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pedropascallme · 1 year

Text

Crush

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: “The door opened and you turned toward it out of impulse. The man that was suddenly in front of you was Tess’s age, you guessed. Dark hair greying, sleeves of his denim button down rolled up to the elbows, face…mean. Joel Miller in the flesh.”

Warnings: Smut (18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), age gap (reader is late 20s/early 30s, Joel is canon typical age), p in v sex, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), kinda mean!Joel, degradation, praise kink, orgasm denial/edging, I will sprinkle in queer Tess. If I missed anything please let me know!

Soundtrack: Crush by Ethel Cain

Joel had a problem with saying no.

He knew it made him seem soft, but he just couldn’t get it out. There was something about becoming a father that increased the negative connotation of the word; using it as a response meant hampering the needs of someone who trusted you. Or the wants. And it was always the wants he fell victim to. Sarah knew his weaknesses—she was his biggest one. A goldfish, extra dessert, a slumber party— “Sure, darlin’.”

Sarah was all he cared about, and he’d give her everything she ever wanted, even when it meant looking like a pushover.

But his window had passed; all will to live drained and replaced by pure survivalism. He pretended to get over it out of instinct, willing himself to push everything down in order to keep going.

He didn’t mind saying no anymore. He had nobody to say it to, anyway.

Maybe that made him a bad man.

~~~

You had befriended Tess by chance. She frequented the same spots you did—speakeasies and back allies, surrounded by men she wanted nothing to do with.

At least you had that much in common with her.

Tess was older than you by maybe twenty years, and you knew nearly nothing about her. You knew her name, you knew what she did to get the extra rations she kept in her front pocket, and you knew she lived with Joel Miller. You had never pried about their relationship, and all you knew of Joel was that he was as gorgeous as his reputation was mean.

She had the tendency to be hot headed, there was no doubt that she could be rough, although you felt her fire was what drew you to her in the first place. Another person who had lost everything obviously wasn’t inaccessible, but it helped that she was one of the few women that you had seen around. When she had thrown a punch so hard it nearly shattered her hand, you grabbed her and walked her home while she stumbled along with you.

No matter how watered down the whiskey in the QZ was, enough of it would do the trick.

“You ok?” You grabbed her by the waist, catching her before she fell, distracted by the blood on her knuckles. You didn’t know if it was hers or the man whose bottom tooth she had loosened.

“Guys here are as bad as fucking raiders…” She mumbled, looking down at her feet. “Could’a walked home myself.” You knew she could’ve, but the thought of letting her stagger home by herself so close to curfew made you uneasy.

Some things never change.

“Didn’t want you to,” You kept walking, one stride ahead of her at all times. “Could’ve been dangerous.”

“They know not to fuck with me,” she was giggling now, and she looked almost girlish with her features softened. “Living with Miller has its perks.”

“Wouldn’t want your boyfriend having to exact revenge just cause I let you walk home drunk.”

“What?” Tess stopped walking.

“Aren’t—sorry, are you and Joel not—?”

Tess snorted, “Joel and I are not an item. I don’t, y’know. He’s not my type.” She had sobered almost instantly. “I like my partners…feminine.”

Oh. Oops.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We get it a lot. Easy living with each other cause we’re the only two that know how to empathize with the other.” She started walking again, leaving you with space to catch up. You didn’t inquire further about what she meant, it wasn’t something anybody wanted to discuss, ever. Loss and death were everywhere, there was no need to reflect on past experiences. Especially with someone like Tess who, in all honesty, intimidated you mightily. You just jogged to meet her pace.

You followed her into the building, not that you could really explain why.

She had pushed the door open and motioned to you, silently telling you to come into what once could’ve been passed off as a $3,000/month studio apartment. She dropped her belongings on the kitchen table, getting two glasses and pouring watered-down sambuca into each one. You hated the taste, but appreciated that she seemed to genuinely want to spend time with you.

“You remember anything?” She prompted after finishing her drink.

“What?” You had barely touched yours. The anise flavored booze had a different burn than whiskey.

“Before.”

“I was little. I remember seeing Attack of the Clones. And that Scooby Doo movie.”

“I was in my thirties when those came out,” she laughed, “I fucking loved Scooby Doo.” You found yourself laughing along with her. She deadpanned after a moment, examining you.

“You’re still young. Not fair to you to have seen all that as a kid.”

“I guess. But I didn’t think episode two was all that bad.” You tried to laugh through the sudden solemnity. Tess rolled her eyes and smiled, shaking her head as she reached for the bottle to refill her glass.“But it’s not fair that anybody had to see any of that. Ever.” You could hardly call yourself eloquent, but she knew what you meant.

“What are you doing here?” She took smaller sips of her drink this time.

“Same thing as you.”

“Why?”

You didn’t know. “Gotta do something.”

She nodded, “I want you with me.”

“Tess, I’m flattered—I am, but I don’t, I mean—”

“I want you to work with me.” She smiled into her glass, amused by your flustered response.

Oh. Oops.

“Oh. I...mean, ok. Yeah, ok.”

The door opened and you turned toward it out of impulse. The man that was suddenly in front of you was Tess’s age, you guessed. Dark hair greying, sleeves of his denim shirt rolled up to his elbows, face…mean.

Joel Miller in the flesh.

“Joel.” Tess was stern.

“What’s this?” Joel’s voice sent a shiver down your spine. You realized you had never spoken to him, never been spoken to by him. You’d only ever gawked from across the room. You felt yourself straighten your posture.

“Business. New teammate.” Tess took another sip from her glass.

Joel walked across the room, grabbing the liquor bottle and taking a swig from it before placing it back into a cabinet. He looked at you, giving you the up-and-down from where he stood at the counter.

“No.” He turned, walking into the bedroom.

Wide-eyed with concern and embarrassment, you looked at Tess.

“Be here at nine tomorrow. PM.” She said, finishing her drink and getting up to take her place on the couch.

You let yourself out.

~~~

It was obvious when you arrived the following night that Joel was still irked by your presence. Also obvious was that Tess had made him swallow his pride. She gave you your instructions at the kitchen table while you nodded along. Joel was statuesque and showed no signs of emotion or consideration towards her words.

And when Tess had explained that it would be you and Joel and only you and Joel, your brows furrowed and he still hadn’t budged.

“I’ve gotta be here,” she dictated, words coming out slowly as though she was speaking to children, “Don’t need all of us gone, it’d be too much attention. I’ll cover.”

“I can cover.” You blurted out, suddenly nervous about being alone with Joel.

“No.” Joel spoke for the first time all night. You shrunk back into yourself and kept listening.

“—Into the sewer, out to the east, all we need is booze, maybe some pharmaceutical shit if you can grab any.”

You probed, “Pharmaceuticals?”

“For us.” Tess had finished giving you the rundown, getting up from the table and walking into the bedroom, leaving you alone with Joel.

Saying nothing, he immediately started towards the door, leaving you to follow.

~~~

Contrary to popular belief, the sewers were not your ideal hang out. No matter how many times you went down there, it took days to scrub the feel and smell off of your body. If Joel cared about the dank surrounding, he didn’t show it.

When you popped the grate to crawl out, he moved to lift you slightly, but that was the only interaction you’d had on your journey. You wanted to get this over with, desperately wanted to be back in the company of anybody you could converse with. You made quick work of collecting what you needed and making your way back into tunnels below. Joel hadn’t said a word since he had objected to you taking watch, and you didn’t know why that bothered you so much; plenty of people didn’t speak to you, and you relished in it. You could walk around the QZ and not a soul would approach you—it was safer that way. Easier, too. But Joel’s silence made your head spin almost as much as his voice did. You kept looking at the way his biceps flexed under his shirt, the stern look on his face and the scar on his right temple.

Despite his cold exterior, you felt at ease in his presence. Sure, his domineering attitude was somewhat troubling to you, but his lack of emotions made you feel less paranoid. You weren’t as preoccupied with looking over your shoulder as you would’ve been otherwise thanks to his presence, and the gun slung over his shoulder acted as additional reassurance. If anything were to happen, you doubted he’d have any trouble dealing with it.

Maybe the smell of the sewer was making you delirious. Or maybe you were experiencing a genuine attraction to him—not that you expected a man that wouldn’t speak to you to feel any sort carnal desire for you. Even so, you found your mind wandering on the route back to the QZ; you could imagine him smoking the cigarettes your grandfather used to buy, Marlboro reds that he kept in a silver case. The thought of a cigarette hanging between Joel’s lips made you shiver, though you tried to tell yourself you were just cold from the clammy tunnels. You tried to hide the curious looks you shot at him, the way you studied his hands and thought up reasons as to why they would be so calloused. It could’ve been from the work he did now, but the thought of him pre-outbreak, working with his hands in the heat, wiping the sweat that dripped down his forehead...

You heard a clang somewhere along the route. Looking up, you could make out a shadow growing larger, then smaller. An unmistakable clicking followed.

Perhaps it was due to the unexpected encounter, or the daydreams still playing in the back of your head, but you found yourself frozen. If you could think straight, it would be embarrassing, but every noise was deafening, and you could feel your heartbeat in your skull.

And then you were on the floor. Joel’s full weight pinning you down before he rose up again and two shots rang out. You tried your best to regain your composure, blinking rapidly and staring into nothing. Joel looked down at you, face painted with his routine grimace only inches away from your own.

“This,” he breathed heavily, voice frayed, “is why I said no.”

But he waited for you to get up and brush yourself off before he kept walking.

“You’re a fuckin’ amateur.” He continued homewards.

~~~

You went with Tess after that. Nobody gave you an explanation—you didn’t need one. You had fucked up, made more apparent by the dismay painted on Joel’s face at your continued appearances in the apartment. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, let alone speak to him, maybe attempt to apologize. He didn’t want to hear it; you knew as much as he did. You couldn’t even crawl back like a guilty dog with your tail between your legs, because you knew you’d just get swatted by the morning paper. And, worse, despite the obvious friction, Joel was constantly on your mind. It was humiliating that a man who never spoke to you could be the focal point of your private moments. You thought of his hands entirely too often, his name slipping out between hushed gasps in the darkness of your bedroom.

Your breaking point was the night you walked into the apartment, opening the door to barking laughter that ceased on his end the moment you crossed the threshold. It was purposeful, the way he drew his mouth into a frown as soon as your line of sight had connected. Scowling, his eyes followed you. You felt heat rise in your face and pool in your stomach.

You scowled back. You wouldn’t endure his attitude anymore.

It went on like that for weeks. You figured that if you got under his skin he’d crack, forcing him to interact with you on a higher level—even if it was shouting at you.

