You really did expect him to laugh it off. To scoff and roll his eyes. Think it was a joke and brush it aside. Maybe even remind you he's straight and he's not comfortable with all that. But he didn't. And now...well, now you're stuck in the middle quite literally.
(Threesomes, sub reader, sub Herm, dom Robert, Herm is a munch, Robert had ED, PV sex, finger sucking, messy make outs)
Prompt 3 of Dispatching Pride
When you suggested it to Robert, you expected him to laugh. To think it was a joke and nudge your shoulder, telling you to knock it off before realising you were serious and then gently turning you down. Because you didn't need it. He didn't need it. Having each other was more than enough.
But you couldn't get it out of your head.
A dirty little thought that circled the gutter of your mind.
A dirty little thought that could go very badly. That had so much weight even outside of just spicing things up in the bedroom. Because asking to invite someone in was implying that he wasn't good enough. That you wanted something he couldn't supply.
A working cock.
But he didn't laugh. Didn't get upset or insecure. Didn't turn you down or give you heavy looks that filled your face with shame.
No.
He smiled.
Wicked and excited. Lips curling in a calculated way as he double-checked you were sure, went over boundaries and asked for any first choices.
But you didn't have any. You just wanted someone he could trust.
So he picked.
And oh God he picked well.
Tall and wet and oh so eager. Laying on his stomach between your legs as Robert held you. Nipping at your throat and playing with the soft flesh of your belly. Flicking pert nipples and fondling your breasts. All while Herm's tongue slid deep inside you. Sucking and lapping. Drinking you down with pleading eyes and muffled whimpers. Your hands tangled in wet locks and hips squirming.
"You're doing so good, Herm. Keep going, just like that. I can feel her getting close"
He bite your neck. Lapping at the indents, smirking at the way your breath hitched. Herm pulling away, just for a second to catch his breath. Pupils blown and looking up at Robert with the worse cause of puppy dog eyes you had ever seen. Your clit twitching at the sight of his chin soaked in your slick.
"T-thank you, sir"
And then he was back. Tongue deep. Nose rubbing your clit and moans vibrating through to your very core. Panting and sobbing out pathetic little noises as your head rolled back on Robert's shoulder. Hips jerking and bucking. Squirming helplessly as you felt it. That familiar tightness.
"Robert...please"
It was a whisper. A whimpering plea. One that he liked too much. Smirked too devilishly at. Hand rubbing down your arm. Finding your fingers and clamping them down harder on ginger locks.
"Go on. Hold him down, make him drink it all up"
And with that, you were gone. Screams caught in your throat, gurgling out your lungs as you came. Juice flowing down his wet throat. Panting at how he moaned and sucked. Burried in it. Lost in it. Humping the matress. Sucking your very core until you felt like you would break. Pushing and pulling against Robert's grip until he let go. Let him come up for air. Gulping it down as Herm watched him pull you in for a kiss. Sucking on your tongue and biting at your lips. Your body shaking and twitching. Arms limp and weak. Thighs trembling.
"You're so pretty when you cum"
Herm nodded. Licking his lips. Roberts eyes trailing down his body. Sat on his knees with his cock leaking down to his balls. Tip red and slapping his stomach. Face covered in slick.
"But I think Herm is looking a bit neglected there. So hard and untouched. How about you help him out?"
Your eyes couldn't stay open. Exhausted and spent. But you knew what that meant. You knew what Robert wanted. So you spread your legs over his knees. Let him keep you open and exposed as you reached down and spread your pussy lips wide open.
"Oh lor-fuck. Can I-am I allowed, sir?"
Robert hummed. Kissing your neck. Stroking your arms. Soft praise and love unspoken as he prepared to push you to your limit.
"Of course you are, Herm. You've been so good. You deserve it"
And he did. He really did. Throat coated in your slick. Cock bobbing and hair a mess. Asking for permission and thanking you both so well. He was such a good boy. So easy to train.
He picked well.
Robert always picked well.
So well that Herm hesitated, licking his lips as he lined up. Tip pushed no more than a centimetre into your cunt before he was stroking your belly and thighs. Trying to soothe you.
