve’s ears, careful not to disturb the mask. Dustin and Robin had played a showstopper in convincing Steve’s mom that Steve would want constant pop.

Unfortunately, the medical staff kept taking the darn thing off.

Eddie didn’t switch the cassette on right away, however. He anxiously smoothed Steve’s hair.

“God, I’m sorry,” he said brokenly. “I panicked, Stevie. I was too fucking scared. I should’ve broken your fall, and I should never have let you… I… I shouldn’t have…” He pressed his lips to Steve’s cool, clammy brow. A fat tear dripped from his nose. “Keep breathing, Baby. Keep breathing, please.”

“CODE RED, I REPEAT THIS IS A CODE RED! EDDIE, DO YOU COPY?”

Dustin’s yell blasted through Eddie’s walkie-talkie. Eddie scrambled to turn the volume down.

“Henderson, what the heck?”

“Eddie, the night nurse has started her rounds early. I repeat—she’s started her rounds early. You gotta get outta there NOW.”

…

One week earlier

Steve lay flat on his back on Eddie’s bed, shirtless, and with his jeans tangled round his knees. Eddie was sprawled on top of him—a smokin’ hot mess of sweat and hair—and kissing Steve stupid.

Steve should’ve been in a happy place. He was sucking Eddie’s face off, grinding himself up into Eddie, while Eddie pawed hungrily at his ass. Eddie wanted in, and Steve wanted nothing more than for Eddie to bone his brains out.

If only he could shake these stupid jitters.

Christ, the blood pounding in his ears drowned out the mega-loud Aerosmith track on his latest mixtape. He was also dog-tired, and sick of it. The nightmares had ruined his sleep for days.

And they were all total bull.

Yeah, Steve felt guilty about shit. Not only about Barb, though that was a biggie—there was so much he’d screwed up in his life. He sucked. He got it, blah, blah, blah.

No way was he buying into crazy hallucinations where Eddie yelled and hated on him. Let alone ones where Robin transformed into a squelchy tentacle monster. He was going out of his tiny mind. It was the only reasonable explanation, and the only answer right now was…

Eddie broke the kiss. “You okay, Babe? Still got a headache?”

“I’m fine.” Steve dabbed his lips, shivering because Eddie was too far away already. “I’ll be fine. Gimme more of the good stuff, okay?”

Eddie turned down the music. “Seriously? You mainlined poppers earlier—enough to lay low a daddy buffalo. That shit means business.”

“So I do. Stop being a freakin’ pussy.” Steve wedged his hand between Eddie’s thighs and purred. “I can totally handle it, and if I do turn to mush? Means I can take even more of this big boy.”

“I’m not sure, Stevie… Oh shiiiit.”

Steve mercilessly squeezed Eddie’s dick, batted his lashes. Yeah, he’d beg if he had to. Anything to feel less tense and haunted, to feel he was actually in the room with Eddie.

He never had to.

Eddie pulled a dopey face, started rummaging through his stuff. Steve dragged his jeans up with fumbling hands. He maxed out the stereo volume—snickering because Eddie was gonna literally piss himself when the track-after-next started—and wandered toward the kitchen to get more beer.

….

Eddie located a shoebox full of snazzy lil’ multicolor poppers and a sachet of Special K. Then his frazzled brain caught up with him.

He’s already had waaay too much. Okay, he’s still revved as fuck, but THAT’S NOT NORMAL.

He ditched the shoebox, grabbed a jar of Acetaminophen. After tipping all but two pills out, he peeled off the label. He’d tell Steve they were hardcore tranqs. Shifty, but… Screw it, he cared about Steve more than he’d ever cared about anyone. Yeah, Steve had bugged him for downers. Eddie should never have caved. He vowed, one way or another, he’d wean his boy off ’em.

He was, admittedly, launching his campaign the coward’s way. Had to start somewhere, right?

“There you go, Honey,” he said, wandering out. “Boneless bliss just moments away.”

Eddie stopped in his tracks. He dropped the jar. Steve stood motionless in the middle of the trailer. His eyes were lidded, twitchy with the occasional flash of white.

“Steve?” Eddie dashed forward, started shaking him. “Talk to me, Steve. Wake up! Can you hear me? I don’t like this, Stevie.”

