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luveline · 25 days

Note

this is quite vague, sorry, but would you please write more for coworker James? maybe him and r are sneaking around to kiss or they go out or Sirius and Remus find out. Idk whatever you feel like!!

you and James at the end of a secret date | ty for requesting! fem

You kissed James because you had to. You’ve never felt that pull before, but he’d been sitting there on the step next to you, close enough to see the freckles on his nose and count them, and— well, it’s hard to explain. But you kissed him.

So far, it’s working in your favour.

“It’s fine,” James says, breathless where he’s kissing your neck.

“No, I think I broke it,” you say, squirming away from him to see the lamp where it’s fallen. “Shit.”

James had been kissing you on his sofa and your arm had a mind of its own, moving backward, whacking the body of the lamp where it had been living innocently on the side table. Now it’s in five separate pieces on the floor, but James doesn’t care.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“I’m not.”

You laugh, a little lost in the way he’s touching you. James isn’t being too much, despite your legs spread around his hips to let him kiss you and the slip of your stomach that’s exposed itself. He’s kissing you hard, yes, but he isn’t grabbing anything too sensitive. He isn’t initiating, just kissing.

“No, ‘cos– ‘cos I’ve broken it, I have, I’ll have to buy you another one. It’s from IKEA, right? It’s–”

“It’s from IKEA,” James affirms, lifting his face from your neck to meet your eyes. His lips are pink from kissing, the tip of his nose ruddied. “I can get another one any hour of the day. Can you stop worrying?”

“No.”

James laughs and holds your cheek. “No, I guess you can’t. And I was getting ahead of myself, wasn’t I?” He turns his hand, stroking your under eye with a careful fingernail. “It’s getting late. I should drive you home.”

You’re crestfallen, then. “Is it?”

He checks his watch. “S’almost eleven.”

You have work tomorrow. You’ll have to wake at 6AM. But you don’t want to leave, don’t want James to get off of you, don’t want to go back to the office where you’re still pretending to hate him.

Not very well, mind you, but pretending all the same.

You’re distracted from your melancholy by the marvel of him above you. His hair seems darker than ever today, black and shiny and nice to touch, a tad mussed from your hands. You smooth down each wanton curl and get a good look at his eyes. His lashes… it leaves you breathless again, how long they are, how beautiful he seems.

You’re dating, sort of. Not together. You can’t stay the night, you haven’t fucked, and he doesn’t seem to want to yet. It’s still early days.

You aren’t sure if you’d let him fuck you here, but he hasn’t tried. You’d thought the neck kissing was a precursor, felt heat blooming in your chest and somewhere lower as he held your nape. You can imagine it easily from this position, blood rushing to warm your chest, a tizzied kiss of it to match James’ blush. He’d touch you, and you’d let him. He’d push your shirt the rest of the way up and see you clearly.

“James…” you say softly.

“What?”

“Can I ask you something?”

He strokes your cheek. Your skin stretches gently under his touch, your eye squinting closed. “What sort of something?” he whispers.

You wanna ask why he won’t fuck you. It would make sense —isn’t that what rivalry is, heated competition with poorly hidden sexual tension? Is that what you and James had?

“I’ve been thinking about something.”

“What sort of something?” he repeats with a laugh.

“I don’t want to say it out loud.”

James lets your head rest against the armrest and pillow smushed behind the top of it. He leans down to kiss you, a pulling thing you can’t help following. “Then don’t say it,” he murmurs, his nose dragging up your cheek as your lips part lazily. “Maybe I can guess.”

“I don’t think you’ll be able to.”

“You never have any faith in me.”

You have much more in him as of late. James has yet to let you down. You kissed him and it’s like he refuses to be cruel about it, never letting you worry, eager in his reciprocation. Things are still confusing between you because you’re avoiding a conversation you’re too afraid to start, lest he want something casual. Instead, you’ve let him drag you deeper into his caging. It will hurt twice as much to ask now.

“It’s stupid,” you say. “Never mind.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“No, it was.” You scratch his scalp as you know he adores. “It’s eleven. You can kiss me for at least another half an hour.”

If he hears the hopefulness in your voice he ignores it. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna keep you up.”

“Well, only if you want to.”

“I always want to kiss you, you vexing woman,” he murmurs, shivers lining your arms and spine as his lips part against your cheek. He kisses downwards, sloven, half moon kisses, lightest scratch of his teeth on your neck. “Is it too immature if I leave a mark?” he asks.

Immature? You have no idea. “I don’t mind what you do, just not above the collar, please.”

You grow still as he tugs at the neckline of your shirt to expose your chest. It isn’t what you meant, and you’re not about to correct him.

“Tell me if I…” He looks up at you, smiling nicely. “Just tell me if I take it too far,” he says. “Okay?”

He plants a kiss over your heart. You hate thinking that he can feel it, hammering, betraying your deep feelings. “Okay,” you breathe.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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joeloverture · 5 months

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fair's fair | pervy!dbf!joel x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog

pairing: pervy!dbf!joel x pervy!f!reader summary: [no outbreak] joel shoves you in his sweaty pits as a 'joke'. warnings: (18+ mdni) pervy!dbf!joel, age gap (early to mid 20s/38), somewhat mutual pining & sexual tension, joel in a wifebeater and jorts, reader has hair, smacking joel's ass like god intended, degradation, sweaty!joel, musk kink, armpit kink!!!, coming untouched, joel calls reader 'kiddo', 2 spanks, m!masturbation [no use of y/n] word count: 2.1k a/n: in another life, i'd be sorry for this fic. in this life, i am not. as always, a shoutout to the effervescent @lovesickonmybed for moodboard curation + creating this au. love to @seventeenpins for taking a glimpse at this + inspiring me. ty esquire team.... hooooly shit. pls suspend your disbelief if you can't come untouched we're here for a good time not a realistic one. btw you're all pussies for chickening out of the pit fics you 'planned' to write after this esquire photo fell into our laps /j

You awake to a rattling crash on the other side of the wall that you share with your dad’s combination garage/man cave. With an exaggerated groan, you peel yourself out of your creased sheets. Maybe the raccoons that have been terrorizing your garbage cans have finally broken into the garage. You’re still in your pajamas — a low-cut tank top and some bloomers that are entirely too short on you — when you rub the sleep from your eyes and shove your feet into your slippers to investigate.

The house is quieter than dust so early in the morning. Your dad’s out at work, and the rest of the neighborhood is just beginning to wake up. There’s the tstststststs of the Adler’s sprinkler system and the birds are chirping. In the mudroom, you snatch up a broom and wrap your fist around it. You listen through the paneling of the door for any hissing or scuttling, but hear nothing. You are not looking to get rabies today.

You poke your head out of the door, broom pointed at the ground like a staff. Immediately, you’re blinded by a slice of sunshine cutting through the very much open garage.

You’re about two seconds away from sprinting back inside to call 911 when you see the unkempt, sunkissed hair of none other than Joel Miller.

You set the broom gently back against the wall. Joel’s not a threat – at least not to anything but that traitor between your legs. He’s just your dad’s buddy; drinking buddy, fishing buddy, jack-of-all-trades buddy. He’s also no stranger to those borderline goo-goo eyes you give him. How could you not? He’s just so broad and muscled and God, you swear up and down that you stare more at his ass than anyone has ever stared at yours.

Sometimes, if you’re lucky, he’ll even give you shit about it. Bending over directly in your line of sight at block parties, ‘play wrestling’ with you on the dock by the lake whenever you jokingly call him an old man, or, in one very special instant, giving your ass a smack that sent you into an hours long tizzy.

You deserve to give him shit about it, too.

After all, he’s the one ferreting around in your dad’s garage in the wee hours of the morning. You pad into the garage, footsteps muffled by your slippers as you navigate around your dad’s pickup. You catch a better look at Joel when you pass the truck bed. And, for better or for worse, he’s dressed like a slut.

His ribbed white wifebeater stretches over his wide chest, grass stains scattered along the small of his back. Sweat darkens the hems of his shirt under his armpits, glistening and beading on the back of his neck, too. In true dad fashion, he even has on jorts. He’s bent over your dad’s tool bench, thumbing around an assortment of screwdrivers. His denim-covered ass sticks out. A smile spreads across your face.

You slip around the truck and take soft step after soft step until you’re right behind him. You can’t help but notice a cocktail of his pheromones and B.O. surrounding him. He must’ve been outside for a while now with all of the stains he’s accumulated on his shirt already. You keep your breathing muted so he can’t hear you as you reach out and — smack!

Joel shrieks, shooting upright. His head slams into the shelf overhead and a few bolts go toppling onto the concrete below. He cusses like a sailor as his hand goes up to rub the back of his head, nursing where a lump will probably be in a few hours time. Joel whips around to see you, smothering your giggles behind your hand. “You little shit,” he huffs, still scratching at his head. You don’t miss how his cheeks are firetruck red. “The fuck are ya doin’?”

“Me? The fuck are you doing, Miller? Stomping around my dad’s garage at, like, the asscrack of dawn–”

“Nine in the mornin’ ain’t the asscrack of dawn, sweetcheeks,” Joel says. Then, he holds up a set of pliers. “Mower shit the bed. I’m thinkin’ Sarah stole my pliers to make necklaces, but she hasn’t fessed up yet. Your pops said I could borrow his.” He stretches, giving you a long whiff of his scent. The groan he lets out stirs something in your stomach, much to your chagrin.

“I think the mower is the least of your worries,” you say, wrinkling your nose. “You reek. Shower shit the bed, too?”

“You try doin’ yard work in 90 degree heat, kiddo. See how much you smell like that strawberry raspberry peach whatever-the-fuck soap you’re usin’.”

You roll your eyes so hard you’re surprised you don’t see the back of your skull. “Rosemary eucalyptus,” you correct under your breath.

