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Pygmi-cygni - Star Baby - Tumblr Blog
this is so cute! also i think you have thw wrong header bc it says 'rydal keeps asking you out' on it ❤️
Ask The Question
Outcome 3 x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 3: Drinking Game
Summary: Rydal keeps asking you out.
A/N: Opps, this is basically fluff. Thank you @thexsanctuaryx for saving my butt and beta-ing again!
Warnings: fluff, teasing, drinking, please let me know if I have missed a warning!
Word Count: 649
You take a shot, the whiskey burns your throat. You can’t remember if it’s your fourth or fifth, your tolerance having been consistently burned down during the course of the evening.
There’s a pleasant buzz at the back of your head.
He chuckles, his dark eyes twinkling. “I can’t believe you didn’t want to answer that one.”
It’s the first time you’ve seen him so relaxed, without every single muscle tensed, posed and ready to strike.
You pull a face, “I have my reasons.”
“Which are?” Amusement dances in his expression.
You pause then shake your head. “Nope.”
“That’s unfair.”
“Is not.”
He shifts a little closer to you on the floor, pressing his arm against yours, “Is too.”
Outside the wind is howling, the night dark and cold.
The light from the fire plays across his skin dreamily.
“I took my shot.” You gesture to yourself. “I’m playing by the rules.”
He tuts playfully, “How is, ‘Are you interested in anyone right now?’ so difficult to answer?”
“You can’t trick me, mister. I’m still not gonna tell you, besides it’s your turn.”
“Fine.” He gives you an eyebrow raise and then pretends to think. “Truth.”
You pout at him for a second and then grin wickedly. “Are you interested in anyone right now?”
He snorts.
“See?” You gloat. “Not so chatty now are you?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“The answer’s yes.” He gives you a smug smile. “Your turn.”
“What?” You splutter. “Who?”
“It’s your turn.”
“Hey-”
“Rules are rules,” he nudges your shoulder again, “and it’s your turn.”
You sigh dramatically. “Alright…” You know he’s going to ask something similar again, and again if you say truth until you’re too tipsy not to answer honestly. You swallow.
Part of you wishes he wasn’t so beautiful, wasn’t so charming. That you weren’t hopelessly head over heels in love with him.
But he obviously had someone he had eyes on. You tried not to let the disappointment that was tearing at your insides show.
“Dare.” You finally say.
“A kiss.” He speaks so softly you think you must have misheard.
“Sorry?” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended, breathless.
“A kiss,” he repeats, leaning closer until he can brush his nose against yours.
“I…” You don’t know what to do, what to say, your mind racing and also unhelpfully blank.
He reaches up slowly and lightly touches your cheek in a silky sweet contact. Your skin buzzes, practically hums where his fingers brush against you.
“A kiss.” He says a third time, barely moving his lips this time as he tilts his head to the side and closes the gap.
He kisses you softly, gentle and sweet like he doesn’t want to break you, but he groans when your lips move against his. His touch on your cheek grows firmer, his fingers slide down to cradle the back of your neck as he flicks his tongue along your bottom lip.
This can’t be real, can’t be happening. You’d had too much to drink and passed out on the stupidly plush carpet.
He hums against you, his kisses growing bolder, more demanding as he licks into your mouth, teasing your tongue with his own. He tastes like the whiskey and that stupid lemon you’d dared him to eat six rounds ago.
His lips are softer than you expected, but as skilled and firm as you’d daydreamed of.
When he finally pulls back he keeps his eyes closed, a soft lovesick smile on his face.
You swallow nervously, all words empty from your mind.
“You can ask me that truth now.” He says softly, his hand still on your neck, tracing soft circles along your skin that makes you shiver deliciously and ache with want.
“I…who are you interested in?” You finally stammer out, getting lost in his dark eyes.
He kisses you again, lightly and whispers against your lips. “You, dummy.”
Thank you for reading!
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marc spector- slow songs
Summary: Your friend, Marc, pretends to be your boyfriend at a wedding, but is it pretend? (~2.3k)
Contents: f!reader, fluff, fake dating/friends to lovers, language
part of @moonknight-events: MK spring ‘24 Bingo Event
This is the slow song:
-----
“Okay, just be calm. Stay cool, lay low.” You run your hands down your pale, blue dress.
Marc frowns at you. “That’s a terrible pep talk.”
“It’s not for you. It’s for me.” You give him a dirty look. “You’re used to lying to people’s faces, but I’m not.”
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, I deserved that one. But as a reminder, I don’t even want to be here. How’s the suit?”
You look him up and down. He has on a dark suit with a bow tie. His curly hair arranged in neat waves away from his face. He was on a mission somewhere sunny and came back tan.
He looks so gorgeous you want to scream.
“It’s not the worst you’ve ever looked.” You grab his hand and haul him into the reception hall.
“Well, I think you look amazing, cupcake,” Marc says with a grin. “My little candy heart-shaped nugget love, whatever.”
He stretches his neck in his shirt. “I’m gonna kill Steven.”
You sigh. Steven had volunteered to be your pretend boyfriend at a friend's wedding. The only way to avoid being put at the singles table, plus you’d have someone to joke with.
But when you’d told your friend you were bringing your new boyfriend, you’d lied and said you’d grown up together. So, not Steven because of his accent, and Jake was too charming to let loose on unsuspecting bridesmaids.
So, Marc had reluctantly agreed.
Not that you weren’t friends with all three of them, but you and Marc weren’t as close. You were never sure why. Probably because his walls were up so high you could see them from space.
“Can’t we just say we’re friends?” Marc says, loosening his bow tie.
You stop walking and re-tighten it. “No, or she’s going to try to set me up with her cousin. He’s had a crush on me for years. I want to tell him to fuck off, but he’d make a whole thing about it.” You give him another once over, smooth a stray curl off his forehead. “Maybe it worked out better this way. You’re intimidating. That’s good.”
Marc looks grim as you enter the ballroom, quiet classical music playing in the background.
“Anything I should know?” Marc says. “What even is your last name?”
You turn to him, mouth open. “We’ve been friends for months. You don’t know?”
He shrugs.
“Okay, you know what,” you say, annoyed, “why don’t you pretend to be someone else? Someone who doesn’t walk around with an ancient God’s arm stuck up his butthole, working him like a puppet?”
“Guess I can’t argue with that,” Marc mutters.
Your friend’s parents walk up to you and hug you enthusiastically. You say what a beautiful ceremony it was and turn to introduce Marc.
You hold his hand. “These are my friend’s parents, Maureen and Sidney. And this is my boyfriend.”
Marc holds out his hand, a tight smile on his face. “Tony Wrinklebottom. Nice to meet you.”
You feel like you're having an out of body experience. WHAT IS HAPPENING?
Maureen’s eyes go wide. “It’s nice to meet you too. We haven’t heard a lot about you, but you’re very handsome. And such an unusual last name. Where did it come from?”
“I got it from my father,” Marc says unironically.
You squeeze his hand hard. “We’re going to go get a drink. I’m sure everyone is dying to talk to the parents of the bride. I’ll see you later.”
You plaster on a fake smile and push Marc toward the bar.
“I didn’t mean you had to make up a fake name,” you whisper scream at him.
“I panicked.” Marc leans on the bar. “Whiskey neat and a vodka soda with two limes.”
“You know my drink order, but not my last name?”
Marc takes his wallet out of his jacket to tip the bartender, generously you notice.
He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “What’s more important to our friendship? Your last name, or my knowing what you like to drink?”
You open your mouth. Shut it. Cross your arms. “This is a disaster.”
“Sure is.” Marc knocks back his first whisky and taps the glass for a second.
He holds his refill in one hand and holds his other arm out for you. You take it reluctantly.
“Let’s find our table,” you say, sipping your drink.
“Whatever you say, cookie-poo.”
“Ugh,” you say, unable to stop the disgusted look on your face.
Marc smiles. “I take it back. This might be fun.”
And weirdly, it kind of is.
You and “Tony” are at a table with complete strangers. He’s not great at casual conversation, but with a face like his, people kind of go along with whatever he says.
He takes off his jacket and bow tie, and relaxes. Something you usually only see when you’re at his place watching a movie, or bringing him something you’d stress-baked.
Someone asks how you met.
Tony puts his arm around you. “My sweet pumpkin pie and I’ve known each other for years. She finally got the hint. All those times I stopped by with take out, or let her sleep with her head on my shoulder, we weren’t just hanging out.”
You smirk at him. “Pardon me for thinking we were friends.”
Marc’s eyes are almost black in the low light. His long lashes blink at you.
“You think friends plan their entire schedule, international travel, around Thursday movie nights? Friends go out of their way every night to walk you home?” His fingers tickle your neck lightly.
You frown, your stomach feeling funny. “You said it was on your way from the gym.”
“I picked that gym because it’s close to your work,” he says with a raised eyebrow.
Marc’s face goes serious again. He pulls his arm away and takes a drink. “Look, just forget I said anything. I must be drunk.”
You watch uncertainty pass over his handsome face. You rub your hand over his forearm.
“You want to dance, Wrinklebottom?” You ask with a smile.
Marc huffs a half-laugh out of his nose. “Sure, pookie bear. Long as it’s a slow one.”
Marc’s broad shoulders are strong under your arms. His hands warm and wide as he holds your waist. He smells good. You get as close enough as you dare, breathing him in.
He hums along to the song. You're surprised he knows it.
“Jake says you’re the prettiest thing here,” he says quietly. “And Steven says he apologizes for not bringing flowers. Wait. No. He thinks I should apologize for not bringing you flowers.”
You and Steven had been in limbo for awhile now. You liked each other as more than friends. Jake had already told Steven to go for it. But you didn’t want to make Marc uncomfortable.
“Thank you, and thank you,” you say. You tilt your head away slightly so you can look at him. “And what does Marc Spector say?”
Marc’s eyes trace over your face. He licks his bottom lip. “The wedding cake was dry.”
You nod slowly. “Yeah. I’m going to return the gift I got them.”
Marc grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “One of those clocks where the cat’s tail swings back and forth?”
You smile. “Yeah, a big one.”
“Maybe it’s not the cat’s tail then.”
You snort out a laugh. “Stop. Weddings are romantic. No dick jokes.”
“Okay, honey lump, no dick jokes.” He pulls you a little closer. Close enough that your front sides are touching, swaying back and forth in unison. One of his hands rubs the small of your back.
“We can probably leave after this dance,” you say, even though you don’t want to. “We said hello to the bride and groom, ate, had drinks. I think that’s everything.”
“Leave? Tony Wrinklebottom doesn’t leave a party until he slow dances about four times with his girl.”
You rest your forehead on his shoulder. “Where the hell did you even get that stupid name?”
Marc’s hand rubs back and forth over your upper back now. “Jake’s watching one of the neighbor’s cats.”
“You named yourself after a cat?”
Marc shrugs. “My last name is Spector, which, given my profession, isn’t exactly subtle either. Besides, you should be so lucky. You could be Mrs. Wrinklebottom one day.”
You laugh, pressing your mouth into his shoulder to keep from drawing attention to yourself. “I always forget what a ridiculous sense of humor you have.”
“Makes you laugh, though,” Marc says.
You raise your head to argue with him, just for the fun of it. Your words die in your throat.
Marc’s looking at you with unusual softness. His head tilts slightly and you think, hope, that he’s going to kiss you. Instead, he cradles the back of your head with one of his hands, and slots it next to his, so your faces really are touching now.
“Your shampoo smells nice,” he says.
Your stomach flutters. “You look really hot.”
“I thought I looked like shit,” Marc says dryly.
You reposition your arms so they’re around his middle, your fingers brushing a little lower than they probably should.
“You’re hot and you know it. In this suit, or your other one when you’re all bloody and sweaty. As much as it pains me to compliment you,” you say.
“Yeah, we don’t really have that kind of friendship, do we? More likely give each other grief than go on and on about how you make the best lasagna. Or thank you for staying over that night last month. When you could tell I didn’t want to be alone. How good you feel in my arms. How much I-“ Marc stops. You feel his jaw tense.
“How much I love you?” You say.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But I did.”
You’ve stopped dancing. Both you standing in the middle of a crowd of people who are still moving back and forth slowly. You desperately hope that you haven’t made a mistake by saying something.
Marc’s gaze burns into yours. “Do you mean it?” He asks.
You smile. “Yes. And, not to sound full of myself, but I think you feel the same way.”
A grin cracks his serious facade. “I meant what I said earlier. About the things I do for you. Showing you how I feel.”
Love washes over you, covering your memories with Marc in warm light.
Part of you is grateful. He’d given both of you time to really know each other, set down a solid base together. But at the same time, he’d been so slow about it you want to shake his muscled shoulders.
“You’ve never even tried to hold my hand,” you say. “I thought we just had this awkward friendship, where you overdid it sometimes and retreated from me other times.”
“I was trying not to scare you away,” Marc says. “And you know how I am with feelings. I don’t like admitting that I have them.”
You roll your eyes. “I know. Talking about your feelings would really eat up your punching-people-in-their-faces time.”
“Punching people is easy.”
“I wouldn’t know,” you say.
Marc’s hands nudge your hips and you start dancing again. He doesn’t look tense, or anxious.
“If we do this,” Marc says, “I’m still your awkward friend.”
You pull him close, leaning in to kiss his cheek. His facial hair is already a little rough under your lips, even though he’d shaved just before you’d left.
“Maybe you’d get the upgrade to awkward boyfriend,” you say with a smile.
He kisses the side of your head. “I’d like that.”
“But just so you know, any time we go out, the reservations are going under your alias.”
Marc doesn’t even sigh. He just keeps dancing, his hands tracing over your body. “Mr. and Mrs. Tony Wrinklebottom.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Anthony G. Wrinklebottom.”
Marc chuckles. For the first time, chest to chest with him, you feel the deep rumble under his rib cage. You press in closer.
“Deal,” Marc says. He rests his knuckles under your chin so you’ll look at him. “So you’ll go out with me?”
“On one condition,” you say with a sweet smile. “What’s my last name?”
Marc’s smile freezes on his face. He shuts his eyes tight, but if you know Jake and Steven, they’re more likely to laugh at him than to give him an easy out.
He does that frowny smile that means he gives up, spins you around the dance floor.
He pulls you back in close to him. “I know other things about you. Like, we’re going to that place with the burgers and the fancy french fries for our first date. You can’t make reservations, but Jake knows the manager and we could skip the line.”
You groan. “I love that place.”
“I know,” Marc says smugly. “And the shop with the raspberry gelato for dessert. Walk through the park with the fountain you like. On Fridays the buskers that play Fleetwood Mac and Springsteen are there. We'll sit on the bench under the broken light, more privacy. That's where I want to kiss you.”
“Wow, that’s a good date,” you say, breath knocked out of you by Marc's words and eyes and plans.
“It should be, I’ve been fine-tuning it for three weeks,” he says self-deprecatingly.
You rest your hand against his cheek, rubbing your thumb on his skin. “This Friday, then.”
Marc nods, one of his hands resting around your waist, the other so light on the back of your neck you can barely feel him. He rests his forehead against yours as the song comes to a close.
“You look beautiful. Did I tell you that?” He says. “My little sugar bunny, cherry pie dove bean-“
You clap your hand over his mouth. “You’re what my grandma would’ve called, ‘a real piece of work.’”
He smiles under your palm, picking up the rhythm of the second slow song and easing you into it. You remove your hand, slide it back over his shoulder.
If this is the last thing you ever do as just friends, then Tony’s right. You don’t want to leave. You want to stay for all the slow songs.
-----
Square B "Fake Dating"
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marc spector- slow songs
Summary: Your friend, Marc, pretends to be your boyfriend at a wedding, but is it pretend? (~2.3k)
Contents: f!reader, fluff, fake dating/friends to lovers, language
part of @moonknight-events: MK spring ‘24 Bingo Event
This is the slow song:
-----
“Okay, just be calm. Stay cool, lay low.” You run your hands down your pale, blue dress.
Marc frowns at you. “That’s a terrible pep talk.”
“It’s not for you. It’s for me.” You give him a dirty look. “You’re used to lying to people’s faces, but I’m not.”
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, I deserved that one. But as a reminder, I don’t even want to be here. How’s the suit?”
You look him up and down. He has on a dark suit with a bow tie. His curly hair arranged in neat waves away from his face. He was on a mission somewhere sunny and came back tan.
He looks so gorgeous you want to scream.
“It’s not the worst you’ve ever looked.” You grab his hand and haul him into the reception hall.
“Well, I think you look amazing, cupcake,” Marc says with a grin. “My little candy heart-shaped nugget love, whatever.”
He stretches his neck in his shirt. “I’m gonna kill Steven.”
You sigh. Steven had volunteered to be your pretend boyfriend at a friend's wedding. The only way to avoid being put at the singles table, plus you’d have someone to joke with.
But when you’d told your friend you were bringing your new boyfriend, you’d lied and said you’d grown up together. So, not Steven because of his accent, and Jake was too charming to let loose on unsuspecting bridesmaids.
So, Marc had reluctantly agreed.
Not that you weren’t friends with all three of them, but you and Marc weren’t as close. You were never sure why. Probably because his walls were up so high you could see them from space.
“Can’t we just say we’re friends?” Marc says, loosening his bow tie.
You stop walking and re-tighten it. “No, or she’s going to try to set me up with her cousin. He’s had a crush on me for years. I want to tell him to fuck off, but he’d make a whole thing about it.” You give him another once over, smooth a stray curl off his forehead. “Maybe it worked out better this way. You’re intimidating. That’s good.”
Marc looks grim as you enter the ballroom, quiet classical music playing in the background.
“Anything I should know?” Marc says. “What even is your last name?”
You turn to him, mouth open. “We’ve been friends for months. You don’t know?”
He shrugs.
“Okay, you know what,” you say, annoyed, “why don’t you pretend to be someone else? Someone who doesn’t walk around with an ancient God’s arm stuck up his butthole, working him like a puppet?”
“Guess I can’t argue with that,” Marc mutters.
Your friend’s parents walk up to you and hug you enthusiastically. You say what a beautiful ceremony it was and turn to introduce Marc.
You hold his hand. “These are my friend’s parents, Maureen and Sidney. And this is my boyfriend.”
Marc holds out his hand, a tight smile on his face. “Tony Wrinklebottom. Nice to meet you.”
You feel like you're having an out of body experience. WHAT IS HAPPENING?
Maureen’s eyes go wide. “It’s nice to meet you too. We haven’t heard a lot about you, but you’re very handsome. And such an unusual last name. Where did it come from?”
“I got it from my father,” Marc says unironically.
You squeeze his hand hard. “We’re going to go get a drink. I’m sure everyone is dying to talk to the parents of the bride. I’ll see you later.”
You plaster on a fake smile and push Marc toward the bar.
“I didn’t mean you had to make up a fake name,” you whisper scream at him.
“I panicked.” Marc leans on the bar. “Whiskey neat and a vodka soda with two limes.”
“You know my drink order, but not my last name?”
Marc takes his wallet out of his jacket to tip the bartender, generously you notice.
He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “What’s more important to our friendship? Your last name, or my knowing what you like to drink?”
You open your mouth. Shut it. Cross your arms. “This is a disaster.”
“Sure is.” Marc knocks back his first whisky and taps the glass for a second.
He holds his refill in one hand and holds his other arm out for you. You take it reluctantly.
“Let’s find our table,” you say, sipping your drink.
“Whatever you say, cookie-poo.”
“Ugh,” you say, unable to stop the disgusted look on your face.
Marc smiles. “I take it back. This might be fun.”
And weirdly, it kind of is.
You and “Tony” are at a table with complete strangers. He’s not great at casual conversation, but with a face like his, people kind of go along with whatever he says.
He takes off his jacket and bow tie, and relaxes. Something you usually only see when you’re at his place watching a movie, or bringing him something you’d stress-baked.
Someone asks how you met.
Tony puts his arm around you. “My sweet pumpkin pie and I’ve known each other for years. She finally got the hint. All those times I stopped by with take out, or let her sleep with her head on my shoulder, we weren’t just hanging out.”
You smirk at him. “Pardon me for thinking we were friends.”
Marc’s eyes are almost black in the low light. His long lashes blink at you.
“You think friends plan their entire schedule, international travel, around Thursday movie nights? Friends go out of their way every night to walk you home?” His fingers tickle your neck lightly.