Joel Miller was a bad man, a mean man. You knew as well as anybody, and it pissed you off as much as it turned you on.

~~~

You had let yourself into the apartment, flipping through an old magazine to pass the time you spent waiting for Tess.

When the door opened, your gaze met Joel’s. You turned back to skimming a story about Ewan McGregor, brows furrowed as you internally questioned what had happened to him in all this.

You started the countdown for the game you were playing: Who would break first? You glanced up once or twice to see where Joel was, and he remained in the same spot in front of the doorway, dark eyes fixed on you. You crossed your legs.

“Tess isn’t here.” He spoke, and you stopped your countdown, congratulating yourself as tonight’s winner.

“I know.”

“She’s not coming.”

“I’m reading.” You turned the page, eager to read about who was dating who in August of 2000.

Joel stayed in his spot by the door before making his way to the liquor cabinet—which you had discovered were most of the cabinets in this house. He put a glass in front of you and sat across, a glass of his own in his hand as he leaned forward to put his weight on the table.

“Jared Leto and Cameron Diaz.” You mused. Joel tipped back his glass, glaring at you. “Do you ever wonder if any of these people are still out there somewhere?”

“No.”

“Imagine killing some infected schmuck and realizing it was Ryan Gosling.” You smiled, enjoying your one-sided conversation. “I’d feel kinda bad…”

“’Least you’d be puttin’ him out of his misery.”

You looked up, surveying Joel, trying to find a trace of anything that could’ve prompted his sudden embrace of your goading. “Uhuh,” you raised an eyebrow, “just don’t think I could do it.”

“You scared?”

“Of you?”

“Of surviving.”

“No. Just of an infected Ryan Gosling.” You put down the magazine. “What’s your problem, Miller?”

“What’s yours?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Then neither do I.” He got up to refill his glass, and you had déjà vu, recalling how Tess had sat you down at the table months earlier to invite you into their professional lives. She had been much friendlier even then than Joel ever was.

“You can’t fight for shit.” You turned to see Joel leaning against the counter, a bottle of whiskey in hand. You tried not to let your frustration at him show. “Hard to get good at this shit when you freeze at the first sign of trouble.”

“Shut up.” You brushed him off. You picked up the magazine again, trying to find your place.

“You know I’m right.” He drank from the bottle. For some reason you couldn’t stop yourself from standing up and facing him.

“What?”

“Y’know you can’t fight for shit. Couldn’t to save your own life. You know that. I know that. Why’d’ya think Tess always goes with you?” He put the bottle down and crossed his arms. Wrath boiled in your chest; you wanted to rationalize, tell yourself that he was mad you were winning the game he made you start playing so he opted to hit below the belt; but, Jesus, he had gotten you where it hurt. You had long prided yourself in having the ability to survive, taking care of yourself and doing whatever it took for you to see the next day. For him to waltz into the space you had found some form of comfort in, where Tess drank with and felt for you, to imply that you were a failure—just some fucking kid with a knife?

You put as much weight behind the punch you threw towards him as you could muster, aiming at for his face in the hopes that a black eye might help him register your dedication to staying alive. He barely moved, grabbing your wrist to stop any real strength your blow might’ve had.

“You can do better.” Joel provoked you further. You were breathing hard but not heavy, staring into the eyes of the man you wished you could see for the evil everybody said he was. “Do better.” He continued. You grabbed him by the collar, nose to nose; you could smell the liquor on his breath, and you were sure he could smell it on yours. You were far from drunk, and the seething anger sobered you more than a cold shower ever could.

So you had no excuse for kissing him, which is probably why it was a quick peck, testing the waters and feeling as though you owed it to yourself as much as to him to see if this was one-sided.

“That’s better.” He snaked an arm around your waist and cupped the opposite hand over the back of your head. You didn’t say a word, barely breathed at his response, before you attached yourself to him again. You forgot all about testing the waters and immediately dove in; you kissed him with an open mouth, tongue, teeth and all. He licked into you, pulling you in closer. He separated from you to speak.

“Bed.” Forever and always a man of few words. You stumbled over each other as he pulled you towards the bedroom, neither of you bothering to say anything else as you were pushed onto the bed. Joel straddled your chest, looking down at you and undoing his belt, brown eyes blown out with complete exasperation and lust.

“Y’been botherin’ me since day one,” he pulled his cock from the confines of his jeans, “bad fuckin’ attitude.” He stroked himself, still looking at you.

“Doesn’t seem to be bothering you now.” You taunted him, reaching up to wrap both hands around him and sitting up as best you could to lick across the tip of his cock. He pushed his hips forward and you took the initiative to swallow as much of him as you could; no small feat, considering his size. You managed half before you gagged. He just laughed.

“Gonna be quiet ‘round me, might as well put yourself to good use while you’re doin’ it.” He threw his head back as you licked circles over the head of his cock, hand working every inch you couldn’t push past your gag reflex. You made a noise in response to his words, though it was unclear if you meant it as an agreement or a rebuttal. You pulled yourself off of him, placing a kiss on the vein that ran up the underside of his cock. You looked up at Joel, content with your work, his breathing heavy. His hand came up to your jaw, prying your mouth open and sliding his thumb inside. You closed your lips around it and sucked, you heard him groan. He took his thumb out after a few more seconds.

“Open.” He placed his wet thumb on your chin. You opened wide, sticking out your tongue slightly, expecting him to give you his cock again. Instead, he spit directly into your mouth, before pressing on your lower jaw to force it closed. “Swallow.” You did as you were told. He shuffled himself further down your body, leaning down to kiss you, pushing his tongue between your lips before he continued moving downwards; he pulled the buttons of your flannel apart, kissing and sucking on the skin he revealed before licking over the burgeoning bruises. You thanked whatever God was out there that you had given up bras so long ago, as if it was all in anticipation of this moment. Joel’s mouth reached the waistband of your jeans, and he continued placing open mouthed kisses over your stomach as he undid your button and fly, pulling the fabric down your legs and revealing your panties. He bent forward into you, pressing his face into your clothed core, his nose and open mouth fanning hot breath across you.

“Need a good lay.” You weren’t sure if he was talking about you or himself, though he answered your silent question soon after; “That’ll keep you from bitchin’ over everythin’.” He licked a straight line over your folds, tasting the tangy wet that seeped through the fabric of your underwear. You let out a shrill whine when his tongue danced over your clit, and reached down to shed yourself of the final layer of clothing that covered your bottom half. He caught your wrist and pushed it aside. “No,” He looked up at you as he licked over you again, “been playin’ your fuckin’ game for weeks. S’my turn. Don’t get greedy, now.”

You moaned when he released your wrist from his grasp, only to begin rubbing circles over you. “Pl—ease, Joel!” You arched your back, lifting yourself up to him in an attempt to gain more friction.

“Say it again.”

“Please,” it was barely audible, “please, Joel. Please, please…” Your eyes were hooded as you begged for more. Either he was satisfied by your attempt or took pity on you for coming undone over practically nothing, but he slid the panties down your thighs and threw them over his shoulder. He admired your naked cunt, ghosting a finger over your slit and collecting what you’d already released. He leaned back down and attached his lips to your clit, pushing his finger into you and bending it upwards. You gasped, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging, earning a satisfied grunt from him. He rhythmically sucked your clit in time with the movements of his finger, adding another slowly and then increasing the pace. Over and over, he brushed the spongey spot inside of you that made you clench around him, tugging his hair tighter.

“Go—ing to, Joel, fuck! Joel—!” You were panting, fist gripping his hair.

“No.”

“Please!” You were trembling.

“No.” He was unforgiving, absolutely ruthless as he fucked his fingers into you faster, licking tight and fast over your clit. You were close to tears now, grabbing onto the pillow underneath you to stabilize yourself. You were sweating, and he was the one doing all the work, but, Christ, it took effort to hold off on cumming when he was knuckle deep in your pussy like that.

“Now.” He said, pushing up against the spot you needed him to touch most, sucking hard on your swollen clit. You all but yelled, body turning to jelly, your eyes screwed tight—all while Joel continued his ministrations. He stared at you open mouthed as you trembled. He slowed once you stopped shaking, sliding his fingers out of you and licking them clean.

“Still gonna act like a bitch now?” He peppered kisses over your thighs.

“F…fuck y—ou, Joel Miller.” You wheezed out. He laughed, standing up to remove his shirt and trousers.

“’F’I’d known you wanted it I’d’ve done it a month ago.” He crawled over you, pressing kisses into your neck.

“Fuck you.” You finally caught your breath, and he pushed himself up enough to meet you face to face. “You’re a bad person. Everybody in the QZ knows you’re a bad man.”

“Then why are you in my bed?” He was half sincere.

“You tell me.”

“Can see the way you look at me. Terrible at keepin’ secrets. ‘Nother reason you need someone to protect you out there.” He scoffed, and you pulled him down for a kiss. Though bruising in force, you were gentler with each other. Neither of you felt inclined to use teeth this time around.

Joel pushed himself up and onto his knees, sliding his cock over your clit and pushing his tip into you slightly. You whimpered, trying to wordlessly urge him to sink into you.

“Ask me.”

“Please.”

“More.”

“Please, Joel, need it…”

“Need what, sweet thing?” You closed your eyes, savoring the nickname as it rolled off his tongue.

“Need your cock. Joel, please, I need you to fu—” He cut you off with one sharp thrust, pushing his full length into you and bottoming out. You felt your eyes roll back in your head, and Joel brought a hand down to rest on the side of your face.

“Atta girl,” his mouth hung open as he began shallowly thrusting into you, “take it all, darlin’.”

You whined, hands scrambling to touch him wherever you could reach; his shoulders, his chest, his thigh if you stretched down a bit further. It only spurred him on.

“Fuckin’ pathetic.” He pushed his hips into yours, attempting to get even deeper inside of your warm, inviting pussy. “Been such a bitch with me ‘nd now you’re so eager, huh? Li’l slut, needed t’get fucked s’all?” All you could do was let out a wonton moan, loving how he stretched you. “Gonna be nice from now on?” You couldn’t respond, could only think the word no as he sped up, sliding all the way out and all the way back into your cunt. “Answer me, girl.”

“F—uck, n—no!” You stammered.

He brought a hand down harsh on your clit, pulling out so just the tip of his cock was seated shallowly inside of you. You squeezed around it. “Don’t be a bitch,” he spanked your pussy again, “tell me the truth.”

Tears pricked your eyes in frustration, and you nodded your head yes.

“Words.”

“Yes! I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, wo—won’t give you attitude, Joel, I—I won’t be such a bitch, I pr—omise.”

“I like you a li’l bitchy,” he slid his cock back into you, resuming the punishing pace, punching up into you. “Like my pretty li’l bitch. Like this tight fuckin’ pussy.” He flattened himself on top of you, chest pressing into yours with every breath he took and every rough shove of his cock against your cervix. The slight pain was worth the abounding pleasure. He reached under your midriff, sliding his hands between the flannel you still half-wore to meet your skin, wrapping his arms around you and pressing you into him further. You wrapped your own arms around his waist, completely lost in him.

“Y’needed this as much as I did,” he groaned into your ear, “tell me, sweet thing.”

“Needed—oh, fuck, I needed it.” You whispered against the skin of his shoulder. He managed to reach a hand down between you, fingers finding your clit. You buried your face into him, suddenly very aware of what was happening; your daydreams coming to fruition, winning the game in a manner leagues above what you had hoped for. The attention was staggering. The tears you had held back during his earlier taunting escaped, spilling over your cheeks and smudging into the sweat on Joel’s skin. It was overwhelming in the best way. Anxiety inducing in the worst.

“So good, being so—so fuckin’ good, darlin’.” He was getting sloppy with his thrusts, rhythm failing as he neared his own high. He pulled away from you, shifting positions to hold you so that you could be face to face. You couldn’t count how many times today you had found yourself staring at Joel Miller. “You’re so good.” A fully earnest sentiment, punctuated by every inch of his cock. “Want you to cum, need you to cum for me again.” He was practically begging, words coming out in moaned whispers. He kissed the tear streaks over your cheek and down to your lips, the wiry hair of his short mustache rubbing against your top lip in a manner that made your skin instantly sore, but it felt too good to be connected to him like this to complain at all. He continued his movements, fingers running over your clit at a heightened pace and cock throbbing inside of you. You squeezed around his cock, arms squeezing his torso, and you felt yourself coming undone.