“Hmm, what was that?” Joel asks, tossing the pliers down onto the workbench. “Gotta speak up.”

“Rosemary eucalyptus,” you say. “But I bet you wouldn’t know. What do you use? 18 in 1?”

Joel grunts. “Real funny.” He takes a step closer to you, lips taut with a smirk. “How ‘bout you find out?”

You don’t have time to question what the hell he means – he just cups the back of your head with one of his wide palms and shoves your face directly into his closest sweaty pit. “Mmmmph!” you protest, mouth sealed shut against the thatch of hair that’s spattered across his skin. You hold your breath for as long as you can, but eventually, you’re forced to suck in a breath through your squished nose. His musk, sweet and just as sharp, fills your airways. Your clit all but jerks between your legs in humiliation, drawing a whine out of your throat.

Joel chuckles, ruffling your hair. It’s enough to make your thighs clench. “You’re a little freak, huh?” He presses harder on the back of your head, so much so that you almost get a mouthful of his underarm.

“Youuu dick!” you try to say without opening your mouth too far. It comes out muffled against his sweat-pearled skin. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push him off of you.

Another wry chuckle comes from above. Joel bends his arm so that his elbow is wrapped around the back of your head, effectively trapping you in his funk. “Come on, huff ‘em. Practically fuckin’ asking for it earlier, all ‘a that mouthin’ off. So now you get a mouthful of my pits. Fair’s fair, kiddo.”

Embarrassment ribbons through your body, the kind that makes you leak into your panties against your will. Still looking for a way out, you squirm against his ironclad hold.

It’s only good for making him land a heavy-hitting slap across your ass. You yelp, a new wave of slick saturating the drenched gusset of your panties. You jump where you are, hips bucking into nothing – for escape or pressure, you’re not entirely sure. “Unless you wanna go over my knee instead?” Your face sears with humiliation.

Tentatively, you snuffle a bit against his pit, biting into your cheeks at his musk. It makes you cough a little bit – he’s been carrying the smell of cutting grass and his own sweat all morning.

“Yeah, thought so. But you can do better than that, sweetcheeks. I said huff, not fake an asthma attack.” You whimper, this time sucking in a longer breath. Here he is, holding you down, secure against his pit as you're left with no other option than to take what he gives you, when he gives it to you. All you can smell, feel, touch is just Joel, Joel, Joel. It makes you lightheaded.

Your clit is practically a kickdrum between your thighs, pulsing and doing more work than your head. You try to angle yourself so that you can rub your clit against Joel’s leg, but he puts a stop to that real quick. “Gettin’ all wound up just from being where ya belong, your pretty little face in my pit?” You mewl, reaching for Joel’s sides. You bunch your fists in the fabric of his wifebeater, and he allows it.

“Since you’re so eager to complain about it, how ‘bout you clean me up, huh?” He nudges his pit against your face again, and, confusedly, you furrow your brows. You can’t see much of him, but you do see the edge of his mouth tip up in satisfaction. “You got rocks for brains? Lick, kiddo.”

Hesitance drives the soft kitten lick of your tongue, swiping up and down across a very small portion of his pit. He loosens up on his grip on you, giving you the slightest bit more reign. You try to tell yourself that you’re scared of what he might do if you disappoint him, but hell if you don’t want this as much as he does, tongue, nose, face buried in his pits. Some sort of ultimate form of worship between the two of you.

You lave your tongue across his pit, eyes fluttering with each stroke. You swirl it in the crease of his arm, sucking his goddamn hairs clean with the fervor you’ve picked up. Enthused now, you bob your head up and down. Your clit responds, throbbing with a heartbeat of its own.

You’re panting, inhaling and exhaling him, lapping up his musk like a fucking dog, gone from reluctant to eager. Your clit twitches faster and faster, and you swear that arousal must be tacky on the insides of your thighs, leaking through your panties all over the front of your bloomers, but you can’t do anything about it. You can’t even grind against Joel – you can only slurp against his armpit, something like desperation having replaced all of your previous mortification from when he’d shoved you there in the first place.

You’re so preoccupied with pleasing him that you don’t even notice the thumping of your clit, picking up speed and pressure. Your body seizes in between your greedy little licks. You feel yourself weaken before you stiffen.

And maybe it’s the way Joel keeps groaning with each movement of your tongue. It could be how he exhales, “Kiddo,” in a raspy voice, both demeaning and endearing all at once. But in the end, it’s how he says, “Mmmm, such a good goddamn tongue. Bet it’d feel so good on my cock,” that breaks the dam between your legs.

You shudder, coming completely undone with little moans and whimpers in Joel’s arms without so much as a hand on your clit, just your face smothered in his pit. Drool runs down your lips and across your chin as you jerk and weaken in his grasp. If you weren’t so underwater, so far gone, you’d be able to hear him saying, “Fuck – whoa, whoa, whoa,” trying to stop you from falling on your ass in the middle of the garage. His hands card across your sides as he props you up against the workbench. Your vision blackens at the edges from the intensity of your orgasm, and you’re still coming, at least you think you are, when you blink yourself back to awareness. You’re wide-eyed, tears brimming at your waterline, incapacitated in a way that you didn’t know you could be.

“Holy shit,” you gasp when you finally fully come to, slumped over the workbench, still half-clinging to Joel. “Fuck.”

Joel looks stunned, looking you up and down as if he can’t get enough of you. His eyes land right between your thighs, where, sure enough, you’ve ruined your bloomers. You still feel like deadweight, and you struggle to stand upright. You’re not sure you’ve ever come so hard even with someone’s hands all over your. Joel’s glistening with even more sweat, and it’s impossible to miss the glaring bulge in his shorts. He clears his throat after a minute. “Oughta go get cleaned up before your daddy gets back for his lunch break, kiddo.”

You stumble upright, drenched in sweat yourself now, Joel’s lingering scent still pervading every breath you take. “Y-yeah,” you manage, nodding. You feel out of your own body, stumbling towards the door. You’re so wet that you can feel it with every goddamn step. Fuck Joel Miller, cocky piece of sh–

You’re immediately returned to your own body by the resounding swat Joel lands on your ass. You jump, shooting a glare over your shoulder. He puts his hands up, pleading innocence.

You’re not surprised when you crawl out of your shower, smelling of rosemary eucalyptus and dripping water all over the floor, only to see Joel’s mower abandoned in the middle of his yard. Even worse, you aren’t surprised in the slightest when you squint through your bedroom window, Joel sprawled out across his bed, hips bucking in-time with his fist before catching your eye and spraying ropes of cum all over his abdomen.

You mouth at him through the window with a taunting little wink, Clean yourself up this time.

#oh what i wouldnt give to get lost in that mans bottomless pits #vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller/reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut

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serenewrote · 18 days

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Controversially Young ~ Matt Smith x fem! actress smau

Synopsis: You were recently cast as Bruce Wayne's love interest, which everyone adores, Selina Kyle. The age gap though, has some in a tizzy.

Warning(s): sexist comments, big age gap

Rating(s): NC-17

Actress Y/n L/n Cast alongside Matt Smith in upcoming Batman Movie

Here's what you need to know about Zack Synders new project...

~~~

y/nl/n

now wait just a meowment...

are you going to see Batman (2024)?

see comments

charliebushnell y/n we've talked abt this

↪️ y/nl/n I couldn't help ittttt

user420 still have no idea how they could subject you to this

↪️ user2 subject her to what

↪️ user420 working with someone twice her age

hater2 be honest... whose d*ck did you suck to get this role?

↪️ hater34 probably Matt's

~~~

y/nl/n

Press paws and live in the meow!

trash007 if I were Matt, I'd hit

↪️ trash006 same

user360 y'all are gross up in these comments

↪️ trash56 if she didn't want these comments, she wouldn’t have auditioned for CATWOMAN