Shit! He’s ODd already!

Eddie jostled him, pleaded with him. Right till the moment Steve levitated up into the air and smacked into the ceiling.

Eddie staggered back. The Black Sabbath track blasting from the stereo ended. Silence reigned.

One of Steve’s arms twisted the wrong way at the elbow and popped. Eddie screamed, then actually pinched himself, because this had to be a horrible dream, and then…

‘Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?

Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth’

Belinda Carlilse. Belinda fucking Carlilse. Yeah, Steve loved to sneak pop-tastic hits onto his mixtapes. Eddie would always crack up, plus he didn’t hate them either.

One of Steve’s legs contorted with a sickening snap.

‘They say in Heaven, love comes first

We'll make Heaven a place on Earth…’

Steve’s eyes flashed from white to brown. He fell, landing with a horribly crunching smack.

In the blur of the next few minutes, Eddie called an ambulance. He leaned close over Steve’s blue-ish lips, sensed the faintest warmth, though didn’t dare touch him. His eyes bled. He looked so… broken. Eddie prayed to some WASP deity he’d never believed in that he was the one having a really bad trip.

He went with Steve in the ambulance and held his limp hand on the ride. They’d already got that mask on his face, the brace around his neck. At the hospital, Eddie watched Steve’s gurney disappear through swinging doors. He collapsed in the waiting room, buried his face in his hands.

Steve’s parents arrived soon after. They joined the doctors in bombarding Eddie with thunderous glares, until the truth finally glimmered.

They believe I did that to him.

Even if… WHEN… Steve wakes up, they’ll say we were both high as fucking kites. They’ll blame the satan-worshipping freakshow.

Convinced the cops were on their way, Eddie fled via a fire escape. While he was holed up at Reefer Ric’s, two teens were murdered. The whole town now believed Eddie was the monster behind those crimes, too.

“Way to go making a play for the FBI’s Most Wanted list,” Dustin said, when he brought Eddie supplies. “If you hadn’t run, those deaths would’ve got you off the hook. Not that you’re exactly innocent. You know your fun-time sweeties repressed Steve’s breathing as badly as the neck injuries? Sent him into that coma?”

“Wow, you’re a real genius! Never dawned on me. Oh, hold on. IT’LL TORTURE ME EVERY GODDAMN MOMENT, OF EVERY FREAKIN’ DAY, FOR THE REST OF MY CURSED LIFE.”

At least the kid had a theory about the attacks, supernatural sorcery shit that blew Eddie’s mind. Also, one of Dustin’s friends, Max, was apparently lined up to be the next victim. For some wild reason, the only thing keeping the killer at bay was endless Kate Bush.

“Eddie,” asked Dustin, while Eddie stared into a box of Cap’n Crunch he’d literally no appetite for. “Is there any music you reckon might help Steve?”

…

‘In this world we're just beginnin'

To understand the miracle of livin'’

Steve was beyond sick of Belinda.

She ebbed and flowed through his consciousness pretty much constantly. Trouble was, whenever she was randomly gone, as she was now, the swirling red fog around him thickened. He was confused, and yeah, he was frightened. He’d not heard any squelching footsteps or booming synth voices lately, but he sensed that thing was still out there.

He occasionally heard talking. People poked and prodded him, and breathing was sometimes a scary battle. He tried to talk himself once or twice, but he couldn’t even open his eyes. He was lost and sick and hurting and… so lost.

Right until he felt somebody stroking his hair. Then a moist feather-soft brush on his brow.

Eddie.

He’d recognise Eddie’s kiss anywhere, whether rough or dumbass levels of sweet. Eddie was here. Eddie was with him. Steve strove harder than ever to fight free of the choking fog.

“Keep breathing, Baby.”

Eddie’s voice. Broken and distant, but it was him.

“Keep breathing,” Eddie whispered, “please.”

“CODE RED, I REPEAT THIS IS A CODE RED! EDDIE, DO YOU COPY?”

Steve’s blood literally jumped. Shit, was that Henderson? “Eddie, the night nurse has started her rounds early. I repeat—she’s started her rounds. You gotta get outta there NOW.”