“There you go. Feel you fuckin’ squeezin’ me. Gimme one more, sweetheart.” You were pushed over the edge, once again cumming for Joel Miller in a way you had only ever imagined. He held you tight, letting you wrap yourself around him while you came, whispering his name and tangling your fingers in his hair. He managed a few more deep thrusts before pulling out and spilling across your stomach, chanting your name. Your breathing was labored, and Joel admired how he had painted you with his spend.

He stood up, walking out of the room, and you felt the urge to cry again, feeling suddenly abandoned after something so new and intimate. But he walked back in with a threadbare towel, wiping down your stomach and the wet between your thighs. You were both silent as he finished cleaning you up. He exited once more to rid himself of the towel before reuniting with you in bed. He lay beside you for a moment before turning to hold you. You turned to face him.

“It’s a shame you wiped me clean. Wanted a taste.” You failed to keep your tone even and unbothered, the crack in your voice apparent as you tried your hand at humor.

“Next time.” You looked up to find him staring at you once again. His usual scowl replaced by something softer. You fell back into a semi-comfortable silence.

“I am a bad man.” He spread his fingers out between your shoulder blades.

“Joel—”

“I am,” the words came out harsher than he had meant them to, “I’ve done bad shit just to get by. It’s fuckin’ embarrassin’ to kill someone just to see another day of this. Bad’s an understatement.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m hard on you cause I don’t want you gettin’ hurt. Don’t wanna be out with you if somethin’ happens. Don’t wanna be away from you if somethin’ happens. Wouldn’t be able to—”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know. S’fuckin’ awful. Shouldn’t have’ta fend for yourself.” He swallowed.

“Have to to survive, Joel. Made it this far.”

“No,” he countered, “shouldn’t have to survive. You should be livin’. Shouldn’t need’a run with a crowd like me ‘nd Tess.”

“Don’t you think we’re a little past that? I’d be doin’ the same thing even if I didn’t have you two to do it with.”

“I’ve seen how you freeze up.”

“I knew you’d be there.” You nearly snapped, astonished that after all this he was still hung up over the first run you did with him, despite the effortless shots he had taken. Even more astonished that he hadn’t realized that despite the external bitterness he had fashioned and the constant stream of “no” that left his mouth, you knew even then that he’d keep you protected. He looked away from you, and you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, trying to show him that for all your bite you were capable of being docile when the moment called for it.

“Shouldn’t wanna hang around bad people.” Joel’s eyes looked into the nothing of the distance as he muttered. “Shouldn’t have to risk everything just to do bad things.”

“Good men die, too, Joel,” You were firm, “I wanna be…” You trailed off. He looked back to you and traced a finger over your collar bone, admiring the marks that had formed from his kisses. “Wanna be around you. With you.” You saw a faint smile creep across his face.

“Not a good man?”

You scoffed, “Never a good man. Wouldn’t know how to handle me.” He laughed softly. You allowed his hands to roam over your body while you mirrored his movements, tracing your fingers over the scars that littered his chest. “Come with me on the next run.” You weren’t asking.

For the first time in 20-odd years, Joel was unable to say no.

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hawkinsbnbg · 5 months

Text

Steve decided to bottom for the first time and found a willing partner in a bar he frequented.

tags: light feminization, watersports, shameless smut, one-night stands to lovers.

ao3

The bar was as crowded as ever, but Steve didn't let his eyes wander too long before clocking on his target for the night.

The man was far different from his usual type; tattoos, chunky silver rings, piercings, silk maroon shirt, dark jeans, and heavy boots.

But he was exactly what Steve needed tonight, someone who could take charge and hurt him good.

He waved down the bartender—Tony—and bought a drink for his potential one-night stand.

Eddie—the handsome stranger had introduced—was both who he expected and not expected to be.

The man was intimidating, eyes dark and sharp as they regarded Steve under the dim colorful lights. He smiled like a shark that smelled the blood when Steve tried to flirt.

And yet, he also made Steve feel at ease with light-hearted bantering. His touches were casual and soothing but still sent tingles down Steve's spine. His attention was always on Steve while they talked, which flattered him to no end.

Once they entered the hotel room, Eddie was on him instantly, kissing and pushing him toward the bed without hesitation.

Before he knew it, his clothes were shed and Eddie was sitting between his legs, big hands roaming his hairy thighs and lean muscles appreciatively.

"Anything I need to look out for, sweetheart?" Eddie asked while opening a lube bottle.

Steve licked his lips nervously. In a sense, he was a virgin. Though anal sex wasn't a foreign concept to him, this was his first time trying it himself.

After he told Eddie as much, the man seemed more excited for some reason.

Then, he offered to prep Steve.

"Gonna take good care of you, pretty angel," Eddie placed a small kiss on his knee as those long fingers stretched him and stroked his inside.

Steve whined and arched his back, feeling small and vulnerable all of a sudden.

He couldn't stand it.

"T– That's enough," Steve tried to squirm away, but a firm grasp on his waist stopped him.

"We're only two fingers so far, sweetheart," explained Eddie patiently. "We still need two more so you won't be hurt."

"I don't need it," Steve insisted.

Normally, people didn't need that much to let him in and he was already considered impressive. Eddie couldn't be bigger than that.

Yet, he was proved wrong when Eddie said nothing and pulled out his half-hard dick. It seemed, the man's caution was warranted.

"Are you a fucking horse or something?" Steve gaped, feeling ridiculously aroused and stupid at the glaring difference in their sizes.

Eddie only chuckled in amusement and went back to fingering him until he was nearly out of his mind and begged to be fucked.

The man was way too big for a first-timer, that was for sure. And Steve had half a mind to giggle at his luck. His first experience with anal and he had somehow picked a fucking beast.

Once Eddie was seated fully inside him, he convulsed and reached his climax instantly, too sensitive after the hour-long prep the man had done on him.

And when Eddie started moving, he was a delirious and moaning mess.

Steve just laid there uselessly, shaking and rolling his eyes back. His softened cock kept twitching and spurting, creating a mess on his belly.

It shouldn't feel this good being dicked down.

But it was good. Too good, in fact, that he couldn't stop babbling pleas and choking out high-pitched moans as he was fucked slowly and thoroughly.

In turn, Eddie kept kissing him; his sweaty temples, puffy eyelids, tear-stained cheeks, and swollen lips.

Kept gazing at him with fondness that made Steve weak.

Kept stroking his trembling body, leaving marks on his skin and carving those sweet names into his flesh, turning his inside into molasses.

"You're doing so good for me, babygirl," Eddie murmured before licking into his mouth, swallowing every embarrassing noise and stuttering breath.

The man treated him so tenderly as if they were making love instead of just two lonely bodies seeking warmth from each other.

As if Eddie truly cherished him.

It drove him crazy. Made him cry and overstimulated.

He had come to this man asking for pain, but what he got instead was those sweet pet names and loving kisses.

Steve never felt so adored before in his life, and didn't expect to be given the exact thing he had been yearning for by a mere stranger.

The irony elicited a laugh from him. Tears streamed down from his eyes, painting his cheeks red and sticky.

Eddie kissed them dry.

Tasted the bitterness of his sorrows and pounded into him stronger and deeper, making his head empty, making him feel good and forget about everything that hurt him.

"Eddie," he mewled and trembled, hanging onto the man above him like a lifeline.

"I'm here, sweetheart," Eddie held him close, letting him nestle in those strong arms, shielding him away from the pain and sadness even just for a night.

Steve sobbed. He bit and scratched his blunt nails on the broad shoulders and back, wanting to leave his marks on this man who had offered him kindness.

He wanted to make Eddie remember, to think about him long after they parted ways.

Because he knew he would miss the man fiercely once they were done, would miss the heat and desire in those dark brown eyes, the softness of those plump lips, and the gentleness of those calloused hands.

Steve knew he was too easy. Falling for the first man who spread his legs open.

But he didn't have a choice when Eddie was so good for him.

Praised him sweetly, lit him on fire with mindless pleasure and filthy kisses, and fucked him until he was tongued-tied and cross-eyed.

It was a dream that he never wanted to wake up from.

He writhed and moaned when Eddie kept knocking into his prostate despite knowing fully well what the stimulation would do to him.

"Gonna, gonna pee," he wailed, trying to push Eddie away and out of him.

But his body was more honest, it kept clamping down to lock the thick cock inside him.

Eddie groaned and pinched his nipple. "You sure, baby?"

Steve jolted and relaxed slightly. Of course, he was sure. Because it was what had happened when Eddie fingered him earlier.

It was humiliating enough to interrupt Eddie and ask the man to retreat those fingers so he could go relieve himself.

Steve didn't want to imagine what Eddie would think of him now.

"Let me go," he begged, even sobbing a little because all of this was so unfair.

He was feeling good. He didn't want to stop just to placate his annoying bladder.

In response, Eddie only chuckled and fucking slammed into his prostate again, punching a spurt of fluid out of him. It was waterier than precum and Steve knew he was already on a thin line.

"W– What are you doing??" He widened his eyes, staring at Eddie in shock and disbelief.

"Helping you pee," Eddie answered with an easy smile while continued abusing his prostate ruthlessly.

"G– Gross," Steve whined and his cock was suddenly hard again.

The thought of dirtying himself under those dark and watchful eyes turned him on like no other.

Fuck. Eddie had messed him up so badly.

This was new territory to him and Steve found himself already acclimated with it.

"You love it, don't you?" Eddie smirked knowingly, hips slapping loudly against the swell of Steve's ass. "My naughty girl?"

And that was it. Steve whimpered and gave up his control, shuddering as Eddie fucked the piss out of him.

He fluttered around Eddie's cock wildly, shaking and quaking as he gushed and wet himself and the sheets.

Moaning lowly, Eddie leaned down to capture him in a bruising kiss, wicked tongue fucking his mouth, drenching his chin with spit and drool, filthy and obscene.

It didn't take Steve long to reach his second orgasm.

Eddie followed him a few seconds later, filling the condom with hot cum that Steve wished would be deep inside him instead.

After Eddie pulled out carefully, the man collapsed beside him and they both spent a moment recollecting themselves.

Once Steve regained his senses, he sat up to maybe get up from the bed, find his clothes, and leave.

It had become one of his routines at this point, and though he wanted to cuddle, he wasn't sure if Eddie would be up for it.

But an arm around his waist had halted his movement.

"Where are you going?" A husky voice sounded in his ear.

"Uh, I just," Steve stammered, taken aback by the possessive gesture.

"Was the sex good?" Eddie nosed at the side of his neck.

"Y- Yes," he gulped dryly as those deft fingers roved on his chest.

"Was I good for you, sweetheart?" Sharp teeth nipped at the tip of his ear.

"Yes," he leaned back and craned his neck to murmur against those hot lips. "You were."

Eddie turned him around gently and cupped the side of his face. "Do you want to do it again with me?"

Steve met those brown eyes, so warm and loving and all for him. Somehow, he understood that this wasn't just about sex.

Smiling softly, he leaned into the touch. "Yes, if you have me."

Eddie smiled back, vibrant and sweet like honey. The man kissed him, slow and tender, before guiding him to lie down on the mattress once more.

"Now, we cuddle," Eddie gathered him to the sturdy chest and pressed a soft kiss on his forehead. "Then, we'll take a shower together, order something to eat, and go to sleep."

"Tomorrow, I'm gonna treat you to breakfast, then lunch, and dinner, " Eddie kissed him again, eyes gleaming with joy. "I'm gonna take you out, gonna buy you flowers, gonna give you everything you want, sweetheart."

Steve snorted. "Just say you're gonna spoil me rotten."

"And you deserve it," Eddie gazed at him fondly. "You deserve the whole world, baby."

Steve felt his breath hitch and his heart flustered.

Giving Eddie a dopey smile, he snuggled up into those protective arms and let the sweet doze claim him.

Afterward, he would learn that Eddie had been crushing on him for months but didn't have enough courage to approach him until that fateful night.

He would kiss his boyfriend silly and let the man know that he was the best thing that ever happened to him.

And they would spend the rest of their lives doting on each other.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #sionewritesatmidnight #steddie fluff

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highdefhoetry · 11 months

Text

tags: nsfw!! female reader, four armed sukuna, kidnapping/stockholm syndrome, cnc, rough sex, penetration (penis in vagina), giant cock, primal, choking, fingering, hand kink (finger sucking), possessiveness, toxic dynamic, ownership/controlling, hair pulling, marking, squirting, aftercare

Boyfriend!Sukuna

The relationship between you and Sukuna was always a bit off.