↪️ trash001 the sexist dc character to exist

user49 I could never work with someone twice my age, I'd be scared

↪️ user86 y/n's worked with Matt before I think she knows how he is

batman2024 we love our bat and cat

leahsavajefferies as purr-ty as a picture

↪️ charliebushnell no! no puns

↪️ diorgoodjohn these puns are hissterical

↪️ y/nl/n lol

~~~

Y/n L/n talks Catwoman, DC, and new interests

by Young Hollywood

Interviewer: Hello Readers! Today I am joined by one of these most known young actresses of our generation, Y/n L/n! Thank you for being here.

Y/n: Thank you for inviting me. I love doing interviews.

Interviewer: So, how have you been?

Y/n: I've been good. Doing a lot of filming for Batman, catching up with old friends, trying to up my instagram game. I've gotten into videography, shooting mini vlogs and cooking videos.

Interviewer: Sounds fun! I love that! Is there any insight into the movie that you can give us?

Y/n: Sure! If any of you were wondering, this is going to be very different from any portrayal of Batman and Catwoman that you've seen or read. Obviously because Selina Kyle is a lot younger than Bruce in this adaptation which is a plot within itself. This Selina, and because she is younger, her story has changed, is a street rat or stray cat. She lives on the streets, and her story in this, is similar to that of her portrayal in the show, Gotham. She meets Bruce as she is trying pickpocket off him out in the open. Then, it goes from there.

Interviewer: Wow! That certainly is a must-watch. Now, I hate to get deep all of a sudden, but have you seen the comments regarding your casting?

Y/n: Yes, I have actually. A lot of them are for disgusting middle-aged men, so I don't really bother with them. I knew what I was getting into when I auditioned.

Interviews: You also get to work with Matt Smith again. Did you know that he was casted as Bruce or did you find out after you got the call?

Y/n: You know what's funny? Zack told me that Matt told him not to tell me. So, I didn't know until our table read!

Interviewer: Oh my god! What?!

Y/n: Yeah! And I hadn't seen him in so long that I almost jumped across the table to hug him.

Interviews: Aw!

Y/n: A lot of people also would say that they felt bad for me because I'm the love interest to someone twice my age, but I've known Matt for a long time. He worked with my father in Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. I played young Rhaena in House of the Dragon. He's a family friend, a beloved friend. I trust him.

Y/n: I understand the public's concerns though. I did just turn 24 earlier this year. The age gap is big, but it is strictly for storytelling purposes.

Interviews: There you have it. I loved talking with you today.

Y/n: I always look forward to interviews with you. Big fan.

Interviewer: Big fan of you too! Any last words?

Y/n: Go see Batman in theaters near you coming this December!

fin.

I tried my best.

#serenewrote #my writing #matt smith #dcu #bruce wayne #batman #catwoman #selina kyle #matt smith x reader

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slippinninque · 7 months

Text

Fontaine x A Rainy Day

warnings: none!

content: fluffy, soft!fontaine, short fic

---------

"It's really comin' down out there."

"Hm, 'sho is..."

Fontaine sat on your bed pantsless and incredibly enticing as he watched the rain pounding against the bedroom's window.

After regular drop off turned délice de l'après-midi and then one nap later--you were woken up by the soft rumble of thunder. Fontaine rose to get you both water and to make a trip to the bathroom before coming back to plop onto the foot of your bed.

You stretched, still feeling soft and good from your eventful afternoon. You weren't sure if you were ready for it to end so soon.

Fontaine was only a few shoes and a belt away from going off and handling business and the thought stung the butterflies in your stomach.

There was a louder groan of thunder, you rose from the bed to crack the window to hear the rainfall. Feeling Fontaine's gaze on you, it was easy to take your time and feel the cool air fan across your skin.

"I know you see it," you said, then grinned when Fontaine grunted appreciatively, "How bad this rain is, I mean."

You grabbed the shawl Fontaine undone from you just earlier, tying two corners into a knot above your breast. It was long enough to reach your knees and was especially airy.

He nodded once, slowly, and gave your favorite half-smile, "Roads might be fucked up, then."

"My street is good for flooding, y'know." Your fib felt light like cotton candy as Fontaine stood to come to you, "I bet your Pontiac has gone for a nice swim."

"Can't do nothin' but wait for it to round back, hm?"

Fontaine teased lightly at the knot of fabric before him, eyes sliding up and down your body. Thunder rolled above you, causing the walls and window to shiver. The scent of rainwater was already creeping in and Fontaine smelled like you.

You walked him backward towards the bed, giving him a playful little push so that he was laid back across your bed. You laid across him, stretching felinely before settling.

Fontaine's hands massaged up from your cheeks to your shoulder blades, melting you into him. You sighed and you felt his chuckle but he didn't stop his massaging.

"This is a wonderful way to earn your stay until the rain stops..." you murmured softly.

"Whatchu mean? What 'bout the work I put in earlier?" Fontaine gripped your bottom and rocked you slowly, "That should get me 'till tonight, right?"

You ended up entangled on your sides, Fontaine pulling the blanket up and over you both. You were far too happy with the idea of having Fontaine to yourself the entire night.

You hid your face in his neck, "Let's work a little more and I'll let you know."

Fontaine's answering hum was dozy and you smiled. Fontaine rolled a bit of your shawl's fabric between his fingers. You nuzzled slightly where skin met shirt.

It felt like you both were taking a break from the world. Hiding away in plain, contented sight. Usually your mind would cook up some tizzy, but somehow being with Fontaine made things very simple.

'You feel so right.'

You wanted say it and maybe you would some day. In the present, you had Fontaine in your arms, sleeping to the sound of rain.

---------

ending notes: hey hey! another late night scribble! just something to go with the rainout side the window! it's late and i was feeling fluffy! Thank you so much for reading!

taglist: this is an older fic and I don't wanna over tag anyone lol! 😌

(let me know if you want to be tagged!! 💕💜🌟)

#fontaine x black reader #Fontaine x blackfemreader #fontaine x fem reader #fontaine x reader #they cloned tyrone #fontaine #john boyega

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box-architecture · 20 days

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which are the aus You have more on your ming latetly?

A mixture of them!

I'm staring at the Dreambur AU I have (Strangers Vassal) and wondering if I should post what I had planned for it to look like. I'm struggling a lot with writing it, partially because I don't have a lot of people to bounce ideas off of, partially because it's an AU that would have a lot of fight scenes, something I don't have a lot of experience in and am unsure how to proceed with.

I really enjoy the concept of it, and I want to write for it, but it might once again turn into a bunch of shortfics in a series rather than the longfic I originally wanted. It's disappointing that I can't seem to consistently write longfics, but if I don't accept the limitation I might risk not getting anything done at all, and that's potentially more disappointing.

The Communication Knife AU is almost always on my mind. It's evolved from just pure demons and rotations to being a huge comfort that I can just idly think about throughout the day.

It's really neat, because I started out as a Dream-centric multishipper who wasn't sure if I could vibe with Punz and Sam closing the triangle, but after marinating in the idea, it's now really important to me that they become something too. They grow from two people fighting around their relationship with Dream to something based on trust and blunt honesty and Forgiveness Withoit Forgetting. They can be deeply affectionate with each other in a way thats different from their relationship with Dream. Not bad, not in a way that excludes him, just different.

The AU has also tentatively opened me up to exploring 2nd Gen characters, something I've literally never been capable of before. I have a lot of vague ideas for who gets together post-main story, and how those relationships works and why. Ponk/Foolish/XD is a ship for example, and I've designed a possible child for them? As well as designed Fooshs Totem children? It's always a maybe for if I actually want to give people kids, and it's not really the point of CKAU, it's just really fun to explore the rest of the smp in this sort of fix-it au and how it impacts their lives in the After of it all.

It's also helped me expand my Minecraft Lore and Worldbuilding Bible (how in my headcanon the mineacraft world works and its history/lore, including tying other media's like Hermitcraft and Maricraft to the dsmp to make everything part of the overall world.)

Writing CKAU post-story had also, ironically, made me enjoy benchtrio more, as I get to talk to my friends about their interpersonal dynamics and how they work and how they end up finally at peace. Especially considering Tubbo and Ranboo are bitterly divorced for a long time.

I had a lot of small ideas for a DNB Mass Effect AU in a similar vein to To Tear Asunder being my Dragon Age AU, but I feel really guilty getting into that when I haven't even finished the Philza fic or the Techno fic I have for the latter. I have significantly less people to bounce ideas off of for To Tear Asunder, which is why I struggle with it sometimes.

A lot of my writing in the beginning was done through utilizing my manic moods, but now that I'm better medicated/no longer constantly manic, it's led to me going a lot slower with writing. Demons (PWP stuff) are a lot easier to write, because they require significantly less scene set-up when I can use the sexual act as a template, and being horny-brained isn't particularly difficult.

(Also. No Plot Nessecary. Hence the Porn Without Plot. Plot is really exhausting to write sometimes.)

Obviously it's a lot better for my health that I'm no longer manic, but it's still disappointing that I can no longer work myself into a tizzy and write 30 pages of something (before collapsing and being unable to do anything at all for the next several days.) Give and take and all.

I briefly was very insane about Benchtrio fucking Dream in various ways. I made a whole Teacher/Student AU about it that's in my drafts, god willing I get my new laptop and can finish that up. I really enjoy CNC and bodice ripper type stuff, so it's pretty fun to explore crack AUs where Dream is just trying to be normal and the 3 most abnormal people in the world come into his life.

I'm not really a fan of the Tommy/Dream dynamic where Dream is preying on the Poor Helpless Child, especially because it has a habit of taking itself Very Seriously. I'm not looking for serious and dark and the villainization of Dream. It's a lot more fun for me to explore a strong, confident, and very tired 20-something desperately trying to figure out how to deal with the 17-18 year old being horny on main. Also it's just really interesting to me when the younger character takes advantage of normal social and power dynamics and subvert them so they can have the older character sub.