"It's-I'm really very-quite big so I just...I don't want to hurt you"
He was pulling back. Looking between you and Robert. Scared almost of how raw you looked, how long he was. Slender and dripping. Worried about it being too much. Of pushing you too far. Almost silently telling you both that he was happy to stop here. To pull away if you couldn't handle it. That it was ok.
But Robert smiled. Soft and warm. Reaching down to run calloused fingertips up his shaft. Listening to him gasp and shiver as he gripped the base. And guided him deeper.
"Here, Herm, allow me. I know how much she can take. I'll let you know if we need to stop"
And all Herm could do was nod. Hands slipping on your thighs. Knees snuffling closer as Robert went slow. Deeper and deeper until you hissed and moaned. Feeling him in your stomach. Filling you to the brim.
And then there was no more.
Just curly wet hair pushed up against your skin. Balls resting against the swell of your ass. His thighs shaking worse than yours as Robert's hand slide away, lacing through his fingers and pulling his palm down to press on your belly. To feel the buldge he had made hidden beneath your soft skin.
"Can you feel it? How deep you are? How good she takes you? Isn't she so good, Hermy?"
He whimpered. Raw and yearning. Like he was in heaven. Tears welling up in his eyes. Bottom lip trembling as you sqeezed him. Buring hot and tight. Twitching against the same walls that he has tasted moments ago. That still lingered on his tongue.
"She-she is very-the most-really-oh f-fuck"
And he was lost. Sobbing and fucking. Rythum uncertain and clumsy. Robert pulling him down now for his share of kisses. Licking your slick from his lips, stucking it off his tongue. Swallowing down wet moans and drinking the water that dripped down both their chins.
And you were stuck there, watching tongues tangle and water be swapped. Messy and needy. Roberts hand cupping his jaw so tenderly as he fucked you deeper. Harder. Crying his eyes out as it all became too much. Too good.
"Sir can I-inside or...?"
Robert hummed. Kissing his cheeks, lapping up salty tears. A hand moving around your body to find your clit. Stroking and pinching it as you felt it building all over again.
"Anywhere you like. You've earned it. Drinking her so good, fucking her so well. So good"
Herm was nodding again. Moaning and panting. A million choices running through his brain before he decided to pull out, stroking himself until he cried and came all over your stomach. Watery wet loads. Pearly white and spluttering down your cunt. Over your tits. Peppering your thighs as Robert kept stroking, kept flicking and pinching. His other hand caressing Herms lips, slipping his thumb in that wet mouth to be sucked as he milked out the last few drops watching you come undone. Shaking and whimpering through it. Hole gaping. Clit twitching. Chest heaving as you all just sat there. Taking it in. Taking it all in. The smell of sex in the air. Roberts cock soft against your back. Not even undressed. Just sat there in his work clothes as he bent you both to his will. Bare and exposed like puppets for him to command.
And command he did.
"Mmm we should do this again sometime. You two have great synergy. Who would have guessed?"
He pulled Herm down, tucking him against his side as your legs finally closed and you curled up against his chest. And he kissed the tops of your heads and admired the mess he had made of his best hero and the love of his life.
Why is there NO fanfics for “Dracula: A Love Tale”. It’s is so wrong to want imagine myself with a vampire lover that will love for the rest of his immortality and will search for me through the centuries????
SYNOPSIS : Your father's name has been whispered countless times over the centuries—the famed and feared Dracula—fiction to most, but a warm reality to you. To you—to your siblings—he was Vlad Stoker, a man whose actions gave you a second chance. Yet after a harrowing event in 1840 that left your family seemingly broken beyond repair, you make it your eternal life's mission to seek out Dracula. However, when a certain Original shows up at your doorstep to cash in an ancient favor, you and your brother have no choice but to return to the wretched town of Mystic Falls. [ Elijah x reader] [Klaus x reader]
FACECLAIMS FOR ARC I : The Stokers!
ARC I : in progress...
Prologue [only the last part has been cut off for those that have already read it.]