When you first crossed paths with the King of Curses, you froze in fear when you caught him staring at you with intense, ravenous eyes, like those of a rabid wolf sizing up its prey. He grinned at you with malice and desire, licked his lips before approaching. You could tell he was itching to sink his teeth into your skin, to taste your flesh and eat you up until there was nothing left, that he was barely containing the primal energy that threatened to burst out of his body. You thought you were going to die, accepted your fate knowing there was nothing you could have done to stop him.

But he didn’t.

“You’re coming with me,” he growled before picking you up, tossing you over his shoulder as if you weighed nothing before carrying you back to his home.

You've been together ever since.

There was something about you that piqued his interest. You never knew quite what it was, nor did you dare to ask. But he made it clear from the beginning that you belonged to him, and him alone.

At first, he treated you more like a pet than a person. He’d snap his fingers or whistle at you, call you “woman” or “girl” instead of your name. He demanded your attention at all times, barking orders at you like an owner to a dog. And you always obeyed, fearing the consequences of angering him.

After a while, you grew on him, and he grew on you. Despite his reputation as a man-eating monster, you discovered that there was a heart buried deep down in the graveyard of his chest, one that you alone had unearthed.

There was a quiet loneliness within him that went unspoken. You could tell by his deep sighs and tendency to self-isolate that there was a lot of pain hidden in that rotting heart of his.

He much preferred to be the listener. To your surprise, he’d often ask what was on your mind, what thoughts ran through that pretty head of yours. And you were always honest. He’d listen intently, not saying a word until you were finished.

You thought he’d make fun of you, insult your intelligence or liken you to an insect like he did with other weak humans. But he never did.

Instead, he’d threaten to kill whoever hurt your feelings, suggesting the most violent and gory methods possible. You always politely declined, but it made you smile. That was his twisted way of showing that he cared for you.

Slowly but surely, he opened up little by little, sharing the evil thoughts that crossed his mind and the silent battles he fought alone. You listened to his woes, understanding him more and more now that you had a glimpse into his world.

He never officially asked you to be his girlfriend, but you accepted him nonetheless. You knew you could never leave him, anyway.

The first night you slept in the same bed, you thought he’d take you. You held your breath, prepared to be ravaged by this giant, impossibly strong man who could break your spine in half if he willed it.

But it never happened.

He simply laid down next to you, wrapped his four arms around your waist, buried his face into your bare back, and fell asleep.

The two of you stayed like that until morning.

And as each day passed, he grew more and more attached.

He wanted you beside him always. You slept together, bathed together, even went to the bathroom together. Your moments of privacy dwindled the longer you were with him. He owned you in every sense of the term. He owned your time. He owned your body. He owned your mind.

And he made sure everyone knew. He kept at least two of his four hands on you at all times, unless he could keep all four on your soft, delicate body. One on your thigh. Another wrapped around your waist. Sometimes resting the palm of his hand on the back of your neck, squeezing it tightly to force you to stay in place. Other times he’d pull you into his lap, where you could feel his immense cock harden against your ass.

His cock was truly immense, by the way. Probably the biggest you’d ever seen in your life. But you’d discover that for yourself soon enough.

Sukuna wasn’t one for pillow talk or sweet nothings. But he made up for that silence with his touch.

He was rough the first few times you fucked, grabbing fistfuls of your hair and pulling it back as he pumped his thick cock deep into you. He liked how it made you arch your back, the sound of your high-pitched cry, the fluttered moans that escaped your lips as he railed you until tears leaked from your eyes.

He also enjoyed admiring the marks and bruises he left on your skin afterwards. He’d trace his fingers along the black and blue patterns, grinning maliciously whenever you flinched.

But there were times when he was soft, too. They were rare and fleeting, but cherished by you nonetheless.

Sometimes he’d take a handful of your hair and caress it softly, scratch your scalp with his long nails before putting a hand on the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss. He’d press his lips against yours, pinch your cheeks so you’d open your mouth more, kissing you like it was the last time he’d ever see you, every time.

He’d lay you down flat on your back, thrust into you in a slow and rhythmic pattern while gazing deeply into your eyes. In those moments, you felt more connected to him than ever.

He’d kiss down your neck, onto your chest, gently biting your nipples before dragging his lips down your stomach. No skin was left untouched, no nerve ending showed mercy.

Being with a man who had four arms meant being constantly overstimulated. One hand would be fingering your hole, curling it upwards to make you squirt and cum over and over again until you felt like you’d go insane. Another would be wrapped around your neck, restricting your blood vessels and making you feel lightheaded. Another would be delicately stroking your hips and thighs, relishing in the way your skin quivered beneath it. The last hand he’d shove in your mouth, forcing you to suck his fingers as he watched with sadistic glee.

Once he was satisfied, he’d finally let up, giving you a moment of respite to catch your breath and regain your sanity. But only for a moment. That was often just the warm-up; he needed to be inside you, to feel your tight walls clench around his 12 inch cock until he came.

Every time you’d beg him, tell him he was too big, you couldn’t take it, it wouldn't fit.

He’d simply laugh and say, “Yes you can. I’ll make it fit.”

Despite being soaking wet, his dick was still a lot to take in. He’d push it inside, smirk when you cried out, then immediately start pumping in and out.

And god, it felt so fucking good.

You were full of his cock, moaning and screaming with every thrust while he grunted and snarled like an animal.

When he finished inside you, he hdld you down until his cock was milked dry, pumping you so full of cum that it would leak out of your hole in a perfect cream pie every time.

He’d admire the sight, gazing down at you lustfully as he licked his lips.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” he’d say, one of the few times you’d hear his praise.

He wasn’t a complete monster. Afterwards, he always made sure to grab you some water and curl up against you under the covers, planting soft kisses on your skin until you fell asleep.

He knew how weak and soft humans were. And you were his most treasured.

#ryomen sukuna #Sukuna smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna x reader #reader x Sukuna #female reader #minors dni #boyfriend!sukuna #sorrryyy i tried to add some softness but irs mostly spice and toxicity LOLOL

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portraitofalinkonfyre · 27 days

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Hiiii!!!! Uuhh sorry I get a bit awkward to approach new people but oh my god I needed to say that I absolutely love your work!! Im truly a fan!! Your Fierce Deity fics bring me to life and I cant stop thinking about it <333

Not sure if this idea is interesting enough but I cant stop thinking about it and I thought you could maybe like it!!

I keep thinking about Reader talking with the Fierce Deity's mask (imagining he still sealed in the mask) like he was physically there, just rambling. We could show him the sky and the grass, mundane things, talk about our thoughts and ask questions to him, like what is it like to be a god and if he is happy with his life.

One question that also pops a lot in my mind is asking what gods thought of humans or maybe, what he thought of them, of us!! Ofc he doesnt respond bc he is inside the mask but then one day he is off of it and he remembers each and every question we ever asked, and is willing to answer them all NFKENFKWFKWKKFKWKDKW

Its just an idea, you dont really have to do it, but everytime I think about it or Fierce in general, I cant help but also think about you <333

Im really glad I found your work!! I hope we can be friends!! :DDD

I wish you a lovely day my little leaf!! Toodlessss 🍃🍃🍃

𖠰 Woods 𖠰

Okay first of all, this idea this absolutely amazing!! I'll have you know I was practically VIBRATING with excitement while reading this! You have no idea how stoked I am to receive asks like this, so do not feel bad at all for sharing! Also what we're literally already besties <3

Man In The Mask

Pairing: Fierce Deity x Reader

Warning(s): N/A

Masterlist

What are you?

It was a question the Fierce Deity had heard a thousand times, often accompanied by blood and blaze: a question of those he protected... and those he did not, whispered on the heels crimson-dripped lips and frightful eyes. He was a god of war, and thus not one to engage in the folly of mortals. Orders were his foundation, and steel his soul, wrapped in a righteous evil that not even the goddesses could bear to gaze upon.

Which is why he felt nothing short of hedonistic when it fell from the lips of the paltry mortal's holding the wretched mask that trapped him centuries earlier. Voice soft and eyes softer, touch featherlight on the chipped edges of his prison. There were thumbs on the apples of his 'cheeks', and the deity was caught between rage and sorrow. Tumultuous emotions were not his strong suit, and neither was restraint, from the way things were looking.

He didn't need to stand before them to feel their weakness, as was typical of most humans, but there was an ember in your eyes that seemed to burn with a light he didn't dare remember, shining like a beacon in the night.

"I wonder who painted you," the human, you, mused, stroking again over the half-glossed finish of the mask. Gentle, comforting, and utterly indecipherable to the deity inside. "You're so dusty; did Time even polish you?"

Why... Why was that relevant? Never in his wildest thoughts had the Fierce Deity expected Time to intrust his 'care' to a human, much less you. His very existence was a burden; how could a so-called hero willingly place something so... so destructive in the hands of, well, he considered you quite innocent to the tribulations of war and bloodshed and sorrow.

But what could he do but wait, snug under your arm, as you prattled on about anything and everything. The notion that you were naive enough to talk to a mere mask, of all things. Had you no sense? No discretion? It was a question he often asked himself, though only because there was no one else to answer.

That didn't stop his dull wonderings on whether you would ask such questions if he stood before you in the flesh. Would you cower? Fight? Flee? Perhaps he would remember the words that fell from your mouth, just to prove himself right once again.

***

The Fierce Deity mask weighed heavy in your hands as you plodded down the small path towards home. A thick forest bordered you from the east, while a blooming prairie stretched as far as the eye could see from the west. There was no doubt in your mind that you were incredibly lucky to live where you did, a fact that was only exemplified by the nine heroes that had crashed into your life (and living room) through a portal that looked straight out of Coraline or some shit.

Never in a million years would you have expected Time, the distrustful forest child he was, to entrust anything to you, much less a mask that supposedly held the spirit of one of the greatest entities of his world, but you supposed it was only proof that miracles did still exist. Maybe.

Either way, you had taken up the mantle of caring for the mask, and there was no way in hell you were going to screw up. Not that Time would let you, the worrywart, and you were only just beginning to catch him not staring holes into your back.

Chronic mother hens aside, it didn't take a genius to figure out there was something terribly wrong with the item tucked under your arm. Whether it was the crimson and navy facial markings or innocuous radiation of something akin to evil, you had no doubt that Time's warnings were not in jest.

Despite this, you couldn't quite shake the idea of a soul being trapped inside, well, the mask was practically a prison at this point. And maybe, just maybe, you felt a modicum of guilt at the entity's fate. Had he deserved it? Perhaps. Was it cruel? Without a doubt.

Which is why you found yourself taking the Fierce Deity's mask with you when you went to the store, or the library, or simply for a walk in the forest, tucked in your satchel to protect from prying eyes, though you always adjusted the cover so at least one of the eyeholes was free to gaze upon the wonders of your world. It was a small mercy that you were willing to afford, one that quickly spiraled into conversation with the mask itself. You always had a habit of speaking out loud, and now you, presumably, had an ear to listen.

But it was all speculation at this point; Time had never outright confirmed whether a living creature resided within the painted oak, only that it was imbued with an evil so ancient it could challenge the goddesses. You had stopped listening at that point, muttering 'drugs' under your breath, but there was always hope in your tone when you reminisced about the world around you.

With a sigh, you stopped, bringing the mask to the forefront of your vision, thumbs instinctually tracing the crimson stripes on the cheeks. It was baffling that something so beautiful could feel so wrong in your hands. You desperately wished to uncover the truth, to breathe in the big reveal and revel in the known mysteries of life.

"What are you?" The words slipped off your tongue like silk, right enough that you could have chalked it up to fate. The mask felt warm, basked in the fading rays of the golden sun, and you had the distinct feeling of being watched. The pads of your thumbs stroked the raised cheeks of the mask, disturbing a thin layer of dust, as more words spilled forth. "You're so dusty; did Time even polish you?"