You frown, your stomach feeling funny. “You said it was on your way from the gym.”
“I picked that gym because it’s close to your work,” he says with a raised eyebrow.
Marc’s face goes serious again. He pulls his arm away and takes a drink. “Look, just forget I said anything. I must be drunk.”
You watch uncertainty pass over his handsome face. You rub your hand over his forearm.
“You want to dance, Wrinklebottom?” You ask with a smile.
Marc huffs a half-laugh out of his nose. “Sure, pookie bear. Long as it’s a slow one.”
Marc’s broad shoulders are strong under your arms. His hands warm and wide as he holds your waist. He smells good. You get as close enough as you dare, breathing him in.
He hums along to the song. You're surprised he knows it.
“Jake says you’re the prettiest thing here,” he says quietly. “And Steven says he apologizes for not bringing flowers. Wait. No. He thinks I should apologize for not bringing you flowers.”
You and Steven had been in limbo for awhile now. You liked each other as more than friends. Jake had already told Steven to go for it. But you didn’t want to make Marc uncomfortable.
“Thank you, and thank you,” you say. You tilt your head away slightly so you can look at him. “And what does Marc Spector say?”
Marc’s eyes trace over your face. He licks his bottom lip. “The wedding cake was dry.”
You nod slowly. “Yeah. I’m going to return the gift I got them.”
Marc grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “One of those clocks where the cat’s tail swings back and forth?”
You smile. “Yeah, a big one.”
“Maybe it’s not the cat’s tail then.”
You snort out a laugh. “Stop. Weddings are romantic. No dick jokes.”
“Okay, honey lump, no dick jokes.” He pulls you a little closer. Close enough that your front sides are touching, swaying back and forth in unison. One of his hands rubs the small of your back.
“We can probably leave after this dance,” you say, even though you don’t want to. “We said hello to the bride and groom, ate, had drinks. I think that’s everything.”
“Leave? Tony Wrinklebottom doesn’t leave a party until he slow dances about four times with his girl.”
You rest your forehead on his shoulder. “Where the hell did you even get that stupid name?”
Marc’s hand rubs back and forth over your upper back now. “Jake’s watching one of the neighbor’s cats.”
“You named yourself after a cat?”
Marc shrugs. “My last name is Spector, which, given my profession, isn’t exactly subtle either. Besides, you should be so lucky. You could be Mrs. Wrinklebottom one day.”
You laugh, pressing your mouth into his shoulder to keep from drawing attention to yourself. “I always forget what a ridiculous sense of humor you have.”
“Makes you laugh, though,” Marc says.
You raise your head to argue with him, just for the fun of it. Your words die in your throat.
Marc’s looking at you with unusual softness. His head tilts slightly and you think, hope, that he’s going to kiss you. Instead, he cradles the back of your head with one of his hands, and slots it next to his, so your faces really are touching now.
“Your shampoo smells nice,” he says.
Your stomach flutters. “You look really hot.”
“I thought I looked like shit,” Marc says dryly.
You reposition your arms so they’re around his middle, your fingers brushing a little lower than they probably should.
“You’re hot and you know it. In this suit, or your other one when you’re all bloody and sweaty. As much as it pains me to compliment you,” you say.
“Yeah, we don’t really have that kind of friendship, do we? More likely give each other grief than go on and on about how you make the best lasagna. Or thank you for staying over that night last month. When you could tell I didn’t want to be alone. How good you feel in my arms. How much I-“ Marc stops. You feel his jaw tense.
“How much I love you?” You say.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But I did.”
You’ve stopped dancing. Both you standing in the middle of a crowd of people who are still moving back and forth slowly. You desperately hope that you haven’t made a mistake by saying something.
Marc’s gaze burns into yours. “Do you mean it?” He asks.
You smile. “Yes. And, not to sound full of myself, but I think you feel the same way.”
A grin cracks his serious facade. “I meant what I said earlier. About the things I do for you. Showing you how I feel.”
Love washes over you, covering your memories with Marc in warm light.
Part of you is grateful. He’d given both of you time to really know each other, set down a solid base together. But at the same time, he’d been so slow about it you want to shake his muscled shoulders.
“You’ve never even tried to hold my hand,” you say. “I thought we just had this awkward friendship, where you overdid it sometimes and retreated from me other times.”
“I was trying not to scare you away,” Marc says. “And you know how I am with feelings. I don’t like admitting that I have them.”
You roll your eyes. “I know. Talking about your feelings would really eat up your punching-people-in-their-faces time.”
“Punching people is easy.”
“I wouldn’t know,” you say.
Marc’s hands nudge your hips and you start dancing again. He doesn’t look tense, or anxious.
“If we do this,” Marc says, “I’m still your awkward friend.”
You pull him close, leaning in to kiss his cheek. His facial hair is already a little rough under your lips, even though he’d shaved just before you’d left.
“Maybe you’d get the upgrade to awkward boyfriend,” you say with a smile.
He kisses the side of your head. “I’d like that.”
“But just so you know, any time we go out, the reservations are going under your alias.”
Marc doesn’t even sigh. He just keeps dancing, his hands tracing over your body. “Mr. and Mrs. Tony Wrinklebottom.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Anthony G. Wrinklebottom.”
Marc chuckles. For the first time, chest to chest with him, you feel the deep rumble under his rib cage. You press in closer.
“Deal,” Marc says. He rests his knuckles under your chin so you’ll look at him. “So you’ll go out with me?”
“On one condition,” you say with a sweet smile. “What’s my last name?”
Marc’s smile freezes on his face. He shuts his eyes tight, but if you know Jake and Steven, they’re more likely to laugh at him than to give him an easy out.
He does that frowny smile that means he gives up, spins you around the dance floor.
He pulls you back in close to him. “I know other things about you. Like, we’re going to that place with the burgers and the fancy french fries for our first date. You can’t make reservations, but Jake knows the manager and we could skip the line.”
You groan. “I love that place.”
“I know,” Marc says smugly. “And the shop with the raspberry gelato for dessert. Walk through the park with the fountain you like. On Fridays the buskers that play Fleetwood Mac and Springsteen are there. We'll sit on the bench under the broken light, more privacy. That's where I want to kiss you.”
“Wow, that’s a good date,” you say, breath knocked out of you by Marc's words and eyes and plans.
“It should be, I’ve been fine-tuning it for three weeks,” he says self-deprecatingly.
You rest your hand against his cheek, rubbing your thumb on his skin. “This Friday, then.”
Marc nods, one of his hands resting around your waist, the other so light on the back of your neck you can barely feel him. He rests his forehead against yours as the song comes to a close.
“You look beautiful. Did I tell you that?” He says. “My little sugar bunny, cherry pie dove bean-“
You clap your hand over his mouth. “You’re what my grandma would’ve called, ‘a real piece of work.’”
He smiles under your palm, picking up the rhythm of the second slow song and easing you into it. You remove your hand, slide it back over his shoulder.
If this is the last thing you ever do as just friends, then Tony’s right. You don’t want to leave. You want to stay for all the slow songs.
-----
Square B "Fake Dating"
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gone too long
Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader
Prompt: Masturbation
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, some angst (im sorry), masturbation, pillow humping, panty sniffing, piv, unprotected sex (lmk if I forgot anything)
WC: 3.2k
A/N: probably too long and emotional for kinktober but its my first time so bear with me please
You’ve been away for almost a week now. Steven tried to be good, he tried but it’s been so hard without you. He goes to bed alone, hard, surrounded by your scent and wakes up the same way.
He spends hours in the night writhing around in bed. He can’t sleep anymore, you always used to get him off after he came home from work and again before bed to help him sleep but now he just spends his time missing you, squeezing his throbbing cock, and crying for you as he palms himself to the edge of orgasm, unallowed to get himself over the edge.
He wakes up in more pain than when he went to sleep. His dreams are all about you, some sexual, some domestic, but they all make him hard. He cries for you some more before starting a painfully cold shower and setting off for the day.
If you were coming home tomorrow it’d be a different story. Steven would’ve stayed good, he would’ve waited for you, but he’s had a particularly hard day today, and amid all the commotion he forgot that you wouldn’t be there to comfort him. He’s thinking about you the entire bus ride home but it never clicks. He thinks about how he’ll stop you from cooking and order takeout, he’ll ask you to ride him as you guys wait, he’ll make sure you take it slow, savoring the way you guys feel together, how your bodies mold into one another perfectly.
He fattens up in his pants as he unlocks the front door, he swears he can hear the TV on inside. He thinks about how you’ll tell him all about whatever new show you’ve found while he undresses you.
He’s met with the most hollow feeling when he opens his door and reality stabs straight into his heart.
Tears well in his eyes as he takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He keeps breathing slowly as he takes his shoes off, and as he puts his coat up. He starts breathing out through his mouth when the hollow feeling doesn’t leave, he keeps it up as he unpacks his bag, setting everything back in its proper place for the weekend, and he starts up a pot of tea. It’s all futile though, because his tears come pouring out the moment he sits on the bed, your faint scent gets pushed out of the cushioning and the hollow feeling becomes part of his bones.
He can’t even function for the rest of the night, he turns the stove off through his watery gaze and buries himself in the blankets. Surrounding himself in your scent as he cries himself to sleep.
He’s soft and sensitive when he wakes up, a state you know how to handle perfectly. But you’re not home. He has his usual morning delirium as he reaches out for you, reality slapping him as he feels your cold side of the bed.
He rolls over onto his stomach, burying his face in your pillow- the only thing on the bed that still smells like you.
Three more days.
His cock is already twitching against the mattress as he huffs your scent, he whines at the stimulation. He wants to be a good boy. You asked him to wait for you, you said he could touch himself but you wanted his balls full for you. But you must not have understood how hard this would be for him. His hips are already grinding into the mattress.
She won’t find out. Can’t. She’s not here.
He reaches out blindly for your side dresser, knowing you keep spare underwear in there. He feels something a bit hard and his head raises quickly to see what it is. His cock spasms at the sight.
His mind flashes back to two weeks ago. One night, you and Marc were a little too drunk and way too needy. He pulled your panties to the side, fucked you, and let you soak it in your juices as he came over your stomach. He was too tired to clean you up so Steven took over after Marc fell asleep. You were sleeping so in an attempt to cause less of a commotion he just threw your panties in this drawer. He must’ve forgotten to get rid of it.
Fuck.
His hand is shaking as he brings it up to his face. There are dried white streaks of your arousal running all over the crotch, a small circle of it from where your pussy cried for him. He can’t help but moan at the sight and brings the fabric to his nose. It still smells like you, like her. His tongue is darting out to taste it before his brain has even finished processing your smell. His cock spurts out loads of pre-cum into his briefs as he starts to thrust against the bed again. He pushes your pillow down to his crotch with one hand as the other holds your old, dried panties to his face.
He feels so dirty as he does this, almost disgusted with himself but pleasure clouds his mind over as he feels the softness of your pillow on his pulsing dick. It’s comparable to how your pussy feels to him, not as warm and nowhere near as wet but just as soft.
He’s face first on the bed, your panties directly over his face the way your pussy would be, his tongue prodding at where your pretty little hole should be. He’s groaning out your name in half sobs, wishing you were here, wishing you were the one touching him because as good as this all feels… you still feel so much better.
He feels the molten pleasure work its way up his spine, he feels his balls begin to throb with the load they’ve prepared. He feels it coming, he can feel how much there’ll be and a pang of guilt that he’s not saving it for you. He knows how much you love when he fills you up, how whiny you get when you’re packed full of his load, how you mutter his name on repeat, begging him to fill you up.
But the thought just works him further to the edge, he can feel his muscles tighten as his dick starts to pulse, he feels relief just out of reach, and a small guilty smile spreads over his face at how good this is going to feel. His mind races through scenes of you, unable to choose one to cum to, your name rests on the tip of his tongue as his hips stutter into the pillow one last time before
nothing happens.
He can feel his orgasm at the tip of his cock, right there and he wants you. He forms scene after scene in his head of how many different ways you’ll touch him when you get back. He thinks about how many times you’ll make him cum, how you’ll coo over his overfilled, swollen balls, how you’ll apologize to him as you fuck him into oblivion but nothing gets close to how he feels when your hands are on him. He needs you.
The realization is accompanied by a teary whimper of your name into the pillow.
The teary whimper is followed by an angelic sound of “Steven?”
His head snaps up and he’s scrambling out of bed before he can rationalize the fact that you’re not supposed to be home for another four days.
But you’re actually here.
You’re smiling at him as you place your coat on the rack, your boots already off and eyebrows raised as you wait for him to make his way over to you. He’s standing in the doorway frozen. He thinks he’s lost it, that he was right, all these days without you did drive him insane.
I told her this would happen.
His eyes well with tears as he tries to will himself to see the truth. His fists are bunching at his sides, angry at the hope he felt when he thought he heard you calling his name, having already been riled up at his futile attempt at relief.
You’re growing concerned under his indecipherable stare. “Steven?” He gasps and his eyes widen. You approach him slowly and cautiously, worried at this odd reaction. He takes a hesitant step toward you and gasps at the small amused smile that blooms on your lips.
“Are you okay, Stevie? I wanted to surprise you but you seem-” You pause to look him up and down, finally taking him all in and noticing the bulge and wet patch in his pants. Your expression changes from shock to sultry disappointment. “You seem like you’ve been bad.”
His eyes are still wide and watery. “Are you really here?”
Your mask drops with a sad smile. “Of course I am, baby. Did you miss me that much?” He envelopes you in a hug, burying his face in your neck, inhaling your scent with a shaky groan.
“I m-missed you so much. I’ve been good.” He’s already got that distant, airy, aroused tone as he speaks. “I didn’t cum. I- ” He’s started to grind against you already, his bulge pressing itself into your thigh over and over as he grips your shoulders. He’s moved to the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your conditioner. “I wanted to- I tried.”
His voice breaks at the end and you can’t stand it anymore. You grab the hair on the back of his head and roughly work him to your lips, relishing in the loud moan that breaks from his throat as your lips meet his. He’s trying to lick into your mouth immediately and you let him, you’ve missed the way he tastes. Only, when his tongue presses into yours, he tastes different… something familiar but it’s not him. You pull away confused and Steven’s lips chase yours with a whine. You have to hold his face away from yours to get his attention.
“Steven, what is that?” He’s too delirious to understand what you’re asking, he just tilts his head like a puppy. You try not to let your endearment show through, attempting to be stern. “What’s that taste?” You can see his recognition flash over his face as he realizes what you’re asking but he starts shaking his head slowly and pulling you back in. “It’s just you, darling.”
You let him kiss you as you process, his words paired with the vaguely familiar taste let it click. You’re moaning into his mouth and pressing your thigh back into his weeping cock, earning a grateful moan from him.
You walk him back to the bedroom desperately. You’ve been yearning for him as much as he has for you. You spent nights rolling around in bed, clit pulsing for him, unsatisfied with your ministrations. You tried fingering yourself but your fingers were nowhere near as long or as thick as his, you couldn’t hit the same spots he could. You tried. You push him onto the bed with a grunt and notice a pair of undies where your pillow should be. Confusion flies over your face before you look back at Steven, noticing his red face.
‘I tried’
The memory of what Steven said earlier finally makes sense to you. It also explained his desperate, disheveled state, why he was leaking and yearning for you.
Arousal shoots between your legs like a jolt of electricity as you picture the scene; Steven grinding against- your pillow it seems- as he sniffed and licked at your panties.
That’s why my taste was on his tongue…
Steven’s face is still burning red, looking anywhere but at you, as his hips uncontrollably twitch up for you, it brings a fond smile to your face. You take off your pants, matching him in your bottoms, and place yourself on his clothed bulge with a moan. You meant to tease him but it was already affecting you more than you anticipated. His hips are already thrusting into yours, his hands on your hips to hold you- press you down into him. He’s moaning out for you, whining about how good you feel but still trying to hide his face in his shoulder.
You give in and swivel your hips against him, earning a whole new level of volume from Steven. His hands aren’t just resting on your hips, they’re running all over your body wildly, grabbing and groping anything he comes across. You lean down to his ear and begin your questioning.
“So what are m- shit. What are my panties d-doing over here, S-Steven?” His name accidentally comes out as a moan as he drags your clit right over the tip of his dick. He’s not even looking at you, his eyes are fixed on where he’s rubbing you against himself, the way his tip dips into your soft skin and leaves streaks of his pre all along the fabric. His jaw is dropped open and little pants make their way past his wet lips.
You can see this feral look in his eyes that you’ve never witnessed. He’s told you drunkenly how badly he craves you but you’ve never actually seen it, you’ve never really believed him. Like this, though? You can see what he was talking about. You can tell that he’s zeroed in on how good you’re making him feel, you don’t think he even heard you, too entranced with how he’s moving you along his cock.
Your pussy clenches at the thought and he can feel it. He falls back against the bed with a groan before propping himself up on his elbows to pull you both back against the headboard. He whimpers at the momentary loss of friction but smiles once he can collapse onto the board while still staring at you. His hands come back to grip your hips, upset that you’ve stopped moving your hips without his help but you stop him. You lean forward on him, pressing most of your weight on his tip, he gasps and grips your arms with a moan. “Please! Oh Gods-”
You silence him with a short kiss, pulling away before he’s satisfied. He starts to mumble pleas to you again but your finger is pressed into his lips, he licks them, tasting your finger in the process and moaning at the taste of your skin. “Stevie…” You pause and he sighs at the sound of his name on your lips. “Did you use my underwear to get off?”
His eyes widen and dart to where they lay, exposed on the bed. You feel his cock twitch under you and you have to bite your lip to hold in a whine at the way it rubbed over your clit. He’s embarrased but turned on at the fact that he thought you’d never find out but you still did. The way that he could never hide anything from you, the way you don’t seem upset at the fact you caught him.
“I needed you so b- bad an’ you- an’ everything smells like you. I- I’m sorry.” He drops his head onto your shoulder as his hips slowly grind into you. “ ‘M sorry, alrigh’?” His accent gets heavier as he grinds into you more deliberately. “I just- I jus’ -oh I needed you so b-bad.” He whimpers into your neck, trying to muffle himself in there. You’re lost in the feeling, in his words as he humps his cock into you. He’s kissing along your neck, sometimes just licking at your sweat and moaning at the taste. His hips were starting to twitch and stutter into yours, his moans pitched up and his hands began to bruise into your skin. “I’m-”
You lift off of him. “No- Wh-y? P-please.” You ignore his plea and pull your shirt and underwear off as he scrambles to do the same. “Are we gonna-?” You smile at him softly and prepare for your confession.
“I couldn’t get off without you, Steven.” You shift your weight nervously as he just stares at you. “I- My fingers aren’t enough anymore.” You whine at him and his cock jumps, leaking onto the sheets as he reaches out for you. He pulls you into a kiss and fumbles to take your bra off. He lets you climb over him again and moans into your mouth as you line him up with your soaked hole. “Put it in. Put it in- shit. P- put- ” He’s cut off by both your moans as you sink onto him.
“Fuck I can t-tell your- fuck.” He whines out as you as you squeeze around him. “Your little fingers aren’t enough t’properly stretch you f’me hm?” His eyes roll back and his eyebrows draw inward as you grind onto his cock. You try to keep a steady pace but his tip is slamming right into your G-Spot, pressing into it no matter what he does, no matter how you move. Your legs give out halfway through a thrust and your body slams down onto him. He groans your name and hugs your body close, planting his feet on the mattress and fucking into you slowly.
“S’it too much?” You moan his name into his ear and his cock jumps inside you. “Fuck I’m-mm” His words get drawn into a whine as his thrusts slowly lose rhythm. Your pussy begins to clench on him, arousal coiling in your stomach at the telltale signs that he’s gonna cum. Steven’s hand comes to cradle your head into his neck, stoking your hair softly and whispering soft assurances and begs for you to cum around him.
“‘M right here. I’ll take care of ‘ye, keep you nice an’ safe. C’mon. Give it t-to me.” Your orgasm explodes inside you like a solar flare. It bursts in your stomach and ripples throughout your whole body, moans are shoved from your mouth, almost deafening Steven with their volume and pitch but they only push him over the edge. His cock twitches violently inside you before releasing a torrent of cum. He tries to stay semi-calm as his orgasm crashes over him, his stomach won’t stop tensing under you and his mouth can’t shut. He can’t hold any of his moans in as his balls empty themselves inside you.