^I'm not sure if the explanation there is perfect or makes sense but I'm always happy to try to talk more about it if you'd like.

I have a little more of the Warden Hybrid!Dream type stuff in my head that I wanted to write out, mostly just a lot of Porn With Minimal Plot for purely kink reasons. I also have a Dream/Ravager fic I'm supposed to be posting, but God only knows when I can finish it. I need zoomies.

#ask boxed #communication knife au #strangers vassal #takenandbenched #hugs you

13 notes · View notes

karahalloway · 8 months

Text

The Highwayman: Part II - On The Stroke Of Midnight

Fandom: TRR (Historical AU)

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: On a dark, moonlit night, a highwayman's luck runs out...

Masterlist: The Highwayman

Chapter Summary: Harper makes a choice...

Word Count: 4,200

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, betrayal, physical violence, main character death)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: So... This was obviously not fun to write. Nobody wants to kill off their characters, but the rewrite would've deviated too much from the original if I had tried to change such a key piece of this story. So, it is what it is... *runs and hides to cry in the corner* There are some additional notes at the end.

A/N2: This is my second submission for @choicesprompts January 2024 Song Rewrite Challenge. The song I chose to rewrite is The Highwayman by Loreena McKennit.

Part II - On The Stroke Of Midnight

"Oi, Harper!"

I turn my head absently at the sound of my name. "Huh?"

My father is standing beside me with a stony expression. "The poor boy, Théo's been callin' after ye for donkey's, lass! Now, git over and grab those orders the patrons are waitin' on!"

"Yes, Da," I nod quickly, turning away.

He grabs me by the arm. "An' quit yer calf-eyed moonin'. We're gettin' paid t' serve, not t' stand 'round idling."

"Yes, Da," I nod again, hurrying over to the bar as my father releases me, shaking my head in a bid to clear my senses.

After Drake's departure last night, I had been too overcome with excitement to sleep. I had tossed and turned throughout the hours that remained until cockcrow, when I slipped back into my thankless role as the publican's daughter.

My days have begun at sunrise for as long as I can recall. After dressing, and tying my hair back to keep it from falling into my face, my first task was to empty the chamber pots of the previous night's contents from every room.

Then, it was onto the kitchen for a quick breakfast of ale and gruel, before tackling the litany of chores that awaited me each and every day. Stoking the fireplace in the hall. Collecting eggs from the henhouse. Sweeping. Dusting. Darning. Washing. Gathering the remnants of old candles to make into new ones. Checking the stores and making a list of required items to acquire. Brewing and decanting ale. Not to mention serving patrons at meal times, and cleaning up their mess.

The list was endless. And exhausting.

So, I am nigh on dead on my feet and it is not even sundown.

Only the knowledge that Drake is on his way back to me — for the last and final time — keeps me moving forward, albeit at a fraction of my customary pace.

"My apologies!" I gasp, arriving at the bar. "My head is in a bit of a tizzy tonight!"

"There is a full moon out tonight," my father's aide replies solemnly, pushing the tankards of ale over. "So, I suppose you are not wholly to blame."

"Thanks, Théo," I say with a distracted smile, gathering up the drinks and turning back to the hall.

Théo has had a bit of a soft spot for me ever since he came to us as an inn guard a few years prior. But an unfortunate mishap with a fully loaded cart several moons back had forced my father to pull the lad into an expanded role as partner to help keep the the inn running while he recovered from a broken leg. And thus our encounters had become more frequent.

But a couple of strolls on the moor, and one stolen kiss notwithstanding — both very much encouraged by my father, as he had somehow convinced himself that Théo will one day become my husband, and we'll collectively inherit The Crown & The Flame — I have politely sought to discourage any true advances between us.

As fate had already bound my heart to a dark-haired rogue, who arrived on a dark horse in the depths of an equally dark night, nursing a viscous wound to his side and an even fouler attitude.

Brigands, he'd told me, as I stitched him painstakingly up, his eyes flashing with malice while his hand gripped the neck of the whiskey bottle by the light of the lone candle in my room.

I wanted to ask more. But I could see that he was in pain, so I held my tongue while threading the makings of a new scar into his sweat-soaked skin... the latest addition to the brutal tapestry that already marred his flesh.

Once I completed bloody task, he yielded to sleep right there in my bed, somewhat against his will, I have to admit. But, then again, he had not exactly been in the best shape to contest with me. And I can be very persuasive when I set my mind to it.

Yet, by the time I had awoken the following morning, having spent the night in the floor next to him — not wanting to disturb his rest, but not daring to leave his side either, for fear he'd succumb to fever — he had vanished, like a ghost in the evening mist...

...that is, until he reappeared about a fortnight later, perched on the sill of my open window like an overgrown crow, nearly sending me to my own grave in fright.

He offered me gold for my services, but I had refused. When he had asked me what I desired instead, I told him: a tale. I have never ventured further than the closest town, and he looked to be a man who'd seen his share of the world.

He obliged, weaving for me the story of his misspent youth eking an existence out from the merciless streets of the capital after a tragedy rendered him a homeless and destitute orphan.

But even as a child, when his family had been whole, he had watched the great ships that sailed in and out of the port — envying their mystery and freedom. And so, he bided his time (and stolen coin) until he was able to finally stow away on a corvette, ending up, ultimately, on the distant shores of a country called La Louisiane inthe New World.

I'd become so caught up in his recounting of far-off lands, strange peoples, and even stranger creatures, that the dawn of the new morn snuck upon me unknowingly... predominantly because he had yet to sufficiently explain to me what the devil a 'cocodril' was and how it was not quite akin to a dragon.

"I shall return to finish the tale," he promised, turning back to the window.

"When?" I pleaded, desperate to hear more... and loath to see him to leave again.

"I know not for certain, lass," he admitted, reaching a gloved hand out to brush a wayward lock of hair behind my ear. "But look for me by the moonlight."

And that's how our liaison had started — in a dark room, under the magic of the moon, our hearts filled with secrets.

But tonight, the charade will finally be put to bed. For together with the money, I intend to leave my father a note explaining everything. As that way, he'll at least know that I am safe and well... even if that knowledge will likely be a meagre balm against the pain he'll no doubt feel at my perceived betrayal.

But I cannot continue living in pretence. My nights with Drake have opened my eyes and my heart up to possibilities that I never dared conceive of, let alone believe to be within my grasp... and I am eager to start a new page.

I just have to bide my time 'til my love's return... in spite of the fact that patience is certainly not my strong suit.

A few more hours, I tell myself stoically as I navigate 'round the long trestle tables. And then—

The door of the inn bangs open, sending a torrent of cold air rushing into the warmth of the hall.

My head snaps towards the sound of the intrusion, a fool's hope budding in my breast, in spite of the knowledge that Drake would never risk such a public entrance...

...but what I see sends my heart crashing into the pit of my guts.

"Search every nook and cranny!" bellows a lanky man sporting the guilt buttons and epaulettes of an officer of rank. "Leave no floorboard in this rat's nest unturned!"

"What is t' meaning o' this, sir!" deplores my father as a line of armed Greencoat dragoons stream into the inn. "Ye can'na just—"

"I can — and indeed, am required by the edict of the law!— when I have been given reasonable suspicion that an establishment is harbouring a known and sought-after criminal," retorts the man with thin-lipped sneer, surveying the eaves as if he expects ruffians to pounce onto him at any second.

Da's eyes crackle with indignation. "Harbouring? A criminal! That accusation that is beyond outrageous, sir! This 'ere is a reputable place, I'll have ye know, an'—"

"Not according to the witness who came forward this morning," the man cuts in brusquely over the sound of boots and crashing furniture echoing up from around the building. "By whose own words, this inn is a hotbed of salacious going-ons, not to mention illegal activity. So, I suggest that you—"

"Who!" demands my father, his features contorted in offence and rage. "Who dares speak these scurrilous lies and—?"

The officer thrusts his arm out. "That man over there."

All eyes in the hall shift as one to land bodily on the subject of the disputation.

"Théo?"

The name tumbles from my lips in a hoarse croak of disbelief. My father cannot seem to even manage that, as he stands, staring mutely, hurt and betrayal carving his aghast countenance.

"So, you see, Mr Gale," continues the man unabashedly, seemingly oblivious to the shocked silence that has cloaked the room, "the source of the accusation is more than credible. A man of good and honest standing in this community, who also happens to be an employee of the—"

"Good and honest?" spits Da, rounding on the intruder with barely concealed malice as he finds his voice again. "He fabricates lies for his own gain! Though what that could possible be, I'll—"

"I saw them," says Théo softly, almost as if in apology, coming to stand by my father in front of the bar. "Last night, I—"

Da reaches out to grab his aide by the lapels of his jack, face nigh on puce with gall. "Saw who? Speak, lad, or I swear t' Almighty God, I'll—"

"Midnight Jack..." Théo replies, making no effort to protest the roughness of his treatment. "...and your daughter."

The tankards I am still holding slip from my fingers to crash to the hard-packed earth of the floor in a mess of shards and ale.

"They were talking," Théo continues, eyes meeting mine solemnly as my father's hands slip from his clothes in horrified silence. "They'd left the window of her room open and I could hear—"

"Captain Beaumont!" cries a soldier, rushing down the stairs with a clatter of heels and buckles, carabinier still in hand. "We found something!"

"Report, Lieutenant Besnard!" snaps the captain, rounding on his subordinate with impatience. "You know I detest being held in suspense!"

"I think it best you come and see for yourself, sir," the lieutenant replies, shifting his eyes in my direction.

Dread pools in my veins like lead. Oh, no...

Captain Beaumont chews on the assessment for a short moment. "Very well, Besnard. Let us assess your findings. And bring these three along — I am certain they too will find the results...captivating."