It felt strange, talking to the mask as if it was a person, but you were too intrigued to care. If an entity truly resided within, you wondered what he thought of you. Was he impressed? Disgusted? Resigned? You had grown up with the belief that if gods truly existed, their disappointment would be without bounds, but that assumption didn't feel accurate when you stared at the shadowed skin of your palms through the eyeholes.

What horrors had a deity of this caliber seen through eyes of oak... and why were you so desperate to find out?

***

The Fierce Deity was convinced you were either crazy or stupid.

Night had fallen some time ago, filling your small quarters with only the pale light of the moon. His prison sat propped against the contraption you called a 'lamp', facing the bed in which you slept. Your nighttime routine was... unusual, to say the least. In his time, maidens wore long shifts to sleep, while here, you had treated him to the ludicrous sight of what could only be described as the shortest britches he had the displeasure of viewing and a sleeveless rag of a tunic that looked as though you wore it to a scuffle with a large animal, not to mention the sheer audacity you had to undress before the mask without regard for decency. Had the Hero of Time not informed you of his status in this wretched prison, because it was as though you had forgotten or simply didn't care at all?

Whatever the case, it was with much dread that the Fierce Deity only found himself more attracted to the mortal cursed with his care. Your life was, at most, mundane, yet you spoke as though every day was a great adventure, in a tone that could have inspired countless scribes into a flurry of activity. More shocking, however, was how he could feel himself clinging to your every word, like a dog waiting for scraps. He had been alone for so long, and the reality that a mere mortal considered him, well, mortal enough to converse with was a reality he never imagined contesting with.

But, despite how thrown off he was, there was a certain comfort in the quiet nights you spent together, however inadvertently they came to be. After a life of isolation, he found a purpose in the steady rise and fall of your chest, in the snorting giggles of your laughter, and the way you flipped the edge of your pack to grant him sight, never mind that he was fully capable of viewing the world without it. It was for that reason that the rage in his battered soul waned a fraction, leaving a sliver of room for whatever this was, and the reason his mind refused to release thoughts of your whispered queries, always centered on him, whether it be his health, status as a deity, or happiness.

Farfetched as it was, the Fierce Deity, god of war and blood and death, waited hours for you to wake, unblinking because he would be damned to miss the very moment of your return to the land of the living, the languid stretch your body performed as you groaned softly, rubbing the creases of your eyes with the same gentleness you treated him to. He would study the outfits you wore, committing them all to memory so he could better understand the core of who he considered to be his savior. Maybe then, when he was free, he could begin to repay your kindness–bit by bit, word by word–until distance became more of a myth that him, and your tender warmth could be validated by more than just a paltry mask. Your very breath became his meaning, your soul his muse, and the Fierce Deity was sure he would never forget it.

But in the meantime, perhaps he would remember the words that fell from your mouth, just to prove you right once again.

I can't begin to express how beautiful this felt to write. The Fierce Deity truly is my muse.

ALSO there will be a part two, so keep your eyes peeled!

#fierce deity x reader #linked universe #introspective #loz fanfic #loz link #existential romance #fierce deity #fierce daddity contests with the reality of someone actually caring about him #linked universe x reader

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illyrian-dreamer · 1 year

Text

Bat boys drabble!

How each of the bat boys would react to being called ‘bro’ 🦇

Did I not promise to write a least a little something while I’m travelling?? 🥰 Thank you @aroseinvelaris for letting me use your super fun prompt! ❤️

18+ smut under the cut. It’s brat taming time 😏 💥

Rhysand

Wouldn’t like it one bit

You have heaps of loving pet names for one another (darling of course, princess, tiny, kitten and mischievous one for you) (handsome, lover boy, baby and mosthandsomeandcunninghighlord for Rhys). Bro is certainly not on the list.

He blinks those dark lashes once, the most surprise he’d ever show

A sinister grin grows on his face

“A beg your pardon, darling?”

He stalks closer, placing his hands on either side of the wall of whatever surface you’re near, trapping you between him, his purple eyes sparkling, almost daring you

“What was that you called me? Bro?” You can hear the distaste in his voice

His scent evenlopes your senses, and you swallow thickly

Tracing the bob in your throat, Rhys quirks a brow at you, faking an expected answer for a victory he already knows is his

He tuts before leaning in that much closer, his lips against your throat. Seconds later, canines gently graze your soft flesh

“I dare you to call me that again,” he murmurs into your neck

Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t find your voice as Rhys licks where his teeth were resting, your core now throbbing

He’d probably sink his teeth in just a little before taking you against the wall

Cassian

Laughs at first, you were on the same team at games night and he chuckled, returning your high-five when you won

But as the night went on, you used the nickname a few more times, and it begin to eat away at him

Which you noticed in your partner, his laugh turning to a smirk, then a frown, and finally an outright scowl

Still, you delighted in irking him

Cassian was unusually quiet on your way home. As soon as you got through the door, he grabbed your wrist

“What was that all about?”

“What?” You answered innocently

Cassian levelled a look at you. “Why did you keep calling me bro? I’m your mate.”

You heart could have broken at those puppy dog eyes. You should have realised that kind of teasing would have hurt him, Cassian being the big softie he is

“Oh, I’m sorry Cas. It was- I was just irking you.”

Cassian raises his brows. “Oh! Oh.”

A wolffish grin spread across his face, before you were flipped over his shoulder as he stalked towards your bedroom

Throwing you on the bed (and not gently either), Cassian had your wrists pinned and body pressed against you in seconds

“So my mate likes to tease me, huh?”

You giggled as he nipped your neck, giving a very weak attempt to throw him off you

“I am your mate, sweetheart. And only your mate can make you feel like this.”

Cassian thrusts his groin into yours and holds it there, your laughter immediately halting as pleasure shoots up through your core

Cassian delights at the shock on your face, before moving against you a few more times, slowly rutting, fully clothed

“You’ve gone all quiet, sweetheart, and gone all pink,” he teases. “What’s wrong, got nothing else to say?”

You can barely speak beyond moaning his name as Cassian flips and fucks you, the whole damn bed on its final hinges

Azriel

Does nothing in the moment, beyond quirking a brow at you

Bahaha boy oh boy will you be paying for it later though

It’s like he has a clicker in his mind, and each time you use that word, he tallys the amount of spanks you’ll be receiving that night

Azriel sees the word bro as a challenge – it’s mocking, questions his dominance, and is a weak attempt to toy with him

That’s why later that night, you’re bent over his lap, panties pulled to the side as he soothes your red cheeks after a fifth spank, Azriel cooing softly

“Who am I?” His voice is deep, commanding

Your face is as red as your ass. “Daddy.”

“That’s right. And what am I not?”

You gulp, willing yourself not to snort as you say it

Azriel pinches your ass – you’re taking too long

You yelp before manage to get it out. “My bro.”

“Good girl.” Azriel continues to rub a soothing palm over your stinging cheeks before squeezing at the flesh.

He fucks you sensually, only because you took your punishment like a good girl

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dirtytomatoedwrites · 2 years

Text

Underneath It All

Paring: JJ Maybank x KookFem!reader

Warnings: 18+ Smut. Oral (w receiving) PIV, Fluff, Romance, JJ’s got a dirty mouth. (Slight Angst, Slight Dub Con - if you squint) Not Proof-Read.

Summary: JJ wants more than a casual hook up.

Word Count: 2000 words

Your media consumption is your own responsibility.

Fine Print: Steal my writing or copy bits and karma will get ya.

“You know, you weren’t my type,” JJ whispered.

"Wh-what?" you stammered. Scrunching your nose at the sudden change in topic, you wondered what drove him to switch from talking about Rafe to well- you.

"You just- weren't."

"Oh—" And then it clicked. He wanted you to respond with ‘and what about now?', opening the door to a conversation you were not willing to have.

It was not that you did not want to. But there was too much animosity between your friends and his; too much of a painful history for any sort of healthy relationship to form between you and JJ. Each time you spoke, it always came back to something one of your friends had done or said. Toxic messes with no end or resolution in sight. Wasn't this the very reason JJ climbed the tall trellis against the side of your home and into your bedroom window in the first place? To tell you about some shit Rafe had done and why Rafe had more coming to him than a bloody nose and a cut lip?

But there was another reason. Your mind chided, and you baulk under the weight of the truth. It is for this unspoken reason that JJ showed up at your house in the dead of night while your parents slept soundly down the hall. Why even as he spoke, his gaze unapologetically swept across every inch of your body, only for your core to clench with anticipation. But you didn’t want to dwell on that. You couldn’t dwell on that. Nothing good could ever come from that. So you narrowed your eyes at him in a futile attempt to get the conversation about Rafe back on track and hopefully send him back the way he came.

"It's fine. You’re not mine," you shrugged though your heart clenched. You watched JJ’s eyebrow hitch in response, his fingers twitch at his side. Folding your arms across your chest you forced yourself to continue. "I’m not into blondes," you said with haughty resignation.

“Is that right?” JJ chuckled, dimpled cheeks on full display. It gave him a boyish charm if it weren't for his teeth, which appeared white and wolf-like in the moonlight. His blue eyes flickered down at your lips as he licked his own. It made his intentions painfully obvious.

"That’s right…" you swallowed as he inched closer, "..and I don’t. Fuck. Pogues.”

JJ lunged forward, lips crashing onto yours in a brutal kiss. His ringed fingers grabbed your neck and pulled you close, enslaving you to his sensual assault of teeth and lips. Your knees buckled when his tongue entered your mouth, despite your efforts to resist. While his fingers slipped down your body to your ass, kneading the soft supple flesh covered in silk. Growling into your mouth, JJ pulled you closer, grinding your core against his stiffening cock. The action makes you instantly wet much to your chagrin.

Pulling away from the kiss, JJ scraped his teeth along the shell of your ear, his voice on edge as he spoke. “Don’t fuck pogues, huh? Funny since you didn’t mind bouncin' on my dick when that asshole dumped you. Ain’t that right cupcake?” His vulgar words made your stomach churn in disdain and you tried to push him off, but his hands wound their way around your waist. JJ pulled you towards him until your lower halves bumped, then backed you towards your bed and pushed you down onto it.

“That was a mistake. A moment of weakness JJ and you know it.” You said, scrambling backwards on your elbows to put distance between the two of you. JJ grabbed your right ankle and yanked you towards him.

“It was a mistake JJ…a moment of weakness JJ…” he mimicked, high-pitched and shrilly. “That's cute, princess. Real cute.” he drawled, as he climbed on top of you. With those piercing blue eyes staring down at you from a halo of wispy blonde hair, he looked like an angel but something about his expression reminded you of Lucifer too.

In the seconds that followed, a silent conversation ensued filled with emotions you could not articulate: uncertainty, lust, fear. It seemed JJ understood because his eyes softened immediately and an unspoken understanding passed between the two of you. He suddenly seemed different; unusually calm compared to the chaotic energy he usually exuded.

JJ had switched tactics.

“That night in your dad's office while everyone watched fireworks outside..." he said softly, his fingers slowly undoing each button of your silk pyjama shirt. Normally, he would have eagerly ripped them open with fervor and passion but, tonight, his actions were languid and gentle. You felt you could stop him if you truly wanted to.

You remembered the night in question. It was your dad's 60th birthday party which had been a grand occasion; many of the Outer Banks' elite gathered under the stars to celebrate. Your parents had hired a catering company and JJ was one of its servers.

You gasped as he exposed your naked chest to the cool night air, bringing you back to reality. He slowly leaned down tongue trailing along the side of your rib cage.

“Was that night a mistake too?" His eyes flashing up at you as he latched onto your nipple with fervor.

You were immediately swept away as JJ sucked, pulled, and tugged hungrily at your tender flesh. Your other bud was deliciously teased by his nimble fingers while images of that night and JJ holding you down against your father's desk as he pounded you senseless came rushing back. Just thinking about it made you giddy, your fingertips gently gliding into his blonde strands.

Slowly, he kissed down your chest to your silk-covered core, your body humming with need as he buried his face and breathed you in.