Too much. Steve’s head was too muddled, he didn’t understand. He finally fluttered his eyes open and latched his blurry focus onto Eddie. Who startled like a coyote bit his butt. Steve would’ve laughed, if he’d gotten the lung power.

“Steve? Steve!”

Eddie seemed spooked. Steve’s heart rate skyrocketed. He was in a hospital bed. He’d got some weird plastic mask thing on his face. When he tried to lift his arm, pain lanced hotly.

Oh God, oh God!

He fixed on Eddie and felt himself calm a little. “Please,” he murmured, his voice a barely-there rasp. “Don’t go.”

Eddie squeezed Steve’s hand and smiled gently. “Not if I can help it, darlin’.”

Steve faintly registered a door flying wide. A voice cried out, echoed by a wailing alarm. He somehow found the strength to grip Eddie’s fingers, even as Belinda Carlisle launched up in his ears again:

‘Baby, I was afraid before

But I'm not afraid anymore…’

Eddie’s hand was torn away from Steve’s loosening grip, and Steve slipped back into the fog.

...

(Steve is okay, Vecna got distracted and El whipped his ass anyway, then Eddie get off, and it all ended happily... promise!) You tube link to 'heaven is a place on earth' for other 80s pop obsessives

Thanks for reading! All my ST fic on AO3

#steddieangstyaugust #steddie angst #steddie #steddie fic #established steddie #stranger things fic #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington whump #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie angsty august

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the-kr8tor · 8 months

Note

I have a req for fluffy Friday!!

I saw this art where Miles G. wears eyeliners so maybe a fic where he has reader do his wings for him? except the catch is reader doesn't wear makeup so she's just doing trial and error with him 😭

I thought it would be cute <3

🥰🥰🥰 as a wing eyeliner lover, I absolutely adore this prompt, thank you for requesting! Hope you like it 🫶

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, lovestruck Hobie Fluff.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

“Are you sure sure about this? You're on in fifteen, Hobs.” Your hands are shaking, gripping the pen eyeliner too tight.

Hobie holds your shaking hands in his, beaming up at you from the grimey countertop of the greenroom's bathroom. He has you placed in between his legs, long legs keeping you in place. The yellow flickering lights makes your frown more prominent, that won't do. Hobie, the absolute angel that he is, cranes his neck up to kiss the lines off your face.

You squeak in surprise, he holds you still, peppering your skin with kisses that you're sure left some of his dark lipstick all over your face. He doesn't stop until he hears your laugh over the booming music outside.

“Okay, okay! I got your message!” You chuckle, opening your eyes, you see yourself in the foggy mirror behind him, your premonition was correct, you're covered in his kiss marks.

“Told you my lipstick looks good on you, lovie” he smiles at you, his lipstick on his lips is smudged to the side.

“On my lips, Hobie, not all over my face!” You clean up his lips as best as you can with your thumb.

“So you're telling me to put more on and transfer it to your lips? You cheeky little—”

You giggle as he squeezes your thighs. “—Maybe after the show, now let me start or we'll be here all night”

Armed with a single black eyeliner and an almost empty pack of makeup wipes, you exhale a shaky breath, laying your palm over his cheek; he closes his eye, the other is watching your concentrated face as you start carefully lining his eyelids first.

“I don't mind bein’ here all night as long as we stay like this”

“If you don't stop moving we'll actually be here all night”

“Yes, manager” you chuckle, shaking your head.

You've successfully lined both his eyelids without poking his eyes out. You mentally pat yourself on the back while fanning his face.

“You good?” You ask Hobie who looks like he's just about to fall asleep.

“Better than good, I've got my own stress ball right here” He squeezes your hips, peeking at you to see you roll your eyes in time.

“Go check if it's right”

Hobie looks over his shoulder without his hands leaving you, laughing when he sees his reflection.

“Shit, did I do it that bad?”

“No, it's fucking brilliant!” He looks back at you with a grin. “I thought you said you've never tried this before”

“I haven't, I was being an absolute try hard and also i was avoiding accidentally poking your eyes”

“I can handle a little poke. You think you can handle adding the wings now?” He rubs your arms comfortingly.

You nod, “I think I can, yeah”

“Yeah? That's my girl” his words make you jump all over the walls, but of course you keep your composure, maybe. “They don't have to be perfect,” he guides your hand back to his face, “just focus and keep your hands still for me, gorgeous.”