Every time I see a twilight or tvd long x reader fic I get excited and then the name is like
" the other Swan"
" the forgotten Gilbert"
" the secret Mikaelson"
take your ass back to Wattpad because that shit is LAZY.
No adoption mentioned either, which could create such a nice explanation and allow us POC readers to feel like we're not immediately excluded.
And the lack of racial/ethnic diversity, where is your imagination? You could literally craft an entire plot about how your mc has come to be involved with these characters and that's what you go with?
And the mc doesn't have to somehow be more powerful than every other powerful character like, they can just be strong and powerful enough to hold their own y'know?
i dont want 22 episode seasons back. i dont want 8 episode seasons. i dont actually want a prescriptive number of episodes per season
its the era of streaming. we dont need to fil x number of timeslots.
i want tv shows to be able to determine for themselves what their optimal number of episodes per season to tell the story they want at the pace they want. maybe thats a 3 episode season. maybe thats a 50 episode season. i dont care, i just want the decision to be made for practical and artistic reasons rather than corporate ones
You can't do it anymore. You need water. Your dreams are getting weird. Your head's not on straight. You. Need. Water.
Relevant Notes:
Waterboy x F!Reader, POV is you but no use of y/n. Tension, yearns, awkward moments. Reader does NOT have powers but is a gigantic Mecha Man fan and decides anyone can be a hero (but learns that it's easier to do this when you have a fucking gundam), Waterboy dabbles with the guitar in his off time, Waterboy has the Holy Water Spit ability
Reader has scars and is a bit reckless/clumsy lol
Warnings:
This gets very mildly spicy but nothing racy enough to catch a mature tag (imho) lol
You have the weirdest fucking dream about Herman.
He's sitting cross-legged on a towel in the sun with a bucket of lemons at his side. Right in the center of his chest is a spigot. You turn the knob and fill your glass.
For some reason, he has a Bostonian accent.
"Ya think it's good now?"
You take a generous sip and squint. "One more."
He picks up another lemon and just...eats it. Rind and all. Like it's a candy bar.
You dump the glass. Refill it. Sip.
"How 'bout now?" he asks.
"Oh, man." You chug. "Yep, that's the one. Twenty lemons is the ticket. This is the best lemonade I've ever had, dude."
"We're gonna be MILLIONAIRES," he exclaims.
You stir in the dawn. Frowning. What the fuck was that. What the fuck was that.
At least it wasn't a sex dream. That'd be mortifying.
You really want some lemonade now.
Though, something else is distracting you from that. Sometime in the night, probably because nothing about this patch of dirt was comfortable, you wound up absolutely tangled with each other. He is technically on his back, but with twisted hips so his legs could capture yours.
And you; you're trapped on your side. One of his arms is under your head and...it's almost like he did it deliberately so you'd have a pillow. The other one is around you. Tight. You're nearly flush against him with only a few inches to spare.
He mumbles something in his sleep and shifts, turning to follow his lower half. He curls around you. A gloved thumb drags aimlessly where it rests, and he rests his head against yours in a way that cannot be comfortable for him. Unless he's made of rubber.
Herman nuzzles his cheek along your temple, his nose brushing the top of your ear.
You exhale, shaky. The lump in your throat growing back.
Nobody's held you in a long time, much less like this.
If you cry again, you'll just die faster. Maybe. You weren't sure how this worked. While you're fretting and fighting your stupid emotions, Herman provides you with yet another distraction. Water. Trickling down your face. You feel a droplet veer down your cheek and soak into the corner of your mouth.
And another. And another. Like a newly carved riverbed, Herman's powers follow the path. It's as if the powers themselves know what you need and are sending you aid, making the decision for you.
Fuck it. May as well. You're going to have to ask him, today. It's been two nights. You won't make it through today. Your tongue breaks the dry, chapped seal between your lips and you let it inside. It's less than a spoonful. A little salty. But it's water.
You have never understood vampires so deeply before. Those few drops awaken such a need in you, you can barely contain it. The slow trickle continues, and it's just not enough. It's better than nothing, but it's not enough. You remember how he could force water out of his hands and that's all you can think about.