Gloved hands seize me roughly from behind, and push me towards the stairs. Yet I am too overcome with an ill sense of foreboding to even think to struggle, the cold hand of trepidation binding me more surely than any man could.

The gold... They found the gold...

The dragoons troop us up the stairs in dreadful silence, save for the sound of the creaking floorboards ‘neath our feet.

Marching the our group down the length of the corridor — along the length of which doors stood ajar, revealing the mess of upended contents within — we at last arrive at our destination.

The soldiers shove my father and I unceremoniously through the doorway of my room...

...and I immediately spot the gaping hole where the loose floorboard should have been.

My insides tighten painfully.

"Ah, you were right, Lieutenant," approves Captain Beaumont as he strides towards the foot of my bed. "This certainly is a sight to see!"

My father's eyes widen as he lays eyes on the treasure as well.

I wish I could explain, to help him make sense of it, but fear has lashed my tongue against the wall of my throat.

Kneeling down, the dragoon commander reaches into the small space and lifts out a handful of coin and jewels. "Now, what could an inn-keeper's daughter possibly want with such bounty?"

"It inna hers!" cries Da suddenly. "It's mine! My daughter, she—"

"Clearly is the inhabitant of this room," comes the steely toned rebuttal. "The brush on the dresser, and the ribbons poking from the drawer... These clues make it abundantly evident that it is a woman who sleeps herein. And I see only one woman..."

A chill runs down my spine as the captain lifts his eyes to mine. Brown — like Drake's — but without an ounce of warmth or humour.

"It is her room, aye!" affirms Da desperately. "But she knew nothin' o' the gold! 'Twas an arrangement 'tween myself and—"

The captain scoffs as he straightens back up, letting the booty fall through his fingers to clink back into the recess in the floor. "Noble of you, Mr Gale, to wish to safeguard your daughter. But I think we can all confidently conclude that what you have just uttered is a bare-faced lie..."

Da emits a grunt of agony as one of the soldiers steps forward on silent command to strike him in the back with the butt of his musket.

"...and I do so despise liars," Captain Beaumont declares dispassionately as several more dragoons descend on my father.

"Stop!" I plead, straining against my own captor as hot tears slide down my cheeks at the sight of the brutal retribution. "I beg of you... Please! I confess! The gold is mine! My father is innocent—!"

Captain Beaumont holds up a hand and the beating halts just as abruptly as it began. "There are no innocents in this sordid business. Merely degrees of culpability. Take him away."

"No!" I shriek in desperation as the dragoons lift the prone form my father up and proceed to drag him from the room, specs of rusty blood dripping onto the floorboards in their wake. "Where are you—!"

A gloved hand smacks across the side of my face, sending my vision into a spin as the sharp taste of blood exploding in my own mouth abruptly cuts off my remonstrations.

Through the thick haze of pain and tears, I see the forest green of the captain's coat move past me as the jingle of coins echoes on the edge of my awareness.

"Seems your information was actionable, Mr Mallet," Belvedere Beaumont surmises as he steps over to the dark form of Théo, who has been observing the entirety of the interaction with an ashen face. "And for that you shall be rewarded."

Raising my head, I see Theo stare at the clutch of ducats like they are tainted.

"What..." Our betrayer swallows thickly. "What will you do to them?"

"That is none of your concern, Mr Mallet," replies Captain Beaumont assertively, hefting the leather pouch in his palm. "But you can rest assured that the hand of the law will be swift and decisive."

Théo's eyes widen in sudden panic. "But... But you want The Highwayman..."

"Like I said," intones Captain Beaumont, raising the coin pounce higher. "There are no innocents. Only degrees of culpability. So, unless you desire to share in the fate of your employers, I suggest you take the prize I am offering you, and spend it wisely."

Théo jerks his gaze to mine in anguish. "Harper... I am sorry."

Grabbing the money, he dashes from the room like the naked cur he has revealed himself to be.

Bastard...

"A true blessing, and a curse... money," Captain Beaumont observes, turning back to me. "It changes hands — and loyalties — so readily, does it not? Almost like magic."

"What do you want?" I spit at him, acutely aware of the fact that I am now very much alone with, and at the mercy of, this monster.

"But love...?" the captain continues, as if he hadn't heard me. "Love — or its absence — is far more duplicitous. It crawls into our hearts and twists our minds out of any rational sense of order."

"And what would a man like you possibly know of love?" I demand with more bravado than I feel, in a desperate attempt to mask the fear suffusing my limbs.

"I know it can spark wars and topple empires," he relies coolly, reaching out to pinch the strand of hair that had escaped from my bun between his gloved fingers. "Perhaps even hang a thief."

The air rushes from my lungs in horror. "No..."

"Lieutenant!" Beaumont barks over his shoulder, spinning on his heel away from me. "Rope!"

"Right here, sir!" affirms the subordinate, pulling a length of cordage from his pack.

"Bind this woman," comes the clipped instruction. "And take her to the window."

My struggles are for naught as my wrists are lashed together in front of my body.

"That renegade dog clearly loves you," declaims Captain Beaumont as his goons drag me to the casement. "Or he would not have entrusted you with the safekeeping of his ill-gotten treasure. The question is... Do you love him in turn?"

I raise my chin definitely as I am thrust onto the hard ledge of the window sill. "More than you can comprehend."

He meets my gaze with a serpentine smile. "That was my hope."

I stare at him in bewilderment as he reaches past me to crack the window open. "What are you—?"

"The way I see it," he continues, almost conversationally as the cold night air rushes over my skin, "you have a choice to make. Either you assist me in luring our mutual friend to his untimely, but very much overdue death — thereby potentially absolving you and your father of any involvement in this sorry affair, though that will be for a judge to decide — or I will claim obstruction of justice and hang the lot of you as accomplices. The decision is yours."

"You are vile..." I bite out through clenched teeth as a my mouth is smothered by a kerchief.

"I am a man of the law," he counters dispassionately. "And the law is clear — the penalty for highway robbery is death. Either by action, or association. And the evidence against you is, sadly, rather weighty." He flicks his eyes towards the gaping hole in the floor where two dragoons are busy loading the booty into a sack. "So, do not blame me for the unsavoury consequences of your own foolishness. You set yourself on this path. Knowingly."

I turn away from him, a torrent of guilt streaming down my face.

What have I done...?

The minutes tick slowly past, and the hours crawl by like years as we wait in silence under the silvery light of the moon.

And I have ample time to contemplate both my fate and my doom.

For there is no doubt about it — I am doomed, one way or another. Captain Belvedere Beaumont has made that abundantly clear.

Either I give up the love of my life, or I consign both myself and my father — not to mention my unborn babe — to a shallow, unmarked grave that will be forgotten just as soon as it is dug.

Both options are too horrendous to even contemplate.

Which is why I have very seriously debated throwing myself off the ledge of the window I am sat on. As that way I can at least break the captain's malicious hold on me.

But suicide is an unforgivable sin. Or so I've been taught. And, in any event, my death would be for naught, for I would doom the men I love just the same... Drake would walk unknowingly into the dragoons' ambush and Captain Beaumont would most likely slit my father's neck in spite.

So, I sit. And wait. And curse the fates — and myself — for this unforgivable turn of events. Because if Drake and I had eloped last night, our destinies would've been very different.

"Rider on the knell, sir," advises a soldier with a spyglass trained across the moor.

"I see him," confirms Captain Beaumont, eyes glinting with anticipation.

Raising my head, I spot the lone figure silhouetted against the darkness as he crests the hill, second horse in tow.

My heart jumps into my throat. Drake.

"Not a sound," orders Captain Beaumont as Drake and Drogon disappear from view in the shadow of the hill. "We bide our time and let the fair lady lure the rogue in."

The soldiers nod as they set about priming their weapons.

My mind is racing. I have to warn him... But how?

I feel the point of a blade press against my throat. "Just so you do not get any funny ideas in that pretty little head of yours..." warns Captain Beaumont as he takes up position behind me, the barrel of his pistol coming to rest on my shoulder, my form concealing his in the darkness.

I cast my gaze around the room. But my hands are bound and I have no recourse to even my voice, let alone a weapon.

But then a dragoon kneels down in front of me...

...and the ghost of a plan begins to take shape in my mind.

It is risky... and fraught with danger. Not just for myself, but for Drake as well. But I have been presented with a sliver hope. And though it may be a fool's hope, I must take it. As I cannot, in good conscience, purposely lead the man I love to slaughter.

I will not give Captain Beaumont that particular satisfaction. And — in any event — a life without Drake would not be worth living anyway.

The minutes continue to pass with bated breath as we wait for Drake to reappear.

"Movement on the roof, sir," whispers a dragoon, adjusting the hold on his musket.

Sure enough, a shadow has appeared in the darkness, drifting across the thatch of the barn in stealthy silence.

"Hold your fire," orders Captain Beaumont, pulling the cock of his flintlock back. "We need him in range. And for the love of God, do not fucking miss!"

The soldiers nod tersely as Drake creeps unknowingly closer.

"Five paces..." rasps Captain Beaumont, his hot breath gusting my ear. "Four... Three... Two..."

I close my eyes. Forgive me, Da...

"O—"

Kicking my legs out with a roar of determination, I heave myself backwards with all my might. My feet catch the side of the musket balanced on the ledge before me, sending a shot sailing out into the night with a bright flash of gunpowder.

I pray to the moon and the stars that it missed Drake.

Captain Beaumont's pistol discharges next to my ear as the back of my head collides with the bridge of his nose, shattering it with a bony crunch.

The knife he's been holding clatters to the floorboards as he stumbles backwards with a cry of pain. And as the support of his body disappears from behind me, there is nothing to hold me aloft.

I thud bodily to the floor, gasping for breath as the suddenness of the impact knocks the air from my lungs, my ears ringing from the earlier crack of the pistol, the smell of my singed hair burning my nose.

But I only have one aim... One mission... To get ahold of that knife.

Twisting myself around, I spot it — glinting in the moonlight merely a foot away.

Throwing my hands out, I reach for the weapon, the roar of shouts and gunfire breaking above my head...