You close your eyes, it's too hot in the cramped space, either that or It's literally just his words making you sweat.

“You gotta open your eyes to see where you're drawin’!” he laughs from the belly, tapping your eyelids open. Once you slowly ease your eyes open, he smiles wider. “There you are, my girl, welcome back.”

“You keep talking like that and you'll have a very wobbly wing”

“As long as it's drawn by you”

“Close your damn eyes, Hobart”

He tries to hide his laugh with a tight-lipped smile, small chuckles escape when you start the first line of his wing.

“Hobie, please” you tap his jaw.

“‘m not moving” he has his fingers wrapped securely around your belt loops, kneading his thumbs around your hips.

After a few wobbly lines and a couple of wipes used, you've finally done it, your masterpiece.

“You can open your eyes now” you happily hum.

He opens his eyes to the most beautiful sight: your smile.

“‘m guessing you did good?” you nod, turning his face so he could see himself, he lets you guide him with a lopsided smile. “Look at that, not too bad for your first wings, eh?”

“‘Not too bad?’ They're twins!”

“Sorry, you're right, it's perfect. Claim your prize?” Hobie points at his lips, you're already thinking about re-applying his lipstick before he goes on stage.

“More lipstick for me!” You giddily lean down, careful not to smudge his newly applied eyeliner. His lipstick though, that's a different thing, you can smudge it all you want.

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #hobie brown #the kr8tor's creations #x reader #atsv fanfiction #spider punk #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x fem!reader #spider punk x you #hobie fluff #fanfic #hobie x reader

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thewalkingdilf2 · 9 months

Note

OMG I can’t believe I’m requesting this but I have to after seeing you wrote about it but can you write a Daryl x reader smut where she’s just super whiny and sensitive and he’s all mocking and kinda mean but some fluffy aftercare after? If you’re uncomfortable with this tho I totally understand!!!🫶

OMG i literally loveee the idea of daryl mocking reader for being super sensitive and falling apart at the slightest touch so don’t worry, i’m def not uncomfortable with it, LOL

a/n: apologies for cutting it a bit short and not adding aftercare, i didn’t want it to get tooooo long, but i did try to add some soft daryl in there in so it’s not just him being mean the entire time >.<

you’re gonna have to bear w me as i am very new getting back into this, i haven’t written anything in YEARS so i’m def rusty asf. apologies if my writing is redundant and overall just bad, i need to get back into the groove of things for sure.

gif creds: r66dus

Pairing: Daryl x Reader

warnings: nsfw 18+, poorly written smut, degrading, edging, a little bit of slapping, etc, etc, this is literally just porn without any plot whatsoever

not proofread!! sorry if there are any mistakes

word count: 2k

"Daryl, pleaseeee, please let me cum," you whined desperately. He was practically torturing you, teasing your swollen, puffy clit with his rough fingers while he plowed into you from behind with his thick cock, grabbing the small of your waist roughly with his other hand, helping to pull you back into his hips. Strands of hair stuck messily to his strained, bliss-filled face from the sweat dripping down his hairline as he stared down at you, watching the needy mess you were turning into beneath him.

"What'd I tell ya', slut? Gonna have ta' wait til I say..." Daryl grunted, "I promise if ya' cum without my permission, yer gonna regret it, pretty girl."

This had been going on for what felt like an eternity. Tears welled up in your doe eyes as he kept his quick pace, shoving his cock deep inside of you relentlessly. You were so close. You whimpered, feeling the coil in your stomach tighten as if it was going to snap and burst at any moment, filling your body with ecstasy. You were ready to let go and finally give in to the pleasure he had been denying you, sloppily rocking yourself back against him to meet with his thrusts, chasing your high, until suddenly all movement slowed and was put to a gradual halt. He held your hips in place, preventing you from continuing to throw yourself against him. "D-Daryl, w-what the fuck, why?" you cried out at the loss of pleasure. You despised him in this moment, but your soaked, aching cunt was telling him the opposite.