He feels like it’ll never end, he’s at his peak for what feels like years. He can hear you distantly whining about how full you feel, about how much he’s filling you up. His hips have a mind of their own as he ruts into you pathetically, doing anything he can to prolong his euphoric high. He feels tears spring to his eyes, unable to believe that you could make him feel so good. He feels your lips over his mouth that’s propped open on a silent moan. He’s panting out whines down your throat as you whisper praises to him.
“W- It won’t stop. It- f-feels so go-od” He’s gasping at you as he speaks, his entire body shaking as his cock spurts out more ropes into you. You’re leaking all over his thighs, unable to hold all the cum he’s pumping into you. He moans out your name one last time before his body goes limp, and his cock finally stops spitting into you. He’s incoherent for quite some time, fading in and out of consciousness.
He always whines out for you when he wakes up, sniffing and huffing until some part of you comes in contact with him. Once it does he’s pulling you into a crushing hug and doesn’t let go for at least another hour.
Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works, and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!
You know what? Fuck you. *transmascs all your Oscar Isaac characters*
Nathan still gets really bad cramps even though he’s well into his transition and HRT.
Also, even though the moon boys got top surgery ages ago and the scar is long gone, Steven still gets a bit of chest dysphoria and that’s why most of his clothes tend to be loose.
And Anselm has destroyed every record that he was AFAB and replaced them with the new records that record him as AMAB because he has the money and influence to do that and because he felt like it. He has also shot several transphobes personally both because they said something or simply because he was bored.
Meanwhile Poe needs to be told to take a binding break all the time because he either forgets to or he’s being stubborn and refuses to do so.
People turning against Chappell Roan for not accepting harassment & stalking of her and her family, saying Hozier is acting embarrassing for defending his girlfriend THAT Y'ALL WEREN'T EVEN SUPPOSED TO KNOW ABOUT after she got harassed online, calling Pedro Pascal names for.. apparently not greeting fans loudly in his own private time?
Y'all have GOT to get a grip on real life if you think celebs establishing boundaries is working against you. You do not know these people, you will not sleep with these people and they do not owe you anything!!!!!!
My Lord
Prince John x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 7: Slow and Soft
Summary: The ex-Prince is condemned to live out his days in exile.
A/N: Look, I know he’s got blue eyes in the film. But I have decided no.
Warnings: one slap to the face, talks of marriage, oral (f receiving), dry humping, hand jobs, 'my love' as a term of endearment, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!
Word Count: 3178
Being exiled wasn’t as bad as he had thought. The weather was certainly better.
No matter what he’d done, King Richard couldn’t bear to see his younger brother executed or locked up in some dank prison. So he’d stripped John of his titles and sent him overseas under the guardianship of the Marquess and Marquise.
Banished.
Never allowed to return to England under punishment of death.
It had taken weeks to get there, more than enough time for John to fester and drive himself to madness on the ship. Haunt himself with the imaginary horrors that were waiting for him.
Instead, when they landed, he was treated well. Like a far-off, but still regal, cousin of the Marquess. Not that it stopped him from sulking for the first few months.
However, the worst thing was, undoubtedly, you.
At least at first.
You were one of the head servants. Though you were treated more like one of the Marquess and Marquise's children, with the amount of freedom you were given. And the language you were allowed to use. The offhand and familiar way you spoke to them and him.
It had driven him up the wall. Your snide comments. Your little eye rolls. The way you somehow managed to sidestep him, and challenge him, and completely get under his skin at every single opportunity.
You had been the one to drag him out of his rooms in those first few months, not taking no for an answer.
“It’ll do you no good moping around here all day, my lord.” The way you said the title always sounded like an insult.
You took him on walks and rides, to markets and tailors, making him come with you to choose a horse. Demanding that he helped you prepare vegetables, making him carry his own bow and arrows when you both went hunting. Things that were beneath him. Things that he hated, dreaded. Until one morning, when you were accompanying the Marquise on a trip and had been away for a few days, he had woken up in such a foul mood. Realising only in the evening with a huff that he missed you. That he couldn’t remember a time when he had been happier than being in your presence.
Not to say you still didn’t annoy the hell out of him.
Originally, you didn’t even have much to do with the ex-prince. It was only when John’s spitefulness had upset some of the other servants, and in turn, the Marquess, that you had been sent to ‘deal’ with him.
He had nearly been in exile for a year at the midsummer festival. Had become a little too intoxicated on barley wine and, as you helped him to his chambers, he had kissed you. Soft but demanding. Gentle but unyielding.
You had pulled back like you had been struck by lightning. And smacked him across the face. Hard. Not some dainty brush of your fingers. Or a sharp sting of your palm, no, you had hit him with the heel of your hand. A bowl that would have nearly sent him sprawling even if he hadn’t been drunk.
You had left without a word. Or look his way.
The next morning John had risen late, memories of the previous night coming back in a rush, of him fisting his cock with tears of anger and self-pity on his skin. Quickly, he realised you had not come to wake him at the usual time.
He had enquired after you, subtly of course. And the young servant boy, Lucas had told him that you had left instructions for the ex-prince to not be awoken, due to his previous intoxication and late night. That you had headed out into the woods early in the morning.
He didn’t see you until late afternoon, having spent most of the day in his rooms, staring out of the window to the woods, waiting for your return. He bit at his nails until they bled, going back and forth with the idea of readying his horse and riding out into the forest after you.
He had pretended to be in bed when you knocked and came into his room, bringing him white flower tea.
You hadn’t looked directly at him, keeping your voice oddly cold as you explained that the tea would help with his hangover, and that the flowers were from the forest.
His heart had nearly broken when he released you had spent most of your day collecting them for him.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered. Pain running through his heart like needles through fabric.
You looked at him then, a small kind smile on your face. “For what, my lord?” Your normal tone back.
John beamed, his eyes shining.
You swallowed. “I am sorry, my lord.”
“For what?”
You tapped your cheek, mirroring the bruise on his face.
His smile widened and he shook his head.
When during the evening meal the Marquess asked about the bruising, John had simply laughed and told him that he had had a small disagreement with someone at the festival who had a ‘mean right hook’. He made sure he caught your eye as he said it.
You both went back to your normal routines. Dancing around each other, while simultaneously spending most of your waking hours together.
Nearly a month after the festival you had accidentally walked in on him after his bath, his hair still wet from the rose water as he sat on his bed and fisted his cock.
Apologies had slipped from his tongue, despite the fact that you’d technically barged in on him. But you had simply walked around and sat down next to him on the bed. He watched you in a trance as you took hold of his length in your hand.
“Let me help you, my lord.”
He had tried to kiss you again, but you moved your face away.
Wordlessly and without looking at him, you coaxed him further onto the bed and sat with him between your thighs, his back against your chest as you wrapped one arm around him and used the other to bring him to his release.
You had left silently, leaving him to the dark night and slumber. But you spoke to him the following morning as if nothing had transpired between you.
The next evening, just before bed, you came to his room again and stroked him until he found his release with a sob in your arms.
You did the same the next night, and the next, and the next. Never allowing him to kiss you or touch you in a way that could cause your own pleasure. Always fully clothed while he was stripped bare. Over the next weeks, you slowly allowed him to hold your hand, arm or calf as you touched him. Let him grasp onto you as his orgasm overtook him.
It hurt. Though he didn’t want to dwell on why.
However, no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept rotating back to you. Your soft skin, gentle hands and the sound of your heart when he pressed himself close to your chest.
John leaned against the wall, looking out to the dark night sky.
You came into his room silently, only looking to him once you’d reached the bed. You’d expected him to be sitting on it ready, unclothed. Instead, he stood, still in his attire from the day.
You barely manage to raise an eyebrow before he moves towards you, taking hold of your hands in his. His skin is cold, desperate for your heat.
“My lord?” You frown.
He takes a step forward, his heart racing, eyes shining in the candlelight. Slowly he raises his right hand and touches your cheek, brushing over your skin with his thumb.
His touch is soft, gentle. As if you were some precious thing that would break under the smallest pressure. Some skittish animal in the woods.
You gaze back at him, his slightly parted lips, his dark eyes, unable to focus on any feature for longer than a second.
He leans forward, moving to kiss you and you step back, pulling your hand from his as if he burnt you.
“My lor-”
“My love,” he looks at you imploringly. The thudding pain in his chest sharpening, beseeching. Like he had been gutted and strung out, his ribs broken and split outwards so that you could view his beating heart.
“I am not your love.” You whisper, there is no heat in your words.
“You are.” He takes a step forward and drops to his knees when you step back. “You are.” He says brokenly, his voice thick. “Please, please, I do not need to be yours. I do not... I wish I was. But you are mine. My love. You will always be my love.”
You swallow and stare at him, almost frozen by his words.
“I... I...” he screws up his eyes, all the words he wanted to say mixing up and fleeing in the moment. “You do not need to return my feelings, but please, know that I will always love you until my dying breath.”
You shake your head, pain tight in your chest. “I’m not,” you breathe deeply, your voice softer than he has ever heard it. “My lord, I am just your servant, I serve-”
“I love you.” His voice breaks slightly at the end. The weight of the words too much. “I love you,” he slowly takes hold of your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles and palm. “I love you.” He kissed your wrist, staring up at you imploringly and kissing up your arm when you did not move away. “I love you.” Cautiously he stands so that he can kiss your collarbone, your neck, your jaw, your cheek. “I love you.” He whispers.
You hold your breath, searching his eyes for something he’s not sure you’ll be able to find. Carefully he inches forward, closing the small space between you.
You don’t move, don’t lean to him, but you don’t back away. Softly he presses his lips against yours, almost sobbing when you finally touch.
He pulls back a fraction after a second. “I love you,” he whispers against you. “Please, let me love you.”
You shake your head, agony tight in your throat. You can’t look at him. Not when his voice is so soft, not when your body and heart are crying out for you to give in to him. “There are plenty of others who could warm your bed for you my lor-”
John rushes forward, kissing you again. This time his lips are demanding, pleading as he cups your cheek and slowly opens your mouth with his own. He groans when you part your lips and let him inside. “I do not want someone to warm my bed.” He kisses you desperately, stroking your tongue with his. “I want to give you my heart.”
You moan softly into his mouth, grabbing hold of his arms and pulling him closer, pressing your body up against him.
He groans against you, moving you back to press you against the wall and hitching your right leg up over his hip so that he can grind his aching cock against your heat. You gasp as he presses against your clit, focusing all his attention on caressing you where it makes you cry out the loudest, happily swallowing down your mewls and whines.
He squeezes your breast with his right hand, pinching the pebbled nipple and moaning when you whimper and arch into his touch.
He ghosts his lips down your neck, sucking a love bite into your skin just below your ear. His beard scraps deliciously at your skin and sets your nerves alight.
You bite down on your lip, trying to muffle your cries.
“Let me love you,” he whispers, his voice low and heavy as he ruts desperately against you. “Let me show you, let me make you sing for me.”
He kisses you roughly, needily, all tongue and teeth as he pulls at your skirts, snaking his hand under the fabric.
You want to give in, want to let him pull sounds and sensations from you as his heart desires but panic grips you.
“Wait,” you pull back.
He stops, stops his kisses and his roaming hands but still stays pressed close.
“My lor-” you bite your lips together when you see the flash of pain on his face. “My...” you touch his cheek softly. You want him, you want him so badly. “I cannot, I haven’t...” You swallow. “I...”
“I wouldn’t cum inside.” He mutters, pressing his palm flat against your stomach. Even as he says the words a slight groan escapes him at the thought of you spread out under him, full of his cock and spend. “Not until we’re married, you have my word.”
Your thoughts stop for a second. “Married?”
He nods and smiles. “If you’ll have me.”
“My lord-”
He presses his lips to yours again, kissing you languidly before he drops down to one knee.
Your eyes go wide. Words escaping you.
“I have asked the Marquess and Marquise. They have given their blessing; I can marry you if you wish it.”
Your heart hammers in your chest, the way he phrased it. As if he were the servant wishing to marry a lord.
Slowly he takes off the jewelled ring on his little finger, one of the few things he had been allowed to keep from his time as prince. “Will you take me as your husband?” He looks up at you nervously. “Will you take me as yours?”
You nod, not trusting your voice for a moment. “Yes.”
His eyes light up as you speak, a wide smile breaking across his face as he softly takes your hand and slips the ring onto your finger. He kisses each knuckle, and then the back of your hand before standing and pressing his lips back to yours, slow and soft.
Gently he guides you to the bed, freeing you of your clothes and pressing you back down against the mattress.
Uncertainty bubbles in your veins as he moves his hands down your body, slowly feeling every inch of you. He pinches your nipples with vigour, dipping his head so that he can take one into his mouth. Lavishing your breast with attention before moving on to the other.
He groans, deep within his chest, looking up at you through his lashes when you gasp and moan softly. So determined to pull every ounce of pleasure he can from your bones.
Languidly he kisses down your stomach, pressing your thighs apart.
You nervously go to cover your sex, heat breaking out on your skin.
“My lo-”
“Let me make you feel good.” He murmurs, his voice laced and heavy with lust. His eyes hungry and wild.
You barely manage a nod before he dives to your core, licking a long, flat stripe through your folds with his warm tongue.
You gasp loudly, quickly covering your mouth with your hands as he does it again, flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue.
He’s a demon, possessed and ravenous as he devours you. Slowly sinking his tongue into you and then inching up painstakingly slowly. Ending each movement with a swirl around your clit that has your thighs shaking and stars building at the corners of your eyes.
You moan against your hands, the sensation all-consuming as he erases any other possible thought. You can’t stop squirming, simultaneously trying to get closer, nearer, desperate for more pleasure, and trying to back away from the heady onslaught of your senses.
He doesn’t let you escape, pressing firmly against your thigh and keeping you spread wide for him, his hand on your stomach keeping your back flat to the bed.
“You taste so sweet, my love.” He looks up at you, his eyes dark, blown wide and drunk.
You open your mouth, moving your hands away to speak when he leans forward, sucking your clit into his mouth and revelling in your cry of pleasure. In how your muscles tense beneath him.
He gently presses two fingers inside of you and curls them upwards to stroke your walls.
You shake under him, your hips bucking up against him unthinkingly as you gasp and sink into pleasure.
John watches you intently through hazy eyes, sucking constantly on your bundle of nerves, watching your every movement keenly. Desperate to lift you higher and higher before you come crashing down.
He strokes against a spot that makes you sob and focuses all his attention on it, your slick coating his fingers and dripping down his hand.
The pressure begins to build uncontrollably, pushing you right to the edge. You grope around for his hand on your stomach, grabbing it firmly. He squeezes back and groans against you as fresh wetness hits his tongue.
You moan loudly against your fingers, trying your best to dampen the sound as lightning runs along your nerves, your orgasm rippling through every limb. You gasp, contorting in your pleasure as John doesn’t stop, keeps stroking, keeps sucking, prolonging your bliss for as long as he can.
Finally, your legs stop shaking and he pulls his mouth away, slowly pulling his fingers from your dripping folds.
You mewl as he licks them clean and pulls off his clothes. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve seen him naked, but it feels different. Personal. A sight all for you.
He leans down, kissing you hungrily and settling between your legs.
The weight of his thick cock, hot against your core makes you gasp. You sink your hand into his hair, pulling lightly at his curls as he rubs his length against you, spreading your slick all over his aching cock and grinding perfectly on your clit.
You sob against him, holding him close as he keeps moving, building up a deep and overpowering friction. That bottomless weight starts to settle in your belly again, the coil growing tighter and tighter as he rubs and ruts against you.
You grab hold of his arms tightly and rock with him, trying to gasp out and warn him of your impending orgasm. “I... my lor-my love!” You gasp as he hits perfectly, his thick length massaging wonderfully over your bundle of nerves and through your folds and you gasp as you cum again. Pleasure blossoms along your spine, kissing every nerve as you cry out and are overtaken by ecstasy.
John groans, moaning loudly as you call him ‘your love’. The look of bliss on your face, the fact that you are falling apart for him drives him to the edge and pushes him over. He kisses you sloppy, whining into your mouth as he spills against both of your stomachs.
He doesn’t stop kissing you as you come back to yourself, breathing hard. Your skin is sweaty, hot, but you keep him in your arms as he presses close and whispers sweet words in your ear.
____________________________________
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nice
flufftober prompt - scent (day 3)
summary: You've got a very specific perfume that Nathan loves. He'd like to be around it all the time, but he struggles when you leave.
cw: none
This was the most frustrating project of his career? This, this stupid little pet project that was stupidly sentimental and not even something he cared about. Well, he did, a lot, but it was stupid.
Nathan sat crossly on the floor, an array of glass bottles around his feet. They were all open; floral, woodsy, spicy and aromas emanating from them in a powerful wave. It make the room feel almost humid, and a raging headache was pulsing behind his eyes.
He sighed, picking up the next one and taking a whiff. Woah.
Too much sandalwood.
The headache pounded, blood sloshing achingly around his sinuses. This better be worth it.
He'd tried literally everything. His android skin had a new capability for an artificial pheromone, of which could be scented with anything. The obvious choice would be your perfume. He'd snuck the bottle from your bathroom and jotted down every ingredient. Coding it had been a bitch but he got it done.
It still wasn't right.
You were out at some stupid gathering for a baby shower, so he couldn't smush his face into your neck and take a big whiff. If he could make Ava smell that way, maybe you not being here wouldn't bother him so much.
Nathan tossed down the clipboard and stalked out of his lab, snatching his boxing gloves on the way out. He needed fresh air if he hoped to get anything done.
Fuckin' impossible, he griped, sweat pooling under his chin. The thud thud thud of his gloves on the sandbag sent a satisfying ache through his shoulders. He ran through the algorithm over and over, timing the different inputs with his punches. It should have worked. He'd done a trial with some random combination of peppermint and it smelled identical.
Nathan slammed his shoulder into the bag. As he re-adjusted his stance, he got a whiff of-
hey. Whipping around, he searched the surrounding room, rubbing the condensation from his glasses. His gaze darted around the compound, hands at his sides.
Where- he knew you were there. Why weren't you coming to say hello? Scowling, he turned back to the bag and shrieked.
You grinned at him, a huge pink bear in your arms. Heart pounding, he scowled.
"Coulda fuckin' said something," he grumbled, stripping off the sweaty gloves. You wiggled your eyebrows.
"And miss that display of manliness? No way." Leaning forward, you pecked a kiss on his cheek. "Go shower, I wanna hug you."
Nathan ignored you, crushing you against his chest anyway. You groaned at the feeling of his damp shirt against your dress, attempting to shove him off playfully. He took the opportunity to mouth at your neck, drinking in the delicate smell.
Giggling, you pushed past him and nodded to the hall.
"What have you been working on?"
Nathan averted his eyes, suddenly embarrassed. "Algo," he said vaguely, rubbing his beard. You rolled your eyes.
"Duh, Einstein, I didn't expect you to take up knitting."
His lips quirked and he followed you to the kitchen. Your perfume hung everywhere, flooding his nose like a warm breeze. He loved that smell. A feeling of relief and comfort was undeniably tied to it; he'd felt soothed the moment he caught a trace.
While you prepared a snack, you chattered about the shower, discussing women he'd never met and the horrendous roster of baby names. It went all in one ear and out the other. Nathan kept his nose stuck in your neck, breathing slowly and steadily. The migraine had dulled to a mild ache, and he was content to fall asleep.
He didn't realize he'd stopped moving until you waved your hand in front of his face.
You cocked your head, poking his cheek. "Earth to Nathan? You there, baby?"
His eyes were dilated and soft, hand caught on the hem of his shirt. After a moment he nodded absently, kissing your cheek.
You watched him go quizzically. Before he reached the door to his office, he turned. "I need you for something real quick, come here."
Wiping your hands on a towel, you peeked in and saw the mess on the floor. Your eyebrows quirked. "Starting a perfumery?" You coughed at the strong odor.
He gave you a cross look and gestured to sit down. A tablet was open to a long list of code, cursor blinking. Nathan fiddled with something, humming absentmindedly. You took a moment to look around, smiling at the few pictures he had on his wall beside prototypes and old monitors. Sap, you thought fondly. Your favorite picture, the two of you on a hike, was centered on the wall with a nice oak frame.
He tugged your hair gently to get your attention.