"Where were your kook morals when I fucked you at midsummer, huh?" he asked while hooking his fingers into the band of your silk shorts and panties. Clearly, you didn’t have any because you were now lifting your hips for JJ while he dragged them down your legs and off. He flung them aimlessly behind him, before his lips pressed soft kisses on your stomach and hips.

“Or that night under the stars while your friends partied by the bonfire?” He looked up at you, pupils blown “Don’t think I've ever told you this, but that night is one of my favorites. You just kept riding me, an’ riding me, an’ riding me...” he whispered eyes rolling at the sinful thought “You made me cum so fuckin' hard I nearly passed out. Do you remember?"

That night was one of your favorites too. Your friends were down by the beach and you had snuck off to be with JJ on higher ground. The sand dunes provided the perfect spot to pull him down on the white sand and climb on top of him. It was also the first time you had decided to not use condoms since starting the pill a week prior.

You remembered JJ lying beneath you while you fucked yourself on his dick. His hands slid up and down your body touching every part he could reach until they landed on your hips where they stayed.

You rode him for what felt like forever. Slow desperate circles that had you moaning and gasping. The lack of a condom taking both of your pleasure to dizzying heights since you could feel everything. Your eyes never left his handsome face as you watched his expression shift from horny to on the edge of exploding.

When JJ finally came, you had never seen him cum like that before. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, his teeth bared as he whimpered your name like a hedonistic prayer. Watching him become vulnerable and losing control like that had you careening into an orgasm of your own. Your could barely hold on but you kept riding him as you wrung out every last ounce of pleasure. It was only when he brokenly confessed “God, I love fucking you. I love... I love being with you” did you finally climb off him Bambi-legged, with his cum dripping down your thighs.

You nodded at the sinful memory, biting your bottom lip, and JJ chuckled. "Yeah, I knew you'd remember" Pushing your legs apart, he wrapped his arms around your legs, his face close to your weeping core.

"Don't fuck pogues, but your legs are always open for me, hm?" he breathed, his tongue darting out to taste the nectar pooling at your slit. A satisfied hum bubbled from his throat. “Always eager... wet... an’ sweet”. JJ purred before burying his tongue deep in your cunt.

"Oh, Fuck! J-" you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as you bucked underneath him, seeking more friction. JJ’s tongue danced along your clit. Using two fingers he spread your petals apart, your pearl on display for him. You let out a sharp cry when he suckled it, toes curling, your head spun from the excessive stimulation. JJ sucked greedily, lapping at your sweet nectar until your clit throbbed from being so thoroughly mouthed.

"Nah uh, can’t come yet, princess" he murmured, as he flicked your clit with his tongue, "Can’t come til I tell you to." His voice was guttural; his words dripping with lust that left you shaking with need. You moaned again, tilting your hips up against JJ's prodding tongue until you forgot who and where you were. Your whole body quaking with the insatiable need to cum.

You ran your fingers through JJ’s silky hair and grabbed the back of his neck with both hands. With your head tilted back on the pillows, desperately you had spread your legs as wide as you possibly can, your toes pointed towards the ceiling. It had him right where you needed him most. Your stomach clenched, not able to get enough air or leverage to do much other than gulp and gasp for breath. You felt like you were a dying star about to be reborn.

JJ sank his fingers deep into your soaked pussy and you lost it. The sound of your cry reverberated throughout your bedroom. Unbridled and loud. Holding down your bucking hips JJ continued to suck your swollen bud as he finger-fucked every last ounce of ecstasy from your pulsing core.

“Can’t even follow simple instructions, hm? You bad girl...” JJ laughed breathlessly, as he crawled up your body leaving a trail of wet kisses along his path. Reeling from your orgasm, you didn't even notice JJ had taken off his t-shirt or that he was now on top of you. You sighed as he kissed you passionately, and you moaned at the taste of yourself on his tongue. His fingers worked his belt and unzipped his fly. He pulled his cock out, the mushroom tip flared and sticky with precum.

“But ’s okay… ” JJ breathed, and he wasted no time pushing his thick cock past your soaked petals, his lips brushing your neck with a sigh. “You needed it, huh baby? I get it. It’s the same way I’ve been needin’ to fuck you all week. It’s all I could think about... I’ve missed you. Did you miss me too?” He pushed deeper and you cried out, perhaps in response to his question. JJ’s hand flew over your mouth to stop the sound from escaping.

“Ah ah, shh--” he smiled, dimples pronounced, lips ghosting your ear. “What would your parents say, hm? What’d they say if they caught their princess takin’ my pogue dick?” But even as he said those words JJ pushed harder into you until his entire length filled you to the hilt. A long sigh escaped you as he began to rock his hips gently.

"Gotta keep quiet for me, baby...” JJ moaned, kissing you along your collarbone. “Gotta keep quiet while I fuck you... Can you do that for me?”

You shook your head ‘no’ and JJ breathed out a laugh. “I know baby, I know its hard but you gotta try, you gotta try...” It was easier said than done with the feel of JJ grinding his hips, his thick cock impossibly deep in you. A low keening sound escaped your lips as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close to your chest. His skin felt hot yet smooth like marble beneath your hands and it sent a shiver up your spine when he tightened his hold and nipped at your neck with his teeth.

His pace quickened after those few gentle thrusts. He took in deep gulps of air, his breath brushed across your cheek. "You feel soo good.. fuckin’ tight... always chokin’ me--” he whispered, his voice trailing off into incoherent words and moans while his hips picked up their rhythm making you sob into the palm of his hand. This is what you wanted, what you needed, so desperately. The pleasure, the pain, everything only JJ could give you.

"Fuck, ’m close, baby. So close. Gonna cum-” JJ groaned against your ear, “Can I- in you?" he whispered between shallow pants. You knew what he was asking for, what he needed and you shook your head ‘yes’. Your fingertips embedded into the flesh of his back as you clung to him for dear life.

Leaning into his hand at your mouth, JJ drove himself forcefully into you as if trying to hammer home how good it felt filling you. So fucking gone you didn't care about the noise, you didn't care about your bed frame hitting the wall. Because with every pound of your heart, every rush of blood to your core, every sharp burst of light behind your closed eyelids, and the stroke of his cock hitting that spot deep within, your orgasm approached quicker and harder than ever before. The buildup was almost too much to bear and you clawed at JJ’s back for purchase.

"God- Ah! J-" you sobbed, biting down on JJ's palm as your whole body convulsed from the force of your orgasm. JJ pulled out slowly until just his tip remained, then slammed back into you violently. He did it once, twice, three times - a primal groan left his lips as his body stiffened above you, cock twitching as he painted your womb with his cum. He shuddered, gasping harshly against your ear, whispering brokenly the words ‘yes, fuck--’ and ‘mine’

After several minutes of panting, JJ gently removed his hand from your mouth and his lips came to meet yours. His face was full of love as he lazily stroked your cheeks and lips.

"You weren't my type because I didn't think a girl like you would ever want someone like me," JJ admitted softly. "But, I know the truth and I’m done pretending what we have isn’t real. You can’t keep runnin' away from this Y/N..." he whispered, eyes burning into your own. "You can't keep runnin' from me."

#thanks for reading #thank you for commenting reblogging and liking #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x kook!reader #jj maybank one shot #obx jj maybank #obx jj x reader #jj maybank smut #obx #obx romance #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfiction

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tripleyeeet · 2 months

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SICK LITTLE GAMES

SUMMARY: Astarion arrives to interrupt your sleep. Like always. PAIRING: Astarion Ancunin/Female Reader WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, teasing, oral sex (fem receiving), overstimulation, blood drinking, brat taming if you squint real hard. A/N: I have no idea how this mother fucker got into my house but here we are. A little blast from the past.

MASTERLIST

The affection comes in waves. Like the ocean, they’re unpredictable and rough —enveloping you under the hurried embrace of an overly confident Astarion who often appears out of nowhere. The sensations of desperation always filling his features as he piles into your tent well into the night, still smelling of the viscera of his latest catch.

Whenever it happens, you’re hardly ready for it. With sleep still in your eyes and the confusion of someone who’s seemingly just awoken from death itself, it always takes you a few moments to register that he’s talking to you. And, that his needy hands have already begun to pull at your clothes, adjusting the fabric in ways that better cater to his curious eyes.

“Hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time,” he jokes. His voice low and hungry. A telltale sign that he’s here for something requiring not only your company but your undivided attention too, causing you to sigh.

“Well, I was sleeping,” you say, your palm moving up to rub your eye, feeling the pressure that’s already begun to develop as revenge for not immediately taking care of your already lacking sleep schedule. “But some bastard decided to ruin that.”

He tuts and further cages you against your bedroll, fingers idly stroking your exposed skin. “You want me to take care of them, love? Tear them to shreds for waking you up?”

At that, you snort and move your knee towards the inner part of his thigh, spreading it slightly as a sign that, despite the interruption, you’re willing to forget his transgressions. “It’s alright,” you mumble. “I can handle him. He’s pretty weak.”

“Weak?”

You laugh at his dramatic response, your eyes slightly narrowing to better view the pout on his lips. His expression pinching in annoyance as you reach up and instantly try to smooth everything back out. “Apologies. I meant more so that he’s… distracted.”

“Right, of course.” He releases a huff and lowers his face to yours, a petty smirk now appearing. “That makes more sense considering the rather precarious position he’s found you in.”

“And what position might that be?”

As you ask, you can feel his hands moving to grip your waist. The surprisingly tender feeling making you twitch as he bares his teeth in amusement. His expression shifting from slightly annoyed to completely enraptured in the span of a second thanks to the instinctual reactions you offer in regards to his touch.

“Awfully willing to please,” he simply replies then, the coolness of his tone making you roll your eyes and raise your hands to pinch his cheeks.

“You’re disgusting, you know that? Crawling into my tent in the dead of night so that you can get off on my hospitality. Shameful.”

All he does is humorously hum and lower his face further, the warmth laced within your features spreading down the length of your neck as he aims to claim it with a kiss. “Be less complacent then.”

As if by routine, you open your mouth to argue further but quickly find yourself closing back up when his tongue darts out to taste your flesh. The slick, hot organ easily finding that spot that always seems to render you useless, causing your mind to turn off. Every verbal thought you once had vanishing against the movement of his hands hungrily holding your jaw and rising beneath your tattered tunic.

“I’d say be quiet so the others don’t hear but I see you’re already too blissed out to function,” Astarion chuckles, his lips brushing against you. The lack of previous contact leaving you writhing beneath him —hands moving to wrap around his neck in protest.

“Hey Astarion, for once, can you not tease me?”

He pretends to think for a moment, but ultimately refuses, showing his defiance in the form of slowed movements and a smirk that leaves you wishing you had the resolve to kick him out. “Mm, but what would be the fun in that?”

Again, you huff in annoyance. Even though you’d already expected this the moment he first arrived. Considering Astarion’s never been one the type to simply give into anything, it’s no surprise that even in bed there always has to be a challenge or a game involved. Some sadistic form of foreplay that often causes the end result to unfortunately feel all the more worth it when it arrives, causing you to blindly follow.

“It’d certainly speed things up so I can—oh, fuck you.”

He wastes no time riling you up some more. Before you finish your increasingly irrelevant argument, you feel his teeth drag across your skin, the sharpest points grazing your most sensitive spot with ease. “Language, darling.”

Almost immediately, you press your lips together in protest. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of fighting further as he lifts his head to study you. His eyes focusing on the various sections of your face —memorizing every inch as his other hand draws patterns into your side. A feeling that becomes almost unbearable as time goes on. Thanks to the way he’s staring at you —eyes filled with the desire to ruin— you can’t help but feel impatient. Your body shifting beneath him to garner some sort of response that might speed things along.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Then hurry up,” you practically whine. No longer caring about how desperate you sound. Or how you look when you grip the collar of his shirt to yank him back down again. “Otherwise I’ll kick you out.”

“Ha! No you won’t.”

“I will.”