"Can't have ya' cumming yet, girl. How're ya' s'posed to be my lil fucktoy if ya' can't even handle my cock?" Daryl pulled out with ease and flipped you around to face him. He smirked lightly at you, noticing the hot, wet tears streaming from your tired eyes, down your flushed, fucked-out face, making their home on your pouting lips. "Tears already?" Daryl cooed, "Ya' poor fuckin' thing..." He paused to wipe a fresh tear from your eye with his rough, calloused thumb. "So fragile like a lil doll... Fucking pathetic baby," he spat out, "practically useless... Can't even fuck ya' proper without ya' whining like a little bitch. Tryna' cum so soon too," he tsked, "I just started."

His degrading words stung like venom, but they made your pussy ache that much more. He knew you loved it, and you wanted to satisfy him. You glanced up and met with his eyes, "I'll do better, promise. Wanna be your good girl."

Daryl grabbed you by the jaw firmly and forced your eyes toward his cold gaze, "That right, pretty thing? Wanna be good f' me?" he mocked. You blanked. His voice and condescending tone alone made your head spin a mile a minute; you felt more drunk off of his voice and touch than you had ever been from any amount of alcohol, and you had never needed him more in your life than you did at that moment. Before you could muster up a response, he flipped you back over on your hands and knees, pushing your legs apart, presenting your hot, dripping core to him. "So fuckin' wet and I've barely even started," he grumbled as he slid two fingers up and down your soaked slit, reveling in the image and collecting your slick on his digits, "Taste so fuckin' good." You couldn't see him while you were bent over facing the opposite direction, but with the obscene sounds of a slurp and a faint pop coming from behind you, you could only assume he was sucking your juices off of his fingers.

"How 'bout this," he started, speaking with an almost menacing tone while running his hands up the soft skin of your back, making you tremble beneath him, "you wanna be a good girl for me? Let me eat this delicious pussy of yours, and if ya' can be nice n' quiet fer me, maybe I'll consider letting ya' cum 'round my cock. Tha' sound good, baby?"

"God, yes," you moaned. Your clit was throbbing and your stomach was tied in knots; you needed him back inside of you more than anything, and you would do absolutely anything it took to get it.

Daryl smirked, "so fuckin' eager." With that, he leaned over and took his first long, slow lick up your wet slit from behind, the taste of your cunt being so sweet he had to let out a low moan in appreciation; you tasted so perfect he could eat you all day long with no complaints.

You trembled, struggling to hold yourself up after being teased and edged for so long. Your body eventually gave out and betrayed you, forcing you to slouch down, resting all of your weight on the bed. Finally having the chance to potentially cum made your head spin as he lapped up your juices with his skilled tongue, occasionally opting for little kitten licks or little suckles on your needy clit. Your head felt empty; nothing else occupied your thoughts other than Daryl, which is exactly what he aimed for when he fucked you like this. He wanted nothing more than to turn you into his dumb little toy, his ego swelling up like a balloon when he could affect you so much with his touch.

A firm slap to your ass jolted you back to the real world. "I'm talking to ya', slut. Told ya' to get back up and hold yerself there. Are ya' really that weak and sensitive? Can't even lift yer own ass off the ground?" His fingers reached for your clit, ensuring you still had stimulation while he scolded you. You felt dizzy, overwhelmed with the pleasure of his fingers rubbing your sensitive nub.

"S-S-Sor-" you stuttered, a desperate attempt to apologize so he wouldn't change his mind about letting you cum, your mind still spinning with overstimulation from all the pleasure you were feeling.

"S-S-S," Daryl mocked, "use your words and spit it out, doll, or I'll stop and ya' won't get shit. My tongue got ya' that preoccupied, can't even hear me and respond anymore? Hm? Such a stupid fuckin' whore."

"M' sorry!" you cried out. Maybe you wouldn't get to cum after all.

Daryl could read the look of disappointment on your face, knowing exactly what you were thinking. His cock twitched at how pathetic you looked. Knowing you were such a mess beneath him and so desperate to cum for him made him feel like he could conquer anything. He loved the way you writhed under his touch and silently begged for more. He wasn't actually going to keep you from cumming, not today anyway, especially after how long he's made your poor pussy wait for him.