"I need you to tell me every product you use," he said, pulling up a document on his device. "Makeup, shower, perfume, everything."
You stared.
"Why?" It was such a left-field question, so utterly out of character.
His dark gaze leveled with yours. "Shampoo?"
Wrinkling your nose at his stubbornness, you sighed. "Coconut vanilla. My conditioner has lavender and shea butter...uh, I dunno about shaving cream." He nodded, typing your answer. You shifted closer.
"What are y-"
"Next," he interrupted, blinking expectantly. Mildly affronted, you continued.
"Almond hair oil, sometimes I add dry shampoo, sometimes I don't..."
He frowned. "You smell the same every day, you always use that."
Your mouth was set to continue, but his comment made you pause. He was...huh?
"What the hell are you doing, Nathan?" your tone shifted, firmer and a little less silly. He caught it, the tips of his ears reddening.
"It's for a project," he muttered, shifting so you couldn't see his screen. Eyes narrowed in curiosity, you crept up behind him and nosed into his shoulder. He leaned in for a moment, then caught on to your plan and wriggled away. Your fingers danced under his shirt, digging into the sensitive skin of his sides.
Nathan swore around a huffing laugh, trying to escape your smothering affection. Laughing, you crept after him, fumbling to grab the tablet.
"Hey hey hey hey," he protested, tucking it under his shirt. Your hands were shaking as you cackled, flopping into his lap. The look on his face was attempting to be upset, but the glimmer in his eye was pure amusement.
"C'mon," you said softly, coming down from your fit, "what is it?"
He huffed and looked down, pretending that the floor had suddenly become interesting.
'Ava," he started, then cleared his throat. His tone shifted professionally, back into Genius mode. "Ava's chemical receptors can have...an artificial pheromone and I thought," he frowned, clearly trying not to blush, "I thought your perfume would be...nice."
"Nice."
"Yep."
He huffed again and tried to get up, but you wrapped your arms around his middle. Nathan grumbled but still buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling deeply. A smile tickled your lips. You petted his head, feeling the raspy smoothness of his scalp.
Nathan realized he didn't want Ava to smell like you. He had you forever, he didn't need some shoddy replacement. That familiar drunk feel was churning in his chest, warming him from the inside. You met his lips in a sweet kiss, staring at him with such raw adoration that he had to duck away.
"If you miss me you can just say," you teased into his shirt, scruffing his beard with your fingers.
Fighting a smile, Nathan stuck out his tongue. "Shush, you."
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current fan creation landscape is kinda like if you went to a party with a homemade cake and everyone takes a slice and silently thumbs up at you with no attempt to start a conversation except for occasionally some guy sits in the corner with a tape recorder critiquing the cake as though he was a restaurant critic and another guy is handing the cake to an uber driver like "yeah i need you to find a restaurant that makes cake like this so i can have more of it" and the only person that's talked to you in 30 minutes is a very sweet little guy who was like "hey i liked your cake" and then ran away apologizing for bothering you the moment you said thank you.
Summary: Spoopy Vampire falls for Basil Stitt (~2.4k)
Contents: 18+, gn!vampire!reader, blood, over pants hj
-----
Basil Stitt was the perfect meal.
Healthy enough. No romantic attachments. Only talked to his family a few times a week. Most importantly, he never left his apartment.
You weren’t above taking advantage of a lonely soul. You’d been a vampire since the early 1900s, and couldn’t remember what guilt even felt like.
You’d been watching Basil for a week or so from the building across from his. Noticed he was home at all hours of the day and night.
It had been awhile since you’d had a long-term meal. It was nice, once every quarter century or so, to have more than a one night stand with a human.
Basil was cute. Part of his face was damaged and one of his eyes was a little milky. You could fix that, though, if he wanted. And if he agreed to be yours.
But honestly, you preferred him this way. His scars made him human. Most vampires looked down on that kind of thing, but there was something about Basil. Like a sad puppy you wanted to scratch behind the ears.
He ate cold pizza straight from the fridge. He head-banged alone for an hour at 3 a.m., then cried until sunrise. Fell asleep with a pile of jelly beans on his chest, right there on the floor of his living room, a knife stuck in the cushion of the couch next to him.
He was perfect.
You watch Basil wake up, disoriented, then head toward the bathroom for his morning shower.
You slip out of the apartment you’d been staying in, one you’d charmed the occupant into loaning you (along with their neck), and out into the cold, gray morning.
You smell Basil’s shower gel as soon as you get off the elevator. He uses so much you can smell it through the window on the nights you’d watched him sleep. You can’t wait to lick the scent off of his skin.
You pick up the bakery box from the mat in front of his door. He gets donuts delivered on Sundays. You have to knock for almost five minutes before he answers. You hear his heartbeat racing. Poor baby, you can smell his pang of fear.
He opens the door with a paper bag on his head. He’s adorable.
Even through the two eye holes he’s cut in the front, you can see his dark, beautiful eyes. When they make direct contact with yours, you let the warm, false, charm of your immortality wash over him.
“Take off the bag, Basil. You don’t need it ever again,” you coo.
He rips it of with one hand, eyes wide.
“Oh,” you say with a smile, “you’re just perfect.”
He half smiles, his eyes dazed. “Thanks. But I’m not. I’m a monster.”
You raise an eyebrow at his choice of words. You let the charm fade, interested to see how he reacts.
Basil blinks, looking unsure all of a sudden. “Um. Who are you?” He asks, his hands fidgeting with the open door.
You inhale deeply. His scent is amazing. Sweet and clean. You can almost smell his loneliness. Even though you haven’t been human in more than 100 years, it touches you.
More than mouth-watering. You feel a stirring where you heart used to be.
“I saw you got a bakery delivery from the place down the street,” you say. “I just moved in down the hallway and was hoping you’d take pity on me. Invite me in for breakfast.”
Basil swallows. His hand comes up briefly, almost touching his scars. He turns his face so you can’t see them.
You lift the box of donuts. “I think these are still warm,” you say with a small smile.
Basil chews his lip. You smell sweat start to form at the back of his neck. Precious man child.
He takes a breath, as if to make himself brave. “I always make a big pot of coffee in the morning. I have juice, though, if you don’t drink caffeine. Come on in.”
Bingo.
You lay your hand on his chest briefly as you pass him to enter his apartment. Your hands itch to tidy things. This mess won’t do at all. Basil deserves better.
You stand in the middle of his hallway, so he has to make contact to pass you.
He lays his hand on your bare arm. His eyes go wide.
“Wow, I guess it’s cold this morning,” he says. “Your skin’s like ice.”
He rushes to the kitchen to pour you a warm drink.
“A gentleman,” you say, following him. “I haven’t met one of those in a long time.”
He shakes his head, embarrassed. “I’m not really. I broke up with my girlfriend over the phone a few months ago. I’m…”
His words trail off as you stand close to him in the kitchen.
You’re trying hard not to charm him. His real reactions are so cute, so genuine. You wish... well, doesn’t matter. Despite what books say, vampires can’t charm people into falling in love with them.
The thought startles you. Love.
Is that what you want?
Basil hands you a mug, interrupting your thoughts.
“We can sit down in the living room,” he says.
He scoots by you and quickly clears the couch free of pillows and an empty bottle of wine. He flips the cushion that has a huge slit cut into it, filling spilling out. You’d watched him take a kitchen knife to it.
His outbursts are less these days, but still happen once in awhile.
You sit, setting the bakery box on his coffee table. He’s careful to hide the left side of his face from you. Always positioning himself just so, looking at you sideways. He’s so nervous his heart sounds like a bird’s.
You have no idea what scarred him.
Although, if the yellow post-its are any indicator, it was probably lightning.
You hadn’t seen it from your vantage point, but one of his walls is almost covered in lightning-bolt drawings and words.
“Are you an artist?” You ask, looking at the wall.
Basil half-laughs, sips his coffee. “No. Just another office drone. I work from home. I can’t leave my apartment. Obviously.”
Your gaze turns back to him. “Why do you say, ‘obviously’?”
Basil’s mouth turns down at the corners. “My face.”
His shoulders slump. You set aside the mug. It’s cold already from your hands sapping out the heat.
You move closer to him on the couch.
“I think you’re perfect,” you say.
“You’re perfect,” Basil says. “Confident. Gorgeous. I wouldn’t have had a chance with someone like you, even if I were normal. And now…”
You touch his hair with your hand, letting your fingers play with his dark curls, brush through. His eyes flutter closed. You feel him melt into the affection.
“Can I smell you? I know it’s weird, but I’d like to get to know you. Scent bonds beings in a way that nothing else can,” you say.
The question comes out of you without thought. It’s not a calculated move. You feel like you’re on a first date.
Basil’s eyes open. He nods.
You lean toward him, your face gently in the crook of his neck. The tip of your nose caresses his skin as you inhale. Basil’s so sweet your body is singing for him already.
You lean away before you lose control.
Basil turns his head, looking at you face-forward. He’s still nervous, but you’re unbelievably proud that he’s already showing himself to you. He probably sees the tinge of bloodlust in your eyes, but he doesn’t back away.
Maybe he feels it too. Something between you two that’s more than prey being drawn into a predator’s den to be torn apart.
You lick your lips. Basil’s gaze drops to watch, then flitters away.
“You want a donut?” He asks.
“Honestly, I don’t really eat.”
Basil’s brows furrow. “But I thought, I mean, you said you wanted breakfast. Not that I’m calling you a liar. Shit. Sorry. The only people I talk to are on conference calls at work.”
He looks down at his lap.
“It was a pretense. I wanted to meet you,” you say.
The tops of Basil’s cheekbones color pink from the compliment. You can’t help yourself. You reach out and touch his beautiful, warm skin with your fingers.
“I don’t mean to say I’m a stalker,” you smile reassuringly. “You’re interesting. Attractive.”
“Me?” Basil says. His voice gets high-pitched with disbelief.
You nod. “I have a sixth sense about humans. Compatibility and whatnot. I think you and I could be tremendously good together.”
You drop your hand when Basil doesn’t reply. It’s been many, many years since you’ve bothered to ask a human what they might like. Since you’ve tried to woo one without any special powers.
“I’ve lost my touch,” you say with an awkward smile. “I won’t force you. I’m sure your instincts are telling you to run by now. I’ll save you the trouble. Tell me to leave and I won’t bother you again.”
“My instincts are telling me to ask you to stay,” Basil says. He looks out the window. “Then again, they also told me I could fly and I should jump off my balcony right after my accident.”
You gasp quietly.
“It was okay. I fell into a dumpster.” He clears his throat. “It was gross, but I lived. Haven’t left my apartment since. But I think, sometimes, I knew you were watching me.”
“Your survival instinct. Like a gazelle on the savanna, your body knew I was there.”
Basil blinks. His big, brown eyes are clear when he looks at you again. He seems more sure of himself.
“I’m not perfect either. So, whoever you are, or whatever,” he corrects himself, “I think you’re interesting too.”
He smiles, the scars on his face making one side slightly tighter. As if he feels it, his smile fades slightly. He’s beautiful, nonetheless. You hope you can show him how beautiful.
“I’m a vampire,” you say quietly, trying to say it gently, hoping he doesn’t run screaming.
His body tenses. Apparently, his fight or flight is broken because Basil is still for a full ten seconds. Your thirst tugs at its leash, sensing an easy meal. But after so long, you’ve learned to control it.
“It’s daytime,” he says after awhile.
“It’s cloudy,” you answer. “Not comfortable outside for me, but I don’t burst into flames.”
“I invited you in,” he says to himself.
“You did.”
“But you don’t want to kill me?” He asks. He looks more confused than concerned.
“No,” you say emphatically, “I won’t to harm a hair on your precious head, Basil.”
He bites his lip uncertainly.
You reach out and tug him gently until his head lays in your lap. He looks up at your face, seemingly hypnotized by you, even though you’re not using any kind of charm on him.
You smile down at him serenely, twirling his hair around your fingers with one hand, the other brushing over the pulse beating in his neck.
“It would make me so happy if you would be mine,” you say.
His eyes flicker away, then back to yours. “Yours?”
“You have no idea how perfect you are, especially to someone like me,” you say, running your nails under the collar of his shirt. “Like you were made for me.”
You feel the blood rush up his neck, warming his face.
“Sweet Basil,” you say, leaning down.
You kiss him, leading with your tongue, before you let your fangs out. You want him to get used to the feeling. Basil barely notices, kissing you with wild abandon.
“You, you can,” he whispers, out of breath from the making out. He swallows. “… you know.”
You feel tenderness bloom inside of you. “Oh, Basil, my darling boy. I would be honored.”
He smiles, shifting to sit up slightly. “It won’t, like, turn me into a vampire or anything, right?”
“No, that’s a very different process,” you reassure him. “I won’t take too much, especially this first time. It’s very intense.”
He’s nervous, bless him, but determined. “I don’t think anything’ll hurt more than when I got hit by lightning.”
“It won’t hurt. Not after a few seconds. It’s intense in other ways. Sexually.”
Basil’s dark eyes pop wide. “I can handle it,” he says, mostly bravado.
“If you’re sure,” you say, bending your head.
You scrap your fangs along his neck. They’re sharp enough to leave a pink trail behind them, just a scrape along his skin.
He shivers.
You cradle him in your lap, your hand going higher on his leg.
“Is this okay?” You ask.
“Yeah, definitely.” He nods so hard his curly hair bobs down over his forehead.
You brush it back before getting back to it. You lay a hand over his already hard cock. Just enough pressure to draw a tempting whine from him.
His hips raise to meet your touch. You bite him. Fangs so sharp they slide into his neck like a hot needle through butter.
Basil tenses, flinches, but moans when your hand finds the head of his cock, teasing him over his pants.
You suck at the puncture wounds, a mouthful of heaven. He comes immediately, shuddering, a wet mess in his pants that you feel soak through right away. You moan at his neck, drinking and drowning yourself in the scent of him. The taste of his blood, warm and welcoming.
You shudder as you pull away. You kiss the wounds, suck gently again because you can’t help it. He tastes like candy. Sweet and addictive.
He looks dazed, but happy, looking up at you from your lap. Good boy that he is, he’s already half hard again.
“Will you stay?” He asks you. “I- I’ll be yours.”
You smile, a bloody tear at the corner of one eye. “Basil, dear, I believe I’m becoming very attached to you. Please know, you’re more than a pet to me.” You stroke his scarred face. “I will protect you with my life. And you will give me your life blood in return. Promise me.”
His face is soft and vulnerable. His milky eye closes slightly as he stares up at you with wonder. “I promise.”
You gently tilt his head. “Let me drink from you again, my Basil. And let us never be without each other again.”
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Seventh Time's The Charm
Rydal Keener x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 1: Overstimulation
Summary: Rydal keeps asking you out.
A/N: Thank you so, so, so much @thexsanctuaryx for beta reading and helping out with this one!
Warnings: bit of a brat Rydal, overstimulation, hand jobs, please let me know if I have missed a warning!
Word Count: 1066
Rydal had been a mess since you started. He’s asked you out a grand total of seven times in all.
The first had been a subtle, casual thing. Him leaning against the table running a hand through his hair in a manner that was causal personified but reeked of careful planning. He had suggested a date, as if he had been doing you a favour.
But had smiled when you politely declined, seeming as if he was expecting it, used to the casual ask getting a fifty percent success rate.
The second time however was more sincere, a slightly bigger thing. He put some effort into it. When you declined again he hadn’t smiled straight away. The flash of shock across his face was almost comical. He obviously wasn’t used to being turned down when he tried.
The third had been jokey, the fourth a little mean, the fifth was showy and dramatic, and the sixth had been sweet. And you’d almost said yes.
The seventh had been whiney.
“What’s it gonna take for you to go on a date with me?” He’d pouted, trying to put a friendly jokey edge to his tone, but it didn’t work.
You had snorted, “Why are you so desperate for me to say yes?” You knew the answer already of course, he wasn’t used to being told no.
“Why do you keep saying no?” He’d retorted, crossing his arms. “I know you like me.”
“So?” You’d grinned.
“So?” He’d given you the most exasperated look you’d ever seen, his eyes narrowing slightly and, his jaw all but dropping. “So when people like each other they go out.” He’d blurted out incredulously.
“Why?”
He’d glared at you and you’d laughed.
“Look, Rydal, you’ve got plenty of people just begging for your attention– to go on a date with you, why don’t you ask them?”
He’d sighed dramatically, “I want to go out with you, not them.”
“You’ll go out with me once and then you’ll be going out with them the next day,” you’d shrugged, there’s no anger in your voice, just matter of fact. “Just cut out the first step.”
His pout somehow became even more pronounced. “I’m not like that, that’s not what this is.”
“Rydal,” you’d given him a look, “come on, I’m not an idiot and I’m not trying to shame you or saying it’s a bad thing, I’m just saying that’s what you want.” You’d shrugged again. “I’m not so interested in it.”
“It’s not… I’m not…” He fumbled a little with his words, trying and failing to find the right one while a hint of pink brushed his cheeks. “I’m not some whore.”
You hadn’t been able to help but giggle at his turn of phrase. “I’m not saying you are.” You’d bantered lightly.
“You implied it. Implied I was just after sex.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I–…”
“Come on– the only reason you’re so interested in me is because I’ve said no.” You’d said as you sat back in your chair, raising your eyebrows.
“Really?”
“That’s not true.”
“I’ll prove it.”
You’d paused then. “Okay.”
.
He’d taken you out on a nice date, casual. Correctly guessing that you wouldn’t be overly impressed by anything unnecessarily showy.
And you’d seen the not so subtle smirk on his face when you’d agreed to come back to his, the cocky attitude when he’d opened his front door, the way he’d lent in for a kiss believing that he’d won you over completely.
But now that he was underneath you, his hands tied to the headboard with his own belt, his shirt open and his trousers and boxers shoved down to his ankles all while you were still fully dressed, his trademark self confidence was nowhere to be seen.
He squirmed, trying to buck his hips as you jacked him off quickly. “Ah, baby, fuck!” He screwed up his eyes, failing to keep his moans as quiet as possible.
You shifted your weight ever so slightly as you sat on his thighs so that you were pressing firmer on his legs, forcing him to stay still.
“Please, shit, please,” he begged, his plump bottom lip between his teeth.
Sweat beaded in his hairline, along his collarbone. Part of you was desperate to lean down, to suck and bite at his skin, but you’d contain that urge for now.
He whined your name, his eyes rolling back as he groaned and pressed his head into the pillow. His arms tense as he pulled at the belt around his wrists.
His cock throbbed in your hand, velvety soft and warm as you pushed him closer and closer towards the edge.
You could see why he was so confident. Other than his pretty face, long lashes and low, soft voice, he had an impressive dick. Thick and weighty with a slight curve that you knew would feel just wonderful to have inside.
“Please, please, can I touch you? Please–” he swallows, gulping in air, “can, can, oh god, I’m gonna come, please, you need to-” He gasps, surprised by his sudden orgasm. His toes curl as he comes, his back arching off the mattress as he spurts all over his stomach and your hand.
His needy moans are music to your ears, high pitched and breathy as he just collapses into pleasure, lets it wash all over him like warm soothing water.
You slow your hand, but don’t stop. You pump him languidly, long strokes now well lubricated by his cum.
He hisses, squirming a little, trying to move away from your touch. He softens slightly, his cock twitching and still half hard.
“Fuck,” he breathes in a shaky breath, looking up at you with large, watery eyes. “I, oh god, you made me come so hard. You’re,” he hisses, but bucks up into your hand. “You’re not gonna stop are you?” There’s a hopeful gleam in his eyes.
You shake your head. “How many times did you ask me out?” You say softly, injecting a slight boredom into your tone.
“I… erm… fuck…” He rolls his hips up to you, groaning as you pick up the pace.
“Seven, Rydal.”
“Seven?”
You hum an affirmative. “So I’m gonna make you come seven times, since you’re so desperate to have me.”
His eyes go wide, his cheeks flush. But there’s a smile on his lips and he nods rapidly. “Yes, god, yes please.”
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Tailor Made
summary: reader is a costume designer for the Lennox House club, and Blue needs a new suit.
blue jones x reader
no smut, fluff, tension, pining, blue being blue, suggestive content but nothing explicit.
pro tip - highly recommend listening to tailor asmr or ambient asmr
He needed a new suit. Gorski had a theme for the performance tonight, and the suit jacket he had wasn't quite the right shade of red. Usually, Blue didn't wear his suits more than once, but he'd keep the ones he liked.