Like a faucet just barely turned on. That wouldn't be enough, either, probably; not for the intense thirst you're feeling, but it was far more generous than the runoff from his hair. Which you try not to think about. As a rule you never liked to put anything in your mouth that you wouldn't lick. It wasn't like hair was...unsanitary. But you'd also never lick hair.
"Herm..." you rasp. You try to unfold your arm from your chest so you can shake him. It doesn't work. "Herman," you whine, louder.
"Five more minutes, Grandma," he whimpers.
You lightly scoff. "Herm. I'm not your grandma." If you had the energy to laugh, you would, but you save it so you can sort of nudge his body with yours. One of his legs is hooked around the back of your knee, and you dig your heel into what you're pretty sure is his ankle.
"Wh--oh I'm so--OH NO--"
You feel like you're trying to hang onto a fish. He panics and rapidly pulls his limbs away, freeing your arm. He can't move too far because you're on his other arm, which gives you an opening to grab his wrist as he tries to roll away. "Don't!" you cry. "S-stay. Please, Herm."
A whole lot of confused sounds come from him as you ease onto your back. Fuck, your shoulder hurts. You roll it as you readjust to get comfortable on his arm, squinting up at him. The air's so dry. Everything is so fucking dry. Except for him.
He can't find words. He's leaning over you, panic-stricken, while you stare up at his captured hand like it's a hamburger. "I just. I need water. I need it real bad. I'm sorry, I know it's weird but--" You reach with your other hand and tug off his glove. "I don't wanna die like this."
Another beat passes as his brain catches up with the situation, and then he seems to understand. "Y-yeah. I was--gonna ask if. But."
"It's weird."
"...Yeah."
He slides his arm out from under your head, not to leave you there, but to cradle your head. Herman fumbles into a hunched sitting position, one of his legs stretched out, and he rests you there on his thigh. Your head nearly crashes against his stomach. You can't seem to wake up the rest of the way.
More than likely, you used too much energy to stop him from running screaming into the Mojave.
"Y-you look...real bad." He looks worried.
You manage the tiniest smile. "That's just my face. Don't be mean."
Thank God the joke landed, lest he implode like a dying star. He snorts, shaking his head. "I'm...serious it's--we need to...o-okay just. H-hang in there."
Herman holds his bare hand out and the flow begins. You watch it soak the dirt mournfully, longingly. "J-just wanna get the gr-grime off..."
His fingers tremble. The flow increases. He must be nervous. Good. He nearly flooded the back of the van that took you to this horrible place. You wonder if you can make it worse, and how ethical that is.
"O-okay it. Should be--hey!"
You can't wait anymore. You don't care here his hands have been, how dirty they are, or if the water he produces is fucking radioactive. You. Need. Water. You snatch his hand greedily, and you're not even thinking about how it must look to him.
You're only thinking about relief. About how it feels like heaven sliding over your parched tongue, down your throat, bringing life back to your shriveling guts. If it has a taste you would never know; you're lost in the fact it's water at all, and everything else is a dead-last second. It's like all your internal organs restart, revitalize, and you can't stop drinking. And the flow gets that much stronger.
Because he's over you, his thumb in your mouth. You clutch his hand to your face while you whimper softly and mumble out without even thinking, "So good." He's making a mess of you because his entire palm, the rest of his fingers, they're flowing just as much, soaking into the back of your shirt. You don't care about that, either. You need water.
But again, you're not thinking of the optics. You're thinking of survival. This is like those nights you wake up at 3 am and chug half a gallon of water before shuffling, deliriously satisfied, back to bed.
Herman, though. Oh, boy.
When you finally stop; when your stomach finally says "Okay, okay, we're good, cut it out or we're going to puke", you catch your breath and let him go. His thumb brushes down your lip and you catch his eye.
The man above you has just learned something about himself. Beet red. Pupils blown. There's a mark on his lip where he must have bitten it. The only thing that breaks the silence is a squealing roar from his stomach, and you're certain that his malnutrition is the only thing that's saved him from an embarrassing boner.
