hello hello! i’m m, i’m 20, and my pronouns are she/they. i’ve been writing random stuff here and there for a bit, but i’m still new at creating anything that more than one person will see (i’m looking at you @15-dogs). most of my stuff will be poetry (if you can call it that) or just random shitpost writing things, but stay tuned for my random villain-complex tangents and (maybe) fics about whatever hyperfixation i’m stuck on in the moment. i hope you’ll stick around!!
Excuse me but influence was so good. Top tier. I cannot put into words how amazing and well written it was. I am very excited to see what you write in the future!
oh my goodness thank you!
this means so much to me and i’m really glad you liked influence;-;
(please only consume this content if you are 18+, this fic contains sexual themes that may not be the most appropriate for younger audiences. thank you!)
it’s my first post! im still very much testing out the waters with my writing style, so i am totally open to any (constructive) criticisms you guys have (ex. nicknames you’d like me to use, certain things you’d like me to write about,etc.) i hope you enjoy!
- mel (a.k.a. melons 🍉)
Clay has been on a call, talking with George and Nick for a while since you got home. Usually, you’re understanding about the hours that go into the behind-the-scenes of his channels -- even encouraging him to work when he’d rather spend the days cuddled in the Florida apartment you share. This time, however, you’re not having a good day. After countless incidents with stubborn customers and a run in with some family you’d distanced yourself from, all you could think about was getting home to Clay and Patches. When you got home though, he seemed too preoccupied to even say “hi”. You hopped in the shower, hoping that he’d be a bit more attentive by the time you were done. After finishing your shower and changing into comfier clothes, you go to ask him if he’s nearly done. Surprisingly, you’re only met with a cold “no” and nothing else. You leave and go to the bedroom, annoyed with his sudden coldness towards you.
Clay notices your stiffness in response to him. “Shit- one sec guys, sorry. I think y/n’s mad at me. I, uh, I think I should log off for the night anyway, we’ll finish this tomorrow. George, make sure the coding for the video is all set please. I’ll talk to you guys later.” He quickly moves from his chair to the closed bedroom door. Concerned, he tries to apologize. “y/n? I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be so harsh. We’ve just been working on the code for this video all day and-”
You stand about a foot away from the mirror, arms crossed, facing away from him. Noticing your bothered demeanor, he starts to walk towards you. His footsteps were firm and purposeful, but soft. He knew that heavy footsteps made you nervous and he didn’t want to make you even more upset than you already seemed.
“y/n? Little flower...” he says in a somewhat soft and teasing tone -- he knew you had a weak spot for that nickname. You feel your hair stand on edge as he approaches you from behind, his brooding figure towering over you in the mirror you now share. You try to keep looking down, but can’t help but shoot him a glance in the reflection. This glance shows the both of you that there’s more than just anger on your mind.
“Oh, c’mon now, look at me. You know how I love those gorgeous eyes of yours.” His arm snakes around your waist, grips your left hip and spins you to face him. As he steps closer, you step further, determined to maintain your authority. Soon enough, your upper back meets the cool mirror you were just staring into. He reaches out with his pointer finger, tilting your chin upwards to meet his gaze. “Chin up for me, baby.”
For a moment, you forget that you’re supposed to be angry with him. You drown in his glare, swimming in his olive green eyes and taking in the universe that seemed to exist behind them. “There’s my baby, just look into my eyes,” he says, noticing the sudden softness in you. “See the love I have for you, I know you can feel it.” You snap out of it, but as you try to look away, his hand moves to the back of your head to keep you where you are. He thinks for a moment before speaking, his thumb narrowly brushing your cheekbone and the area under your left eye. You love when he makes his thinking face, when you can see the gears in his beautiful mind turning. Even more, the anticipation of what he’s going to say next.
He moves his right hand from the nape of your neck to match the other, which is firmly planted on the wall on the other side of your head. “You try to act like this stubborn little thing, like you’re looking for a reaction. I know you’re not bitter like this, and when you are it probably means you’ve had a bad day. Even so, this whole act you’ve got going is a bit more exaggerated than it usually is.” Shit. You really were frustrated, and you know your feelings were valid. But at the same time, you know that your stress can sometimes require more...sensual coping mechanisms.
“Your stress tends to make you a little more bratty from what I’ve seen. All this while I know that the only thing I have to do is whisper a couple special words into your ear and slowly...run my fingers...down your body…” He trails off in thought, tracing your body in a way that sends goosebumps spiraling everywhere. He starts to lower his voice to a tone that he knows is another weakness of yours, and continues his sentence. “...And you’ll be melting at my touch. Isn’t that right baby? Show me how you melt for me, you know how I love it.” As your eyes flutter closed, you can feel your knees go weak and your head spin at his words. He lowers himself to be at eye level with your waist, running his hands down the back of your thighs.
“You...You know exactly what you're doing don’t you? I-I’m supposed to be mad at you here. You’re being incredibly i-inconsiderate right now-” you struggle to exclaim, losing the sharpness you intended to add with those words.
He whispers, “Oh am I?” Noticing the faltering in your knees, he tightens his grip. As he slowly moves his hands back up towards your back, your legs give out. When you fall to your knees, he stands and looks down at you with an air of satisfaction in what he’s accomplished.
“Look at you. My little mess, not even able to stand after my hands make contact with your skin. When I asked you to show me how you melt for me, I didn’t think you would actually end up on the ground but...I do like looking at you from this angle.” You feel yourself getting wet and look up at him, face red from embarrassment. He can tell by the look on your face (and the small squeal that you happened to let out as you fell) that you’re unsure of what to do. He kneels back down beside you, placing his hand by your crotch, where you knew he’d feel the heat and dampness radiating from your core.
“My goodness, already a whimpering mess for me,” he says, tucking a bit of hair that fell into your face behind your ear with his free hand. Seeing your fluttering eyes, he slowly and teasingly inches his fingers closer to your clit, noticing the wet patch on your underwear. “Oh, what’s this? A puddle forming already? Poor little flower, do you want me to help with that?” You nod, prompting him to pick you up bridal-style and carry you to the bed.
“T-thank you,” you mutter quietly.
“Of course, baby, anything for you,” he whispers. “You know how much I love you. Now, relax and breathe steady for me. I’ll be expecting more from where all that came from…”