Sighing, he pulled on his undershirt and slacks and waltzed towards the fitting rooms. Tedious, tedious, he griped, to fuckin' stand there and pretend to be interested while the elderly seamstress held up different fabrics. He couldn't even smoke.
Blue rapped his knuckles on the door and shoved it open, snapping to get somebody's attention. The hanging racks were glimmering with the finished costumes for the girls tonight.
Cabernet red with gold and pearls. Apparently his suit was 'Merlot' and that wasn't the same.
"Bullshit," he grumbled, adjusting his collar. The designer, who, come to think of it, he'd never known the name of, walked stiffly over and looked him up and down.
"What?" She said flatly, "I'm in the middle of sewing fifty ruffled skirts, it's gonna have to wait."
Blue's jaw ticked. He never liked her attitude. "I don't like waiting," he snapped, "I need a jacket and a pocket square. Cabernet red," he added, like he gave a fuck.
The woman sighed, checking her watch for dramatic effect, and nodded to the back. "You'll be fitted with Darling. Now get out of my shop," she ordered. Blue curled his lip, smacking her ass as he passed. The nerve of that woman. He should have replaced her.
Darling. He didn't remember a Darling. Hopefully she was faster than her boss - she couldn't spend less than an hour just taking measurements.
"Hey," he called into the next room, "I need a-"
oh.
"Hello," he purred, looking at the girl standing over a pile of silk. He'd never seen you before. You stared at him, frozen like a deer in headlights. Your expression was wary, lips pinched and hands curled protectively over your chest.
"You must be Darling, yes?" His hooded eyes appraised you slowly, examining every lock of hair. You nodded slowly.
'Have...have I done something?" You asked quietly, eyes large and dewy. Oh, you'd be fun.
"Hm..." he pretended to think about it, reveling in the way your lips began to tremble.
"No. But I do need a jacket, so let's get to it," he grinned, clicking his tongue. You were very well behaved, obediently gathering your things and flicking through a large binder.
"I'll have to measure you," you said softly, "this shouldn't take long." You hovered your hands over his wrists, waiting for permission. He inclined his chin and you raised his arm to get the length of his torso.
"You've got manners," he noted, lips twitching. You nodded bashfully, murmuring thanks. Blue watched you delicately wrap the tape around his chest, then shoulders. Your fingers were light and gentle.
He'd like to fuck you.
But this game was fun, watching you flit around and look at him with your doe eyes. He was tempted to ask for two jackets, just for an excuse to watch you. If he sharpened his tone just enough, you'd reel away and school yourself demurely, then continue with another air of obedience.
Like a little bunny, Blue thought with a chuckle. You were fitting his collar, lips pinched in focus, when he couldn't resist the urge to stroke your cheek.
You froze, hands stuck on his lapels. You didn't move away, rigid with terror. He preened with the effect he had.
"Scared, bunny?" he murmured, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. He paused, thumb caressing the shell. The soft sugary smell of your soap was enticing, and he leaned closer.
Your swallow was audible. "No, Mr. Jones," you whispered. He grinned, teeth glittering in the low light.
"Blue, please," he drawled, patting your cheek and leaning back. He could see the relief on your face, your shoulders slumping and a slow exhale from your rigid posture. That was good. You were being very good - he had a mind to make you a role model for the dancers. In these days he could hardly keep them in line. It was a relief to know he hadn't lost his touch.
You nodded dutifully and finished his measurements. His jacket was done in two hours, as he watched greedily from the corner. He was content to watch you all night, the way your curves showed through the drape of your dress. Everything about you was soft and innocent and he so wanted to grab a handful and break
No. No, he didn't want to break you. Then he couldn't play anymore. But he did want a taste. You would occasionally make eye contact with him, and he'd do a little smirk. As the hours went on, you got more and more relaxed, coming up to him with a question or comparing velvet to crushed velvet.
While your melodic voice was explaining the different colors, he was not listening at all. Frankly, he didn't care what color it was, they all looked the same. But he'd stand there all fuckin' night if it meant you'd keep talking and absently touching his back.
He was vaguely disappointed when you finished. You draped the coat over over his shoulders and nodded, straightening his tie and smiling to yourself. Blue stuffed his hands in his pockets to refrain from grabbing your face and kissing you stupid.
The show would start in an hour, so he slipped out, grinning like a fox. He liked his new toy.
And he played with you any chance he got. Did he need a new suit three times a week? No. Did he go to get fitted three times a week? You bet your ass he did.
It was by the eighth visit that you'd begun to enjoy your appointments. He could see it in your eyes, the sparkle that would appear when he sauntered through the door. The flinching had stopped and your voice was stronger. He'd touch you innocently, but inside he was purring with pride.
He could do whatever he wanted and you'd obey without question.
Blue was admiring your ass in a skirt when he realized you'd asked him a question.
"Hm?" he asked, still glued to your supple legs.
"Do you want a matching tie or not?"
What he really wanted was to run his mouth all over you and shove you in his pocket so he didn't have to share. Fuck the tie. Better yet, fuck him.
"Sure, honey," he said, folding his arms. "Whatever you think."
You'd smiled at him that time.
The next time, though, was different. The door, for one, was locked when he arrived. Already in a bad mood, Blue knocked firmly. He was, to his knowledge, the only one who went to you. Were you out?
"Darling," he called through the door.
It creaked open to reveal you with pincushion in hand. And another man with his back to the door. Blue slowly looked between you. You recognized the dark glimmer in his eyes and shrank away.
"No, don't hide, pet," he cooed, patting your cheek. His gaze was still stabbing the new guy in the back.
"Who's your friend?"
The man turned and averted his gaze respectfully. He was in his undershirt, presumably getting a new button-down. Blue had never been undressed that far. You looked away when his sleeves were rolled above his elbows.
Ah, so a special friend. Blue grinned, all teeth and malice. "I don't think we've met," he seethed, grip tightening on your face. Your lips wobbled.
The man straightened. "I'm a new patron," he said airily, "Madame Gorski recommended your little tailor here. Pretty thing, ain't she?"
Blue's fist cracked across his nose, sending him into the wall. You clapped your palm over your mouth and squeezed your eyes shut. You knew his temper was out of control.
The man howled, steadying himself against the wall in time for Blue to grab his neck and shove him out the door. "I don't wanna see you again," he growled, "not near her and not without me."
He slammed the door shut, chest heaving. The adrenaline of his scuffle sent his heart racing. Blue rolled his shoulders, trying to shake himself of the hot rage burning his veins.
He'd been so naive to think you'd be well behaved forever. Breathing deeply, he turned to face you, grin sharp as a blade. You were cowering in the corner.
"I thought this was an exclusive establishment," he said softly, anger bubbling under the surface. "I thought we had an arrangement." You were trying to press yourself into the scraps of satin as he stalked closer, hands flexing. You were mumbling apologies, breaths getting faster and faster.
His toes were touching yours, looking down in contempt. Your large eyes were teary and shaken.
"Poor little Darling," he pouted in false sympathy, "got a little greedy, didn't she?" You shook your head violently. Blue raised his eyebrow and nodded slowly.
"Yes," he said sternly, "yes she did." Catching his venomous tone, you slowly corrected yourself, nodding uncertainly. He smirked.
"Say it, bunny."
"I was greedy," you stuttered, trying to steady your voice. He leaned closer, dark eyes narrowed.
"What was that? Don't be rude, sugar, I know you have manners."
"I-I was greedy, Mr. Jones." Your cheeks were hot with shame and glittering tears ran tracks down your face. He cocked his head, dangerous gaze still locked on you.
"Will it happen again?"
You shook your head again, sniffling.
"From the top." He sat back pridefully, gloating in your embarrassment. Hiccupping, you wiped your eyes.
"I-I was greedy, Mr. Jones, i-it won't happen again," you said, keeping your chin up. You bit your lip against another sob, looking to him for approval.
"Good girl," he murmured, patting your face. "Not so hard, huh?" He leaned closer like one might approach a feral cat, still stroking your cheek. "No more tears, honey," he wiped them from under your eyes. "Don't stain the silk."
You nodded apologetically, avoiding his gaze. Gently, he angled your chin up to look at him. If it had been any other girl, he'd have you on your knees, but the hardwood would bruise you. Doll-like in your appearance, he was afraid to break you.
"You've done such a lovely job, darling," he murmured, leaning in to inhale your soap. That jittery shyness was shining through again, and he rubbed your shoulder caringly. "Don't be shy now, you were making such progress."
You looked at him imploringly, searching for the hidden meaning. Finding his eyes glassy and soft, you leaned in. Blue felt a rush of pride at your compliance, petting your hair and kissing your jaw. The cold metal of his jewelry warmed against your heated skin. His hands were rough in contrast to your dewy complexion. As his attention continued, the apprehension slowly left your body. Your head was tucked into his shoulder. Your eyes were soft and sleepy, completely at his mercy.
"Lay on my lap, darling," he whispered, arranging your legs over his. He was throbbing with need but the moment felt too delicate to pop just yet. Fabric rustled under his legs as you moved, trying to get comfortable.
"Did...did you need something?" you whispered into his collar. "I thought you wanted something to wear."
Blue traced your shoulder blades thoughtfully. "Mmm, I might've," he pondered, "but I think I prefer this." With great control, he gently patted your ass. It was too much. The vanilla smell was everywhere, and you were completely without restraint. He could do whatever he wanted...
Don't break her yet, he reminded himself, sucking a mark into your neck. You keened and sat closer, giving him access to your neck.
His gaze darkened. Later.
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oh well.
marc spector angst
Content: angst (woah really??) sad hours, crying
a/n: this just has all kinds of sad stuff, mental health tw all around
angstober prompt 1 - 'again'
dark. it's dark outside when his eyes slit open. the window is cold from the London air - he can feel it chill the sheets. a thin sheen of sweat licks over his shoulders. Marc wakes but doesn't stir, choosing instead to stare listlessly into the AC unit.
there's an oiliness inside; a thick, heavy weight that slicks over his ribs and makes the fluttering of his lungs ache with the effort. it'd be easier to stop, really, to just close his mouth and bury his head in the pillow.
Steven, as always, has left the flat a mess. he'd never know, because Marc stirs an hour early to pick up the tissues and socks and straighten the books.
his bones creak on the cold wooden floor. it's been a year, he realizes dismally, looking at the tattered calendar stapled onto the cupboard. Steven's red x's are interspersed with Marc's black ones. it twists his stomach to see the infrequent crimson ink.
floating. Steven's been floating down the drain and Marc's done fuck all to stop it.
oh well. middle age was close. halfway there, right?
there were mugs in the sink. dirty and ringed with black. marc's. Steven couldn't handle the bitterness of coffee.
ha ha.
the sun was beginning to burn the curtain hems, ringing the flat in gold. Marc stumbled in the weak light, blearily searching for a pen. he grabbed a postcard and hastily scribbled a note, slapping it onto the fishtank.
empty, of course. Gus had gone days ago, he just hadn't gotten around to replacing him. Steven would know. Steven would care, oh he'd be so upset-
oh well.
Marc watched the sunrise, eyes fluttering as he was sucked back under, thrown into the dark recesses of his mind.
it was dark when he woke. again. thursday by the looks of it, three days after his last wakeup. Steven hadn't done much cleaning, but there were flowers on the table. old and dying, but he'd clearly gone out.
they crumpled with the smell of food waste in the trash.
a pang in his stomach. Steven had forgotten to eat again. only eggs in the fridge, and Marc only wanted orange juice.
oh well.
he could wait, maybe Steven would remember to go out. if not, he could lose some pounds anyway.
it had been a while since he'd fronted during the day. he didn't hate the night, but it would be nice to see somebody. talk to somebody other that himself and that damned fish.
oh well.
Marc didn't need it, Steven could do without him. he'd be alright. it was routine, a schedule, something he could trust. Steven did the living, Marc did the feeling, and they'd never need anybody else.
living a half life wasn't so bad. it would feel like half-dying when the time came.
the sheets were still cold when he tugged them over his head. the heat should have kicked on by now, maybe it was broken.
maybe it's not the heat.
oh well.
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tbh i kinda hated this but whatever.
found it
flufftober prompt 1 - lost pet meet cute
a/n: yes I know BB8 is not a pet, but he's pretty damn close and it's my fic anyway.
cw: fluff, strangers to lovers, poe being Sassy, reader is afab and racially ambiguous. she works as a comms officer.
The fields were quiet this early in the morning. You took the long way to your station, through the winding trails of the Yavin base. The foliage was glowing softly in the early morning sun. Even the birds were still rousing, lazy cooing peppering the silence. A warm cup of caf hugged to your chest completed the picturesque morning.
You stood on a hill, looking at the shining metal hangar from afar. So many pilots and techs rousing to go save the galaxy.
But your favorite had yet to arrive. In the recent weeks, you'd met a friend that made this morning walk even better.
"Hey, bud," you grinned at the fast-approaching metal ball. A BB unit, scuffed orange and white, whirred a happy greeting and bumped against your ankles. Giving his antennae a little shake, you extended your hand.
"Walk with me?"
A small metal arm protruded from his side, which you gently took in your palm. Slower, so that the little droid didn't get caught on a root, you two made your way towards the Comms tower.
He belonged to somebody; his condition was too nice to be a rogue. But nobody had filed a missing report, and he always went back to his pilot by the time your shift started. Besides, you had a soft spot for BBs. Their big black eyes made your heart melt.
That sweet morning moment warmed your chest throughout the whole day, even as a stressful mission tore at your nerves. He'd be at the same place in the evening to walk you back.
What a little gentleman.
Today was an event. Even arriving early, you'd scrambled to get in place before the first squadron took off. There was a mixup on the schedule, so half the shift showed up late and the other half had to cover three different missions at once. No caf had been shipped on time, so the cup you had that morning sustained you - barely - for the rest of the day.
All in all, you were fucking exhausted.
The suns were setting quickly. You stared out the window, a yawn cracking your jaw. Somebody tapped your arm.
"You look wiped, babe, wanna ride with me? Taryn will drive," your friend Anya said, concern knitting her brow. For a moment, your heart ached to leave your little buddy, but he'd understand. A walk would not help your exhaustion.
Nodding, you loaded into her land cruiser and promptly knocked out. It felt like a blink before your stumbled into your tiny hut, tearing off your boots and falling into bed. You'd wash the sheets later.
Somewhere around midnight, an incessant whirring pulled you from your den of sleep. Groaning, you squinted at your watch.
"Whassat?" you croaked, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. Something was outside, cracking sticks and scuffling in the mud Probably a rat.
Beeep. Beep beep beep-
Not a rat.
Frowning, you peeked out the window. A familiar white dome was darting in and out of the bushes, rolling faster than you'd ever seen him.
"Bud?"
You poked your head out the door, shivering at the cool air. The movement stopped. You puffed out a cloud, trying to find your friend. A familiar whir, then an eighty-pound metal droid collided with your knees. Howling, you stumbled back inside.
"Dude -fuck- buddy, chillout, your metal is like a frozen rock," you hissed, any remnants of sleep shocked from your mind. He chirped apologies, rolling around you in fast circles.
"Sorry I left, I was tired." You patted his side. BB-8 let out an indignant crackle and you snorted.
"Damn, didn't know this was such a big deal."
Standing, you yawned. "Thanks for the check in, dude, but I gotta go back to-"
"GET AWAY FROM MY DROID!"
fucking what the-
You dropped the blanket and screamed, falling backwards into a pile of leaves. BB-8 whined shrilly, a short electric pop shocking you from his surprise. An enormous crashing sound, and a shadowed man burst through the underbrush, blaster raised. A squad of birds took off at the massive arrival and swarmed your hut.
BB-8 immediately approached the man, whirring so fast his hubcap started emitting steam. The man dropped to his knee and started whispering back and forth, too quiet for you to hear. Not that you cared, you were trying to become as small as possible underneath your ratty blanket.
this is why we don't take random animals home, your mother's voice echoed, they always belong to somebody.
Well, she shoulda mentioned something about droids.
"Um, excuse me?"
You froze. The man cleared his throat and you heard him step closer. Carefully, you craned your neck to peek from under the quilt.
"Uh, hi," he waved, still shrouded in darkness. You blinked back, dumbfounded. BB-8 stayed close to this guy's ankles, clearly encouraging.
"H-hello?" you croaked, sitting up when you realized he had pocketed the blaster.
"Sorry about that," he laughed sheepishly, his silhouette rocking on his heels. "I uh, I thought something else was going on."
"I gathered that," you sighed, brushing the dirt and crud off of your pants. The blanket was trashed; you'd wash it later. Laundry day suddenly just got bumped up. Any remnants of sleep were gone.
BB-8 chirped softly and you smiled. "Yeah, I figured I had to meet your pilot one of these days."
The man looked at the droid. "How'd you know I was a pilot?"
"...BB units ae specifically assigned to pilots."
"Oh." He cleared his throat again and shifted his stance. The silence was beginning to be uncomfortable, and you really wanted to go back to bed.
"I-"
"Well-"
Both of you laughed this time, and you opened the door a little wider, initial hesitation gone. "Would you like to come in?" You offered.
The man shook his head. "No, I've taken up enough time. And besides, Beebs needs a cleaning." The little droid sputtered and smoked.
"Don't fuss, little man, or I'll use the yellow sponge."
Terrified, the droid zipped into the underbrush. You waved goodbye and shook your head. Never a dull day. Or night.
"Captain's got something for ya," one of your coworkers mumbled in your ear, clapping your shoulder. Frowning, you set aside your headset and peeked into the control room. Your amused commander was watching BB-8 carefully balance a tray on his little round head.
"Buddy?"
He beeped and slowly rolled over, spinning wildly to avoid dropping his precious cargo. Precious indeed - a steaming cup of caf, fresh from the shipment. You mentally pumped your fists and grinned, snatching the hot cup from your little friend.
A sticky note was attached to the side.
thanks for babysitting - Poe
You weren't sure who the fuck Poe was, but he was a gem for sending coffee, so you weren't complaining. Taking a long, grateful drag of your liquid gold, you gave Beebs an appreciative pet and saluted your captain. She smirked and gestured to the hall.
"The delivery man wanted to speak with you," she said airily, winking. Affronted by her weird attitude, you apprehensively followed BB into the hall.
Leaning against a set of control panels was one of the most attractive men you'd ever seen. Is that the guy??
Upon seeing you, he jolted to a straighter position and stuck out his hand.
"Hi," he breathed, "Poe Dameron. Sorry about--last night, that was, um, yeah, sorry," he said, scratching his neck. You were too absorbed in his deep brown eyes to register his nervousness.
"Yeah, sure thing," you mumbled, blinking back into focus. Damn, you didn't know pilots could be that pretty. Even sweaty helmet hair suited him.
BB looked between you, unsure of who to nudge first. He picked his pilot, bumping gently into his boots and sending up hopeful coos. You rocked on your heels.
"Uh, I have to get back, but thanks for the caf," you said, smiling. Poe looked up from petting his droid to send a dazzling grin up at you.
Feeling like a ball of joy, you floated back to your position and spent the rest of the day spacing out in amazement.
In an instant, you were trudging back up the hill, BB at your ankles. It was a cooler day; the Yavin summer was turning quickly into monsoon season. You needed to hurry home to put up the rain shields.
Stopping to catch your breath, you shrieked when a large hand closed over your shoulder.
"Shit-sorry," Poe hissed, backing off and nearly tripping over BB. "Sorry, sorry, I only wanted to walk with you. Shit, are you okay?"
You were doubled over, desperately trying to calm your rocketing heartbeat. Could you ever have a normal conversation with this man?
"Fine," you gasped, righting yourself. Poe's gaze softened and he smiled. Clearly he'd showered and a divine glow was shimmering around his hair. Again with the lethal face card, this guy. As if breathing wasn't hard enough already.
Naturally as blinking, Poe took your bag from your shoulder and helped you over the hill, walking arm in arm. Were you dreaming? He smelled wonderful, and he chatted amicably as you walked. There was a certain charm radiating off of him - one that drew you in like a magnet.
BB whirred contentedly between you, occasionally throwing in his two cents as you teased each other over rank.
"For a Commander you're awfully uncoordinated," you poked, to which he responded with a dramatic eye roll and a "careful, you don't wanna get demoted."