Despite knowing otherwise, he concedes… slightly. Granting you the satisfaction of sharing the kind of kiss that starts off simple and sweet but quickly becomes tainted. The temptation of potential clouding your minds as Astarion reaches for the back of your head, gripping the roots of your hair —both of you pushing the other to gain control.

Unsurprisingly, it ends up being him that comes out on top. After a long battle of teeth and tongues, he inevitably pries himself away to look down at your breathless form. Admiring the way your chest repeatedly rises and falls, attempting to suck in enough air so that you can scold him for his actions.

“Gods, you certainly are adorable.”

“Oh—shut up.”

He laughs and shakes his head, moving a hand to your cheek. “No honestly, it’s incredible how much defiance one person can have,” he tells you, stroking your skin. “Normally, I’d have the average begging for release by now.”

“Not sure how resilience correlates to adorableness.”

He presses another kiss to your mouth. This time refusing to satisfy. “Hm, it’s more the lack there of that I find adorable.”

You roll your eyes. “Right, of course.”

In response, he lets out a laugh. Allowing the air to thicken around you. Your shared arousal fuelling the need to fall into your usual roles as you swallow hard and further spread your legs. No longer caring how submissive you look underneath his smug stare.

“Right to the point, I see. How” —he pauses, leaning in to place another chaste kiss to your lips— “Dull.”

All you do is huff and bump his thigh with your knee. The fussy action doing enough to disrupt his patience, causing him to scowl and grab your thigh, giving it a light squeeze.

“I see the lack of rest is making you testy.”

You narrow your eyes and release him, forcing your arms to cross over your chest. “I’d say the vampire refusing to fuck me is more so the reason.”

“Oh hush.” Shaking his head, he reaches down to detangle your defiant arms so that he can better see you. His eyes immediately making their rounds in ways that do numbers on your heart as you continue to lay there, always cursed to endure this little game of his. “In no way am I refusing. In fact, if you quit being so huffy I might go the extra mile and linger a bit afterwards.”

“Oh, my gods, like a sleepover?” you say sarcastically, bringing your hands up to hold your cheeks like a child. Prompting him to immediately swat them away as if the mere sight of them makes him want to vomit.

Which only makes you laugh and reach for his face, pulling him down for another kiss that quickly becomes something more than intended. The simple act fuelling Astarion’s desire to progress. To pin you down further into the bedroll as he inevitably detaches himself, opting for other parts of your body to cling to as he makes his way down. The process of it all driving your mind wild as he effortlessly nips and sucks a series of markings into your skin. His own mind finding the blooms of colour to be rather beautiful as he continues down your neck and chest, lingering at your stomach before he pushes your shirt over your head to gain better access.

“Beautiful,” you hear him mutter then. His voice soft and low —an echo of your own thoughts as you glance down to see him sitting up to discard your pants. His hands tucking themselves under the waistband to awkwardly shuck them down as you lift your hips to help.

Then, everything moves at exactly the right pace. As Astarion continues his descent to settle between your thighs, there are no more words needed. Only the resolve to survive as his cold hands graze the edge of your cunt, pushing the fabric aside so that he can get a decent look before pushing his thumb through your folds.

“Unsurprisingly ready, I see,” he practically scolds, but in response you say nothing. Instead, opting to buck your hips ever so slightly to egg him on, causing a low sigh to waft gently across your skin before he gives in.

At which point, you’ve already built everything up so highly in your head. The mere image of it making the actual act feel all the more satisfying as he begins to work your slit. Using both his thumb and tongue to taunt and tease —barely applying enough pressure to strengthen the imaginary band beneath your flesh.

It’s horrific, you think. The ability he has to render you so completely willing and useless. Because not only is it simultaneously the best and worst thing you’ve ever experienced, but it’s obviously dangerous too. Bordering on a sign of weakness that has you whimpering for more as he eventually wraps his lips around your clit to suckle the sensitive skin. Humming in response to the sounds that slip from your lips as he continues to stimulate the surrounding area.

“Fuck, Astarion—“

Your voice catches. Failing to continue once it dawns on you that words aren’t really necessary right now. Not when he’s giving you what you want in the form of nips and licks that become almost pressurized once you feel the presence of his nose begin to make its way down. The end of it nudging the space where his mouth once was. Acting as some sort of placeholder as his tongue begins to ravage your folds in ways that make your eyes practically roll to the back of your head. Your mind emptying to make room for your body to take over, causing you to reach down and grab the roots of his hair for something to anchor to.

Something you know he enjoys based on the hum that reverberates against your entrance. The sensation of it only furthering your arousal as he picks up the pace, driving you closer and closer to the edge with rough fingers that begin to push inside of you. Each one curling to stack the pleasure until you’re writhing beneath him —panting so loud that you’re sure the whole camp can hear you.

Not that you care, though. Not when Astarion’s pumping his fingers so ruthlessly. Not when he’s lapping hungrily through your flesh. Not when he’s moaning against your cunt, begging for you to let go.

In fact, the only thing you care about is the feeling of that final snap. The aforementioned band cracking against your base to create a series of punishing aftershocks that have you raising your hips. Your body moving to get away but finding itself unable when Astarion roughly moves to hold you down, continuing his ministrations as you cover your mouth to stop yourself from waking up the entire bloody camp.

Which only serves as fuel for him to lift his head and look at your writhing form. The entirety of you twitching and squirming as his fingers remained locked in their routine, unable to stop due to how delicious you look pleading for him to stop long after he’s dipping his head back between your thighs to sink his teeth into the plushest part. Drawing enough blood to feed as you cry out, no longer able to fight him.

#sick little games #astarion ancunin #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #sum writes

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natsarrownecklacx · 1 year

Text

Curiosities

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count- 528

Summary- Wanda figuring out she has a somno kink.

Warnings- Allusion to smut, minors DNI this fic is NOT for you, allusion to somnophilia

ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ

Waves of moonlight spill into the room through a crack in the curtains, illuminating long red hair as it tussles around a carefully moving witch.

The room is silent, save for the quiet noise of jostling sheets being scrunched beneath the weight of a moving body and the occasional heavier breaths escaping your mouth.

Wanda couldn’t sleep, her mind occupied with something you had said so casually earlier in the day.

“Sometimes I wish you’d touch me while I’m asleep.” You’d said almost out of the blue, in typical you fashion.

She hadn’t thought much of it at the time. But now the words you let spill from your lips so effortlessly plague her mind, almost as if she can hear the thought coming from your sleeping mind.

She never thought she would be into such a thing, touching you in such an intimate way while you slept.

She’d simply looked over at your sleeping form to check on you. Your words came into her mind, making her laugh at the notion.

Only her laughter stopped when she realized, lying there looking at you blissfully unconscious, that the thought lit a fire in her belly she didn’t expect.

She swore she’d just take a peek. Just to curve her curiosity, then she’d go back to bed. She'd just pull back the blanket a little to get a look at you.

But now she’s kneeling in between your legs, gently hands shaking as she pushes your thighs apart.

She couldn’t help herself. She’d tried. But she really couldn’t. You just looked so pretty lying next to her. So innocent and ready for the taking. So pure and corruptible.

You whine softly in your sleep, your body already knowing what’s to come if it plays its part right, which only serves to make her craving for you pulse, sending a shot of arousal straight to her stomach.

Wanda takes a deep, shaky breath, willing herself to stay calm. Even though her body is begging her to give into her newfound urges.

Eager hands slide from your thighs to your hips, tracing a familiar path as they go. Only this time it feels different. Dirtier. Hungrier. More desperate. As though she’s holding herself back from physically tearing you apart.

“Fuck, y/n. What have you done to me.” She whispers into the room, her lips forming around the words while she wishes they could trace your skin.

Soft hands land on your hips, fingers immediately itching to dig into the plump flesh.

In a moment of weakness Wanda allows herself a moment, just one singular moment, to give in. Her hands squeeze your hips, delighting in the feel of your warm body in her hold, and in the almost imperceivable squirm the action insights from you.

Another, needier, whine falls from your lips. Your body arching into Wanda's, only slightly, but still noticeable to the witch.

Her breath catches in her throat. It’s almost as if you’re begging her.

The thought makes her wet, more than she thought it would.

Even in your sleep you need her. Need her to touch you, feel you, make you come for her.

And if that’s what you want, if it’s what your body needs, who is she to deny you.

ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ

A/n- I posted the same fic last night for Natasha. This was originally written for Wanda n for science I wanna see which will do better

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x y/n #Wanda Maximoff smut #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch x y/n #scarlet witch

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ryin-silverfish · 2 months

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LMK and the Problem of Li Jing

If my browsing in the Nezha tag is any indication, I'm not the only one who has...opinions about the interesting writing choice in S5.

Namely, it's awkward, completely out of left field, and forced.

I am also gonna try and calmly dissect my feelings on the matter, so that it doesn't become a "me sassing Li Jing for ten pages straight" post.

See, my biggest problem isn't "Li Jing is a good/sympathetic dad instead of his more mythos-accurate portrayal".

There are adaptations that make him a good father (Nezha 2019), or at the very least, a flawed but still sympathetic figure (Legends of Nezha cartoon).

And even though FSYY and JTTW's Nezha both have their Attempted Patricide Arc as part of their backstory, when JTTW's Nezha showed up in the novel proper, he was overall more obedient towards Li Jing, so it's not completely without basis (tho crucially, JTTW's Li Jing is also terrified of him picking up the "Patricide" hobby again).

The key, however, is Show Not Tell.

See, the adaptations above are all Nezha-centered works that have plenty of screentime to show where they diverge from the original mythos, and build their takes on the father-son relationship off that new foundation.

LMK, however, doesn't have that. We don't know if either version of the Patricide Arc is true for the show, or even given Nezha's particular backstory for this setting.

We don't know if we should just assume that Nezha's backstory in either JTTW or FSYY went down the same way, or given clues as to where it differs.

All we have are the on-screen interactions, and these consist mostly of Li Jing being his typical Lawful Stupid self.

Sure, there are weak attempts at making him more sympathetic: we are told, through Nezha, that he had been "working sooooo hard" to keep everything running after taking over as basically regent of the Celestial Realm, but again, we aren't shown that properly.

All I see is this guy who...I dunno, went out to get Starbucks or something when JE was kill, then showed up after everything was over to play the loyal minister and prosecute SWK and the gang for bullshit reasons.

(Which is coincidentally very accurate to his overall role in FSYY. Except FSYY's Li Jing was anything but the most sympathetic father figure.)

And because we are given no context for their relationship, their confrontation and reconcillation also feel rushed, falling completely flat when it comes to emotional impact.

Like, if we are to assume their backstory are mythos-accurate, then the whole thing makes no sense——neither "returning your flesh and blood" or attempted patricide can be shrugged off that easily.

If we are to assume it differ from the mythos...HOW and WHERE? Does the birth from a flesh ball happen? Is Nezha destined to be the Vanguard of the Zhou Army, or just a supernaturally powerful kid who can wreck the dragon king's crystal palace three days after his birth?

If he did kill Ao Bing and not just some random dragon, was it an accident, completely justified, or FSYY-accurate? Is his suicide forced or a willing sacrifice, done to save his parents? Did Li Jing destroy his temple? If the Attempted Patricide Arc happened, how was it resolved?

Change one of these, and it will have completely different implications on the Li Jing-Nezha relationship, yet we don't get a single answer to any of these questions.

As a result, the show's version of their relationship and conflict also feels very shallow and generic, your standard "The obedient son must finally stand up and find the courage to voice his opinion to his harsh but loving father——no real anger involved, of course!"

Which is a narrative divergent enough from the mythos as to require proper explanation, instead of being left up to the audiences' imagination, and also, in my opinion, far less interesting than it could have been.