"C'mere, doll, m' not done with ya." In one swift motion, Daryl hooked his arms around your soft thighs, grabbing you and pulling your pussy back toward his mouth, while simultaneously helping you hold the weight of your body up with his strong arms. He rubbed your thigh gently with one hand as he dove back into your heat hungrily, a small gesture to assure that you were still okay. Even when you two played like this, he always made an effort to read your body language and soothe you with gentle touches as a reminder that his rough, mean demeanor was all still pretend and fantasy.

You convulsed as he lapped at your cunt, picking up pace and dipping his tongue in and out of you. You desperately tried to hold in your lewd noises as he had asked, but it proved to be a near-impossible task as his lips latched onto your sensitive bud and sucked gently, bringing it into his mouth, swirling his tongue teasingly against the tiny bead. "F-fuck, Daryl!"

Daryl's movement slowed as he came back up for air, leaving an open-mouthed kiss against your slit, savoring your taste on his tongue as he pulled back, "Ah-ah, what did I say about staying quiet, doll?"

You held your breath, determined to obey his request. He typically loved hearing your desperate cries and needy whines, seeing how loud he could make you get, but he loved teasing you too much. Anything that would be a challenge for you, he got a sick kick out of watching you struggle with, so he was content with forcing you to stay quiet for him this once.

Quickly flipping you over onto your back, he delved back between your legs. Daryl trailed soft kisses up and down your inner thighs, nipping at the skin and sucking, leaving love bites that claimed you as his, and his only. He teased you at a dreadfully slow pace with his lips and tongue, trailing around your thighs and pussy, kissing around your folds, barely missing the spot that craved his touch so desperately. His facial hair tickled your thighs perfectly, leaving you shivering and silently begging your body to not betray you once more as he finally flattened his tongue to draw one long stripe up your core, it glistening in the light as his saliva mixed with your juices.

"Ya' taste so good," Daryl moaned out, the vibrations going straight through you, causing your breath to stutter and your legs to tremble under his touch as he held them open for you. "Can't believe yer this fuckin' wet fer me, doll. Such a fuckin' whore."

You covered your mouth with your hand as he flicked his tongue against your sensitive clit rapidly, devouring you like you were the last meal he'd ever eat. He slipped a finger inside of you with ease, pumping it in and out, curling it inside you. The astounding sensation made you break, forcefully arching your back off of the mattress and releasing a loud, muffled moan from your covered mouth. Daryl smiled against your aching core, glancing up at you with his piercing blue eyes, as he knew you were struggling to keep yourself from succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure.

"D-Daryl, I-I can't... I'm gonna cum," you breathed out, dropping your hand from your mouth, reaching for a pillow, a blanket, anything close to you to grab and brace yourself with.

"Didn't tell ya' you could," Daryl growled, still pumping his digit inside of you, "yer not doing anything until I say so, pretty girl."

"Daryl, please," you begged him, but to no avail, Daryl stood his ground. The squelching sounds of your pussy continued to fill the room as you clenched around his thick finger. Adding another into the mix, he curled them up into a spot that made you see stars. As the length of his fingers continued to disappear inside of you, the knot inside of your stomach built up faster than you could prepare for, and without hesitation, it snapped. With a gasp and a loud, shaky moan, Daryl knew that you had came; he hungrily watched your eyes roll back into your head while your wetness coated his digits. He continued pumping them in and out quickly as you rode out your orgasm.

"The fuck did I say about waiting, stupid bitch?" Daryl barked.

"M' sorry!" You barely sputtered out, still trying to come down from your high, "Told you I couldn't hold it, I won't do it again, promise!"

A sharp sting landed against your flushed cheek, and your eyes widened in shock; Daryl had just slapped you. Not enough to hurt in the moment, but definitely enough to shock you and cause heat to rush back to your core. You grabbed your cheek, surprised by the action, feeling the warmth radiating from where his hand had just landed.

"Ya' think it matters what the fuck ya' tell me? I gave you an order," he spat, "If ya wanna cum that bad, surely ya' can do it for me again, ain't that right, pretty girl? I think I can get a couple more outta ya'."

You shuddered at the thought of cumming again; there was absolutely no way you would be able to. "Daryl, I-I can't," you whined.

Daryl chuckled, "Course ya' can, baby... Don't worry, I'll help ya' out."

You were definitely in for it now.

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