...but find myself crying out as my hair is grabbed from behind.

"You conniving whore!" hisses Captain Beaumont as he wrenches me backwards, my scalp screaming in protest. "You will rue the day you were born!"

Tears blur my sight as I feel the hair rip from my head.

But still I strain towards the knife, which lies just beyond my fingertips, my teeth gritted against the pain, my heart hammering.

The edge of my nails scrapes the hilt...

A lone shot punctures the maelstrom of the chaos.

Captain Beaumont's grasp falters, and I crash back onto the floorboards.

Grasping for the dirk, I twist back 'round...

...but the sharp movement sends pain shooting through my chest and I am suddenly gasping for breath.

The knife falls from my hands as I clutch at my breast... and my fingers sink into the warmth of the flesh within.

"You cack-handed ingrate!" screams Captain Beaumont from above me. "I'll have you whipped for this!"

"She was trying to kill you, sir!" comes the voice of the lieutenant as the acrid taste of blood blooms in the back of my throat.

"She was our only hope of luring that bastard in!" shrieks Beaumont in rage, the stomp of his boots rattling the floorboards next to me as he advances on his subordinate, causing me to cough. "And you shot her!"

"Sir!" shouts another dragoon. "A horse and rider! Galloping north!"

"After him, you witless buffoons!" orders the captain, his face streaked with crimson and rage. "Do not let him get away!"

The soldiers scramble from the room as my lifeblood seep out of my veins onto the dusty floorboards.

And as the darkness closes in on me, I offer my soul up to the night with one final wish...

Fly, my love... Fly like a witch on the wind.

The story continues in Part III: The Highwayman Comes Riding (coming soon)

A/N: Some notes and comments below:

Cocodril - I appreciate that it's alligators that live in Louisiana, not crocodiles. However, according to a helpful article I found, the correct Louisiana French term for alligator is 'cocodril' or 'cocodrie' (both pronounced the same), or occasionally 'caïman', but never 'alligator' as alligator is considered to be an English word, and therefore not part of the 'correct' French vocabulary. Also the terminology makes sense from a historical, cultural and linguists perspective — Europeans would have been familiar with crocodiles from ancient time (Ancient Egypt, etc.), but not alligators, and would not have originally realised that there was a difference until people like Carl Linnaeus and Charles Darwin started systematically cataloguing species, starting in the late 1700s, so they probably just initially applied the familiar but 'wrong' term and it stuck. That said, French French does differentiate between 'alligator' and 'cocodrie', but that is a more recent linguistic development than the original French Louisiana one. Okay; massive tangent concluded 😆

Musket - If anyone has read the original poem, or listened to the song, you will have probably realised that I made another change to the story, namely the manner in which Harper dies. In the original, Bess is bound to the foot of her bed, her hands tied behind her, and a musket lashed in such a way that it points to her heart. However, she somehow manages to not only free her hand from her bindings without anyone noticing, but she also manages to grasp the trigger of the musket. Now, if anyone has bothered to look at what a musket actually looks like, you will quickly realise that this sequence of events in the original poem/song is a straight up impossibility because muskets of this era are friggin' long (typically around 5ft or 1.6m), so there is no way that I can see that Bess would've been able to reach the trigger if she is stood up, or even sat down. So, the manner of death had to change. That said, I tried to stay as true as possible to the original. But, if anyone disagrees with me, happy to be educated!

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#harper gale #drake walker #the royal romance #the highwayman #trr au #song rewrite #historical au #Spotify #choicesprompts

32 notes · View notes

regretisstoredintheme · 2 years

Note

Can you try a oneshot with a gender neutral shy reader who has a crush on Rise!Leo but they’re not really fond of his over competitive personality? (Really loved the yokai feline!reader you did a while ago so hopefully this isn’t too much of a request ^ v ^; )

Do do do d— OH?? WHATS THIS??

A Request?

*snatches paper*

“Can you try a oneshot with a gender neutral shy reader who has a crush on Rise!Leo but they’re not really fond of his over competitive personality? (Really loved the yokai feline!reader you did a while ago so hopefully this isn’t too much of a request ^ v ^; “

A/n: hooohohooo… YOU! My friend, are a bright mind, I hope I have enough energy for this one *cracks knuckles* (ALSO TY!! IM SO GLAD YOU LIKED IT >v<)

———

Priorities. (A Oneshot)

—

Warnings(?): Leo being a dumbass, slight angst? Idk yet.

—-

A perfect night, it was.

Leo, sitting in his beanbag. you, right next to him in your own, the little puffs pushed against each other.. your favorite movie on the television — well, favorite Jupiter Jim movie. Leo was pointing out all the little details that you had grown to notice but wouldn’t mention, noting how his eyes sparkled as he ranted about it. A soft smile appeared on your face, your heart gently fluttering at his antics.

It was hard to get Leo to sit down and actually watch something - especially something he knew inside and out, so you couldn’t exactly blame him when he would do sit ups, stretch, refill popcorn, or even just wave his hands around anxiously. You didn’t mind. What you did mind, however…

“Tag!!” Mikey swooped in unnoticed from his late night out, bonking his brother on the head and scrambling to get away. “Oh no you did not!!” Leo laughed, jumping up from his seat and knocking over one of the empty popcorn bowls. You paused the movie, leaning back with a sigh. There was no telling how long this one would last.

As you watched your favorite boy run around with Mikey, you couldn’t help but wish he could prioritize you a little more.. but then again, it’s not like you were in a relationship or anything.. It hurt to think about, but it was true. As you lounged in the projector room, watching the two scramble on the upper levels, you heard a scoff from next to you.

You nearly flew out of your seat as you saw Raph, practically looming over you but staring at his brothers as well. “JEsus…” you breathed, a hand over your heart - which you were SURE had just jumped to outer space - where the astronaut on the projector was.

The red-clad turtle didn’t seem to notice, in a world of his own. He was grumbling to himself, something about ‘manners’ and ‘how to treat someone’… and then you heard something that made your ears perk up —- ‘Leo’.

At the idea of asking him about said turtle in blue, your hands felt clammy, yourthroat constricting and mouth like the Sahara desert, but you had to try. “Raph..?” You squeaked, just loud enough to get the gentle giant’s attention. “Huh?” He snapped out of his tizzy, giving you his full attention “what’s up, Y/n?”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again, searching for the words as your mind went blank. Cmon Y/n, think! God!… was it always so hot in here..?

“Uh.. well— what you — hh— talk- THINKin about, Raph?” A weak chuckle escaped your throat as you mustered that sentence, your cheeks warm with embarrassment. Unfortunately for you, Raph caught on really fast, giving you one of his knowing, big-brother smiles. “Oh, you know...” He waltzed on over, casually sitting in his pops’ recliner chair, “Just how horribly Leo treats his dates.”

Can you say.. Rojo? :D THAT means Red in Spanish!! As well as your face once he said that. ♡ :)

“Date?? Woah- hah- this wasn’t— I mean.. heh.. he didn’t- I wasn’t—“ grasping for excuses, you felt yourself slowly sink further into your beanbag, ashamed at how badly you were trying to play this off. Raph shook his head, laughing to himself, “Please, he practically rented the projector room for you two! If you can’t tell from that, then you two really are hopeless.”

You hid your face completely now, too embarrassed to even think about denying it anymore. “Hopeless? I beg to differ.”

Oh no.

You knew that cocky voice anywhere.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to turn around, but unfortunately.. curiosity killed the Y/n. Turning your head, you saw none other than Leo right above you, his arms at either side of your beanbag- preventing escape. He looked down at you, smile never fading, “Hi there~”

“H— how much—?” You gulped on your words, anxiety crawling up your throat, “how much of that did you hear..?”

Leo shrugged, “not too much, actually” his smile dropped , “just Raph ratting me out.” He grumbled, giving his brother a glare before turning back to you with a smile. “I won, by the way!” Beaming, he completely missed your demeanor change, feeling one of disappointment as he left your side. “I beat Mikey at tag! Aren’t I cool?” He chuckled, before perking up— hearing one of his brothers call his name.

And just like that, he left your side, hands behind his head without a care in the world. He was leaving you! Again! You couldn’t help the disappointed sigh lurking in your throat as he welcomed his brother in purple back home, asking if they wanted to compete to see who could eat the most pizza at Run-Of-the-Mill.

“You know, when we were kids and I wanted Leo to sit still..” Raph leaned over your shoulder, talking quiet as to not alert anyone.. including you. “I would just lay on top of him, but I guess you can’t really do that… so I can only wonder what the alternative is..” He mused, leaving you to your thoughts as he walked to the kitchen.

Leo moseyed back into the projector room, collapsing onto his beanbag with a huff. “Donton just wanted help unloading groceries.” he muttered, disappointed, and this time, you weren’t able to stop the sigh from leaving your lips.

Your eyes snapped open, knowing damn well he wouldn’t miss a chance to point that out.

“Hold on.” He sat up, looking at where you now hid your face. “Was- was that a sigh?” He chirped in surprise, analyzing your anxious form. “No way.” He squinted, trying to tell if he was dreaming. “Y/n, shy Y/n. Who’s too nervous to tell the cashier they got the wrong change — just sighed, at me.” He half laughed, actually impressed, “Donnie owes me 20 bucks.”

You grumbled at the last comment, mixed feelings on the fact that he competed on you.

“So~” he smiled, scooting closer and leaning in, “What did I do to upset my Y/n this bad?” Usually, Leo avoided conflict like the plague, but seeing how flustered you were, he could only hope it was because you were jealous. And boy did he know how to fix that.

Fire was climbing up your throat, you couldn’t tell if it was frustration or the flustered feeling he had given you from calling you his. Maybe it was a bit of both. “God you— you’re such a—“ you covered your face, yelling into your hands with all your might.

Cold hands gently pulled your wrists away from your face, revealing Leo sitting in front of you calmly, waiting for you to express your thoughts the way you wanted to. Words echoed in your head, giving you a reckless, stupid idea.

“You know, when I wanted Leo to sit still…”