You felt a twinge of disappointment as your hut came into view. Poe's grip tightened then released.
"Thanks for the walk," you said, admiring the way the sun fell on his eyes. He smiled and they twinkled brighter.
"Sure. 7 tomorrow?"
You blinked. "Sorry?"
"Your shift," he elaborated, "you leave for work at 7. I'll meet you here. Beebs told me," he added at your suspicious look. A shamefully loud giggle threatened to break out of your mouth, but you coughed to cover it.
"Yeah, that sounds good."
"See you then, sweetheart," he called over his shoulder. You waved, keeping your composure until the door closed, after which you screamed into a pillow and never stopped smiling.
"You left out the best part," Poe whined, nudging your shoulder. You cocked your head, sipping the tall flute of champagne.
'Whaddya mean? That's literally the-"
"What about the part where you fell shamelessly in love with me the second our eyes met in the darkness and you couldn't resist my rugged charm?" He pouted, fluttering his dark lashes.
"Poe," you chastised, tapping his nose, "it was dark, I couldn't see you at all. It coulda been Finn for all I knew. Or General Ackbar."
He gagged animatedly at the thought as your audience guffawed. The warmth of the night blossomed in your chest, and you adjusted the straps of your dress.
"Can we go home soon?" Poe asked, leaning against your shoulder. His day-old stubble scratched pleasantly on your skin.
You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the clock. "Really, dear?"
"I'm tired, and you look real pretty, and I think I read somewhere it's inappropriate to undress in public, so...please?" If it wasn't your wedding that you were hosting and that you needed to attend, the doe-eyed look he was giving you might have tipped the scales. But you hadn't even cut the cake yet.
"No way, Commander, you still need to prove yourself on the dancefloor."
"After?"
"Only if you walk me back," you murmured, kissing him warmly on the lips.
taglist, comment to join!
@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma @iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world @ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @silvernight-m
it's october tomorrow....
*vibrates excitedly*
hey guys
i'm in the middle of completely redesigning the aesthetic of my acct and my sideblog so DO NOT PANIC if the color scheme eats shit for a moment. all is well.
hey! hope your having a good day/night. i was just wondering how to make the sentences blend together better? and also any tips on like how to go into more detail? sorry if that sounds stupid lol. sorry if you already wrote about this!
I did touch on this on my writing blog @pygmi-says-hi (which has all of my writing advice/writing tips, go check it out!) on this post but I can also write about it here!
As far as details go - here are some do's and don'ts :)
don't: be too flowery.
too many adjectives or adverbs gums up the sentences and makes it hard to read. If you are trying to convey something's appearance while also describing important plot details, it's important to keep it streamlined and informative. The thesaurus is gonna be your best friend.
Keep the descriptions concise and separate from the plot sentences. My rule of thumb (not the law, do what you want, this is my process) is to keep action descriptions (fight scenes or movement montages) short and sweet, and spend more time on the exposition paragraphs. That way, the readers know what the setting looks like beforehand so that the action can still be fast-paced and easy to follow.
don't: worry about the little things
naturally, humans fill in the blanks with their imagination. You don't have to go into every nook and cranny to provide a well-rounded setting. Atmospheric writing is a way to convey the accurate mood/vibe of a setting that avoids 'white room syndrome' (aka not having any description and feeling lost without a location). Get the basics outlined and move on.
do: keep it consistent
overdescribing certain places/things and underdescribing others is not a good way to go. maybe your story works best with minimal setting and heavy emotions. or it has a sumptuous environment with richly detailed clothing and merchandise, but the plot is slowly meandering. as long as it conveys your story well, that's all that matters.
that being said - keep the style consistent. the audience will get confused if you hyperfixate on something and then ignore other things of potentially more importance.
do: prioritize
what really needs describing? what could do without the adjectives? outlining this reduces the 'heavy' feeling of paragraphs bogged down with setting descriptions.
do: maintain the vibe
group the descriptions and details together. find synonyms with a similar feel to them. example:
slimy, viscous, gelatinous, gluey, oily all kind of have the same vibe, but slippery, slick, gluey, sticky have a different vibe. the first set of words feel gross and alien. the second (to me) feel like an earthier description.
they might mean the same thing, but the sound and feel of the word has a different tone. play around and see what works!
xox hope this helps!
“all i see is smut” “why can’t i find fluff and angst and not smut” “how come fluff isn’t—”
yet when nonsmut fics come across your dash you don’t support it by circulating it with a reblog. smut is pushed because it’s the smut audience that tends to be more supportive when it comes to boosting the fics they read 💗
guys i love to listen to asmr and its so funny when usually there's like a gentle soothing voice but this one chick has the strongest boston drag i've ever heard in my life
asmr harley quinn
it was lowkey good tho so 10/10
thank you fen!!
Mi Luz - Miguel x reader fluff fic
Content warnings - diabetes-inducing fluff, no smut, kissing, emotional constipation
Summary: Miguel has been struggling with stress, and a soft little somebody can't seem to leave his head. Pining, crush, cute cute cute big man
slow burn for two seconds cause I have no self control
Reader is afab, no y/n, described with having large eyes but that's it
love you sweet thing, enjoy ☆
songs:
Saphir - pomme
Kayla - steven sanchez
Easy on my eyes - stephen sanchez
hugging you - Tom Rosenhal
Don't you worry - Oh Wonder
☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆
It was hard to be the king of everything. That's somewhat what he thought of himself, sitting at the top of his tall but lonely throne, scrutinizing his subjects. Miguel didn't choose this life, it chose him. So the bitterness that came with the weight of the world sat thick in his mouth, twisting his lips into a snarl and his brow into a scowl. No surprise that the Spiders around him didn't meet his eye unless to cower in fear.
It didn't bother him. He liked being alone, enjoyed the quiet of his lair - except when his pesky assistant ruined his brooding with her obnoxiously loud voice-
"aw Migs, I thought we were besties..." her pixelated pout hung in front of his eyes.
never shoulda taken you out of the drafts, he muttered, but there was no venom behind the words.
Miguel wasn't a recluse, he was just...busy. Too busy to chat, to 'hang out,' as his younger employees begged. He had shit to do, people to save. Friendship didn't fit in his schedule. So he stalked through the halls as little as possible, shouldering past cliques and couples holding hands. He didn't need that shit, their glowing auras of joy making his sensitive eyes burn.
Okay, so maybe it bothered him a little bit. Not a lot. Just a smidge. An itsy bitsy amount, if you'll pardon the pun. Hardly worthwhile. Nothing to write home about. Just something that churned in the back of his mind every waking moment of his day came up once in a while.
The irony didn't escape him, how aura sensitivity seemed to be bestowed on the least sensitive man out there. The radiating emotion and color bouncing off of everyone that passed gave him a headache. Miguel had no spidey sense to speak of, no superhuman reflexes, but the minute someone's mood changed, his ears were pricking. Not that he cared.
He didn't care that his chest ached when the sour green of fear laced the aura of his visitors. It was like a switch; he'd walk into the room, and the once shining gold and pastel hues would darken to a nervous blue, thrumming with panic. Some could pass it off, putting on a brave smile for him, but he could see. Miguel could see every shift in hue that betrayed just how little HQ liked him.
But it didn't bother him. He was king of the world.
☆ ☆ ☆
Miguel's fangs dug into his lower gums as he ground his teeth through the debrief. It had been a shitshow, a group of rookies too unfamiliar with the terrain to do anything other than Fuck It Up had failed. Four of them, Spider-girl 2045, Huntsman, and the twins, Recluse and Widow. All young and stupid.
Currently, all four were talking over each other, halos flashing like disco balls as they bickered over who had the right story.
"I friggin told you, Wid, that's not the right street, it was definitely 45th-"
"Oh, suck my webshooter, that wasn't even the right universe-"
"Would somebody please figure it the fuck out before I send you all back to the void!"
A meek silence followed his rage. Miguel was heaving, red eyes glaring down at the comedy of errors beneath him. The kids stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. Shame and embarrassment swirled around them in a sludgy grey haze.
Shit. He did it again, he was trying to be better but they were so fucking annoying and it was loud and his head hurt-
"Go home," he seethed quietly, "figure it out, and come back when your heads are out of your asses."
Not waiting for another scathing word, the Spiders scattered.
With a bone rattling sigh, Miguel collapsed onto his desk frustratedly. Why was he like this? His temper was so blasted short, no matter how hard he tried to reign it in. Peter had a toddler for chrissakes and hardly ever raised his voice.
LYLA hovered over his shoulder, a knowing look on her face. He nudged his face further into his desk, ignoring her.
"Go 'way," he muttered, teeth scraping the plasticene surface. As always, she ignored him.
"You need help, Miguel. I mean it, hey don't-" her voice went stern as he reached to disable her.
"I don't wanna hear this again," he growled, fumbling for the controls.
"Well, I'm sure these kids don't wanna be screamed at again either, and your feelings are not more important than theirs."
His carmine eyes simmered with rage as he halted. She was right, of course she was right but god why did it hurt-
Shame licked his ribs and he ducked his chin.
LYLA took the opportunity.
"With the new universes we just discovered, there'll be a whole batch of new recruits. Is this really how you wanna run this? Christ, Migs, it's almost better to be independent than deal with you." at his huff, she crossed her arms. Prancing to the front of his chair, she tapped his nose.
"You can fix it, if you really want to. But who cares if they're saving the world when the world they live in has people like you?"
She blinked out of existence, as a shameful blush reddened his cheeks.
Fuck.
☆ ☆ ☆
Twenty new spiders would be arriving today at noon on the dot. Miguel could already feel the migraine coming on as he discussed logistics with Jess and Peter. Training, tours, watches, all the work was piling in his mind.
"Miguel?"
Jess' sharp tone brought him out of his reverie. She looked expectant, a stack of files outstretched. "Did you hear what I just said?"
His blank stare triggered an eye roll. "These Spiders need Multiverse tracking, so you'll take them to the Center at 2:30, yeah?"
Miguel acquiesced gruffly and snatched the files, Meeting adjourned, he waited for his office to be clear again.
Peter hung back, aura churning with conflict.
Oh boy, here we go.
"Hey big guy....up for a chat?" Peter's eyes were bright but wary, and Miguel shot him a weary look.
"I don't have time to chat, Parker, we've been over this," he bit out.
"It's important."
"I don't care, write me an email-"
"Huntsman is AWOL."
Miguel blinked, fiery words fizzling on his tongue. Impossible. He'd just seen him an hour ago, how could that be? Sighing impatiently, he began searching for the small boy on his wall of screens.
"Miguel."
"What."
"You scared him pretty bad, dude. I know you don't like to here this, and I'll try to keep the hippy-dippy to a minimum, but dude." Miguel struggled to make eye contact, hating the rare sincerity of Peter's tone.
"I mean..." Peter faltered, gesturing to the door. "Voidspace is no joke. Especially some of those kids, where they've come from...you gotta fix your stuff. That's not cool. Jess and I have been-"
You gotta be fucking kidding me.
"Don't look at me like that."
Miguel seethed out his nose, hands clenching and unclenching around his tablet. god, if only other people saw feelings the way he did, maybe they'd leave him alone.
"I," he spat, "am aware that my temper is...volatile. But-"
"No buts," Jess said from behind him. He whirled, suddenly feeling caged in. "How you talked to the recruits today was unacceptable. Don't act like you're above consequence," She said in response to his growl. "That behavior is appalling. We can find someone else to do this, you know."
His anger dissipated. She wouldn't.
"You wouldn't."
"If it meant helping the success of the next generation, I would."
Miguel, for once in a long time, felt the sting of tears in his throat. Sensing the shift, Peter gave him an awkward shoulder pat and retreated.
"We care about you man," he said gently, "but you gotta work this out."
With that, the door slammed shut, and Miguel was alone.
Again.
☆ ☆ ☆
He thumbed the corner of his sweatshirt, damp from his workout. Peter's conversation rattled around his brain. He didn't think he'd been that harsh. He never meant-
He never meant to hurt anyone.
But it was inevitable, wasn't it? No matter how hard he tried, someone always got hurt. His tongue was too sharp, his claws too fast.
Her form, small, clutched in his arms, deteriorating into pixels as she sobbed-
No.
He wasn't doing this again. Miguel stared at himself until he was sure the mirror would crack. They deserved better. He deserved better. It was cowardly, the way he hid from emotion.
Was that what it was?
Was he afraid? Afraid to reach out for it to snap back in his face? It seemed so childish, like there should be something more than the fear of other people keeping him at bay. Gabi was gone. There was no changing that. He knew that in his head, but his heart?
The roiling stew of his emotions made his chest tight. He couldn't do this, not right now.
Maybe tomorrow.
☆ ☆ ☆
It was late. Or early, depending on how you looked at it. Miguel was steadily working, a slight burn in his red-rimmed eyes the only indication that he was tired. Adrenaline buzzed through his veins, keeping his back rigid and muscles taut.
Another anomaly, another fight, another file. click-click-click went his keyboard, rhythmic in the the empty office.
Almost empty, that is.
Out of the corner of his eye, a soft shine radiated from the doorway. Biting back a sigh, he leveled his tired glare with the figure, mentally preparing himself for one of Peter's scoldings. But as the figure drew closer, he realized he didn't recognize the shimmery white aura or the person attached to it.
"Miguel O'Hara?"
A soft, lilting voice carried from the base of his tower. Miguel blinked, not recognizing the voice either.
"Yes?" He responded gruffly, wracking his brain for who the fuck could be visiting him at this time of night -
"Um...Can...Can you roll down? O-or something? I'm sorry, I just can't really see..." the sweet voice faltered and he rolled his eyes.
Maybe, if they'd waited till a reasonable hour to visit him, his chair would be in a more reasonable position. But nooo.....Regardless, he began the slow descent from his perch. As he grew closer to the ground, the pearlescent light grew more in focus. Miguel came to the conclusion that he definitely did not know you.
Your expression was patient and soft, standing with your hands folded and dressed in a comfortable sweater. You must be new; most seasoned Spiders wore suits out of convenience. A file was grasped loosely in front of you.
"I'm supposed to be working in the office next door, and it seems I wasn't given a keycard?" Your owlish gaze turned hopeful, and he was taken aback by your gentle gaze.
Miguel had never seen someone with such large eyes. Round and long-lashed, they exuded warmth and an innocence that reminded him of her
No.
Stop it.
"Uh, yeah, hang on a second," He fumbled for his watch and pushed past you, not waiting for you to follow. His mind was reeling, trying to recall if he was supposed to know who you were. Jess had mentioned an assistant, but he figured it would be someone less....soft. More experienced, that is. Besides, he didn't trust you. No way was he just shoving the fate of the universe in your hands, even though your eyes were nice and you didn't cower when he spoke-
Stop. It.
He exhaled loudly, trying to expel the thoughts with it. You stood next to him, ever patient. Your halo, he found, was still that shimmering white. It was a soft light, not glaring and oppressive like the colors of his teammates. It soothed his headache rather than aggravated it.
Realizing he was staring dumbly at the locked door, he sighed again and slid the keycard across the pad.
Error.
Miguel blinked. He had the master card, it applied to every door, what the hell? Trying again, he felt impatience coiling in his chest. What....
Peter. Peter had borrowed his card to let Mayday out of a lab she'd snuck into. He promised he'd return it by today, but knowing him....Today was not the day.
"I can't fucking believe this," Miguel muttered venomously, "he takes the most valuable piece of tech I have and fucking forgets to return it, that irresponsible piece of...shouldn't even be a father, gotta be kidding-"
"Miguel?"
He froze, having forgotten you were there. Shame tinged his cheeks. He'd done it again, fuck, he wasn't trying-
"If it's too much trouble, I can just get my card tomorrow." Your voice was calm and soothing.
He gawked.
You were still glowing with a soft white light, tinged only now by a slight pink hue. Sympathy. No fear, no ugly red anger or terror at his temper. your eyes. you looked him in the eye. you smiled at him. you wanted to help-
His throat, too closed up with confusion and pity and ugh that he merely grunted and ducked back into his office, leaving your soft gaze behind.
☆ ☆ ☆
God, it drove him crazy. Your patience. Your light. He could feel you from yards away, your little glow that was always warm, always kind. Your card arrived safely, and there wasn't another mishap between you two. Dove, you'd been nicknamed, for the way you flitted between jobs like a small bird.
Every day, you'd pitter-patter into his office on soft feet and explain the schedule to him, then go through the mission briefs with a gentle tone that didn't falter, even if he grouched about the conferences overriding his lunch break.
He didn't think he'd need an assistant. He could do it himself, had been forever. But you...helped. Your organization was impeccable, finding reason and structure where his brain only saw chaos. Miguel was terrible with time management, but you'd give him a gentle reminder that it was time for a break, or that the work was done and his brooding could be saved for tomorrow.
Go home, Miguel, you whispered kindly, tucking a bag of dessert into his large palms. I'll see you tomorrow.
Well, he'd see you sooner. He liked to think about you. It didn't feel like daydreaming, because you worked together and therefore thinking about you was thinking about work, technically. It puzzled him, how your patience never wavered. You'd heard the stories, comforted victims of his wrath. But your light only burned brighter with him, never dampened in contempt.
He noticed it first, at a work party. Miguel hated these functions, found them boring and tedious. Chatting about mundane things while nursing cheap wine and a migraine? He'd pass.
Except, when you arrived. Dressed in a soft purple sweater and a long skirt god he loved your sweaters, how warm and docile your eyes hidden shyly beneath your hair. He itched to walk over, but nerves rooted him to the spot. You were tucked against a wall, clearly uncomfortable, and as your gaze scanned the busy room...
you landed on him. and,
you glowed. radiantly, your nervous blue haze shimmered with a soft golden happiness, and you waved with a smile. Miguel swallowed thickly.
You were happy to see him. He, who never gave you more than two word sentences, who snapped and bickered and bit like a hissing cat, made your halo glow so bright it warmed his cheeks.
Nobody had ever felt that way about him. And it was so fucking stupid, the giddiness that made him dizzy. Decency was all it was. You were just being nice. And here he was, a blushing melting mess because you were happy to see him.
He looked forward to you even more after that. Slowly, he tried his best to bite his tongue, to keep the irritation from spewing. Instead, he tried fanning the flames with small talk, stumbling through conversation like a lovesick teenager. He could tell you were surprised, but you welcomed the change. You would sit at the edge of his desk and talk about random occurrences, silly mundane things that still made his cheeks ache from smiling. How the slowly brightening halo of light around you made him adore you more, even if you had to sheepishly apologize when it got too bright.
don't be sorry, mi luz, he wanted to whisper, i love to see you shine.
Then, inevitably, you would pad back to your office and your light would be gone. Miguel would pout at the loss, missing the gentle glow that made his chest ache.
So he decided to do something about it.
You were revising a plan against the latest anomaly, in sector AB-7. His tablet was clutched to you, and you were curled against his chair. The warmth emanating from your aura made him melt with adoration, eyes growing heavy-
"Migs?"
He hummed, still gazing. you'd picked up the nickname from his AI, and he wanted to curl up in your lap every time you said it.
"You look tired, I'll let you rest." You placed the tablet back on his desk and patted his shoulder god do it again please before turning-
"No?"
He murmured it, not quite pleading. You stopped, tilting your head in confusion. "you...can stay. There's room down there, if you still wanna work."
You didn't say anything, and he felt the words rush out. "It just- it just seems strange that you'd be working in a different office when you spend so much time here anyway, but don't worry about it, it's fine-"
"Migs," you said, so gentle it made his toes curl. "I'd love that."
And hence began the worst mistake of his productive career. Because now, you'd made a home in the corner of his space, and your softness was always there, so inviting for him to gaze at. He'd lost hours of working just staring.
He learned about you, learned what made you tick. How you weren't cleared to fight, which is why you could afford do dress so comfortable. Fine by him, he'd blow a fuse if something happened to you. As long as he could keep you tucked in his little haven, safe for him to admire, he didn't give a fuck.
Jess would raise her eyebrows at your constant presence, but his heart rate was lower and he smiled, she'd never been more terrified and shocked.
he was doing better.
Miguel soon found himself focusing all of his spare attention on you. Buying you sweaters, letting you watch your favorites movies on his widescreen, doing anything to make your light glow a little brighter.