You pretend you've seen none of this. You've never seen someone die from anxiety but you think he's well on his way. "Oh shit," you groan, then let out a long sigh. "I feel so much better."
"G-goo--that's--I'm--" His voice breaks like he's going through puberty, and you hear him scramble to stand. "Pee."
You do a sort of smile-frown up at him.
"I--gotta. Y-yeah. Bye."
He stumbles, walks, and runs all at the same time somehow, disappearing around the big privacy-granting rock you two had designated as the "pee spot".
You hear his ridiculously long zipper and a lot of panicked mumbling and you put your face in your hands. You don't know if you should laugh or cry. So you decide to keep looking for something you've been hoping to find since day one, beyond a shiny object: something edible. You kind of owed him, now.
After putting him through that, you should just let him have everything you find, really.
If you find it.
You set off in a direction you haven't tried yet. Looking for pink. Red would be good too, though then you'd have to get the fire going again and figure out how to roast cactus fruit with your bare fuckin hands because you didn't know if you could eat those raw. Your dad was the camping enthusiast. Not you. What you were enthusiastic about was spending time with your dad.
Still, you remembered some things. And when you see those pink flowers, you almost cry, because Prickly Pears were edible.
The young ones were best, and you're so happy to see there's a lot of them. You use your shirt as a makeshift basket, carefully breaking them off. You could remove the needles back at home base. Far behind you, you can hear him shout your name. You turn, grinning. "Stay there! I'll be back!"
You take them all. Even a few that are a little older, but not quite too big yet. They might be bitter. Doesn't matter. You'll eat those ones. He can have the good ones. He can have them all. He was bigger, after all, so on that alone it made sense, but you considered it an unspoken Sorry I gave your thumb a blowjob present.
They stab the hell out of you as you jog back to him, and you pile them carefully on a flat rock. Only then do you notice that he's standing there with his suit mostly unzipped, his other glove caught in the teeth, a defeated, fretting expression on his face. "It's--just. Augh." He rubs his thumb along his brow, propping a hand on his hip.
He's so over it.
You can't blame him.
"It's okay. Just breathe and count to ten, give me a second." You pick the last pad off your shirt, stand, and brush your hands off.
All business. No ogling. He's going to disintegrate otherwise. You tug on the glove so you can see what you're dealing with and man, he zipped it in there good. Probably terrified you'd appear suddenly, or something, who knows. Didn't matter. The point was he needed help and you were going to do your damnedest to make sure nothing about it was horny.
"Here, just hold that so I can use both hands."
He stammers but can't get a word out, obeying you, staring off into the distance. You jimmy the zipper a bit, but it's stuck pretty good. The issue is it's at his belly button. You know what you need to do but you don't really want to...grab him that low down, considering everything. You sigh. "Okay...Herman, I need to like. Actually can you just bunch this up, right here?" You point a few inches lower. "Get a good grip and hold it tight, stretch it a little."
Again, he listens. Silently. You try to ignore the beads of water tracing every edge of his exposed torso. He's not ripped, but he is definitely far from being a scrawny thing. And if you're being honest with yourself, even if he was just skin and bone under that suit, you'd be done for. Because you already were, ever since he held you while you cried.
He was under your skin now. You had a feeling you were under his, too, but people get funny in life-or-death scenarios. You try not to latch onto it. You just keep jiggling that zipper, frustrated, until finally it slides free. It shoots downward and you immediately look away. "It's cool! Saw nothing. You're good."
You turn your back to him while he mumbles and you hear that merciful, long zip. When you turn back he's flexing his hands back into his gloves, eyes dancing away from yours, that flush across his cheeks just a little darker than usual.
He's probably gonna never fucking forget this morning, for better or worse.
You get to work plucking all the needles out and sort the pads with only a few holes in your hands. You take the big, bitter ones, one of the young ones so you can finish on a good note, and give him the rest. "Okay. So. These are edible raw. They might have a weird texture, I can't remember. But I know they're kind of refreshing and little bit fruity-ish. They also might be a teeny bit sour...they're like grapes sometimes. You know how some are super sweet and others just make your face cave in?"