For example: instead of learning to speak his mind (like he'd ever be afraid of doing that), the high point of their conflict is Nezha realizing that he has legitimate reasons to express his anger towards Li Jing for his short-sighted, unsound and overall Lawful Stupid decisions in the here and now, without it being a continuation of their old grievances or exploding into Patricide Arc 2: Electric Boogaloo.

And for someone whose limited characterization has been nothing but an unbroken chain of putting laws and loyalty above reason and common sense, it should take something a lot harsher and undeniable than "They aren't bad guys, dad!" to convince Li Jing.

Lastly, instead of the very cliched "I'm sorry, there's so much left unsaid, I'm proud of you" line, I'd prefer something that was less blatant and, though still awkward, more in line with the rewritten conflict above: sth like "You are right to be angry at me, and I won't mind if you never stop being so."

#lego monkie kid #lmk season 5 #lmk s5 spoilers #lmk li jing #chinese mythology #chinese folklore #lmk nezha #lmk critical

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myfavouritelunatic · 14 days

Text

More Painful Sacrifices

Had a last minute theory... if the above hand turns out to be Halbrand/Sauron's... so I wrote this! We're manifesting, fam.

As soon as Galadriel removes the ring of adamant, she feels a shift deep within her. Like a part of her is missing. Like she left something behind before she faced the orcs and stared Adar down the length of her drawn bow.

She feels… vulnerable.

And it’s not because she is prisoner.

Taken into the Moriondor’s camp, a moveable fortress to protect his children from the light of day, Galadriel knows she will not be harmed here. She knows Adar will need her, might use her. Otherwise she would’ve been slain where she lay in the elven earth, now sullied by the trodding of orc feet.

He leaves her alone. Isolates her. Psychological games is it? She thinks, until a random orc wanders in with a bowl of slop, chucking it at her feet, laughing as some of it splashes up onto her face. “Bring me your leader, foul thing.”

“He’s busy.” The creature growls.

“Bring him to me or I will kill you where you stand.”

The orc simply laughs again and leaves her, knowing full well despite her threats, she cannot do much while shackled.

The noble elf stared down at the bowl filled with murky green and brown, chunks here and there, with no way to tell what kind of meat it is until she passes it between her lips.

Suddenly, a voice in her mind.

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s your concern.”

A memory. A sorrow.

“Not for humans anyway.”

But you were not human.

“No. As much as you desired it, that I shall never be.”

A chill passes through her at the sound of his voice next to her. In her mind no longer. Outside of her.

“But… the other things you desired of me… those can still be.”

She felt him on the edge of her vision. Breathing heavily, she refused to look at him. Refused to acknowledge him. Summoning all the strength within herself, she willed him to be gone.

But all he did was laugh.

“You know that won’t work… not now that the silver band is gone from your flesh. It was a shield, Galadriel. A locked door.” He spoke ominously, terrifying her more with each syllable. She saw his legs come into her vision, the blue of the elven outfit she had gifted him. Only now, it was torn, frayed at the edges.

Then he knelt down, and Halbrand gazed at her. Weary and scarred, but betraying none of that in his hazel eyes.

Only darkness.

“And now that door is open. I’m not going anywhere. Not when you need me.”

Tears slipped unbidden from her pained eyes as she gazed on the face of her friend- no, her enemy, and she felt as if he grasped her brother’s now unmade dagger, twisting it to widen the tear in her heart.

“What have you done to Celebrimbor.” She hissed at him with aching words, attempting to ignore her own torment by focusing on that of another. “I know you have ensnared him.”

Halbrand reached over to tuck some errant strands of blonde behind her ear, and she flinched away from him. “Do not touch me, Deceiver!”

“But you have touched the darkness, Galadriel. It is only fair that I touch the light…”

“No!”

She recoiled, but with nowhere to go, the elf had no choice but to receive his hand on her face. And as it held her, she was filled with an ease she had not known for so long. She surrendered to him. Not because she was weak, or not in control, but because she wanted to.

“You see me, Galadriel? See what Adar did to me, after you rejected me… abandoned me… cast me out like I said you would.”

“Halbrand… I…”

Sauron. He is Sauron. Know he is deceiving you.

Another chuckle from the dark lord. “My name does not matter.” He stated, knowing her thought. “Only who I am does. And that is a being who would throw themselves at your mercy. Adar is going to extend a partnership to you. I would ask you to refuse him.”

“Why? You are our enemy.”

“Because he is our enemy, Galadriel, and he will only betray you. He will take the first opportunity to do so.” She watched his eyes wander a moment, as if focusing on a haunted memory. “And if you do refuse him, if you come to me… I will see to Celebrimbor remaining unharmed.”

Galadriel scoffed. “Unharmed? Surely it is too late for that. What you did to me… I can only imagine the corruption you have wrought upon him.”

“I assure you, elf. He will live. If you come to me. Be at my side, like you should have remained, and spare Eregion of its fate.”

“War is certain. The orcs have invaded our lands. No doubt Elrond and Gil-galad are marching east to you right now. If I were you… I would leave now. Please, Halbrand.” She used his false name, appealing to his ruse and to the wound in her heart, the part of her that clung onto something good within him. The part of her that shamefully did not wish for him to suffer.

“Come to me!” She continued. “Rescue me from our enemy, if you wish to be at my side so urgently.”

Halbrand flinched. He hadn’t expected her to say that.

The game was up.

His tender hold of her face swiftly became a vice-like grip of her chin. “Galadriel!” He bellowed her name, pronouncing it not in his Southlander accent. “Come to me!”

Galadriel spoke softly through his rough grasp. “No… Halbrand… If you mean your words... if… if I ever meant anything to you, you will leave Eregion behind. And maybe together, we can save as many as we can. You want to save Middle-earth, yes? This is how you begin.”

The dark lord’s face was contorted by his unshakeable darkness, veins protruding outward from his snake-like eyes. Just as he had done with her once before. “I will not bend to you, elf! Nor to anyone!” He spat at her, outraged.

“Then I shall see you on the battlefield.”

She smirked, bravely. She knew their reunion was inevitable. The ring had shown her that much.

And it had also shown her much more… painful sacrifices that she did not ask to see. But, she knew the ring was guiding her. It had lead her to Adar for a reason.

Soon, it would lead her to Sauron.

The deceiver threw her head away, the force knocking her to the ground. When next she opened her eyes, Galadriel could only see that untouched bowl of gruel, the spoon now lying in the dirt.

Sauron was gone.

Feeling faint, she reached out one of her shackled hands to grasp the utensil, and mercifully, before she could take the first gulp of putrid food, two orcs entered, pulling her to her feet.

“Lord father will see you now.”

#saurondriel #haladriel #galadriel #halbrand #sauron #the rings of power #trop fanfiction #trop spoilers #rop spoilers

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velvette-creations · 3 months

Text

Death's Bride

Interview with the Vampire: Santiago x fem!reader

Companion Piece of "To Be Loved by Death"

Rating: Mature

WC: 1.0 k

Prompt: Temporary Death for @sweetspicybingo (Hurt/Comfort Bingo Collection)

Warnings: Vampirism: lots and lots of blood, feeding, turning

A/n: This old white man has me in a chokehold, what can I say? Ben Daniel did wonders with Santiago. Also there’s a little easter egg in the fic for all those who are fans of the original film ;)

Summary: Santiago turns you

The coven had unanimously voted to let you join, though Armand seemed reluctant in his response. You learned he had never created a vampire in his five hundred years. There was something about him that you didn’t trust, but Santiago led the coven now, and his sights fell upon you, so no one dared argue with him. You half expected Eglee to rip your throat out, but you had no qualms about sharing Santiago with her. You even allowed her to feed on you from time to time.

Finally, the night of your translation arrived in the true fashion of the coven; it would be a spectacle for the public to behold at a premium price.

“My love, are you prepared to confront death’s beckoning this very night?” Santiago inquired, enveloping your hands in his own before guiding you in a slow dance across the stage.

“Yes,” you whispered.

“Louder, ma chérie. The audience needs to hear your answer,” he smirked, his glowing cerulean eyes locked on yours.

“Y..yes!” your voice quivered, the unease palpable in the air. You spoke louder this time, feeling uneasy as the audience laughed at your reaction. His hands were cold against yours, but you didn’t mind it. You had grown used to his cold embrace, the sharpness of his bite, and the nonexistent beating heart. It was hollow when you rested your head on his chest. You had believed you would fall in love with a man of warm flesh and blood, but instead, you found a cold demon had taken hold of your heart.

“Are you ready to be our bride?”

The coven moved into position, clad in white, reminding you of ghosts. They moved in spectral synchronization, swirling around the stage as Santiago danced you around. The fresh bite marks on your neck throbbed. Ruby droplets oozed from the puncture wounds, stirring the base desires in the ghostly vampires surrounding you. You kept your eyes trained on Santiago. He had offered you the dark gift, and you were willing to accept it and live by his side for eternity.

Eglee moved behind you, her fangs ghosting over your neck as her glass nails dug into the threadbare fabric of your black dress. The tattered garment had been a relic of old, worn by how many before you, you had no idea. It was a funeral dress with a high neck and frayed lace, but it portrayed you as death’s bride. The coven performers circled you, their greedy hands clenching at the hem. You twisted in the grasp until, finally, the gown was torn from your body, leaving you bare before the unfamiliar eyes of the audience and the salacious ones of the coven. Santiago beckoned you closer, drawing you into his arms.

“I am ready,” you whispered to him, then repeated your words louder for the captive audience to hear.

“Then it is time,” Santiago announced before sinking his fangs into your neck—a sweet burn, followed by a pulse of pain before it all became dull.

You grew limp as he drained you, as he lifted your weak body and passed you into the arms of the other members before they advanced on you. The curtains fell as thunderous applause and cheers filled the theater. Santiago ordered the others away, his voice muffled in your ears as you descended into darkness, unable to keep your eyes open. Life slowly drained from your body as your blood filled their insatiable mouths. You teetered into the darkness, letting it swallow you whole.

They suddenly pulled away from you, blood dripping from their greedy lips as Santiago loomed over top of you. His glistening nail sliced through his wrist before he knelt and pressed it to your mouth. You groaned as the ruby droplets filled you. Slowly, you gained your strength and consciousness as he brought you back to life. You grasped his wrist tightly as a voracious hunger surged through you.

“Ah, ah, chérie, that is enough,” Santiago scolded, patting your cheek before pulling his wrist away.

You sat up, your hair, longer and thicker, cascading down your naked body as blood clung to your mouth. Your tongue traced around your fangs, and you watched with fascination as your nails lengthed and hardened.

“I want more,” you growled.

“Then I would say a hunt is in order,” Santiago smirked, extending a hand to help you to your feet. The coven bristled in their agreement, and preparations were made. You dressed in leather jodhpurs, riding boots, and a red blouse, ready to tackle the City of Paris. The women of the coven decorated your fingers with ornate silver rings, and Santiago pressed his cigarette against your lips. You inhaled deeply, the smoke wafting around you as you tasted ash. The leather scent of his jacket was thick against your nostrils. Everything felt heightened. Enhanced.

“Come, ma chérie, the night awaits!” Santiago announced with a flourish.

The night became alive through your new eyes, vivid and bustling. You could smell everything: the hot blood pumping through veins, the sweet wine poured into glasses, the pungent smell of sweat, and you wanted to taste it all. Your vision was enhanced, making out the small details of clothing worn by the blurred bodies you passed and counting the cracks in the pavement. As his motorbike zoomed through the brightly lit city, your nails dug into Santiago's arm before letting out a whoop of delight. Santiago’s laugh bounced through the air at your enthusiasm. The coven descended upon a tavern on the outskirts, and the feeding began.

Your fangs sliced through flesh like butter, reveling in the warm spurt of blood that poured into your flushed mouth. You tore the throats of three men, draining them to the brink of death before releasing them. You wondered if you would ever feel full enough.

“You are a true creature of the night, chérie,” Santiago praised as his thumb traced around your crimson-stained lips, swiping the droplets away. He pressed the digit to his mouth and suckled it clean.

“I have never felt more alive,” you breathed, lifting your head to press your blood-stained lips to his, savoring in the intensity of his kiss.

His arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you into the air as the slaughter continued beneath your dangling feet. It was finally in death that you felt the most alive.

#fic: iwtv #sweetspicyhc #iwtv santiago #santiago x reader #santiago iwtv #iwtv fanfiction #santiago #santiago fanfic #tw blood #tw vampire

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