This was....different. he hadn't had this, not for a long while. it made him nervous, a little undercurrent of shyness beneath his desire to make you smile. You were never as forward with him, kind as ever but at a distance. He would take what he could get, though. As long as your light kept shining, he'd bask in its warmth.
☆ ☆ ☆
God, what a meeting. He'd zoned out halfway through, so astronomically exhausted that he could barely keep his eyes open. His thoughts were consumed with the idea of taking a nap on the old sofa you'd shoved into his office. you'd be right next to him, reading and playing with his hair, oh god if only the clock would move faster- Miguel almost lept out of his chair when the meeting concluded.
His feet quickened back towards his office, feeling your light trickle under the door. close close there she is almost-
Oh. uh oh. uh oh uh oh.
He stood frozen, staring at his desk. You had made yourself comfortable in his chair, napping with your chin tucked and hair mussed and he felt his chest grow tight god what is happening to him good christ-
Miguel swallowed roughly and peered down at your closed eyes. Your aura was a soft pink, content and sweet. He wanted to hold you so badly. God, that's what he'd been needing. tuck you up in one of your devilishly soft sweaters and keep his little light all to himself.
It wasn't lust, his desire for touch. that felt carnal, too vile for you. He would never defile you like that, wanting only to watch you shimmer and preen with happiness. Little light, mi luz, so soft...
His eyes were shining with adoration as he looked at you. He didn't know how long it had been, and he didn't care. But after a moment, he realized sleeping on his straight-backed chair would hurt your back. he needed to move you. hold you on his lap, he was softer and warmer and god help him-
Taking a breath, Miguel slid his forearms under your curled form and lifted slowly, careful not to jostle you. Whatever love demon was inside keened with joy, and he wanted to weep. As he gently maneuvered you towards your comfortable armchair, he caught a shift in your body. Freezing again, he waited for you to finish squirming, finally settling with your head tucked in his neck.
And oh, mi luz
You were glowing warmer now, the faint blush shimmering gold against your hair. Miguel's lips quivered and he began to rock gently. His hands shook with care. He could feel the tranquility rolling off of you in heavy waves, making his eyes heavy and his heart full. You felt safe with him. Soft snuffling breaths against his collar and hands clutched loosely at his nape.
He was going to die. His chest burned with the need to shout, to scream with excitement. Finally finally, little soft light, all his to hold-
Miguel might have been squeezing too tight in his joy, because your brow pinched and you mewled in discomfort. He immediately hushed you, coaxing you back into golden sleep, stroking your cheek and brushing his lips over your cheek.
"Sleep, mi luz, I have you. I have you," he cooed, nudging his nose into your jaw. You sighed contentedly and murmured a good night as he gently laid with you in the armchair. He buried his face in your hair, shivering with the warmth that enveloped him.
☆ ☆ ☆
Wherever this was, he never wanted to leave. Miguel felt syrupy and languid, wrapped in a cocoon of something that felt divinely warm and safe and
"M..Migs?"
a rustle, and the lovely bundle in his arms blinked blearily at him. his locestruck eyes shone down at his little love, and he smiled gently.
"Hi, dovey," he murmured, rubbing your back, "sleep well?"
You nodded sleepily and scooted up, seated fully against his chest. your aura pulsed sluggishly, as is overrun with emotion. Miguel was too busy sweetly nosing your cheek to notice the hues dancing around your head. still half-asleep, you purred happily, dozing gently against his warm neck. Miguel kept up, suckling gently behind your ear and across your lips and everywhere he could reach without waking you. He could do this for hours.
the warmth was beginning to singe his hair though, and he hissed gently
"mi luz," he whispered lovingly, "dovey, bebita, my love," trying as gently as possible to rouse you. You whined at the wake up, doe eyes drowsy and unfocused.
"your halo, mi sol," he whispered, pecking your cheek, "getting a little warm is all." you blushed, quickly dampening the shining haze of love you had blanketed over the both of you. Miguel grunted and laid his head back again. You followed suit, curling against him as close as possible.
'love you,' your lips murmured into his skin.
'mi luz,' he said reverently, and his soft mouth soothed you back to sleep.
☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆
that's all folks! might do some lil drabbles off of this but idk yet. hope you enjoyed, requests are open, ilysm xox
teehee time for my weekly reread of this series!!
was just. hit. with a thought. you and anselm going down on blue at the same time, but one of you sucks his cock while the other eats him out, thrusting into his hole with your tongue. wanna make blue scream and cry from the pleasure (again)😵💫
I... I... shaking. This one sure did get away from me. (Thank you so much this thought is just *chef's kiss*)
Trine [3]
Anselm Vogelweide X Blue Jones X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Part One • Trine Masterlist • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • request info
Summary: Blue wakes up after the events of Anselm's dinner party.
Series Masterlist
Warnings: errrrrrrr, reader is married to Anselm, Anselm refers to reader as ‘my love’, Blue sort of being in subspace again, blow jobs, sixty nine, face fucking, ass eating, anal fingering, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, hand jobs, cumming on someone’s face, cream pie, begging, teasing, edging, not full blown choking but like squeezing someone’s neck during sex, Anselm being a little naughty consent wise - so I’m gonna say dubious consent, cum eating, dacryphilia, Blue really being in subspace, Blue being upset (he thinks he’s let reader down, he hasn’t)
Word Count: 4743
________________________________
The morning light sneaking through a gap in the curtains woke Blue. The angle perfect to get right in his eyes.
He sat up slowly, his muscles aching pleasantly.
He remembered the evening with you and Anselm, the warm bath and kisses after. A light meal and snuggled up pressed between you both in bed as he drifted off to sleep.
The bed was now empty.
Slowly he got up. He took the thin linen dressing gown (dark blue) from a hook on the door and put on the pair of slippers (also dark blue) by the bed. Where his clothes were from yesterday, he had no idea.
There was a little thud of anxiety in his heart as he made his way downstairs. If you were both out, surely you would have-
“Mr Jones?”
He jumped, turning quickly to face the butler who had apparently appeared from nowhere.
“Mr and Mrs Vogelwide are in the second dining room.”
“Right… thank you.” He paused, realising he had no idea where the dining room was let alone a second one.
His eyes lingered on Blue for a second. “I’ll show you the way.”
Blue nodded and followed a step behind. Heat rose to his face. What must this man think? What thoughts were running around in his mind? Did he wonder why Blue was walking around in very obviously just a dressing gown? Did he know? Did he care?
Suddenly Blue realised how low the neckline of the dressing gown really was, exposing the bites and sucked on bruises that littered his skin. He pulled at the material, trying to force it higher without loosening the belt.
The butler stopped and knocked on the wooden doors before opening them for Blue.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime sir.” He closed them the moment Blue set foot in the room.
It was a fair size, like the parlour, and further into the heart of the house. It was also more lived in, homely. Blue supposed that these were the rooms you and Anselm preferred to use yourself or with those closest to you. Leaving the large grandiose spaces for entertaining many guests, or gentle intimidation.
You were both sitting next to each other at the dining table, a variety of breakfast foods before you.
“Good morning.” Anselm smiled.
“Don’t you look absolutely ravishing in that robe?” You grinned, jumping up from your seat and walking over to him.
“Absolutely.” Anselm echoed.
“Thank you,” Blue smiled, all his insecurities melted away as you embraced him and kissed him deeply.
“Come,” you took his hand and led him to the table, pushing him down gently to sit in your seat.
“But aren’t you-” Blue tried to protest, but you just tutted at him and pulled up another chair so that you were now sitting directly on his left, Anselm on his right.
“Where’s my morning kiss?” Anselm raised his eyebrows teasingly, his tone made Blue flush, his breath catch in his throat.
“Sorry,” he mumbled quickly before moving forward and pressing his mouth desperately to Anselm's.
The older man chuckled.
“He hasn’t been up an hour and already you’re teasing him.” You pretended to scold your husband as you ran your fingers along the back of Blue’s neck, just dipping under the linen.
He shivered under your touch.
Anselm broke the kiss and grinned. “I’m doing nothing of the sort.”
“Hmm.”
Your husband winked at you before looking back to Blue. “Are you hungry? There’s food here, or if there’s something special you want we can get it for you.”
Blue opened his mouth to speak but cut himself off with a low moan as you pressed close to him and left wet kisses just under his ear.
Anselm watched with interest for a moment. “Now, what do you think you’re doing, my love?” His voice was low and rich. It would have made Blue’s cock twitch even without the added stimulation of your mouth on his skin.
“I’m hungry.” You whispered between kisses, lightly dragging your teeth against his pulse point.
Blue swallowed, he’d let you devour him. He’d let you do anything you wanted.
“Oh,” Anselm said innocently as he started to run his hand up along the inside of Blue’s thighs, pushing them further apart and slipping under the robe. “Are you?”
“Hmm.” You groaned against Blue’s neck, taking hold of his chin with your right hand and forcing his head back for easier access.
He moaned breathily, squirming a little as you dragged your left fingers over his chest, slid under his clothing, and pinched his right nipple.
You chuckled at the little high-pitched mewl he let out. “So sensitive.”
Blue was breathing rapidly already, his heart racing with every touch and word you both graced him with. “Please.”
“Oh, begging already are we?” Anselm tutted, inching his hand higher up Blue’s thighs and lightly caressing his balls.
Blue jumped at the sensation, gasping and whimpering as Anselm slowly massaged him with his right hand, using his left to press on Blue’s inner knee and his own leg to spread Blue as wide as possible.
Anselm shook his head, all mock disapproval, and turned to you. “He’s already rock hard.” He gripped the base of Blue’s cock, squeezing it briefly before going back to kneading his balls with his warm palm.
“Already?” You chastised.
Blue moaned, his mouth dry, his head light. Both of your gentle reprimands went straight to his cock. Made it twitch and smear precum against the inside of the dressing gown, the drag of the linen sparking deliciously against his weeping head.
“He’s such a needy thing.” Anselm sighed.
“So needy.” You tutted.
Oh god, he was. If you could just both keep talking like he wasn’t there, like he wasn’t worth speaking to directly, just a plaything for you both to toy with. He bit his lip hard, trying to stifle his moans.
You could both just play with him forever, lazy and disinterested and he’d thrive on even the smallest attention. The simplest praise. He’d be so good for you. He’d cum again and again, whenever you wanted, whatever you wanted. He’d do it all for you.
Your grip on his chin tightened and Blue’s eyes rolled back, the noise that escaped from his lips was obscene.
“Please, please, please,” the words came without a solid thought of what he was begging for, just the need for you both. For you both to keep touching him and loving him and keeping him safe as you used him like a disposable object.
He wanted to tell you, voice all these things he wanted you to do, but the full sentences just wouldn’t come.
Slowly Anselm dropped to his knees, still massaging Blue’s balls and the very base of his thick cock, as you stood, urging Blue up at moving him with you so that he stood with his back pressed against your chest.
You let go of his jaw to undo the belt at his waist and slip the robe off his shoulders.
Blue gasped, shuddered as the material fell and Anselm sucked the tip of his cock into his warm and eager mouth.
“Oh god,” he sobbed as Anselm deep throated him, easily taking him to the very base. Despite Blue’s previous experience with this particular skill of Anselms yesterday the sudden and intense pleasure was still a bit of a shock to the system.
He shuddered, his thighs clenching and you held him tight, sinking your teeth into his neck and running your hands over his chest.
You waited a moment, let Blue adjust to the feeling. His heart beat crazily under your hands, the filthy sounds of Anselm sucking and moaning at the taste of Blue’s precum echoed around the room.
Anselm kept pulling back, taking Blue’s cock completely out of his mouth and lapping at the head before slowly sinking all the way back down, watching Blue’s every expression with dark, hungry eyes.
Blue couldn’t even recall a time before when he’d had a blowjob like this, with someone so eager to consume every single part of him. God, if his girls could just give head half as good as this then he’d be a multimillionaire in less than a week.
“Blue,” you whispered close to his ear, your voice rich and velvet soft. The sound so sweet he nearly came right then and there.
He nodded desperately, not trusting his own voice.
“If you want us to stop at any point, say ‘red’, is that okay?”
He nodded again.
“Blue,” you put a little more command into your voice and he moved to look over his shoulder at you instantly. “What do you need to say if you want us to stop?”
“Red.” He breathed.
You smiled. “Good boy.” And kissed his cheek softly before you also sank to your knees.
Blue whimpered a little at the loss, craving your close presence and reassuring touch.
But then suddenly you were kneading his buttocks, pressing your fingers against his skin with a firmness that made him shudder and moan. He bucked forward, thrusting deeper into Anselm’s mouth and the older man growled approvingly.
Slowly you spread Blue’s cheeks, squeezing gently. You basked in the soft sounds of his hitched breathing before you inched forward and ran a board, flat lick over his hole.
Blue cried out. Pleasure erupting along every nerve. He grabbed a fist full of Anselm’s hair with one hand, the table with the other, to keep himself from falling, disintegrating under the dizzying onslaught of sensations.
You grin, moving your mouth away from him for a moment as Anselm still hungrily bobbed back and forth.
“Did you like that Blue?” You tease.
“Yes, yes,” he moans, the words falling out his mouth like a prayer. “Please.”
“Has anyone ever done that to you before?”
He shook his head rapidly, tears building in the corners of his eyes.
“Do you want me to do it again?”
The answer was instantaneous. “Yes, yes, please, please, I need you to, I need, oh!” He moaned so loudly as you leaned forward and did it again. Just as slow, relishing in the twitch of his muscles, his little gasps for breath.
“Ohgodohgodohgodohgod!”
Anselm pulled his mouth off Blue, swirling his tongue around the head once. “I think he likes it, my love.” He said before he sank back down.
You hummed an approving answer, sending the vibrations across Blue as you licked him.
“I do, I do, oh fuck, I do, so much! Please don’t stop!” He moaned again, tears spilling down his cheeks from the pleasure as you both worked his cock and asshole in tandem. Building him higher and higher to than tantalising peak.
He rocked back on the balls of his feet as you and Anselm urged him back and forth. Pleasure coiled so tightly in his belly, threatening to explode at any moment.
“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-” Blue sobbed as Anselm pulled back and off him.
Blue tried to tighten his grip in the older man’s hair, tried desperately to push him back to his needy cock. But Anselm quickly grabbed hold of Blue’s wrist, halting his actions with a dangerous look in his eyes. “Only good boys get to cum Blue.”
Blue recognised his mistake almost instantly, quickly letting go. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, please.” He sobbed.
You moved your mouth back, your hands still spreading his asscheeks. “Is Blue not being a good boy?”
Anselm slowly shook his head, not breaking eye contact with the younger man as he whimpered above him. “He’s being very bad.”
“Oh no.” You tutted.
“No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- oh god!” He moaned wantonly as you traced around his tight ring of muscle with the tip of your forefinger and pressed against it. Not enough to push inside, but just enough to make liquid lightning crack up his spine. He arched back into your touch, desperately and you giggled. Gently nipping at his left cheek before you dropped your hands to your sides.
“No, please,” he turned to you, begging for you to keep touching him.
“Shh,” you soothed, kneeling up and kissing his hip as Anselm stood, pulling off his own clothing.
Your husband moved to the sofa in the corner, his heavy cock hitting against his stomach as he walked. You got a perfect view of his ass as he laid down, shifting a little so that he was comfortably on his back.
When he was ready he made a slow come hither motion.
Blue tensed, unsure if he should leave your arms at first. You chuckled and gave his ass a playful smack, encouraging him to walk over.
Anselm took his hand softly as he approached, rubbing his thumb soothingly over his skin. Gently he directed the younger man to get on the sofa on top of him in the sixty-nine position.
Blue breathed unevenly, his mouth watering at just the idea of being able to take Anselm’s cock in his mouth again. He was so thick and wide. Red and leaking and just begging to be sucked.
Blue licked his lips as he got into place, carefully tracing his slit with the tip of his tongue and groaning.
Anselm chuckled, his dick twitching in approval. “So needy and eager, that’s it. Take it in your mouth.” He pushed at Blue’s shoulders lightly. “Remember what you learnt from before, not too fast and not too deep, relax your throat, don’t choke yourself.”
Blue moaned and nodded as he slowly eased down as far as he could.
“So good Blue,” Anselm moaned, turning his head to you and biting his lip as he held out his hand.
You took it, stroking your fingers through your husband’s hair, before you moved to stand with the armrest in front of you. In this position, you had a perfect view of Blue’s ass.
Softly you took hold of Anselm’s chin, tilting him up, and Blue’s cock guiding it down, until the head tapped against your husband’s lips.
Anselm’s breathing rose, a light flush of his skin as you controlled his movements. The sensation giddy in his stomach.
You opened Anselm’s mouth with your thumb, urging his bottom lip down before pressing Blue’s length into his hungry mouth.
Anselm moaned as he swallowed around him, shivering from the still controlling grip you had on his jaw.
Blue cried out in harmony, his sounds muffled by Anselm’s cock.
You watched them for a second, the tears on Blue’s cheeks, both of their lengths disappearing into each other.
Firmly you ran your hands up Blue’s thighs, spreading his asscheeks again and leaning over to lap at his needy hole.
Blue groaned, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy.
You were firmer this time, harder, just thrusting your tongue into his tight ring of muscle and making him squirm and buck helplessly.
It felt so good, he wanted to tell you, cry it out to you. Beg and beg and beg for you to keep going, for you to never stop.
You bent even more forward, leaning against the armrest for support and spreading him even wider.
He was so full, his mouth, his ass. Stuffed and just desperate for more. You grinded against him, forcing your tongue in deeper, pushing his hips up and down to roughly fuck your husband’s throat.
Anselm growled happily, grabbing hold of your hand on Blue’s hip and squeezing.
Blue sobbed. He was so close, so close. The edges of his approaching orgasm beginning to cloud his mind. His dick twitched in Anselm’s throat, his thighs shaking, stomach muscles contracting and-
Anselm pulled away from him with a loud pop.
Blue sobbed.
Your husband squeezed your hand, a whispered “stop, please,” coming from his lips.
You pulled your mouth away and looked down at him.
Blue forced Anselm’s cock deeper in his throat, gagging on it. Maybe if he made him feel good, maybe if he was good, he’d get to cum. Maybe if-
Your hands are soft but firm on his shoulders, easing him back off Anselm. “Blue,” you kiss his cheek, “sweetheart, you’ll choke.”
He sobbed, so horny and frustrated. “Please, I need it, please, I need to cum.”
“Shhh,” you kiss him again, soft and sweet. “Do you want to stop?”
His answer is instant. “No, please, I’m sorry.”
“No, I mean the teasing.” You rub soothing circles on his cheeks. “You can say red, we’ll stop. I’ll make sure you cum straight away.”
He relaxed into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “I don’t want to stop, I like it.”
“Okay, good.” You kiss his lips again. “I just wanted to check.”
“Thank you.” He whispered, floating and weightless for a second like he was supported completely by your touch.
Anselm kisses Blue’s thigh before flicking his tongue over the length of his dick and smiling when Blue shudders.
“Come on Blue,” Anselm begins to shift underneath him. “Time for us to change places.”
You help Anselm to move Blue so that he’s lying flat on his back on the sofa, he looks up at you both with large eyes.
“You’re wearing too many clothes, my love.” Anselm trails his lips along your neck, slowly running his hands over your body.
Blue moans softly as he watches you lean back against him, arch into his touch as he undresses you.
Anselm makes a bit of a show of it. When the last piece is finally off; he presses his chest to your back, rubbing his cock against the swell of your ass and spreading your folds for Blue to see.
You moan softly as he kisses your neck, sucking lightly as he plays with your clit. His eyes locked onto Blue the whole time.
You start to writhe under Anselm’s touch, he knows every single trick and move to work you to your release as quickly as possible. But he's steady and slow, gently working his thick fingers in and out of you and groaning as your slick coats his skin.
Languidly, he lifts up your right leg and rests your foot against the edge of the sofa, so that Blue can see even more clearly, before he starts his slow torture up again.
Blue watches mesmerised. His eyes flitting from Anselm’s face and his mouth on your neck, your face and how you gasp in pleasure, the way he rolls your left nipple in one hand, your chest as it rises and falls, how his fingers sink into you, the slick coating them.
The sounds of your arousal are obscene, growing louder and louder as he keeps working you over, needing you wetter.
Blue’s cock aches painfully. Burning arousal thumping between his legs.