You're rambling about prickly pears, hoping he'll at least talk to you, or something, but you feel relieved when he smiles a little. Then he looks at his share, then his, and frowns. "Th--not fair. I've got s-seven and you--three c-can't--that can't be e-nough."
You bite into the biggest one. May as well get the worst out of the way. You make what can only be described as a whiskey face and keep chewing. It's tough and fibrous, and you only chew it enough to swallow without gagging. He no longer appears confident in your flavor description. "The big ones aren't as good," you explain. "I promise those ones, the little guys? Much better." There's that look again. Like a dog watching you leave from the living room window. You sag. "It's either this or nothing, man. Unless you want to try your hand at eating whatever bugs we can find under a rock."
"N-not the...w-why'd you give me so--most of it?"
You sigh. "You need more food than me, and. I owe you. You saved my life. I need water, you don't. You'll die of starvation before I do. So. Let me even the score, already." You take another bite and muscle it down. This is fucking terrible. But you won't waste it.
He looks like he wants to argue more, but he resigns and tries a bite. "Oh!" It's a thoughtful exclamation, and he takes a bigger one.
You smile. "Told you."
You choke down the rest of yours. Debate giving yourself a break with the little one, but decide to stick to the plan. Suffer first, then enjoy yourself. But Herman reaches and takes it from you, then shoves two of his into your palm. Before you can counterattack, he takes a massive bite of the thing and immediately his face twists. "Augh--God--"
The laugh that bubbles out of you is almost evil. "I told you dude. Regretting that, huh?" He looks like he's about to spit it out. "Oh don't you dare. You made this bed. Don't waste that. You need it."
He makes this pathetic little sob that sends you chuckling, and you're pretty impressed. He keeps on with the huge bites just so he can get it over with, and chases it with the smallest of his collection, visible relief washing over his face. "Y-you. How do you know so...much about a-all this?"
Your smile fades a little, and you halve another pad between your teeth. It's light, juicy, and brings back too many memories. "My, uh, dad. He loved this stuff. The great outdoors. Dragged me all over the west coast. I've always been a city girl, though. I just pretended to like it all. And. When he was dying, he told me he knew I hated camping. But it made him feel...happy that I'd do something I hated just to, you know. Be with him."
Wrong move. Fucking heat. Fucking sun. You were saying things you never would. Maybe it was him. He was so soft and sweet and--
You clear your throat. "Anyway. I picked up some things from all of it so. I don't think I can navigate out of here, I don't remember how the damn stars work. But I can find food."
He's watching you now. Like he knows you. Whatever residual terror he was feeling from your morning drink has melted into calm familiarity, and you're not sure you want that. "My Grandma raised me. I n-never, uh. Car accident, wh-en I was a b-baby. It--not the same as...you but. I-I'm sorry. H-he'd be. Proud, I think. C-can I say that? You're s-staying alive. Y-know?"
You want to be mean to him. You don't know why. You hate that you do. You want to tell him he can't say that. He doesn't know you. He's not your friend. You want to tell him that he'd never talk to you if he wasn't stuck out here with you; to stop pretending that he cares.
But you can't. Because you're pretty sure he does. And it's a terrible thing to know, for some reason.
Your lip trembles. You sniff hard and occupy your mouth with more sustenance, hoping the chewing will stop how you're feeling. It does. For now. "Never really thought of it like that. Yeah. He's probably looking down at me right now wondering why I haven't built a water filter that pulls moisture from the air, though." You chuckle.
Herm laughs. He's. God damn it. The way he dips his head and looks at you from under his brow, the way his smile stretches. Most importantly, the way he felt around you. He'd probably say no to another cozy night at this point, considering everything. But you knew. Both of you would be haunted by this morning, for different reasons.
A glimmer of light nearly blinds you. It takes you a moment to understand. And you startle him with your shout. "Oh my God, Herman! Your fucking goggles!"
Brows high with surprise, he only offers you a confused stare.
"The shiny thing! The lenses! I'm so fucking stupid! We can use those if we see someone!"
He finally understands and joins with your excitement.
Your death counters have been reset. And you have something to reflect the sun for a passing plane.
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