You couldn’t— you were sure you would die. Immediately. Just die right there and never come back from the pits of HathSin. But.. before you knew it, your hands had wrapped around the back of his head, pulling him in to a gentle hug. You couldn’t stop yourself as you nuzzled your face into his shoulder, grip tight as you could only hope he didn’t push you away. “I just wanted you to stay with me.” You muttered, eyes fluttering closed. You were ready to accept the disgust, the anger, the pain at losing your best friend. You felt hot tears prick your eyes, fear consuming you as you heard…

….

Churrrrrr….

…

What? What was that?

Finally pulling back, you caught a glimpse of Leo’s cherry red blush, hidden under his blue bandana. He seemed shocked at both your and his own actions. Because of the noise, you hadn’t even noticed his hand coming back to graze your spine, wanting to hug you back— you only noticed how he pulled away, head in his hands as he scolded himself. “Are you kidding me? Now? Yeah that’s real charming, Leo. Way to ruin the moment, dumbass..”

Him! Flustered! Now you were both breaking the laws of physics.

———-

I HOPE THATS SOMETHING LIKE WHAT YOU WANTED OKAY GOODBYE 🏃🏃🏃🏃🏃💨💨💨

#ROTTMNT #ROTTMNT x reader #ROTTMNT Leo #Regrettable requests #regrettable writing #rise of the tmnt #Leonardo x reader #ROTTMNT Leonardo #rottmnt leo x reader

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marimbles · 9 months

Note

HAPPY BIRTH!!!!!!! 🎉🎂🍰🎊🎁🎈🎉🎉

also:

old 🫵

being cyber bullied by The Youths…

(Also ty tizzy<3)

#ask #tizzymcwizzy

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sectoren · 6 months

Note

hello!! i may be late but 14 & 34 for the mashup game please! btw crushed ice made me laugh out loud it was so fun and gave me all the butterflies, i love reading them be idiots so ty for sharing <33

hiii !! thank u sm love 2 hear it <333

ok so bodyguard + vacation. remus is an accidentally famous author. every book he writes inadvertently becomes a book-to-film adaptation and he hates it bc he hates Hollywood but its good money. as he is wrapping up the first few days on set of his most recent book-turned-film he is spotted with one of the actors in a precarious position (totally out of context ofc) which sends the media into a veritable tizzy. everyone is speculating on whether or not they're together the paparazzi won't leave him alone, he has almost crashed his car twice. it's ridiculous so the studio decides to send him away, tells him to think of it as a little vacation on them (they are scared he will pull the book deal). hes like ok but what guarantees they won't harass me there? they're like no worries we're sending u off with our very best professional bodyguard sirius black... surely all will be well...

trope game

#tbh i think sirius would suck as a bodyguard so... suspend ur disbelief if u feel the same..i just felt this was pairing u wanted anon...#and god knows remus is never guarding anything or anyone its just not happening. dawg look at my bodyguard im going to die etc etc #anon #trope game

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tizzymcwizzy · 2 years

Text

WAH THE ZINE I JUST POSTED WAS MISSING A PAGE!!!

i deleted it so gimme a second to make a new post gguuuhhhh im so embarrassed hdbdhfjg

#tizzy talks #if yall could delete ur reblogs of it that would be very nice ty aaaaa #very embarrassed fhdhjdjf

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veteran-fanperson · 2 years

Text

Burn

Hello, here is my late entry for the Celebrrration event organized by the lovely @celebrrration. Day 3 - Jealousy.

Not beta-read.

Read on AO3 here.

Rama was furious. The moonlight coming in through Bheema’s window, the soft breeze wafting in from the forest, the hypnotic chirping of the crickets outside, all conspired to make his rage greater than ever. The village had long since gone to bed, and Bheem was nowhere to be seen. Not since he had been surrounded by a gaggle of admirers from surrounding villages, all passing through the Gond village for the district cattle fair. The village had been accommodating passing strangers and cattle for the past days, sending the local children into a tizzy.

Ever since Bheema had returned with Malli a year ago, the Gond influence had spread. Tales of Bheema’s incredible deeds had spread, and almost weekly they were visited by eager people all intent on training, on resisting the tyranny of the officers. Rama had come bearing more arms two months ago, arms that Bheema and his men would discreetly train potential recruits with, distributing them slowly through the countryside. They were selective with the weapons, because British spies were plenty. Two weeks ago Bheema had insisted on packing all of them up and hiding them deep in some caves near the waterfall, telling Rama that they could retrieve them after the fair. It would not do for so many strangers to witness what they had hoarded.

Today’s visitors had clearly heard of Bheema though. The children clung to him, asking him for stories about how he had defeated the English Rakshasas. Rama had been amused, listening to Bheema’s tales of Delhi and its wonders until he spotted some of the glances the young women cast at Bheema. Rama’s own deeds never came up because his status as an ex-police officer still made people nervous and hostile, so he had plenty of time to brood and seethe as a couple of Bheema’s bolder admirers sat right by him, with bright eyes and braided hair, flowers in their napes and kajal in their eyes. Bheema had looked surprised but pleased when one of them made so bold as to stroke his arm, Rama choking on the paan that Malli’s mother had handed him.

They had insisted that Bheema help with accommodating the animals for the night safely and Bheema had agreed. An hour ago. How long did it take to tie up twelve cows? He continued to pace, watching the door like a hawk. How uncaring were these parents that they just let their unmarried girls frolic in the middle of the night unchaperoned? He wished he had never come. What Bheema and he had was special, at least Rama thought so. It was something that they could not reveal to anyone outside of their closest compatriots for fear of the English and their ridiculous laws. His steps slowed as he sat on their bed, staring at his feet. He felt ill and tired. Perhaps Bheema had begun to regret tying himself to someone like Rama? Perhaps he wanted an ordinary man’s life, one filled with home and wife and children?

A jaunty whistle broke the silence as familiar steps approached and Rama felt anger flare back to life as Bheema came bouncing along, his spear in his hand. His upper cloth was missing, water dripping from his thick hair onto his chest. This was not the time to take a bath. He gritted his teeth as Bheema picked up the marichembu to wash his feet, taking a drink at the same time.

“Rama?” The other man called as he entered, “Why are you still awake?”

“Where were you?” he hissed at Bheema, pushing past him and slamming the door shut. “Why are you wet?”

“I needed to go past the river.” Bheema answered him easily.

“At this hour?”

“One of Sarojini’s cows, Amba, was feeling uneasy. I went to the Peddayya’s grove to retrieve a herb.”

“And did Sarojini come with you? Did you have a lovely moonlight stroll and bathe?” Rama hissed, pouncing forward and gripping Bheema’s arm very hard.

“What? No - why would she -”

“You belong to me.” Rama spat, pulling Bheema into a hard, bruising kiss, pushing Bheema into the wall. “Not to silly little giggling girls for whom you ignored me all evening.”

“My Rama, why on earth would you think that I -”

“Hush.” He attacked Bheema’s mouth again, pushing his tongue roughly inside, relishing the spicy taste of betel nut. Bheema mumbled into the kiss, attempting to push at Rama’s bare chest, but Rama ignored him, tearing at Bheema’s dhoti, feeling grimly satisfied when it ripped.

“Rama,” Bheema groaned, “Rama.” Rama kissed him harder, his fingers finding Bheema’s nipples, twisting them. He felt Bheema grow and thicken rapidly between his legs, his musky scent filling the small hut. Rama bit hard at the other’s lower lip, one of his hands now in Bheema’s curly hair. The other ripped his own dhoti off, freeing him to press up against Bheema, making the other man moan. This man, this infuriating, beautiful man belonged to Rama. His very soul was part of Rama’s, there was no existence possible for Rama without Bheema.

Bheema’s skin was cool from the river, but it did nothing to quench the fire burning under Rama’s skin. His skin tasted of camphor and khus, its scent overpowering Rama as he bit at Bheema’s neck. The younger man made a high keening sound at this, his arms engulfing Rama and squeezing even tighter, groaning as their lengths slipped against each other. He sucked at Bheema’s neck, making the other man stagger. A resounding crash made them break away slightly as the clothes horse clanged to the ground. Rama made an impatient noise as he dragged Bheema back against the wall, sucking anew at the mark he had already made on the other man’s neck.

Bheema moved uncomplainingly, panting as Rama raked his fingers over the other man’s back, leaving deep scratches. He continued kissing and sucking down Bheema’s shoulder, lavishing special care over the latter’s tattoos.

“Ramaaaaa,” Bheema whined, shoving his knee between the older man’s legs, pushing hard against him. Rama shoved his hand between them, a difficult task because there was barely enough space to slide a coin through. He grabbed both their lengths together, stroking them roughly. Bheema pulled hard at Rama’s hair, forcing his head up to thrust his tongue into Rama’s mouth, his other arm wound tight around the older man’s waist. Rama hissed in pain as Bheema sucked on his tongue, thrusting wildly against Bheema. He felt Bheema shudder and pulled away, wanting to watch, wanting to witness Bheema reach orgasm. He felt a wild thrill of pride as Bheema spurted into his hands, at the wide pupilled, out of control look in the other man’s eyes. He did this. He was the only one who had the right to touch the younger man, the right to watch him get undone. Rama felt his own eyes water as he followed him moments later, Bheema capturing his lips in a passionate kiss as he went over the edge.

The cot creaked noisily as they stumbled back together, unwilling to let go of each other for even a moment. Rama hummed contentedly as he lay in the other man’s arms, the breeze cooling their skin. He sighed in pleasure as Bheema’s fingers raked through his hair, the touch gentle.

“Mine.” He whispered again, as their heart rates returned to normal.

Bheema laughed sweetly, lifting Rama’s fingers to his mouth for a kiss. “Yours, Rama. All yours.”

*****

The next day Rama had the pleasure of watching the disappointed look in Sarojini’s eyes as she spotted the large bite on Bheema’s neck that the upper cloth did little to conceal. Bheema looked red, embarassed as he met his fellow villagers’ amused gaze as Rama sat innocently by with a book. He felt no real anxiety, knowing that the Gonds would never betray Bheema. There was a little further pleasure when he saw Bheema’s dark eyes smoulder with posessive heat when one of Sarojini’s friends sat by him, talking about the book in his hands.

It was going to be another busy night.

#rrr fanfic #ram x bheem #rambheem fanfic #rambheem #celebrrration22 #my fanfiction

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luveline · 2 years

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let’s play doctor with bodyguard!steve 👀

join luveline's halloween party

ty for ur req anon! cw smut mdni (p in v, unprotected closet sex, praise, good girl, breeding ?) ♡ bodyguard!steve x fem!reader [2k]

"Relax," Steve pleads.