Finally, Anselm seems satisfied. He slowly draws his fingers out of you, making sure you’re stable before moving to the side cupboard and taking something out.
“I want you to ride him, my love, please.”
You nod, your thighs a little shaky from how he stretched you open. “Is that okay with you Blue?” You ask.
He nods desperately, holding his arms out to you as you climb on top of him and straddle his thighs.
He lets out a little whimper and sob, relief overwhelming him like the buzz of a drug. You kiss his tear stained cheeks as you line him up with your entrance and sink down. He’s hot and heavy in your hand, and you don’t tease.
Blue throws his head back in a silent scream as he fills you. Your tight heat a remedy to the deep agony of his arousal.
He moans, holding your hips tightly as you bounce up and down on him, fucking him perfectly into the sofa. He sobs, relief flooding his veins. So good, so good, so good. He fights to keep his hips still, to just let you use him, to be your good boy and just take whatever you’ll give.
“Thank you, thank you,” he mewls, fresh tears in his eyes from just how perfect it is.
“You’re so good Blue, such a good boy.”
He moans loudly, biting his lip in an effort not to cum and fill up your sweet pussy. “Please!” He grabs your right hand and presses it against his throat, squeezing your fingers against his skin and begging you with his eyes.
You get the hint instantly and can’t help but groan as you press firmly against his neck, not enough to choke him, but just enough so that he can really feel it.
Blue cries out, putting both his hands back next to his head as if you pinned them there, closing his eyes and completely giving into you.
Every breath is a moan, every movement just another dizzying push, edging him nearly to finally burying that sweet ache.
He mumbles your name constantly between hiccups of pleasured gasps.
Yours. Yours. Yours.
Anselm lets out a long groan, jerking himself off desperately as he watches you both. His length is covered in lube from the small bottle he pulled out of the cupboard.
You hold your free hand out to him, beckoning him closer and he moves into your touch instantly, pressing his chin into the palm of your hand.
You pull him closer and kiss him softly as you ride Blue. Anselm moans into your mouth, his hand a blur on his cock, the slap, slap, slap of skin filling the room.
He breaks the kiss, pressing himself close to your side and nuzzling into your shoulder.
“You both look so good.” He mumbles. “Want to watch this every day.”
You kiss his forehead, his sweat salty on your lips.
He gazes down at Blue. The younger man’s eyes are slightly dazed over, his mouth open.
Anselm can’t help himself, he takes his hand off his cock briefly to hurriedly pour lube over his forefinger before taking himself back in hand.
He reaches his finger down, sliding it between Blue’s slightly open legs and presses the tip against his puckered hole.
Blue gasps, a different sound from his others. The pitch higher.
It takes you a moment to realise what is going on, a flash of anger cutting through the pleasure in your core. You grab hold of Anselm by his hair, forcing him closer to you. He lets out a little shuddered breath, still sinking in and out of Blue and still pumping his own cock.
You don’t slow the pace of your hips but you snarl at your husband. “Did you ask permission?”
He bites his lip and shakes his head.
You look back to Blue, softly touching his cheek as you grind down on him, your voice sweet. “Blue, baby, you okay?”
He nods desperately.
“You okay with what Anselm’s doing?”
He nods again. “Yes, yes, please. More.”
You smile. “Of course, good boy.”
As you turn back to your husband you tug his hair again, pulling his mouth to yours. You kiss him harshly, all tongue and teeth, and bite at his bottom lip before you pull him back.
He stares at you, hazy and breathless.
“Ask permission next time.”
He nods, mouthing ‘I’m sorry’.
“Or I’ll punish you.”
Anselm’s eyes close as your words, a deep groan rising from his chest.
You tug his hair again. “And not in a way you’ll like.”
His eyes snap open, blown wide with lust and he nearly cums on the spot. “Please.”
You smile wickedly, your fingers curling around the back of his neck as Anselm slides his forefinger past Blue’s ring of muscle and groans at how tightly Blue squeezes around him.
Blue eyes go wide as Anselm sinks into him, his back arching uncontrollably.
He lets out the softest moan, an almost strangled sound as pleasure explodes along every nerve, flaying him raw.
He cums deep, bucking and thrusting and screaming his throat red. He can’t stop moving, can’t stop cumming as more and more spurts out of him, filling you completely.
Anselm moans watching him, biting into your shoulder. You keep bouncing, trying to prolong his pleasure for as long as possible.
You slow and stop as he does, keeping him deep inside. Anselm slowly eases his finger out of Blue, leaving him strangely empty.
Blue’s mind is foggy, hazy from how hard he’s cum. He swallows, blinking heavily. “I’m sorry,” are the first words out of his mouth.
“Blue,” you soothe, “what are you talking about?” You lean down so you can kiss him gently.
He kisses you back, tears in his eyes. “I finished before you’d cum.” He lets out a small sob, but unlike his previous pleasured filled ones, this is painful and cuts into your chest.
“Hey, hey, hey,” you hush, kissing his nose. “I don’t mind, hmm? I don’t mind.”
He looks up at you, trying to calm down as you stroke his cheeks. He nods.
“I liked it, you understand? Liked seeing you cum, liked that you felt so good. Okay? You’re my good boy for cumming like that, did it feel good? Cumming that hard?”
He nodded desperately, his eyes still shining. “Yes, yes I did. Loved it, love you.”
“I love you too.” You kissed his lips again.
Anselm bites his lips together, trying not to ruin the sweet moment but unable to stop fisting his length. The tears on Blue’s cheeks, fuck, how he wanted to smear them all over his cock.
You sit up and glance at your husband, a small smile on your face at how worked up he is.
“You gonna cum, hmm?”
He nodded, unable to speak, so close, so close. Just a little more.
“I want it.” Blue moaned, suddenly desperate for it. He opened his mouth and held out his tongue.
Anselm groaned loudly. You guided him, your hand on your husband's arm, towards Blue. He was sure he wouldn’t have made it without your steadying touch.
He jerked himself quickly, pleasure so tight in his muscles, tried to aim, and, and-
“Shit!” Anselm spurted all over Blue’s face, his tongue, his cheeks, some of it even hitting his eyebrow and lashes.
Blue moaned as it hit him, revelling in it and letting Anselm squeeze out every last drop.
Anselm breathed heavily, his whole body turning to jelly. You wrapped your arms around him to stop him from collapsing back and helped him to sit on the floor as best as you could with Blue’s softening cock still in you.
“Okay?” You kissed your husband’s forehead.
He nodded, breathing hard.
“Blue?”
He nodded as well, his dick twitching. Slowly he looked up at you with lust blown eyes. “Want to make you cum now.”
You smiled. “Blue, you don’t hav-”
“Please?” He pouted. How could you say no to that?
You got off him gently, making a little bit of a mess on his cock and abdomen that Anselm hurriedly cleaned up with his tongue. He even went to lick away the spend that was left on Blue’s face but he shook his head. “Not yet.”
Both you and Anselm let Blue direct you softly. Anselm sat back onto the sofa, his back against the armrest, you between his legs with your back to his chest and your husband’s arms around you.
“Is this how you want us?” You checked and Blue nodded as his eyes raked over both of you.
Slowly, his muscles aching, he laid flat on his stomach, his face between your legs.
You didn’t last long. Blue ate you out like a starving man, curling his tongue and sucking his spend from your throbbing pussy. Some of Anselm’s cum that still clung to Blue’s cheeks rubbed onto your thighs, as Blue moaned and lapped, and stared up at you like you hung the moon.
You came against his lips with one hand bent back and holding the back of Anselm’s head, your husband’s mouth on your neck.
You coaxed Blue up and into your lap, all three of you wrapping each other in your embraces. Just holding tight.
After a long moment you frowned. “Why was there lube in the cupboard?”
“Forethinking, my love.”
You snorted and Blue nuzzled into your chest.
“How did you know we’d need it in here?” You asked.
“Ah,” Anselm smiled, rubbing Blue’s back and kissing your head. “Well that’s easy, I put some in every room in the house.”
____________________________________
Thank you for reading!
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opinions on rewrites?
I'm thinking of rewriting some of my original oneshots
I am reaching a part of my story featuring flashback. I am asking for a advice.
Should the flashback be from first person perspective as is happening in real time or past tense as the narator remince of the events that happened?
depending on the context of the flashback, but generally I'd write it in past tense. If you are doing a formatting switch like italics to write the flashback in that might work too...you just want something to let the audience know it's a flashback and not the current storyline.
third person is my personal favorite to write in for flashbacks, but whatever you like best! try writing a couple versions and pick your favorite.
(also check out my blog @pygmi-says-hi for most of my writing advice!)
clever boy - MK x GN!reader
reader gender is not described could be literally anything. inspired by this post that made me giggle for ten minutes
sfw, no risky content, just silly cuteness. jake isn't mentioned sorry lockley stans but maybe I'll do another version w him <3
Steven and Marc, Marc and Steven. The two of them, peas in a pod. Keeping each other company in Steven's tiny flat.
Until, you.
You'd caught both their eyes, really, but Steven called dibs because he was fronting when you'd met. Though, Marc argued, he was feeding the poor guy lines because he was blushing so hard he couldn't think straight.
From the first day, Steven wanted to jump the gun and tell you how pretty you were and invite you over forever and gush and gush but no. Marc was patient, reminding him to breathe, to take his time. They were in this together, and he didn't want his hope for your affection to be crushed by his headmate's eagerness.
So Steven sat back, hands wringing his sleeves and a stupid smile smarting his cheeks. You thought he was the sweetest thing you'd ever seen. His sass made you keel over laughing, listening to his funny recounts of ignorant customers or mishaps on the bus.
He was sweet and pretty and so, so clever.
Which is what first planted the seed of doubt that he didn't like you the way you liked him. Steven, as much as he stuttered, was sharp as a tack. He loved puzzles and trivia and escape room games (though the real thing made his hair stand on end). You thought for sure he'd sniff you out in an instant; your growing crush wasn't discreet.
But he never mentioned it, never made a move, nothing. Marc, whom you'd met a few weeks later, was also very smart. He liked deeper conversations, and his warm gaze would be intensely focused on whatever subject you'd picked. Surely, if Steven missed your hints, Marc would give him a wink and a nudge and bam, game on.
Still, nothing but platonic smiles.
Little did you know, a tug of war was raging in your friend's mind the second you left his flat.
The three of you shared a wall, so Marc ensured his whisper-fights with Steven stayed quiet.
"Too soon," Marc hissed into the kitchen mirror. It was small and round, and you had left a little sticky note with a smiley face on it for them to see in the morning.
Steven was tearing his hair out in the small frame, eyes round and watery. Mate, I've never had this much courage to do anything in my life, you know that, please, it can't be that bad!
Marc gritted his teeth. Naive little Steven.
"What if you scare them off, huh? We've known them for a month and you think they'll jump in just like that?"
Steven paused his worrying, realizing for the first time the kind of fallout that might occur. His cow eyes saddened, imagining the empty space that would replace you, if you didn't reciprocate. He couldn't live with that.
"Just a bit longer," Marc sighed, rubbing his face. He needed to sleep. Steven continued to fume, for once at odds with his best friend.
You'd noticed his distance. Steven, always happy to see you, had withdrawn. He waved quietly in the morning, and mumbled a good night when you passed his door. It stung. Marc was stoic as ever, but his jaw was tighter and he didn't look you in the eye.
Something was wrong.
So, like any good friend would, you picked up takeout and a few movies and knocked on Steven's door.
It took a few moments, but your favorite mop of curls soon peeked out from behind the frame.
"Oh, erm, uh, heya, sorry, did we plan something? I, um," Steven still didn't look you in the eye, fumbling with the latch as he stuttered through an apology. You stepped forward and touched his shoulder.
Smiling what you hoped was gently, you eased his worry. "I just wanted to say hi. I brought snacks," you said, holding up the warm bag of food.
Still nervous, Steven nodded and beckoned you inside.
Bollocks, he griped. Marc was having a conniption, trying to come up with a reason to push you back out. It's raining, Steven pleaded, and we haven't hung out for ages and Thai smells really good and they've got that cute sweater on-
That's the problem, Marc tossed back, you'll trip all over yourself like a fool. Lemme front-
Steven had to bite his lip to stop from yelling his dissent. He'd been pestering Marc to invite you over for days, now was his chance.
You were dividing the curry and rice into equal portions while he poked through the movies and games you'd brought. There were a couple of his favorites, Clue, James Bond (The originals, of course) and some he didn't recognize.
"Hey, what's this?" He grabbed a small box and peered at it. You paused your chopsticks and leaned over.
"Oh," you said around a mouthful of rice, "I dunno, Rachel from work recommended it." You picked at your food as he flipped it over to read the back.
20 Questions, it was titled. Forty different cards, each with a subject. One person had the subject and the other had to guess what it was in twenty questions or less. Only three hints allowed and nothing made-up.
"Let's do it," Steven decided. He enjoyed a challenge and if it meant he could hear your lovely voice, he wasn't complaining. Marc had fallen silent, taking to brooding in the background. Probably for the best - he wasn't very good at puzzles.
You wiped your hands on a napkin and took the first card.
"A classic movie," you read. Steven rocked on his heels for a moment, fiddling with his plate.
"Got it," he said.
You knew what to start with. Steven loved classic movies, but none of the scary ones. Probably something historical.
"Does it take place in the last fifty years?"
He nodded, chewing. One.
"Does it have a female protagonist?" Two.
He shook his head gleefully. That familiar Steven sparkle was back, and it eased the worry in your head. He wasn't so off, then. Maybe just a bad week.
"Does the man have a whip?" You were grinning, sure you'd got it. Steven's lips twitched - he knew he'd been found out.
It took only two more questions for you to guess Indiana Jones, to his shock. You blamed it on luck rather than the adorable predictability of your friend.
Steven's turn next, and it took him halfway to guess "Fondue" at Favorite food. You went back and forth, giggling at each other on the floor of his rainy flat. Steven protested when you argued that he couldn't use himself for Favorite Superhero.
"I am a hero," he wheedled, gesturing to the Moon Knight stuffie you'd got him as a joke.
"Yeah, but you can't guess yourself," you argued. Nowhere in the rules did it say that, but it felt good to have your bickering sessions. You'd missed this - bantering over stupid issues with tummies full of food and a fun game to play.
Steven blushed when you mentioned it. "Sorry," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "I got busy, 'n Marc was being pissy 'cause - yeah you were, don't be a knob," he muttered to himself. Your grin twitched at the mention of your other friend.
"How is Marc?"
He swallowed thickly. "Uhm...he's, uh, he's swell. Hang on, sorry-" There was a pause as he flickered between scowling and mumbling.
You ignored his stuttering and resumed eating. He needed space at the moment; Marc was probably arguing over something. You didn't want to make them uncomfortable.
"Sorry," Steven said sheepishly. "My turn, yeah?"
Setting down your empty plate, you nodded. Flipping a card, you saw alarm flash across his face. You laughed nervously.
"What?"
He swallowed and smiled nervously. "Nothing, nothing. Ah, I guess, we can skip it if you want...?"
You snatched the card and froze. Longtime Crush.
Fuck. Stay calm, this will be fine. A door of opportunity glowed in your mind, and you smiled.
"No. Let's do it."
Steven, still wary, nodded and tried to push away the intense shame inside. This was going to crush him. He could feel Marc's annoyance through the barrier. Told you so. Not wanting to ruin your game, he soldiered on.
"Is...are they...a man?" You nodded, eyes glittering. God this was worse than torture.
"Have you known him very long?"
You thought about it. "Yeah, I guess. Feels like forever." Great, you'd had a childhood crush all along. He never stood a chance. Marc was burying his head in his hands. Steven wanted to push him to the front so he could have a good cry, but he needed to face it. His fault you were here anyway.
"Do you see him at work?"
"N....Sometimes," you added. He scrunched his nose.
"Whaddya mean sometimes? Either you do or you-"
"Next question," you laughed. Steven wracked his brain.
"Oh, bugger, uh...." he didn't want to pry, but he couldn't think of anything.
"Need a hint?" You were on the verge of cackling. Grumpily, he shook his head.
"Does he live nearby?"
"Definitely."
He pursed his lips, thinking of your small social circle. Your work was a tiny office, there had to be a few guys that he knew.
"Does...Is he friends with our friends?"
You nodded. "He's very close."
He had to be missing something. "Fine, gimme a hint."
"Well," you began, smile stretching to the moon, "he's very clever. He'd like this game, I think. He likes to laugh, but he can be quite serious too." Ignoring the fact that you'd given him two hints, Steven's heart wilted as he noticed the starry look in your eyes. Whoever this guy was, he was a lucky chap.
Marc was miserable, gloominess radiating. Steven felt awful, he hadn't meant for this to go so poorly. Just get through the questions, Marc grumbled.
"Where does he work?"
You tapped your chin. "Well...he's got two jobs."
His eyebrows raised. "Busy fella, huh?"
"Yeah." Your lips quirked. "Almost seems like he's two people."
"What's his jobs, then?"
"Let's see...it's very unconventional," you said slowly, a cute smile on your face, "Sorta self-employed."
Steven cocked his head at the confusing answer. Self employed? That's not really a second job. Marc shrugged. We're kinda self employed, so it could be.
It was strange how many similarities he found between himself and this mystery man.
"I'll give you a hint," you said after the moment dragged. Steven vehemently shook his head.
"No, I've got it, swear."
You giggled. "it won't count, promise. He's got a pet fish."
Steven threw up his hands in exasperation. "How've I never met this man?! We sound almost identical, I'm sure I'd remember him!"
You were bent over laughing now. He sat there, bewildered, while Marc watched with growing understanding.
Steven, he hissed. Steven, hang on.
Stop being a spoilsport, I know you're mad, Steven retorted, too invested in the game.
"Marc's met him," you said between fits, tears streaking your cheeks. Marc opened his mouth again but Steven waved him away.
"Nuh uh, I can do this," he said determinedly. STEVEN! Marc was shouting now, thumping his hands in vain.
You'd stopped laughing, grinning like a loon while you waited. He'd get it now, surely, you hoped, the fading laughter revealing your anxiety.
Steven had short-circuited, eyes flicking around like a pinball machine.
"You're clever," you murmured, "you'll get it."
He snapped out of it and raked a hand through his messy curls. "Hang on, hang on, what? This doesn't- how can he be friends with our friends when the only man friend you've got is me?" He was genuinely perplexed, triggering a sympathetic smile from you.
Marc was in fits now, and Steven was getting a headache. Oi, Marc, chill out a bit, yeah? I'm trying to-
Steven for once in your life listen this is important oh my God-
"What?" he relented, mouthing sorry at you. Marc heaved a breath and closed his eyes.
You. Us. Steven, it's so obvious.
Steven rolled his eyes. "Me? You've lost it, mate, really, you've gone mad."
He froze, clapping a hand over his mouth. "Oh my days, sorry, I didn't mean to guess so soon, sorry-"
You did nothing but grin, leaning closer. "Clever boy," you whispered, then pressed your lips to his.
Marc fainted.
Steven, sweet man, had frozen, too preoccupied with his internal screaming do understand what was happening.
Oh.
oh.
His hands found their way to your cheeks and he giggled, the sweet sound muffled against your lips. It was clunky and off-centered, but it was real and he was laughing and every insecurity he'd ever had vanished in a puff of smoke.
You pulled back for a breath, but Steven hadn't finished, chasing after you with a huff. Marc, finally back online, was sitting in a lovesick stupor. Your lips were soft and your hands were rubbing soothingly down his back. A quiet solitude had blanketed the flat, now dark. Steven leaned his head on your shoulder and you hugged him tight, smiling into his neck. The two of you breathed together, winding down from the excitement of your game.
Once you'd sufficiently relaxed, you pulled away and were met with Marc's twinkling gaze.
"Y'know, I was the one that gave Steven the head's up, so I think I-"
"C'mere you," You huffed, peppering his cheeks in light pecks. He preened, taking a heavy sigh of relief. Marc leaned in and captured your lips, licking gently into your mouth. He'd definitely had more practice, and your heart sang with joy.
Game over, plates empty and hearts full, you curled up and watched the rain pitter-patter in the warm comfort of your home.
yes i think steven loves james bond. he is the type to try and figure out the mystery along with the movie. also 100% knows all cinema trivia Ever To Exist. Marc hates it.
xox thank uuuu
part 2