You take another shallow breath and look at him through your lashes, trying not to show how fucking tightly wound you are even though he clearly knows.

"I'm okay," you say.

Steve's hand traces a maddening path, knuckles dragging up the valley of your chest to your neck, fingers stretching out as he cups your throat very, very gently, thumb along the right side of your jaw and index finger the left.

Any other time you'd be putty in his hands. His touches, his hand against your windpipe, it would've sent you into a tizzy.

Too bad you're already in a tizzy. Steve's hand, his other, dominant hand, pushes against the fabric of your dark tights, fingers stuffed snugly into your tight cunt. Your breath hitches as he spreads them wide, a familiar and numbing feeling.

Your grasp on his muscled bicep slackens as he curves them inward, two thick fingers prodding at your swollen soft spot again and again. You tighten around him and he groans right there into your neck, hair damp with sweat as it tickles your face.

"Fuck. You alright?"

"Faster," you whisper.

"Whatever you want, pretty girl."

You keen as his rhythm recalibrates and the pad of his thumb pushes into your clit, practiced circles drawn into the sensitive skin over and over and over. Each full turn has you limp. Steve has to abandon your neck entirely to keep you upright, holding your back away from the shelves behind you.

"Easy," he says, mouth hot and open as he searches for that little slice of skin under your ear that's gonna make you cry. He kisses you in time with his thrusts, lips a gentle brush compared to the thud-thud-thud of his index and pinky finger slapping into your sticky cunt. "Easy, baby."

The sound of his voice is a tether if nothing else, a reminder to calm down and keep quiet. You nibble your lip raw as the tightness in your core coils. Like he can tell —like he knows from the feel of you on his fingers alone — his thrusting slows. Turns gentle. He presses his hand flat to your skin whilst the other pulls you in, pushing you down onto his stilled fingers enough to make you whimper.

He pauses his hickeying to check your face.

Held tight to his chest like this in the near-dark with only your upturned phone to light his face, he has the deepest brown eyes you've ever seen. His lips are pink with blood bitten to the surface and slick with spit, so so soft that you can't help but lean down.

He pulls his wet hand from your cunt and presses it to your hip, holding you steady as he lifts his chin for a kiss. He's receptive — it's like you're in sync. You wade and he ebbs, breath hot and mismatched and ragged.

"You're okay," he says. A firm sterness. "Tell me."

He doesn't mean, Tell me you're okay. He means, Tell me how you feel. Tell me if this is too much for you.

Tell me if it's not enough.

You rub your thighs together as you pull down your tights, nylon at your knees as you guide Steve's hand back to your cunt.

"Please, Stevie," you say under your breath, chest heaving so hard it kisses his black polo. "Need you."

Your breathlessness has Steve's pupils turned to dimes.

He pulls you back toward him and kisses your neck ardently, forcing your head up and back so you can't see his wandering hands. One eases under the material of your shirt to spread wide across your lower back, hot as the heart of a star, and the other falls to his zipper. Your heart pounds with how much you want him, and it skips with every sound. The metallic shuddering of a zipper being pulled down, the light plink of his elastic waistband.

His teeth scrape your skin as he encourages your panties down to join your tights, the fabric ruined by his ministrations already. He gives your neck two quick kisses like apologies and then pulls away, his face shining with perspiration.

He spits into his hand. "Sorry," he says, eyes travelling down. You follow.

"S'hardly-" You gasp at his fingers against your slit, gaze thrown to the ceiling on impulse. "Hardly the worst thing I've seen you do, Stevie. Can you-" You hiss at the sudden return of his fingers, not hurt in any capacity but definitely not expecting it as he works you open. "Oh my god."

"Can I what, sweetheart?" he asks.

You pant. There's no other word for it, your lips part into a small 'o' and you struggle to catch your breath as he fills you up to the last knuckle.

It's a necessary step. Steve's shoulders aren't the only wide thing about him.

"Princess."

You come back into yourself. "Fuck," you say, desperate in the worst way when you see the way he's pumping his cock. Erratic, no rhyme or reason, mushroom tip leaking pearly precum. He slides his fingers up the shaft and pinches it between his fingers.

It ribbons as they come apart, as he strokes down his length and squeezes the heavy sack hidden at the base by a thicket of dark curls.

Impatient, you think. But no, not impatient.

Waiting for you.

"Fuck me," you say weakly. "Please."

"Come here."

Come here. How much closer can you get? Steve leans back and his arm wraps around your back as he pulls you up, forcing you on tiptoes. There's a mess of slick and fabrics between you, the two of you uncoordinated in your hurry, and he yanks your skirt out of the way so hard you hear the stitching stretch.

"There you go," he murmurs, hand guiding the tip of his cock to your hole, a sobbing wetness creeping down the inside of your thigh. He wipes it like he can read your mind, and then your clinging to him as you sink down. "Fuck, there you are. Good girl." His eyes shutter closed. His breath trembles. "Good fucking girl."

Your turn for kisses. You wrap you arms around his neck likely too tightly, a hand scraping back his pretty silky hair so you have a clear view of the side of his throat. You kiss him much nicer than he'd kissed you, attemps to hickey him all dismantled as he rocks you down onto his cock.

"Baby," he says, he praises, hand grabbing at your thigh to hold it up against his hip. You groan as he pulls out enough to fuck back in, doubly when he ruts his hips up and fills you completely.

An ache spreads all the way to your hips. Steve gives pause, kisses the side of your face, whatever skin he can reach as you hiccup into his neck. "Ah- Ah- Steve."

Wiry curls rub against your clit as he starts to move, slow, tentative movements.

"Harder," you mouth against his neck. "It's okay. I'm not gonna break." You're surprised he can hear you.

"I'm not trying to break you." His attempt at whispering is lackluster, voice heady with lust. "M'trying to make you feel good."

"I feel good," you reassure. You're all beggy and you know Steve can't withstand it, not while he's fucking into your heat like he is, not with your mix of slick on his hands.

His pace hastens after that. His arms grow tight around you as his cock kisses your sweet spot, pleasure heightened by the chesty sound of his breathing in your ear. You can't do much beside hang onto him, lips closing urgently over his skin until it burns with bruises. You're wet enough that every thrust is easy and loud, the closet you've found yourself in a vestibule of sex. You moan into his skin pleadingly, no clue what you're asking for as he fucks you dizzy.

Steve can't keep quiet either. His high approaches, his breathing wavers, his rugged panting suddenly coloured with a deep groan. You shiver at the sound, amazed at how close his moans sound to his laugh.

"Fuck-" he says, pained. "Fuck, baby- shit- so fucking wet." Too far gone to tease or mock you, Steve's fallen straight to praise. "Always so wet, pretty thing. Pretty cunt fucking sobbing on me."

It's like he's telling you a secret, the way he confesses.

His pace loosens. Sporadic, your hip aches as he pulls your leg higher and fucks into whatever new depth he can find.

You card your hand into his hair and tug gently.

His breathing hitches and you tug again, startled but not quite surprised as he whines. "Shit, shit, where can I-"

"Inside," you say immediately, "it's okay."

He groans as he cums, each sound loud and intoxicating, cock sliding up into your gummy walls until he's spent and panting into your hair, arms clinging to you as you'd been to him. He stays inside and you try not to move, knowing he's too sensitive.

"Steve," you whisper eventually, "leg's hurting."

He helps you get your foot on the floor, wincing at the shift but quickly recovering. His eyes light up and he smiles sweet as anything, chest rising like he's just run a mile.

"Baby," he says, always like it's more a praise than a pet name. His hands rub up your back soothingly. "Got you all twisted up, huh? I'm sorry," and he means it, kissing your jawline gently. "Sorry," he repeats, lips skipping over you skin. "How about you turn around for me, okay? No more gymnastics. Take care of my girl."

You nod speechlessly and Steve turns you around, the heat and wet of cum dripping down the inside of your thigh.

"Hold your skirt up for me, okay?" He chuckles, a laugh all to himself. "There you go. Thank you."

Steve pushes in and drags your hips up against his own, hand wrapping around your lap to rub over the bump of your cunt. Mess is everywhere and his fingers fight for purchase, three hot fingertips to your clit.

"Make some more mess," he murmurs, shifting his hips slow in time with his circles as he warms up again. You mewl as the speed increases and he gets a little deeper, circles timed with his thrusts, bringing your hand to his yo make him go faster. You're pleased to tears when he understands and fucks in as deep as he can. Tight tight circles and quick thrusts.

You bounce against his hips and it doesn't take much for you to cum, your breath hiked and panicked as the coil snaps. Steve murmurs encouragements, fucks you just that little bit longer to keep it going. You moan his name without thinking, a teary-eyed gasp that has him covering your mouth.

"Shhh, baby... Fuck. Best feeling in the world," Steve says quietly into your ear, almost indecipherable over the sound of you fighting for air. His hands squeeze and relax in time with your tightening cunt. Air hisses from between his teeth and tickles your neck.

He waits for you to catch your breath before he pulls out, the both of you sticky and sweaty and aching. He guides you into his side and gives his softening cock a few sadistic tugs.

You reach across yourself to tuck him back into his pants. He pulls your panties and tights up in turn. You stare at each other, and then you burst into contagious giggles.

"Think it's obvious?" Steve asks, fingers braceleting your wrists so he can wipe your wet palms down the front of his shirt before he zips up his jacket.

It's definitely obvious. You both look like sex, and now you're done the sounds from outside seem quieter than before.

You shift from foot to foot, thighs sliding against each other.

"I'm slimy," you complain good-naturedly. It would take a freight train of problems to dampen your happiness.

He brings your damp hands to his mouth and kisses your curled fingers.

"Sorry," he says to each one. "It's my fault. Couldn't wait."

Your legs tremble, your knees are weak. You feel languid and glowing as you hide your face into his neck, completely in love with how swiftly his lean arms needle over your shoulders. One hand behind your head, one between your shoulders. Protective.

"Should be," you mumble, your smile audible.

"I'll make it up to you."

"Not in this closet, you won't."

#luveline's halloween party #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #bodyguard!steve harrington #bodyguard!au #bodyguard!steve #fem!reader

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